Page 26 of Raven

Forty-eight hours later,the air was thick and dry above the Iranian border.

We’d hiked three miles through rocky terrain to reach the drop point. River signaled for silence as we neared the compound—half-buried into the side of a ravine, camouflaged with netting and guarded by men in stolen uniforms.

“Thermals show six heat signatures inside,” Cyclone whispered. “Two stationary, in restraints. One near the west wall on a loop. Two patrolling. One unknown, possibly asleep.”

“Guards armed?” I asked.

“Looks like it. Aks and sidearms.”

“Let’s do this quietly.”

Gage and I split left while River and Cyclone circled wide. Night vision painted the world in green and shadows. I counted heartbeats as we crept closer.

Fifteen feet.

Ten.

I grabbed the first guard by the collar, slammed him backward, and dropped him before he could shout.

Gage was just as fast—dragging his target behind the wall like a ghost.

We moved.

Every second ticking down.

Inside the compound, the smell hit first—blood, sweat, metal.

Then I saw them.

The Marines.

Both were chained to a steel pipe, bloodied but alive.

I signaled, and Gage moved fast—bolt cutters, whispers, steady hands.

One of the Marines blinked at me. “You guys late or what?”

“Traffic,” I muttered.

Gunfire erupted behind us.

Cyclone’s voice in my ear communication:Compromised. East ridge. Move now.

We hauled the Marines to their feet.

No time for stealth now.

We ran.

Bullets sliced the air. Rocks exploded around us. River returned fire as we flanked to the west, dragging the wounded through sand and smoke.

“Extraction in six. Cyclone said. “Get to the chopper!”

A few minutes later I saw them—the black silhouette against the stars.

Our bird.

We made it, to freedom.

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