Page 50 of Ranger's Oath
Gunfire cracks in the distance, sharp and relentless, cutting through the night like tearing metal. The sound ripples across the port, echoing off steel and concrete, and every instinct inside me flares alive. Smoke drifts on the wind, faint but acrid, already stinging my throat. The battle has started, violent and close, and every heartbeat pounds like a warning drum that we’re running straight into the fire. Through the haze I glimpse Gage pinned behind a crate, splinters flying as rounds chew the wood inches from his head. Rush dives across open ground to cover him, rifle barking, and my chest clenches with the urge to sprint straight to them.
We keep low, circling the outskirts, flanking where the Rangers are pushing forward. Muzzle flashes strobe in the dark, dazzling bursts that leave afterimages across my vision. Shouts ricochet between warehouses, boots hammer the ground, radios squawk with frantic static. The air reeks of oil and gunpowder, thick and bitter on my tongue, searing down my throat with every breath. My wolf thrills at the chaos, muscles trembling with the urge to spring. Cassidy snarls, copper eyes blazing, teeth flashing white in the firelight, and I drive harder to keep pace, both of us caught in the pull of battle closing fast.
Deacon bursts into view, rifle up, charging through the smoke with deadly focus. He doesn’t see the figure stalking behind him, slithering out of the shadows with predator’s patience. My ears twitch, catching a heartbeat that doesn’t belong—calm, deliberate, wrong. The rifleman raises his weapon, tracking the unguarded line of Deacon’s spine.
Not today. I explode forward, hitting the man with every ounce of muscle and fury my wolf can muster. My teeth tear into his arm, crunching down until the gun wrenches free of his grasp. His scream is high and panicked, carrying over the gunfire, before I drive him into the dirt with bone-jarring force. His weapon skitters out of reach, clattering uselessly across the ground.
Deacon whirls, eyes wide, catching sight of me looming over the bastard, muzzle dripping, a steady growl vibrating from my chest. I bare my teeth, lips peeled back in lethal promise, daring him to move a single inch. He doesn’t.
Deacon’s mouth curves into a quick, fierce grin. “Thanks, darlin’.” He’s gone again, back into the fray. Beyond him I catch sight of Gideon sprinting across open ground, bullets sparking at his heels. For a heartbeat he disappears into smoke, swallowed by danger, until he dives behind cover again.
The battle rages hotter, the night shaking with violence as chaos swells around us. Cassidy and I weave through it, slipping behind crates and vaulting over shattered pallets, darting between shadows where muzzle flashes paint the world in violent light. Every Ranger is locked in, their rifles spitting fire into the dark. Rush’s voice cuts through the storm, orders sharp as blades, while Deacon shouts warnings that ricochet off corrugated steel. Gideon answers with bursts of cover fire, bullets snapping past my ears like hornets. The comms roar with overlapping commands and curses, a storm of noise, but underneath it all, I keep hunting for one sound—the deep, steady growl of Gage’s voice, anchoring me like a lifeline in the chaos. Across the yard, Rush staggers as a round glances off his vest, the impact spinning him sideways before he steadies and fires back. The flash of vulnerability jolts through me—every one of them is walking a razor’s edge.
I spring onto a low rooftop, claws scraping for purchase on the slick sheet of metal. The port sprawls beneath me, alive with chaos—muzzle flashes strobing like lightning, red flares staining the night with an ominous glow. Trucks huddle together below, the evidence truck gleaming like a prize waiting to be stolen. I crouch low, chest pumping hard, every muscle quivering with the thrill and danger of the hunt. Cassidy streaks across the ground below, her copper pelt a slash of fire as she barrels into a guard, taking him down in a spray of sparks and shouted curses.
My gaze sweeps past the chaos and snags on the reefers. White panels streaked with rust, lined along the dock like a spine of bones. At first glance, they’re ordinary—food shipments, labeled for perishables. But the rhythm is wrong. They’re moving in sequence, not staggered like legitimate cold storage, and the manifests I memorized in ops had them departing at dawn, not midnight. Someone’s masking troop movement as cargo.
I bark low into the rig, sharp and clipped, forcing my meaning through the channel.Hold. Those reefers aren’t what they say—wait until the third rolls clear, that’s your window.
Gideon’s voice cuts back, tense. “Copy. Adjusting route.”
A beat later, gunfire veers wide as the Rangers shift timing, sliding through the blind gap I flagged. Relief punches through me, fierce and hot—I’m not just keeping up. I’m helping hold the line.
Gunfire cracks, bullets ricochet. I leap down again, landing in a crouch, adrenaline burning. My claws rake the dirt, the taste of iron thick in the air. I sprint hard, ears flat, heart racing.
The comms hiss with overlapping voices. Rush curses, Gideon reports movement on the east flank, Deacon calls for cover fire. Discipline says Cassidy and I should keep radio silence, stay shadows in the fight, but instinct overrides training. Cassidy lets out a bark that slices the channel, her wolf’s growl vibrating even through the static—a warning, a signal the Rangers can’t ignore. I answer with a short, guttural rumble of my own, letting them know we’re here on the flank. I know Gage will grind his teeth when he hears it, but better his fury than one of them walking blind into an ambush.
Gunfire rattles, bullets whining off metal too close, each strike sparking panic in the dark. The night is a storm of chaos, yet my senses cut through it with brutal clarity—the stench of fuel pouring from a punctured drum, the acrid tang of smoke drifting low, the shriek of tires spinning against asphalt. And beneath it all, threading steady through the comm, is the rhythm of Gage’s breathing. That sound anchors me, steady and alive, a reminder that no matter how close the danger presses, I am not alone.
Cassidy barrels past me, leaping over stacked crates, her wolf form a streak of copper and flame cutting through the dark. She collides with a guard sneaking up on Rush, her teeth sinkingdeep before the guard even realizes she’s there. His scream rips into the night, cut short as she drags him down hard, blood spraying across the crates. She doesn’t pause, doesn’t look back. Her movements are pure violence and precision. She trusts me to cover her flank, and that trust burns hot in my chest as I keep pace, ready to strike at anything that slips through.
I dart toward the evidence truck, heart thundering with every stride. The metal hums with engine heat, radiating like a live beast guarding its own secrets. Inside is a silent promise of justice, crates of proof that could topple powerful men if we can keep it safe. I crouch low, every muscle wound tight, nose twitching as I drink in the scents of oil, sweat, and fear bleeding through the dark. My eyes sweep the shadows, every flicker a possible threat. I can feel them circling, more bodies closing in, the pulse of danger thick in the air like static before lightning.
A shape moves near the truck, another gunman edging into position with his rifle already lifting. I launch before he can level the barrel, slamming him down hard, claws tearing as we hit the ground. His shout dies in his throat when Cassidy barrels in, ending him with a savage snap of her jaws. Blood spatters, the metallic tang hot in the air. We lock eyes for a heartbeat, feral grins flashing, then split off again, sweeping the field for the next threat.
Another group pushes in from the docks, half a dozen rifles leveled and advancing in a tight line. My muscles tense, every nerve raw, instincts roaring for me to strike before they can. Cassidy launches first, a copper blur bursting from the dark with a snarl that rips across the yard like thunder. She smashes into the line, bodies scattering under her weight and fury. I seize a straggler by the leg, yanking him off balance and dragging him into the dirt before he can regroup. His rifle skids across the asphalt with a metallic clatter, useless as his shout that breaks into silence beneath my growl.
The comms erupt again—Rush shouting contact, Gideon reporting pressure on the north wall, Deacon swearing as gunfire drowns his words. Chaos swirls through every channel, but cutting through the storm comes Gage’s voice, steady as stone and twice as grounding. “Hold the line. Push them back.” The authority in his tone steadies me, dragging my pulse back into rhythm even while my body thrums with tension and the battlefield roars around us.
Cassidy growls low in my ear, but before panic can swallow me, Gage’s voice cuts through, steady and grounding. “Sadie. Focus. The truck. Eyes forward.”
My chest heaves, fear raking like claws through my ribs, but his voice steadies me, an anchor in the storm. I drag the terror down, grind it into fuel, and pour it into my legs. He’s right. The mission matters more than my shaking breath. I drive myself harder, faster, the world blurring silver around me as I tear through the night. I will not be bait. Not tonight.
I skid to a stop beside the truck, paws digging furrows in the dirt as I drop into a low crouch, every muscle coiled tight. I plant myself guard-dog style, head low, ears flicking to catch even the faintest sound. Above me on the ridge, Cassidy holds her post, her silhouette rigid and alert against the firelit sky. The firefight rages in the distance, bullets cracking like whips, shouts echoing through steel and smoke, but I bare my teeth and hold the line, refusing to yield an inch.
Another burst of fire shrieks past, bullets hammering the truck’s side panel and sending sparks cascading in a bright spray. A snarl rips out of me before I launch, fury and instinct driving me into the shooter. We crash to the ground, claws raking, his cry choked off as the impact drives the air from his lungs. His weapon clatters uselessly aside. I lower my muzzle close, teeth bared inches from his throat, the heat of his fearpouring off him until he scrambles back into the dark, leaving the scent of panic behind.
For a fleeting heartbeat, it almost feels as if we’ve wrestled control back, the chaos bending in our favor and the enemy faltering beneath the push.
A spark bursts to life by the wheel well, flaring bright in the dark. The ground bucks under my paws, a violent jolt that rattles my bones. A sudden detonation rips through the night, fire spilling outward in a vicious wave. The evidence truck shudders under the blast, metal groaning as smoke billows upward in choking curls.
The trap has been sprung.
Flames lick up the side panel, heat blasting against my fur. The truck’s alarm blares, a shrill wail that cuts through the gunfire. Cassidy barks from the ridge, a warning and a challenge rolled into one. I dart forward, snapping at the edge of the fire, instinct screaming to shield the cargo. My heart hammers, not just from the danger but from the voice still echoing in my head, that taunt that wrapped around my name like a noose.
On the comms, Rush is shouting for water, Gideon’s demanding status, Deacon is swearing—and then Gage’s voice breaks through. For once, it isn’t all steel. The steadiness wavers, just enough for me to hear the crack in it. “Hold position. Contain it. Don’t you dare fall, Sadie.”
The slip is raw, unguarded, a heartbeat of fear punched into the open before he clamps down again, tone snapping back into command. But I heard it. And it drives me harder than any order ever could.
