The road narrowed as Echo Unit pushed deeper into elevated terrain, the plateau giving way to a winding shelf carved into the mountainside. To the left, the ground fell away in a long, unforgiving drop. To the right, rock walls rose close enough to scrape mirrors if a driver drifted even slightly. It was the kind of place where mistakes didn’t get second chances.Captain Daniel Mercer felt the tension sharpen. Trust had carried them this far. Consequences would decide what it cost.“Speed steady,” Mercer ordered. “No passing. No compression.”Engines responded, a low, controlled growl echoing off stone. The convoy moved like a single organism, each vehicle adjusting to the one ahead without instruction. Fatigue still lived in their bones, but discipline kept it from showing.Sergeant Lucas Hale rode with his window cracked, listening to the land as much as the radio. “This route wasn’t meant for convoys,” he said. “Someone will be watching.”“They always are,” Mercer replied. “Differe

Morning arrived without apology. The clouds that had lingered overnight broke apart, letting hard sunlight spill across the valley and the scattered positions Echo Unit had established. The land looked unchanged, but Mercer knew better. After the village visit, nothing was neutral anymore.Captain Daniel Mercer stood near the command vehicle, listening as Lieutenant Aaron Pike finished his report to higher command. Pike’s voice was measured, diplomatic—every word chosen to convey control without inviting interference.“—no detainees, no escalation,” Pike concluded. “Local intelligence gathered. Presence established.”A pause crackled over the radio. The response came clipped and cool.“Command acknowledges. Maintain readiness. Further guidance pending.”Pike ended the transmission and exhaled. “That’s as close to approval as we’ll get.”Mercer nodded. “For now.”Around them, Echo Unit settled into routine—perimeter checks, equipment maintenance, overlapping watch schedules. Routine di

Dawn arrived without ceremony.A pale wash of light crept over the valley, revealing what night had hidden—fresh footprints near the eastern ridge, scattered and hesitant, as though whoever made them hadn’t known whether to approach or retreat. Captain Daniel Mercer crouched beside the tracks, fingers brushing the dust.“Civilian shoes,” Hale said behind him. “At least two adults. Maybe a child.”“They circled the perimeter,” Mercer replied. “Didn’t cross.”“That’s new,” Hale muttered.Mercer straightened slowly. “Fear makes people cautious. Hope makes them curious. This feels like both.”Orders went out quietly. No alarms. No aggressive posturing. Echo Unit shifted into a controlled readiness, the kind that looked almost relaxed to an untrained eye. Weapons stayed slung. Voices stayed low.The valley was listening.Reed stood watch at the southern edge, rifle resting against his shoulder, eyes scanning the hills. He’d slept maybe two hours, dreams fractured and sharp. Every sound fel

The storm left behind more than mud.By morning, the valley looked scrubbed raw—channels reshaped, dust pressed flat, tracks erased as if the land itself wanted a clean slate. Echo Unit moved slower, boots heavy with damp earth, gear laid out to dry wherever the sun found an opening.Captain Daniel Mercer stood near the med tent as the injured civilian was stabilized. The man’s leg was splinted, his breathing easier now, eyes no longer wild with pain. His family waited nearby, wrapped in borrowed blankets, watching every movement with quiet intensity.“He’ll keep the leg,” the medic said. “Long recovery. But he’ll walk again.”Mercer nodded. “Thank you.”The medic hesitated. “Sir… if we’d been ten minutes later—”“We weren’t,” Mercer said gently. “That’s what matters.”He stepped away, letting the family have their space. Ortiz joined him, hands still raw from the night.“You know word will spread,” Ortiz said. “About this.”Mercer looked out toward the valley. “It always does.”“Good

The valley answered the quiet with consequence.Just before midday, the drone feed flickered—then steadied—revealing movement along the northern approach. Not a single figure this time. Not observers. A group. Organized. Deliberate.Captain Daniel Mercer stood beside Pike as the image sharpened. Men moving in staggered lines, weapons slung but visible, no attempt at concealment. Too many to ignore. Too few to be an assault.“They want to be counted,” Hale said, stepping in close.“Yes,” Mercer replied. “And they want us to decide what that count means.”The men gathered quickly, tension tightening like a drawn cord. Ortiz checked Reed’s kit without being asked, movements practiced and calm.“Remember,” Ortiz said quietly, “visible doesn’t mean hostile.”Reed nodded. “And hostile doesn’t always mean visible.”Ortiz smiled once. “That’s the right order.”Mercer keyed the radio. “All units, hold posture. Weapons low. Eyes high.”The group advanced to a ridgeline well outside the perimete