Chapter 6 - Midnight Ambush
Eighty feet below the harbor, inside The Raven’s Nest, the warning sirens began to pulse with a low, rhythmic red glow.
On the massive tactical displays, three thermal signatures were descending from the storm clouds directly above Sector 4. Radar identified them as modified stealth MH-60 Black Hawks, flying without transponders, weapons bays fully loaded.
Marcus Reyes was already strapping on a high-grade ballistic tactical vest, racking the slide of an assault carbine. "Commander, they bypassed our outer perimeter sensors. Julian Thorne didn't hire regular mercenaries. Cerberus is commanded by Kurt Vane—former SAS, dishonorably discharged, specialized in night-vision facility breaches."
In the medical bay, Leo was still sound asleep, wearing sound-canceling headphones Sarah Lin had placed on him.
Ethan stood in front of a heavy steel armory rack. He wore tactical trousers and a combat compression shirt that accentuated his broad, muscular frame. In one smooth motion, he drew twin custom Kimber .45 caliber 1911 pistols, checking their chambers with lightning-fast muscle memory, before holstering them at his hips.
He grabbed a suppressed tactical shotgun and strapped a serrated combat blade to his left forearm.
"Sarah," Ethan spoke calmly.
Dr. Lin stepped out of the medical room, a submachine gun slung across her chest. "Understood, Ethan. The medical bunker is reinforced with six inches of titanium plating. I've engaged the pneumatic seals. A tactical nuclear blast wouldn't scratch the door. Leo won't hear or see a thing."
"Good," Ethan nodded. He turned to Marcus Reyes. "Marcus, how many men do they have?"
"Thermal scans show twenty-four operators deploying via fast-ropes onto the warehouse roof right now," Reyes reported, checking the surveillance feeds. "Another six holding the perimeter."
"Thirty against two," Ethan said quietly, his eyes cold and devoid of fear.
Reyes grinned, a dangerous, feral smile spreading across his battle-scarred face. "Sir, with all due respect... thirty against you isn't an ambush. It's a target-rich environment."
Above them, the heavy steel rafters groaned. The muffled THUMP-THUMP-THUMP of heavy combat boots echoed through the ventilation shafts.
Then, the main elevator shaft exploded.
Concrete and metal shrapnel showered down as four Cerberus operators rappelled down the vertical shaft on motorized cables, their night-vision goggles glowing ominous green. The instant they breached, they opened fire with suppressed submachine guns, spraying high-velocity armor-piercing rounds across the lower tier.
Ethan moved like liquid lightning.
He didn't seek cover; he became the storm. Dropping into a low slide across the concrete floor, Ethan fired his Kimber .45 twice into the chest and once into the visor of the first operator. The man died before he detached from his carabiner, his body swinging limp on the cable.
Ethan popped to his feet, grabbed the dead operator's swinging corpse, and used it as a human shield against the incoming hail of lead. Bullets thudded harmlessly into the dead man's ceramic plates.
Ethan drew his second pistol with his left hand, leaned around the corpse, and placed three double-taps into the remaining three operators descending the shaft. They plummeted eighty feet to the concrete floor, dead before impact.
"Breach on the western stairs!" Reyes yelled from behind a forklift, firing three-round bursts that pinned down two more mercenaries attempting to flank through the maintenance tunnels.
Ethan dropped the meat-shield, rolled behind a heavy industrial generator, and chambered a round into his tactical shotgun.
Through the smoke, four Cerberus commandos entered in tactical diamond formation, sweeping flashlights through the haze.
"Target is mobile!" their squad leader yelled into his comms. "He's fast! Light him up!"
Ethan didn't give them the chance. He vaulted over the generator.
The shotgun roared with a deafening thunderclap. The first blast tore through the lead commando's chest rig, blowing him off his feet. Ethan pumped the action instantly, ducked beneath a burst of automatic fire, and fired a second round into the knees of the flanking mercenary, dropping him to the floor with a scream.
The third commando drew a combat knife and lunged, aiming for Ethan's carotid artery.
Ethan parried the thrust with his left forearm blade, the steel screeching in a shower of sparks, stepped inside the commando's reach, grabbed the man's tactical helmet, and violently slammed his head into the sharp iron edge of a steel girder. The commando slumped into the darkness, his skull cracked.
The fourth mercenary panicked, raising his assault rifle with shaking hands.
Ethan didn't shoot. He closed the distance in half a second, grabbed the rifle's barrel, forced it upward as it discharged into the ceiling, and delivered a lethal throat-strike with his open palm. The commando dropped, clutching his crushed trachea, suffocating on the floor.
Total elapsed combat time: forty-two seconds.
Eight elite operators lay dead or incapacitated.
Ethan stood amidst the drifting gunsmoke, his breathing completely steady, his eyes scanning the darkness above. Blood dripped from his combat knife—none of it his own.
Above, through the open breach in the warehouse ceiling, the roar of the attack helicopters circled like vultures.
"Marcus," Ethan commanded.
"Sir!" Reyes responded, stepping over the bodies of the fallen flankers.
"Take Sarah and Leo. Use the subterranean sea tunnel. Move him to the offshore vessel."
Reyes frowned. "Commander, what about you?"
Ethan glanced at the shattered ceiling, where more grappling hooks were descending from the heavy assault gunship hovering directly above the roof.
May you like
"Julian Thorne sent his best to my home," Ethan whispered, his eyes flashing with the cold light of an ancient predator. "It's time I personally return the favor."
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