Read Online The American by Andrew Britton - Free Book Online

gone wrong. The decision came quickly.
    â€œThomas, Watson! When we open up, move back to the treeline as fast as you can! Alvarez, fire on March’s location!” he screamed.
    A look of shock and confusion crossed the sergeant’s face. “Sir, we can’t—”
    â€œDo it!” was the vicious response. “Now!”
    Intermittent streams of fire erupted from the barrel of Alvarez’s M16A2. Kealey fired in the same direction, although he couldn’t spot the sniper, whose ghillie suit allowed him to blend easily into the surrounding vegetation. He cursed the diminished range caused by the shorter barrel of his weapon, which would have been ideal for the close-quarter combat initially anticipated.
    He called out to Alvarez: “Loading!”
    Rapidly changing out his magazine, Kealey’s eyes never left the ridge where his snipers were positioned. He guessed that the line of earth was 400 meters away, a difficult shot even under the best of circumstances, almost impossible with the standard iron sights. He saw a flash of light followed by the roar of the rifle, and out of the corner of his eye caught the awful sight of Alvarez’s head breaking apart. That first fatal shot was followed by four more. It took all of Kealey’s self-control not to flinch away as he pressed his cheek against the warm metal of his assault rifle. The heat shield encasing the barrel was perfectly balanced in his left hand as he eased back on the trigger, firing until the bolt locked back on an empty magazine.
    A few minutes passed without any movement on the ridge.
    â€œThomas! Watson!” he called out.
    There was no answer. A sick feeling clenched his gut as he realized that he was probably the only man alive on the hill. Easing his head slowly around, he could see the lifeless bodies of the other two sergeants in his detachment. His detachment. As the commander, he was responsible for the lives of these men. Was it right that he should be the only one to survive? Suddenly not caring, he got to his feet, a lone figure standing tall on the side of the hill, long shadows cast behind him by the fading sun. Feeling a sudden impact, Ryan looked down at the small hole in his chest, the sight almost blocking out the terrible sound of the rifle in his ears.
    He fell to the ground, for some reason absorbed by the hissing of the radio inches from his outstretched hand. Presently he was aware of a man standing on top of the ridge, the image blurred by pain. Through the red haze creeping into the edge of his vision, Ryan thought he could make out the lightweight Parker-Hale M85 rifle held loosely in the crook of the man’s right arm. The same weapon that, for the past eight months, had been lovingly attended to and cared for by one man, and one man only. The incredibly still figure of Sergeant First Class Jason March continued to blur as the pain intensified, and Kealey found he could no longer breathe.
    He couldn’t breathe…
    Ryan Kealey awoke without a sound, pieces of information slowly entering into his mind, each a revelation more startling than the one before.
    The thin sheets were clinging to his sweat-soaked torso. As the shaking slowly left his body, Ryan was suddenly aware that Katie was whispering quietly in his ear, her arms wrapped around him protectively from behind, silken fingers gliding over the raised scar on his chest.
    â€œBaby, are you okay? God, you were shouting so loud…” There was a noticeable tremble to her voice. “Your dreams…They’re getting worse.”
    He didn’t respond, preferring to think of nothing for as long as possible. He just wanted to take comfort from the proximity of her body. Maybe she understood, as she fell silent while his ragged breathing slowly subsided.
    Thoughts swirled around him in the dark, intruding when he could no longer hold them at bay. Jason March had murdered men that were like brothers to him. If the regular