Sangram kept shouting, trying desperately to push Naveen away—but the young soldier wouldn’t let go. He clung to him like a shield, standing between Sangram and the hailstorm of bullets tearing through the air. Round after round slammed into his body. Blood blossomed from his chest, his back, soaking through his uniform, dripping to the floor.

Only when his strength gave out did his grip loosen.

With a cry of rage and anguish, Sangram spun him aside and charged forward—straight at the last remaining terrorist who was still firing relentlessly.

Bullets slammed into Sangram as well—one tore into his shoulder, another pierced his gut, then his thigh, and finally his arm. But the beast within him had awakened. He roared like a wounded lion and lunged ahead, undeterred.

The sheer ferocity of that cry froze the terrorist. His fingers trembled on the trigger.

Before he could shoot again, Sangram was upon him.

He grabbed the man by the throat and slammed his head against the jagged rock wall. Blood splattered. The terrorist’s weapon fell from his limp hands. But Sangram didn’t stop. With blood pouring from his own wounds, he lifted the enemy’s head and smashed it again—and again, his voice rising in a guttural war cry. He beat him against the stone until life left the man’s body. Until there was nothing left but silence.

He looked like a monster. Blood-soaked. Face bruised, bleeding. Eyes ablaze.

But then, his gaze fell on Naveen.

And something inside him softened.

Limping, he stumbled toward him. His trembling hand reached to cradle Naveen’s head, trying to lift him gently from the ground.

There was still breath in him. Faint, but there.

“Come on… Pandey… get up,” Sangram whispered, his voice raspy with pain. “We have to get out of here.”

Naveen stirred, his chest rising and falling in shallow waves. But he couldn’t rise. His body wouldn’t obey.

Still, Sangram wouldn’t let go. He braced himself, using his battered frame to pull Naveen upright. But the boy collapsed again.

“Lance Naik... Naveen Kumar Pandey… stand up!!” Sangram shouted, his voice now trembling. His eyes were closing under the weight of blood loss and exhaustion.

But Naveen couldn't even stand without support. He was slipping.

And then he fell again, right into Sangram’s arms.

Sangram caught him, pulling him close, steadying him with the last of his strength.

Naveen’s breath came in broken gasps.

Then he whispered, words brushing Sangram’s ear like a final prayer.

“You’re... like a father to me... sir... had to... protect you... Take care... Jai Hind… sir…”

And with that, his head slumped onto Sangram’s shoulder.

“PAAAAANDEYYYY!!!”

---

3:00 AM — far away in the quiet village of Nariyapur, Nandini shot upright in bed.

A weight crushed her chest—an invisible burden, but suffocatingly real.

She took a few deep breaths, trying to settle her nerves, but something still felt wrong. Restless, she stepped out and made her way to the kitchen for water. As she entered, she noticed her mother, Rani Devi, already there.

“You’re up this early?” Nandini asked, opening the fridge with trembling hands.

“I never slept,” Rani Devi admitted, sipping water. “My heart feels... uneasy.”

“Mine too,” Nandini said, trying to sound calm. “Something feels strange. Maybe it’s the weather.”

“Yes... maybe. Has Navi called yet?”

“Not yet,” she replied, eyes fixed on the phone that hadn’t rung.

Whenever he returned from a mission, he always called. First thing. Always told them he was safe.

“Nanda,” Rani Devi said gently, “let’s go to the temple in a little while. Watching the morning aarti might calm our hearts.”

Nandini nodded silently.

---

By 4:00 AM, mother and daughter made their way to the village temple.

Meanwhile, in the snow-clad mountains of Kashmir, army support teams were desperately trying to reestablish contact with Sangram and Naveen.

But there was nothing.

Radio silence.

The gunfire had stopped. The terrorists were dead.

Once again, the border was secure.

But the cost… oh, the cost.

Captain Ashutosh, the support team leader, received no command or signal from Sangram. No contact with the cover team either. He made a split-second decision—to descend and assess the situation himself.

Silence greeted him like death.

The moment he reached the cover position, he froze.

Rohit Baranwal. Akash Chaudhary. Ajmal Khan. Harvinder Singh.

Sangram’s entire team… lay sprawled across the rocky ground, soaked in their own blood.

Each had held his position to the very end, taking bullets and returning fire until the last breath left their bodies. Their weapons were still in hand. Their eyes still open.

But their souls had marched on.

They had kept the border safe.

Captain Ashutosh closed his eyes briefly, honoring their sacrifice, then tried again to hail Sangram and Naveen on the radio.

Still silence.

Still nothing.

He feared the worst.

He called in an airlift.

Within minutes, helicopters thundered across the skies, touching down near the battlefield. The fallen were lifted—protocol dictated that no soldier was officially declared dead until confirmed by army doctors.

But everyone knew.

---

Meanwhile, a separate unit began searching for Sangram and Naveen. It took time—but eventually, they reached the mouth of the cave.

What they saw made the blood freeze in their veins.

Sangram and Naveen lay there, collapsed together on the blood-slicked earth. Motionless.

Just a few feet away, the bodies of the terrorists lay mangled. One of them... was beyond recognition. His skull smashed in, as if someone had fought him like a wild animal.

A commando stepped forward and gently lifted Naveen off Sangram’s chest. Even in death, he had remained draped over his superior like a final shield.

The commando checked for a pulse… and shook his head.

Naveen’s eyes were still open. But his breath was gone.

Then they checked Sangram.

And there—a flicker.

His chest moved.

He was alive.

Barely. Faintly. But alive.

Naveen’s sacrifice had kept him breathing.

---

The sun had not yet risen.

But the mountain had already witnessed a dawn red with valor.