The chopper's rotors cut through the crisp night air, a hum that reverberated in Alistair's chest. He sat near the edge, his eyes scanning the barren desert below. The lights of distant cities were just faint glimmers on the horizon, far removed from the urgency of their mission. They had hours until the operation would commence, but in the silence of the night, the weight of the task ahead pressed heavily on him.
This mission had been months in the making. Alistair had led his team through countless operations—successful, dangerous, and devastating. But this one felt different. There was a gnawing sense in his gut, an unease that made his grip on his rifle tighter than necessary.
Beside him, Corporal Daniel Cross, the squad's sharpshooter, adjusted his weapon, running a cloth over the barrel. His movements were methodical, practiced. Even in the calm before the storm, Daniel was always in control. His eyes, sharp as his aim, met Alistair's for a moment, and the two shared a silent understanding. They had been through enough to know when something wasn't right.
"Think we'll get this one clean?" Daniel's voice was low, steady. He had a way of making any question sound like a challenge.
Alistair glanced at him, pausing a moment before responding. "We don't have the luxury of doing this messy," he said, his voice carrying the weight of responsibility. "You know the drill, Daniel. We hit hard and fast, no room for improvisation."
Daniel smirked faintly, though his eyes remained serious. "Fast, clean, no mistakes. Heard it before. Doesn't mean it ever works that way."
Alistair gave him a pointed look, though there was no heat behind it. "That's because we don't plan for easy. We plan for what's necessary."
Daniel nodded, his smirk fading into a contemplative frown. "You've got that look again, Alistar. Like you know something's off."
"Because it is," Alistair admitted after a pause. "I don't like the quiet. I never do."
Across the chopper, Specialist Elena "Sparks" Valera was tinkering with her tablet, her fingers dancing over the screen with ease. Sparks had the ability to hack into almost any system, disable communications, and gather intel on the fly. She was the tech wizard of the team, and when the mission depended on information, Alistair knew they were in good hands.
Elena's voice broke the brief silence. "You're not wrong about the quiet, boss," she muttered, her eyes narrowing as she studied the flickering data on her screen. "I've been scanning their comms since we left base. It's... too clean. No cross-talk. No chatter. Either they're the most disciplined group of insurgents I've ever seen, or—"
"They're ready for us," Alistair finished grimly, his gaze hardening. "And you're just telling me this now?"
Elena shrugged, a hint of unease in her expression. "Wasn't much to tell until now. Their network is either locked tight, or they're baiting us. Either way, it's weird. And weird usually means bad."
Daniel snorted softly. "Bad's just another Tuesday for us."
"You think that's funny, Cross?" Elena shot back, her tone sharper than usual. "Because I don't feel like getting ambushed tonight."
"Nobody's getting ambushed," Alistair interrupted firmly, his voice cutting through the brewing tension. "We're here to do a job. Stay focused, and we'll get it done."
On the other side of the chopper, Private Logan "Ox" Turner was slouched in his seat, staring out the window. Ox was the team's muscle, the kind of guy who could take a punch and dish one out even harder. His massive frame was intimidating, but underneath that rough exterior was a man who cared deeply for his teammates.
"Got a bad feeling about this, boss," Ox said, his deep voice gravelly, a clear reflection of his years on the front lines. "You sure we're not walking into a trap?"
Alistair met Ox's gaze, his own expression unreadable. "We're not walking into anything we can't handle."
"Yeah? Tell that to Sparks over there," Ox muttered, jerking his thumb toward Elena. "She's about to have a meltdown."
Elena glared at him. "I'm not having a meltdown. I'm just saying we need to be careful. Not all of us are built like a brick wall, Ox."
Ox chuckled, though there was no malice in it. "Relax, Sparks. I'll keep you safe."
"Just don't get in my way," Elena shot back, though her smirk betrayed her gratitude.
Then there was Zara Kim, their medic, sitting quietly in the corner, her eyes scanning over the team. Zara had a calm presence, the kind of person who knew how to keep a cool head when the world around her was spiraling out of control. She was the heart of the team, always ready with a reassuring word or a steady hand when someone was in need.
"Everyone's quiet tonight," Zara remarked, glancing over at Alistair. "Is that good or bad?"
"Good," Alistair said simply. "It means we're focused."
She arched an eyebrow, her lips curving into a faint smile. "Focused, huh? Or just nervous?"
"Call it what you want," Alistair replied, his tone lighter than before. "As long as we're ready."
Zara nodded, though her thoughtful expression lingered. "I trust you, Alistair. Just... don't forget to trust yourself, too."
The squad had become more than just colleagues. They were a family. Alistair knew them all, their strengths and weaknesses, their quiet fears and their moments of bravery. They had been through hell together, and he trusted each of them with his life. The bond they shared was unspoken but deeply felt.
As the chopper descended toward the compound, Alistair's thoughts flickered to the mission itself. The target—an insurgent leader who had been a thorn in their side for far too long—was holed up in an abandoned facility on the outskirts of the desert. The plan was simple: hit fast, neutralize the target, and get out before anyone knew they were there. No witnesses, no survivors.
But Alistair couldn't shake the feeling that something more was at play. His instincts, honed through years of combat, were telling him that the enemy had anticipated their arrival. The quiet that had surrounded them in the last few hours wasn't peace—it was the calm before a storm.
"Ten minutes out," Elena said, breaking the silence. "We're clear for now, but the moment we hit the ground, it's all on us."
Alistair took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing thoughts. His team was ready. They always were. But tonight… tonight felt different.
"Alright, team," he said, his voice cutting through the tension. "You know the plan. We move fast. We move together. We get the job done, and we get out."
He looked over each of them, making eye contact with every man and woman on his team. They all nodded, their expressions determined. They were ready.
The helicopter touched down with a thud, and the squad quickly disembarked, ready to face whatever lay ahead. The compound loomed in front of them, its dark windows like empty eyes watching them approach.
Alistair's heart pounded, but his mind was sharp. The mission had begun.