Samuel

“The sun was already coming up, Richards thought, casting a critical glance toward the eastern horizon as he strode toward the line of waiting vehicles, his Mk 14 EBR in one hand—adjusting the straps of his plate carrier as he moved. The brim of his Texas Longhorns ball cap keeping the glare out of his eyes.
This reminded him far too much of his time in Afghanistan—heading out from the FOB to track down Taliban insurgents. Working with the locals.
His gaze fell on the up-armored Egyptian Army HMMVs outside the gate—on the young corporal standing in the open roof turret, feeding a long, glistening brass belt of ammunition into the loading port of the mounted M60. Some things never changed.”
― Stephen England, Quicksand

“Got you,” he heard someone murmur, looking over to see one of his team members—Nate Carson, a former Air Force pararescue jumper or “PJ”, as they were known—aim his index finger at the frozen image on the laptop screen, pantomiming getting off a shot.
And so they had, or at least were as close to it as they had been in months, the big man thought as he laid down the yearbook, pushing his way past Carson as he made his way to the door of the tent. Their best intelligence on Hassan's location since their abortive raid in late March, having come through just the previous day. And now all they awaited was the all-clear from Washington. For the politicians to make up their mind, as ever.
The desert heat of the Sinai struck him full in the face as he stepped through the flap. Dry, choking heat—impressive even by the standards of east Texas, where he'd spent the majority of his childhood, before leaving home at the age of 18 to join the Corps.
Seemed like he'd been spending his life in the desert ever since, as the Marines—and now the Agency—sent him to one desolate waste after another.
North Camp was located some twenty kilometers south of the Mediterranean and not far from the border with Israel—a six hundred plus-acre compound that served as a forward operating base for the Multinational Force & Observers, the international peacekeeping force based in the Sinai ever since the Camp David Accords of '78.
And now, for their team—through some special dispensation obtained by the Agency's seventh floor. All of it so far above his pay grade as to be beyond his concern.”
― Stephen England, Quicksand

“The third man was reacting now, too late—his rifle coming up even as two more fighters came around the corner of the hallway.
And then he heard the rattle of Nick’s AK from behind him—saw the man go down, the acrid, heady smell of burning gunpowder filling his nostrils as the kill zone emptied of targets.”
― Stephen England, Lodestone

“An FN-FAL battle rifle was strapped to his leg with paracord, its weight reminding him of their purpose. The reason for this jump.
Forty minutes till landing. Another twenty, maybe twenty-five till they were on the target.
Might as well enjoy the ride”
― Stephen England, Lodestone