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Dagger had jumped into the sea more times than he could count. Every time, the water had taken him back like a mother embracing her child. Creatures of the deep, they were forged in the salt and surf, baptized in its crushing waves. The ocean was the womb, the place that shaped them, honed them, stripped them of weakness until they emerged hardened, unbreakable.
But this…this was different.
The jungle didn’t embrace. It didn't cradle or give way like the sea. It waited, ancient and unyielding, a living thing thatbreathedandwatched.
His altimeter vibrated.Pull.
The chute deployed, the harness jerking his body upright, cutting momentarily under his arms as silk blossomed above him. The world slowed, the wind fading into silence. Below, the jungle stretched out in endless waves of black and green, shifting in the moonlight. He scanned the airspace around him. His brothers were there. Shadows drifting downward, silent and disciplined, each one trained to move without thought, without hesitation.
The jungle was its own kind of ocean, one of endless roots instead of rolling tides, of tangled canopies instead of shifting waves. But here, unlike the sea, there were things that hunted them back.
The descent wasn’t over yet. The jungle rose up fast. Dagger adjusted his angle, eyes locked on the LZ, just outside the insurgents’ known patrol routes.
They fanned out slightly, their glides smooth, untouched by the chaos of the world below.
Branches rushed up to meet him. The last twenty feet were instinct. He tucked his knees, angled his chute, braced.
The harness bit into his shoulders as he crashed through the upper canopy, branches snapping, and vines twisting around him. No panic. No hesitation. He fought through the tangle, unclipped his rig, and dropped the remaining distance to the jungle floor. Soft earth met his boots, damp and teeming with unseen life.
The air was thick, heavy, alive. The scent of damp earth and decaying vegetation filled his lungs, mixing with the sweat already slicking his skin. The jungle was rarely silent, a constant chorus of unseen things. Insects droned, creatures called inthe distance, leaves rustled with movements just beyond sight. Everything here had teeth.
Above him, the rest of the team’s chutes blossomed in eerie green against the night-vision haze.
One by one, his team landed. Ghosts slipping into the jungle’s grasp, untouched. No words were spoken. No signals were needed. They moved like muscle memory, chutes stashed, gear secured, weapons drawn. This was what they did.
They didn't belong here. Not like they did in the water. The sea welcomed. The jungle resisted. The ocean could drown a man, but it would never betray him. The jungle hid its threats, kept them waiting just out of sight.
Yet, this was their job.
Masters of the unknown. Warriors of all terrain.
Fleetingly, he thought of Quinn, of his nephews and the drilling ache of losing the last part of Brian. Quinn was recovering, and she wanted to move on. Painfully, without him, and no matter how he felt about her, she didn’t feel the same. He would have to come to grips with that, if he could.
The mission was waiting. Without hesitation, they moved as one, disappearing into the darkness, as silent as the predators hunting in the trees.
Ten clicks south of their LZ, the target loomed. CIA intel delivered by Emma Sutherland had pinpointed Joseph Baxter’s location. If they veered off even slightly, they’d drop into a hornet’s nest of heavily armed militia.
Dagger signaled with a quick hand gesture. Tex acknowledged.
Caracas had taken his brother. The jungle had almost taken Easy.
No quarter, no fear, only brutal retribution. Tonight, the wolves of war were loose, and they would take back Joseph Baxter. Maybe, just maybe, Dagger would take back the piece ofhimself that had been torn from him the moment Brian lost his life.
As soon asBrawler’s boots hit the ground, his brain switched gears from god of air to god of the jungle. Soon, he would be god of war.
Tex’s voice cut through the comms, calm as ever. “Clear the drop zone. Move out.”
Brawler lifted his fist, signaling affirmative. He released Beast from the harness strapped to his chest, setting down the animal onto the jungle floor. Beast lifted his nose, scenting, his dark brown eyes could never be described as warm, there was way too much war dog in him, but when he looked up at Brawler, they were respectful, affectionate, and ready. Beast knew who was in charge.
Brawler turned and reeled in his chute, shoving it beneath thick underbrush before turning his full focus on Beast. The dog stood perfectly still, ears pricked, nostrils flaring slightly. He was already scanning, already tasting the air for threats.
“Brawler, you and Beast take point, Bondo cover our flank.” He, Easy and Bondo were in the Big and Tall Man group, except Bondo didn’t have Easy and Brawler’s full head of hair.
“Only Tex could tell the big man to get to the back of the line,” Shark murmured with not only clear respect in his voice, but amusement.
“But all bets are off when it comes to chow. Bondo doesn’t even see a line. He just bulldozes through to get to his shepherd's pie,” Flash said.
“Shut yourpiehole,” Bondo growled as he soundlessly passed, and everyone snickered, low and gleefully.