Chapter 35 Adam
Adam
The ridge was fire and fury.
Gunfire shredded the trees, muzzle flashes strobing through the rain. The air was thick with smoke, wet earth, and the sharp tang of blood. My rifle clicked dry, useless in my hands. I tossed it aside and drew my sidearm, chest heaving.
“Empty,” Hawk shouted, voice hoarse. He hurled his last mag toward Russ. “Make it count!”
Russ caught it, calm as ever, loading with mechanical precision before dropping another masked bastard charging uphill. His movements were steady, but his eyes flicked to me—quietly asking how long we could keep this up.
Not long.
Blade emerged from the shadows, knife dripping, blood slick on his sleeve. “Convoy’s spreading,” he said flatly. “They’re circling to cut off retreat.”
“We’re not retreating,” I snapped, though my own lungs burned with every word.
Static cracked in my comm—Boone’s voice again, ragged, cutting through bursts of gunfire: “…bridge down… Raine’s… alive… holding…”
Alive.
The word hit me like oxygen.
But it wasn’t enough. Alive didn’t mean safe. Alive didn’t mean mine.
Another wave surged from the treeline, a wall of masked men. Hawk cursed, firing wild with what little he had left. Russ held steady, picking targets, but the line was breaking.
They wanted us penned in, out of ammo, easy kills.
I gritted my teeth, lifted my pistol, and barked into the comm. “Raine—if you can hear me, hold on. I’m coming.”
Then I stood tall against the storm, raised my weapon, and met the charge head-on.
If this ridge was going to fall, it would fall with me on my feet.