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Summary
The flight was bumpy and the entire time Horangi kept rotating his prayer beads around his gloved palm, thumbing them as he counted his blessings.
König’s eyes were fixed on the movement, only peering away when the co-pilot announced their drop approach.
Pick up would be 10 km out.
Or was supposed to be before the missile hit.
It was only supposed to be a scorch operation. Destroy anything that could slow the enemy forces—crops, infrastructures, bases—but it wasn’t supposed to end with bloodshed.
It was a trap.
