Model Soldier by Cat Johnson Read Free Book Online

keep himself silent after the “wallowing” comment, true though it may be.
    Miller continued on, undeterred. “Second, I can tell you this about what you’re walking into in Afghanistan. The remaining Taliban factions survive only because of a thriving drug trade. If they were based anywhere else besides in the largest poppy-producing region in the world, they’d have little to no funding and be totally screwed. Yes, I’ll concede that is one point in their favor.
    “However, they are also in a region in constant strife. It’s occupied by foreign powers but ruled by a newly created government as well as, unofficially, by the local warlords and tribal elders. Having too many heads like that leads to confusion and chaos. Sometimes that climate will help the insurgents get a rare but small victory, but ultimately it leads to their defeat. Their own allies turn on them, when they’re not turning on each other. The Taliban is living in chaos and squalor in those mountains. And believe me, they don’t have anyone like our Matt Coleman.”
    The mention of Coleman aside, Hawk listened closely as Miller spoke. Now that he knew the man had been there, his words held more weight, though he said nothing that Hawk didn’t to some degree already know.
    “You and your men are good, Sergeant Hawkins. You held your own better and for far longer than I anticipated today. You will have the advantage in those mountains. Trust me.”
    Hawk managed a nod.
    “I’ve had about enough of chasing balls around a table. How about a beer?” Miller offered.
    Now that was one thing Hawk could totally agree with Miller on.
    “Yes, sir. I’d love one.” But once Hawk was leaning against the bar, strategically placed there by Miller, he realized Miller’s sudden craving for beer had nothing to do with thirst and everything to do with throwing him in the path of Zeta’s “normal” guys just to prove his point.
    Miller introduced him to a dude named John Blake—no rank or service branch specified, Hawk guessed these guys were above that—and then he disappeared.
    Noticing the Blake guy grinning when Miller had mentioned Hawk’s branch and rank during the introduction, he decided he’d had about enough for today without this guy and his attitude, too.
    “An Army staff sergeant,” Blake repeated with a laugh.
    “Yeah. What about it?” Hawk straightened his spine, his knuckles whitening around his beer.
    Blake shook his head. “It’s just that a few months ago I was you. I was Army Staff Sergeant John Blake. I was a tank commander in Ramadi. We were eyeball deep in snipers at camp to the point we couldn’t even go to chow without body armor. A few weeks before I left, I had to watch one of my men get hit with a vehicle-born IED right in front of my eyes while he was dismounted. He was out of that tank following my orders. Good thing he’s got a hard head and lived.”
    Blake shook his head again and took a sip of his beer. “And now look where I am and what I’m doing. I’ve got more shit implanted in my body than I ever knew existed and I’m running around in the Alps playing what’s probably the most expensive game of paint ball on earth. What a difference a bit of time can make.”
    Hawk frowned at him. “You’re trying to tell me that a few months ago you were just an normal Joe out there in the sandbox.”
    Blake nodded. “Yup. It was my third, and I guess my final tour.”
    “So what happened? How did they get you?”
    Blake laughed. “You make it sound like they took me hostage and brainwashed me or something.”
    Exactly . At first glance, all the Zeta guys had a bit of that Stepford Wife quality to them. Too perfect, too coordinated, too in tune with each other, as if they were humans replaced by robots, just like in that movie.
    “I find it hard to believe that they pluck totally average guys out of the theater and turn them into you super soldiers.”
    Blake shrugged. “I can’t speak for all the rest of