I thought about the men I’d known who were “the best.” Some of them were still alive. Most weren’t.
But I kept that thought to myself.
The morning passed slowly.
We reviewed the plan. Then we reviewed it again. The Baroness walked us through the infrastructure targets. There were three power stations, a communications hub, and two transportation chokepoints. Six sites. Too many for eight people to cover effectively, especially when one was so badly injured she had to remain behind.
“We focus on what we can control,” the Baroness said. “The warehouse remains our primary target. If we can document the staging operation, we can prove coordination. The secondary sites are insurance.”
“And if the warehouse is a bust?” Danny asked. “If they’re not using it as a staging area?”
“Then we adapt.” The Baroness’s voice was flat. “We follow whatever vehicles leave, document whatever we can, and hope it is enough.”
Hope.
I’d built my career on better foundations than hope.
But sometimes hope was all we had.
Will spent the morning checking equipment. He filled cameras with film, replaced batteries, and rechecked the ammunition in our weapons so many times I thought one might go off in his hands just to make him stop. He was meticulous, making sure everything was prepared and working properly. It was busywork, mostly, something to keep his hands occupied while his mind chewed on problems he couldn’t solve. It was also necessary. A dead battery at the wrong moment could kill us as surely as a bullet. At the least, it could ruin our mission’s effectiveness. Neither was acceptable when the world order hung in the balance.
I watched him and thought about what we were walking into.
The Order had resources. They’d clearly been planning this for years, building their network piece by piece. We’d been scrambling for weeks, improvising and reacting. The odds didn’t favor us—but then, they rarely did. They wouldn’t need us for an easy job.
What we did have was surprise.
The enemy knew we were out here, working against their goals, but they didn’t know we knew. They might suspect we were coming, but couldn’t know when or where we might appear.
At least, we hoped they didn’t.
Eddie returned at half past two.
He slipped into the farmhouse so quietly that I didn’t even hear him until he was already in the kitchen doorway. One moment it stood empty; the next moment it was occupied.
“Report,” the woman said.
Eddie crossed to the table and pulled out a small notebook. His handwriting was cramped and precise, each line a compressed burst of information.
“The warehouse is active,” he said. “Three trucks in the loading bay when I arrived. Two more came in while I was watching. Men moving equipment—crates, tools, what looked like electrical components.”
“How many men?” I asked.
“Twelve that I counted. Possibly more inside.” Eddie traced a rough sketch he’d made of the facility. “Two entrances—main loading bay here, smaller service door on the east side. Fence around the perimeter, chain-link with barbed wire on top. One guard at the main gate, another doing irregular patrols.”
“Irregular?” The woman leaned forward. “How irregular?”
“Random intervals. Five minutes, then twelve, then eight. Someone trained them well.” Eddie looked up from his notes. “These aren’t amateurs. They’re running a professional operation.”
The Baroness absorbed this in silence. I watched her face, trying to read what she was thinking.
“The trucks,” she said finally. “Did you see where they went?”
“Two left while I was watching. I followed one as far as I could without risking exposure.” Eddie flipped to another page. “It headed east toward the industrial district. I lost it near the power station on Hardstrasse.”
“One of our targets,” Will said.
“Yes.” The Baroness nodded.
