We test the encrypted radios. Clear signals all around. No interference.
"Questions?" Zeke scans the group.
Silence. We all know what we're doing. We've all done this before in one form or another. The only difference is that this time it's personal for Rhys. And by extension, personal for me.
"Then let's end this," Zeke says.
We split into teams. Everyone melts into the trees heading to their positions. Rhys and I move south, navigating by compass and GPS through terrain that wants to kill anyone stupid enough to traverse it in darkness.
The camp is two miles from the rally point. Two miles through snow and ice and trees that grab at clothing and gear. Two miles to think about everything that could go wrong.
I've done dozens of operations like this. Hostage rescue. High-risk warrants. Tactical assaults on fortified positions. I was good at it before I moved to crisis negotiation. But it's been years since I wore a tactical vest and moved through darkness with a team at my back.
Years since Baker died on my watch, despite the review board ruling it a freak ricochet.
"You good?" Rhys asks quietly.
"Better than I've been in two years." The truth of it surprises me. "You?"
"Focused." His jaw tightens. "Ready."
We reach our position with five minutes to spare. The camp spreads below us in a small valley. Two buildings exactly where Irina said they'd be. The larger structure for the captives. The smaller one for guards. A generator hums somewhere out of sight. Lights burn in windows despite the hour.
Through my night vision scope I count three guards on patrol. Two more visible inside the guard quarters through a window. That's five. Intel said four on rotating shifts, which means they're running heavier security than expected.
"I've got five guards visible," I whisper into the radio. "Two inside, three on patrol."
"Copy," Zeke responds. "Adjusting approach. Caleb, you see the extra patrol?"
"Affirmative. I have clean shots on all three external targets."
"Hold fire until breach. We take them all at once."
My watch reads zero-one-fifty-eight. Two minutes.
Rhys settles beside me, rifle aimed at the guard quarters. His breathing is slow and controlled. Combat calm that comes from years of training and experience. I match my breathing to his. Let the familiar rhythm steady my pulse.
Zero-two-hundred hours.
"Execute," Zeke says.
Flashbangs detonate. The night explodes into blinding white light and concussive thunder that echoes off the valley walls. Guards stumble, disoriented. Caleb's rifle cracks once, twice, three times in rapid succession. All three external guards drop.
Zeke's team hits the guard quarters. More flashbangs. Shouting in Russian and English. Gunfire. Short controlled bursts.
"Move," Rhys says.
We're up and running. Fifty yards to the main building. My boots find purchase in snow and ice. The tactical vest weighs twenty pounds but the adrenaline makes it weightless. Just move. Fast and low. Rifle up and ready.
A guard appears from around the building. Young. Maybe twenty. Eyes wide with panic. He raises an AK-47.
I fire first. Center mass. Two rounds. He goes down.
Rhys is already at the door. Tries the handle. Locked. He doesn't hesitate. Kicks it hard right next to the lock. The frame splinters and the door flies inward.
I'm through first. Rifle up. Scanning. Sweeping corners. The training I thought I'd left behind flows through me like muscle memory. Room clear. Move. Next room. Clear. Move.
"Law enforcement!" I shout. "Stay down! We're here to help!"
