The sky gradually cleared, and the guerrillas and Omega team had long since left the munitions depot behind. Sneydar still found it all a bit surreal. They had just taken out an entire battalion with only six people. It was almost impossible to believe.
The same disbelief was felt by everyone else, including Omega themselves. Owen's original objective had been to destroy Borbon's munitions depot and help the guerrillas make a hefty profit, but the timing turned out to be oddly perfect. In the chaos, a large number of enemy troops had unknowingly converged around the depot—which essentially became one giant bomb.
And when that bomb went off, it took them all with it.
Claiming 500 kills might be an exaggeration, but at least 300 were definitely dead. When Owen's team left, the scene was littered with mangled corpses. The few survivors were either unconscious or paralyzed in shock.
Now, they weren't heading back to the guerrilla base but to a location Owen had preselected. Destroying the depot wasn't the endgame—it was just the beginning. Owen had planned a follow-up strike to further cripple Borbon and then extract the pilot.
Soon, Herman led Owen to a hillside—exactly the place he had previously described. This was Owen's first time seeing it in person, and it was perfect. The terrain matched his plans exactly.
Next step: planting those anti-tank mines. Yes, this was the graveyard Owen had chosen for Borbon's tanks. A clearing lay between two forested ridges. Infantry could maneuver through the woods, but tanks had no choice but to go through the open ground. By the time they realized the trap, it would be too late. Owen intended to bog down and destroy them here.
At this point, Sneydar was completely convinced. After the depot success, anything Owen said now sounded like gospel. If Owen said they could wipe out Borbon's tanks here, then Sneydar believed him.
The guerrilla fighters felt the same. Omega had done what they had dreamed of for years but could never achieve. With Owen's orders, the guerrillas started planting mines across the slope—standard mines up front, anti-tank mines in the rear. They practically used up all the stockpile they had seized earlier.
The guerrillas were hard at work, fully content to let Omega stand aside and chat. After all, if six people could take out 500, they'd earned the right to take it easy.
Once everything was ready, Owen picked up the radio. This time, he tuned it to a public channel and paused briefly before speaking: "Eagle's Nest calling Archangel. Eagle's Nest calling Archangel. Chris, we were sent by Eagle's Nest to extract you. We just raided their munitions depot—they're in complete disarray right now. Please contact us immediately. We're waiting for you at coordinates ******. Don't doubt our identity—the authentication code is (…&."
The code Owen gave was a U.S. military authentication phrase. As long as it was correct, it would at least prove they weren't impostors. Chris might wonder why they were using a public channel to call him, but with the right code, he'd know they were legitimate.
Owen repeated the call several times, rotating voices so someone would broadcast every few minutes. His message traveled the airwaves, received by countless people.
Back at the munitions depot, Borbon arrived with his personal guard, his face like a thundercloud. He felt like he was going to explode. Who could have done this? It couldn't have been the guerrillas—they didn't have that kind of capability.
Someone had bombed his depot under the protection of a full battalion. That facility held nearly half his armaments. Borbon's heart ached at the thought.
Who did this? Borbon swore he would tear them limb from limb.
Just then, Owen's voice came through the radio. Borbon listened to the codenames "Archangel" and "Eagle's Nest," and his expression twisted even further.
"Where are those coordinates? Get me there now!"
…
Out in the wilderness, Chris was gasping for air. Boole had led him on a nonstop overnight run. That sniper—they weren't sure if he was still on their trail.
The sky had brightened, though today was overcast. Chris looked down at their footprints in the dirt and cursed under his breath. The two parallel tracks were like giant arrows pointing straight at them. But they had no choice. Exhausted, they had to keep going.
As they stumbled forward, the trees suddenly gave way, revealing an open view. Without realizing it, they had reached the edge of a dam. The dam was abandoned, its base thick with vegetation. From where they stood, they couldn't see the bottom. Even in winter, with most greenery gone, dense vines still blocked their line of sight.
Chris was beyond exhausted. He glanced back—Boole had deliberately led them through a coniferous forest to conceal their tracks.
His lungs were burning. The tension of constant fleeing lifted slightly. He dragged himself to the dam wall and slumped down.
Boole, standing nearby, scanned the area. Sensing that it was safe for the moment, he allowed Chris his break.
Chris sat there, panting hard. After a long while, the pain in his chest eased. Boole kept vigilant watch, scanning their surroundings.
Chris pulled out his canteen, tilting it back, but not a drop came out. Frustrated, he tossed it aside. Then he took out the radio, torn with indecision. If he called Eagle's Nest, he might be triangulated. But if he didn't, he'd have no hope of rescue.
Just then, Owen's voice suddenly came through. Chris and Boole both jumped, instinctively shutting the radio off. They scanned the area—nothing. Carefully, they turned it back on.
"Archangel… Eagle's Nest… authentication code…"
Hearing those familiar names, Chris was sure—these were the people sent to save him. But why use a public channel? He turned to Boole, who understood English. Chris wanted to get his opinion and ask where those coordinates were.
Just as Chris opened his mouth, Boole's body suddenly jerked and fell sideways, as if pulled by an invisible force. Then came the gunshot.
The sniper.
Chris hit the ground immediately, his nerves on fire. Boole tumbled down the dam's sloped edge. From the way his body moved, Chris knew he was dead.
His mind went blank, then—sharp pain stung his cheek. A bullet had struck the stone wall beside him, scattering debris. Another shot rang out.
Chris knew he couldn't stay hidden. But there was no escape—open field behind him, no cover until the forest line, and that was far enough for the sniper to kill him multiple times.
In a split second, Chris's eyes landed on Boole's body sliding down the slope.
He clenched his jaw, then hurled himself down the dam's side.
______
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