A carpet of blue stretched across the seemingly infinite sky. Warm, radiant rays sparkled over the waves below. The view was hypnotizing, and Fitz had a hard time leaving his guard post when his shift was up. If it weren’t for Lieutenant Colonel Jensen’s sharp voice barking in his headset, he would have kept staring. “Fitz, report to command, ASAP,” Jensen said. “Roger that, sir,” Fitz replied. He scoped the north with his MK11 one last time, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Truxtun, but only saw the vast blue of calm waters. Fitz turned away from the view when he thought he heard a distant scream come from the sea. Imagined or real, it was time to get moving. He gritted his teeth and climbed the skeletal ladder to the beach. Each rung put pressure on his thighs, the muscles burning with every step. When he reached the bottom, he bent down to rub them and check his prosthetics. As he examined the carbon fiber blades, the voices of his fellow amputees back at Bragg came up from memory.
