Even in the middle of the night, the heat afforded no mercy. Not for plants. Not for animals. Not for the members of the 5th Special Forces Group operational detachment huddled in anonymity behind a half-blown structure dribbling cement and plaster. Sergeant First Class Haytham “Hawk” Kelley stared through his M4’s holosight. He scanned the flat terrain once again. Around him, he knew his Green Beret brothers did the same. “It’s been two hours,” Sergeant Brody Jensen said from his position covering the south. “Just enough time to scramble fighters,” Master Sergeant Greg Stratham muttered. Hawk stretched his neck, willing the tension knot to loosen. It’d been nothing but pumping adrenaline since they released that kid. Being half-Afghan, Hawk had put his Pashto language skills to use and told the boy not to say anything to anyone. “Movement,” someone barked. Hawk’s muscles knotted. He swept the sight back and forth. “Nothing.” “Clear,” Stratham said. Thwat!
