Fisher had finished cleaning his weapon and reassembled it. Now he had out a ceramic sharpening rod and a leather strap to sharpen his knife. The sound of the blade scraping across the rod in rhythmic motions blended in with the smattering of conversation.

“I went and saw Ozzy today,” Swanson said. “His spirit is dark, man.”

Fisher examined his blade and ran his thumbnail over the edge of it. “Wish we could do something for him.”

Rick nodded. “Pray for him. Pray with him. That’s what will lift Ozzy. Nothing else we can do.”

“Yeah,” Fisher said. He went back to the ceramic rod.

Swanson pulled his machete out of his bag and started unwinding the tape from the handle. “Where you from, Waller?”

The medic looked up from his work. “Kentucky. Charula.”

“Can-tucky? Just like Daddy here.”

“Same high school.”

Swanson glanced at Rick with a grin. “You ganging up on us, Cap?”

“Something like that.” He pointed his CLP-slicked finger toward Waller. “He deployed with Third Group.”

“And Tenth,” Waller said.

“I was in Tenth. Three years ago,” Fisher said. “Colorado was not my favorite.”

“No? Altitude mess with you?” Waller asked.

“Yeah, man. Never did feel like I could breathe right. It was a relief to PCS from there even if it was to Bragg.” Fisher slid the bolt into place on his weapon. “When were you there?”

“Now. My wife’s busy dealing with packers and movers this week.”

“Waller, Waller,” McBride said. “Kentucky. Isn’t there a bourbon called Weller?”

“I believe there is,” Peña said, laughing.

“Perfection. Waller, you are Kentucky Bourbon.” He pointed at his chest. “I’m Jerry Maguire, because I happen to have the first name of Gerald.” He pointed at Swanson. “Daniel Swanson, also known as Pot Pie.”

“I can’t imagine how you made that leap,” Waller said dryly.

Everyone laughed as McBride continued. “Travis Fisher, but he is better known to us as Trout.” Finally, he pointed at Peña. “Jorge Peña. You two can hang together, Kentucky Bourbon, because he is better known to us as Peña Colada.”

Waller nodded and smiled. “Ironic how I always get the bourbon name.”

“Do you mind?”

Waller shook his head and answered with a straight face. “Not a drop.”

Rick enjoyed the conversation as background noise while he thought about Cynthia. He’d never met a woman who invoked such extreme reactions from him. She could make him so angry, and then that shifted to a desire to protect her and shield her from any and all harm. He admired her skill as a doctor and wanted to soothe her after the way she took Ozzy’s prognosis so hard. In the end, though, her perspective of what he did for a living, of the passion God had placed in his soul for this life—he didn’t think he could ignore something like that. He figured she couldn’t either.