34. Blake
THIRTY-FOUR
Blake
The cavernous hold of the transport ship echoes with the low murmur of voices and the metallic clicks of final equipment checks. We’re outside Montenegro.
The night sky roils with an approaching storm. Distant flashes of lightning illuminate the choppy seas below. The air is thick with anticipation and the acrid smell of gun oil and nervous sweat.
CJ’s commanding voice cuts through the ambient noise, silencing all conversation. “Guardians, listen up. We’re T-minus thirty minutes. Let’s go over it one last time.”
I scan the faces around me—Alpha, Bravo, and Charlie teams are all gathered in one place, a rare sight that underscores the gravity of our mission. Each face is a mask of grim determination, eyes sharp with focus despite the long hours of preparation.
CJ activates a holographic display in the center of the hold, showing a 3D rendering of Malfor’s compound.
“Alpha team,” he zooms in on the perimeter walls, “you’ll be our battering ram. Hit the main gate hard and loud. Create as much noise as you can. We want every guard in that compound scrambling to deal with you.”
Max, the leader of Alpha team, steps forward. His voice is gruff but confident. “We’ve got enough explosives to make the Fourth of July look like a kid’s sparkler party. Those bastards won’t know what hit ’em.”
CJ nods approvingly before shifting the hologram to show the airspace above the compound. “Bravo, you’re our eyes in the sky. HALO jump from 30,000 feet, full stealth gear. Your primary objective is to neutralize their air defenses, specifically those guns on the towers, then provide overwatch and support for Charlie team’s infiltration.”
Brady, Bravo’s leader, runs a hand over his closely cropped hair. “Understood. Weather will make the jump tricky, but nothing we can’t handle. We’ll be guardian angels with very big guns.”
Finally, CJ turns to us. The hologram zooms in on the sheer cliffs at the rear of the compound. “Charlie team, you’ve got the most complex insertion. Two-hundred-foot climb up those cliffs, then a silent infiltration to locate and extract the primary target.”
Ethan nods solemnly. “We’re ready. The RUFI have the climbing route, and our exosuits are prepped for the ascent.”
“Blake.” CJ’s eyes lock onto mine, his gaze intense. “Once inside, you’re on point for locating Sophia. Are you prepared for what you might find?”
I swallow hard, forcing my voice to remain steady. “Yes, sir. Whatever condition she’s in, we’re bringing her home.”
CJ holds my gaze for a moment longer before addressing the entire group. “Mitzy, give us an update on the bumblebee drone.”
Mitzy’s voice comes through the comms, clear despite the distance. “Drone is active and currently with the primary target. Once Charlie team is inside, we can provide real-time guidance to her location. Be advised, the drone’s movements suggest the target is not stationary within the compound.”
A ripple of murmurs passes through the group at this news. CJ raises a hand for silence. “This doesn’t change the plan, people. We adapt and overcome. Any questions?”
The hold is silent, each Guardian mentally preparing for their role in the mission ahead.
“Alright,” CJ continues, his voice carrying the weight of command. “You’ve trained for this. You know your roles. Stay flexible, watch each other’s backs, and complete the mission. Failure is not an option. Am I clear?”
A chorus of “Yes, sir!” echoes through the hold.
“Good. Alpha team, your transport leaves in thirty minutes. Get to your vehicle and prepare for insertion. Bravo, your bird takes off in ten. Charlie, you’ve got fifteen minutes before your boat drops you at the base of those cliffs. Move out, Guardians.”
The hold erupts into controlled chaos as the teams gather their gear and move toward their respective transports.
Gabe places his hand on my shoulder, his usually jovial face serious. “We’re getting her back.”
Unable to find the words, I give a sharp nod. As I move toward Charlie team’s area, I catch sight of the storm through a porthole. The waves are growing larger, and white caps are visible even in the darkness. The weather is going to make an already tricky mission even more challenging.
I join my team, and we begin our final equipment checks; a profound sense of calm settles over me. We’ve prepared for this. We’re ready. And come hell or high water, we’re bringing Sophia home.
The klaxon sounds, signaling five minutes until our departure. I take a deep breath, centering myself.
It’s time.
Ethan gathers Charlie team around him, his face illuminated by the dim red lighting of the hold. “Alright, people, this is it.” His voice is low but intense. “We’ve trained for this. We know what’s at stake. Whatever happens in there, we all come home. Clear?”
A chorus of affirmatives echoes through our group. Our voices nearly drowned out by a particularly loud crash of thunder. We check our gear one last time. The exosuits hum with quiet power as we activate them.
We move to the side hatch, sliding it open. The storm’s fury hits us full force—wind howling, rain lashing at our faces, the air thick with the smell of ozone. Lightning illuminates the churning sea below. The cliff face we’re about to approach looms ominously in the distance.
One by one, we prepare to deploy into the RIB, the inflatable boat swaying slightly as it hangs from the winch. The tension is palpable as we secure our gear.
“Deploy RUFI,” Ethan orders.
The three robotic units are lowered into the RIB first. Their waterproof bodies unfold, revealing compact flotation devices. They settle into the boat, immediately orienting themselves toward the shore.
We follow, climbing down into the RIB with practiced efficiency. The boat rocks beneath us, a stark reminder of the turbulent sea waiting below. Once we’re all aboard, Ethan gives the signal.
The winch whirs to life, and the boat begins its slow, steady descent toward the angry waters. The storm’s roar is deafening as we brace ourselves for impact, the sea waiting to swallow us whole.
We hit the water with a jarring splash, the icy spray stinging our faces despite the protection of our gear. The waves immediately begin tossing us about, but the RIB is designed for these conditions.
Ethan guns the motor, and we surge forward, cutting through the tumultuous waters. The RUFI, secure in the boat with us, scan the surroundings, their built-in sonar guiding us through the treacherous sea toward the distant shore.
After an eternity of battling the elements, the cliff face looms closer. Ethan skillfully maneuvers the RIB, bringing us alongside a small, rocky outcropping at the base of the cliff.
“Comms check,” Ethan’s voice crackles in my ear.
We sound off one by one to confirm our comm links are operational.
“RUFI, begin the ascent,” Ethan commands.
The robotic units spring into action, their limbs reconfiguring for climbing. They scurry up the rock face like crabs, displaying unsettling speed, pausing every few meters to drill in anchors and attach climbing ropes.
“Alright, team. Let’s move.” Ethan hits the base of the wall.
We begin our ascent, and the exosuits immediately prove their usefulness. Their enhanced strength makes pulling ourselves up the ropes almost effortless despite the weight of our gear and the relentless battering of the wind and rain.
The climb is brutal. The cliff face is slick, and the wind threatens to tear us from our precarious holds. But the RUFI prove their worth, scurrying up the rock face with inhuman agility and setting anchors for us to follow.
We ascend in a leapfrog pattern, with three RUFI and six men working in perfect synchronization.
Suddenly, a shout of alarm cuts through the howling wind. I look up just in time to see the RUFI immediately above me lose its grip on the slick rock face. For a heart-stopping moment, it plummets toward me.
“Hold on,” Ethan yells unnecessarily.
The RUFUS’s tether to its companions snaps taut, arresting its fall mere meters above my head. It swings wildly in the wind, struggling to regain purchase on the cliff.
“Blake, guide it back,” Ethan orders, his voice steady despite the precarious situation.
I grab the RUFUS’s frame and steady it against the rock face. Its limbs reconfigure, finding new holds, and it resumes its climb within moments.
“Nice save.” Gabe’s voice comes through the comms, a hint of his usual humor breaking through the tension. “I was not looking forward to being pancaked by a robot dog today.”
“Cut the chatter and stay focused,” Ethan reprimands. “We need to pick up the pace, but safety first. This cliff isn’t going to beat us.”
We continue our ascent, now hyperaware of every handhold and brace against every gust. The storm’s fury intensifies the higher we climb as if Malfor himself is commanding the elements to repel us.
Finally, after what feels like hours, we near the top. Ethan signals for us to hold position a few feet below the edge, out of sight of potential guards.
“Charlie team, this is Command,” CJ’s voice crackles through our comms. “Alpha team is in position and ready to begin their assault. Bravo team is on final approach for HALO insertion. What’s your status?”
“Charlie team is in position,” Ethan replies, his breathing heavy from the climb. “Ready on your signal.”
“Copy that, Charlie team. Bravo team, you are cleared to jump. Charlie team, hold for Bravo’s insertion. On my mark, we initiate Phase Two.”
We wait, clinging to the cliff face, the anticipation building. After a few tense minutes, Brady’s voice comes through: “Bravo team on the roof. Ready to neutralize air defenses.”
“All teams, execute.” CJ’s voice is filled with grim determination. “Operation Honeycomb is a go. I say again, Operation Honeycomb is a go.”
In the distance, a series of explosions light up the night sky. The assault has begun.