The Lost Mission

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The water below me is inky green, waves lapping gently against the banks of a shade-dappled cove. It’s a warm summer’s evening, but I know the water will be cool here under these trees.

Cool and deep.

We’re not supposed to be here at all, much less climb the rocks and high dive from the top. The camp counselors think it’s dangerous, and they’re right. If you angle it wrong, hit the shallow part, slip and tumble, and smack the rocks, you could hurt yourself.

Or worse. You could break your neck. That’s why this place is strictly off-limits.

Not that I care.

It is the evening of the third day since I’ve come here—a summer sports camp for boys located in southern Vermont near the New Hampshire border. I am here as a CIT, a counselor in training. There are campers and counselors who have met me, but they do not know who I am. My real identity.

They do not know there is a soldier among them.

I look down at the water below me.

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