Page 89 of Gravity
Dave moved in close and kissed him, firm and unapologetic—in front of the team, the desert, the world. Then he pulled back just enough to whisper, “Let’s get this bastard.”
Law chuckled. Viper smirked. Sage snorted and jogged off toward Boston.
The rumble hit next—a single Chinook sweeping in low, rotor wash tearing up the ground. It didn’t hover; it landed hard. Soldiers poured out, weapons up, forming ranks.
“The cavalry has arrived,” Viper said, stepping forward.
A tall man dropped from the lead bird, uniform sharp, posture pure command. Stone squinted.
“It’s Will,” Dave murmured and started toward him.
William Caldwell moved like a man who’d never had to raise his voice to be obeyed.
“Will, glad to have you here,” Dave approached, hand out.
“I wouldn’t miss it. I came for a debrief and heard you were missing.” Will took the outstretched hand, looking Dave over.
Dave gave a faint, wry smile. “Yeah, well—couldn’t let Tatum have all the fun.”
The air still churned with rotor wash, the scent of fuel and dust thick around them. Stone’s gaze tracked west, where the horizon shimmered under the heat and silence.
They still had a camp to burn down.
Having active military and assassins put them at an advantage.
Tatum didn’t have the numbers—or the discipline—Dave and Will had at their disposal.
Dave wiped a hand across the dirt on his face. When Stone handed him a dust rag, he tied it over his mouth and nose. The grit clung to sweat, the air sharp with fuel and metal.
Behind them, the Chinook had gone silent, rotors stilling one by one. A handful of soldiers stayed on guard.
Dave moved out. Stone fell in beside him—quiet, steady, solid as the rifle he carried. With Stone at his flank, Dave felt invincible. Felt like maybe, for once, they could take back something good from all this wreckage.
Will and his commanders spread the teams wide, hand signals sharp against the heat haze. Genesis advanced west in a staggered line.
Out here, they were one—no rank, no distinction. Only the mission.
The desert swallowed them whole. Boots ghosted over the sand-colored earth, the men moving like they belonged to it.
Encroaching on the enemy in broad daylight—exactly when Tatum would never expect it.
Then the world cracked open.
The first volley tore through the quiet, gunfire shredding the stillness. Genesis surged forward, the impact so fierce it felt like the ground itself split under them.
Tents collapsed in clouds of grit. Men shouted. Bullets whined. Sand jumped in bursts around their feet.
Dave leaned into cover, raised his weapon, and fired. One merc hit the dirt. Another tried for cover—too slow.
“Left ridge!” Stone barked. Dave swung his aim, covering the flank as Stone advanced low and fast.
Across the field, Will’s voice carried sharp commands, the calm of a man who’d led a hundred fights before this one. The soldiers fanned wider, cutting through the camp like a blade through cloth.
A grenade arced through the air—Stone saw it first.
“Grenade!” he shouted, shoving Dave to the ground as the explosion hit. The blast shook the earth, sand and heat raining down over them.
“Still breathing?” Stone’s voice came low, steady, grounding.
