Chapter 16 - Midnight Ambush
Aboard the *Caspian Sovereign*, the battle was entering its terminal phase.
My tactical boots clanged against the narrow iron steps leading down into the vessel’s cavernous cargo hold. The air smelled of damp rust, machine oil, and cordite. My earpiece buzzed with the greenlight report from Fort Meade: *Family secure. Zero casualties among non-combatants.*
The weight that had been crushing my lungs dissolved, replaced by a crystalline, predatory clarity.
"Spread out," I whispered through the team comms. "They have three containers marked with yellow international transit seals in Sector 4. That’s our objective."
We moved through the labyrinth of shipping crates like ghosts. The ship’s crew had fled to the upper bridge, barricading themselves in terror. Only the six Ironclad Dynamics mercenaries remained, guarding the cargo that General Sterling had sold out his country to smuggle.
A flashbang rolled out from behind a stack of blue containers to our left.
"Cover!" I shouted, turning my head and shielding my eyes just as the concussive grenade detonated with an ear-shattering crack.
Tracer rounds ripped through the darkness, chewing into the metal container beside my ear. Sergeant Tyler returned fire with heavy bursts from his M4, pinning the shooter behind an industrial forklift.
I vaulted onto the lower rung of an access ladder, scaling five rungs in two seconds, positioning myself above the firing line. From the elevated catwalk, I looked down into the corridor of crates.
A mercenary was reloading his rifle behind the forklift, screaming into a satellite radio: "Sterling is burned! Vance is here! She’s hunting us down! We need extraction—"
I dropped down onto the roof of the forklift with the force of an avalanche.
Before he could raise his weapon, my boot struck his jaw with bone-cracking force. He hit the deck hard. I dropped down beside him, driving my knee into his sternum, pressing the hot muzzle of my SIG Sauer directly between his eyes.
"Tell me what’s in container 409," I commanded, my voice flat, devoid of mercy.
The mercenary spit a mouthful of blood onto my boot, laughing through cracked teeth. "You’re too late, Colonel. The manifest is a decoy. You think this ship is bringing contraband in? It’s taking it out. Sterling sold the prototype flight-control algorithms for the Sixth-Gen stealth platform. They're already on the server inside."
My eyes widened. The Sixth-Generation fighter jet program—the crown jewel of American air supremacy for the next half-century. Sterling hadn't just taken bribes; he had committed the ultimate act of high treason by auctioning off our nation’s absolute defense edge to a foreign power.
"Where is the master key?" I asked softly.
"In hell," he hissed, reaching for a backup knife at his waist.
I didn't hesitate. I pulled the trigger.
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The shot echoed through the steel belly of the ship, ending his defiance instantly. I reached down, ripped his tactical vest open, and retrieved a heavy encrypted thumb drive chained around his neck.
***
