Page 46 of Ghost
“They can’t land in these trees,” Ryan says, scanning the sky. “They’ll either drop troops at the cabin or try to cut us off at the LZ.”
“Split the difference. Two teams.” I unshoulder my rifle, checking the chamber. “How many birds?”
“Just one.”
The helicopter appears over the ridge line, a sleek black shape against the pale morning sky. Not military—private security, which confirms our suspicions. Reynolds isn’t using official channels for this extraction.
“Dropping at the cabin.” Ryan tracks the chopper through his scope.
I nod, already moving toward a better vantage point. “They’ll secure the location, check the shed.”
“Where they’ll find nothing but blood.” Ryan’s grim satisfaction is evident. “That should keep them busy for a few minutes. Then, they’ll follow.”
We’re two miles ahead of them, but we’ve broken the snow. Made it easy for them tofollow us.
The helicopter reappears overhead, heading straight toward the ridge line—exactly where our extraction LZ is located.
“Fuck. They’re cutting us off,” I mutter. “How the hell did they know?”
“Reynolds has better intel than we thought,” Ryan suggests. He peers through his scope. “Shit, dropping four lines.” He waits a beat. “Dropped four men near the LZ.”
“Fuck. We circle back.” There’s no time to dwell on it. The helicopter is deploying a second team, fast-roping them into a clearing just ahead of where Willow, Martinez, Cooper, and Jackson are headed.
“Chaos, track,” I command, sending the dog ahead on a silent mission to locate and trail our team. To Willow.
Ryan and I move quickly through the trees, staying low, using the terrain for cover. We need to reach our people before Reynolds’s men cut them off.
A burst of gunfire erupts ahead—short, controlled, professional. My blood runs cold.
“Contact,” Ryan confirms unnecessarily.
We redouble our pace. I am no longer concerned with the noise of our approach; all that matters is reaching Willow before Reynolds’s men get to her. The thought of her back in their hands, of what would happen to her…
No. That’s not an option.
More gunfire—this time a different weapon. Cooper’s rifle, the distinctive crack unmistakable.
“They’ve engaged,” Ryan says, breathing hard as we push through a snow drift.
“Cooper’s good,” I remind him, though I’m unsure whether I’m reassuring him or myself. “Jackson’s with them. Martinez. And Bear.”
We crest a slight rise, and the scene unfolds below. Cooper positions Willow behind a fallen tree, covering her with his bodywhile returning fire. Jackson flanks their position, creating crossfire with interlocking fields of fire. Bear stands guard over Willow, his massive body tense and ready to attack anyone who approaches. Martinez is nowhere. Probably circling to get behind the threat.
Four men in tactical gear have my men pinned down, advancing in textbook fire-and-movement patterns. Professionals. Well-trained.
Dangerous.
“High-low,” I tell Ryan, who nods, instantly understanding the plan. He’ll take the high ground, providing overwatch, while I circle low to flank their position.
As Ryan moves off, Cooper takes a hit to the leg, his body jerking from the impact. He stays up, still firing, but the wound slows him down, limiting his effectiveness.
My world narrows to the mission: protect Willow.
Eliminate the threat.
I circle behind the attacking team, using the trees for cover, moving silently despite the deep snow. Chaos appears beside me, materializing like a ghost. He’s already assessed the situation, already chosen his target. Movement to my right, and I spot Martinez, doing precisely as I imagined.
We trade hand signals.
