Brotherhood Protectors: Before The Brotherhood (Kindle Worlds Novella)

by Mandy Harbin

  “I’m already on it.”

  * * *

  Owen Burrell had no clue why the Major General wanted to see him. He should be out training with his team and getting ready to head to the Gulf for exercises. When he’d asked his CO why he’d been singled out when he wasn’t even the team leader of his unit, Owen had gotten his ass chewed about following orders. Hell, he knew the drill. He’d been in the military for years and that was before he’d re-upped a few years ago.

  Although, he hadn’t thought he was going to stay in the military back then. He’d been on block leave working with the Orion team in cooperation with other military units at the time, but once their targets were neutralized, the group had been dismantled. Oh, he figured it could have taken on more operations on rotation, but once Oz had fallen in love with Bryn while on assignment several years ago, his former team leader had retired to be with her. Owen and Ollie had re-upped and been assigned to different units. Owen was now part of DEVGRU, more commonly known as SEAL Team Six. After bin Laden had been KIA, he knew the media wouldn’t stop until the group assigned to take him out had been identified. Those guys had been from Red Squadron. Owen was in the Black Squadron, but he knew them. Like many groups within the military, there was a camaraderie among the naval special warfare group.

  Owen was damn good at his job, but he’d be lying if he said the decision to retire didn’t weigh on him. The war on terror ended up being a much larger campaign than anyone thought back when it had started. With the war in Iraq and Afghanistan and now against ISIL, the US needed all the servicemen they could get. It made him feel a little guilty when he thought about not renewing again. His contract was up later this year, assuming they didn’t involuntarily extend it another twelve months. That was a definite possibility, and nothing he could do about that if it happened.

  It was oh-eight on the dot when he rapped on the door.

  “Come in.”

  Owen entered and saluted. “Commander Owen Burrell reporting, sir.”

  “At ease.”

  Owen dropped his hand and stood in proper position awaiting further command.

  “You’re aware we had a C-130 drop a gift in Nangarhar.”

  He was more than aware. Owen was pretty sure it was still the talk of the base. “Yes, sir.”

  Major General Ethan Burge regarded him for several seconds. “Have a seat, Commander,” he finally said. Owen took the chair directly across from him. The man was one of the hardest ever created in the US military. He was the deputy commander of operations and intelligence of CJTF-OIR. The Combined Joint Task Force was only a couple of years old and headquartered in Kuwait, so Owen had never had a chance to meet him personally. He was a fellow SEAL, so there was the unspoken brotherhood bond, but the man before him was powerful. Major General Burge worked under the US Lieutenant General Stanley Tanner, the man at the helm of CJTF on Operation Inherent Resolve, which had been established to degrade and destroy ISIL.

  “My CO didn’t provide any intel as to the nature of this meeting.” Then he quickly added, “Although, I’m always ready and available to serve without question.”

  Burge raised an eyebrow. “Your CO hasn’t been cleared to receive the details. He was none too happy being stonewalled.”

  That explained the hostility when Owen had tried to ask for clarification. No one liked being out of the loop, especially when the loop involved his subordinate men.

  “Are you familiar with the Crazies?”

  Owen blinked as his brain raced. He was familiar with a lot of terms used to describe the locals and various factions of insurgents, but he was drawing a blank with this particular terminology. “Is that slang for one of the tribes, sir?” He hated asking. It made him look incompetent to a superior.

  Burge cracked a smile. “Sorry, Commander. Although I do appreciate where you head went when I asked, I meant the Crazy Mountains. Your records indicated you’re from Montana.”

  If he’d been curious about this meeting earlier, he was downright confused now. “Yes, sir. I’ve heard of the Crazies. The range is supposed to be beautiful and home to a variety of people ranging from local land workers to the rich and famous seeking solitude.”

  “Supposed to? Have you never visited the range yourself?”

  “No, sir. I’m from Big Sky. It’s closer to the Wyoming border and Yellowstone National Park.” He’d said it as if that was all the explanation the Major General needed.

  “Ah, I guess that is a bigger draw than a small, isolated mountain range.”

  The silence was almost painful. Owen tried to think of why his home state had anything to with his job a world away. He came up blank, unable to think of any connection, even very thin ones that might help explain where the Major General was going with this. Even though the man hadn’t asked, Owen figured he should provide an answer anyway. “Yes, sir. Yellowstone National Park was always the bigger draw for me.”

  Burge shifted in his seat, leaning slightly closer. “I’m putting you on a special op, Commander. A former teammate of mine and fellow SEAL has called to collect on a favor I owe him. There’s a Ms. Caitlin Cooper in transit to our desert digs, and she’s going to need protection. That’s where you come in.”

  Protection? “Is there a price on her head?” he asked seriously as he scanned his thoughts on the name. It was familiar to him, but he couldn’t place why.

  “Nothing like that. She’s a journalist coming to cover the MOAB strike.”

  Jesus, he hoped like hell he hadn’t groaned at the word journalist. He understood the freedom of the press and all that business, but this was war. Her face still didn’t flash in his head with the new information, but he’d seen many correspondents over the years on his tours.

  “She hails from Eagle Rock, though I’ve been told she hasn’t lived in Montana in some time.” Burge frowned briefly before continuing in a no-nonsense manner. “You’re familiar with the Achin District since your team had been tasked with scoping it out prior to the order to strike, and she’ll no doubt request passage. Your team isn’t on assignment, so pulling you away for a few weeks won’t cause any disruption to our primary mission here. And you have something in common with the reporter having both come from the same state.”

  “This is a babysitting job,” he said without thinking.

  “More like you’ll be her personal bodyguard. You’ll be given a small crew to assist in her protection and to fight combatants, but she’s your primary objective. You’re all over her like morning dew. She won’t be able to burp without you identifying what she had for lunch. Am I clear?”

  “Yes, sir,” he said, but the words felt like they’d been muttered on autopilot as anger settled in. He stared straight ahead, wondering who in the world he pissed off to land this kind of karma.

  “Sorry, Sailor. I know it seems you drew the short straw on this, and well, because of circumstances, you did. I have a personal stake in this, but make no mistake, this isn’t some unsanctioned op. Lt. General Stanley Tanner signed off on this. He did so because I asked him to, which means not only will you be reporting directly to me, but he’s fully aware of this assignment and will be kept abreast of the all the details surrounding it as well.”

  Holy shit. It shocked the hell out of him that he’d be reporting directly to the Major General, but to hear the Lt. General would be keeping tabs on him, too? Owen had never had this close of a direct line to the more political officers. He would have to make sure he followed protocol without any errors, though he was a stickler for obeying the rules anyway. This time, however, important people would be watching him. Not a team, him. If he screwed up, it’d be his ass. But if he showed them how diligent and methodical he could be then maybe …”

  “You do this assignment without fail, you’ll be going places, Burrell. Fast,” Burge said aloud what his thought refused to finish in silence. Could a babysitting job really propel his military career more so than actual battles he’d fought? He didn’t know, but from the sound to if,
it couldn’t hurt.

  Unless he screwed this up somehow.

  No way was Owen going to let that happen.

  “To be clear, you’re protection. Period. I don’t want your name anywhere in her reports. You are not cleared to answer questions about the mission in the Achin District prior to the strike. The fact that you’ve recently been to the area was a determining factor in selecting you, but that doesn’t mean the military is giving her free access to sensitive intel. Understood?”

  “Sir, yes, sir,” he said with more conviction than before.

  Keep my eyes open and mouth shut. He had a job to do, not that he had a choice. Owen had to take the assignment whether he liked it or not, but at least there could be something in it for him in the end, and he had no problem keeping his personal knowledge to himself. Secrecy was par for the course in special operations, anyway.

  He had a lot of questions running through his head, but he wouldn’t waste the Major General’s time. As soon as he got back, he’d power up his CO’s laptop and get those answers, starting with the most important question running loose in his mind.

  Just who was Caitlin Cooper, and why was this journalist so important that the Lieutenant General had been made aware of her arrival?

  Chapter Two

  Caitlin was exhausted. Tired to her bones from her trip to Afghanistan, and she’d just gotten here. Upon landing, she’d had to go through what she likened to the military’s version of customs to get access to the base, and that hadn’t included actual customs along the way. She needed a shower followed by a five hour nap and a five pound cheeseburger.

  WWCAD? She doubted her professional idol wouldn’t stuff her face and whine about needing some grub and a tub. Caitlin shook the thoughts of creature comforts away. If she was lucky, she’d only be here a couple of weeks. Troop deployments were a heck of a lot longer than any short trip she would experience. She’d do well to remember that and not complain, even internally. She knew this. She blamed being tired for the lapse, but she needed to ignore her fatigue and focus on her job. If she focused on every yawn her body produced, that was another moment she wasn’t thinking about her job.

  Or her safety.

  Her dad had served in Desert Storm and hadn’t taken the news of her current assignment lightly. She could still hear the warnings he’d given her echoing in her ears. “Follow orders… You will not risk your life for the story… Don’t let some randy soldier into your panties…” That last one had almost made her laugh. Almost. Her dad was normally a big ol’ softy who loved to joke, having long ago left the military behind for a boring desk job and life in suburbia. His haunted eyes shown brightly on the rare occasions he talked of his tours. The added veil of the video call yesterday did nothing to hide the permanent despair long buried in them.

  “Ms. Cooper?” a tall, dark-haired man asked. He sported several days’ growth on his chin. “I’m Lorenzo Ricci, the videographer working with you on this assignment.”

  She hopped as she hefted her carryon more securely to her shoulder and stuck out her hand. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Ricci.”

  “Lorenzo, please.”

  “Caitlin,” she said in way of agreement before dropping her hand. “What can you tell me about the bombing?”

  “All in due time, Caitlin,” a man said walking up from behind Lorenzo. She looked over at him, irritation pricking at how he’d said her name, but before she formed a response, she noticed he wasn’t the only man in uniform close by. There were several men standing with their legs slightly apart and their hands behind their backs all staring directly at her. Her gaze slide to each one before she looked up at the man who’d spoken to her and now invaded her personal space. “You have to be briefed on procedure and sign some documentation before you’re allowed access to any information. Follow me.” He turned as if not needing a response from her.

  She wasn’t surprised there was more formality involved. Although she’d never reported on the front lines, this wasn’t her first assignment in the midst of a war. Tired or not, his tone rankled her. The least they could do was not schedule this introduction before she had a chance to check-in at her hotel and drop off her bags.

  She knew she should fall into step behind him without question, but before she could command her feet to move, her mouth opened. “Who are you?” she almost snapped.

  The brute in combat boots had only taken one step when her voice filled the air between them. He froze, and it seemed as if the men standing in a half circle around her got stiller.

  The man’s hands flexed as if he was going to fist them but then thought better of it before turning to face her once again. “Commander Owen Burrell. The man tasked with keeping your backside protected.” He hesitated and then added, “Ma’am.”

  “Nice to meet you, Owen.” She wasn’t sure if she mastered the same tone he’d taken with her name, but she gave it her best shot. Somewhere in the back of her mind was a warning not to anger the big, scary—and if she was completely honest, hot—guy. But it wasn’t as if this man was her superior, nor did she need to butter him up to get him to talk. She had a list of names of people who’d been in the area before and after the bombing and had committed those to memory. There was no Owen Burrell on her list. He was probably just some extra muscle someone put on her to make sure she didn’t go snooping around any restricted areas while on base.

  One of the men coughed, sounding as if covering a laugh.

  Without hesitation, Owen stomped right up to him and yelled in his face. Caitlin didn’t catch everything he said. Something about what the man found so funny with some colorful words tossed in. The younger-looking guy paled a little, but barked his responses, keeping in time with Owen’s forceful questions.

  The military dynamic fascinated her, but the yelling and posturing was something she never felt comfortable with. She understood the need to keep members in line, but sometimes it felt as if it was really overkill. Like right now. But she wasn’t here to question the inner workings of the military itself.

  When Owen finished ripping the guy a new one, he stomped back to her. “Let’s get something straight, Caitlin. I’m not happy about this assignment. I should be with my SEAL team running exercises in preparation for our next assignment rotation, not watching every waking move you make. I wasn’t trained to be someone’s twenty-four-seven guard dog. But if the powers that be want me to babysit a journalist, then I’ll do it without hesitation. Doesn’t mean that service comes with patience or a smile.”

  Twenty-four-seven guard dog? She blinked at him. Jack hadn’t said anything to her about someone guarding her. Was this standard procedure for media personnel when reporting outside the wire? She wasn’t sure. Reality that there was a lot she wasn’t aware of slowly came crashing over her. She shook a little and sucked in a deep breath. This was the first time since learning of the mission that she felt real fear. She’d been nervous, anxious even, and most recently exhausted. But not fear. Why had it settled in now? It felt silly that it took a hulking man being assigned to her to pull away whatever wool she’d had over her eyes. Her boss, Hank, even her dad hadn’t scared her.

  Part of her want to reply something snappy back at him, but that side of her was hiding behind the other part whose knees threatened to buckle under the weight of this new feeling coursing through her. When she found her voice, she simply said, “I understand.”

  He stared, and for the briefest of moments, an emotion crossed his gaze that looked like regret, but it had happened so quickly she couldn’t be sure. “Follow me,” he said in the same clipped tone from before.

  She obeyed, and Lorenzo walked beside her. The other men who’d been standing in front of her waited until she passed before falling into step with them.

  Not with them. Around them. As if they’d formed some protective barrier, blocking her and the cameraman from view. They were still on base, so the action felt unnecessary, which only spiked her fear.

  They walked into a makeshift room buil
t with exposed plywood walls and containing a folding table in the center surrounded by metal chairs. Nothing else was in the small area. Owen motioned for her to sit before turning to grab a stack of papers from the end of the table.

  “I don’t have a PowerPoint to show you the dangers of war in some feeble attempt to express the significance of what could happen if you don’t follow orders. You’ll just have to listen to the words I have to say.”

  “I’m good at paying attention,” she said without looking at him.

  “Good. That just might keep you from having to witness any horrors firsthand.” She didn’t say anything, and he continued. His lecture was long and detailed. He started with the purpose of their overall objective there before moving into what was expected of the men and women there both professionally and personally. Throughout his discussion, her fear eased, which she attributed to Owen’s matter-of-fact vibe. And then went into the rules of conduct of an embedded journalist, making sure she was clear on her role. Irritation began to bubble again because she was well aware of what her role was, but she ignored it. He had a job of keeping her safe, and she told herself he was just making sure she did her part to make his mission easier. “Any questions so far?”

  “No.”

  “You will not at any time carry a weapon. Ever,” he said, leveling a stare at her.

  “Why?” Not that she’d brought any with her. She didn’t own a gun, and it wasn’t as if she could carry a knife on the plane. Although she could have put one in her checked luggage. Maybe she should have.

  “Because you are a non-combatant. You are not here to engage in battle. This is not my rule. It is policy.”

  In theory, she understood this. She’d never considered the need of a weapon before because she’d always reported from a military base and there’d been thousands of men sporting guns and rifles that the idea of her needing to carry something on her person had never crossed her mind. Her fear from earlier was back, rearing its ugly head. She nodded, worried her voice would betray her renewed fright.