So was she.
Thirty minutes after the green light, the convoy rolled into the staging area and went dark. Engines cut. Doors opened. Horse trailers were unhitched with practiced efficiency, ramps dropping in near silence.
This was a massive undertaking, one of the largest WILD had ever attempted. Four RCMP mounted contingents were positioned to intercept any squirters who thought they could outrun the net. Blair, Tyler, and Beef were Contingent Three.
The air hit her face, cool and steady, carrying the distant chop of rotors winding up to full power.
With the authority to carry confirmed, Beef handed her and Tyler their carbines, checking the weapons, ammo, and seating each magazine firmly before sliding them into the side scabbards on the left-hand side of their mounts. Blair nodded once to Beef and Tyler as they checked their sidearms, racking slides before holstering. Then they turned their focus to the horses.
Blair slid her palm along Jet’s neck as they led him away from the trailer, feeling the contained power under his skin. Fresh. Focused. Ready. He shifted once, impatient but calm, the way he always was when he knew a run was coming.
They walked their mounts toward the tree line at an easy pace, keeping noise down, letting the land swallow them. Blair checked her watch.
Five minutes.
Radios crackled low around them, voices clipped and professional. Positions confirmed. Timelines locked.
At the edge of concealment, Blair swung up into the saddle, the movement as familiar as breath. Tyler mounted to her left, Beef to her right, their horses grouping naturally without fuss. They all knew their lanes. They all knew what would break their way once the SEALs were inserted.
She looked toward the basin. From here, the ranch appeared deceptively calm, buildings settled into the land as if they belonged there, vehicles parked in casual disarray, men moving without urgency.
Above them, the helicopters slid into position, shadows crossing the ground in slow, deliberate arcs. One tightened its orbit over the compound. The other held wider, ready to provide cover the moment things went loud.
Blair felt it before she heard it, the subtle change in pitch, the way the air itself seemed to brace.
“Stand by,” came the call in her ear.
She settled deeper into the saddle, fingers closing around the reins as every sense sharpened. This was the moment she trusted most, the breath before chaos, when the plan still held, and outcomes were clean.
Somewhere above her, Breakneck would be harnessed and steady, eyes already tracking the ground she was about to cover at speed. The thought steadied her more than she cared to admit.
“Contingent One, set,” came over comms.
“Contingent Three, set,” Blair replied quietly when it was her turn.
Blair felt it before she heard it, the subtle shift in pressure, the way the air itself seemed to brace.
The first bird tightened its orbit, banking just enough that its shadow slid across the basin like a warning. The second helicopter tore through the sky, a black predator slicing in low and fast. A sleek iron bird of prey. The third waited to assault.
Rotor wash slammed the yard. The world went white as dust and shredded chaff exploded outward, a blinding, choking tide that swallowed sound and sight. The pressure hit like a physical blow, a giant’s fist to the chest. Horses screamed and pulled against their ties. Someone shouted. Another voice answered, sharp and urgent.
The quiet of the ranch shattered.
Blair sat deep in the saddle, spine aligned, every nerve awake. A cold, clean fire ignited in her veins. This was the moment she lived for, the instant where theory collapsed into brutal, beautiful reality.
The hunt was on.
The assault bird dropped into the center of the compound, nose steady, skids hovering just above the ground. Ropes snapped free, dark lines whipping down as figures appeared in the open doorway.
SEALs ejected with the unfeeling speed of ammunition leaving a chamber, sliding fast, boots hitting dirt in controlled, punishing impacts. No hesitation. No wasted motion. Knees bent, weapons up, scanning before the ropes had even stopped swinging.
The ropes released, slapping the ground as the assault bird lifted the instant the last man touched down. It climbed hard, clearing the yard in seconds.
Drop and go. Exactly as planned.
Blair’s radio came alive.
“Boots down,” Iceman snapped. “Bones deployed. Troops in contact.”
