Desert Son
Desert Son The stale hum of recycled air filled the command tent, lit by the soft, flickering glow of an overhead fluorescent bulb. Sergeant Billy "Hawk" Henderson sat stiffly on a metal folding chair, his rifle slung across his back, as the unit’s commanding officer, Major Cole, outlined the operation. His spotter, Corporal Marcus "Dusty" Owens, leaned back in his chair, absently scratching behind the ears of Koda, the sleek black Belgian Malinois lying at his feet. “This is as black as it gets, gentlemen,” Major Cole said, pointing to the map projected on the canvas wall. “Your HVT is an arms dealer code-named Ibrahim . He’s responsible for supplying IED materials to insurgents. Intel suggests he’s holed up in an encampment here.” Cole jabbed a finger at a cluster of coordinates nestled in the highlands. “Your job is simple: find him, confirm his identity, and neutralize the threat. Exfil point will be at grid seven-four-nine at 0300, three days post-engagement....