Meanwhile, in another operation, Ryan, along with the original squad, Ethan, Cole, Jake and Mason and Noah, were already airborne.
The Black Hawk pushed forward at low altitude, cutting across terrain with steady speed. The rotors beat a constant rhythm above them, the cabin vibrating just enough to remind everyone they were moving fast.
Ryan sat near the open side, one hand resting on his rifle, eyes fixed outside. Below them, the ground passed in a blur—patches of forest, broken roads, scattered vehicles left where they had stopped days ago.
Herrera sat across from him.
Secured, but not restrained.
His injured leg was braced, bandage clean, but he stayed still, conserving movement. His eyes moved between the men, then out the open side, tracking their path.
"You're flying low," he said over the noise.
Ryan didn't look at him.
"Less chance of getting picked up early," he replied.
Herrera nodded slightly.
