Page 35 of Gentle Warrior

Then Link’s voice cut through the comms. “Still got eyes on Shorty. No change that I can tell. I count six tangos, one on the roof of the barber shop, one on the roof of the bakery. Four are pacing around the town with guns, trying to intimidate everyone. That leaves five not visible.”

Moose stayed still for a moment, letting the steady hum of the engine beneath him steady his racing thoughts. He focused on the update, the engine’s deep vibration grounding him like a heartbeat. “Any intel where those five might be?” he asked.

“Negative. Wait, scratch that—SUV spotted slipping out of town, heading your way fast. Could be friend or foe.”

Moose glanced at Bear, weighing options. “We need to rescue Shorty and protect the ladies. How do you want to split it?”

Bear raised an eyebrow, expression unreadable. “It’s your op. How do you want it run?”

Moose ran through the plan aloud, comms open. “Eight tangos around Shorty, five possibly headed here. Leave Jax, Enzo, and Jake to hold the farm, with Jim as wildcard. The rest—Bear, Viper, Thorn, Shadow, and me—go in for Shorty. Anyone disagree?”

After a brief pause, Jake’s firm voice replied, “Sounds solid.”

“Agreed,” Enzo confirmed.

No objections. Moose felt the plan settle.

Then Link’s voice returned, adding a critical update. “I’m putting the two groups on separate frequencies. You heading into town will be on channel six. Jake’s group holding the farm will switch to channel five. I’ll be monitoring both channels and keeping the DEA and State Police informed.”

Moose nodded, the clear communication easing some of the pressure. “Copy that, Link. Keep us posted.”

Moose glanced in the rearview mirror as the trucks idled in the driveway. “Jax, secure overwatch at the tree at the head of the driveway. Maintain visual on any movement.”

Jax slipped quietly from the truck, melting into shadows, climbing the branches like a ghost.

“Jake, gear up and keep the ladies safe,” Moose ordered.

Jake grabbed his pack and disappeared toward the house.

Through the comms, Enzo’s authoritative voice reached him. “Root cellar, now. Stay quiet. We’ve got this.”

Moose caught a faint shift in the background—a sudden halt to Nancy’s humming, the weight of tension settling over the team. Then Enzo’s voice came again, laced with approval. “Good thinking, Elena. You’ll need that water and food down in the cellar.”

Moose let the words sink in, the unseen movements inside the house playing out in his mind as he stayed locked on the perimeter.

Once everyone was in position, the silence broke with the deep growl of engines. Moose and Bear slammed their trucks into gear, gravel flying beneath the tires as they surged from the driveway, dust swirling behind them. The powerful vehicles roared down the road, every second closing the distance to the town where Shorty was being held.

As predicted, the convoy passed a speeding SUV racing toward the farm. A cold knot twisted in Moose’s gut; could he both save Shorty and protect those waiting at home?

Moose’s grip tightened on the steering wheel, the knot in his stomach refusing to loosen as the SUV disappeared behind them. He wrestled with the pull between duty and fear, the image of Elena and Nancy weighing heavily on his mind.

Beside him, Bear’s voice came low and steady, cutting through the turmoil. “We work the plan.”

The simple words grounded Moose. Bear’s calm confidence was a reminder—no second-guessing, no hesitation. The plan was their best shot.

Moose exhaled slowly, nodding. “Yeah. Work the plan.”

The trucks rolled to a stop just outside the town limits, engines settling into a low rumble under the scorching midday sun. Ahead, the small country town stretched out—a place where everyone knew everyone, and strangers didn’t go unnoticed.

The flagpole, standing tall at the center of Main Street, was four blocks away, surrounded by gang members posted on rooftops and pacing the cramped streets below. One kept watch atop the barber shop to the left, another scanned from the bakery’s roof on the right, while the others patrolled the alleys and sidewalks, weapons at the ready.

Moose’s eyes darkened with realization. In a town like this, folks didn’t just sit back—they closed ranks, many armed and prepared to fight to protect their own. He was shocked shots hadn’t already erupted, the quiet tension a fragile veil stretched over an inevitable storm. Barrelling in with the trucks was a reckless gamble. The only option was to park outside town and proceed on foot—quiet, cautious, and ready for whatever came.

Shadow and Thorn peeled off to the left, slipping quietly through the backyards lining the alley. The faint clink of shotgun barrels and murmured voices drifted over the fences—townsfolk poised and watchful, eyes sharp and suspicious.

On the right, Moose, Bear, and Viper moved with equal caution, hugging shadows beside rusted fences and stray debris. Each step was measured, the weight of the coming confrontation heavy on their shoulders.

Moose spotted the two rooftop guards through his scope—rifles raised, scanning different directions, unaware of the danger creeping closer. He gave Shadow a subtle nod.