Page 126 of Viking

The typing bubbles linger for a long time, and my heart clenches painfully in my chest.

LOGAN: I will.

I clutch the phone to my chest, blinking up at the ceiling as the room spins around me. My eyes trace the crown molding, following it around the edges of the room.

LOGAN: I love you.

The words flash on the screen, simple but devastating.

LILA: I love you, too.

LOGAN: Sweet dreams, beautiful. I hope I haunt them.

I shake my head and turn off my phone, hugging it to my chest like that might somehow bring him closer.

FOB near the Spratly Islands

November 21, 2024

0800

Logan

The briefing room is brimming with a quiet, electric tension, the kind that settles in before something big. I sit with Townsend, Dalton, and Wells at a long table surrounded by a few guys from Delta Force, General Mathers—the JSOC commander; Colonel Daniels—the JSOC task force commander; and Sergeant Wade—the Delta team leader. The faint scent of coffee and stale air lingers, mixing with the whirl of the overhead projector. Maps and satellite images cover the far wall, casting shadows that flicker like ghosts. Every detail of the insurgent compound is laid bare—fortifications, patrol routes, suspected entry points—stark in black and white.

My leg bounces under the table, a restless rhythm I can’t stop. I keep my face cool and unreadable. Professional. Focused. Inside, though, I’m boiling.

General Mathers steps forward, his uniform crisp and his voice as sharp as the edges of his medals. “This is the target. The insurgent stronghold responsible for the attack on our base and the death of our men.”

Ryan. The weight of his and five other deaths hang over the room like a storm cloud. I struggle to breathe easy, but I don’t let it show. Ryan’s gone, and nothing we do tonight will change that. But we can make damn sure this asshole doesn’t try something like it again.

He takes a deep breath and continues. “We’ve confirmed our high-value target is inside. This mission will be a coordinated effort with Joint Special Operations Command.” Meaning we’ll have Delta on the ground to get the son of a bitch responsible while we fight off his air support.

Townsend shifts slightly in his seat next to me, his jaw tight. Dalton sits to my left, arms crossed, his sharp gaze glued to the map. Wells taps his pen against the table, his usual nervous tic.

The general steps back, giving the floor to Colonel Daniels. The JSOC task force commander looks like he’s been through more hell than most of us could imagine. His uniform is muted, his demeanor no-nonsense.

The kind of guy who could stare down a missile and tell it to wait its turn.

“Listen up,” he begins, scanning the room. His gaze lingers on Wade and then shifts to Townsend, acknowledging the weight both men carry as leaders. “We’ve confirmed that during the attack, insurgents infiltrated the operations center. In the chaos, they managed to extract classified intel—mission details, troop movements, and encrypted communications. We don’t have a full inventory yet, but it’s bad. They knew what to hit, and they exploited the breach.”

He takes a step forward, voice lowering. “This wasn’t random. The attack was a coordinated effort to cripple our operations and steal information they can weaponize against us. And they paid for it—hard. But not before they got what they came for.”

Daniels’s jaw tightens. “We lost good men and I won’t let that sacrifice be in vain. Right now, we’re working with Intelligence to track the stolen data and identify the leak that compromised base security. But understand this—they have our playbook and they’re going to use it.”

He looks directly at Wade and his team. “You know what that means. We go hunting. But we do it smart. No more losses.” Then he turns to Townsend, and looks between our flight. “We’ll need eyes in the sky. And when we find them, I’m going to need you ready to rain hell down.”

Daniels exhales, the room heavy with the unspoken weight of grief and anger. “I know we’re hurting. But we lock that down. We channel it. Because the best way to honor the men we lost is to make sure the bastards who did this never get another chance.” He steps forward, laser pointer in hand, and gestures to a clearing on the map. “Our team will infiltrate here, under the cover of darkness.” He nods at Wade, who makes eye contact with each of his men. “We’ll move into overwatch positions to laser designate key targets for your airstrikes. Timing will be critical.”

I lean forward, studying the terrain. The compound is nestled in rugged hills, a natural fortress with only a few narrow approaches. Anti-aircraft systems. Hostiles everywhere. A damn nightmare.

Wells mutters under his breath, barely audible, “What a lovely little deathtrap.”

I almost smirk, but the sinking feeling in my gut won’t let me. I raise my hand, forcing my voice steady. “Sir, what’s the risk assessment on their air capabilities? Are we expecting a lot of resistance in the air?”

Daniels doesn’t hesitate, his expression grim. “There’s a possibility. Satellite intel suggests a small fleet of older aircraft—likely MiG-29s and Su-25s. We expect them to scramble a few MiG-35s from nearby as well. You’ll be busy. We need your Raptors simply because we cannot afford not to have them. We have enough to worry about on the ground without having to think about the sky, too.”

Busy. Yeah, that’s one way to put it. My hand drops to my lap, curling into a fist under the table.