Tom Clancy's HAWX

Chapter 1

"I'll give you three good reasons why this is a bad idea!" Carl Loensch growled angrily, holding up his left hand. "Count 'em."

Of course, Troy could not count them.

They weren't there.

His father had left those three fingers in the sands of Kuwait a quarter century ago on the same day that Troy was born.

Through the years that Troy was growing up, his father had almost never mentioned that day when he was with the 3rd Battalion of the 3rd Marines during the liberation of Kuwait, or the split second of cartwheeling shrapnel that maimed Carl's hand and killed his best friend.

During those years, he knew that his father was different, but he was no less a man, no less a father for having just a single finger and thumb on that hand. It was something that was never mentioned, because there was nothing to be said. It just was what it was.

For all those years, his father had never let his disability interfere with his life, nor with his successful career in sales with a major Southern California office supply chain — nor with the time that he spent tossing the football with Troy.

"Count 'em!" Carl demanded.

Troy had rarely heard his father make even a passing reference to his disability. He had never heard his father speak so angrily about it. Carl's stoicism through those years was in such stark contrast to this moment that Troy now felt his body trembling. The star wide receiver for the UCLA Bruins had never felt so caught off guard.

"I've lived the better part of my life knowing that I went through hell on earth in that goddamn desert so my son wouldn't have to… ever have to… put on a uniform and go into a war."

Troy could see tears streaming down his mother's face.

For Barbara Loensch, this was one of the most awful moments of her life. It was certainly one of the worst since those terrible months just after Carl came home. She had been with Carl as he worked through his anger and pain, and she had watched him bottle it up and contain it as their baby grew into a boy. She had watched Carl reinvent himself as a good father and a better-thanaverage husband. Now, it was as though it were all coming apart.

"Dad, I really have run out of options here," Troy tried to explain. "My life is kinda coming apart, y'know."

"What the hell do you know about your life coming apart?" Carl shouted. "It's only a friggin' game!"

Barbara knew that football was more than just a game to Troy. Ever since he was a little kid, tossing the ball around with his dad, you could tell there was something special. From the moment that he lettered as a freshman in high school, it seemed that everyone realized something special was about to happen when Troy Loensch stepped onto the field.

"Well, Dad, that friggin' game was my whole life," Troy shouted. "For the past eight years, my whole life was built around that friggin' game."

After he had gone to UCLA on a scholarship, there had been plenty of talk about Troy's NFL prospects. Last fall, there had been the visits from the scouts. The people from the Atlanta Falcons had taken the whole family to dinner at the Biltmore. The Eagles flew in to woo Barbara's only son. The Broncos came and talked about the wonders of playing in Denver, and the San Diego Chargers visited the modest Loensch home in Northridge twice.

It seemed as though a pro career for Troy was just a matter of waiting for the formalities of the NFL draft in April.

Then, in the blink of an eye, things changed.

"Everything I did for those past eight friggin' years, built around that friggin' game. Now I don't have that friggin' game. The whole course of my life has changed."

"Whose fault is that?" Carl asked angrily.

They both knew.

The way the course of Carl Loensch's life was irrevocably altered in Kuwait was out of his control, but Troy had done this to himself.

If he could take it back, he would.

In retrospect, it was an inconsequential remark, but it pissed Troy off big-time.

Lots of punches get thrown in locker rooms. Lots of punches get thrown in locker rooms with minimal consequences. The coaches rant, but hands are reluctantly shaken and incidents are forgotten. This time, however, there was a dislocated jaw and permanent nerve damage.

No amount of anger management counseling could take back the punch that Troy wished he had never thrown.

No charges were filed, and nothing hit the papers about the star wide receiver's indiscretion, but the word got around. The NFL scouts never said anything, but that is the point. They said nothing. They stopped calling. The draft came and went.

"You had that one offer…" Barbara said, her voice shaking a little.

"The CFL?" Troy replied as though his mother had just cursed at him. The goddamn CFL?"

The Saskatchewan Roughriders of the Canadian Football League called, but Troy refused even to consider the humiliation of playing in a second-tier league.

"So you're too good for Canada, and you go out and throw your life away by goin' into the military?" Carl said disgustedly.

Troy almost reminded his father that he himself had once made this same life choice over his father's objections. Once Carl had made the decision to become part of the toughest of the tough and join the Marines, there was nothing that his father could say.

Troy almost mentioned this, but he knew that it need not be said.

"Why don't you just get a regular job?" Carl asked.

"It's the Air Force, Dad. It's Officer Training School. It's not like I'm joining the Army to be cannon fodder somewhere. This is something that when I get out, y'know, my job prospects are a whole lot better after being an officer… you know that… you always say that the best hires you've ever made were former officers."

"Yeah, I know," Carl said reluctantly.

The whole family just stood in silence. The venting was over. There was nothing more that could be said.