The moment Owen heard there was a suspension bridge, his eyes lit up.
"Everyone, head west! There's a suspension bridge—move at full speed and secure it!"
Owen relayed the command, and the team immediately turned toward the west, racing through the forest in the direction he'd indicated.
Bullets still whizzed past Owen, cracking through the trees with sharp thuds and shattering stone.
"Night Owl, fire with me—"
Owen vaulted over a pile of rubble, then dove down behind it. The woods were sparse, and the pursuers had grown reckless. Owen figured it was time to teach them a painful lesson—and buy the team some time.
Crack! A bullet smashed into the rock pile near his head, sending shards flying. Owen flinched, then spun around and returned fire—sending the shooter to hell.
Nearby, behind a fallen tree, Bayev had already set up his machine gun. With a brief aim, the RPK burst to life in crisp, rhythmic tat-tat-tats.
The lead enemies were cut down. Owen fired too, hitting one in the leg, then quickly swung his sights to another, putting a round through the man's chest and dropping him where he stood.
Pfft—pfft—pfft—pfft!
Four controlled shots. Four enemies down. Owen was low on ammo. Every shot now had to count.
BOOM—
Owen flattened to the ground as an RPG exploded just ahead of him, flinging stones and dirt. Still alive, he kept firing and shouted to Bayev to prepare to fall back.
Bayev didn't hesitate. Slinging the RPK over his shoulder, he took off running. The terrain sloped downhill, putting them at a disadvantage: Serb gunmen above could fire easily, but return fire was far more difficult.
BOOM—
Another RPG blast rocked the area. This time, Owen didn't wait. He stowed his rifle and ran like hell. Within seconds, he caught up with Herman again—still hampered by his bound hands, struggling to keep his balance and cursing loudly as he lagged behind.
Bullets screamed past their ears. Owen watched the ground carefully—one bad step here could twist an ankle, and on a slope like this, that meant death.
"Cowboy, we've secured the bridge—setting up the first defense line now!"
The voice in Owen's earpiece was a godsend. Relief surged through him and Bayev. If they could just get across the bridge, they could hold the enemy back on the far side.
"Go, go, go!"
Owen urged the team forward while staying alert. The Serbs had the high ground—if they simply lifted their rifles, they'd have Omega in their sights.
The terrain opened up. Owen finally saw the suspension bridge—old, rickety, and barely holding together. It looked like it could collapse at any moment. On the far side, the rest of Omega Squad was already in position, ready to provide covering fire.
"Move it!"
Owen shouted again, dropping to one knee and turning to fire. Bayev and Herman sprinted past him and clambered onto the bridge. On the far side, Omega's four others opened fire, unleashing a torrent that actually forced the enemy to pause.
Owen took full advantage. Holstering his rifle, he ducked and sprinted toward the bridge.
Suddenly—an instinctual chill. He felt it before he heard it. Owen jerked sideways on pure reflex.
CRACK! A sniper round struck the ground just ahead of where he had been. If he hadn't veered, it would've hit him dead center.
A sniper!
Owen's skin prickled. Was it the same sniper as before? Whether it was or not, he knew he was in serious danger.
Two choices: risk the bridge—where his movement would be predictable, making it easy for a sniper to line up a shot—or stay and get surrounded by enemy troops.
Neither option was good. But he had to choose. He dropped to the ground and rolled behind a large boulder, just in time to dodge a second sniper shot that struck the stone and left a crater.
"Sharpsight!!" Owen roared into his comms.
It was all he could do—call in the snipers.
"Hold on, hold on—I haven't found him yet…" Fred's voice was tense but controlled. He was methodically scanning with his binoculars, triangulating the shooter's position from the shot angles. But the sniper was either hidden too well or had already relocated.
Then a scream broke out on the bridge.
"Help me! Somebody help me!"
It was Herman. No mistaking that voice. The shot meant for Owen had grazed Herman's thigh—tearing flesh but missing bone. He screamed like a banshee.
The Serbs arrived in force, bullets tearing through the air. One round clipped a suspension cable—the thick rope audibly fraying under tension.
"Found him! QA274, 653!"
Fred shouted the coordinates. Swagg pivoted immediately, calculated the data in a flash, and fired.
Across the ravine, Sasha, the enemy sniper, had just caught a glimpse of Owen's vulnerability and was preparing to fire when he was gripped by a sudden sense of dread.
Instinct saved his life.
He dropped his rifle and rolled—but too late. The shot didn't hit his head, but it shredded his left ear. When he stopped rolling, half his head was covered in blood. His ear was gone.
In that moment, he knew: these guys were pros.
Back at the bridge, Owen sprang into motion. Like a panther, he exploded from cover and sprinted onto the bridge.
The ropes were fraying. The whole structure could collapse at any second. Slinging his rifle behind him, Owen ran full tilt, racing against gravity and time. Cover fire exploded from the far side, pinning the Serbs. Especially Swagg and Fred—every time their guns cracked, someone dropped. The enemy was forced to hide.
Owen was running not in seconds, but in tenths of seconds. And Death was just behind him.
Herman, lying on the planks, had already given up. He knew the bridge wouldn't last, and that Owen wouldn't save him. If their roles were reversed, he wouldn't stop either. In that split-second, he didn't even bother to beg for help.
Then he felt himself lifted into the air.
Owen didn't slow down. Without breaking stride, he scooped Herman up and threw him over his shoulder.
In that instant, the world fell silent for Herman. The gunfire, the shouting—it all vanished. His entire existence narrowed to the collapsing planks beneath his feet and the abyss below.
Only when he felt cold ground under him again did sound and sensation return. His ass hurt, but he was alive—and grateful.
Light returned to his eyes. Owen was back at the edge of the bridge, firing toward the other side. And then—
CRACK!
The suspension bridge collapsed completely. The center gave way, ropes snapped, and planks fell into the gorge below. A chasm now separated the two forces.
The gunfire tapered off. Everyone understood what the gap meant.
Omega's members exchanged glances—and smiled.
They had made it. They had won.
______
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