Chapter 2
The team scattered without a word, boots crunching on loose rock. Dust hit the back of his throat, gritty and metallic. The valley dropped away below them, black except for the faint orange glow ahead.
Ghost lifted two fingers. Torch and Rogue peeled off east, disappearing into low brush without a sound. Frost and Reaper went left, their silhouettes fading between scattered rocks. Years of working together meant Ghost didn't have to watch them go, he knew where they'd be.
The compound squatted against the hillside like something that had been there long before any of them were born.
Cracked stone walls, patched metal roof, the whole thing looking like one good storm might flatten it.
A weak light flickered through a warped doorway, barely enough to illuminate the dirt beneath it.
They moved in pairs, spreading out in a pattern Ghost could've drawn in his sleep.
He took cover behind a boulder, the stone still warm from the day's heat, and lifted his NVGs.
The world turned green and sharp-edged. Two guards stood at the entrance, rifles dangling at their sides, shoulders slouched.
They weren't paying attention, which made them more dangerous, bored men did stupid things.
Ghost tapped his earpiece twice.
Rogue moved first, keeping low as he closed the distance. Torch circled from the opposite side. Ghost watched them work, breath moving slow through his lungs, counting the seconds in his head.
One—two—three. A heavy thud, a short grunt, then nothing.
Frost had already positioned himself along the west wall. Reaper watched the opposite side, rifle steady. Ghost pressed against the stone beside them, feeling the warmth seep through his gear. Movement caught his eye, another sentry, closer than Ghost liked.
He stepped in behind the man before the guard knew he wasn’t alone. The knife went in clean, and Ghost felt the body go heavy in his hands before he lowered it to the ground. He wiped the blade on his sleeve and moved back to the wall.
Across the compound, Carver's Rangers swept through their sector with hard-earned discipline. Ghost had worked with Carver enough to know the man ran a tight team.
A rifle lifted to the right. Brick's suppressed shot cracked softly, and the target dropped against the stone.
Ghost signaled again.
They pushed through the opening and the compound swallowed them. The temperature jumped immediately, heat trapped in narrow hallways, thick with the smell of old sweat, smoke, and something metallic that Ghost recognized as dried blood. He'd smelled it enough times to know it on instinct.
Something else layered beneath it. Cardamom, maybe sandalwood. The scent of whoever had lived here before tonight turned it into a battleground.
His NVGs turned the hallway green. The walls were rough, scarred from weather and bullets, twisting without any clear logic. Broken doors hung crooked. Glass crunched under his boots, sharp and unpredictable.
Predator led them forward, pausing every few steps to listen before moving on. Ghost watched the tension in his shoulders, awareness, not fear.
They cleared rooms in silence. Ghost moved with Brick at his flank, trusting Reaper to cover their six without looking back. Four rooms gave them nothing but empty space and shadows.
Lanterns hung overhead, most dark, a few barely flickering. The courtyard ahead looked hollow in their dim light, a dry basin in the center, cracked and forgotten, with brittle plant remains stirring in the breeze.
Footsteps echoed somewhere deeper in the compound.
Predator's fist went up. The team melted into doorways and broken walls.
Ghost tightened his grip on the rifle, breath moving slow through his teeth. Every doorway drew his eye, every shadow a potential threat. The air felt charged, raising the hair on his arms.
Static crackled in his ear.
"Found him," Echo's voice came through quiet. "Rear cell. Two hostiles."
Ghost and Predator moved together. Rogue fell in behind them, keeping low along the wall.
Voices drifted toward them, one man laughing, another tapping his rifle against metal bars in a lazy rhythm. Not paying attention.
Rogue glanced at Ghost, waiting for the call.
Ghost nodded once.
He pressed his back to the wall beside the doorway, stone cool against his shoulders despite his elevated body temperature. Rogue mirrored him on the opposite side. Through a gap in the warped wood, Ghost saw both guards standing close, relaxed.
He lifted his rifle and fired. Two suppressed rounds. The first man dropped, legs giving out. Rogue was already moving, blade finding its mark in one clean motion as he eased the second body down without letting it crash.
Then Ghost saw him.
Bear.
Slumped against the far wall, wrists bound behind him with rope that had cut deep enough to leave visible burns even in low light. Blood covered half his face, jaw swollen and discolored. His uniform was shredded, boots barely holding together.
But he was breathing.
Ghost dropped to one knee and sliced through the bindings. Bear blinked up at him, eyes clouded with pain but still sharp underneath.
"Took you long enough," Bear muttered low.
Something warm expanded in Ghost's chest. He allowed himself a brief smile. "Traffic."
Bear huffed, half laugh, half groan. "Knew you'd come. Glad it was you."
The siren ripped through the quiet.
Ghost had Bear halfway to his feet when the first round cracked off the stone doorframe. Dust rained down from above. Predator's voice cut through comms, urgent but controlled.
"Contact. Multiple hostiles."
Gunfire erupted through the corridors. Plaster burst from walls. Torch fired from cover, dropping two men before they located him. Rogue moved in beside him, rifle barking in short bursts.
Ghost hauled Bear upright. "Can you move?"
Bear spat blood and straightened despite obvious pain. "You bet your ass."
Ghost shoved a sidearm into his hand. "Then do it."
The compound erupted around them. Shouts in Pashto echoed through cramped hallways. Bullets chewed into stone, kicking up dust that made Ghost's eyes water behind his NVGs. Smoke thickened with every step. Muzzle flashes strobed through the darkness.
Brick vaulted a low wall and pulled a flashbang. "Bang out!"
Ghost turned his head as the blast lit the corridor in white fire. The fighters stumbled, blind and disoriented.
At the rear, Rogue knelt at the base of the exit wall, hands steady as he set charges. Gunfire cracked around him, but he worked like it didn't exist. "Fire in the hole in thirty. Get ready."
Ghost keyed his comm. "Falcon, talk to me."
Static, then Falcon's voice came through tighter than before. "Two technicals inbound from the south. Heavy guns. You've got a minute."
Ghost's stomach dropped. The timing was too clean. Too many bodies moving with too much coordination.
Someone had known they'd be here.
Outside, Rangers held the perimeter. Muzzle flashes lit the dust in stuttering bursts. Their fire stayed controlled, no panic, just steady resistance.
Carver's voice cut through the chaos. "Push them back. Hold that flank."
Ghost caught sight of Carver through a break in the wall, pivoting and firing, dropping targets with cold efficiency.
"Rogue!" Ghost shouted. "Do it."
The charges detonated. The blast shook the corridor, turning the rear wall into flying stone and heat. Screams cut off under collapsing debris.
SEALs and Rangers poured through the breach. Smoke rolled over them. Gunfire snapped past, biting into dirt and brick. Ghost kept one hand on Bear's vest, keeping him moving.
Ahead, Frost dragged a wounded Ranger across rough ground, leaving a dark streak of blood behind them. Rogue positioned himself between Bear and the enemy fire, his shots controlled and deliberate.
Bear kept moving despite every step costing him. His jaw stayed clenched, breaths coming rough and shallow.
The ridgeline lit up. A streak of fire cut through the darkness. Ghost's heart slammed against his ribs.
"RPG! Falcon, incoming!"
The rocket screamed toward the bird. Falcon yanked the Black Hawk into a sharp dive that defied physics. The RPG streaked past where they'd been, exploding somewhere behind them. Falcon looped back, and the door gunner opened up, tracers lighting the ridge. Stone shattered. Figures dropped.
Ghost didn't watch. He shoved Bear toward the ramp. "Move."
Bear stumbled through and collapsed inside, one hand braced against the bulkhead as blood slid down his neck. Ghost turned, laying down cover fire.
Torch jumped in. Reaper. Frost. Predator. Rogue. Each man loaded in fast succession. Brick came last, emptying his magazine before diving through the ramp as Falcon pulled power.
"We're in," Ghost snapped. "Go!"
The rotors thundered, kicking up a dust cloud that swallowed the compound. The Black Hawk lifted hard and fast into the night.
Inside, the cabin settled into rough quiet. Gear clattered. Breathing evened out.
Bear leaned back against the bulkhead, face pale, eyes half-closed. "Don't say it," he rasped.
Torch didn't miss a beat. "You look like hammered shit."
Bear managed a weak grin. "I was aiming for rugged."
"You missed. Badly." Torch tossed him a ration bar. "Try not to bleed on Falcon's seats. He'll charge you."
Ghost leaned forward. "You're lucky we got to you in time."
Bear huffed a rough laugh. "You're lucky I didn't die just to avoid your attitude."
Across the cabin, Rogue still gripped his rifle, knuckles white, staring at nothing.
Ghost saw it clearly now, the setup was too clean, the timing too precise.
Someone had planned this, and he wasn’t letting it go.