Time moves on

It was the last hour of the mission. Around him, Alexander McLeod could hear the heavy, strained breathing of the men around him- maybe half a dozen, though the room was filling up as each minute dropped off to rendezvous.

There were no voices, no fake-macho quips spieling off into the darkness. The power to the area had been cut two hours ago, and he would sporadically see flashlight beams cutting swaths in other parts of the complex, where other teams were making headway. Now, they sat in the dark room, the sound of automatic fire rippling in and then petering out, the occasional bark of a voice of teams as they drew nearer to the extraction point.

His own breath sounded tight in his throat as he leaned forward, swallowing against the dryness, and raked his hands across his head.

Only Forrester was left of his team, and he had taken a position a good distance away from McLeod.

There was another team incoming; he could hear them. They didn't sound American, and he lifted his head to listen to them, as their flashlight beams swept through the sizable utility shed they were all grouped in.