Page 210 of Silver Elite

“Our radar caught a solo jet flying erratically at low altitudes,” Cross says over the comm feed. “By the time we got a drone out there, the fighter had already crashed in the forest. Drone shows the engines on fire, cockpit empty. Marks in the dirt indicate the pilot dragged himself away from the crash site.”

“Is he still in the area?” asks Xavier from the pilot’s seat. He skillfully propels the jet through the black sky, making me wish I’d paid more attention in Basics of Flight. New operatives to Silver Block aren’t allowed to fly any aircraft without extra training, though, so I’m not worried about being thrust into the pilot role anytime soon.

“That’s what we’re going to find out,” Cross replies. “The plane is one click from our depot, which was decommissioned a few years ago. They might have old intel and think it’s an active one. Intelligence thinks they were trying to bomb it when the plane crashed.”

The B-8 banks as we near our destination. From the air, the weapons depot is barely visible. Not until Cross points it out to me.

It doesn’t resemble a military installation. Nestled in the rugged terrain of an isolated valley, the depot is small and unassuming, little more than a collection of nondescript buildings hidden among the trees. The main warehouse looks like a barn. Squinting, I make out old crates stacked near a sagging chain-link fence and other random pieces of debris littering the dusty ground.

“Anyone can waltz up to this,” I say in surprise. “That warehouse doesn’t even look like reinforced steel.”

“The whole point is that it’s in plain sight. It’s supposed to look inconspicuous. When it was operational, the entire compound was wired with explosives. Crawling with land mines. Motion sensors. Drone security. It used to contain an arsenal of weapons and munitions. But it’s been abandoned for years.”

Once we’re on the ground, we split into two teams. One to investigate the plane, the other to secure the perimeter of the depot. I’m with Cross and Xavier again, delving into the forest in search of the fighter jet.

Something feels…off. I wonder if the guys agree, but I don’t ask them as we move through the darkness. I smell the smoke when we’re about half a mile out. Jet fuel.

As we near the crash site, a knot of foreboding tightens in my stomach.

“Keep your eyes open,” Cross murmurs. “We don’t know what we’re walking into.”

I readjust my grip on my weapon. A sniper rifle is too cumbersome for this op, so I’m outfitted with the smaller version of the REMM-4. The 3. It’s equally delicious and fixed with the same night sight that the other model uses.

My senses remain on high alert as we approach the smoldering wreckage of the downed jet. Cross signals for me to venture to higher ground, gesturing that he and Xavier will investigate while I cover them. I nod and move up the rocky outcrop. They don’t move until I’m in position, covering them as they creep closer to the plane. Thanks to the rifle’s night sight, I see them clearly in the dark.

I scan the area for any signs of movement. All looks calm, yet still I feel vulnerable, exposed.

“Clear,” Cross says a few minutes later.

“We’ve got a trail of blood.” Tyler’s voice comes through the comm. “Heading for the main building now.”

“Be careful, Dixie,” Xavier warns, using her call sign.

“Dove, are you seeing anything?”

It took a while, but Cross finally dropped the “broken” frommycall sign, which has been a relief.

I sweep the area again. “There’s nobody here.”

“Well, there’s definitely somebodyhere.” Kaine’s voice now. “Bloody footprints everywhere.”

“Dixie. Proceed with caution,” Cross says. “Any hint of trouble, retreat and wait for us.”

“Copy that.”

The line falls quiet. But only for a few seconds.

Tyler returns, her unease unmistakable. “Captain, something’s not right here—”

An explosion goes off in the distance.

I hear it in my ear, too, just a split second of deafening thunder before the feed cuts and the silence returns. I’m already on my feet. Cross and Xavier come running.

“Dixie!” Xavier shouts. “Come in.”

No response. The channel is completely silent, eerily so.

Without delay, the three of us race toward the source of the blast. I see the flames the moment we reach the depot, burning hot in the side of the main building, smoke gusting out of the gaping hole left by the explosion.

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