Chapter 80 River
River
The docks burned like the end of the world.
The air shimmered with heat from the thermite blast, steel containers glowing orange in the haze. Bullets cracked through the smoke, pinging off metal and concrete in angry ricochets. Somewhere to my right, Gage’s laughter cut through it all—wild, reckless, and familiar.
“River!” he shouted. “You’re blocking my line of fire!”
“You’re welcome!” I yelled back, firing three shots that took down a Hydra gunman trying to flank us.
Cyclone’s voice came through the comms sharp and calm. “Multiple tangos incoming from the north docks—armored vests, heavy rifles. I can scramble the crane systems and buy you thirty seconds, but after that, they’ll have full visibility.”
“Thirty’s enough,” I said.
I ducked behind a shipping container, slammed a new mag into my rifle, and glanced toward Oliver.
The sniper was perched halfway up the crane ladder, picking targets like he was carving statues from shadows.
Each shot was a thunderclap. Every time a Hydra soldier dropped, I saw a flicker of light from his scope—a silent rhythm that meant we’re still here.
Gage sprinted across open ground with zero cover, dragging a wounded Hydra soldier behind him. He shoved the man against the dock wall and growled, “Where’s your command relay? Where’s Viktor?”
The man spat blood, muttered something in Russian.
Gage smiled—a dangerous, slow grin. “Wrong answer.”
He slammed the butt of his rifle into the man’s chest, hard enough to knock the air out of him. “Try again.”
Oliver’s voice cut through the comms. “Gage, we don’t have time to interrogate!”
“Then he should talk faster!”
I grinned despite myself. That was Gage—too wild to tame, too loyal to question. But only on the job. When he was home, he was a completely different person.
Cyclone interrupted, voice rising. “Crane overrides dying. Lights coming back up in ten seconds. Get your asses moving or you’re going to be silhouettes against a spotlight!”
“Copy that,” I said. “Oliver, smoke the ridge. Gage, back to cover!”
The docks flashed white as the power grid surged back online—floodlights slamming down from every angle, turning the chaos into a battlefield made of shadow and glare. Hydra soldiers poured through the southern gate like ants out of a burning nest.
Oliver’s voice was calm as always. “Two on the roof. Three behind the forklift. I’ll take the high ones.”
“Got the ground,” I said, sighting down my rifle.
The gunfire was deafening. Sparks flew off the container walls. One of Hydra’s trucks skidded sideways, tires screaming, before exploding in a bloom of fire that painted the entire dock gold and red.
Gage ducked under a collapsing crane arm, laughing even as shrapnel flew past his head. “That one’s on me!”
“Yeah, no kidding,” Cyclone muttered. “You just set off half my interference field.”
“Did it work?”
“It’s chaos out there!”
“Then it worked!”
We fought in perfect disorder—each of us moving like pieces of a broken clock that somehow still told the right time.
I dropped another Hydra soldier, then glanced toward the east ramp. Through the smoke, I caught sight of Beckett and Elara—moving together, covering each other’s blind spots, cutting straight toward Viktor’s position.
Cyclone’s voice softened in my ear, like awe wrapped in exhaustion. “They’re going for him.”
“Then we hold this dock,” I said, reloading. “No matter what comes through that gate.”
Oliver’s next shot split the air. Gage whooped, throwing a grenade that rolled beneath a forklift before blooming into fire. The blast threw half the enemy line backward into the water.
My chest burned with pride and adrenaline. These were my brothers. My family. We’d bleed here before we’d break.
Cyclone’s voice steadied again. “All units—Beckett’s closing in on Viktor. We’ve got two minutes before they breach the dock’s south end. Everyone ready to dig in?”
Gage grinned through the smoke. “Born ready.”
Oliver chambered another round. “Let’s make this count.”
I checked my rifle, heart steady, pulse pounding like thunder in my ears. The enemy was closing in, but the Golden Team didn’t retreat. Not now. Not ever.
“Then let’s give Beckett the room he needs,” I said.
We opened fire together—one voice, one promise.
And in the distance, through the haze and the fire, I saw Beckett disappear into the smoke after Viktor.