Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

JOE

L ogar Province, Afghanistan

Ten Years Ago

Captain Joe Crawley crouched low behind a snow-covered boulder, the harsh wind biting through his fatigues. The moon cast a cold, silver light over the frozen landscape, making the snow glisten like shards of broken glass. His breath came in shallow gasps, the pain from his wounded leg a constant, throbbing reminder of the ambush. Sweat mingled with dirt and blood on his face, freezing almost instantly in the frigid air. He was alone now, the snow-covered forest eerily silent except for the distant howl of the wind.

The mission had been straightforward on paper: infiltrate an enemy outpost, gather intel, and extract before dawn. But everything had gone disastrously wrong. Their insertion had been compromised, and the enemy had been waiting. Joe shook his head, trying to banish the sound of the initial burst of gunfire, the shouts, and the chaos that followed.

He replayed the ambush in his mind, the confusion and the panic. His squad had fought valiantly, but the enemy had superior numbers and the element of surprise. One by one, Joe had seen his brothers fall, their lives snuffed out in flashes of muzzle fire and the dull thud of grenades. The weight of their losses bore down on him, a crushing guilt that threatened to overwhelm his resolve.

Joe had managed to drag himself to safety, his training and instincts the only things keeping him alive. He had applied a hasty bandage to his leg, the bullet wound bleeding profusely, but he knew he couldn't stay hidden forever. The enemy was still out there, searching for survivors, and he had to move.

Gritting his teeth, Joe forced himself to his feet, leaning heavily on a makeshift crutch he had fashioned from a broken branch. Every step was agony, but he pushed through the pain, driven by a fierce determination to survive. He had to make it back to base to report what had happened and honor the memory of his fallen comrades.

Navigating through the thick snow was a test of endurance and willpower. The darkness was disorienting, the terrain unforgiving. Joe stumbled over roots and rocks hidden beneath the snow, his senses on high alert for any sign of the enemy. He relied on his training, using his enhanced sabretooth tiger senses and the stars to guide his way, moving with as much stealth as his injured leg would allow.

Hours passed in a blur of pain and exhaustion. He made his way from one concealed position to another. Joe's thoughts were a jumbled mix of memories and survival tactics. He remembered the faces of his squad, their camaraderie, and the bond they had shared. He had to make it back, not just for himself, but for them. Their sacrifices couldn't be in vain.

As dawn began to break, casting a soft light over the snowy forest, Joe finally reached the extraction point. He collapsed on the ground, his strength nearly spent. Through the haze of pain and fatigue, he saw the approaching silhouette of a helicopter, its rotors chopping the air with a rhythmic thud. Rescue had arrived.

Soldiers poured out, securing the area and rushing to his side. Joe's vision blurred, but he felt the firm grip of a medic, heard the urgent voices assessing his injuries. He had made it. He was the only survivor, but he had made it.

As the helicopter lifted off, carrying him away from the nightmare, Joe vowed to remember his fallen brothers. Their bravery, their sacrifice. He would carry their memories with him for the rest of his life, a testament to their courage and the bond they had shared.

Kabul, Afghanistan

Several Months Later

Joe stood at rigid attention in the stark, formal setting of the courtroom, his hands clenched behind his back. The panel of officers seated before him, their expressions a mix of sternness and formality, seemed to loom over the room. The flag behind them, with its stars and stripes, only served to deepen the sense of gravity that permeated the air.

Joe's mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, struggling to process how he had ended up here. He had dedicated his life to the Army, to the Rangers, and to his country, and now he stood accused of actions that could end his career in disgrace. They had accused him of cowardice and of leaving his men to die. They hadn't phrased it that way, but that was because his JAG had believed him innocent of all charges and had finally struck a deal. Joe's uniform, once a symbol of pride and honor, now felt like a shackle.

The JAG prosecutor, a sharp-eyed major, stepped forward, her voice cutting through the tense silence. "Captain Crawley, you have been found guilty of conduct unbecoming an officer and dereliction of duty. The evidence presented has shown a clear violation of military regulations and a breach of the trust placed in you by your fellow soldiers and your superiors."

Joe's heart twisted as he listened, the weight of her words pressing down on him. He glanced briefly at the JAG that was conducting his defense, who sat with a resigned expression, unable to sway the panel with any argument. The truth was undeniable, and Joe knew it.

The prosecution had believed, at best, that he had had a momentary lapse in judgment and had made a critical error and led his men to their deaths. But Joe knew the truth; he'd been made a scapegoat. All of the intelligence reports indicating the faulty intelligence, including reports that indicated fewer numbers of the enemy and breaches in security, had disappeared. The official decision had been made that Joe had been under stress and fatigue and was responsible for the decimation of his team.

The lead judge, a colonel with a grave demeanor, looked directly at Joe. "Captain Crawley, do you have any final words before sentencing is passed?"

Joe swallowed hard, his throat dry. His attorney tensed beside him. There was so much Joe wanted to say, but that was not the deal that had been struck. Besides, anything he might say at this moment would be inadequate. The bottom line was his men were dead—all of them.

"I take full responsibility for my actions," he began, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside.

His attorney had informed him that he had to take responsibility, never mention the faulty intel, and agree to not contest the findings of the court. In exchange, the military would not give him a dishonorable discharge. Joe had wanted to fight, to clear his name. His attorney had pointed out the harsh realities if he did so and lost: no veteran's benefits, no right to vote, no ability to hold a governmental job in most places, no ability to get any kind of security clearance, no right to own a firearm and a whole lot of others.

The words as he said them were bitter in his mouth.

"I never intended for things to go this way. I deeply regret the impact my decisions have had on my unit, the Rangers, and the Army. I only ask that you consider my service record and the sacrifices I have made in the line of duty."

There was a brief, heavy silence as the panel deliberated. Finally, the colonel spoke again. "Captain Joe Crawley, it is the decision of this court-martial that you are to receive an other-than-honorable discharge from the United States Army. This ruling is effective immediately."

The finality of the words hit Joe like a physical blow. An other-than-honorable discharge. His career, his reputation, everything he had worked for—gone in an instant. He felt a mix of shame and sorrow, knowing that this would be the legacy he left behind.

As the courtroom began to empty, Joe stood alone, staring at the floor. He felt the eyes of the other officers on him, some filled with pity, others with disdain. His defense attorney placed a hand on his shoulder, offering a few words of consolation, but Joe barely heard them. His mind was already drifting to the future, to the uncertain path that lay ahead.

With a final glance at the panel, Joe turned and walked out of the courtroom, the echo of his boots on the floor a solemn reminder of the end of one chapter of his life. The cold air outside hit him like a slap in the face, and he took a deep breath, steeling himself for whatever came next. He was no longer Captain Joe Crawley of the United States Army; he was simply Joe, a man starting over, haunted by the ghosts of his past decisions.

Denali, Alaska

Present Day

Joe stood at the edge of a steep cliff on Denali, the highest peak in North America. The vast expanse of snow and ice stretched out below him, a dizzying drop that made his heart race. The wind howled around him, carrying with it the bite of freezing temperatures. Joe tightened his grip on the rope, feeling the cold steel of his carabiner and the reassuring tension of the rope that would guide him down.

He glanced over his shoulder at the panorama of Alaska's rugged wilderness, the peaks of the Alaska Range jutting into the clear blue sky. It was a breathtaking view, one that few had the privilege to see. The sun, low on the horizon, cast long shadows across the snow, adding to the surreal beauty of the moment.

"Ready?" his climbing partner, Rick, called out, his voice muffled by the layers of gear and the roar of the wind.

Joe nodded, though he knew Rick couldn't see him. "Ready!" he shouted back, his voice barely carrying over the wind's roar.

Taking a deep breath, Joe leaned back into the harness, trusting his weight to the rope. His crampons dug into the ice as he began his descent, each step measured and deliberate. The initial jolt of fear subsided, replaced by a steady focus on the task at hand. The ice-covered rock face demanded respect and precision. It didn't matter how many times he climbed Denali, each ascent and descent was different and required his full attention.

With each step down, Joe's confidence grew. He kept his movements smooth and controlled, his eyes scanning for the next foothold. The rope, his lifeline, slid through his gloved hands with a satisfying rhythm. He could feel the cold seeping through his gear, but the adrenaline coursing through his veins kept him warm.

Halfway down, Joe paused on a small ledge to adjust his line and catch his breath. He looked around, taking in the pristine beauty of Denali's slopes. The silence was profound, broken only by the occasional crack of ice and the whisper of the wind. He felt a deep connection to the mountain, a sense of awe and respect for its majestic presence.

Signaling to Rick, Joe resumed his descent. The final stretch was challenging, with more treacherous ice and increased wind. He focused on his breathing, each puff out a plume of frost in the cold air. The ground below came into view, a stark contrast of white snow and dark rock.

Finally, Joe's boots touched solid ground. He exhaled a sigh of relief, the tension in his body easing as he secured himself. Looking up, he watched as Rick made the final stretch of the descent, his movements fluid and practiced. They exchanged a silent nod, a mutual acknowledgment of their shared accomplishment.

As they prepared for the next leg of their journey, a return to Anchorage, Joe took a moment to appreciate the serenity of the mountains. They would spend the night in Anchorage and return to Kodiak in the morning. The endless sky above, the sprawling landscape below, and the feeling of having conquered yet another challenge. This was where he belonged, in the wild, untamed heart of nature, with nothing but his skill and determination to guide him through.

High above, a bald eagle made a high-pitched, whistling call as if sounding an alarm. Joe wondered what the eagle knew that he didn't. Only time would tell.