Page 6 of Gentle Warrior

Bambi looked at her, patient.

“I was a foster kid. Aaron too.” Elena let it out like a wound torn open but not yet healed. “We weren’t adoptable. Not ‘cause we were bad or stupid. I finished high school. Took college classes even. But there was something about us, something people didn’t like. Maybe it was how we looked at the world. Or maybe it was the scars we carried. Maybe they thought we were too broken.”

Her eyes blazed, not with tears but with something sharper. Anger fought alongside sadness. “Maybe they didn’t want to see us for who we really were.”

Elena’s breath hitched, but she didn’t let it break her. “I’m scared, Bambi. Scared of what’s coming, scared of being alone. But I’m not giving up. I won’t disappear.” Her voice cracked, but there was steel underneath, a refusal to be a victim.

Bambi slid onto the bed beside her, steady as a rock. “You told me about that drive-by, Aaron getting taken out. That’s no accident. It’s savage. Leaves wounds you don’t always see. But you survived. That says a hell of a lot.”

She smiled, a little grim but encouraging. “I’ve met plenty who’ve been knocked flat. What keeps them going isn’t luck, it’s heart. You’ve got heart. Don’t let what people think define you. They don’t see the real you.”

Her voice softened but stayed unyielding. “Focus on what you can control. One step, one mile at a time. Trust those small wins that keep you moving forward. You’re not alone anymore.”

The night’s rest hadn’t erased the weight on Elena’s shoulders, but it had given her a moment to breathe before the road called again.

In the early morning, Bambi packed up, moving with the smooth efficiency of someone who’d lived many miles and seen much harder times. Turning to Elena, she softened for just a moment, a rare glimpse beneath the tough exterior.

“This town, Banner, it’s small. Quiet. Maybe slow down for a bit. Catch your breath. No need to rush headlong into danger.”

She pressed a worn phone into Elena’s hand. “This is my number. You call if you need anything. Don’t be shy.” Without waiting, she slipped a crisp hundred-dollar bill into Elena’s backpack. “Use this for whatever you need.”

Elena met her steady gaze, her own strength flickering beneath the uncertainty. The offer was a lifeline in the storm, a fragile hope threading through the fear.

No, she wasn’t soft. Not anymore. Not if she could help it.

4 - MOOSE

The interior of the military transport plane was vast and utilitarian, a cavernous metal shell lined with exposed wiring. Rows of worn, padded seats stretched endlessly down the cabin, bolted firmly to the floor. Dim red lights hung overhead, casting a muted glow so soldiers could rest without total darkness. The dull rumble of the engines thrummed through the fuselage, a constant, grounding presence beneath the faint hum of circulating air.

Strapped into his seat, Moose felt the low vibrations beneath him, a steady reminder of the miles piled up at altitude. The scent of engine oil and recycled air mingled with the faint musk of worn fabric and gear. Occasional clangs of boots and whispered conversations floated in the background, punctuated by long silences heavy with anticipation.

Outside, the small round windows framed brief glimpses of clouds rushing past—oblivious witnesses to the turmoil unfolding inside. The plane was both prison and lifeline, a steel bird carrying them through darkness toward an uncertain dawn.

Moose sat rigid, eyes glossy but unfocused. His leg bounced like a restless drum, fingers clenching and unclenching in quiet frustration. The knot tightening in his stomach wasn’t just nerves; it was fear, gnawing relentlessly at every thought of Nancy, lost somewhere on Jim’s farm and possibly in pain.

Dog watched him across the aisle, noting the tension pulling tight at Moose’s jaw and the nervy rhythm of his leg. As a medic, he knew what Moose needed—an outlet. Normally, guys like him would release stress with pounding fists against a bag or running themselves raw. But trapped in a plane for sixteen hours, none of that was possible. The pressure built inside like steam with no vent.

The drone of the engines mingled with the weight pressing on Moose’s chest, making the confined space feel suffocating. Surrounded by hums of machinery and soft murmurs, his restlessness was a sharp contrast to the calm façade demanded by endless hours in the air. It was in this suspended moment that Dog leaned in, breaking the silence with a gentle offer.

“Want to talk? I can listen.”

Moose’s fists tightened again. He barely whispered, voice rough, “For fourteen years, I’ve been running from it… left my mom in that place, only showing up now and again.” His gaze dropped to the passing clouds, unseeing. “Always telling myself it was enough. That she’d be okay. But now…” His voice cracked beneath the weight of regret.

Slowly, he lifted his eyes to meet Dog’s, the pain hidden there like a simmering fire. “I was the only one who ever believed in her,” he said, voice tight, “the only one who knew she wasn’t stupid…and I left her there.” His shoulders sagged, the raw weight settling heavy between them.

Dog’s eyes softened, his own steady but firm. “Moose, we all carry a load—things we wish we’d done differently, people we left behind. Feeling it doesn’t make you weak. Hell, it makes you human.”

He paused, letting the words sink in, then continued quietly but with insistence. “You’ve carried this alone too long. Sometimes you have to let it out, say it, feel it, even scream if that is what it takes. Bottling it up is the real fight, and it burns you out.”

Dog’s hand found Moose’s shoulder, firm and steady. “You’re not alone. Not now. Talk to me. You can let it loose.”

His words hung in the air, clear enough to touch the others nearby. But none stirred or spoke. The team’s silence was deliberate—a quiet understanding that Moose needed this space to unravel, to lay down a burden carried too long.

Moose’s shoulders trembled as the dam began to break. No interruptions, no judgment. Just steady presence—men who knew the cost of holding everything in. In that stillness, Moose gathered the strength to let his guard fall and face the turmoil buried deep inside.

His voice came slow, hesitant, eyes fixed on his hands twisting nervously in his lap. He tugged at the collar of his shirt, his restless movements betraying the tension coiled inside him.

“Two nights before my eighteenth birthday, I was sneaking out to meet a girl when I passed the barn.” Moose snorted softly, a brief, self-deprecating laugh escaping him as he rolled his eyes. He shifted awkwardly, fingers tapping nervously. “Not supposed to be out that late, but I needed to get away, even if just for a little while.”