Backed into a corner for about a week, Shadow Company faced the worst attack from Konni yet. The PMC defiantly held their position, but Konni was persistent, almost constantly laying down fire. Communication was out of the question— every channel was either occupied by the enemy or nothing but choppy static. But Graves had hope— as diminished as it was.
As the sun began to dip below the horizon, a thunderous roar shattered the stillness of the air. Cutting through the heavens like a predatory bird, a sleek fighter jet streaked across the vast expanse of the sky. Its metallic frame glistened under the fading light, adorned with the markings of a fearless squadron. The deafening roar of its engines echoed through the valley as it unleashed its payload upon the unsuspecting landscape below. Explosions erupted in a fiery spectacle, sending plumes of smoke and debris soaring skyward, painting the once serene scene in chaos and destruction. Konni members’ bodies were flung through the air, the snow burying the corpses far beneath the surface. A torrent of enemy fire erupted from the earth, fierce and unrelenting, finding its mark with deadly precision. The fighter jet's wings crumpled, and the engine erupted into bright flames after an RPG rocketed and slammed into it. Spiraling downward, it fought against gravity's cold embrace, a desperate struggle against the inevitable. SC, and Graves himself, bore witness to the tragedy as the jet plummeted towards the unforgiving earth, its demise marked by a trail of smoke and the haunting echoes of its final cries.
No. There was no way Graves would throw away the person who saved him and his men.
Abandoning his position, he ran towards the crash site as his men opened fire on the remaining, dwindling enemies. He sprinted through the snow until he found the jet, alight in flames. He ran towards it, searching for the pilot.