“Sierra 3 is right. Archer, give us a new plan of attack.”
“We move lower. Force them into a narrower path. Limit their options,” he said without hesitation.
A beat passed, then Cannon’s order came. “Sierra 3, you’re in the lead. Move.”
He took the order and relocated them fast, dropping into the lower terrain that would give them the advantage over their enemy. Archer waved a hand at the natural rock formation, and Cannon gave hand signals to move them into position.
Archer’s nervous system was still and calm as he braced against the rock wall and locked in where he needed to be before the target hit.
At the wind blasting over his face, Jolie seeped into his concentration again, and he pressed her back.
When the strike came, it came fast.
Movement cut through the snow, barely visible until it was too close. Archer tracked the sled, timing the intercept.
Two figures. One driving, one riding shotgun. Snowmobile moving fast, but not fast enough because they’d had to slow to get through the pass.
He stepped out from cover at the exact moment the uneven terrain brought the target in sight.
“Sierra 3 moving,” he said into comms, already in motion.
The driver saw him a split second too late. Weapon up, Archer closed the distance in three strides. The driver darted alook side to side in search of escape. But they’d played right into Archer’s plan, and there wasn’t any way out except in restraints or a body bag.
The driver tried to power through, but the snow was deeper here, the path a tight switchback. Archer grabbed the handlebars and rode the momentum, forcing the sled to decelerate.
“Kill it!” he barked.
Rome moved in from the opposite side, weapon trained on the targets, cutting off any escape. “Engine off! Now!”
The driver hesitated, and Archer drove a forearm into his chest and ripped him off the sled, dragging him clear of the machine. The passenger went for a weapon, but six more Sierra team weapons snapped up, the safeties clicking off.
A sharp crack split the air from the ridge above.
“Third shooter!” O barked over comms.
Archer’s head swung up, gaze cutting to the higher ridge. Movement broke through the snow—two figures shifting into position, rifles already up.
Rounds tore into the snow and rock, white spray exploding around them.
Archer shoved the driver into the ground and pinned him with a knee, returning fire in controlled bursts. Rome dragged the passenger behind cover, but not before a round clipped his shoulder, spinning him off-balance.
“Talk to me, Rome,” he bit off.
“I’m good.” Rome was already swinging his weapon back up.
Another voice cut in, sharper this time. “More movement—left side!”
Archer shifted as a third group pushed up through the lower trail, closing the distance. Three more figures moved in, weapons raised.
“Third team, closing fast,” Archer said.
“Sierra 3, hold position,” came Cannon’s order.
“Negative. They’ll breach the sled and get away.”
He pushed off the rock just as a round cracked past him, close enough to feel the air stir. Another slammed into the rock at his side, sending fragments in an outward blast and driving into his ribs. Pain flared sharp, but he stayed on his feet.
“Younger, suppress left!” he snapped.
