AWOL

Chapter 11.5

Wolf hated Afghanistan. He hated how dry the air was—how every time he opened his mouth, it felt like his saliva was evaporating and sand was filling his mouth. He hated the oppressive heat and the way that his skin and clothes were always damp with his own sweat. What he would give to be back in cold, rainy Brecon Beacons, and finally, he was going back.

"Wolf," from his right, Eagle gave him a mock-concerned look, "You do realize that you look like you're about to murder someone, right?"

"He always looks like that," Snake grinned from across them.

"I'm just happy to be going back," Wolf crossed his arms defensively. "I can't wait to feel cold again."

"Are you sure it's not because you can't wait to shout at the new recruits?" Armadillo chimed in from Snake's side. Out of K-Unit, he was the newest, having joined two years ago. Perhaps a few years ago, Wolf would have sneered at the soldier, claiming his inexperience was a liability, but he had learned since then. A certain, young boy had changed his perspective, and Wolf still thought about him now and then. Where did he go? Did he leave the world of soldiers and spies for good? Wolf certainly hoped so. It wasn't a world for children to play in.

He couldn't smother the smile Armadillo's words brought to his face. The Sergeant had promised that K-Unit would oversee the next round of Selection. He was looking forward to it, and he couldn't hold the cheerfulness out of his voice as he replied, "Maybe."

"We're landing in a few minutes," the pilot called back to them over the roaring engine. Wolf grinned.

"We can't kill them," Snake gently chided, as if talking to a child. The other two soldiers burst into giggles, as if that statement was the funniest thing they had ever heard. Wolf scowled at him. "We still want some SAS soldiers, after all."

By the time that Wolf admitted (to himself), that Snake was most likely right, they had landed, and Wolf was dutifully marching, with K-Unit on his tail, to the Sergeant's office. Even though they had completed their paperwork, the Sergeant wanted to see them. It was because he cared, though it didn't seem like it most of the time.

"Wolf..." Snake had caught up to him, his voice soft as he put a hand on Wolf's shoulder. His eyes, however, were fixed in a different direction: on the porch of one of the huts. Wolf followed his gaze, confused.

At first, it was like staring back in time, to a moment where he was younger. Blond hair and a familiar, lithe frame, though it had grown more muscular, and the man had grown older. The man's face held the same, careless smirk that Wolf distinctly remembered. But, that was a different person in a different time. It couldn't possibly be the same teenager that had kicked him out of a plane, or the teenager that he'd assisted in France. It couldn't be Cub.

Cub looked up, as if he could sense the two pairs of eyes on him. But no—it couldn't possibly be the naive boy Wolf was thinking of. His eyes were haunted—scarred by a past that Wolf couldn't understand—yet they pierced Wolf with an intensity that made him shudder.

Don't you dare, they seemed to say.

"It's not him," Wolf said to Snake, firm as he tore his gaze away from Cub's. Snake shot him an alarmed look, and Wolf realized that he'd practically spat the words out. He shook his head, repeating, "It's not him."

He was glad, that for once in his life, Snake didn't question him again.