He was never going to fit back in. His dog was gone. Two of his team also had been close enough that they’d gone home in a box. The other two had gone down in a hail of crossfire that filled two more boxes. Left for dead; he’d been the “lucky one.”
The lucky one.
No team. No unit. No longer a soldier. He’d lost fiancé, family, and town.
There was no one who wanted him. No place he belonged. The dead end was staring him in the face and there was no reverse gear out of it. His future was bricked in as surely as the sides of the glowing iron box filled with ashes and fire. Who would give a s**t if the flames did consume him? Easy answer. The future held noth—
A knock sounded on the cabin door. The sudden sound where there shouldn’t be any sent him diving for cover behind the woodpile. All
