Chapter 4 - Valkyrie
Operation Valkyrie was supposed to be routine, which was how soldiers described missions when they wanted fear to behave. A weapons cache had been located in a remote valley. A SEAL strike element would clear it before dawn. Avery would ride with the resupply package, stage ammunition, and remain behind the main push.
Then the valley swallowed the plan.
The helicopter came down hard behind the outer wall after the first volley. Not destroyed, not burning like the movies, but broken enough to trap them in the worst possible ground. Gunfire opened from three ridges. The enemy had known the approach, the timing, and the fallback route.
“This is a box,” Hayes shouted into the radio. “They built a box around us.”
Avery was behind a crumbling stone barrier when Sullivan took the shot that dropped him. He had been shifting position to cover Marcus when the ridge gunner caught the angle. Sullivan went down behind a low slab of rock, his rifle thrown clear into the killing ground.
Marcus crawled toward him immediately.
Because that was Marcus.
He moved under fire like friendship was a medical procedure.
“Sullivan’s hit!” he shouted. “I need cover!”
The machine gun on the left ridge began walking rounds toward him.
Hayes called for a shooter.
No one had the angle.
The rifle lay in the open.
Avery saw it.
Thirty yards.
Broken ground. One shallow fold. A rock shelf. Two seconds between bursts if the gunner kept rhythm. Less if he adjusted.
Her fear did not vanish.
It became quiet.
Morse’s voice came back to her.
The dangerous ones aren’t the ones who understand the cost. They’re the ones who don’t.
Marcus was still crawling.
May you like
Sullivan was still breathing.
Avery moved on the pause.
