Dawn did not arrive gently.It came hard and white over the ridgeline, burning the night away and exposing everything Echo Unit had tried to keep hidden—torn uniforms, blood-darkened sand, the fatigue etched into every man’s face. The desert had no mercy for secrets.Captain Mercer stood at the edge of the temporary encampment, boots planted, eyes fixed on the horizon. He hadn’t slept. None of them had—not really. They’d rotated watches, treated wounds, rationed water, and said very little.Words were heavy things now.Behind him, Echo Unit gathered in the shallow bowl between two broken hills. Rafe sat on a crate cleaning his rifle with meticulous care, jaw set, eyes distant. Lena checked comms that barely worked. Navarro lay propped against a pack, breathing shallow but steady. Jace was still alive—barely—but the medic’s bandages were soaked through again.They had survived another night.That was the victory.Mercer clenched his jaw, feeling the weight of command settle deeper into

The rain came down in sheets, turning the forward operating base into a field of mud and shadows. Floodlights cast pale cones of light across the compound, illuminating soldiers moving with quiet purpose—cleaning weapons, securing perimeter lines, doing the small necessary things that kept fear at bay.Mercer stood alone near the edge of the tarmac, helmet under his arm, rain soaking through his fatigues as if he hadn’t noticed. The distant thump of helicopters echoed through the clouds, but none were coming for them tonight.Not yet.Behind him, Echo Unit gathered without being told. No formation. No orders. Just instinct pulling them together.Lena was first, shaking rain from her hair as she leaned against a crate. Rafe followed, cigarette unlit between his fingers, eyes sharp but tired. Navarro arrived carrying two cups of bitter field coffee, handing one to Mercer without a word. Jace, still pale from his wounds but standing on his own now, took up a place slightly behind them, a

Dawn came thin and pale over the hills, the kind of light that didn’t promise warmth, only clarity. Echo Unit moved through it in silence, boots sinking into damp earth, breath measured, rifles held low but ready. After everything they had endured—betrayal, pursuit, loss—the quiet felt heavier than gunfire.Mercer walked at the front, shoulders squared, eyes scanning the ridgeline ahead. He had slept barely an hour. None of them had slept much. When the body finally slows down, the mind takes over, replaying moments you wish you could rewrite.Behind him, Rafe broke the silence first. “Never thought I’d miss the sound of rotors,” he muttered. “At least then you know where the trouble is.”Lena huffed softly. “Trouble’s everywhere, Rafe. We just got better at recognizing it.”Navarro walked between them, steady despite the bandage wrapped tight around his ribs. Jace followed close, moving slower than before, still recovering but refusing help. He’d insisted on carrying his own pack tod

Dawn crept over the forward operating base like a reluctant witness, pale gold slipping through layers of dust and smoke that never quite left the valley. The night’s chill still clung to the metal walls and sandbags, but the camp was already awake. Boots scraped gravel. A generator coughed to life. Somewhere, a kettle whistled, thin and sharp, like a reminder that ordinary rituals still mattered even here.Captain Daniel Mercer stood outside the command tent with a mug warming his hands, watching Echo Unit assemble for morning checks. He didn’t rush them. He never did. There was a rhythm to soldiers who trusted one another—no frantic movements, no wasted words. Each man knew where he fit, what the others needed before they needed it.Sergeant Lucas Hale tightened the strap on his vest and glanced toward Mercer. “Recon team’s back,” he said. “No movement overnight. Locals kept their distance.”“Any sign of the convoy?” Mercer asked.Hale shook his head. “Nothing yet. If it’s coming, i