Chapter 4
Bulldog's Bite
Sergeant Major Riley and his tactical unit provide vital security and support. Their first engagement with local militias proves intense, showcasing Riley's unwavering combat prowess and the team's tight coordination.
The desert air, usually a silent, brooding presence, crackled with an unseen energy. Sergeant Major ‘Bulldog’ Riley, a mountain of a man whose nickname was less a descriptor and more a promise of sheer, unyielding force, hunkered down behind a crumbling adobe wall. The setting sun bled crimson across the horizon, casting long, distorted shadows that danced like specters on the sand. His gloved fingers tightened around the familiar, worn grip of his M4 carbine, the cool metal a stark contrast to the sweat beading on his brow. Around him, the rest of his tactical unit, a disciplined phalanx of shadows, mirrored his vigilance. They were the shield, the anvil, the unshakeable foundation upon which Maverick’s daring gambits were built.
“Anything, Bulldog?” Maverick’s voice, a low rumble amplified by his comms, cut through the desert hush.
Riley scanned the desolate landscape, his eyes, sharp and discerning, missing nothing. “Negative, Colonel. Just the wind and the ghosts of yesterday.” The ghosts, he knew, were plentiful in this part of the world.
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