Chapter 9 - The General’s Gambit
"Sector Seven, container yard B," I spoke rapidly into the phone, ducking as a searchlight swept across the top of our hiding crates. "If you don't scramble a military extraction unit right now, there won't be anyone left alive to testify before the Senate Armed Services Committee tomorrow morning."
“Hold your position,” General Marcus Vance’s voice barked through the encrypted speaker with absolute, terrifying authority. “Do not surrender your terminal credentials. A V-22 Osprey from the Oceana naval air station is currently airborne on an unscheduled training flight. They will touch down on your coordinates in exactly four minutes.”
The line went dead with a sharp click.
"Four minutes," Arthur said, checking his watch while frantically ejecting the magazine of his pistol to check his remaining rounds. "If those guys in tactical gear find us before the Osprey gets here, four minutes is a lifetime."
"They aren't going to find us," Morgan said, her eyes narrowing as she unholstered her spare magazine. "Because we're going to take the fight to them."
Before I could argue, Morgan leaped out from behind the crates, her pistol barking twice in rapid succession. Across the yard, one of the advancing tactical operatives stumbled backward, his rifle clattering against the concrete as he hit the ground.
"Flank left!" a frantic voice shouted from the darkness.
The remaining operatives opened fire, turning our wooden barricade into splinters. Wood and metal debris exploded around us.
"Arthur, cover the southern corridor!" I ordered, dropping to one knee and pulling a tactical flare from a maintenance box mounted to the nearby container wall.
I popped the cap, struck the ignition igniter, and hurled the blinding red flame directly into the middle of the open alleyway.
The blinding crimson glare flooded the yard, ruining the tactical team's night-vision optics and throwing long, distorted shadows across the wet asphalt. Cursing loudly, the operatives momentarily blinded by the flare began firing blindly into the red haze.
"Now!" Morgan yelled.
We bolted from our cover, sprinting across the open rail yard toward the designated extraction zone near the open piers. The damp wind whipped our hair as the rhythmic, deafening thrum of heavy twin rotors began to shake the air above us, tearing through the clouds like a descending storm.
A massive gray V-22 Osprey dropped out of the night sky, its engines tilting upward as it hovered just ten feet above the concrete, kicking up a hurricane of dust and debris. The rear loading ramp hissed open, bathing the dark pier in a harsh, amber interior light.
At the top of the ramp stood two armed naval infantrymen, their rifles held at the ready.
"Move, move, move!" Morgan shouted over the roar of the engines.
We scrambled up the ramp, our boots sliding slightly against the metal grating. As soon as the last of us crossed the threshold, the ramp slammed shut, and the aircraft lurched violently upward, banking hard toward the open Atlantic.
I collapsed onto a canvas jump seat, chest heaving, wiping a streak of soot from my cheek.
Arthur slumped beside me, letting out a breathless laugh of sheer disbelief. "I'll never complain about paperwork again as long as I live."
I didn't laugh. I looked across the cargo bay at Admiral Morgan, who was staring down at her tablet, her face pale and drawn.
"Olivia," Morgan said quietly, holding out the screen toward me. "General Vance didn't just scramble an extraction unit. He just forwarded us the official military docket for tomorrow morning's joint congressional hearing."
I leaned forward and read the bold text at the top of the screen.
JOINT INQUIRY: TREASON, DEFENSE THEFT, AND THE SINKING OF THE USS KEARSARGE.
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And right beneath it, listed as the primary subpoenaed witness summoned to testify before the entire Senate and the Secretary of Defense, was my own name.
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