Suddenly, a faint stir near the trees in the distance caught their eyes.

Naveen and Rohit froze where they stood. With a sharp, practiced movement, Naveen raised his hand and silently gestured to Sangram using sign language — “Three hundred meters ahead... someone’s there. Sitting beneath the tree.”

Sangram acknowledged the signal and passed it along to the rest of his trailing unit. The second team, shadowing them at a distance, immediately halted. The silence of the snow-drenched forest thickened as both teams anchored themselves in place, breath shallow, senses sharp.

In precise military sign, Sangram issued another command — “Confirm target. Is it them?”

After a few tense seconds, Naveen signaled back — “Yes. It’s them. More than two.”

Sangram didn’t blink. “Can we engage from here?” his fingers asked in the same silent language.

This time, it was Rohit who responded, shaking his head — “Negative. Too far.”

Without wasting a heartbeat, Sangram signaled the order: Advance.

It was decided — they had to move in closer. Firing from this distance would only warn the enemy, giving them a chance to vanish into the terrain like shadows. They couldn’t afford that.

He directed the second team to gain elevation, find higher ground — tactical superiority could give them the edge. Meanwhile, Sangram and his team would slither forward, belly to snow, inch by calculated inch.

The frost bit at their skin as they crawled, a slow and deliberate movement designed to mute even the whisper of their presence. Snowflakes melted under their breath, the world reduced to the crunch of ice under a thousand-pound silence.

When they were within a hundred meters, Sangram raised his fist — Halt.

Each soldier froze, spreading out instinctively, assuming battle positions.

Weapons were unlatched, sights adjusted.

Then, with a sharp nod from Sangram — chaos erupted.

A relentless volley of gunfire tore through the silence like a predator through flesh. For seven thunderous minutes, the air was shredded by bullets, snow exploding upward in white geysers, veiling the battlefield in a blinding storm of ice and fury.

Then — silence.

Sangram raised his hand again. Instantly, the bullets ceased, and the mountain exhaled an eerie stillness.

They crawled forward cautiously, navigating the shredded white blanket. But when they reached the site, there was nothing — no bodies. Only discarded syringes, vials, and traces of potent chemicals. Not food — no — these men were using substances to keep going, to push past pain, to stay alive and dangerous.

There was blood, though. A trail of crimson staining the white.

Which meant — they had hit someone. Perhaps more than one. And injured, the terrorists wouldn’t get far, not in this cold, not carrying wounded.

Sangram and his team picked up the blood trail, eyes scanning every flake of snow for the faintest sign. It slithered down the mountain slope — toward the river.

He radioed the cover team to take the ridge. If the enemy was headed toward the river, they'd be intercepted — exactly as he had planned. Below, two Rapid Response teams were already waiting.

There will be no escape today, Sangram thought, eyes razor sharp.

Every route, every option, every breath the terrorists might try to take — blocked.

From above, Sangram’s assault team descended in calculated formation. One team provided cover fire from elevation; another sealed off the escape route at the base. The plan was flawless —plain textbook like— and utterly unforgiving.

Dusk settled over the valley, painting the sky in bruised indigo. The chill in the wind turned sharp, slicing through layers of gear.

Sangram gestured again toward Naveen and Rohit, who were crawling about forty meters ahead — “Stay alert. They know we’re here. No mistakes now. Every move must count.”

Naveen nodded and edged forward cautiously on the snow-packed ridge.

Below, about thirty feet down, a frozen waterfall gleamed pale in the fading light.

He was approaching a dangerous stretch of snow — thin, treacherous, no solid ground beneath it.

But he realized it too late.

A soft crack. A breath of time.

Then — the inevitable.

With a sickening crunch, the snow beneath Naveen gave way.

He vanished.

A thud. Another. Another.

He plummeted, bouncing down the cliff face until his body slammed into the frozen waterfall below.

Sangram, just a few feet away, heard everything.

Panic laced with fury surged through him. He lunged forward and peered down into the pitch-black void below.

He wanted to scream Naveen’s name, but that would have been suicide. One wrong sound could jeopardize the entire operation.

He heard nothing.

Not a groan. Not a cry. Not even breath.

Sangram made a choice — the kind only a soldier makes.

He signaled the rest of the team to hold position. Alone, he began descending — cautiously, soundlessly — toward the icy ravine.

It wasn’t just any soldier down there.

It was Naveen.

And leaving him behind was not an option.

He made his way toward the spot where Naveen had fallen. The silence was oppressive, almost unholy.

Then — gunfire.

Ripping through the darkness. Echoing off the frozen cliffs.

It was close. Too close.

Sangram ducked instinctively.

The pattern was clear — two sets of gunfire. One — scattered, desperate, undisciplined. The other — crisp, rhythmic, controlled.

A military rifle.

Naveen!

He was alive. And he was fighting back.

Sangram's chest surged with a mix of pride and dread.

He grabbed his radio and barked orders — the cover team was to hold their fire. Not a single shot unless he gave the word. He couldn’t risk a stray bullet hitting Naveen.

But just as quickly as the gunfire had started — it stopped.

Sangram radioed again — no response.

Guided only by the acrid scent of gunpowder, he crawled through the snow and found Naveen — sprawled, bloodied, barely conscious.

He dragged him into a nearby rock crevice, barely large enough for cover.

Naveen had fought like a lion — first the fall, then the bullets. Still, he had held the line alone.

No sooner had Sangram reached him than the gunfire erupted again.

They’d been spotted.

“They’re... not here for weapons...” Naveen gasped, choking on his own blood. “They’re here... for their own…”

Sangram froze.

It clicked.

The terrorists hadn’t come for arms.

They’d come for others.

Hiding deep inside these frozen caves.

There were more of them.

Two had already bled out. Two had fallen to Naveen’s bullets.

But now — seven remained.

And only two men stood in their way.

Sangram radioed Captain Ashutosh, ordering him to descend and reinforce from above. Simultaneously, he ordered his own team to engage — now.

Ashutosh’s team stormed downward, joining the fray just as Sangram’s team let loose hell from the ridge. The mountain exploded in gunfire.

From above, below, and all sides, the terrorists were caught in a crossfire.

The once-silent valley now roared like a battlefield on fire.

In the shadows of the cave, Naveen whispered, delirious, “Take care of them, sir… Maa, Baba… my sister’s wedding… after that they’ll be alone… don’t let them—”

“Shut up, Pandey!” Sangram growled, furious. “We are both walking out of here. We’ll kill every last one of them. And we’ll walk out together!”

Grabbing his rifle, Sangram joined the gunfight, shielding Naveen with his own body as bullets shattered stone around them.

He had to get Naveen out.

Had to.

Three terrorists had already fallen.

But four were still advancing — toward the cave — toward them.

And Sangram knew…

This wasn’t over.

Not yet.

One of them fell just outside the cave, brought down by Sangram’s bullet. Of the remaining three, the first one crept forward cautiously and had barely crossed the mouth of the cave when Sangram lunged at him like a shadow pouncing from the dark.

Wrapping his arm tightly around the terrorist's neck, Sangram began to choke the life out of him. The man flailed wildly, kicking and struggling, but Sangram held on like a vice.

Just then, the second terrorist burst in, unloading his rifle in a deafening spray.

Two bullets found their mark—one tore into Sangram’s shoulder, the other ripped through his arm—but he didn’t loosen his grip. In fact, he tightened it, crushing the breath out of the man in his hold until he collapsed, lifeless.

More gunfire erupted. Sangram, drenched in sweat and blood, didn’t flinch. Using the dead body as a shield, he charged toward the third, absorbing bullets meant to kill. With a sudden burst of speed, he leapt forward, seized the shooter’s throat, and with a brutal twist, snapped his neck.

Only one remained now.

From behind, the last terrorist took position and unleashed a hail of bullets toward Sangram.

Sangram had barely begun to turn when—

Naveen sprang in front of him.

He threw his arms around Sangram, shielding him completely as the bullets tore into his own body.

For a heartbeat, Sangram froze. And then horror set in. He pushed, tried to shove Naveen away, frantic, desperate to get him out of harm’s way. But Naveen clung to him like a man possessed, unyielding, unmoving, like steel forged in the fire of duty.

“Pandey! Move!!” Sangram roared, his voice echoing off the cave walls, ragged with panic.

But Naveen didn’t budge.

He just smiled.