Chapter 46 - Black Water, Frozen Skies
At an abandoned auxiliary military airfield nestled deep in the coastal pine forests of Maine, a massive C-17 Globemaster III transport aircraft sat idling on the runway, its massive turbofan engines emitting a low, earth-shaking howl against the freezing gale.
Claire stood on the open rear cargo ramp, tightening the nylon straps of her high-altitude, low-opening (HALO) parachute rig. Her face was painted in matte-black tactical camouflage, her thermal assault suit sealed against the sub-zero temperatures of the upper troposphere.
Behind her stood six men.
They were not active-duty soldiers. They were ghosts. The surviving operators of Task Force Valkyrie—the men Claire had dragged through fire and brimstone across a dozen forgotten wars. Men who had long since discarded their dog tags, living in the shadows, waiting for the day the One-Eighty-Seven called them home.
"Conditions over the target area are Category Four Arctic storm," Marcus shouted over the engine noise, adjusting his oxygen mask. "Wave heights in the North Atlantic are exceeding fifty feet. If we miss the drop zone by fifty yards, we hit the water and freeze to death in three minutes."
Claire clicked her combat helmet into place, the tactical heads-up display glowing amber over her left eye.
"We won't miss," Claire said, racking the bolt of an MCX Spear assault rifle and slinging it across her chest. "The *Leviathan*—Julian Vance's flagship dreadnought—is running completely dark two hundred miles off the coast of southern Greenland. It’s an illegal platform. No international laws apply. No rules of engagement."
One of her veteran operators, an eight-year combat diver named Jax, grinned through the frost clinging to his beard. "So... standard Tuesday operating procedure, Captain?"
"Total sterilization," Claire answered, her voice dropping into the absolute void of a predatory machine. "Every contractor on that ship took money to turn my brother into a lab rat. Every officer on that bridge knew what happened in the valley. We do not take prisoners. We do not sign surrender treaties. We recover the central mainframe, and we scuttle the ship to the bottom of the ocean."
The green jump light on the C-17 cargo bulkhead flashed to life with a shrill buzzer.
The rear ramp lowered fully, exposing the howling, black abyss of the North Atlantic sky. Below them, thirty thousand feet down through a vortex of ice and jagged lightning, lay the churning, pitch-black waters of the icy abyss.
Claire stepped to the edge of the ramp, staring into the dark storm.
She felt the ghost of Ethan’s hand on her shoulder. She heard Maya’s innocent laughter ringing through the roaring wind.
"For the fallen," Claire whispered into her comms.
"For the One-Eighty-Seven," the squad roared in unison.
May you like
Claire leaned forward into the void and dropped like a falling star into the storm.
***
