Free Trident Fury (The Kurgan War Book 3) by Richard Turner

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    They shared a room with several dozen boxes filled with spare supplies and provisions. It was tight, but at least it was warm and dry. Sheridan stepped inside the cramped quarters. “Master Sergeant, are you awake? I’ve got a copy of my report for you to look over.”
    There was no reply.  
    Sheridan had no idea where Cole could have gone. It wasn’t time for supper. He shrugged and tossed the papers down on his cot. He sat down, reached underneath, pulled out a small metal box, and opened it. There should have been a bottle of Scotch inside. Instead, there was a note. Sheridan picked up the paper and read it. There was one sentence: Sir, I think we need to talk.
    The door to the room slid open. Cole walked in and stood in front of Sheridan.
    “Sir, I saw you coming down the hallway and waited a minute. I knew if you didn’t find me here that you’d reach for your bottle. Captain, I turned a blind eye to your drinking when your girlfriend was first declared missing. I also kept my mouth shut when we were operating undercover in the smuggler colony. But I’m not going to be silent anymore. You should have come to me before you decided to deal with your feelings by yourself. Did you honestly think that I wouldn’t notice you’d been drinking to excess?’
    Sheridan sat there confused, ashamed, and angry all at the same time. He did not know what to say to his friend.  
      Cole sat down across from Sheridan. “You’re not alone. I’ve been in your shoes. The irritability, the inability to fall asleep, the hypervigilance, they’re all signs of PTSD. Trust me on this one, self-medication is not the answer. I lost my family because I did precisely what you’re doing. Michael, you’re only twenty-four. You’ve got your whole life in front of you. I see potential in you that I’ve never seen in an officer so young as you. Don’t destroy your chance to live a good life.”
    “I can deal with it,” replied Sheridan.
    “Sir, you can’t bullshit a bullshitter. No one can deal with it by themselves. I’m not going to let you self-destruct. I know that you’ve gotten more alcohol hidden in your gear. I want you to stand up and give it all to me.”
    “And If I don’t?”
    “Then you can find yourself a new master sergeant. My job goes beyond the usual duties of dress, discipline, and deportment. I’m here to give you advice, even if you don’t like what I’m saying. Captain, don’t let foolish pride blind you. Let me help you.”
    Sheridan sat there staring over at the man who had become his closest friend. He could not believe that Cole would make him stop drinking.
    Cole’s voice turned serious. “Michael, if you don’t give me all of your booze, and I do mean all of it in the next ten seconds, I’m going to speak with your father and demand a transfer.”
    Panic began to build in Sheridan’s chest. He was conflicted. In his mind, the alcohol was the only thing stopping him from breaking down. Whenever he closed his eyes, he saw Tarina’s face or the dead body of his friend, Harry Williams, lying on the ice moon where he had killed him.  
    Cole stood and turned to leave.
    “No, wait,” pleaded Sheridan as he jumped to his feet and moved over to his barrack box. He rummaged around for a few seconds before pulling out a couple of bottles. His hands shook as he handed the bottles to Cole.
    Cole’s eyes narrowed. “The flask in your pack as well, sir.”
    Sheridan nodded, dug it out, and gave it over. “How the hell did you know about the flask?”
    “Sir, you’re an amateur compared to me. Remember, I told you once that I used to hide my booze in the bathroom so no one would see me drinking. I was so good at it that people did not even know I was drunk when I was at work.”
    Sheridan felt his legs give out. He collapsed down onto his cot. Tears filled his eyes. He hung his head in shame. “Oh God, Master Sergeant, what have I done?”
    Cole sat down beside Sheridan and