The world was a howl of wind. Kabelo stabilized his freefall, the altimeter on his wrist spinning down rapidly. Through his goggles, he saw the ink-black shape of the jungle canopy approaching far below. No lights, nothing but an ocean of darkness. They were aiming for a small clearing by the river identified on satellite—a patch of marsh grass and mud that might break their fall better than trees.
At 1,500 feet, mere seconds before impact, Shadow pulled his chute. The parachute deployed with a jolt, yanking him upright as it caught air. Through the whipping wind, he glimpsed three other canopies blossoming nearby—good, everyone's chute opened. They drifted silently down.
He landed with a splash in knee-deep water and reeds, bending his knees to absorb the impact. Around him, the others touched down softly in the marshy clearing. Shadow quickly released his chute harness and dragged the canopy into the undergrowth to hide it. The others did the same, bundling and concealing the parachutes—no need to leave a neon sign of their arrival.
The pre-dawn air was thick with humidity and the buzz of insects. Even in darkness, the chorus of the jungle was loud: croaking frogs, distant monkey whoops, and the incessant trill of cicadas. The smell of wet earth and rot filled Kabelo's nostrils. It reminded him fleetingly of summer nights back home in the bush.
They regrouped under the cover of a broad-leafed tree. Pierce quietly activated a handheld GPS. He whispered, "We're on target. Mwamba's camp should be roughly five kilometers east." He pointed through the trees.
Kabelo nodded, his face now painted in camo streaks. "Form up and stay sharp. From here on, no talking unless necessary. Hand signals and whispers."
The team moved out, dissolving into the jungle like phantoms. Shadow took point, his eyes piercing the darkness, though soon the first grey hints of dawn would start filtering through the canopy. They needed to be in position to observe the camp by daylight, gather intel, then likely plan a strike for the coming night.
As they trekked, each member was alone with their thoughts. Kabelo felt the familiar tension and focus settle over him—the calm before the storm. Somewhere ahead, a brutal warlord was playing god with human lives, twisting men into monsters. Shadow intended to end that today.
Behind him, Naledi moved with quiet determination. Every step closer to the camp was a step closer to ghosts of her past. Yet she held steady—resolute.
They pushed through tangles of vines, waded across a narrow stream up to their waists, and kept low when they passed near a dirt trail. Twice, they heard voices in the distance—armed sentries perhaps. Each time, they froze, blending into the foliage until the chatter faded. Mwamba's reach clearly extended into these wilds.
After a couple of hours of careful advance, Shadow raised a fist to halt the group. Through the trees ahead, a clearing opened. The sun's early rays were now piercing the mist, revealing a cluster of huts and shacks by the glinting ribbon of a river.
They had arrived at Mwamba's camp.
Kabelo silently signaled for Pierce to release a drone. Pierce nodded and unpacked a small camouflaged quadcopter. With a soft whirr, he sent it up through the canopy, controlling it via his tablet with minimal exposure. The drone's feed came to each of their eyepiece displays.
Shadow studied the aerial view. The camp consisted of about a dozen structures: timber and corrugated metal huts arranged haphazardly. A larger building with a tin roof near the center looked like a warehouse or barn—possibly the lab or armory. A crude watchtower stood near the river, manned by a sentry with what looked like a hunting rifle. There were pens or cages at one edge of camp—inside them, forms that looked like people. Kabelo's fists clenched at that sight.
He counted at least twenty fighters in view, some patrolling with AK-47s, others gathered around a fire cooking breakfast. A few trucks were parked under some trees on the far side. It was a moderately sized militia base, likely more fighters in the huts or on patrol outside the view.
He also spotted one man who stood out: tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a mix of military fatigues and a leopard-skin vest. Even from a distance, the man's bearing was imperious. He paced near the warehouse, flanked by two guards. The drone's camera zoomed slightly. The man had a scar down the side of his face and wore sunglasses, despite the dawn light.
Naledi's whisper came in Shadow's ear, tight with suppressed emotion: "Mwamba."
Shadow acknowledged silently. They had eyes on the target.
Reed murmured, "We should recon for a bit. Identify where Mbeke might be, and if there are any enhanced fighters noticeable."
As if on cue, the drone feed showed a pair of Mwamba's soldiers dragging a third man out of a hut. The third man was rail-thin, stumbling—an older African man in ragged clothes, hands bound. Even through the pixelated video, Naledi gasped softly. "That's Dr. Mbeke," she said. "He's alive."
Shadow felt a surge of relief at that. They found him, and he was breathing.
The soldiers hauled Dr. Mbeke toward the central warehouse. Mwamba followed them inside, barking an order that was inaudible at their distance.
Pierce landed the drone atop a high tree branch to avoid detection and keep a camera on the camp. He whispered, "We've got the layout. What's the play, Shadow?"
Kabelo considered. Attacking now in daylight with superior numbers against them would be suicide. Better to wait till night again when darkness was on their side and maybe some fighters asleep. But waiting all day had its own risks—what if Mwamba decided to kill Mbeke or move location?
Perhaps a compromise: cause a distraction in daylight to draw some fighters out, or pick them off quietly through the day to thin ranks for night.
However, doing anything now could spook them to harm hostages.
Shadow quietly answered, "We observe through the day, gather intel, and pick an optimal moment after dark to strike. Priority is securing Dr. Mbeke and any other prisoners, and eliminating or capturing Mwamba. We need to also locate any serum stockpile to destroy it."
Reed nodded. "Likely in that warehouse. Might double as their lab."
Naledi gripped her rifle. "And those cages on the west side—they have captives. We free them too."
Pierce pointed on the map. "We can approach from the riverbank at night. There's heavier foliage cover there and fewer guards except the tower. I can neutralize the tower guard quietly with the drone maybe—like a little dart I can drop?"
He patted his pack, which indeed contained some jury-rigged gadgets. Pierce had shown off earlier a small drone modification to drop a tiny gas canister. If he could get it close to the tower guard, it might knock him out.
Shadow gave a thumbs-up to that idea.
They pulled back a bit to remain hidden and settled in for a long day of surveillance. Each took turns watching the drone feed and camp through binoculars.
Hours crawled by. The sun climbed and beat down, the jungle steaming with midday heat. The team remained concealed under camouflaged tarps and brush. They spoke little, conserving energy and focus.
During Naledi's watch, Kabelo scooted next to her, both gazing at the camp. Mwamba had emerged again, supervising as some of his men conducted what looked like training drills—perhaps testing the serum. One soldier in particular was going through a bizarre test: he stood shirtless as others struck him with sticks and fists, and he barely flinched.
Naledi whispered, "That one. See how he doesn't react to pain? They've drugged him."
The soldier's eyes looked strangely vacant even from afar, his movements jerky yet tireless. Eventually, Mwamba ordered him restrained; the man kept thrashing, seemingly in a frenzy.
"It's like he's turned into an animal," Naledi said, disgust in her voice.
Shadow frowned. "Better to deal with him from a distance if possible. A bullet will still kill him, but we might need a headshot if he's wild."
Naledi quietly added, "If only we could just take Mwamba out now…" Her scope lingered on the warlord's head, but too many of his men were around him. A gunshot now would bring the whole camp down on Dr. Mbeke before they could reach him.
Kabelo patted her shoulder lightly. "Patience. His time will come."
As dusk approached, they finalized their assault plan. They would slip to the river's edge and swim a short distance to come up near the watchtower. Pierce would use the drone to incapacitate the tower guard if possible. Shadow would then portal silently into the tower to prevent any alarm and be in a sniper position. Reed and Naledi would simultaneously creep to the cages and silently dispatch the guards there to free the prisoners (Naledi insisted on being in the group securing the civilians). Pierce would remain slightly back, providing overwatch via drone and stepping in to help where needed or hack any communications. Once prisoners were secure, Shadow would regroup with Reed and Naledi to storm the warehouse where Mwamba and Mbeke likely were. Speed and surprise were critical.
Night fell, and the jungle came alive with nocturnal calls. A thin crescent moon offered little light—perfect for them. They moved from their hide toward the river, low and silent. Reaching the water, they submerged and swam along the bank, only their heads and gear above water, concealed by reeds.
The watchtower loomed above as a darker shape against the starry sky. A lone guard's silhouette was visible, lazily scanning with a flashlight.
Pierce, chest-deep in water, unpacked his mini-drone carefully, keeping it dry. He activated it and sent it buzzing low over the river surface and then climbing the tower. The guard didn't notice the tiny device until it was hovering just behind his head. Pierce pressed a button, releasing a small pellet of knockout gas. On the thermal viewer, Shadow saw the guard jerk in surprise, wave at the mosquito-like annoyance, then slump over the rail a minute later.
"Tower guard is down," Pierce whispered.
Shadow nodded. He quietly emerged from the water, dripping but undetected. Looking up at the watchtower platform about twenty feet above, he visualized the small space next to the sleeping guard. He opened a portal at the base of the tower and another just behind the guard's chair. In an instant, he was up on the platform, catching the unconscious guard before he could topple and make noise. Gently, Shadow eased the man down and zip-tied his wrists. He signaled success with two clicks on the radio.
Naledi and Reed moved in from the water's edge toward the cages. Two guards with AKs stood by a fire near the prisoners, chatting. Shadow from above lined up his rifle on them, ready. On the ground, Naledi crept behind one while Reed flanked the other.
A soft phfft of Shadow's silenced rifle and one guard crumpled into the dirt, a neat hole through his chest. Before the other could react, Naledi lunged from behind, a swift slash of her combat knife across his throat. He gurgled and fell without a cry.
Immediately, Naledi moved to the padlocked cage. Inside, half a dozen frightened villagers—men and women—shrunk back. She whispered soothingly in Swahili first, then French when she realized some might speak it. "We're here to help. Stay quiet. We'll get you out."
Reed kept watch, dragging the bodies of the guards into the shadows. He retrieved keys from one of them and handed them to Naledi, who quickly unlocked the cage. The prisoners, malnourished and weak, stared in disbelief and hope at these camouflaged saviors.
Shadow observed through his scope from the tower, covering the camp. No one else seemed to have noticed the silent takedowns yet. A few fireside conversations and a radio playing music masked any slight noise.
He saw Mwamba step out of the warehouse, flanked by two henchmen. Dr. Mbeke was not visible, probably still inside. Mwamba looked agitated, perhaps suspecting something was off or simply in a foul mood. Time to move fast.
Shadow gave the signal for phase two with a short burst on the radio: one click, pause, two clicks. Then he left his tower perch, porting back down to ground level to join Reed and Naledi.
Naledi was quietly ushering the freed villagers toward the river, pointing them to the treeline for temporary safety. One older man was too weak to move quickly; Reed hefted him over his shoulder carefully. "Go with Pierce," Shadow instructed Naledi softly. "Get them safe a bit away, then we hit the warehouse."
Naledi looked torn between wanting to charge at Mwamba and ensuring the captives' safety, but she nodded and guided the frightened villagers away from the immediate danger zone, Pierce covering them with his SMG as they slipped back toward the darkness near the river.
Now it was Shadow and Reed moving toward the big warehouse structure where Mwamba had gone back inside. Three armed guards were posted outside its entrance, illuminated by a single lantern. They looked alert, likely personal guards to the Colonel.
Shadow motioned for Reed to circle to the left while he went right. They would have to strike simultaneously. Three targets, two of them—Shadow would take two if he could.
He quietly raised his rifle, finding the first guard's head in his sights. He pinged twice on comms—Reed's cue to engage. The muffled spit of Kabelo's rifle dropped the first guard instantly. Reed, using his silenced pistol now for close work, popped out of the shadows and double-tapped the second in the side of the skull.
The third guard reacted with surprising speed, firing a burst wildly. Bullets zinged past Reed, one grazing his arm, but he didn't flinch as he emptied his pistol at the man. The guard staggered, hit in the gut, but didn't go down. With a snarl, the man—one of the enhanced, maybe—charged Reed despite bleeding.
Shadow teleported without hesitation, blinking from his cover to directly behind the guard. A swift strike with the butt of his rifle at the base of the man's skull sent the guard sprawling, stunned. Another quick shot from Shadow's pistol finished him before he could cry out.
Reed exhaled. "Thanks," he whispered, acknowledging how close that was. He flexed his left arm; the graze was bleeding but superficial. Naledi would patch it later.
Gunfire erupted elsewhere in the camp—automatic fire rattling. Shadow's heart skipped; had they been discovered? On the radio Naledi's voice came urgent, "Pierce is hit! We're taking fire from the treeline—some patrol came back!"
Damn. A returning patrol had stumbled on the extraction of the villagers. Shadow realized they had limited time now; the quiet approach just turned loud.
They had to finish this fast. He gestured to Reed and together they kicked open the warehouse door, weapons raised.
Inside was dim, lit by a few hanging lanterns. It smelled of chemicals and sweat. Along tables were lab equipment and crates of supplies. Cowering to one side was Dr. Mbeke, tied to a chair and gagged, eyes wide. And near the center stood Colonel Mwamba, holding an AK-47 one-handed. His other arm was around a young boy—no older than 12—whom he yanked in front of him as a human shield. The boy's face was streaked with tears and dirt, frozen in fear.
Mwamba bared his teeth in a predatory grin. "So, the Western dogs think they can sneak into my home?" he snarled in surprisingly crisp English. "Drop your weapons, or the boy dies!"
Shadow's blood ran cold. This complicates things. His sights were trained on Mwamba's head, but the warlord kept the child squarely between them. Reed stepped slowly to the side, trying to get a different angle, but Mwamba just adjusted, turning with Reed to keep the boy in front of both intruders.
Outside, the camp was waking up to the gunfire. Shouts echoed. It would be a matter of seconds before more of Mwamba's men flooded in.
Mwamba barked, "I don't know who you are, but you've made a big mistake. I have dozens of soldiers out there. You? Just two fools who will die far from home."
Shadow's mind raced. If he could distract Mwamba for even a split second, maybe he could portal the kid out of his grasp.
Reed, ever cool, spoke up in a measured tone, "Colonel Mwamba, it's over. Your men are deserting." He lied smoothly, "We've radioed UN forces, they'll be here any minute. Drop the gun, let the boy go, and we might let you live."
Mwamba laughed, a harsh sound. "Do you take me for an idiot? I will gut this child and feed him to—"
He never finished the sentence. In that moment, Shadow acted. He opened a tiny portal—just large enough for the boy—directly behind the child and simultaneously behind Reed. With a yank of spatial distortion, the boy tumbled out of Mwamba's grip and through the portal to land behind Reed's legs, safe from the line of fire.
Mwamba's eyes widened in confusion at the child vanishing from his arm. That was all Kabelo needed. In a blink, Shadow teleported forward, appearing an arm's length from the warlord. Mwamba roared and fired wildly, but Shadow deflected the barrel upward; bullets tore into the rafters. Kabelo delivered a crushing punch to Mwamba's jaw, enhanced by the momentum of teleportation. Mwamba staggered back, dropping his rifle.
Reed rushed in from the side to pull the terrified boy out of the fray, pushing him toward where Dr. Mbeke was tied up. "Stay down!" Reed ordered the child, who scrambled behind a crate.
Mwamba recovered with startling resilience—he was a big man, and apparently not unused to hand-to-hand. He drew a machete from his belt and swung at Shadow in a brutal arc. Shadow barely dodged, feeling the whoosh of the blade by his face. He retaliated with a roundhouse kick to Mwamba's midsection. The warlord grunted but managed to grab Shadow's leg with his free hand, yanking him off balance.
They crashed to the dirt floor, grappling. Mwamba was strong, fueled by rage or perhaps even his own serum (did he take it himself? Shadow wondered fleetingly). The Colonel's machete hand came up, trying to drive the blade down. Kabelo caught his wrist, muscles straining. Mwamba's sneer was inches from Shadow's face. "I remember you meddlers…" he hissed. "That medic woman—she was at my mercy once. I'll kill her first after I finish you."
Shadow's eyes narrowed. The mention of Naledi ignited his fury. With a surge of effort, he twisted, using Mwamba's weight against him. In a swift move, Kabelo freed one hand, reached to his thigh holster, and drew his combat knife. Mwamba raised the machete again, but Shadow thrust upward with all his might.
The blade sank into Mwamba's chest, right below the ribcage and up into the heart. The warlord's eyes went wide in shock. He made a choked sound, dropping the machete as all strength left him. Shadow rolled the dying man off of him.
Colonel Mwamba gasped, a bubble of blood on his lips. Shadow stood over him, chest heaving. "That was for everyone you've hurt," he said quietly, voice like iron.
Mwamba's glare faded to glassiness as life fled. The warlord of North Kivu would terrorize no more.
Reed was already at Dr. Mbeke's side, cutting his bonds. "We need to move, now!" he urged. Outside the warehouse, flashlights and running footsteps were converging. The gunfire where Pierce and Naledi were had mostly stopped—hopefully that meant they'd taken out the patrol, but more would be coming.
Shadow helped the trembling Dr. Mbeke to his feet. The older man was weak and disoriented, but once he saw Naledi—who rushed in having heard commotion and now arriving at the door, rifle raised—his eyes filled with recognition and tears. "Naledi? Is that you?" he croaked in Swahili.
Naledi's hardened expression melted into relief. "We've got you, Stephen," she said, slinging his arm over her shoulders.
Reed guided the rescued boy to her as well. "Take him too. We'll cover."
Kabelo quickly rifled through a crate and found what he suspected were the serum vials—several small bottles in a padded case. He stuffed them into his pouch to dispose of later; better not to leave them intact. Then he pulled a couple of grenades from a rack—time to leave a parting gift.
They exited the warehouse just as shouting militiamen began to realize their leader's compound was under attack. Muzzle flashes erupted from the far side of camp—Pierce was laying covering fire from the treeline to create chaos.
Shadow tossed a grenade back into the warehouse, right onto a cache of fuel cans he'd spotted. He ushered Reed and the others away fast. Moments later, a fireball blossomed, blowing out the flimsy structure and sending debris raining. The shockwave sent many of Mwamba's men ducking or stumbling.
Under the cover of the explosion, the team and their charges ran toward the river. Shadow fired a few potshots to keep heads down, while Reed helped half-carry Dr. Mbeke along with Naledi. The boy clung to Naledi's free hand, stumbling through mud and grass.
At the riverbank, Pierce was waiting, having already ferried the other rescued villagers to a small stolen canoe (courtesy of a surprised guard who no longer needed it).
Pierce grinned through dirt-smudged face as he saw Shadow and Reed with Mbeke and the child. "Boat's ready for our cruise!" he said, breathless.
They piled in, carefully but quickly. Shadow was last, providing rearguard. A few of Mwamba's surviving soldiers reached the bank and fired after them, but their shots went wide in the darkness.
Naledi returned fire in short bursts to discourage pursuit, and one rebel fell with a cry.
Kabelo focused and opened a portal slashed horizontally above the water behind their canoe. Its twin opened right among the group of gunmen on the shore. The sudden appearance made a couple of them shout in fear and cease firing. In that moment, Pierce and Reed both rowed hard and the current caught the canoe, sweeping them around the bend and out of the line of fire.
Within moments, the jungle swallowed the camp's lights. Only distant angry gunshots and yells echoed as the militants fired uselessly into the night or at phantoms.
The team was exhausted, soaked, but alive and triumphant. In the canoe, Dr. Mbeke wept softly, murmuring thanks in multiple languages, and grasping Naledi's hand as if to assure himself she was real. Naledi smiled, tears of her own tracing down her cheeks as the adrenaline faded and relief sank in. She had saved the man she once thought lost—and avenged those who hadn't made it.
Pierce cracked a glowstick to check everyone by its light. He winced as he moved—Shadow realized Pierce had taken a round in his vest; a nasty bruise was likely forming. "Anyone badly hurt?" Pierce asked. The villagers and the boy seemed okay, just terrified and weak. Reed's arm wound was a mere scratch. Kabelo had a few scrapes. Only Pierce himself had a minor shrapnel cut on his cheek and that heavy bruise.
Naledi immediately saw Pierce was wincing and ordered him, "Hold still." She probed his chest and he hissed in pain at a tender spot—probably cracked rib from the bullet impact on his vest plate.
"You bloody hero, getting yourself shot," she joked weakly through relief, applying a quick bandage where the bullet had cut skin at the edge of the vest.
Pierce gave a shaky chuckle. "All part of the service, ma'am."
Reed peered back upriver. "We should keep moving downstream. Our GPS extraction point is a few kilometers south. Let's hope Raines got that helo on standby."
Kabelo pulled out the radio beacon and switched it on, signaling mission accomplished and requesting immediate evac. He knew command would be listening for it.
As they drifted under the cloak of the rainforest and a sky now pricked with stars, Kabelo took a moment to breathe. Colonel Mwamba's camp burned somewhere behind them, its evil purged. They had managed to pull off a near-impossible raid right out from under a small army. It wasn't flawless—things rarely were in war—but it was a victory, hard-won and meaningful.
He glanced at Naledi, who was gently comforting the rescued boy now huddled against her. She caught Shadow's eye and gave him a nod—gratitude, respect, camaraderie. So much passed in that simple gesture: thanks for having her back, for helping fulfill a promise she made to herself years ago.
Shadow returned the nod with a small smile. One more mission behind them, and countless lives ahead changed for the better because of it.
As the distant thump of a helicopter grew louder, homing in on their beacon, Shadow found himself thinking about how far they had come and how far there was still to go. This battle was won, but the war they had committed themselves to raged on—a war against secret horrors birthed by human greed and ambition.
They would carry on. In the darkness and the chaos, they would be the scalpel cutting out the rot, the phantom force striking from the shadows.
Tonight, they had shown what this task force—what Shadowstrike—could achieve. And Shadow felt a fierce pride at being part of it, alongside these remarkable individuals each with their own strength and story.
The fight would continue. But for now, at least, under the Congolese night, they had earned this triumph.