Page 5 of Defiant Hearts

“You’re going to face the elements, wildlife and peril. You need to work together, or you’re going to fail.”

Even though no one turned to look at him, he knew what they were all thinking, and he lifted his head higher in determination. They thought he was the weak link, but they were wrong.

Church scanned the group. “Chopper departs in ten minutes. Good luck up there. When you come back down, you’re going to be different men.”

A ripple of pride and determination ran through the group. Wyatt could already feel a couple of their heads swelling.

“Dismissed.”

As the others broke off to finish their last gear checks before they boarded the chopper that would take them partway up the mountain, Church’s hand landed on Wyatt’s shoulder.

He steered him a few feet clear of the group. “Reno doesn’t think you’re cut out for this.”

Wyatt threw him a look and checked his sidearm. Well-oiled, chambered, safety on. Six mags rode in his pack, eighty-some rounds total—enough for drills, not a war. His rifle stayed sleeved against the elements, its own ammo packed separate and dry.

He didn’t respond, running his thumb over the safety.

“Nothing to say?” Church asked.

“I don’t think much of his ideas.”

Church’s mouth twitched but it wasn’t quite a smile. “Know what I think?”

Wyatt holstered his sidearm and face him fully. “What?” It came out more as a challenge than a question, and he heard it in his own voice half a second too late. Quickly, he amended his question.

“What do you think, sir?”

Church’s eyes flashed with amusement but the way he narrowed them was skeptical. He let Wyatt’s slip ride. “I think you’re going to prove yourself. One way or another.”

That was the second time one of his trainers showed their faith in him, and it made it difficult to speak. He only gave Church a firm nod and walked off to join his group without waiting to see if there was more coming.

The chopper blades were already spinning as they approached. Crew Diaz was at the stick, sunglasses concealing his eyes but his grin revealed he was happy to drop six men into the wilderness for a month.

One by one, they ducked under the blades and launched into the helicopter. Wyatt climbed in last and dropped into a seat.

“Strap in, candidates,” Crew called over the noise.

Within seconds, the craft lifted off, and Wyatt looked down, watching the training facility shrink beneath them in a smear of rooftops and pavement.

He knew the coordinates. Thirteen miles of mountain between them and the first basecamp. No trail—just rock, timber and whatever they could carry on their backs to survive.

The plan was simple on paper and brutal in practice. A month up here, split into teams, running mountain warfare drills that turned into something closer to Lord of the Flies on steroids. They’d navigate whatever the trail threw at them along the way, and everyone had a role.

Bradley ran comms. Silva handled medical. Wyatt got navigator because the forest was the one place letters had never betrayed him, and Gabe knew it when he gave the assignment.

The ground rushed up fast whether they were ready for this or not.

Crew didn’t fully touch down on the mountain, just hovered a few feet off the ground. Since Wyatt was the last man in, he was the first man out. He tossed his gear to the ground and leaped out after it. His boots hit the rock and he snagged his pack in the same motion. By the time the last man was out, he was already turning to watch the chopper lift off again, growing smaller in the sky.

He stood at the edge of the landing zone and checked his compass, half listening to the others laugh, continuing their conversation from back in the chopper, and he felt the same distance settle over him.

He walked along the ridge, getting a read on the terrain before he set the team on the path to basecamp. Voices carried up in the thin mountain air.

Another voice broke through his concentration. “—need to work as a team,” Bradley was saying. “He’s already not part of the team.”

Wyatt’s nostrils flared, the only indication that he’d heard. He didn’t turn around, just pointed to the section of mountain leading upward out of the tree line. He fell into pace at the front, silently burning with irritation.

Whether they wanted him running point or not, that was his job. They had thirteen miles of loose scree and switchbacks and the air thinning with every step. Somebody had to get them to basecamp before dark.