The Day Of The Raid….
The night was a canvas of deep, icy blackness, the kind of dark that felt heavy and suffocating. The moon, a thin, indifferent sliver, was hidden behind a thick blanket of snow clouds, leaving the forest in absolute, profound darkness.
The air was so cold it hurt to breathe, freezing the moisture in the nostrils instantly and turning every exhale into a cloud of white mist.
Derek moved through the trees. He was dressed in white winter camouflage over his black armor, a ghost in the snow. His steps were silent, his boots wrapped in fur to muffle the sound on the frozen crust. Behind him, fifty of his best men—the Elite Shadows, the Thompson's army and his most trusted veterans—moved in perfect sync, shadows flitting between the old snow-laden pines.
