Prologue
There are a lot of things you remember from a firefight. The heat. The dust. The sound of the first shot. But the only thing I remember from that day in Afghanistan is this:
I should have brought more bullets.
That’s the thought that repeated in my head over and over as I peered through the scope of my M40A5. I wasn’t thinking about the sand blowing in my face, or the way the sun seemed to beat down on my spotter and me as we lay in the dirt on this god-forsaken hill. I wasn’t even thinking about my woman back home, though she usually occupied my mind. I was thinking just one thing.
I should have brought more bullets.
Larsson and I were tucked into a shallow rock shelf halfway down the hill, just enough elevation to see the warehouse without skylining ourselves against the ridge. The other Marines on my team were smaller than ants in the distance, but I could see the way Corporal Rigby was clearing the alley, the way Sergeant Lohengrin was directing the other two groups around the building. I kept my scope panning over my brothers as they worked to infiltrate the three-story warehouse that was confirmed to be full of weapons for the local Taliban cell. We were supposed to come in, clear the building, and cut them off from their weapon supply. Just a routine day in Afghanistan.
I should have brought more bullets.
We’d been watching the warehouse for three hours. Long enough to learn which windows stayed open and which door the guards preferred.
Then Larsson spoke. “Holy…do you see that, Reardon?”
Larsson’s voice was barely more than a whisper. I didn’t blame him for the fear in it. I’d seen what he had just spotted through the glass. He keyed the radio, voice steady as he sent the warning downrange. “Contact. Four hostiles inbound to your position.”
I should have brought more bullets.
My finger settled against the trigger as the crosshairs found the first man.
“Roof. Left side,” Larsson murmured beside me.
My rifle was steady, the lines in my scope settling on the man at the other end.
“Wind’s good. Send it.”
I squeezed.
The shot cracked across the valley. A heartbeat later the window burst and the man behind it snapped backward out of sight. “Impact,” Larsson confirmed.
I lifted the bolt, the brass casing spinning away as I drove the next round into the chamber.
“Second hostile, same roof. Right two,” Larsson said calmly.
My crosshairs slid across the shattered glass. I squeezed again.
I should have brought more bullets.
Shots rang out from below, the sound muffled as it was carried on the wind to reach us in our blind. Larsson kept feeding me targets. It became a blur of aim, squeeze, eject, over and over again. But the enemy below was relentless. Trucks roared in, disgorging soldiers in waves. More crawled over the roof, poured through the doors. Aim, squeeze, eject, aim, squeeze, eject, over and over, even as my brothers ducked for cover, as they tried to find an exfil route that wasn’t already crawling with Taliban.
I should have brought more bullets.
The radio came to life, shouts and screams in the background as my sergeant snapped out orders. Larsson fielded it while I did what I could to clear a path for the men I’d fought with, eaten with, suffered beside in this wasteland. My world narrowed to what I could see through the scope and the men inside it. I finally snapped back when Larsson punched my shoulder.
“Sarge said we need to pack up before we’re compromised, Reardon. They’re already heading our way.”
I should have brought more bullets.
I looked and saw the truth of what he was saying. On autopilot now, my finger squeezed the trigger, taking out the soldier leading the group that was coming straight at us.
“What about them?” I asked. “We can’t leave them.”
The ground trembled under me. A wave of heat rolled over us—hotter than the sun. Then the sound hit.
Larsson’s eyes widened, horror on his face. I didn’t want to look, but I couldn’t stop myself.
The sight that greeted me when I turned had bile surging up my esophagus. Fire and smoke stood where the warehouse had been. The trucks that had ferried in the Taliban soldiers were flipped on their sides or completely upside down.
Bodies were strewn everywhere.
Movement had stilled completely.
I should have brought more bullets.
More bullets wouldn’t have helped.
