PART 8
Ava’s bullet hit the fighter holding the smoke grenade.
The grenade slipped free.
It popped.
Then rolled into the ravine exactly where Rudd needed it.
White smoke burst between the Rangers and the heaviest fire.
Rudd did not hesitate.
“Move!”
Carver grabbed Grant.
Cruz dragged another wounded Ranger by the straps of his vest.
Men rose low and fast, disappearing behind the black rock as bullets tore through the smoke where they had been seconds earlier.
Holt stared through the scope.
“You shot the grenade out of his hand.”
“No,” Ava said. “I shot the hand holding the mistake.”
He almost laughed from pure terror.
Then he saw movement.
“East brush. Multiple. They’re rushing before the smoke clears.”
Ava’s face changed.
For the first time, Holt saw anger.
Not loud.
Not emotional.
A thin, controlled fury.
“They’re going for the wounded.”
She began firing faster.
Still controlled.
Still precise.
But the quiet rhythm sharpened into something relentless.
Every shot stopped a man trying to reach the Rangers before they could evacuate.
In the ravine, Rudd heard impacts strike around him like invisible judgment from the fog.
He looked up toward the ridge.
He could see nothing.
Only mist.
Only trees.
Only survival arriving from a place too far away to make sense.
“Raven,” Rudd said into the radio, voice rough. “Who is she?”
For a moment, there was no answer.
Then Chief Keene’s voice came over the net.
“Bravo Three, that shooter is Staff Sergeant Ava Stroud.”
Rudd grimaced.
“I know her name.”
Keene paused.
May you like
Then said something that made every man on the channel go silent.
“Call sign Widow Bell.”
