26. Walt
TWENTY-SIX
Walt
Dawn breaks harsh and cold over the Kazakhstan steppes. Inside the converted Quonset hut serving as our Command Center, banks of servers and monitoring equipment push the temperature well above the freezing point outside. The scent of burnt coffee mingles with electronics.
I pace the length of the Command Center, my boots echoing against the metal floor as I work off my frustration.
“I’ve got an update.” Mitzy’s announcement cuts through our tense silence. “Power levels dropping. Look at these numbers.”
The facility’s power grid tells the story of dropping energy curves. Emergency systems powering down. Cooling units cycling back to normal operation.
“Containment fields holding at eighty percent capacity,” Mitzy confirms. “It’s stable—for now. But all that energy? It’s waiting for an excuse to explode.”
The tactical display shows thermal images of two figures stumbling away from the reactor controls—spent but successful. They’ve prevented catastrophe, for now, but their exhaustion is evident even through the grainy feed.
“If the fields destabilize again,” she says, “they might not be able to fix it a second time. The good news is that I can access their fire suppression systems and environmental controls. I’m confident I can trigger another evacuation without touching the reactor control systems or power backups.”
“We need options for getting in there,” CJ says, studying the facility’s defensive layout. “Ground approach is suicide—they’ll see vehicles coming from twenty klicks out.”
“Air infiltration is out,” Blake adds. “Their anti-aircraft coverage is too tight for choppers.”
“What about HALO?” I trace a finger along the tactical display. “Mitzy, show me their radar coverage again.”
She pulls up the sensor grid overlay. “They’ve got overlapping sweeps, but there’s a gap. Their radar coverage syncs up every three minutes, creating a blind spot.” Her fingers move efficiently across the keyboard. “Thread the needle during that window; theoretically, you could drop in undetected.”
“How big’s the window?” Ethan asks.
“Ninety seconds, max. You’ll need perfect timing on the jump.”
“No pressure,” Gabe mutters.
“Distance to target from drop point?” CJ asks.
“Two klicks to the facility perimeter. There’s enough shielding in your tactical gear that you should be able to evade their ground radar once you’re down. I’ll do my best with the bumblebees to create interference with their ground radar.”
“Two klicks… Let’s say five minutes from the drop zone to the facility.” CJ studies the approach vectors.
“That’s a rough pace in full tactical gear.” Ethan shakes his head. “I say we call it six, maybe seven minutes. That leaves less than three minutes to secure the hostages.”
“It’s doable,” Forest says, his tone matter-of-fact. “We’ve executed tighter insertions before.”
Mitzy continues, “Once you’re on the ground, the Rufi will assist. They’ll secure corridors for exfil and monitor guard movements in real time. Or, you can use them to create havoc.”
“How?” I ask.
“Scare the shit out of the guards. Herd them away from the hostages.” There’s a wicked gleam in her eyes as if she’s been waiting to put the Rufi to use like this. “I’ll feed everything directly to your HUDs.”
I step back from the table, letting the details sink in. Every step of the plan is razor-thin, dependent on perfect timing and flawless execution. One misstep, one delayed alarm, and the whole operation falls apart.
“We’re betting everything on this evacuation protocol,” I say, my voice steady despite the weight of the words. “If Mitzy’s fire alarm doesn’t trigger the response we need…”
“It will,” she interrupts, her voice firm. “The bumblebees have mapped every circuit, every sensor. When those alarms hit, they have no choice but to evacuate.”
“That gets us in. But extraction’s another matter,” CJ says. “We can’t exactly HALO out with civilians.”
“No, but we can use vehicles for exfil,” I say. “Stage them here, in the mountain pass.”
I trace an overland route across the steppe, skirting the rugged mountain range on the map. The peaks are jagged and imposing, cutting like teeth against the desolate expanse of the steppe.
“It’s the last place they’ll expect. Keeps the vehicles out of sight and off the main road. The mountains provide natural cover.”
“I agree,” Gabe says. “Bring the vehicles in the moment we hit the ground. How long will it take them?”
“It’s ten kilometers from the mountains to the facility. Say, ten minutes?” Mitzy glances at her screen, no doubt doing the calculations.
“Rough terrain,” Blake observes. “High risk of mechanical failure.”
“We’ll stage redundant vehicles,” Mitzy cuts in, her tone cool and precise. “My team can handle transport. You don’t have enough operators to cover everything.”
CJ’s jaw tightens. “We’ve never put tech teams in combat situations.”
“With respect…” Mitzy arches a brow, deadpan. “Unless you’re planning to clone yourself in the next six hours—you don’t have a choice.”
“Fine. The techies drive.” CJ’s tone is curt, irritation barely leashed. “How long can you keep their systems confused once we initiate?”
Mitzy turns, leveling him with a pointed look. “The same ten minutes.” Her voice is cool, precise, and edged with snark. “That’s how long you have from when the fire alarm goes off until they figure out it’s fake. Same clock. Same countdown. Ten minutes.” She arches a brow, daring him to push further.
Ethan shakes his head. “That’s not much time.”
“It’s all we’ve got.” I watch the feed from the residential wing, where Malia and the other hostages are being escorted back to their quarters. “We need to warn them somehow. Get them ready to move.”
“Too risky.” CJ shakes his head.
“I have an option.” Mitzy reaches for one of the micro-drones. “Remember the Holbrook extraction?” Mitzy reaches into a case beside her station, pulling out one of our micro-drones. “Remember how we used one of the drones with Blaze? I can send a drone to Malia. We can get a message to her.”
“Lock it down,” CJ finally orders. “I want every team prepped and ready. The moment those containment fields stabilize, we move.”
The Command Center erupts into focused activity. Through it all, I keep watching that grainy feed of the residential wing, where Malia waits with no idea that rescue is coming.