The militia men were in position around the helicopter and the men working to load it, all but a pair of cartel soldiers who’d been left to guard the dirt road leading in from José Marie Morelos.

Harding’s deep voice came through the earbuds. “Get ready.” While the rest of the militia held their positions, the colonel rose in the shadows just out of sight.

“You’re completely surrounded!” Harding shouted toward the men in the valley. “Stay right where you are!”

Heads jerked up. Men reached for their weapons. From their location among the rocks, militia men fired into the dirt at their feet.

“No more warning shots!” Harding called out. “Throw down your weapons! Do it now!” With no idea how many men were ready to blow them to pieces, no one moved.

Then two cartel men fired wildly, spun, and started running. A barrage of gunfire from the rocks took them down. Three army soldiers turned and raced back toward the trail leading over the mountains to the base. A single sniper shot hit the first man, and he went down. Edge’s bullet took out the second soldier, while Trace was busy firing into the helicopter to disable it before it could lift off with the Stinger missiles on board.

The third soldier made it to the rocks and disappeared not far from Edge’s position. With a glance at Skye to be sure she was safe, he slipped into the shadows and went on the hunt.

More cartel men bolted. The echo of gunshots drowned out the sound of the damaged chopper struggling to get into the air. Car engines roared to life, and cartel SUVs shot backward into the darkness, bullets pinging against their front grills. Since it wasn’t the Mexicans they were after, the militia ignored the men who reached the cars, and the fighting turned back to the men who remained.

“Toss your weapons!” Harding demanded as armed Desert Eagles, dressed head to foot in camouflage, stepped out of the shadows, their rifles pointed at the enemy in the circle of light. “On your knees! Hands in the air!” Men dropped to the ground and raised their hands.

Behind them, the helicopter wobbled and lifted thirty feet off the ground before the blades quit spinning. The chopper came down hard, jolting into the ground and flipping onto its side. Spinning rotors dug into the dirt, some of them breaking up, whining and slicing like knives through the air.

Men on both sides hit the ground and covered their heads until the blades stopped spinning and the danger passed. Then Harding’s guys took over again, holding cartel men and soldiers at gunpoint.