Her Last Line of Defense
"No, no! Hell, no! Not just hell no, fu—"
"At ease, Sergeant!" It wasn't a suggestion.
Luc Boudreaux clamped his mouth shut and wondered who in the hell he had pissed off badly enough to lead him to this. He thought he'd made it through his Afghan tour of duty without stepping on his crank. He'd stayed away from the local girls, avoided shooting anyone who didn't deserve it and brought some decent health care to several tribes whose only technology was Soviet-era weaponry.
He took a deep breath. "Sir, may I ask why I am being selected for this task?"
Captain Olson, his commanding officer snorted. "Can the 'sir' shit—you haven't called me 'sir' in years. Now pull the stick out of your ass and sit down."
Luc dropped into the beat-up office chair and stared at his boss across the equally beat-up desk. Special Forces spent their budget on gear, not furniture. "Okay, Olie, what the hell?" He spread his hands wide in frustration.
Magnus Olson, or "Olie" as he was known to his men and half of Afghanistan, stroked the long blond beard that made him look like a recruiting poster for Viking pillagers. Luc ... read full excerpt from: Her Last Line of Defense ebook
