Page 19

CHAPTER 19

PHARO

The giant steel blades of the chopper beat steadily, a familiar hum that should feel comforting, but today it doesn't. I glance at Orson beside me. His eyes are fixed on the horizon, scanning for anything that seems off. The mission is simple—escort a group of medical volunteers to a village cut off by conflict. Nothing new. But something about today feels different. Like the air is thicker, more charged.

We’re outside Cairo now, the sun beating down on the desert, and the skyline fading behind us. I’ve only been back with the team for a little while, and I still feel the shift. Arlo’s back with us, but not fully present. Hogan’s the one taking the lead now, and though he’s solid, the dynamic feels... off.

I glance at Orson. “You think Arlo’s gonna be back anytime soon?”

Orson doesn’t even look at me when he answers. “He’s here, but he’s not here. You know how he is. He’ll lead even when he’s half-dead.” His voice is dry, but I can tell it bothers him, too.

“Yeah,” I mutter, focusing on the horizon to avoid thinking about it. “Guess we’ll just keep doing the job, right?”

“Always do,” Orson replies, voice calm, like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

That’s the job, right? Just focus on the mission. It’s not about heroics or anything flashy. It’s about getting in, getting out, keeping civilians safe, and keeping the team safe. Simple.

But today, something doesn’t feel simple. My gut's telling me that this isn’t going to be as easy as we hoped.

Orson leans forward slightly, his eyes narrowing. “You see that?”

I follow his gaze, squinting as I spot the village below. It seems quiet. Too quiet. There's too much movement for a place that’s supposed to be under our protection.

“That’s... not right,” I mutter, my instincts kicking in.

Orson's already reaching for his mic. “Gehenna Two, this is Raven. We’ve got movement near the drop zone. Need confirmation before we proceed.”

They’ve been on the ground for two days. And until now, all’s been quiet. It’s like these sons of bitches were watching for us, waiting to fuck up our exfil op.

The comms crackle, and Hogan’s voice comes through, calm but with an edge. “Negative on the all-clear. Abort the drop. We’re doing recon. Hold position.”

“Roger that.” I keep the chopper hovering, circling the area as we wait for the all-clear.

The minutes stretch on, but no further updates come through. I try not to think about how long it’s taking. The sun’s starting to bake the cockpit, and it only adds to the anxiety building in my chest.

Finally, Hogan's voice breaks the silence. “Recon's clear. Looks like a false alarm, but we’re still not clear of potential hostiles. Keep your guard up.”

“Copy that,” I mutter, keeping my gaze fixed on the ground below.

I bank the chopper down, lining up for the drop. But as we get closer, I feel that knot in my stomach tighten. Something’s off.

The chopper touches down in an open field on the outskirts of the village, and the sound of the rotors slows. I turn over control to Orson. “Switching control to you. Stay sharp.”

He nods, keeping her warm as I jump out. I follow, keeping my hand on my sidearm, eyes scanning the village. The volunteers are already running to the LZ, the usual chaos of a humanitarian mission adding to my discomfort.

After things went south on my last mission with the team, and then Arlo’s injury, I couldn’t help but feel uneasy.

“Orson,” I bark into the mic, “We’ve got hostile movement in the area. We need to get the volunteers back to the bird. Now.”

He raises his head, his face tense. “How much time?”

I pull my gun from its holster, gritting my teeth, and scan the surroundings again, trying to piece together what’s happening. “Not enough. I need to get them moving.”

“Shit,” Orson curses. He hates when I jump ship and join the team. It means shit’s going south. Fast.

I turn to the volunteers, yelling, “Get to the chopper! Now!”

I don’t wait for them to respond. I just grab the nearest volunteer by the arm, pulling them toward the bird. The team is close behind, bringing up the rear, running backwards with their weapons pointed toward the village.

Then, I see it—movement behind one of the buildings. It’s quick, too fast. I catch the metallic flash of a gun barrel.

“Shit!” I shout, pushing the last volunteer into the helicopter as shots ring out.

I climb back into the cockpit and resume control as the last man of my team boards. Arlo, legs dangling over the side, gun aimed. His head is on a swivel as he scans the treeline for something to shoot at.

We lift off in a hurry, the volunteers still scrambling to take their seats. More gunshots ring out, and Arlo returns fire.

The first bullet flies wide, but the next one clips the tail rotor. I jerk the controls, diving the chopper to the side, the force knocking my stomach into my spine.

We climb quickly to gain altitude, but the shots keep coming. More than a few miss us, but not by much.

“GSC, This is Havoc. We’re taking fire,” I tell Milo. I wish we were back at headquarters with him, safe and sound. “Hold tight,” I tell Orson, my voice tight, my grip on the controls like a vice. “We’re not done here yet.”

I bank hard, trying to lose any pursuers. But I know what’s coming. This mission isn’t about getting supplies to people anymore. It’s about getting out alive.

And we’re not out of the woods yet.

The chopper bucks under me as I pull up, the tail rotor wobbles, and I can feel the shift in my bones. That bullet that clipped it? Not good. It’s a damn miracle we're still airborne.

“Hogan, Arlo, buy us some time!” I bark, eyes darting between the ground and the sky. If we don’t get some altitude, we're easy targets.

"On it," Hogan responds, moving with urgency. He crouches down beside Arlo and pulls the 50 caliber into position. The sound of gunfire erupts again, and I duck instinctively, though I know it won’t help.

“My Fitty gonna teach these boys some manners,” Hogan vows, his voice ringing through my comms.

“We’re too exposed!” Arlo shouts, firing off a burst into the tree line. The impact of the bullets hitting the ground below creates small puffs of dust, but it doesn’t seem to deter the shooters.

I can hear the roar of an engine in the distance. Reinforcements? Or just more hostiles? Either way, we don’t have the luxury of time to figure it out.

I yank the collective, pushing us into a sharp climb. The chopper groans in protest, but it holds. Barely.

“We need to get above them,” I mutter, teeth clenched, sweat sliding down my neck despite the cool air. “Can you hit them from here?”

Hogan’s face is grim as he adjusts his aim. “If they’re out in the open, maybe. If not, we’re in trouble.”

The shots are coming faster now. A bullet ricochets off the fuselage, causing me to jerk the controls instinctively, but I keep it steady.

“Get ready to move!” I shout to the rest of the team. The volunteers are quiet, wide-eyed, peering up at us like they’ve stepped into a war zone. Which, I guess, they have.

“We’re going to try and get clear,” I yell to the crew in the back. “Stay down, stay low!”

I swing the helicopter hard right, trying to break the line of sight from the gunmen below. The wind hits hard as I bank, the force making the chopper shake. We’re close to the ground now, the buildings getting closer, but I need to gain speed.

“We’ve got two targets on our six!” Orson shouts, and I curse under my breath. I can’t keep this pace up for long. We’re losing fuel, the tail’s damaged, and our altitude is too low.

“We need to ditch,” I growl, fingers tightening around the throttle. “Get back to the base, now!”

But even as I say it, I know the reality of that. Headquarters is miles away, and we’re not going to make it if we keep taking fire like this.

Arlo doesn’t wait for my next order. He fires off another round, sending a few shots into the distance. The gunfire tapers off for a moment, but I know it's just a breather.

“Go low, we’ll have to dodge through the buildings,” I shout.

Thankfully, they’re short and squat, no highrises or factories here in this remote part of the country.

Orson inclines his head. “I’ve got it.”

We dive, threading the needle between two buildings, narrowly missing power lines and rooftops. The noise of the rotors screaming through the air drowns out everything else. The feeling in my gut twists, a sharp, painful reminder of just how much danger we're in.

The comms buzz in my ear, and Milo’s voice cuts through the static. “Havoc, you need to get out of there. We’ve got backup en route, but you need to clear the area and head toward the extraction point.”

No fucking shit, kid! “Copy that,” I respond quickly, glancing at the damaged dashboard. “We’re not going to make it to the extraction point if we don’t get some fucking breathing room.”

Orson shoots me a determined look, jaw clenched hard. “Hold tight. We’ll be there in five.”

Five minutes? With the tail rotor barely holding on and rounds still flying at us? Not likely.

Arlo takes out the most persistent gunman, and we’re able to limp out of the region with our tails between our legs. The foundation that sponsors the volunteers has a clinic not far from here.

The beige stucco building comes into view, and I breathe the first deep breath in an hour. “Hold on!” I shout, pushing the controls hard, throwing us into a sharp right turn.

“Fuck!” Orson curses, and I hear the volunteers cry out. Some are praying, some are silent, too terrified to speak.

“Orson!” I shout, my voice intense. “Get ready to bail if we go down!”

The engine sputters. The rotor is failing.

I pull the chopper upward, fighting against gravity, against everything that’s wrong with this mission.

We’ve got one chance to land this bitch without succumbing to a fiery crash. The impact of touching down jolts every bolt and screw loose, and my teeth as well. My body goes rigid as the chopper slams into the ground, and for a split second, I think we’re about to cartwheel into a heap of twisted metal and flames.

But somehow, by some twisted miracle, the bird holds together. The rotor blades screech as they scrape the earth, and the rear end swings out in a dizzying arc before hurling to a stop with a gut-wrenching thud. I grunt, my body slamming against the straps as the momentum throws me forward.

The world spins for a moment, but I force my eyes open, trying to focus.

“Everyone okay?” I rasp, teeth gritted, heart hammering.

Orson’s voice comes through the headset, gruff but steady. “I’m good. That was... too close, though.”

I take a quick breath, checking my gauges. The engine's still running, the chopper’s intact—somehow. We’re not going anywhere without a hell of a lot of repairs, but we’re on the ground now. Safe, for the moment.

“Yeah, I hear you,” I mutter, pulling off the helmet and tossing it aside, trying to shake the fog in my head. “But we’re not out of the woods yet. We need to get these volunteers out of here and find a ride home.”

The team scrambles out, and I give one last glance at the chopper’s busted tail rotor. It's a miracle it even managed to land. “I need a fucking vacation,” I bitch.

Orson’s laughter rumbles through my headset. “Hell, Havoc. You just got back.”

Yeah, well, I’m definitely ready again.

I push the thought aside, refocusing on the task at hand. The situation’s far from ideal, and there’s no time to daydream about downtime or a warm beach somewhere. We’ve got a mission to finish and people to protect.

Arlo catches up to me, rifle in hand, scanning the perimeter. “We get the volunteers to safety first, then we figure out how to get the hell outta here. Sound good?”

“Yeah,” I mutter, adjusting the strap on my pack. “Let’s move out.”

We head toward the small structure, the rest of the team falling in behind us, moving with purpose. The dust from the crash still clings to my skin, the scent of burnt metal and oil wafting through the air, but it doesn’t matter. None of it matters right now. Not the bruises, not the fatigue, not the fact that I’m pretty sure I won’t make it through this without at least one more near-death experience.

What matters is getting these people to safety.

I glance back at the chopper, the once-pristine bird now a crumpled wreck. Jax’s face flashes through my head like a pulse. He’d flip his fucking shit right now if he could see my ride. He hasn’t said as much, but I know he’s worried about me now that he knows the risks I take. If I get through this and manage to drag my sorry ass back to Black Mountain, I swear I’m gonna take that man out to dinner again. And this time, when I make my move, I’m not taking no for an answer.

Orson bumps my shoulder, snapping me back to the mission. “Focus, man. We’ll talk about your vacation plans later.”

Right. Focus.

I give a tight nod, the sound of my boots crunching on the dirt louder than anything else around us. It’s all a blur—the constant tautness in the air, the nagging thought that at any second, things could go from bad to worse.

But I’m here, and I’ve got a job to do.

Because for the first time in years, I’ve got a reason to get back home in one piece.

* * *

Being called into Jace Hampton’s office feels like being summoned by the principal. As head of Greystone’s Cairo headquarters, Jace has the final say on everything, and I can’t shake the feeling that he has a lot to say about the helicopter incident.

“Pharo,” he grumbles, “shut the door behind you.” Jace slides his glasses off and pinches the bridge of his nose. He sounds exhausted, and the stacks of papers scattered across his desk might explain why.

I close the door quietly and take a step forward, trying not to let unease make my movements too stiff. Jace doesn’t look up right away, his attention fixed on the mess in front of him as though willing it to organize itself.

“Sir,” I start, my voice steady but my mind racing, “it wasn’t?—”

He cuts me off with a sharp gesture, his fingers drumming against the desk. “I don’t care about your excuses. I care about results. Do you understand the magnitude of this? The fallout from this… It’s not just financial. It’s going to cost us far more than just money.” He leans back with a sigh. “The government’s breathing down my neck. My superior has my nuts in a vice. And I have to call my wife and tell her our vacation is on hold—indefinitely. That might be the thing that scares me the most,” he jokes, though it’s clear his humor is strained.

I continue to stand at attention, holding my tongue.

“I’ll tell you one thing, Havoc. That was some fancy flying. You got the entire team and every single volunteer back safely, and that’s what matters most.”

A compliment was the last thing I was expecting from him. I blink, unsure if I heard him correctly, but his eyes are steady on mine, a rare flicker of something almost like respect in his gaze. It doesn’t soften the situation, but it’s enough to make me wonder what he’s really thinking.

“Thank you, Sir?” I say, unsure if I’m supposed to acknowledge it or just keep my head down.

Jace gives a slight nod, his expression hardening again. “Don’t get comfortable. You’re still on thin ice. But for today, you did your job. Now let’s make sure this doesn’t happen again.”

It's clear the leash is tight, but for now, at least, I'm not in the fire.

“This conflict is going to make an old man out of me way before my time. The Brotherhood will stop at nothing to keep our ‘western liberal evil’ from infecting their agenda. If the democratic elections succeed, their power is greatly diminished. As you can see, their attempt to maintain control is becoming desperate and destructive, for the people of Egypt, and us.”

Jace tosses his glasses onto the desk and sits forward, bracing his elbows. “What will it take to get you to agree to come on board full time?”

His question hangs in the air, unexpected, making me pause. I wasn’t prepared for this. He’s offering me more than just a job now—it feels like a line in the sand. The stakes just got a whole lot higher.

“Excuse me, Sir? I thought we were discussing how I cost you eight million.”

Jace chuckles. “We’ll circle back to that,” he promises, his eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief. “It wasn’t your fault, technically. I want you here full time. Not just piloting, but training the next generation of pilots, and overseeing the ground transportation as well. It would mean less time in the air and more desk action. Go ahead,” he urges, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “ask me how exciting the desk is.”

I hesitate, eyeing him carefully. “So, you want me to trade flying for paperwork?” I ask, half-joking, half-serious.

Jace smirks, but there's a hint of something genuine behind the sarcasm. “Pretty much. But think of it this way: you'll still be the one running the show. You'll be shaping the team, making the decisions, and having more control than you ever could in the cockpit.”

My chin dips, weighing the offer. It's tempting, but I can already feel the pressure of the desk job choking me. “And if I say no?”

He shrugs, but his gaze is intense. “Then you walk. But, honestly, Havoc, I’m not sure you want to. The work’s tough, but it’s important. You could make a real difference here.”

The room falls silent for a moment, his offer settling heavily on my shoulders.

Dozens of thoughts dance through my mind, trying to fit into the picture Jace is painting. The dream of opening my shop. Starting something with Jax that may or may not have a future. My promise to stop running and start living. None of these fit the picture.

Each option feels heavy, and none aligns with Jace's offer. It’s the kind of opportunity that comes with an unspoken cost, one I can’t quite put my finger on yet, but I can feel it gnawing at the edges of my decision. The dream of a quieter life feels miles away from the chaos of this job. But can I walk away from it all? From the chance to build something that might matter?

“I’ll think about it, Sir. As soon as I have an answer, you’ll be the first to know.”