Brass Monkey: A James Acton Thriller Book #2 by J Robert Kennedy

godson, who now stood beside him, admiring the shine, an ice cream running down his hand, all the way to his elbow. Dawson grimaced. “Umm, maybe later, Bryson. After you’ve cleaned up.” The boy appeared a little disappointed, but then took a lick of the ice cream off his hand and walked away. Dawson leaned against the door and watched him meander over to his father, Red.
    It was an amazing fall afternoon. Sunday, sunny, on the base with the families, all the guys shining their true loves. New cars, classic cars, motorcycles. No matter what year or price, no matter mint or beater, everyone was there, taking part. It was the camaraderie of the unit that made everything they went through worthwhile. This perfect example of Americana, nuclear families, husbands, wives, sons, daughters. All friends, all partners, all comrades. There wasn’t a man here he wouldn’t die for, and there wasn’t a man here who wouldn’t die for him.
    “Hey, BD” Dawson looked over at his friend, Red, as he approached. “Ready to fire up the grill?”
    “You bet!” Dawson smacked his hands together and pushed himself off the car, heading for the large oil drum BBQ behind the unit.
    “Grill Master Sergeant Dawson’s up!” yelled Red to the crowd. A cheer rang out from the gathered families. Dawson smiled and got to work lighting the charcoal grill. It would take a while to heat up. Not if I had an M21A flamethrower. He chuckled to himself and watched as the families slowly made their way to the grass behind the unit. The kids threw beach balls and Frisbees around, while the men and women split into their usual two groups. Dawson looked at the long picnic table with the eleven men of his unit sitting at it, and flashed back to last year when his team had sat at that very table. So many good men dead. He shook his head. Honor the dead. Don’t pity them.
    His phone vibrated on his hip.
    Shit.
    Pretty much everyone he knew or cared about in the world was here with him. It had to be business. He flipped it open.
    “Mr. Jones, you’re needed at the flower shop for a delivery.”
    “I’ll be right there.”
    As usual, the ever watchful Red was already approaching to take over the grill. “You gotta go?”
    Dawson nodded. “Don’t wait for me, I’ll be gone as long as I can.”
    Red nodded with a slight smile, and gave the coals a poke as Dawson walked to his car. He sat behind the wheel and fired up the engine. The rumble it made drew the attention of his men and their families. He turned the car around and glanced in the rearview mirror, his men watching him leave, their expressions letting him know they knew something was about to happen.
    He arrived at HQ a few minutes later and headed to his commander’s office, Colonel Thomas Clancy. Clancy’s secretary smiled. “Go right in, Sergeant, he’s expecting you.”
    “Thanks, Maggie.”
    “Is that BD?” yelled a voice from the office.
    “Yes, sir!” said Dawson as he strode through the doorway.
    “Take a seat, Sergeant,” said Clancy, waving to the straight back chair in front of his desk. He in turn sank into the plush leather chair behind his desk and took a puff from a cigar that appeared started only moments before.
    “What’s up, sir?” asked Dawson as he took a seat and crossed his leg, his Bermuda shorts riding up, revealing a deep, six inch scar from last year’s excitement.
    Clancy pushed a folder toward him. “Urgent op. Need your team in the Red Sea tomorrow.”
    Dawson took the file and flipped it open. His eyebrows shot up as he read the briefing notes.
    “Possible rogue nuke?”
    “Yup. Delivered right into the hands of white supremacists, or so the spooks think.”
    “Who’s Control?”
    “We are.”
    Dawson nodded, pleased that for this mission he’d be able to trust who his orders came from.
    “Our mission?”
    “Just get your assets in the area,” said Clancy, puffing on his cigar. “The intel is developing rapidly, so be prepared for