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Beau

Don’t leave your friends hanging.

Three months after leaving Bristlebrook

“I don’t know how to—”

“Just get it in, for fuck’s sake. Just shove it in the hole, don’t pussyfoot.”

“Well, forgive me for not wanting to break it.”

“It can take it. It’s used to doing it rough. Fuck, that part?—”

“See, that’s just ’cause your fingers are too thick. You shove, I’ll finesse.”

Jayk grunts, and I wince as my fingers slip. Damn, he’s right. This isn’t easy.

“How did you do this right next to me when I was sleeping?” I mutter dubiously.

“You sleep like the fucking dead, I could have done a lot worse,” Jayk mutters back.

There’s a rustle in the trees, and Jayk curses under his breath as we rush to finish with the trap.

Through the branches, I can see the four Sinners stalking cautiously through the woods, their rifles raised, watching for any movement.

The sounds of the fight to the north filter through, muffled by the trees and the leaves.

It’s just enough to deaden their footsteps.

The Sinners are trying to slip through with just a few guys—these hay-headed idiots have slipped away from their primary attack to the north and they’re trying to sneak up on our camp in the field.

On Eden.

Of course, Dom knew all about that, and he sent us to give them a little welcome present.

The last three months of ops have been nothing short of a masterclass in exacting military strategy. Between Dom’s planning, Eden coordinating calls and information, and our team’s execution, we haven’t lost a single civ or Ranger.

But if we can’t get this done in time, then we might be the first to go.

Jayk and I finish the tie and step back just as a sharp, alarmed shout rings through the trees.

“There!”

Jayk slams me to the side right as they open fire, and we both scramble back.

Why did we go rogue? This was overconfident. We should have just done the usual ambush.

A bullet slices my jacket, but doesn’t make contact with flesh, and I curse.

“Go! They’re running!” one of them shouts.

“Bit more,” Jayk breathes as he yanks me behind a tree.

They’re close. Our camo is good, the coverage over-top was done quickly but thoroughly, but if they look too closely, then they’ll spot the trap before they?—

The trigger hits, and the military-grade net snaps up around them, flinging them off their feet and into the air.

Jayk and I open fire on them before they can get their bearings, taking them out before they can fire a single shot.

Before they can get anywhere close to our camp.

I re-sling my rifle, admiring the trap.

“It was a nice net,” I concede to Jayk.

And as we turn back toward the sounds of the fight, Jayk slides me a smirk.

“It doesn’t suck for catching fuckwits.” His smirk turns into a grin. “Or friends.”

Grinning over at him, I clap him on the shoulder.

And we head back into war together.