"Alright, your turn," Case whispered into the radio.
Milla gripped the rope and started up the cliffside. Her fingers found purchase in the chipped stone, boots searching for holds she trusted more by instinct than sight. The rock scraped softly under her weight, every movement measured.
Case was already at the top. He looped the rope around a jagged outcrop and cinched it tight, testing it once—twice. The rock didn't shift an inch. Good enough.
He scanned the horizon as Milla climbed. Nothing moved. No silhouettes. No torchlight. No red banners fluttering in the distance.
As far as he could tell, the Legion hadn't noticed them at all.
Far below and miles to the East, the veterans had begun their work.
The assault hit exactly where it was supposed to—straight through the hornet's nest. Engines roared as trucks and jeeps surged down the most obvious route available: Hoover Dam. It was blunt and violent, meant to be seen, heard, and answered.
They pushed far East than Case and Milla ever could. That was the advantage of mechanized infantry—speed, mass, and momentum. The Rangers understood that. They didn't rely on numbers. They relied on tactics. Skill and equipment, used deliberately.
Tracer fire stitched faint lines across the distant dark. Seconds later, the dull thump of explosions rolled across the desert, far on the East side of the desert. The vets were really dangerous, he thought to himself. .
Milla reached the top a moment later, hauling herself over the edge. Her backpack sagged heavily against her shoulders—packed tight with C4 charges, detonators, and just enough gear to justify the climb.
Case wasn't carrying explosives, of course.
A light machine gun rode across his back. Six hundred rounds—split between drums and belts—pulled at the tactical rig strapped over his combat armor. The weapon wore a simple optic, nothing fancy, just enough reach if stealth collapsed and the night turned loud.
His primary weapon, though, was still the marksman rifle.
"Alright," Milla said quietly, already moving. "Let's get to Objective Alpha."
"Lead the way," Case replied.
They slipped into motion, keeping low as they moved away from the cliff edge. The terrain flattened into broken stone and scrub, offering just enough cover to move unseen if they were careful. Milla took point, stepping where the ground was firm, avoiding loose gravel that might give their position away with a single careless sound.
Case followed a few meters back, rifle up, eyes sweeping the darkness through his optic. So far, only a handful of Legion camps were visible—small, scattered, their fires dimmed. The darkness worked in their favor; low-tech Legion optics couldn't see what they couldn't illuminate.
But what he could see made his stomach tighten.
.308 battle rifles. .45-caliber submachine guns. More battle rifles slung across shoulders, magazines taped together, carried like standard issue.
Holy shit, Case thought.
Where were the Legionnaires who charged screaming into gunfire with machetes and scrap armor? These men moved differently—with their minds. Weapons held properly.
Where did they even get all this hardware?
One armory couldn't supply this much. Not unless it had been emptied down to the bolts.
His mind kept working as he scanned the camp. The shift in posture was obvious—even jarring. Still, one thing was clear: a portion of the Legion had begun rushing back east, abandoning the forward positions and leaving the front thinly manned.
The veterans' bum rush had worked.
Farmstead had split the tasks deliberately. Case and Milla were responsible for two targets; the rest would be handled by other Ranger teams operating along the river. Getting thrown into the fire was the right word for it.
"Probing attack," Case murmured.
"Huh?" Milla whispered without turning.
"The Rangers are measuring their defenses," Case said quietly. "Seeing how fast they react, how they redeploy." He paused. "Recon in force."
Milla nodded once. "Makes sense. Let's not embarrass ourselves when we report back, yeah?"
Case adjusted his grip on the rifle. "I've got enough stims and Med-X if this goes sideways."
"Good," Milla replied. "I'd rather not use them."
"You can count on me."
They moved again, letting the darkness do most of the work. They stayed out of the moonlight, using shadows and broken terrain as cover. The Legion didn't have night-vision—Case was certain of that much.
After several more minutes of careful movement, the terrain dipped, revealing the objective. An encampment on the Arizona side of the river—larger than the others. Fortified. Sandbags stacked high. Ammo crates were piled near a reinforced firing position.
And at its center…
A 105 mm howitzer.
Objective Alpha.
Milla crouched behind a rock and studied the emplacement. "That's the gun."
Case nodded, already counting silhouettes, measuring distances, mapping angles in his head.
"Alright," he whispered, settling his rifle. "We do this clean. You've got the C4?"
"Yeah." Milla slipped her pack off and set it down, pulling two compact blocks of C4 free. She clipped detonators in place with practiced hands. "Take my bag. Get up on that rise and cover me. I'll move once you're set."
Case took the heavy rucksack and moved fast, keeping low as he dashed toward a small hill overlooking the position. He dropped prone at the crest, dragged the pack under his chest, and used it to steady the marksman rifle.
He adjusted the scope's magnification, sweeping the area once before settling his crosshairs—then shifted them to Milla's position, confirming her line of approach.
"I'm in position," he whispered into the radio.
Milla began to move.
She crawled slowly, deliberately, using every dip in the ground and every shadow cast by stacked crates and sandbags. Case followed her through the scope, breathing steady, finger indexed along the trigger guard.
"Hold," he murmured.
Milla froze instantly, flattening herself against the dirt.
A Legionnaire wandered closer to her path, rifle slung loose, boots crunching softly on gravel. Case tracked him, adjusting for distance, waiting for the moment. The legionaire then moved away from Milla.
"Alright, go… now," Case whispered.
Case shifted his aim again. Another figure leaned against a crate near the gun, laughing quietly with someone out of sight. The figure was accompanied by two other legionaires. Hmm, no way to sneak from this one.
"Take the one leaning," Case whispered. "I'll drop the other two."
Two muted cracks followed—precise, suppressed shots from Case's marksman rifle. Both Legionnaires collapsed before they could react. Almost simultaneously, Milla raised her silenced pistol and fired once. The third body slumped quietly against the sandbags.
"Clear," Case said. "Move."
Milla advanced again, inch by inch, until she reached the base of the emplacement. Case tracked her through the scope the entire time, his awareness split between her movement and the rest of the camp. They were lucky—the gun sat on the outer edge of the encampment, half-forgotten in the chaos further east.
"Three Legionnaires near the breech," he whispered. "One facing away. One seated. One pacing. I'll take the pacer if he turns."
"Copy," Milla breathed.
The pacing Legionnaire stopped, struck a lighter, and turned his back to the gun.
"Plant," Case ordered quietly.
Milla moved in, sliding the first block of C4 into position with practiced hands. Case widened his scan, checking beyond the immediate circle—tents, shadows, fire pits. Still nothing. No sudden movement.
The diversion was holding.
Far to the east, gunfire continued to roll across the desert, steady and loud.
Good, Case thought. Stay focused on them.
Milla secured the charge, gave the detonator lead a brief tug to confirm it was seated, then reached for the second block.
Suddenly, the pacer turned.
Case didn't hesitate.
Three suppressed shots cracked in rapid succession. The first Legionnaire dropped before he could shout. The second slumped sideways off his seat. The third collapsed backward against the gun's carriage, dead before he hit the ground.
Their bodies lay still at the base of the howitzer.
"That was close," Milla whispered.
"Is it planted?" Case asked, already scanning wider.
"Yeah," she replied. "It's set. I'm pulling out."
"Copy. Move now. Same route. I've got you."
Milla slipped away from the emplacement, melting back into the darkness she'd come from. Case tracked her through the scope, watching every step, every pause, every shadow she crossed.
Clear.
Once she was well clear of the encampment, Case eased back from the crest and began his descent, moving downhill with the same deliberate care. He kept low, using the terrain to mask his silhouette, pausing whenever the distant gunfire shifted or a shadow moved where it shouldn't.
The diversion was still holding. Legion's attention stayed fixed east, toward the noise and chaos Jacob had promised.
Case reached the rally point and signaled Milla with a single, brief click over the radio.
"Visual," she whispered back. "You're good."
"One down, one more to go. Ready for Objective Bravo?"
"Lead the way, Case," Milla smiled.