Scene 1 – The Ascent
Neelum Valley, 11:45 am
The sun had climbed higher, but its warmth never reached the forest floor. Zayan moved at the front of the column, each step deliberate, his eyes scanning for signs that didn't belong—a snapped twig, a displaced stone, the faint smear of dried blood on a leaf.
Behind him, Ubaid kept his rifle up, muzzle tracing the ridgeline. Haroon watched their six. Daniyal handled navigation, cross-referencing the terrain with satellite images downloaded before dawn.
"Daniyal," Zayan whispered over comms, "how far to the nearest crossing?"
"Chakothi sector, about twelve kilometers north-east. But there's a problem, sir." Daniyal pulled up his map. "Between us and that crossing, there's a fuel depot—abandoned, but still has tanks. A watchtower overlooking a gorge. And at least three valleys where an ambush would be textbook."
"Textbook for who?" Haroon asked.
"For anyone who's studied asymmetric warfare. Which he has."
Zayan stopped. Something was wrong. The blood trail had become harder to follow—fewer drops, wider spacing. Either Tejas's wound was clotting, or he'd stopped bleeding altogether.
"Haroon, check that last blood smear."
Haroon knelt, touched the dark spot on a rock, and sniffed it. His expression tightened. "This isn't fresh. He's been doubling back, leaving old blood to make us think he's still bleeding out."
Ubaid cursed under his breath. "So where is he?"
Zayan raised his hand for silence. The forest was too quiet. No birds. No insects. Just the whisper of wind through pines and the distant rumble of the Neelum River far below.
"He's close," Zayan said softly. "And he wants us exactly where we are."
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Scene 2 – The Overwatch
Abandoned Watchtower, 12:10 pm
Tejas had climbed for an hour, ignoring the fire in his arm, ignoring the throbbing in his skull from where a ricochet had grazed his helmet. The watchtower was ancient—built by the British, used by the Pakistani army in the '70s, abandoned for decades. But its bones were solid stone, and its position commanded the entire eastern approach to the Chakothi crossing.
He crawled through the collapsed doorway, dragging his rifle behind him. The interior smelled of bat guano and decay. A broken wooden staircase spiraled upward, but he didn't need the top. He needed the east-facing window, just wide enough to sight his scope through.
Tejas settled into position, laying his rifle on a crumbling ledge. Through the scope, he could see the forest path winding below—a narrow corridor between two rocky outcroppings. Any pursuit would have to pass through that corridor. It was the only way north without climbing the sheer cliffs on either side.
Phantom will come, he thought. They're too proud not to.
He checked his ammunition again. Eleven rounds in the sidearm. Twenty-three in the spare magazine for the rifle. Enough for what he had in mind.
The first part of his plan was already in motion. The old blood trail would confuse them. The second part—the fuel depot—would require patience. He'd planted two grenades at the depot's main tank on his way up, rigging a simple tripwire across the access road. If they sent anyone to investigate, the explosion would buy him time. If they ignored it, the depot would still be there when he needed a distraction.
Tejas settled deeper into his firing position, pulled the cracked stock of his rifle tight against his shoulder, and waited.
Come find me, boys. I'll make it quick for some of you.
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Scene 3 – The Discovery
Forest Corridor, 12:35 pm
Zayan's team had advanced another kilometer when Daniyal held up a fist—halt.
"Sir," Daniyal whispered, pointing to the ground. "Tracks. But not his."
Ubaid moved forward, studied the impressions in the soft earth. Military boots, size nine or ten, but the tread pattern was wrong. Not Indian. Not Pakistani.
"Eastern European," Ubaid said. "Probably Czech. Lashkar-e-Khorasan uses them."
Haroon frowned. "But we killed all the militants at the ambush site. Every single one."
"Did we?" Zayan asked. "We counted bodies. Didn't we?"
No one answered. The firefight had been chaotic. In the dark, with grenades and tracers and screaming men, body counts were educated guesses at best.
"So there might be survivors," Daniyal said slowly. "Militants who scattered into the hills. And if Tejas links up with them—"
"Then we're not hunting one man anymore," Zayan finished. "We're hunting a squad."
He turned to Haroon. "Get on the satellite phone. Tell Base we need drone coverage over the eastern ridge. I want to know if there's anyone else moving in this valley."
Haroon nodded and stepped aside, pulling out the encrypted device.
Zayan knelt by the boot prints. There were three distinct sets—one larger, two smaller. They veered off the main path, heading toward the old road that led to the fuel depot.
"Change of plans," Zayan said. "Ubaid, Daniyal—you take the fuel depot. See if anyone's hiding there. Haroon and I will continue toward the watchtower. If Tejas is digging in for a fight, that's where he'll be."
"Sir, splitting up is exactly what he wants," Ubaid protested.
"Maybe. But if we all go one way, and there are militants behind us, we're dead either way." Zayan met Ubaid's eyes. "Two hours. If you find nothing, you fall back and we regroup. Understood?"
Ubaid nodded, though his jaw was tight. "Understood, sir."
"Good. Move fast. Move quiet. And if you see Tejas—"
"I know," Ubaid said. "Don't engage. Just track and report."
Zayan clapped him on the shoulder. "Go."
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Scene 4 – The Fuel Depot
Abandoned Depot, 1:05 pm
The depot was a rusting graveyard of cylindrical storage tanks, each one big enough to hold ten thousand liters of diesel. Most were empty—drained years ago when the army moved its supply lines south. But Ubaid could smell the residue, the ghost of fuel baked into metal by decades of summer sun.
He and Daniyal approached from the west, using the tanks as cover. The wind was wrong—it carried their scent toward the depot, but there was no one here to smell them. The place felt dead.
"See anything?" Daniyal whispered.
Ubaid scanned through his scope. Empty. Quiet. Too quiet.
Then he saw it—a thin wire stretched across the access road, ankle-high, nearly invisible in the tall grass.
"Tripwire," he breathed. "Daniyal, back. Slowly."
They retreated fifty meters before Ubaid spoke again.
"He's booby-trapped the place. That means he expects someone to come here. Either he's using it as a lure, or—"
"What?" Daniyal asked.
Ubaid pulled out his binoculars, scanning the tanks one by one. On the third tank, near the base, he saw something that made his blood run cold. A grenade, wedged between the tank's support leg and the main body. The pin was still in, but the spoon was held down by a length of fishing line tied to the tripwire.
"Two grenades," Ubaid said. "One on the tripwire, one on the tank. If we'd tripped that wire, the first grenade would have blown. The second—" He pointed. "The second would have detonated whatever's left in that tank."
Daniyal's face paled. "There's still fuel in there?"
"Enough to turn this whole place into a fireball." Ubaid lowered the binoculars. "He's not trying to kill us with bullets. He's trying to burn us."
They stood in silence for a moment, the weight of it settling over them.
"Sir was right," Daniyal said finally. "This isn't a man running. This is a man setting a trap."
Ubaid keyed his comm. "Phantom Lead, this is Phantom Two. Depot is rigged with explosives. Repeat, the depot is a trap. No sign of hostiles. Over."
Zayan's voice crackled back, strained. "Copy, Phantom Two. We've got movement near the watchtower. Haroon spotted a reflection—lens glare. He's there."
"What's your play, sir?"
A pause. Then: "We're going to give him what he wants. A fight. But on our terms."
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Scene 5 – The Gorge
Near Chakothi Crossing, 1:45 pm
Zayan and Haroon had climbed to a secondary ridgeline, using the dense pine cover to stay hidden from the watchtower. From here, Zayan could see the gorge—a narrow cut through the mountain, barely twenty meters wide at its narrowest point. The path Tejas needed to reach the LoC ran straight through it.
"The gorge is the kill box," Haroon said. "If he gets there before us, he can hold it with a single rifleman."
"Which is why we don't let him get there." Zayan pulled out his rangefinder. "Distance to the watchtower from here—four hundred meters. Can you make that shot?"
Haroon considered. "With my rifle, yes. But I'd need him to show himself. And he won't. He's too smart."
"No. But he might show himself if he thinks we're down in that corridor, moving blind."
Zayan had been turning the problem over in his mind for the last twenty minutes. Tejas had chosen his position well. The watchtower gave him visibility over the approach to the gorge, plus the ability to fall back toward the crossing. Direct assault would be suicide.
But Tejas had one weakness—he didn't know about Ubaid and Daniyal. They were still near the depot, less than a kilometer from the watchtower's blind side.
"Haroon, I need you to stay here. Provide overwatch. If Tejas shows his face, put a round through it. But don't fire unless you have a clear shot or one of us is about to die."
"What are you going to do?"
Zayan chambered a round and checked his magazine. "I'm going to go say hello."
He slipped into the trees before Haroon could argue.
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Scene 6 – The First Exchange
Watchtower, 2:10 pm
Tejas saw movement in the forest below. Not the main group—just one man, moving fast, darting between trees. He tracked him through the scope, finger resting on the trigger.
Stupid, he thought. Why separate?
Then he understood. They'd split into two elements. One to fix him in place. One to flank.
He swung his scope toward the depot side of the valley. Nothing yet. But they'd be coming.
Tejas made a decision. He couldn't let them get into position. He needed to bleed them now, force them to slow down, buy himself the time to reach the gorge first.
He aimed at the lone figure below—Zayan—and squeezed the trigger.
The crack of the rifle echoed across the valley.
But Zayan had already dropped, reacting to the sound of the shot before the bullet arrived. The round punched through a pine trunk inches from his head, spraying bark and splinters.
Tejas cursed and worked the bolt. The man had anticipated. Either he had eyes on the tower, or he was just that good.
He didn't get a second shot. From the opposite ridgeline, a single round cracked past the watchtower window, close enough to send chips of stone flying into Tejas's face.
Overwatch, he realized. They've got an overwatch position.
He ducked below the window, heart pounding. For the first time since the ambush, Tejas felt something cold settle in his chest.
Doubt.
He'd planned for pursuit. He'd planned for ambush. But he hadn't planned for this—a team that moved like a single organism, that anticipated his tactics, that pushed him instead of the other way around.
Tejas wiped the blood from his cheek and forced himself to breathe.
Fine, he thought. You want to play? Let's play.
He crawled toward the back of the watchtower, where a rope ladder hung against the outer wall. He had one more card to play. And it would cost Phantom everything.
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Scene 7 – The Confrontation
Base of the Watchtower, 2:25 pm
Zayan reached the tower's base without drawing another shot. He pressed his back against the cold stone, listening. No sound from above. No movement.
He pulled a flashbang from his vest and signaled to Ubaid and Daniyal, who had just arrived at the edge of the clearing, weapons raised.
Three hand signals: I'm going in. Cover the windows. Shoot anything that isn't me.
Ubaid nodded.
Zayan pulled the pin, counted two seconds, and threw the flashbang through the doorway. The explosion was deafening even from outside—a crack of light and sound that would blind and disorient anyone inside.
He rushed through the door, rifle up, sweeping the ground floor. Empty. He hit the stairs, climbing fast, boot steps echoing off the stone.
At the top, he found nothing.
The room was empty. The rope ladder hung out the back window, swaying in the breeze. And scratched into the stone floor, in hasty but readable English:
See you at the gorge. Bring flowers for your funeral.
Zayan stood there for a long moment, reading the words. Then he keyed his comm.
"Phantom, this is Lead. He's gone. Heading for the gorge. All units, converge on Chakothi crossing. We end this before sundown."
He turned and ran back down the stairs, the words burning in his mind.
The trapper's game. And we're the ones caught in it.
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