Chapter 67 - Breach and Boarding
For ten agonizing minutes, we drifted in total darkness through the subterranean canyon, running on silent emergency batteries, the primary reactor dialed down to five percent to avoid thermal detection.
The silence was deafening, broken only by the rhythmic ping of cold condensation dripping onto the steel deck.
Suddenly, a dull, metallic clang reverberated through the upper hull.
*Clang. Clang.*
"What was that?" Jackson whispered, bringing his carbine to the low-ready position.
"Magnetic grapples," I answered, my blood running cold. "They didn't just fire torpedoes. Vance deployed an underwater atmospheric diving team from the deep-submergence rescue vehicle. They’ve locked onto our dorsal airlock."
On the overhead status board, an amber warning light began to flash rhythmically: *Dorsal Airlock External Override Initiated.*
They weren't relying on torpedoes anymore. Vance needed the quantum drive in my chest pocket. He needed the physical evidence destroyed, and he needed my body recovered to verify that the last living witness of Project Chimera was dead.
"Jackson, load armor-piercing rounds," I said, unholstering my standard-issue sidearm and chambering a round with a crisp, lethal snap. "We take the high ground in the upper catwalk. If they breach that hatch, nobody leaves this corridor alive."
We climbed the narrow metal ladder leading to the maintenance mezzanine overlooking the primary airlock. The air was thick with the scent of saltwater and hydraulic oil.
A shower of white sparks erupted around the circular seam of the upper hatch. A thermal lance was cutting through the pressure locks from the outside.
Within ninety seconds, the heavy steel wheel on the airlock spun freely. The hatch was kicked open with brutal force, and two flashbang canisters tumbled down the companionway, exploding in a blinding flash of white light and concussive sound.
Through the smoke, four operators clad in matte-black, pressurized dive suits and night-vision optics dropped into the corridor, their suppressed submachine guns raised, sweeping the sector with cold, mechanical efficiency.
"Clear," the lead operative signaled in hand gestures.
May you like
"Not quite," I murmured from the shadows of the catwalk above.
I opened fire.
