Chapter 32
“I’ve got a thermal signature at a decommissioned outpost,” Mattis shares. “It could be her. But it could be nothing. It’s faint, about five klicks east of your crash site.”
Suddenly, the air inside the tent is electric, charged with purpose and hope. My pulse hammers through the pain in my ribs, blurring everything except the image of her face burned into the back of my skull.
Five klicks.
Five fucking klicks.
My mind spins through the map automatically: terrain, routes, cover points, and extraction options.
I push off the floor, staggering to my feet with a guttural groan.
Every part of me protests, but adrenaline drowns the pain.
With gritted teeth, I pull my vest over my head and cinch it tight.
I shove spare mags into it, my fingers clumsy from exhaustion and tremors I can’t control.
Jagger steps beside me, catching my arm. “Hawk, slow down—”
“I’m not slowing down.” I keep grabbing gear, loading weight onto a body that can barely carry itself.
“You’re not up for this?” He gives me a sidelong look as he slides a fresh mag into his rifle.
“We move now. If there’s even a chance that’s her, we’re going now.”
“Hawk… Chris… Listen to me.” Jagger’s tone hardens, the officer in him surfacing. “You can’t even stand straight. You’ll be a dead weight out there.”
“I’d rather die out there than sit here doing nothing.” The words come out as a snarl, mostly—but not entirely—from the pain. “You think I can wait here, twiddling my fucking thumbs and listening to the comms while she’s out there, scared and alone?”
Jagger takes a deep breath, and I can see the war raging behind his eyes: the soldier who knows he’s right and the friend who knows I won’t listen.
Mattis’s voice crackles through the phone, cutting through the tension. “I’ll ping coordinates directly to your HUD and keep the feed up. If the signal strengthens.”
“Do it,” I bark.
Jagger curses under his breath but doesn’t stop me as I sling the rifle over my shoulder.
Outside, Gunnar and Damon are already at the Humvee. The engine is rumbling, and the headlights are nearly blacked out. When they see me limping toward them, their expressions fall somewhere between concern and grim determination.
“Mattis still on comms?” I ask.
Gunnar nods, tapping his headset. “Got him patched through to the dash. The feed is flickering in and out, but the thermal ping is still active.”
“Then we move.”
No one argues. We pile into the Humvee, the doors slamming shut behind us.
With Mattis on comms, it’s almost like old times.
The ride is rough, the uneven terrain unforgiving in my wounded state.
The vibration runs through my ribs like fire, but I grit my teeth and stare out the window, scanning the darkness for any hint of movement.
Mattis’s voice cuts through the static. “I’m getting a heat spike—just off the ridge, old supply depot, marked defunct on the grid. Minimal power draw, no heavy guard movement. Could be a ghost site.”
Could be her…
“Could also be a trap,” Damon warns from behind the wheel.
The Humvee jolts to a stop as we crest the ridge. Below us, the structure sprawls low and long, the metal siding faded and windows cracked. A rusted chain-link fence sags around the perimeter, more for show than security. “Looks too easy,” Gunnar says, peering through the sight of his rifle.
“Nothing about this is easy,” I snap, gripping mine tighter.
We move out on foot, the crunch of gravel the only sound in the desert. I motion with two fingers toward the building. Damon peels right, Gunnar left, Jagger stays close to me.
“Two guards, east corner,” Jagger whispers into the comms. “Low alert.”
“Take them.”
He doesn’t hesitate. Two silenced pops crack through the stillness. The guards drop before they can so much as register the threat.
We keep moving like ghosts in the dark. My ribs ache with every breath, but I push through it, focusing on the goal. The closer we get, the louder my heart pounds.
Mattis’s voice crackles in our ears again. “Thermal’s solid now—same position. Lower level, central structure. Can’t make out specifics through the interference.”
“Copy that,” I reply. “We’re breaching.”
Jagger glances at me, staring hard. “You sure you want point?”
“I’m not asking.”
He nods once, accepting the inevitable. We reach the main door, a thick slab of reinforced steel with a keypad glowing faint green. Gunnar has already got the breaching charges ready, fingers flying through the wires with practiced precision.
“Three-second charge,” he warns.
I nod, rifle raised as I press my back to the wall a few feet left of the door. The others take their positions—crouched low, ready to move—as Gunnar affixes the charge to the lock. The seconds stretch endlessly.
BOOM.
The door explodes inward, the shockwave slamming into my chest. I’m through the smoke before it clears, weapon ready, eyes burning from the dust and heat.
Shadows move in the haze. Armed men, shouting and scrambling for cover.
My rifle kicks against my shoulder, muzzle flashes lighting the dark as I take a shot without hesitation.
One target drops, then another. I sweep left, ducking behind a crate as rounds tear through the air above me.
My ribs and shoulder scream, but I keep firing, digging deeper into the building.
Jagger’s voice cuts through the chaos. “Left flank clear!”
“Right clear!” Gunnar shouts.
Someone charges from the hallway in front of us. He doesn’t even make it two steps before I fire at him. In the narrow hallway, the metallic scent of blood mixing with the acrid burn of gunpowder is heavy and nauseating.
We advance deeper, room by room. Every door. Every corner. Finding them all to be a dead end. The uncertainty gnaws at me worse than the pain.
“Clear,” Jagger calls from another corridor.
“Keep moving,” I bark, my voice hoarse.
We sweep through what looks like an old logistics bay, empty crates stacked in rows and rusted equipment scattered everywhere. A flickering light hums above, casting long, twitching shadows across the floor.
“Mattis, talk to me,” I demand, pressing a hand to my earpiece.
“Signal is sketchy,” he replies. “Still showing one heat source, but it’s weak. Might be shielded by concrete or below ground.”
“Below ground,” I echo.
“There.” Damon gestures toward the far end of the room. “There’s a stairwell at the back.”
Rifles drawn, we take turns providing cover as we cross the vast space.
By the time we reach the stairs, adrenaline is the only thing keeping me upright.
Gunnar tosses a glow stick down the steps, and green light spills through the darkness, catching on old pipes and a corridor that appears to extend the length of the building.
“Mattis, anything?”
“Still there,” he says, voice tight. “But I’m losing clarity. Could be interference, could be shielding. Be on your guard down there.”
“Noted.”
On my six, Jagger touches my shoulder lightly, signaling for me to move.
We descend in silence. The deeper we go, the darker it gets.
I flip on the light attached to my scope, illuminating the hallway immediately before me.
The walls are damp, streaked with mildew, and from the smell, what I can only assume is blood.
The narrow passageway is lined with pipes and conduit. Halfway down, we pass a door hanging off its hinges. I glance inside—nothing but broken crates and a dead generator. “Clear,” I shout.
“Clear,” Jagger echoes, giving a second sweep behind me.
“Keep your eyes up,” I reply, my voice barely above a whisper.
We move another ten meters, and a cold chill crawls up my spine. I move more slowly, my light trained dead ahead. The corridor narrows even more, walls closing in until they become claustrophobic.
I pause, motioning for Jagger to cover me as we edge closer to the end of the hall. A heavy door waits there, reinforced, sealed tight with a locking bar. There’s a keypad beside it, old and corroded but still faintly lit. The light blinks—slow, steady.
“Mattis,” I whisper. “We’ve got a sealed door, lower level, central corridor. Any chance this lines up with your signal?”
Static crackles in response. His voice comes through broken, almost lost. “—ing… heat source… inside. Weak—”
“Repeat? Say again?”
“—inside the room, Hawk. It’s coming from inside.”
Jagger gives a tight nod, taking up position beside the frame. “On your go.”
My pulse is thundering. My vision tunnels to the blinking light on the keypad. Every breath feels like glass in my chest. Somewhere behind the steel, there’s either salvation or the end of the line.
“Manual breach?” I order. Jagger sets the charge while I brace against the opposite wall, rifle raised. My ears ring from the blood pounding in them. My world shrinks down to this door. This moment.
The charge clicks into place. Jagger meets my eyes. “Three seconds.”
I nod once.
The countdown begins.
Three.
My heart feels like it’s going to explode as my finger hovers against my trigger.
Two.
The thought of being too late causes my heart to momentarily seize. My stomach twists.
One.
The explosion rips through the corridor, deafening in the confined space. Smoke billows out, thick and choking.
“Move!” I shout, pushing forward through the haze, weapon sweeping through the darkness.