“If you don’t move now, twenty-four men die—Viper. Only you can save them.”
Morgan Sullivan stared at the snow-blown valley stretching beneath her cabin at 8,000 feet. Her Barrett M82A1 rested beside her on the porch, a cold reminder of the career that no longer existed on any roster. For three years, she had lived in exile—haunted by a mission that went catastrophically wrong, a mission that earned her the label “disgraced.”
The satellite phone buzzed in her hand. Colonel Jennifer Westbrook’s voice was tense but concise. “Morgan, a SEAL team walked into an ambush. Over 150 mercenaries, international arms dealers, and rogue operators. All sniper assets are down. You’re the only one in range.”
Morgan’s mind clicked into gear. The last time she’d been called, lives were lost under her watch. This time, she refused to fail. She packed her gear: extra magazines, rangefinder, thermal scopes, and survival supplies. The wind cut through the pine as she began her ascent. Every step on the ice-covered slope reminded her why she had survived when others hadn’t—her body was trained to endure, her mind sharpened to calculate distances and angles down to centimeters.
The SEALs were pinned in a mining complex at the bottom of a natural bowl. The enemy had the high ground, fortified with machine-gun nests, sniper towers, and crossfires coordinated by mercenaries with special forces experience. Ordinary intervention would be suicide; only precision, patience, and terrain mastery could turn the tide.
Hours later, Morgan reached a precarious perch nearly two kilometers from the target. Snow clung to her parka, her fingers numb but steady. She scanned the valley through her scope, marking the machine-gun nest, the sniper post, and the enemy’s command point.
Her first round cracked through the winter air, obliterating the machine-gun nest. A second round took out a sniper tower. Enemy chatter erupted into confusion. From above, Morgan watched the SEALs gain a sliver of breathing space, their suppressed groans of pain turning into cautious relief. Her heartbeat steadied—calm, precise, lethal.
Morgan knew the enemy would adapt, flank, or counterattack. Every shot would matter, every decision could save or cost lives. She crouched lower, peering through the snow-blurred scope. One mistake could mean death for herself and the team.
But then, something on the enemy’s command frequency made her pause—a familiar voice. Had someone betrayed the SEALs from within their own ranks?
The thought froze her blood. Morgan Sullivan wasn’t just fighting mercenaries today; she was stepping into a battle where every hidden danger could explode at any moment.
