49. Cobra
CObrA
The fuel truck was definitely flammable.
Cobra had spent enough years blowing things up to recognize the signs.
Large fuel tank.
Poor positioning.
Multiple armed men using it as cover.
It was practically begging for attention.
Unfortunately, Rook kept noticing whenever Cobra looked at it.
“Stop staring at the truck.”
Cobra immediately looked away.
“I wasn’t.”
“You absolutely were.”
Falcon dropped behind the cargo pallets beside him.
“He’s calculating something.”
“I’m always calculating something.”
“That isn’t reassuring.”
“No,” Shark agreed. “It really isn’t.”
Gunfire tore across the runway.
Rounds struck the cargo aircraft.
Metal sparked.
Concrete shattered.
Rook grabbed Madow and pulled him behind the armored loader positioned near the ramp.
The director hit the ground hard.
Good.
Cobra approved of that part.
“Contact front!” Shark shouted.
Shadow Division returned fire.
Precise.
Controlled.
Devastating.
Falcon dropped the first shooter.
Reef took another.
Sniper eliminated a third from a distance that would have impressed almost anyone who wasn’t busy being shot at.
Cobra barely noticed.
His attention remained on the fuel truck.
The wonderfully flammable fuel truck.
Now surrounded by hostile soldiers.
Shark saw him looking.
“Oh no.”
Cobra pointed.
“Now it’s tactical.”
“You say that every time.”
“Because it’s usually true.”
“It’s never true.”
“That’s hurtful.”
Another burst of gunfire struck the pallets.
Cobra ducked.
The enemy commander moved behind an armored vehicle, shouting orders.
His men began advancing toward the aircraft.
Not to capture Madow.
To kill him.
Madow finally understood how it felt to become an inconvenience.
Funny how people disliked the system once it turned against them.
One of the armored trucks accelerated.
Engine roaring.
Headlights cutting across the runway.
Soldiers ran beside it, using the vehicle as mobile cover.
It headed directly toward the cargo aircraft.
Rook spotted it.
“Armored vehicle moving!”
The truck gained speed.
Closer.
Faster.
More dangerous.
Cobra smiled.
His favorite kind of problem.
Then something beautiful happened.
A round struck the auxiliary fuel tank mounted beneath the vehicle.
Fuel began pouring onto the runway.
Not enough to ignite.
But enough.
More than enough.
Fathom’s voice came through the radio.
“Cobra.”
“Yes?”
“Don’t.”
“Technically, I haven’t done anything.”
“Yet.”
“Yet.”
Rook glanced toward him.
Saw the smile.
Immediately understood.
“No.”
Cobra was already moving.
“No.”
“Trust me.”
“I absolutely do not.”
“That’s fair.”
Cobra slid behind a stack of supply crates and removed a small shaped charge from his vest.
A man stepped onto the cargo ramp behind him.
Wade Parker.
He carried a sidearm in both hands.
Rook saw him.
“What are you doing out here?”
“Helping.”
“I told you to stay inside.”
“And I told you absolutely.”
“That wasn’t agreement?”
“No.”
Rook stared at him.
Wade stared back.
Even during a firefight, neither man appeared willing to surrender.
Cobra looked between them.
“This feels like a bad time for a leadership dispute.”
They both turned toward him.
“Do the thing,” Wade said.
Cobra smiled.
“I like him.”
Rook pointed toward the approaching truck.
“Make it count.”
“I always do.”
“That is objectively untrue,” Fathom said.
Cobra ignored him.
The armored vehicle closed the distance.
One hundred yards.
Eighty.
Sixty.
Cobra attached the shaped charge to a broken section of metal railing.
Wade watched.
“Should I ask?”
“Probably not.”
“Good.”
Cobra adjusted the angle.
The charge wasn’t aimed at the armored vehicle.
It was aimed at a steel cargo container resting beside the runway.
Inside the container were heavy machine parts.
Dense.
Jagged.
Perfect.
Cobra pressed the detonator.
The charge exploded.
The container tore open.
A piece of metal shot across the runway and struck the armored truck’s damaged fuel tank.
Sparks erupted.
Fuel ignited.
The fire traveled beneath the vehicle.
The armored truck exploded.
Flames consumed the front of the enemy formation.
The vehicle lifted off the ground and rolled sideways.
Soldiers scattered.
Barricades collapsed.
The advancing line shattered.
Silence followed.
Absolute silence.
Cobra lowered the detonator.
“It was tactical.”
Wade stared at the burning vehicle.
Then started laughing.
Hard.
The kind of laugh that bent him forward.
The kind that had been locked inside him for years.
Cobra looked pleased.
“I have that effect on people.”
“You nearly launched a truck into an aircraft.”
“But I didn’t.”
“That’s his standard defense,” Shark said.
Fathom’s voice entered the radio.
“One day, we’re going to have a very long conversation about your definition of tactical.”
“Can’t wait.”
The fuel crew disconnected the hose.
“Aircraft ready!” someone shouted.
Rook keyed the radio.
“Fall back!”
Shadow Division moved toward the ramp in coordinated pairs.
Falcon covered Sniper.
Reef covered Shark.
Wade remained beside Cobra.
Rounds struck the runway around them.
“You’re supposed to be inside,” Cobra said.
“So are you.”
“Fair.”
They moved backward toward the aircraft.
The enemy commander emerged from behind the burning wreck and raised his rifle.
Wade saw him first.
He fired.
The round struck the commander’s shoulder and spun him to the ground.
Cobra looked at Wade.
“Nice shot.”
“I’m rusty.”
“I think we’re going to be friends.”
“I was afraid of that.”
They reached the cargo ramp.
Rook shoved Madow ahead of him.
Falcon dragged Reeves into the aircraft.
The engines roared.
The plane began moving before the ramp closed.
Cobra and Wade jumped aboard.
Sarah grabbed Wade’s vest.
“What were you doing?”
“Helping.”
“You were shot at!”
“So was everyone else.”
“You were rescued from a mountain less than two hours ago.”
Wade looked toward Rook.
“She’s very bossy.”
“I noticed.”
Sarah glared at both of them.
The cargo aircraft accelerated.
Behind them, the airfield burned.
The cleanup team scattered as the plane gathered speed and lifted from the runway.
Wade dropped into a seat.
His breathing was ragged.
His face had gone pale from exhaustion.
But he was smiling.
Cobra sat beside him.
“Still think saving me was a mistake?”
“I’m reconsidering.”
“That’s progress.”
Wade looked around the cargo bay.
His father.
His sister.
His men.
Shadow Division.
Every person alive.
Every witness still free.
His smile softened.
“I’m ready to go home.”
Sarah sat beside him and took his hand.
This time, nothing stood between Wade Parker and the way home.