“What happened?”
“Nothing important.”
Daniel looked toward the employees.
Benjamin’s coffee-colored eyes remained calm, but Kyle’s face had begun to pale.
Daniel understood.
“Boys,” he said without turning, “come here.”
They approached slowly.
Noah remained behind Mason.
Daniel stood.
“Do you know who this man is?”
Kyle swallowed.
“He said his name was Mercer.”
“This is Colonel Benjamin Mercer, United States Marine Corps, retired.”
Daniel looked directly at the three young men.
“He commanded Second Battalion during the Battle of Fallujah.”
Benjamin raised one hand.
“That’s enough, Daniel.”
“No, sir.”
Daniel’s voice broke slightly.
“They need to understand.”
He walked behind the counter and removed a framed photograph from the wall.
It had hung near the cash register since the store opened, though the employees had never asked about it.
The picture showed a group of Marines standing before a shattered concrete building.
Their uniforms were stained with dust and blood.
Several wore bandages.
At the center stood a younger Benjamin Mercer, his left hand resting on the shoulder of a corporal whose head was wrapped in white gauze.
The corporal was Daniel Ross.
Daniel set the photograph on the glass counter.
“I was twenty-nine when this was taken,” he said. “Third night of the operation.”
The store remained silent.
“Our unit became trapped inside a building that had been prepared as an ambush point. The street outside was covered from three directions. One Marine had shrapnel in his throat. Another had a broken leg. Our radio barely worked.”