Chapter 6 - The Ghost of Yemen
The operation took us to a dusty, lawless port city on the edge of the Red Sea. I was commanding a squad of Tier One operators—men and women who knew exactly who I was and what I had survived. There were no whispers of doubt, only absolute respect.
Our target was a man named Tariq, the financier who had funded the black site where I was held. Finding him wasn't just mission-critical; it was personal.
For three weeks, we ran surveillance, living out of a sweltering safe house. The heat reminded me of the cell, but this time, I had a rifle in my hands and a team at my back.
One night, while monitoring comms, we intercepted a chatter feed. Tariq was moving a massive shipment of weapons through the docks at midnight.
"This is it," I told my team, strapping on my tactical vest over the heavy scars on my back. "We hit them fast, we hit them hard. We take Tariq alive if possible, but the objective is the shipment. Understood?"
May you like
"Hooah," the team responded in unison.
As we piled into the armored vehicles, I looked up at the moon. I wasn't the broken girl my sister had laughed at. I was the storm she should have feared.
