Chapter 5
Chapter Five
SAGE
W hen nightfall arrived and it was time to leave the safe house, we moved in a staggered line, rifles at the ready, boots hitting the ground with a muted thud. The transport vehicle was waiting, its engine idling as the driver waved us forward. We piled in quickly, the door slamming shut behind us as the vehicle lurched forward.
The interior was dark, cramped, and filled with the low buzz of tension. Jack sat at the front, his sharp eyes scanning a tablet displaying satellite feeds of the compound. He glanced back at us, his expression as hard as the steel we carried.
“Situation’s fluid,” he said, his voice cutting through the engine noise. “We’ve got confirmation that the hostages are alive, but their exact location within the compound is still unclear. Intel suggests they’re being held in the main building, but we’ve got eyes on multiple armed patrols. Expect resistance.”
“Any chance they’ll negotiate?” Holger asked, though his tone made it clear he already knew the answer.
Jack shook his head. “No chance. These guys don’t play by the rules. They see hostages as leverage, not bargaining chips. Our job is to get them out before they decide to make an example.”
My grip tightened on my rifle, the weight of it familiar and grounding. This wasn’t my first mission, and it wouldn’t be my last, but that didn’t make it any easier. Every mission carried its own set of risks, its own stakes. And this one? It felt heavier somehow.
As the vehicle swerved onto a side street, the driver cut the lights, plunging us into near-total darkness. We’d disembark a few blocks away from the target, moving in on foot to avoid detection. The compound’s location in a densely populated neighborhood meant stealth was our best option—at least until it wasn’t.
Jack glanced back at us one last time. “Remember the priorities: hostages first, no collateral damage. We move fast, we move clean. Stick to your roles, and we’ll get out of this in one piece.”
Randy leaned closer to me, his voice low. “What do you think, Cole? In and out, or is this gonna turn into a shitshow?”
I met his gaze, my own expression neutral. “When’s the last time it didn’t?”
He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Fair point.”
The vehicle rolled to a stop, the driver giving a curt nod. “This is it.”
We slipped out into the shadows, the cold air biting against the exposed skin of my face. The streets were eerily quiet, the kind of quiet that made every sound feel louder. A dog barked in the distance, its echo bouncing off the concrete walls of nearby buildings. Somewhere, a car alarm chirped faintly before falling silent.
We moved quickly, our boots silent against the uneven pavement. My heart thudded in my chest, steady but insistent, a reminder of the stakes. Every step felt calculated, every shadow a potential threat.
The compound loomed ahead, a hulking structure surrounded by high walls and floodlights. Jack raised a fist, signaling us to halt. We crouched low, using the cover of a parked truck as he assessed the situation.
“Cain, Cole,” he whispered, gesturing for Randy and I to move forward. “Get eyes on the main gate. I want to know how many guards we’re dealing with.”
We nodded, slipping into the shadows. My pulse quickened as we approached the gate, the tension coiling tighter with each step. The soft crunch of gravel beneath my boots felt deafening, though I knew it was barely audible.
We reached the edge of the wall, peering around the corner. Two guards stood near the gate, their rifles slung lazily over their shoulders. They were chatting in low tones, their postures relaxed but their weapons ready.
“Two,” I whispered into my comms. “Lightly armed but alert.”
Jack’s voice crackled in response. “Copy. Stand by.”
The plan was simple in theory: neutralize the guards, breach the gate, and sweep the compound for hostages. But plans had a way of unraveling when bullets started flying.
Jack gave the signal, and we moved. It was fast, precise, and practiced. Randy took the guard on the left, a sharp crack of suppressed gunfire cutting through the night. I handled the one on the right, my movements automatic. They didn’t even have time to react.
The gate was ours.
The rest of the team moved in behind us, slipping through the gate and into the compound. The tension was suffocating now, every nerve on high alert. We navigated the narrow corridors, the dim light casting long, ominous shadows.
My earpiece buzzed with Jack’s voice. “Cole, take point. Adams, cover him.”
I nodded, signaling to Holger before moving forward. The layout of the compound matched the schematics we’d studied, but it still felt like a maze. Every corner we turned brought a new risk, a new threat.
We found the first hostage in a small, windowless room—a man in his fifties, his face pale and drawn. He stared at us with wide, terrified eyes as we cut through his restraints.
“You’re safe now,” I told him, keeping my voice low but firm. “Stay quiet and follow us.”
We moved him to a secure position near the gate, then pressed on. The deeper we went, the more dangerous it felt. The air was thick with the smell of sweat and oil, the faint sound of machinery vibrating through the walls.
“Contact!” Randy’s voice snapped through the comms, followed by the sharp staccato of gunfire.
The world exploded into chaos.
I dropped to a knee, raising my rifle as figures emerged from the shadows. Bullets ricocheted off the walls, the deafening noise cutting through the suffocating silence.
“Left flank!” Jack barked, his voice steady.
I swung my weapon toward the threat, my finger steady on the trigger. Training took over, my movements precise and deliberate. Each shot was a calculation, each second a test of focus and control.
The danger was real, immediate, and unrelenting. And for the first time, I let myself wonder if I’d make it out of this one alive.
“Hostages!” Holger’s voice crackled through the comms, pulling me back into the moment.
I followed the sound of his voice, moving swiftly down a narrow corridor littered with debris and the faint tang of smoke. Holger stood at the threshold of a steel-reinforced door, his rifle aimed as Randy worked on the lock with deft hands. It gave way with a sharp metallic snap, and we moved inside.
The room was cramped and dimly lit, the air thick with the acrid scent of fear and confinement. Four hostages huddled together in the far corner, their faces gaunt and pale, their wrists bound with rough rope. One of them—a middle-aged woman with a bloodied temple—flinched as we entered, her eyes wide and terrified.
“It’s okay,” I said firmly but gently, raising a hand to show we weren’t a threat. “We’re here to get you out.”
Randy cut their restraints while Holger kept his weapon trained on the door. I helped a younger man to his feet, his knees buckling as he whispered a shaky, “Thank you.”
“Cole, we’ve got more,” Jack’s voice buzzed in my ear. “Far end of the compound. The senator’s with them.”
My pulse kicked up. The senator. He was the primary target—the reason for this mission. If he was here, then we were one step closer to finishing this.
We guided the first group of hostages to the secured staging point near the gate, then pushed deeper into the compound. The air grew thicker with tension, the distant pops of gunfire serving as a grim reminder that we weren’t out of the woods yet.
When we reached the far room, it was Holger who spotted the senator first. He was seated against the wall, his suit wrinkled and stained with sweat, his wrists bound tightly in front of him. Two other hostages—a man and a woman, both civilians by the look of them—were with him, their faces etched with exhaustion and fear.
“Senator,” Holger said, his voice low and steady as he moved closer. “We’re getting you out.”
The man’s eyes darted toward us, suspicion giving way to cautious relief. “You’re—American?”
“Yes, sir,” Holger said, already cutting his restraints. “We’re here to bring you home.”
The senator’s relief was palpable, but his movements were sluggish as we helped him to his feet. “They said no one would come,” he murmured, his voice strained. “They said we were forgotten.”
“Not on our watch,” I said firmly, slinging his arm over my shoulder to steady him.
As we escorted them out, the compound seemed to come alive with noise and chaos. Gunfire echoed down the corridors, shouts bouncing off the concrete walls. Every step was a gamble, every corner a potential ambush.
By the time we reached the staging point, the senator was leaning heavily on me, his breath labored but determined. The other hostages clung to Randy and Matt, their fear evident in the way they flinched at every sound.
“Final sweep,” Jack ordered, his voice cutting through the comms. “No one gets left behind.”
We moved quickly, clearing room after room, ensuring no one was forgotten. It was methodical, exhausting, and utterly necessary. Only when Jack confirmed the compound was clear did we allow ourselves to exhale.
We emerged from the chaos battered but victorious. The hostages were safe—some shaken, some injured, but alive. The compound was secured, and the enemy neutralized. But the tension in my chest didn’t ease, not yet. The job wasn’t done until we were out of hostile territory and on our way home.
The safe house wasn’t far, just a few miles beyond the city limits. We loaded the hostages into the transport vehicle with care, their exhaustion mirrored in our own faces. The senator, pale but composed, nodded his thanks as Holger helped him into the seat.
When we finally reached the safe house again, the sun was just beginning to edge over the horizon. The small structure would be more crowded now with the rescued hostages, but we’d make do. We’d only be here a few hours. Inside, the place was spartan but functional—a central room with a few mismatched chairs and a couch, a small kitchenette, and two adjacent rooms outfitted with cots.
We settled the hostages in first, Holger distributing water bottles and basic medical supplies while Jack relayed our status to command. The room buzzed with quiet conversation as we decompressed, the adrenaline fading.
Randy wandered over to the small television mounted in the corner, its screen caked in dust. “Think this thing still works?” he muttered, wiping it off with the sleeve of his shirt. He fiddled with the dials, and after a moment of static, a grainy news channel flickered to life.
The volume was low, but the headline scrolling across the bottom of the screen was impossible to miss: American Senator Rescued in Daring Mission Overseas.
“That didn’t take long,” Matt said, leaning against the wall with a bottle of water in hand. His voice was edged with something between amusement and frustration. “They’ve already got it on the news.”
We all turned toward the screen, the room falling silent as the broadcast played. A suited anchor delivered the report with practiced solemnity, detailing how “international intelligence efforts” had secured the release of the senator and several other American hostages from a hostile faction. No specifics were given—no location, no names of those involved—but the footage they aired told enough of the story.
A blurry video clip showed the hostages being loaded into a vehicle under cover of night. The senator’s face was unmistakable, his disheveled appearance doing little to diminish his gravitas. The camera lingered on him longer than the others, the accompanying commentary framing him as the centerpiece of the operation.
“They’re really milking that, huh?” Randy muttered, shaking his head.
“Of course they are,” Matt said. “He’s a senator. The others? Just collateral news.”
Holger glanced over from where he stood near the hostages. “Does it matter? They’re alive. That’s what counts.”
“Still,” Randy said, his gaze fixed on the screen. “Would it kill them to mention that people risked their necks to make it happen?”
I tuned out their chatter, my eyes locked on the footage. The rescued aid worker—a woman in her early thirties, her face pale and haunted—stared directly into the camera for a split second. Her expression stayed with me, a potent reminder of what we’d seen in those rooms, what we’d pulled them out of.
The broadcast shifted to a pundit’s analysis, and I turned away, the flickering screen suddenly too much. I stepped outside, the cool morning air biting against my skin. The horizon was a blend of pale blue and orange, the promise of daylight stretching out over the barren landscape. I closed my eyes, letting the breeze wash over me, grounding myself in the stillness.
The door creaked open behind me, and Holger stepped out, his expression unreadable. “You all right?”
“Yeah,” I said, though the word felt thin. “Just needed some air.”
He nodded, leaning against the wall beside me. “They’re alive because of what we did. Don’t lose sight of that.”
“I know.” I rubbed the back of my neck, the tension there refusing to ease. “It’s just … the way they frame it. Like it’s all politics, all headlines. They don’t see the people. Not really.”
Holger’s gaze was steady, his voice calm. “That’s not why we do this. You know that.”
I nodded, his words sinking in. It wasn’t about the recognition or the headlines. It was about the lives we saved, the families we kept whole. But that didn’t make it any easier.
Holger shifted, leaning his back against the wall and studying me with the same unyielding focus he gave every mission. “Speaking of families,” he began, his tone lighter but still pointed, “you never answered my question back on the plane.”
I frowned, pretending not to know what he was talking about. “What question?”
“The one about why you’re suddenly so interested in women and marriage,” he said, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You’ve been in this line of work long enough to know it’s not exactly conducive to building a home and raising kids. So, what’s got you thinking about it now?”
I looked away, rubbing a hand over the back of my neck as I considered how much I wanted to share. Holger wasn’t the kind of guy to press unnecessarily, but he also wasn’t one to let things slide without good reason.
“It’s not that I’ve been thinking about it,” I said finally, my voice quieter than usual. “It’s more that … someone made me think about it.”
His smirk deepened, though he didn’t interrupt.
“I don’t know,” I continued, struggling to put the feelings into words. “It’s not like I’m planning to settle down tomorrow or anything. But meeting her—it felt different.”
Holger nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. “And that’s enough to make you reconsider everything?”
I hesitated. “I wouldn’t say I’m reconsidering everything. But it’s made me wonder, you know? If maybe there’s more to life than just this.”
“This” hung heavy in the air, encompassing the missions, the danger, the constant cycle of chaos and control that defined our existence.
Holger leaned forward. “It’s not a bad thing to wonder, Sage. Hell, I think we’d all be better off if we did. But you’ve got to ask yourself if you’re ready for what comes next.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, this job isn’t something you can half-ass. You’re either all in, or you’re not. And if you’re not, you need to be honest with yourself about that. Because the minute you start thinking about what’s waiting for you back home, you lose focus. And losing focus out here?” He gestured vaguely toward the compound. “It gets people killed.”
The weight of his words settled over me, heavier than the gear I’d worn during the mission. He wasn’t wrong. I knew the risks of distraction better than anyone. But that didn’t make the pull I felt toward her any less real.
“I get it,” I said quietly. “It’s not like I’m planning to walk away tomorrow.”
Holger studied me for a long moment, his gaze assessing but not unkind. “Good. Because as much as I believe in fighting for love, I also believe in doing the job right. You owe it to yourself—and to her—to figure out where your head’s at before you make any big moves.”
I nodded, appreciating his candor even if it left me with more questions than answers. His expression softened.
“For what it’s worth,” he added, his tone lighter, “I think you’ve got it in you to find that balance someday. Just don’t rush it, Cole. Life has a way of working itself out when you’re ready for it.”
I nodded solemnly. I could tell that his words would stick with me as the morning stretched on, a quiet reminder of the line we walked every day.
Inside, the rescued hostages were beginning to stir, their initial shock giving way to tentative relief. Holger had a quiet conversation with the senator, whose gratitude was evident in his measured tone. Meanwhile, Matt handed out what little food we had—packaged rations and protein bars that none of us particularly liked, but they were sustenance nonetheless.
Randy, ever the lighthearted one, turned to one of the younger hostages, a civilian contractor who couldn’t have been older than twenty-five. “Don’t worry,” he said with a grin. “The plane ride’s better than the food.”
The kid managed a weak smile, and for a moment, the room felt a little less heavy.
By the time command confirmed our extraction, the hostages had begun to settle, their exhaustion finally overtaking their fear. We packed up quickly, securing our gear and ensuring everyone was ready to move.
As the first transport vehicle arrived, I caught Holger’s eye. “What do you think they’ll say about all this when they get home?”
He shrugged, his expression thoughtful. “They’ll tell their stories, and people will listen. But the only ones who’ll ever really know what happened are the ones who were here.”
I glanced back at the group, at the senator standing quietly near the doorway, his gaze distant. He was already crafting his version of the story, I could tell. But that was fine. Let him have the spotlight. Our job was done.
For now, at least.
The sun climbed higher as we loaded into the vehicles, the promise of home on the horizon. For me, the thought of home came with an ache I couldn’t quite name. An ache that brought a dark-haired woman in Charleston to mind.
Whatever happened next, I knew one thing for certain: I wasn’t the same man who’d left. And I didn’t know what that meant yet.