Scene: Forest Crash Site – Near Ravine Edge
POV: General Soren Vask
> "Please, my king—let's move. Let's hide. Just for now."
I had never said those words before. Not in training. Not in war. Not even during the Siege of Dromas when three tank lines broke and I had twenty-two men under my command bleeding out behind a collapsing bunker.
But this?
This wasn't war.
This was a trap still breathing.
And the gunshots proved it.
From above.
A low chop-chop-chop cracked through the silence like a steel heartbeat.
> "Chopper inbound!" I shouted, ducking instinctively as the trees began to twist under the wind pressure of a descending enemy aircraft.
Rebel gunship.
Painted in matte gray. No insignias.
Doors slid open, and light machine guns gleamed from both flanks.
We had no air support.
No anti-air weapons.
And only three magazines between us.
> "Chris," I said—louder this time—"we have to go. We can't take them head-on. Not now."
He stared at the descending gunship.
Expression unreadable.
For a second, I feared he wouldn't move. That his pride would hold his ground even if it killed him.
But then—
He nodded.
Once.
> "The ravine," he muttered. "Northwest side. Thickest canopy. They'll have to guess our location through trees."
Finally.
I grabbed his arm—torn coat and all—and led him into the woods. The snow and ash from the wreck still swirled in the air like ghosts chasing our scent.
As we dashed through underbrush, we heard the gunship open fire behind us.
Ratatatatatatatatatat—!
Trees shattered. Bark exploded. The wreck was torn further into flame.
We kept running.
> "We need cover, now!" I barked, scanning the terrain. "There—see that ledge? Under it!"
We dove under a slope of snow-packed rock, roots clawing out from its underside. Barely wide enough to crouch.
> "Hold," I whispered, placing my arm in front of Chris as the gunship hovered right above us.
The air pulsed.
Dirt vibrated beneath my knees.
If they dropped a thermal scanner, we were done.
> "They'll think we're dead in the blast," I murmured. "If we stay cold."
Chris didn't answer.
He was watching.
Studying.
His hand tightened on the jagged blade he'd carved from the wreck's steel frame.
The gunship began to circle back. Slower. Scanning.
Then…
It pulled away.
Not because it was fooled.
Because they were regrouping.
> "They're calling in more," I said, breath fogging. "We won't survive another hour without extraction."
Chris looked at me. Calm again.
> "Then we survive the hour.
And when we return—this forest will be a warning."
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