hoping a bunch of werewolves won’t find us to either kick the shit out of us, or rape us.”
“Jesus Christ!” Dawson stood rigidly, staring hard at Adam. His fists were clenched at his sides.
“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?” Jason demanded heatedly.
“Why the fuck didn’t you know?” Adam fired back. “I’m human. Granger tells us all that the pack has to burn off energy. We figure you all know what goes on.”
“What kind of trouble are you causing now, Rivers?” A deep voice called out. It was laced with humor.
Dawson turned quickly to face the scruffy-looking man walking slowly toward their small group. “I never cause it. I just get stuck fixing it.” He stood alert and tense. His eyes narrowed as he watched the man approach.
“Stop being such a Zen motherfucker and lose your temper once in awhile.” Despite the thick beard, the man’s wide smile was easy to see.
Dawson finally returned the man’s smile. “Martelli, you sorry son-of-a-bitch.” He held out his hand for the newcomer to shake. “Christ. You’ve gone native.”
“Hearts and minds, and all that shit,” Martelli replied. He glanced down at himself briefly. “They tell us we’re less adversarial if we blend in with the local populace.”
Dawson looked past Martelli, toward the other four men standing outside the office building. “That doesn’t make sense. The beard makes you look like a crazy mountain man searching for a wife to kidnap.”
“Shit. You’d come voluntarily,” Martelli responded. Growing serious, he gestured toward the men behind him. “While you were sitting on your ass, getting soft, working a pussy desk job, I was going through recon training.”
“No shit? Congratulations,” replied Dawson. “What kinda secret-squirrel shit brings you to Camp Fallujah?”
“Getting my ass shot at, trying to keep a pogue CIA agent alive.” Martelli tilted his head to indicate his companions. The breeze picked up the end of his khaki and olive-checked shemagh he wore wrapped around his Kevlar. Martelli’s companions each wore one as well.
Dawson lifted his head slightly. His nostrils flared. He must be scenting someone. “Sucks to be you,” he said with a smile. “Hey, I want you to meet Adam Madison. He’s a civilian contractor. He drives supply trucks for us. Adam, meet Sergeant Gene Martelli.”
Adam shook the sergeant’s hand. Dawson introduced Jason and Paul. Martelli gestured the other four men forward.
Martelli introduced Dawson first, then quickly indicated each of them in turn, correctly remembering their names. Next, he gestured toward each of the sand-caked, tired looking men, and provided their names.
“What are you guys doing loitering in front of the battalion’s command offices?” Dawson asked.
It was the CIA agent, Reyes, who answered. “Al Qaeda is getting itself a foothold in Fallujah. We’ve got intel to brief you all on that’ll help keep the convoys safe. I’m also hoping you guys can keep an eye out for certain activity.”
“Well, I’m the operations chief, so if you’ve got something solid, I’ll take it into account.”
“See you at the briefing, then.”
Reyes retreated to a patch of shade that was the shadow of the command office.
“You know your agent friend is a werefox, right?” Dawson asked Martelli, in a low voice.
Together, they began to walk slowly toward the Ares offices.
Martelli chuckled. “Yep. And he’s a sly, sneaky fucker. I don’t know why you wolf-shifters have such a problem with fox-shifters. They get the job done, just fine.”
“You said it. They’re sneaky fuckers.”
Martelli shook his head in humor.
“We’ll see you later on, after we have our own route briefing,” Dawson said, as Adam pulled open the door to the Ares headquarters.
“My briefing should last about an hour,” Adam replied.
“And we’re not done with that earlier conversation,” Dawson said pointedly. His eyes bore into Adam’s intently.
As far
“Jesus Christ!” Dawson stood rigidly, staring hard at Adam. His fists were clenched at his sides.
“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?” Jason demanded heatedly.
“Why the fuck didn’t you know?” Adam fired back. “I’m human. Granger tells us all that the pack has to burn off energy. We figure you all know what goes on.”
“What kind of trouble are you causing now, Rivers?” A deep voice called out. It was laced with humor.
Dawson turned quickly to face the scruffy-looking man walking slowly toward their small group. “I never cause it. I just get stuck fixing it.” He stood alert and tense. His eyes narrowed as he watched the man approach.
“Stop being such a Zen motherfucker and lose your temper once in awhile.” Despite the thick beard, the man’s wide smile was easy to see.
Dawson finally returned the man’s smile. “Martelli, you sorry son-of-a-bitch.” He held out his hand for the newcomer to shake. “Christ. You’ve gone native.”
“Hearts and minds, and all that shit,” Martelli replied. He glanced down at himself briefly. “They tell us we’re less adversarial if we blend in with the local populace.”
Dawson looked past Martelli, toward the other four men standing outside the office building. “That doesn’t make sense. The beard makes you look like a crazy mountain man searching for a wife to kidnap.”
“Shit. You’d come voluntarily,” Martelli responded. Growing serious, he gestured toward the men behind him. “While you were sitting on your ass, getting soft, working a pussy desk job, I was going through recon training.”
“No shit? Congratulations,” replied Dawson. “What kinda secret-squirrel shit brings you to Camp Fallujah?”
“Getting my ass shot at, trying to keep a pogue CIA agent alive.” Martelli tilted his head to indicate his companions. The breeze picked up the end of his khaki and olive-checked shemagh he wore wrapped around his Kevlar. Martelli’s companions each wore one as well.
Dawson lifted his head slightly. His nostrils flared. He must be scenting someone. “Sucks to be you,” he said with a smile. “Hey, I want you to meet Adam Madison. He’s a civilian contractor. He drives supply trucks for us. Adam, meet Sergeant Gene Martelli.”
Adam shook the sergeant’s hand. Dawson introduced Jason and Paul. Martelli gestured the other four men forward.
Martelli introduced Dawson first, then quickly indicated each of them in turn, correctly remembering their names. Next, he gestured toward each of the sand-caked, tired looking men, and provided their names.
“What are you guys doing loitering in front of the battalion’s command offices?” Dawson asked.
It was the CIA agent, Reyes, who answered. “Al Qaeda is getting itself a foothold in Fallujah. We’ve got intel to brief you all on that’ll help keep the convoys safe. I’m also hoping you guys can keep an eye out for certain activity.”
“Well, I’m the operations chief, so if you’ve got something solid, I’ll take it into account.”
“See you at the briefing, then.”
Reyes retreated to a patch of shade that was the shadow of the command office.
“You know your agent friend is a werefox, right?” Dawson asked Martelli, in a low voice.
Together, they began to walk slowly toward the Ares offices.
Martelli chuckled. “Yep. And he’s a sly, sneaky fucker. I don’t know why you wolf-shifters have such a problem with fox-shifters. They get the job done, just fine.”
“You said it. They’re sneaky fuckers.”
Martelli shook his head in humor.
“We’ll see you later on, after we have our own route briefing,” Dawson said, as Adam pulled open the door to the Ares headquarters.
“My briefing should last about an hour,” Adam replied.
“And we’re not done with that earlier conversation,” Dawson said pointedly. His eyes bore into Adam’s intently.
As far
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