The hum of fluorescent lights in the briefing room mixed with the quiet rustle of papers as Alistair's squad filed in. Colonel Marcus Greystone sat at the head of the table, his sharp gaze resting on the squad leader. Between them lay a folder stamped CLASSIFIED - OPERATION NIGHTFALL, its edges worn from being passed through too many hands.
"Commander Alistair," Greystone began, his voice measured. "This mission is critical. Erik Rashad, an insurgent leader with ties to black-market arms and rogue factions, has been located. His operations are destabilizing the region, and his removal is non-negotiable."
Alistair sat up straighter, his expression calm but focused. "What's the objective, sir?"
"Neutralize Rashad, secure intel, and dismantle his network. No loose ends," Greystone replied, gesturing to the grainy satellite images spread across the table. "The compound is fortified, and we suspect a militia is guarding it. Sparks," he continued, looking to the squad's tech specialist, "your job is to breach their systems and provide an advantage."
Sparks, seated to Alistair's right, smirked faintly. "Breaking into things is what I do best, Colonel."
Greystone's lips twitched in acknowledgment before turning to the rest of the team. "Corporal Cross, you'll handle overwatch. Zara, you're the medic. Ox, you'll be the firepower. Commander, the operation is yours once you're in the field. I don't need to tell you how high the stakes are. This mission has no margin for failure."
"Understood," Alistair replied, his voice steady.
Greystone's gaze lingered on him for a moment longer. "Rashad isn't just another target. His elimination sends a message to every insurgent who thinks they can outmaneuver us. Wheels up in thirty. Dismissed."
The squad exchanged quick glances before filing out, their steps echoing down the corridor.
The hangar buzzed with pre-mission activity. Sparks perched on a crate, her tablet glowing faintly as her fingers danced across its screen. Lines of code scrolled past as she worked, muttering under her breath.
"It's too quiet," she said when Alistair approached. "Their network is locked down like a fortress. Either they're jamming themselves, or they're baiting us."
"Which do you think it is?" Alistair asked, crouching beside her.
"Does it matter?" Sparks quipped, her smirk returning. "Either way, I'll get us in."
"Good," Alistair said. "Stay focused."
A few feet away, Zara was meticulously organizing her medical kit. "You know she's probably right, Commander," she said without looking up.
"She usually is," Alistair admitted.
"'Usually'?" Sparks scoffed, feigning offense. "Try always."
At the far end of the hangar, Cross was assembling his sniper rifle with a surgeon's precision. He glanced up briefly, his sharp features set in concentration. "You're quiet tonight, Commander," he said. "Bad sign?"
"Just focused," Alistair replied.
Ox joined them, the massive soldier hoisting his machine gun onto his shoulder with ease. "Focused or not, it's going to be a hell of a night. I can feel it."
"Let's hope it's quieter than the last one," Zara said, closing her kit with a soft snap.
"Where's the fun in that?" Ox asked with a grin.
Sparks rolled her eyes. "Fun is overrated when you're getting shot at."
"Relax," Ox said, his grin widening. "I'll keep you safe."
"Please don't get yourself killed trying," Zara muttered.
The banter flowed easily, a rhythm forged through years of camaraderie. Alistair let it continue as he checked his own gear, his mind already running through the mission plan. But as the call to board came over the loudspeakers, the team snapped into focus.
Alistair's voice cut through the noise. "Alright, team. We know the drill. Fast, clean, no mistakes. Let's move."
They boarded the chopper, the hum of its rotors growing louder as the engines powered up. Sparks settled across from Alistair, her tablet dimmed for now as she stared out into the night. Ox took a seat beside her, his bulk making the space seem even smaller. Cross adjusted his gear, his sniper rifle resting across his knees. Zara was calm as ever, her gaze steady as the hangar doors opened.
Alistair sat near the edge, his rifle resting against his leg. As the chopper lifted off, the desert stretched out beneath them.
The rhythmic thrum of the helicopter's rotors filled the cabin, a steady backdrop to the squad's quiet movements. Sparks' tablet glowed faintly in her lap as she stared at the satellite images of the compound, her fingers occasionally swiping across the screen. Beside her, Cross leaned back with his rifle balanced across his knees, his sharp eyes scanning the open map displayed on her device.
Alistair sat closest to the cabin's edge, the cool night air occasionally brushing against his face. His gaze flicked between the team and the barren desert below, his thoughts racing through every possible contingency.
"We've got three entry points," Sparks began, breaking the silence. She pointed to the map on her tablet. "Western gate, eastern breach, and the northern roof collapse. Each has its risks."
"Western gate's probably the most fortified," Cross noted, his tone calm. "They'll expect us to hit that first, especially if they're anticipating company."
"And the roof collapse?" Ox asked, leaning forward slightly to get a better view.
"It's risky," Sparks admitted. "We'd need to climb. Could get caught exposed if they've got lookouts."
"What about the eastern breach?" Alistair asked, his voice steady.
Sparks zoomed in on the section in question. "It's the least obvious. Looks like it was hit by an old airstrike, so they might not bother guarding it heavily. But it's narrow, so you and Ox would have to squeeze through one at a time."
Ox snorted. "If I can fit through, anyone can."
"Don't get stuck," Sparks quipped, smirking at him.
"Don't worry, Sparks," Ox replied, his grin widening. "I'll clear the way for you if I have to."
"Just don't knock the whole wall down," Cross muttered.
Alistair cut in before the banter could escalate further. "Focus. Sparks, what's the status on their comms?"
She frowned, tapping a few commands into her tablet. "Still weirdly silent. I've got nothing on external frequencies, and their internal network's locked tight. Either they're jamming themselves, or they've got a system I've never seen before."
"Could be both," Cross said, his voice thoughtful. "They know we're coming. They're either trying to keep us out, or they're baiting us in."
Alistair nodded. "Which means we have to assume the worst. Sparks, your job is to get us into their system once we're inside. Priority is intel on Rashad and his operations. Cross, I want you on overwatch at all times. If things go south, you're our ace in the hole."
"Got it," Cross replied, already checking the adjustments on his scope.
"What about me?" Ox asked, feigning offense. "I don't get a special role?"
Alistair gave him a flat look. "You're the sledgehammer, Ox. You don't need a special role—you just need to do what you do best."
"Smash stuff. Got it," Ox said with a chuckle.
Zara, who had been quiet until now, spoke up. "What about me, Commander? Where do you need me?"
"You're our safety net," Alistair said without hesitation. "Stay with Sparks. If anything happens, I need you to make sure she's protected."
"Understood," Zara replied, her voice steady.
Sparks glanced at her, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "Don't worry. I won't make it too hard on you."
"Don't make promises you can't keep," Zara replied dryly, though there was a hint of amusement in her tone.
The banter eased some of the tension, but Alistair's focus remained locked on the mission. He studied the map again, his mind racing through possible scenarios.
"What about reinforcements?" he asked, looking to Sparks.
She shook her head. "Hard to say. If they're operating in cells, they might not have anyone close enough to respond in time. But if Rashad's really as important as the intel says, they could have a quick reaction force on standby."
"Which means we have to move fast," Alistair said. "Once we're inside, we hit hard and get out. No room for mistakes."
Cross leaned back slightly, his expression unreadable. "We've done this before, Commander. We'll get it done."
Alistair nodded, though the weight of the mission pressed heavily on his shoulders. He knew his team was capable—they always were. But something about this operation felt different, a gnawing sense of unease that refused to fade.
He pushed the thought aside as the helicopter's pilot called out over the comms. "Two minutes to drop zone. Get ready."
The team moved in unison, their movements precise and practiced. Sparks secured her tablet and adjusted her gear. Cross double-checked his rifle. Ox rolled his shoulders, his grin fading into a focused scowl. Zara tightened the straps on her medical pack, her expression calm and resolute.
Alistair looked at each of them in turn, his voice cutting through the drone of the rotors. "You know the plan. Stick to your roles, and we'll get through this. No heroics, no improvisation. We do this clean."
The helicopter began to descend, the desert below growing closer with each passing second. The compound loomed ahead, a dark silhouette against the moonlit sands. The team braced themselves as the chopper touched down, its rotors kicking up a cloud of dust.
"Let's move," Alistair said, his voice firm.
The squad disembarked quickly, their boots hitting the ground in perfect synchronization. The helicopter's engines roared as it lifted off again, leaving them behind in the silence of the desert night.