Tension in the conference room was so thick Sherri struggled to breathe against it. Griffin was rigid in his seat, his knuckles white on his armrests. Trevor and Axel looked about to explode as well.

For the next minute or so, the camera images jiggled wildly as the Reapers beat feet down the mountainside. Now that stealth was blown, it was all about speed. This was why SEALs trained so obsessively. They could run faster, farther, and for longer than anyone could possibly anticipate, thereby gaining a tactical advantage in combat situations.

Kenny, Sam, and Jojo slipped and slid in the loose scree as they raced for the compound. Sherri heard heavy breathing on the audio feed. No doubt about it: they were going balls to the wall.

One of the cameras suddenly sailed up in the air and then crashed to the ground.

“Dammit!” Kettering exclaimed. “One of our guys is down!”

“Which one?” Sherri cried.

Lily asked quickly, “Did he fall down, or was he knocked down?”

Nobody answered either question.

The downed Reaper didn’t get back to his feet immediately. The camera view lay still and unmoving, pointed at a clump of dead grass.

Sherri felt bile rise to the back of her throat. That SEAL was hurt. Maybe unconscious. Possibly worse.

Even while barreling down into the Kirdu Valley, even with one of their men down, the Reapers maintained complete radio silence. The other two video feeds showed their owners proceeding forward more slowly now. The tips of the men’s assault weapons came into sight now and then as the men swept them back and forth in tightly controlled arcs.

The downed camera moved.

“Yes!” Griffin cried at the monitor on the wall. “Get up!”

The video image slowly righted itself. A long pause and then a wobble as the Reaper climbed to his feet rather slowly and clumsily for a SEAL. Sherri winced. The guy had to be hurt.

Who was it? Clever Kenny with a dopey song lyric or a quick comeback always on the tip of his tongue? Friendly Jojo who struggled to be an asshole when it was time to yell at the female trainees, and who let them cut off a few pull-ups or push-ups at his station when they were exhausted? Or young, sweet Sam, the baby of the bunch and still finding his place on the Reapers?

The injured Reaper moved forward, his pace closer to shambling than sprinting. The tip of his assault weapon wavered and then steadied. Wavered again.

“Isn’t he hurt?” Anna asked no one in particular. “Shouldn’t he pull back?”

Kettering shrugged. “Half a SEAL is still more capable than most armed soldiers. Whoever’s hurt knows he can’t operate at full speed with the other guys, but he can still provide covering fire or watch their backs. Maybe hold a doorway, or clear an egress route.”