Chapter 41 - Incoming Fire
The hum of the command terminal seemed to freeze in time, but the deafening reality outside tore through the paralysis instantly. Martinez’s voice crackled through my earpiece, strained beneath the audible wail of the *Farragut’s* combat alarms. Mach 2 tactical aircraft closing in on an unclassified profile meant one thing: whoever had signed off on my lethal termination was not interested in an arrest. They were here to incinerate every shred of evidence, along with every soul aboard my ship.
Sterling sat back in his chair, folding his hands over his chest with an infuriating smirk. He believed the sudden chaos would paralyze me. He believed that the shock of my father’s lifelong betrayal would shatter my command resolve.
He was dead wrong.
"You really don't know the first thing about me, Sterling," I said, my voice dropping into an icy, steady cadence. Without breaking eye contact, I reached out and drove the butt of my sidearm straight across his temple. The impact was clean, heavy, and immediate. His smug grin vanished as his head whipped sideways, his body slumping half-conscious against the metal desk.
I grabbed the encrypted flash drive from his terminal, ripping the cord straight out of the dock, and pressed my radio key.
"Martinez, this is the Captain," I commanded, my words cutting cleanly through the panic on the line. "Cease broadcast on standard tactical frequencies. Go dark on all civilian transponders immediately. Switch air-defense suites to full automatic doctrine under local control. You have weapons free on inbound bogeys the second they enter our weapons engagement envelope."
"Skipper! Copy weapons free," Martinez shouted back, gunfire and system pings echoing in the background. "Combat Information Center reports bogeys at thirty miles and closing fast. Radar locks are active—they’re painting us with anti-ship profiles!"
"Deploy full chaff and flare sequences, lay a smoke screen across the channel, and prepare the rolling airframe missile launchers," I barked as I hauled Sterling up by his collar and cuffed his wrists behind his back with zip-ties. "I am inbound to the bridge with high-value intelligence. Hold the line, Executive Officer!"
I slung Sterling over my shoulder with practiced discipline, kicking open the hatch to the safehouse. Behind me, the sea air tasted like ozone and diesel. Across the gray water, the low silhouette of the *Farragut* cut through the rising fog, its automated defense turrets already spinning toward the darkening sky.
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Two distant sonic booms cracked across the cloud cover, followed by the terrifying streak of inbound ordnance slicing through the mist. The battle for our survival had officially begun.
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