Targeted with a Colton
Autore
Beth Cornelison
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Prologue
First Sergeant Wade Colton stood behind the young Marine private, watching as the other man worked through the steps of setting a charge, learning the proper techniques for using munitions. The sun beat down on the back of Wade’s neck, and he used his hand to wipe sweat from his brow. Private Sanders was perspiring, too, Wade noticed. Beads of moisture were popping up on the younger soldier’s top lip. The private’s hands were shaking as he moved through his training.
“Private Sanders, a word?” Wade said, motioning for the private to come closer to speak to him.
Private Sanders approached, then stood stiffly before Wade, his chin raised. “Sir?”
“Is there a problem, Private? You seem rather nervous.”
“No problem, sir. I can do it.”
“Because before you’re allowed to work with live munitions, you’ll have to get your jitters under control. Shaky hands and volatile explosives are not a good combination.” Wade added a half smile, hoping to ease the private’s tension with a degree of humor. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
The other trainees who were gathered in a circle around Wade and Sanders chuckled.
Private Sanders twitched a grin. “I agree, sir.”
“Okay then. Take a breath, still your hands and try again,” Wade said, hearing a truck engine and the squeak of brakes behind him. He turned to see who was arriving and snapped to attention as his superior officer climbed out of the front seat. “Sergeant Major Briggs,” Wade said, saluting.
Briggs strode forward, returning a salute. “How is the training going, Colton?”
“Very well, sir.”
“Good,” Briggs replied, “because I received word this morning that Colonel Meyers will be visiting the base today and wants to observe your training after lunch.”
Now it was Wade’s turn to feel a spurt of jitters. Though he knew his team was ready, having any officer observing always put his men on edge. Which gave Wade qualms. Nodding his understanding, he said, “We’ll be ready, sir.”
Briggs asked a few more housekeeping questions before returning to the truck where his driver waited. “Look for the colonel around fourteen hundred.”
Behind him he could hear the murmur of his men. A few guffaws. Whispers.
Wade had only turned a half circle back toward his men when he was hit by a blast of heat and energy that knocked him backward. Searing pain blazed over his right side, his face. His ears rang. His men yelling. Fire. Smoke. Burning flesh.
His vision dimmed.
The materials were supposed to be inert, he thought numbly. Then darkness swallowed him.
