The jungle at night buzzed with insects and rustling leaves, but for the mercenaries sweeping the area, every sound was a potential threat. Three men led the formation, rifles raised, eyes sharp, ready to fire on command. Their flashlights cut through the underbrush, scanning twisted roots and tangled shrubs. Behind them, the rest of the unit fanned out in a wide arc, moving like a net tightening around prey.
They’d been deployed the moment intel confirmed the first helicopter, carrying Dan Reagow, had gone down. The cause? An unknown hostile. The wreck had left no survivors. Orders were clear: sweep the crash zone and hunt down whoever was responsible.
“Footprints,” one of the men up front whispered, pointing to a patch of wet earth. The beam of his light caught the faint outline of boo
