Chapter 74

LEAVENWORTH, KANSAS

The Dwight D. Eisenhower VA Medical Center smells of bleach and sickness. Michael looks around the dreary waiting room. Poppy McGee asked them to wait here while she checks on her father so she can assess if she’ll allow visitors. Michael has a memory of Poppy as a little girl with her red pigtails, a feisty kid even then. Her father had kept his distance from Michael in Leavenworth, for the safety of his family. Michael understood.

Ryan and Sophia sit on the uncomfortable chairs, staring ahead at nothing.

Poppy finally appears. “He’s still on the vent. The nurse said he might be able to hear you, but don’t count on it.”

The hospital room is a tangle of tubes and equipment with indicator lights flashing in the dim light. Mac lies there like he’s sleeping. He’s aged. A lot. Michael supposes they all have.

He takes his old friend’s hand, careful not to pull out the tubes.

“You’re really embracing the suck on this one,” he says.

Mac’s favorite expression during their tours was “embrace the suck” for the countless hours they spent doing shitty tasks in that desert.

Mac shows no reaction.

“You’ve got quite the daughter there,” Michael says.

Again, no reaction. “I need your advice, soldier,” he says, trying to hold back his emotion. “I need to protect my daughter. But I want to make these bastards pay: They took out Ken.”

The machines in the room beep a little faster. Maybe his old friend can hear him. “I’ve got a few options, as I see it.”

Michael continues, sharing his decision points with his old friend.

It’s when he tells Mac the last item—the one Michael knows is the only hope of giving Sophia her life back—that he feels it.

The squeeze of his hand.