2 Chapters
Marcus Graves's dream is rescuing the captured woman from the enemy faction's stronghold.
Marcus pressed his palm against the frozen window, watching his breath fog the glass. Twelve hours until he moved on the Syndicate stronghold where they held her. The woman who kissed him after waking from six weeks in a medical bed. The woman who wanted chickens on their colony farm—the one they'd already paid for. His tactical vest hung on the chair behind him, every pocket checked three times. Rodriguez and Chen would lead the diversions. He'd burned their old IDs last week and bought new ones for thirty grand. Now he just had to get her out alive. The Frostguard Airfield sat three clicks from the Syndicate compound. Marcus studied the photos spread across the table. The hangar's metal walls gleamed under security lights. That's where they kept high-value prisoners before transport. Doc Kimura confirmed the intel yesterday—she was inside, third holding cell from the east entrance. Marcus traced his finger along the hangar's roofline. Two entry points. Three guard rotations. He'd memorized every detail. His hand shook as he rolled up the photos. Six months ago, he'd burned their facility. Now they had her because of him. He strapped on his vest and grabbed his weapons. Twelve hours was too long to wait. Marcus hiked to the rocky outcropping an hour before dawn. The wind bit at his face as he climbed. His boots found purchase on the frozen stone. At the top, he pulled out his scope and scanned the area below. The hangar sat dark against the horizon. Three patrols crossed the open ground between guard towers. He counted the seconds between rotations. Forty-eight seconds of blind coverage on the north side. More than enough time if he moved fast. He watched a transport vehicle pull up to the hangar's main entrance. His chest tightened. They were moving her sooner than expected. Marcus checked his watch and started climbing down. No more waiting. No more planning. He had one shot to get her back, and every second mattered now. Marcus loaded his gear onto the saddled donkey waiting at the base of the outcropping. The animal shifted under the weight but held steady. He'd borrowed it from a contact who didn't ask questions. Moving through checkpoints with a pack full of weapons would get him killed. But a man with a donkey hauling supplies? That was just another worker trying to survive. He gripped the lead rope and started toward the airfield. The donkey's hooves crunched through the snow beside him. This was it. Get inside the hangar, reach the third cell, and bring her home. After that, they'd disappear to their farm with the new IDs. She'd get her chickens. He'd get to stop carrying the weight of everyone he'd lost. Marcus pulled his collar up against the cold and kept moving forward.
Marcus crouched behind a supply crate at the airfield's edge, watching guards change positions near the hangar entrance. The donkey stood quiet beside him, its breath making small clouds in the frozen air. He'd need a reason to approach—something that wouldn't draw suspicion. His hand moved to the forged work order in his pocket, the one that claimed he was delivering medical supplies to the facility. It was thin cover, but it would get him close enough. He tied off the donkey and started forward, keeping his steps steady and his head down like a man just trying to finish his shift. A guard near the gate waved him through without checking the paperwork. Marcus kept walking, scanning the airfield as he moved. A tanker aircraft sat on the tarmac near the main hangar, its metallic surface catching the security lights. Fuel lines snaked across the ground toward smaller craft lined up for departure. He noted the positions—two pilots doing pre-flight checks, one mechanic working under a wing. The hangar itself loomed ahead, exactly where the photos showed it. Third cell from the east entrance. That's where she was. He adjusted his grip on the supply pack and moved closer to the building's edge. The radar station rose behind the hangar, its dish rotating in slow circles against the dark sky. Marcus used it to orient himself, counting steps to the east wall. Forty feet. Then thirty. A side door stood between him and the guard checkpoint at the main entrance. He pulled out the work order and approached a worker hauling equipment toward the smaller entrance. The man barely glanced at the paper before jerking his thumb toward the door. Marcus slipped inside and let his eyes adjust to the dim interior lighting. The hallway stretched ahead with cell doors on both sides. Marcus counted them as he walked. One. Two. His hand moved to the knife strapped under his jacket. At the third door, he stopped and listened. Movement inside—someone shifting weight, metal scraping against concrete. He checked both ends of the corridor. Empty. This was it. First step done. He'd made it inside without raising alarms. Now came the hard part—getting her out and keeping them both alive long enough to reach the aircraft outside.
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