Chapter 27: The High Altitude Chase

The climb was brutal. We weren't on trails anymore; we were scaling vertical faces of loose shale and frozen earth. Every breath felt like inhaling glass. My ribs, still bruised from the crates, throbbed with every pull, but I didn't slow down. I couldn't let Major Sterling be right. I couldn't be a liability.

By hour six, the sun was a blinding disk in a pale sky. We were ten thousand feet up, navigating a ridge so narrow that a single misstep meant a thousand-foot fall.

"Lion 6, this is 3-6," Thorne’s voice crackled over the net. He was scout-swimming ahead. "I have visual. Three targets, moving north-northwest. They’re making for the cave systems near the ridgeline."

"Copy, 3-6. Engage only if compromised. We’re closing in," James responded.

We pushed harder. I could feel the sweat freezing on my neck, the salt stinging the white patches of my skin. James was a machine in front of me, his pace relentless. He didn't look back to check on me, but every time I stumbled, he seemed to pause just long enough for me to regain my footing, his hand twitching toward his side as if fighting the urge to reach out.

Suddenly, the silence of the mountain was shattered. A sniper round whistled through the air, snapping against a rock inches from James’s head.

"Sniper! Get down!" Jax screamed.

We hit the dirt. The ridge was a kill zone—no cover, just a narrow strip of rock.

"Ramírez! I need coordinates for the bird!" James roared, pinned behind a outcrop that was barely wide enough for his shoulders.