Page 8

CHAPTER 8

D eacon crouched low, his muscles coiled with tension as he studied the camp through his night vision scope. The pale green glow illuminated the guards on overwatch, perched on raised platforms that were little more than planks lashed to trees. No railings. No safety nets. Two guards kept their backs pressed to the thick tree trunks, their eyes scanning the dark jungle in lazy arcs. One sat at the edge of his platform, a faint ember glowing as he took a long drag from a hand-rolled cigarette. His posture screamed boredom, not vigilance—definitely a step down from the professionals who’d worked during the day.

Deacon’s lip curled in a faint smile. Sloppy. An exploitable weakness.

Bandit and Ace had already checked in, their voices low over the comms. Rip’s voice came last, his "in position" a quiet confirmation in Deacon’s ear. He glanced at Ranger, who gave a single nod, his expression unreadable in the dim light. Together, they melted back into the jungle, the thick undergrowth muffling their movements as they worked their way toward the stream.

The distant sound of water grew louder as they approached the hydro-pumps hidden beneath a dense canopy of vines and moss. Deacon worked quickly, his fingers steady despite the humid air and stream water splashing him. Disabling the pumps took less than five minutes; the machinery fell silent.

Ace’s voice crackled through the comms. “Lights are out in two of the three structures, Cap. Must have batteries in the comms center.”

Deacon didn’t respond. A low, guttural rumble vibrated the earth beneath his feet, the storm’s warning growl announcing its approach. He and Ranger retraced their steps to the camp, the oppressive air growing heavier with the storm’s impending arrival.

“Guards?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“A lot of chatter,” Bandit replied. Fluent in Laotian, his voice carried an edge of amusement. “Doesn’t seem like this is a big deal to them. They’re joking about it. The system must break down a lot. They’re still on the platforms, but it’s darker than pitch. No NVGs. They won’t see anything unless it’s moving by the comm building.”

“Copy.” Deacon’s lips barely moved as he responded. That was exactly where they needed to go.

He and Ranger slipped through the darkness, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and vegetation. The faint glow of the comms building guided them as they crept closer. Its lights flickered weakly, casting long shadows that shifted and danced in the darkness.

“Ace, are you ready?” Deacon asked, his voice low and steady.

“Few more minutes, Cap. Almost there,” Ace grunted, the strain of his work audible through the comms.

Deacon motioned to Ranger, his hand a blur in the dark. They halted just outside the building, the door slightly ajar. A faint and fleeting shadow passed across the opening. Ranger nodded once—at least one person was inside.

“Ready,” Ace panted, his voice tight.

“Push it,” Deacon ordered.

The crack of the tree snapping echoed through the jungle. Its sharpness muffled the explosive charge Ace had bored into the trunk. A thunderous crash followed, shaking the ground as the massive tree fell. Shouts erupted from the camp, sharp and chaotic, slicing through the night.

“They’re heading your way, Ace,” Deacon said, his voice calm amid the chaos.

“I’m nowhere near that tree,” Ace panted, his breath audible as he moved quickly through the underbrush.

“Overwatch?”

“They’re all looking toward the tree,” Bandit confirmed.

Deacon and Ranger moved with precision, the ground beneath them vibrating with the first roll of thunder. The air was electric and heavy, promising rain. The storm was close now, its dark clouds smothering the sky. No helicopter was on the landing pad, meaning any return flights would be delayed—likely for days, if not weeks, if the storm hit as forecasted. Another advantage to exploit.

They reached the comms building, slipping into position with practiced ease. Deacon crouched low while Ranger went high, rounding the door in a fluid motion. The entrance was empty save for a rusted gallon-sized can overflowing with cigarette butts, the acrid smell lingering in the stale air. Deacon’s fingers found the light switch, and with a flick, the building plunged into darkness.

NVGs snapped into place as they moved deeper into the building. The faint hum of electronics filled the air, and the glow of computer screens lit the room like ghostly beacons. The sudden brightness forced Deacon to lift his goggles, and he blinked as his eyes adjusted.

From somewhere deeper inside, the sharp cadence of curses reached his ears. He didn’t need to speak Laotian to recognize frustration and anger. The enemy had no idea what had hit them; now, his team had the upper hand.

Deacon gave Ranger a nod, signaling him to move forward just as the person in the adjacent room started toward them. Deacon saw the exact moment the man realized he wasn’t alone. He pulled his knife from its sheath and launched it directly at the man the way his Uncle Joseph had taught him to throw it years ago. The thin, sharp blade landed and sliced through the muscles and cartilage at the base of the man’s neck.

Gurgling and grasping for the knife, the man fell to his knees. The look of shock and confusion faded as death overcame him. He slumped to the ground, his body twitching and moving as his brain died and his systems shut down. Ranger and he were inside the room and ready for the next contact. Deacon kept his M4 up as he bent down and pulled the knife from his target’s throat. He wiped the steel on the target’s clothes, then placed it back in its sheath. “No one else,” Ranger said. “I’ve got your six, find that damn thing.”

Deacon was already moving, his boots pounding against the rough flooring as he approached the array of equipment. Echo’s sketch of the device flashed in his mind. She’d shown him a crude drawing, enough to give him a mental picture of what he was hunting. His eyes darted across the first cluttered counter, scanning wires, blinking lights, and metal casings. Nothing.

“Cap,” Ranger hissed from his position near the doorway. “We need to move.”

“I know.” Deacon’s reply came sharp and clipped as he pivoted to the next workstation. His patience frayed with every second wasted. “I haven’t found the damn—” He froze mid-sentence, his gaze locking onto his mark. “Check that.”

He slid to a halt in front of a cluttered workstation. The device was half-hidden beneath a tangle of cables. Echo had assured him the wires were unnecessary, so Deacon yanked the small metal rectangle free with several brutal jerks. He ignored the sparks that zapped and flew when the connections tore loose. Deacon shoved the device into his cargo pocket and took off.

“Let’s move.” Deacon’s voice was tight. Together, they slipped to the edge of the front door, pausing just short of the opening. He removed the device and shoved it in a plastic bag, sealing it tightly. Echo had warned them water could damage the device, so he wasn’t taking any chances. When he was done, he re-stowed the small metal rectangle and looked over at Ranger. Ranger nodded, and they took one final look out the door toward the jungle.

“Rip. Hit it,” Deacon ordered, his voice low but firm.

“Copy.” Rip’s reply came through the comms. It was only a heartbeat longer before the forest erupted with the sound of snapping wood. The sharp report of the tree was done to cover their movement.

“Bandit?” Deacon asked, scanning the edge of the jungle visible through the doorway.

“Everyone is looking the other way,” Bandit confirmed.

Deacon and Ranger didn’t hesitate. They bolted out of the building. The humid air carried the faint tang of freshly cut wood. In this case, freshly splintered wood. An excited shout from an overwatch cut through the chaos caused by the second tree falling.

“Fuck!” Deacon barked, his legs pumping harder as they sprinted for cover. Bullets whizzed past them, shredding foliage ahead and beside them. The sharp cracks of gunfire filled the air.

“Ace!” Deacon’s shout was met with an immediate response. The sharp sound of Ace’s M4 erupted in a deadly staccato. His semi-automatic fire strafed the camp. The action of 5.56mm rounds tearing through tents and supplies bought Deacon and Ranger the time they needed. They plunged into the jungle, their boots sinking into the vegetation as the dense jungle enveloped them.

“Ace!” Deacon commanded his man to get the hell out of there by just yelling his name again.

“I’m moving!” Ace’s voice came through the comms as he moved.

“No pursuit,” Bandit said from his overwatch position. “I’ll watch for a couple more minutes just to be sure.”

Deacon and Ranger didn’t slow down. Well, not until they were out of range. When he finally did, Bandit’s muttered curse made him look back toward the camp. “What?”

“Cap … dogs. They’ve got dogs.” Bandit’s words came in a whisper.

Deacon’s jaw tightened. Fuck . Dogs were a complication they didn’t need. His mind raced as he calculated the odds of throwing the dogs off their trail. However, the most wonderful sound of rain drumming against the canopy shifted his attention. A deluge of rain cascaded toward them.

“Rain’s on our side,” he muttered. The torrential downpour grew heavier by the second, an enormous wall of water. “They’ll lose the scent.”

Ranger nodded. They pulled on their ponchos and pressed through the jungle. The rendezvous point was at least a mile away. If it held, their luck had just thrown them the lifeline they needed to escape the chaos behind them.

“Cap, they’re coming. Dogs and men are following you into the jungle. Get moving,” Bandit warned him.

“We’re taking the long way to the rally point. I don’t want to lead them to Echo.” Deacon pointed away from the course they’d been taking, and he and Ranger moved out.

“I’m almost back to the rendezvous point,” Rip said. “Get those guys off your ass. We’ve got her.”

Deacon didn’t bother answering. He and Ranger double-tapped their comm devices so they could hear but not be heard. He knew his team and knew they would protect Echo with their lives. The monsoon rains came with a fury. Thick sheets of rain hammered down on the jungle canopy. The deluge transformed the ground into a slick mess of mud and decaying leaves. Thunder rumbled overhead. The percussion reverberated through the dense jungle. However, Deacon could still hear the barking of dogs in the distance.

Deacon and Ranger moved with urgency, but they placed their steps with extreme precision. Their breath came in harsh gasps as they raced through the underbrush.

“Keep moving!” Deacon barked over the downpour, his voice carrying over the storm.

Ranger, his poncho plastered to his back and mud streaking his face, nodded. Deacon scanned the terrain ahead, searching for any way to slow down their pursuers. The jungle was alive with sound—raindrops drumming on leaves, the croaks of frogs, and the distant crashes of branches and barks from the dogs as their pursuers bulldozed through the undergrowth behind them.

They kept moving and pushed through a tangle of vines. Deacon’s boots slipped on the sodden ground, which crumbled under him, sending him stumbling into a shallow ravine. It was filled with fast-moving water. Ranger was right behind him. They scrambled up the bank, grabbing at vegetation to haul themselves upright.

“We can use the stream,” Ranger said, his voice low and steady despite the chaos around them. “No way the dogs can follow scent in the water.”

Deacon nodded, and without a moment's pause, they plunged into the rushing water. The knee-deep stream swept swiftly past, pulling at their legs as they moved downstream. Each step proved risky because the rocks underfoot were slippery and uneven. Heavy rain blurred their vision and transformed the surroundings into a misty blend of gray and green.

Behind them, the barking grew louder. The pursuers were gaining ground.

“Split up?” Ranger suggested, his jaw tight.

“No,” Deacon said firmly. “Better together. We just need them to lose our scent.”

Ahead, the stream forked. Ranger pointed to the right, where the water disappeared under a low, overhanging mass of vegetation. Deacon nodded. It was the best route. They ducked under the canopy, moving as silently as possible.

Time stretched, and each moment dragged as they pushed forward. Their pursuers didn’t let up, though. Shouts punctuated the dogs’ barks. No doubt it was the men giving orders to spread out. Deacon glanced over his shoulder, his sharp eyes narrowing. They needed to disappear—and soon.

“Up there,” Ranger hissed, nodding toward a towering tree with a thick, gnarled trunk and branches that formed a natural ladder.

They scrambled up, their fingers slipping on the rain-slick bark. At a safe height, they pressed their bodies against the trunk, barely daring to breathe. Below, the hunters passed, their flashlights sweeping through the underbrush. The dogs whined, confused by the rushing water and the lack of any trail to follow.

Minutes passed, feeling like hours. The men below argued, their voices muffled by the storm, before splitting into smaller groups to search farther downstream.

Deacon and Ranger glanced at each other. The moment the last pursuer’s flashlight beam vanished, they climbed down and set off again, this time moving parallel in the stream to mask their trail further.

The jungle thickened, the undergrowth clawing at their legs. The rain showed no signs of letting up, turning trails into streams and streams into rivers. They crossed one such torrent, the water up to their waists and tugging at them with a ferocity that nearly swept them off their feet.

“We need higher ground,” Deacon said, panting as they reached the far bank.

Ranger pointed to a faint ridge ahead, barely visible through the downpour. They clambered up, using roots and vines to pull themselves along. At the top, the jungle opened into a series of narrow paths carved by animals. They followed one that would take them back toward the rendezvous point, keeping to the shadows and listening for any sound of pursuit.

Ranger leaned against a tree, wiping water from his face. “Think we lost them?”

“For now,” Deacon said, his voice cautious. “But they’ll keep looking.”

Ranger nodded, his eyes scanning the jungle. “Then we keep moving.”