New Beginnings, page 1
New
Beginnings
by
Graysen Morgen
New Beginnings © 2022 Graysen Morgen
Triplicity Publishing, LLC
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form without permission.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events of any kind, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Printed in the United States of America
First Edition – 2022
Cover Design: Triplicity Publishing, LLC
Interior Design: Triplicity Publishing, LLC
Editor: Megan Brady - Triplicity Publishing, LLC
Also by Graysen Morgen
Crossed Reins
Real Love
Playing the Game
Mission Compromised
Boone Creek (Law & Order Series: book 1)
Castor Valley (Law & Order Series: book 2)
Never Let Go (Never Series: book 1)
Never Quit (Never Series: book 2)
Meant to Be
Coming Home
Bridesmaid of Honor (Bridal Series: book 1)
Brides (Bridal Series: book 2)
Mommies (Bridal Series: book 3)
Crashing Waves
Cypress Lake
Falling Snow
Fast Pitch
Fate vs. Destiny
In Love, at War
Just Me
Love, Loss, Revenge
Natural Instinct
Secluded Heart
Submerged
Special thanks to my editor, Megan Brady.
Muchas gracias!
For my son.
B'fhéidir go bhfeicfimid go léir an domhan trí do shúile.
Prologue
BANG! POP! BANG…BANG!
“Damn it!” a strong female voice yelled. She took a few deep breaths, trying to calm her racing heart. “I hate the 4th of July,” she grumbled. “I hate being home on the 4th of July,” she added, pulling the pillow over her head as another round of fireworks popped. “I hate being home,” she sighed, tossing the bedding away. She swung her feet to the side, placing them on the soft carpet, then she stood up and walked out of the room.
The full bathroom at the end of the hall seemed smaller than it had when she was a kid. Looking at the tattoos littering her muscled arms in the mirror, she realized it was probably because she was a lot bigger than she had been at ten years old. She ran her hand through her short blonde hair. It was a tad longer on top than the closely cropped, faux hawk style she usually wore it in. “I need a trim,” she mumbled to the grass-colored eyes staring back at her. She splashed cold water onto her face, and dried it on the nearby towel, before walking back to the room.
She glanced around as she replaced her pajama shorts with a pair of well-worn jeans. Pictures and awards from Village High School Rugby Team and Moore County Rugby Club adorned one wall. An Army: Be All You Can Be poster was on another. Looking over at the full-size bed with a blue camouflage patterned comforter, she shoved her hands into her front pockets and walked back out of the room.
“I knew those fireworks would wake you,” Patty Malloy stated, hearing footsteps coming down the stairs. “John and Barbara have their grandkids all week,” she added, glancing up from the magazine she was reading in time to see her daughter enter the room, looking slightly disheveled. “I should’ve warned you when you said you were coming here for the weekend.”
“It’s fine.” They did a lot more than wake me.
“Do you want me to make you something?” Patty asked.
“No. I need to get back to my apartment,” her daughter replied, returning with a glass of water. She’d driven up to spend some time with her mother before deploying again soon.
Patty stared at her only child, trying to read what was on her mind. Then again, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. Tristan Cecile Malloy was so much like her father. They both had the same demeanor and good looks that turned heads. Except, Tristan had been blessed with her mother’s blonde hair, instead of her father’s brown locks. Having grown up as a rugby player, Tristan also had her father’s strong build. Even at thirty-one years old, she was ripped like a twenty-year-old competitive CrossFit athlete. But her hours in the gym were no longer for sport. Instead, she’d kept herself in top form for the last thirteen years because of the Army and the grueling duties that came with being in Special Forces.
No, Patty definitely didn’t want to know what her daughter was thinking about. She couldn’t imagine what it was like to deploy for weeks or months at a time to the middle of a war zone, then come home for a couple of weeks…only to go right back again. Her daughter didn’t talk about what she did or the things she saw…and Patty never asked.
Tristan’s life had fallen apart when her father had passed away at the beginning of her senior year of high school. She was captain of the school rugby team, a rugby club champion, and on track to be the valedictorian for her class. Donald Malloy was killed in a car accident when a pile up happened on the interstate. He was Tristan’s world and vice versa. Her grades slipped and she was nearly kicked off the rugby team. Her mother and her coach encouraged her to keep playing because her father would’ve wanted her to, but when the college letters came in, she tossed them in the trash. Patty was shocked when Tristan came home one afternoon, two weeks before graduation, and stated she’d joined the Army. She thought it was a phase that Tristan would grow out of when her four years were up, but here she was thirteen years later. Not only was she still in the Army, but she had thrown her heart and soul into it, just like she’d done with rugby, and had become a well-respected commissioned officer in her battalion. She worked hard physically and mentally and demanded the same from the team of soldiers she led.
*
Tristan checked her phone when she sat down on the couch. There was one missed call with a voicemail. She recognized the number as being from the base, so she listened to the message.
Captain Tristan Malloy, your deployment has been changed. Please contact your Company Liaison for details and further instruction.
“Shit,” she mumbled, hanging up and dialing a phone number. The liaison line rang twice before a voicemail message picked up.
“Charlie Company, SFODD421B. You are moving out at nineteen hundred. Report to your commanding officer or team leader by fifteen hundred.”
Tristan ended the call and checked the black, military grade watch on her left wrist. It was already eleven hundred.
“Everything okay?” Patty asked.
“Yeah. Our deployment got moved up. I need to get over to the base.”
“You’re leaving earlier? I thought you had another week or two.”
“Things changed, I guess. We’re leaving tonight.”
Patty sighed. She hated the Army. “Well, let me rearrange my schedule.”
“You don’t have to see me off every time I leave,” Tristan said, smiling at her mother. She was beautiful, and the epitome of sophistication with long, slightly graying, blonde strands that bounced along her shoulders, high cheek bones, and a pronounced nose. Patty never went outside unkempt, and certainly never left her house without being properly dressed. She reminded Tristan of a Diane Keaton and Jane Fonda, meshed together.
“You’re my only child. I’ll do as I please. Besides, I’m driving over anyway to meet Gretchen and help her with Caleb’s wedding reception. The table assignments are a downright mess.”
“Alright. I’ll head over to my apartment now and pack my deployment bag. Want to meet at Louie’s in two hours?” It sounded like a dump and looked it on the outside, but inside, Louie’s was one of the finest dining restaurants in Fayetteville, North Carolina, and close to the base and Tristan’s apartment.
“That’s fine. Get a table for three if you get there before I do. Gretchen has been in a tizzy over this wedding. She’ll probably need a drink when we’re finished.”
Tristan laughed. Her mother was hardest on the people she was closest too, and her sister Gretchen was no exception.
Chapter 1
Tristan faced the mirror, dressed in her Army Combat Uniform. The mixture of muted green, light beige, and dark brown camouflage made her eyes look darker than their natural grass color. Out of habit, she pressed down on all the embroidered patches called tabs, which clung to her uniform with military grade Velcro. Her rank insignia tab, consisting of two wide parallel bars, was in the center of her chest. Malloy, her last name, and Army, for her branch of service, were both on her upper chest. Her left shoulder sleeve insignia was for her unit; a shield-shaped flash with red stitching, and two curved tabs were above it; one with: Special Forces and the other with: Ranger. A subdued American flag was on her right shoulder sleeve insignia. Both her rank and American flag tabs also had infrared in them, allowing her to be identified as friendly in case of an attack at night.
“Here we go,” she said to the eyes staring back at her as she closed her jacket and slipped the green beret on her head. The distinct black and red insignia patch of her unit was front and center on the beret and her rank was pinned in the middle of it.
*
The prop noise of the C27 Spartan plane buzzed in Tristan’s ears over the AirPods that played music from the playlist on her phone. After a brief
Sergeant First Class Oliver Nigel was the communications expert, and navigator when needed. His Hispanic heritage gave him naturally tan skin and dark hair that he wore in a traditional ‘high and tight’ military cut. He was the one who tried too hard but was also the prankster.
Next to him was Sergeant Dana Perry, the team medic, and only other female. She had slightly longer than shoulder-length strawberry blonde hair that she kept in a tight bun at the back of her head. She wasn’t solid muscle like Tristan, but she was strong for her petite size. She gave the boys hell if they needed it and took no shit from them either.
One of two weapons specialists, Staff Sergeant Steven Hoffman, was on the other side of her. He was the team’s demolitions expert. His deep brown hair was also high and tight. He was the high-strung personality in the group, always challenging the others to compete with him at something, but Nigel was the one who usually volunteered.
Next to him was Sergeant Anthony Tucker, the engineer. He was extremely smart and could build anything using next to nothing. He had milk chocolate colored skin and black hair that was buzzed as short as you get it without being bald. He was often the one to get between Nigel and Hoffman when one of their competitions got out of hand, so they called him the peacekeeper.
The last man on their team, Chief Warrant Officer 2 Michael Fowler, was sitting right beside Tristan. He was a sharpshooter with a rifle, and her second in command. He had mousy brown hair that was short on the sides with it long enough on top to run his fingers through, and he had the pale skin of a Wisconsin native. He was quiet and reserved, choosing to sit back and watch what went on around him.
Noticing Tristan looking around at everyone, Fowler plucked the right earbud free and leaned closer. “Is there a reason we deployed six hours early?” he asked, slightly yelling so she could hear him over the engines.
Tristan glanced sideways at him and nodded. “It’s the Army. They do whatever they feel like doing,” was all she said before taking her AirPod and shoving it back in place. She knew a little more than that, but now wasn’t the time and place to brief her team. They’d been part of an anti-terrorist operation in South America for a little over a year to stop a drug trafficker and arms dealer who was funding terrorist organizations and supplying them with weapons. The US Army was quietly working out of a joint military base in Colombia. All their missions were planned, executed, and commanded from that base. It didn’t compare to being in Baghdad, which was where she was stationed prior, but it was a war zone all the same.
Domingo Torres had been running his drug cartel for the better part of two decades, starting small and building his organization through the continent and into North America. When the South and North American governments came together to try and eliminate him once and for all, a plan was set in motion. The US Army began running covert operations, gathering intel, and cutting off supplies to the cartel a little at a time under the cover of joint military training exercises.
Army 4th Special Forces Group, 2nd Battalion, Charlie Company was stationed in North Carolina and generally deployed all over on special forces operations that would last anywhere from a few weeks to six months, then they’d go back home and wait to go out again. Tristan led the Special Forces Operational Detachment Delta: Bravo Team, and in the fourteen months they’d been part of the operation, they’d been on countless missions around South America, all commanded from the joint base in Colombia. She was never sure where they were headed until they touched down and she was briefed on the mission.
*
When the plane began losing altitude, Tristan opened her eyes, pulled the AirPods from her ears, and tucked them in her rucksack. The rest of the team followed suit, stowing their personal belongings as they moved closer and closer to the ground.
Once the plane touched down and taxied to the destination, they unbuckled their belts and waited to disembark behind the cargo after the rear door was lowered. A man dressed in the same type of combat uniform was waiting for them. Instead of a beret, he wore the more traditional patrol cap. The cluster leaf of his officer rank was embroidered in the center of the front of the cap and his last name was embroidered in black across the back. Tristan brought her team to attention, and everyone saluted him.
“Welcome back to Colombia,” Major Roland Irving said, returning their salute. He was their commanding officer while in Colombia and second in charge altogether, while Lieutenant Colonel Kurt Powers commanded the entire operation. “Lt. Col. Powers is waiting for us in the command center. Leave your bags outside. Your team can head over to the barracks when you’re finished,” he added before turning and walking away.
Tristan fell instep slightly behind him on the left, with her team following in a line behind them as they walked across the flight line and entered the building near the three hangars. The command center covered the entire second floor. This was where the colonel’s office was located, as well as the ready room where all the missions were planned, and the comms room where the missions were commanded. Tristan took the stairs two at a time. They’d been deployed to the same base for special ops missions so many times in the last fourteen months, she knew her way around like the back of her hand.
“Bravo Team, welcome back,” Lt. Col. Powers stated as he walked out of his office. “Everyone’s in the ready room.”
Tristan walked inside with her team and filled up the only available seats in the small room. Lt. Col. Powers stepped in behind them and took his place at the front of the room. While he shuffled papers and spoke briefly to Maj. Irving, Tristan looked around. Most everyone in the room was a familiar face, except for three people in the back. Before she could get a good look, the colonel began speaking.
“Good afternoon, everyone. Let me start by welcoming the newest airborne members of our operation: Chief Warrant Officer 3 Courtney Hewitt, Chief Warrant Officer 2 John Maguire, and Sergeant Howie Smith. They are the air crew of an MH-60 Black Hawk, and better known as the Outlaws. They’ll be the mission transportation for Third Squad, Bravo Team,” Lt. Col. Powers said, looking at Tristan, before readdressing the room.
“Alright. Let’s bring everyone up to speed on the latest operation. First Squad - Alpha Team, you’ll be meeting with an informant near El Tambo. It’s about an hour and a half from here through the mountains. You depart at 0700. Third Squad - Bravo Team, you’ll be wheels up with the Outlaws at 0730. You’re heading to Mataje on a recon mission. It’s on the boarder of Colombia and Venezuela. Second Squad - Charlie Team, you’re sitting this one out. Any questions?”
“Alpha Team, at the ready, Sir,” their team leader, Captain Judd Dewey, said with a cocky grin towards Tristan.
“Bravo Team, at the ready, Sir,” Tristan replied without looking over at him. The two teams had been back and forth on missions since the operation began and had also worked together in Iraq. Judd Dewey and Tristan Malloy were about as friendly as a cat and a dog, but if one needed the other, their job was to be there because that’s what soldiers did, especially the green berets.
“Outlaws are ready to kick the tires and light the fires, sir,” Chief Hewitt stated.
“Hooah!” he said, using the Army’s battle cry, before leaving the room.
As soon as the colonel was gone, Maj. Irving stepped to the front. “You heard the colonel. Everyone, rendezvous with your commander for squad specific instructions. We’ll gear up and meet in the hangar at 0630 for the sendoff. Dismissed.”
“Well, they wasted no time,” Fowler said, standing with Tristan. “I don’t see why we had to get here six hours earlier than scheduled though.”
She shrugged and mumbled, “I’d rather be here, anyway.”
“Excuse me, Captain Malloy?” a female voice stated.
