Twenty
The crunch of tires on gravel sent Carey’s heartbeat into overdrive.
He shot to his feet as the dusty, filthy van lurched to a stop, the door sliding open to disgorge its equally filthy passengers.
Carey’s fingers dug into the porch railing as the men trudged to the back to retrieve their rucks. Then Byrney produced a lockbox and distributed their phones.
“See you all tomorrow morning at 0900 for one last debrief, fellas,” Byrney said. “Take liberty for the rest of the day. There’s a weight room, a hot tub, yoga and meditation classes, or just grab a shower and sleep.”
He clapped guys on the back as they turned away, some hurrying eagerly to greet their wives and scoop their kids up in their arms, some wearily scuffing off to their rooms alone. Carey knew that their case manage
