The interception point

The truck rumbled onward through the broken backroads, its suspension groaning with every pothole and cracked slab of old asphalt. The checkpoint was already miles behind us, but the memory of those thick gloves lingered like a bruise. I kept my jaw locked and my eyes on the passing treeline, refusing to let either Jax or Lira see how tightly my fists were clenched on my knees.

No one spoke for a long time. The only sounds were the creak of metal, the low growl of the engine, and the occasional burst of static from the old shortwave scanner mounted between the seats. Lira finally broke the silence, her voice low and steady.

“They were thorough tonight,” she said, not quite looking at me. “More than usual. You think they’re ramping up sweeps because of the convoy?”

“Or they just enjoy feeling up civilians,” Jax muttered from across the bench, checking the action on his rifle for the third time. His usual cocky smirk was absent. “Either way, we’re still breathing. That’s a win.”

My nerves had mostly settled after the checkpoint.

I pushed it down. Hard. This wasn’t the time.

Central had bumped the timetable for a reason. The black-site prison convoy was moving a“High Value Asset” tonight — the comm traffic had been off the charts. If we could hit the convoy at the right **** point and extract the package, it could change everything.

At least, that's what Central said. As long as I get to kill some bucket-heads, that's fine with me.

I shifted on the hard bench, feeling the weight of my gear and the familiar press of the trusted sidearm against my leg. The data fragment we’d stolen weeks ago had pointed us here: an isolated stretch of ruined highway flanked by dense forest on one side and collapsed overpasses on the other. Perfect for an ambush. Terrible if things went wrong.

“Ten minutes out,” Jax said, glancing at the cracked GPS unit. “We link up with the other fire-team at the ridge, plant the charges on the overpass, and wait for the signal. In and out.”

“Nothing’s ever simple,” Lira replied quietly, sharpening her knife again with slow, deliberate strokes.

I closed my eyes for a second and pictured the briefing one more time. The convoy would have escort vehicles, ADVENT troopers in standard armour, and possibly an officer. There wasn't any alien presence expected, thank fuck — that was the intel. We hit the lead transport, secure the asset, whatever it was, and fade back into the woods before any heavy response could arrive.

Easy to say when you’re looking at a map. A lot harder when you’re the ones bleeding in the dirt.

The truck slowed as we approached the final turnoff. The driver — one of the local smugglers we paid in ammo and medicine — killed the lights and eased us into a shallow ravine screened by overgrown brush. I checked my magazine, then my sidearm, then the spare clips in my vest. Everything felt too real suddenly. Too immediate.

This was it. The biggest thing our squad had ever tried.

As the engine ticked down into silence, Jax looked across at me, his expression unusually serious in the dim red glow of the interior light.

“You ready for this, Kane?”