✦ ─── [3RD PERSON POV] ─── ✦
The helicopters touched down in a clearing two miles south of the old beach camp. Four Black Hawks, rotors still spinning, kicking up dust and shredded leaves.
Captain Ella Morrison stepped out first—tactical vest, sidearm, rifle slung across her back, blonde hair pulled tight in a bun. Thirty-eight, fifteen years in private military contracting. She'd seen worse islands than this.
But something felt wrong.
The jungle was too quiet. No birds. Not even insects.
Fifteen soldiers per helo. Sixty total. Enough firepower to take a fortified position.
Her second-in-command jogged up—Lieutenant Marcus Webb, ex-Marine, built like a truck.
"Perimeter secure, Captain. No contacts."
"Split into four teams," Ella said. "North, east, west, south. Standard sweep pattern. Recover the bodies. Document everything. If you find survivors, detain them for questioning."
"Rules of engagement?"
"Warning shots first. Lethal force if threatened." She looked at him. "But I want prisoners, Marcus. Someone on this island killed four of ours. I need to know who and why."
He nodded and moved off, barking orders.
Ella turned to her comms officer. "Set up base camp here. I want satellite uplink in fifteen minutes. And get me aerial recon—drones, not helos. Something's off about this place."
"Yes ma'am."
She looked at the jungle. Trees so thick she couldn't see twenty feet in. Vines hanging like nooses.
'They had supplies for months. Military-grade weapons. Training. And someone took them all down.'
'Locals with stolen weapons? Pirates? Another trafficking outfit?'
'Or something else.'
---
Twenty minutes later, Ella's team reached the old beach camp.
Huts made of bamboo and salvaged yacht debris, a fire pit, crude furniture.
Abandoned.
But recently. Ashes in the pit were still warm.
"Someone was here." She knelt and ran her hand through the dirt. Boot prints. Bare feet. A lot of them. "Multiple occupants. Mixed group."
Her demo specialist—Ramirez—was sweeping the perimeter with a detection kit.
"Captain." His voice was tight. "We've got traps. Everywhere."
She stood and walked over.
He pointed at tripwires barely visible in the underbrush, pressure plates covered with leaves, spike pits camouflaged with branches.
Professional work.
"These aren't amateur," Ramirez said. "Military training. Or close to it."
Ella keyed her radio. "All teams, exercise extreme caution. Hostile traps confirmed. Advance slowly and—"
Gunfire.
Automatic. East side.
Then screaming.
"East team, report!"
Static. Then a voice—panicked, breathless. "Contact! We're taking fire! Peterson's down—stepped on something—his leg's—fuck, there's spikes everywhere—"
More gunfire. Return fire from her soldiers.
Then nothing.
"East team, report!"
Silence.
"Fall back," Ella said into the radio. "All teams, pull back to LZ immediately. Defensive perimeter. Now."
She looked at Ramirez. "Pack it up. We're not walking blind into this."
✦ ─── [JACK POV] ─── ✦
The helicopters landed two miles south. I heard them from the ridge.
Four of them. Black Hawks. Military spec.
'Sixty soldiers. Maybe more.'
The Elder stood beside me on the ridge. Her men were already in position below—thirty fighters spread across three choke points. North trail. East ridge. West stream crossing.
I was wearing one of the dead hunter's tactical jackets. Digital camo. Fit well enough. Gave me the look of someone who belonged.
"Your men ready?" I asked.
The Elder nodded. "They know the jungle. The soldiers don't. That's our advantage."
"Don't engage unless you have to. I want prisoners."
She looked at me. "Why?"
"Because I need to know what they know. And who sent them."
I'd left Goliath at the compound with Chloe and the others. Didn't need the massive dog out her.
Boots crashing through underbrush. Heavy. Clumsy.
Two soldiers. East patrol. Separated from their squad.
I signaled the tribesmen. They melted into the trees.
The soldiers kept coming.
Fifty feet. Forty.
One of them was talking into his radio. "—no contact yet, but there's something—"
A tribesman to my left started to raise his rifle.
I held up my hand. 'Wait.'
He froze.
Thirty feet.
Twenty.
I stepped out.
Both soldiers spun toward me, rifles up.
"Easy." I kept my hands visible, non-threatening. "I'm not armed."
The taller one—crew cut, square jaw—kept his rifle trained on my chest. "Identify yourself."
"Survivor. I've been on this island three months. Yacht went down in a storm."
The other one—younger, nervous—glanced at his partner. "Could be legit. Yacht debris at the camp matched the brief."
"Could be," Crew Cut said. Then to me: "Anyone else with you?"
"Yeah. Twelve of us. Hiding in the hills. We heard the helicopters."
"Where?"
I gestured vaguely north. "Two miles. Cave system."
'That's the bait.'
Crew Cut lowered his rifle slightly. "We're here to help. PMC contracted for search and rescue. We'll get you out."
"What about the men who were here before? The ones with the guns?"
His expression hardened. "They're dead. We're investigating what happened to them."
"They tried to kill us," I said. "We fought back."
Silence.
"How many of them did you kill?" Crew Cut asked.
"All of them."
He raised his rifle again. "On your knees. Hands behind your head."
I smiled.
And whistled.
Ten tribesmen stepped out of the jungle. Rifles aimed. Bows drawn.
The two soldiers went rigid.
"Lower your weapons," I said. "Or my friends put arrows through your skulls."
The younger one looked at Crew Cut, going pale.
Crew Cut's jaw tightened. "You're making a mistake."
"Drop them."
He didn't move.
I nodded at the tribesman on my left.
Arrow released.
Thudded into the dirt six inches from Crew Cut's boot.
The younger soldier dropped his rifle immediately. Hands up. "Don't shoot don't shoot don't—"
Crew Cut glared at me. Then slowly set his rifle down.
"Good choice."
I walked over, picked up both weapons, and handed them to the tribesmen. Then I knelt in front of Crew Cut.
"How many of you are here?"
"Fuck you."
I pulled the knife from my belt and held it where he could see it.
"How many?"
His eyes flicked to the blade, then back to my face.
"Sixty. Give or take."
"Mission?"
"Body recovery. And witness elimination."
'There it is.'
"Who sent you?"
He smiled. Cold. "You really think I'm going to—"
I drove the knife into his thigh.
He screamed and tried to pull away. I held him in place and twisted the blade.
"Who. Sent. You."
"Fuck—fuck—Valdez! Mateo Valdez!"
I pulled the knife out. Blood soaked through his pants.
The younger soldier was sobbing. "Please don't kill us please we're just contractors we're just—"
"Mateo Valdez," I said. "Cartel?"
Crew Cut was breathing hard, face pale. "Yeah. Trafficking—the hunters worked for him. You killed his people. He wants—everyone on this island dead."
"How long are you staying?"
"Forty-eight hours. Sweep and extract."
I stood and looked at the tribesmen. "Tie them up. Gag them. Leave them here."
Then I looked at Crew Cut.
"I'm going to talk to your Captain."
"She'll kill you," he said through gritted teeth.
"Let her try."
---
I took the younger soldier with me, hands zip-tied behind his back, cloth gag in his mouth. Pushed him ahead of me through the jungle toward the landing zone.
The tribesmen stayed hidden, watching, waiting.
When we got close enough to see the clearing, I stopped.
Cut the gag. Left his hands tied.
"You're going to walk into that camp and deliver a message."
He was shaking. "W-what message?"
"Tell your Captain the island's mine. She leaves now, she lives. She stays, her people die. All of them."
"She won't believe that."
"She will when you tell her what happened to your friend."
I pushed him forward. He stumbled and looked back.
"Go."
He ran.
---
From the treeline, I watched him stumble into the clearing. Soldiers immediately surrounded him, shouting, weapons up.
Then a woman stepped forward—blonde, tactical vest, sidearm. Authority in every movement.
'That's her.'
She cut his zip ties. Said something I couldn't hear.
He pointed back toward the jungle.
Directly at where I was standing.
She looked.
Our eyes met.
Even from two hundred feet, I could see it.
She wasn't scared.
Then she turned back to her soldiers and started giving orders.
I melted back into the jungle.
'Message delivered.'
'Now we see what she does with it.'
✦ ─── [3RD PERSON POV] ─── ✦
Ella listened to the soldier's report. His name was Davis—twenty-three, first deployment with the company, shaking so hard he could barely speak.
"—and he just walked out of the jungle, and—and they had us surrounded and Collins—he stabbed Collins in the leg and—"
"Slow down," Ella said. "How many were there?"
"Ten. Maybe twelve. Hard to tell. They had rifles. Bows. They moved like—like ghosts."
"And the man who spoke to you. Describe him."
"Tall. White. Thirties maybe. Tactical jacket—one of ours, from the dead hunters. He knew what he was doing, Captain. He wasn't scared. He was—"
"In control."
Davis nodded.
Ella walked to the edge of the clearing and looked at the jungle.
'One man. Maybe a dozen fighters. Against sixty trained soldiers.'
'And he thinks he can win.'
She turned back. "Marcus."
Her XO stepped forward.
"Pull all teams back to the LZ. Defensive perimeter. No one goes into that jungle without air support."
"We're letting him dictate terms?"
"No." She looked at the treeline. "We're making him come to us."
She keyed her radio.
"Firebase, this is Morrison. I need a gunship. Heavy ordnance. And I need it now."
Static. Then: "Copy, Captain. Inbound ETA thirty minutes."
She looked at Davis.
"Where's Collins?"
"Still out there. Tied up."
"Then they'll expect us to go get him."
She smiled.
"Which is exactly what we're going to do."