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Raven

Iran – two days later. The air was dry and hot, and the sun was brutal even in the early morning hours. Dust clung to every surface. I crouched behind a crumbling stone wall, scanning the burned-out village with narrowed eyes. Cyclone was beside me, silent, unmoving—just as we’d been trained.

Our contact, a wiry local with sharp eyes and a nervous twitch, who smelled like he hadn’t had a bath in a long while, had dropped us off just outside the town of Darvan, where the last transmission from the missing SEAL team had originated. That was seventy-two hours ago.

“Dead quiet,” Cyclone muttered, adjusting the grip on his suppressed rifle.

“Too quiet,” I said. “I feel like we’re being watched.”

Cyclone gave a sharp nod. “Let’s do this.”

We moved as one, slipping through alleys and rubble, checking corners, broken doors, and rooftops. It was a ghost town—burned-out vehicles, bullet-pocked walls, abandoned livestock. But no bodies.

“No signs of a fighting,” Cyclone said. “They didn’t go down here.”

I knelt near the old mosque at the edge of town. Something glittered in the sand—a bent dog tag. I picked it up, turning it over in my gloved hand.

“This one’s military issue. Belongs to SEAL Team eight,” I said.

“Damn,” Cyclone breathed. “They were here.”

My eyes narrowed as I studied the damage. “It wasn’t smashed in combat. This was deliberately destroyed,” I told Cyclone. Must have been the bad guys who did this. We need to find them before it’s too late.

We followed the trail, scuffed footprints leading out of town, toward a dry riverbed that twisted into the jagged hills. After an hour of climbing, we reached a ridge that overlooked a remote compound, half-buried in the canyon.

“Bingo,” Cyclone said, lifting his scope. “Unmarked vehicles. Armed guards. You seeing what I’m seeing?”

“Mercenaries,” Raven growled. “Russian gear. Iranian boots. Someone is paying a lot to keep this quiet.

“Do you think our guys are inside?”

“We're about to find out,” I said.

We retreated into the hills, lying low in a narrow cave with a clear vantage point. I unfolded a battered map and laid it over a rock. I pointed to a back entrance, less guarded but trickier terrain. “I wonder where that old guy came up with this. Not that I care, I’m just grateful he had it.”

“We go in tomorrow night,” I said. “I want eyes on that place for at least six hours before we move. If they’re in there, we get them out. If it’s a trap…”

“We spring it anyway,” Cyclone said with a crooked grin. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

I leaned back, pulling out the photo Beatrice had tucked into my bag before I left, a picture of us laughing, her hand in mine. I stared at it for a long moment. I’m so lucky to have found Bea, the only woman I have ever loved.

“Hold on, Beatrice,” I whispered. “I’ll return.”

* * *

The canyon was cloaked in shadows, the moon hanging low behind the jagged ridgeline. Cyclone and I crept along the ravine, dressed in black tactical gear, faces painted, rifles silent and ready.

The route took us through narrow gullies and across rock ledges no wider than a boot. Every movement was slow and precise. Below, the compound was lit by dim perimeter lights and the occasional flash of a guard’s cigarette.

I touched my earpiece. “Do you see anything?” I whispered.

“Five on the roof. Two are patrolling the east fence. I count eight on the inside, but we’re blind in the north wing,” Cyclone replied.

I nodded. “We’ll enter on the west wall. You take the high. I’ll go low.”

Cyclone took off toward the rooftop, melting into the night like a shadow. I circled wide, dropping to my stomach as I crawled beneath the first perimeter wire. I reached the wall and waited, heart pounding in rhythm with the silence around me.

Click.

The charge on the back gate blew softly, just enough to break the lock without alerting the guards. I slipped inside, staying low as I moved past the storage room and toward the hallway where the SEALs’ last signal had pinged.

Inside, the air was thick with dust and sweat. Concrete walls, dim lights, and a faint hum of generators in the background. A man snored somewhere nearby. I moved like smoke—silent, lethal.

I found the first locked room halfway down the corridor. The keypad was old and worn down.

Click.

I swung the door open and froze.

There, sitting on the floor, hands zip-tied and bruised, were three of the SEALs. One of them looked up, his face going slack with disbelief.

“Raven?”

I moved in fast, cutting their restraints. “Quiet. Where are the others?”

“Two more. One’s hurt bad,” the team leader whispered. “North wing. We think they’re trying to sell him off—to someone. They separated him an hour ago.”

I cursed under my breath and tapped my mic. “Cyclone, I need you at the north corridor. Now. Two more Seals hostiles are in the medical room.”

“Copy that. I’m already moving.”

Gunfire erupted above—short bursts, silenced. I didn’t flinch.

“You move when I say go,” I told the SEALs. “Keep low, follow the plan. I’ll come back with the others.”

I sprinted down the hall, dodging into the north wing. I kicked open the door to the infirmary—and stopped cold.

One man lay on a stretcher, unconscious. Beside him, a young woman was bent over, whispering something. Her eyes snapped up, meeting mine.

She raised her hands slowly. “I’m not one of them,” she said. “I’m trying to help him.”

“Who the hell are you?” I demanded, rifle aimed dead center.

“My name is Samira,” she said. “I’m the doctor here. But I didn’t sign up for this. They brought these men in and locked me down with them. I want out, too.”

I lowered the rifle, just a fraction. “Can you move?”

She nodded. “Barely, but yes.”

I grabbed the injured SEAL, slinging him over my shoulder. “Then stay close.”

Outside, the alarms finally blared. Someone had discovered the breach.

Cyclone’s voice cracked over the radio. “It’s getting hot here. Time to go. I have the other SEAL.”

We tore through the hallways, I carried the wounded soldier, Samira at my side, Cyclone covering the rear, with the other SEALs. Bullets hit the walls around us, sparking off metal and stone.

I shot out of the rear gate and ducked into the ravine. Cyclone tossed smoke to cover our retreat as we raced into the darkness.

Minutes later, we arrived at the location where a battered black SUV was hidden behind a camouflage tarp. Cyclone jumped into the driver’s seat. “Everyone in?”

I shoved the SEAL and Samira inside, then slammed the door behind us.

“Drive.”

The SUV tore through the desert, its headlights off, the engine growling low.

Behind us, the compound disappeared into smoke and chaos.

I looked over at the woman sitting across from me, holding pressure to the wounded soldier’s chest.

I didn’t trust her yet, but she’d helped. And she was now part of whatever the hell this was.

And deep down, I knew: this mission wasn’t over, it was too easy.

Somewhere outside Shiraz, Iran, we discovered the safe house. It was hidden behind an abandoned date farm, nothing but dust, cracked windows, and a water tank that hadn’t worked in years. But it was quiet, secure, and far from the compound we’d just torched on our way out.

I set the injured SEAL, Thompson, down on a cot. Samira knelt beside him instantly, opening the medical bag we’d salvaged from the compound.

“BP’s dropping,” she muttered, checking his pulse. I need permission to get this bullet out.”

“Do it; I’ll help,” I said, kneeling beside the woman. As she got to work, I watched her every move, making sure she knew what she was doing. I was satisfied, and together we took out two bullets and sewed him up. I prayed he would make it until we got the hell out of here, and then he’ll go to a hospital.

Cyclone hovered near the door, rifle in hand, eyes watching every shadow. I was still crouched beside Samira, scanning her movements.

“You’ve done this before,” I said.

She didn’t look up. “I’m a trauma surgeon. I was assigned to this area as part of a humanitarian mission. When things changed, I wasn’t allowed to leave.”

“Changed how?” I asked, voice low.

Samira paused, then glanced up. “They started bringing in prisoners. Americans. Some were sold. Some… disappeared. I don’t know where. The man in charge—he’s not from around here. He’s Russian. Cold. Strategic. I think this is bigger than you realize.”

I met Cyclone’s eyes across the room.

“Human trafficking,” Cyclone said darkly. “They’re selling our men.”

Samira nodded. “And others. Soldiers. Civilians. They’ve got connections all the way into Europe. It’s not just one compound. It’s a chain.”

My stomach turned. I reached for my radio, tapping into a secure line.

“This is Guardian One. We have a partial recovery of the SEAL team. One killed in action, one critical, one civilian with intel. Mission parameters have changed. We’re not just looking at a rescue. This is a takedown op.”

A long pause. Then a response crackled in: “Copy, Guardian One. Hold location. Reinforcements inbound in twenty-four. You are not to engage further until then. Repeat: Do not move.”

I stared at the radio. Every instinct in me screamed don’t wait.

Beatrice’s voice whispered through my memory: “Bring them home, Raven.”

But bringing them all home meant not rushing into something bigger than they could handle alone.

I stood, rolling my shoulders. “We wait for the general. We are no longer in the military. We will take these men home, and the general can take it from there.”

Cyclone exhaled slowly. “If she’s right, this goes way past a missing team.”

“Unless you reenlist, there is nothing more we can do. Let’s concentrate on making it home alive,” I said, even though I wanted to do more for all the other missing men.