Here is a sneak peak of the Prologue for my upcoming release called Broken Shadows!
The ready room aboard the USS Gerald R. Ford was stifling, the low hum of the carrier’s systems vibrating through the deck plates. The SEAL team sat scattered across the room, checking gear, drinking coffee, and running through the same mental preparation they had for dozens of missions before. I wasn’t one of them, not really, but I’d been around them long enough to understand their rhythm. They worked like a machine-each man a vital piece, sharp and ready.
Commander Brooks stood at the front, gesturing to a map projected on the bulkhead. A nameless village in the desert was marked with a red dot, its layout a patchwork of narrow streets and crumbling walls.
“Our target is Rami Al-Mahdi,” Brooks said. “Leader of the Red Veil, directly responsible for the attacks on the NATO convoy last month. Intel has him holed up here, likely with a small security detail. He’s our priority-alive if possible, dead if necessary.”
The men nodded silently. Brooks turned to me.
“Keane, you’re on Stratus Shield. Walk them through it.”
I stood and tapped the tablet on my forearm. A map of the region lit up, dotted with icons for friendlies, allies, and enemy positions. The SEALs leaned forward, interested but skeptical. They weren’t the type to put their faith in technology, especially new technology, but they trusted me enough to listen.
“Stratus Shield links to your HUDs,” I said. “I’ll be tracking everything-our movements, known enemy locations, any changes in the terrain. The data updates in real time and is fully encrypted.”
Jenkins asked what would happen if it failed. I said it wouldn’t, even though I wasn’t sure. The system wasn’t perfect. None of this was.
Tim Hall, the sniper, smirked as he adjusted his scope. “If it breaks, we’ll blame Keane,” he said. “At least we know where he’ll be.”
The others chuckled. Tim wasn’t just a teammate-he was my closest friend on the team. He was the one who had vouched for me during training, the one who made sure I wasn’t left behind in the weight room or the firing range. He’d even helped me laugh off Jenkins’ endless teasing.
Brooks clapped his hands, cutting through the noise. “Gear up. Wheels up in fifteen.”
The Seahawk’s cabin was stifling, the smell of oil and sweat mixing into the ceaseless thrum of the rotors. Cramped into the rear, wedged between Tim and Jenkins, I could barely move. My rifle lay heavy across my lap, its cold metal an uneasy weight. It shifted with every motion of the helicopter, the stock bumping uncomfortably against the Stratus Shield display strapped around my forearm, the vibrations rattling through my bones.
Tim gave me a quick once-over, his gaze sharp, cutting through the haze of the cabin. “You good?” he asked.
I nodded. “Yeah.”
He grinned. “Don’t make me babysit you.”
The Seahawk’s cabin throbbed with the steady pulse of the rotors as we sliced through the dry air. The team sat packed in tight, gear strapped down, eyes forward. I was crammed near the rear, my tablet secure on my forearm and my rifle clutched across my chest. It wasn’t the first time I’d flown with these guys, but it was the first time we were heading into something real.
As the helicopter banked, the open door framed a view of endless sand and jagged ridges on the horizon. The crew chief leaned out, scanning the terrain below. Beside him, a blonde woman in flight gear knelt, securing a loose strap on one of the bulkheads. She glanced over her shoulder and met my eyes, a flicker of recognition passing between us.
“Don’t go getting yourself killed, Keane,” she called over the roar of the rotors, her voice laced with dry humor.
I smirked, tipping my head in a mock salute. “Only if you promise not to crash us.”
She rolled her eyes but grinned before turning back to her work. The exchange lasted barely a moment, but it steadied me, grounding me in the familiarity of old connections. Jess always had a way of cutting through the tension, and this mission wasn’t going to shake that.
Tim nudged me with his elbow, pulling my attention back. “She’s got a point, though,” he said. “Try to keep up, alright?”
“Funny,” I muttered, gripping the rifle a little tighter. The Seahawk shuddered as it began its descent, and all conversation gave way to the steady rhythm of preparation.
The village was a husk of crumbling brick and dust, its streets narrow and uneven. We moved through it cautiously, the SEALs clearing each corner with practiced efficiency. I stayed in the middle of the formation, one eye on the tablet. The Stratus Shield display showed our blue markers spread out, no red markers in sight. It was quiet. Too quiet.
Tim muttered that it didn’t feel right. Brooks told him to stay sharp. My gut churned as I scanned the streets ahead.
The first shot came out of nowhere, a sharp crack that echoed through the alley. Jenkins went down immediately, blood soaking the sand beneath him. Brooks shouted for us to take cover as gunfire erupted, bullets tearing through the walls around us. Dust and debris filled the air, turning everything into a haze of chaos.
I ducked behind a low wall, frantically tapping at the tablet. The screen flickered, then filled with static. Stratus Shield was offline. My lifeline to the team—the one thing that was supposed to give us an edge—was gone.
“System’s down!” I yelled.
Brooks shouted back, “Fix it!”
I tried, but it was no use. The connection was severed, and we were blind.
You’re wondering if I’ve blamed myself for that, right? Of course I have. Every night, Doc. That failure wasn’t just the system’s fault. It was mine for trusting it.
Tim crouched next to me, his rifle aimed down the alley. “Stick close, Keane,” he said. “We’re getting out of this.”
The SEALs moved with precision, laying down bursts of suppressive fire as they retreated in disciplined bounds, their movements seamless despite the chaos. But the insurgents seemed to anticipate every step. They struck from the shadows, exploiting the maze-like alleys and crumbling walls, using the uneven terrain to mask their positions. Muzzle flashes flickered from unexpected angles—high windows, beneath collapsed archways, even from gaps in the rubble—forcing the SEALs to pivot again and again.
The air buzzed with ricochets and the sharp crack of rifles, the sounds overlapping in a disorienting cacophony. Tim shouted a warning, but it was too late. Brooks went down first, his voice swallowed by the rising chaos. Alvarez followed, a spray of gunfire catching him as he rounded a blind corner. Finally, Tim staggered back, his rifle slipping from his grip as crimson bloomed across his chest, his body slumping lifelessly against the wall.
By the time the gunfire stopped, the village was silent again. I was the only one left.
I spent the night huddled in the ruins of a collapsed building, the tablet’s useless weight strapped to my arm. The silence pressed down on me, broken only by the whisper of wind shifting the dunes. The faces of the team haunted me, their voices threading through the darkness, half-formed and relentless.
By morning, the desert heat bore down like a hammer. Stumbling out of the village, I felt each step drag me deeper into exhaustion. My water was nearly gone, my lips cracked and dry. Shadows flickered at the edge of my vision—shapes too fleeting to be real. A buried rock caught my boot, sending me sprawling onto the searing ground. The edge of the tablet jabbed my ribs as I fell, pain slicing through me. Gritting my teeth, I pushed myself upright, sand clinging to my sweat-dampened skin.
The sound reached me through the haze—a low, steady thrum cutting through the oppressive quiet. At first, I thought my mind was playing tricks again, but the vibrations grew sharper, unmistakable. A helicopter emerged over the horizon, its silhouette distorted by waves of heat. My legs buckled as I sank to my knees, dust swirling around me in the rotor wash as the chopper descended.
A aircrewman stepped out, his voice calm and steady. “You must be Keane?”
I nodded, my throat too dry to speak. He hauled me to my feet and guided me to the chopper. The crew worked quickly, checking my vitals and securing me in the cabin. The moment the door closed, I let myself sag against the seat.
The mission was a failure. The SEALs were gone. Stratus Shield, the system that was supposed to protect us, had crumbled under pressure. I was alive, but I wasn’t sure if that counted for much. The desert doesn’t care about victory or failure. It just keeps going, stretching out forever. All that’s left are shadows-broken pieces of what was. Sometimes, those shadows stay with you, no matter how far you try to leave them behind.