Here's an excerpt:
Homecomings are for queens, not soldiers
Emmett Decker had seen all he wanted of the Middle East’s high-tension cities, North Africa’s unforgiving deserts and the unpredictable banana republics of Central America. He was psyched to return to the simple life he had once known in the rugged hills of Pennsylvania, even if it meant spending hours each week mending his war wounds at the Veterans’ Administration Hospital in Pittsburgh.
Shot twice during firefights with Syrian soldiers and later hit with shrapnel during a clash with Iraq’s Revolutionary Guards, Decker had earned his pay as an Army Special Forces Ranger. He had parachuted into places where other soldiers dared not tread, called in artillery coordinates for high-value targets, lugged his long-barrel Barrett M107 sniper rifle on dozens of missions, came very close to dying on several occasions, and decided after many months in Sandland that the U.S. Central Command hadn’t a clue about what to do with Lebanon.