I was 5,000 miles from home when a sobbing nurse called and whispered, “Blake… your wife was badly hurt. Both legs are broken.” Before I could respond, a man seized the phone, laughed, and said, “Come do something about it, soldier. My father owns the police.” 1 phone call. 1 threat. 14 hours later, I landed on American soil—only to find 2 sheriff’s cruisers waiting for me. But they weren’t there to arrest him… they had a message I never expected.
The air inside the transit barracks at Camp Buehring, Kuwait, tasted of pulverized sand, atomized JP-8 jet fuel, and the stale, collective exhaustion of three hundred men waiting for a …
I was 5,000 miles from home when a sobbing nurse called and whispered, “Blake… your wife was badly hurt. Both legs are broken.” Before I could respond, a man seized the phone, laughed, and said, “Come do something about it, soldier. My father owns the police.” 1 phone call. 1 threat. 14 hours later, I landed on American soil—only to find 2 sheriff’s cruisers waiting for me. But they weren’t there to arrest him… they had a message I never expected. Read More