Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Ben
The helicopter skimmed low over the jungle canopy, close enough that I could smell the wet green of the trees through the open door. Beside me, Jolly sat perfectly still, his eyes fixed on the darkness below. He knew what this was. He’d done it before.
The rest of the team was spread across the cabin—Ty and Jace on the opposite bench, Andrew at the controls, Logan and Ethan near the door.
Nobody spoke. The rotors were too loud for easy conversation, but that wasn’t the real reason for the silence.
This was the quiet before the work. The moment where you stopped being a person with a life and became a tool with a purpose.
Jolly’s nose twitched, cataloging scents even at altitude. I rested my hand on his back, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing. Calm. Ready.
The LZ appeared below—a small clearing carved out of the jungle, barely visible in the moonlight. Andrew brought us down smooth, the skids kissing the ground with barely a bump. We were out before the rotors stopped spinning, fanning into the tree line with practiced efficiency.
The helicopter lifted off behind us, disappearing into the night. We wouldn’t see it again until extraction.
Ethan’s voice crackled in my earpiece. “Comms check.”
The team sounded off one by one. When it got to Ty, he added, “Cupid, live and still protesting this call sign.”
“Noted and ignored,” Ethan said. “Move out.”
The jungle closed around us like a fist.
I’d studied the terrain on maps, memorized the route, reviewed the satellite imagery until I could walk it blindfolded.
But maps don’t capture the way the air sits heavy in your lungs, thick with moisture and the smell of rotting vegetation.
They don’t tell you about the sounds—the constant hum of insects, the distant calls of night birds, the rustle of things moving through the undergrowth.
Jolly moved beside me, his footfalls silent on the jungle floor. His ears rotated constantly, tracking sounds I couldn’t hear. Every few seconds, his nose would lift, testing the air. He was a living early warning system, and I trusted him more than any piece of technology Jace could rig up.
We’d been moving for twenty minutes when Jolly froze.
Not slowed. Not hesitated. Froze—every muscle locked, his head oriented toward something ahead and to our left. His ears flattened slightly, and I saw the ridge of fur along his spine begin to rise.
I held up a closed fist. The team stopped instantly.
Ethan materialized beside me, his movement so quiet I felt rather than heard him arrive. He followed my gaze to Jolly, then looked at me with raised eyebrows. What’s he got?
I touched my ear, then pointed in the direction Jolly was focused. Voices. That way.
We waited. Seconds stretched. Then I heard it too—the low murmur of conversation, Spanish words I couldn’t make out, somewhere in the trees ahead. Two voices, maybe thirty meters out. Right in our path.
Ethan’s jaw tightened. We couldn’t wait for them to move. The mission window was already tight. And we couldn’t go around—the terrain to either side was too dense, too noisy. We’d lose time we didn’t have.
He looked at Jolly, then at me. A question in his eyes.
I nodded.
Ethan held up two fingers. Two hostiles. Then he made a gesture I’d seen a hundred times in training but rarely in the field—an open hand closing into a fist. Take them down. Silent.
I dropped to one knee beside Jolly, my mouth close to his ear. “Packen,” I whispered. The German command for bite and hold. His whole body vibrated with restrained energy, but he didn’t move. Not yet. Not until I released him.
Ethan and I crept forward, using the jungle noise as cover. The voices grew clearer—two men, complaining about the late shift, about the cold, about someone named Carlos who’d cheated at cards. Cartel scouts, running a pattern they’d probably run a hundred times before. Bored. Complacent.
They never saw us coming.
Through a gap in the foliage, I spotted them—two figures in dark clothing, rifles slung carelessly over their shoulders. One was lighting a cigarette, his face briefly illuminated by the flame.
I caught Ethan’s eye. Pointed to the one on the left. Mine. He nodded and oriented toward the right.
Then I touched Jolly’s shoulder and whispered the release command. “Fass.”
Ninety pounds of Belgian Malinois exploded out of the darkness.
Jolly hit the cigarette man before he could scream, jaws clamping onto his weapon arm with crushing force. The man went down hard, his rifle clattering away, and Jolly’s snarling finally broke the silence—a terrifying sound that would haunt these men’s nightmares for years.
The second scout spun toward the noise, his hand scrabbling for his weapon, and that’s when Ethan and I moved.
I was on my target in two strides, my arm snaking around his throat before he could process what was happening. His hands came up instinctively, clawing at my forearm, but I had the choke locked in tight. His body bucked against mine for five seconds, six, seven—then went limp.
I lowered him to the ground as Ethan finished with the other one. Jolly was still holding the man’s arm, his growl low and continuous, even though the scout had stopped struggling.
“Aus,” I commanded softly. Release.
Jolly let go immediately, backing up but keeping his eyes fixed on the unconscious man. His tail was low, his body still vibrating with adrenaline, but he’d followed the command perfectly. Always did.
I knelt beside him, running my hands over his muzzle, his chest, his legs. “You okay, buddy? He get you anywhere?”
Jolly licked my face once—his version of I’m fine, stop fussing—then returned his attention to the downed scouts.
Ethan was already pulling a small injector from his vest. A quick jab to each man’s neck, and they went from unconscious to deeply under.
“They’ll be out for hours,” he murmured. “And when they wake up, the only thing they’ll remember is a big angry dog.”
“Wild animal attack,” I said, dragging my guy off the trail into the dense undergrowth. “Happens all the time out here.”
“Exactly.” Ethan helped me move the second man. By the time anyone found them, we’d be long gone. “Jolly’s got good instincts.”
I scratched behind Jolly’s ears, feeling his body finally start to relax. “Best partner I’ve ever had.”
His tail wagged once. He knew.
We rejoined the team and continued moving, the encounter adding barely five minutes to our timeline. Ethan keyed his radio. “Two hostiles neutralized. Non-lethal. Continuing to objective.”
“Cupid copies. Please tell me Rudolph got to bite someone.”
“Rudolph got to bite someone,” I confirmed.
“Beautiful. This is already the best op ever.”
The village appeared through the trees twenty minutes later—a cluster of small homes huddled together in a clearing, their tin roofs gleaming faintly in the moonlight.
Corazón.
It was smaller than I’d imagined. Quieter. A few lights burned in windows, but most of the houses were dark. The dirt paths between them were empty, and the only sound was the distant bark of a dog—not alarmed, just talking to the night.
Jolly’s ears perked at the bark, his head tilting slightly. Another dog. Interesting.
“Focus,” I murmured. “We’ve got work to do.”
Ethan gathered us at the tree line for final coordination. His voice was barely a whisper. “Sectors as assigned. Radio check every ten minutes. If anyone encounters civilians, freeze and wait. They’ll go back inside. Do not engage unless absolutely necessary.”
We all nodded.
“Deliver the cargo. Zero footprint. We reassemble here in ninety minutes.” His eyes moved across each of us. “Make it count.”
The team split. Ty and Jace melted into the shadows toward the southern quadrant. Ethan went west. Andrew had already peeled off to hold at the extraction point. Logan took up his overwatch position on a small rise overlooking the village.
“In position,” Logan’s voice came through my earpiece. “I’ve got eyes on all sectors. You’re clear, Ben.”
“Copy. Moving to sector north.”
Jolly and I headed into the village.
My sector covered eight households spread across a tangle of narrow paths. The first house was dark, a small structure with a clothesline strung across the yard. I checked my intel sheet—Household: 2 adults, 2 children. Needs: food, clothing, antibiotics.
I unslung my pack. Plain canvas bags filled the bottom—each one labeled and packed according to Lauren’s meticulous intel.
Food that would keep. Clothing in the right sizes.
Medicine for the ailments she knew about from her time at the clinic.
On top of those sat smaller packages wrapped in bright paper, some neat, others showing clear signs of Ty’s handiwork.
I placed the canvas bag on the front step, tucked under a small overhang where it would stay dry. Then the two wrapped packages—one in blue paper, one in red—right beside it.
I moved on.
House by house, I worked my way through my sector. Jolly stayed close, occasionally sniffing at the bright packages with his head tilted in confusion. Supply bags made sense to him. Toys wrapped in ribbons did not.
“Ben, status.” Logan’s voice in my ear.
“Four down, four to go. No issues.”
“Ethan’s clear. Western sector complete. Ty and Jace are clear. Southern sector complete.”
“Copy.” Ty’s voice cut in. “For the record, I crushed it. My placements were artistic.”
“You put one behind a chicken coop,” Jace said.
“The family’s chicken coop. They’ll find it when they do their morning chores. That’s thoughtful, Comet.”
“It’s going to be covered in chicken shit.”
“The supply bag is canvas. It’ll wipe off. And the kids’ presents are on the porch, relax.”
I smiled and kept moving.
Halfway through my sector, a door creaked open.