Chapter 32 - The Sub-Surface Breach
The thermal exhaust shaft was a vertical maze of reinforced titanium piping and roaring coolant currents. We had ditched the submersible a hundred yards back, transitioning to advanced propulsion rebreathers to navigate the narrow conduit on foot—or rather, via controlled aquatic drift.
I led the strike team upward against the descending current, my tactical fins kicking steadily as the thermal sensors in my visor registered a massive spike in ambient water temperature. The metal walls of the exhaust pipe vibrated with the heavy, rhythmic thrum of massive sub-surface generators just beyond the alloy barrier.
Closer, I reminded myself, keeping my weapon locked in the low-ready position.
We reached the primary maintenance junction—a massive circular pressure hatch bearing the stenciled warning markings of an international conglomerate. According to our decrypted schematics, this valve led directly into the dry-deck staging bay of Project Janus.
Vance slid up beside me, pulling a compact, high-frequency plasma cutter from his thigh rig. He flashed a quick, wordless signal, then pressed the ceramic cutting head against the heavy locking bolt of the hatch.
Hiss.
A brilliant cascade of white-hot sparks erupted underwater, instantly neutralized by the rushing coolant current, chewing through the three-inch steel bolt in agonizingly slow seconds. When the final locking lug sheared away, Vance gave the thumbs-up.
I holstered my rifle, gripped the heavy outer wheel of the hatch, and heaved with everything I had. The heavy steel groaned, breaking the suction seal and swinging inward with a dull, heavy thud.
Instantly, the water rushed through the opening, draining into the depressurized dry bay beyond. In a fluid, synchronized motion, we hoisted ourselves through the threshold, stepping out of the freezing Arctic ocean and onto the gleaming, sterile metallic floor of the enemy's hidden lair.
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I clicked my helmet seals, lifting the rebreather mask away from my face. The air inside the facility was dry, recycled, and heavily filtered, smelling faintly of ozone and expensive machinery.
"Team one, establish perimeter security," I whispered sharply into my comm-unit, drawing my sidearm as the rest of the strike team poured into the chamber behind us. "We have zero minutes to waste before their automated watch logs notice the pressure drop."
