Page 17 of Duty Devoted
Which made my job that much harder.
Just before dawn,the world was painted in shades of gray and silver. I sat on the flat roof of the schoolhouse, rifle across my lap, watching the jungle wake up. Birds called to each other in the canopy, and somewhere in the distance, howler monkeys started their morning chorus.
This was my favorite time—when the world was quiet enough that my brain could settle. No crowds, no unexpected noises, no social situations to navigate. Just me and the gradually lightening sky.
The ladder creaked, and Ty’s head appeared through the access hatch. “You’re up early.”
“You’re late. Shift change was five minutes ago.”
“Sue me.” He hauled himself onto the roof, carrying two cups of coffee. “Thought you might want caffeine before I exile you to attempt sleep.”
I accepted the cup gratefully. The coffee was bitter and strong, exactly what I needed.
“Anything interesting on the night watch?” Ty settled beside me, scanning the tree line with practiced eyes.
“Negative. Few vehicles on the main road around 0200, but they didn’t stop. Probably farmers heading to the early market.”
“Good. Quiet is good.” He paused, then added carefully, “You could grab a few more hours of sleep. I’ve got this.”
“I’m good here.”
“When’s the last time you got more than four hours?”
I shrugged. Sleep meant dreams, and dreams meant Carter’s blood on my hands, the weight of his body as life drained out of him. Better to stay awake, stay useful.
Ty was quiet for a moment, then said, “You know, I noticed something during that call with the Valentinos the other day.”
Every muscle in my body tensed.
“The way you reacted when the dad was getting agitated. Classic trigger response.”
“I’m fine.”
“I’m not saying you’re not.” His voice stayed easy, conversational. “I’m saying I get it. We’ve all got our things.”
“My things don’t affect mission performance.”
“Jesus, Logan. I’m not filing a performance review. I’m just…talking. Like humans do sometimes.”
I took a long sip of coffee, buying time. “What do you want me to say?”
“Nothing. I’m just saying I noticed, and if you ever want to talk about it…” He shrugged. “Or not. But you don’t have to white-knuckle it alone.”
“Appreciate the concern, but I’m good.”
“Yeah, because taking every overseas assignment for the past year screamsmentally healthy.”
That hit closer to home than I liked. Had I been unconsciously avoiding stateside work? The missions blurred together—Colombia, Somalia, Ukraine, now here. Always moving, always working, always in situations where PTSD was an asset instead of a liability.
“Crowds, confined spaces with civilians trigger me. Put me in a firefight, and I’m solid. Put me in a shopping mall…” I shrugged.
“Backward PTSD. Combat is safe, peace is dangerous.”
“Something like that.”
Ty nodded slowly. “My thing is kids crying. Specifically, babies. Takes me right back to Mosul, this apartment complex that got hit. We were doing search and rescue, and this baby just wouldn’t stop crying. Found out later it was because its motherwas…” He stopped, took a breath. “Anyway. Can’t handle crying babies now. Makes date night at the movies real interesting.”
We sat in comfortable silence after that, watching the sun creep higher. I appreciated that he’d shared without expecting me to reciprocate with details. The outline was enough. We both carried ghosts.
