Page 3 of Legacy's Destiny

Deacon walked over to the animal and scooped it up. “It could have rabies,” Bandit warned him.

Deacon rolled his eyes. “Yeah, because it’s foaming at the mouth.”

“What are you going to do with it?” Rip asked as he worked.

“Well, I’m not leaving it down here. Bandit, see if there are any more.” He shoved the kitten into his uniform top and dealt with the needle claws the little fur ball had as it explored the inside of his shirt.

“On it,” Bandit answered as he ghosted ahead in the tunnel.

“Ready for the detonator on this one, Cap.” Deacon limped toward the large deposit of C-4 Rip had meticulously planted in the center of the weapons cache. Each step sent sharp pain stabbing through his injured leg, but he shoved the detonation cap into the cool, clay-like block with determined precision.

Rip worked quickly, slapping two more explosive packs near the jagged entrance of the shallow outlet. The adhesivesquelched faintly as he pressed them against the gritty stone, his fingers steady despite the tension crackling in the air.

“Cap.” Bandit’s whisper cut through the confined space like a razor, and everyone froze. “I hear them.”

A chill ran down Deacon’s spine as he tossed a detonator to Ace, the motion fluid despite the weight of urgency bearing down on them. The faint echoes of boots scuffing against stone reached his ears, sending adrenaline surging through his veins. Rip, working at a frantic yet practiced pace, set another charge while Ranger zipped up his pack with quick, precise motions.

“This is for our retreat,” Rip murmured, his voice low and firm. “It’s on a timer. Thirty seconds to clear the shaft. Can you make it, Cap?” His eyes flicked up, worry flashing in their depths.

“Watch me,” Deacon growled, squaring his shoulders. The ache in his leg was a distant hum now, drowned out by the pulse-pounding adrenaline of the moment.

“Caaaap …” Bandit’s warning hiss came again, his weapon rising to his shoulder. The hairs on the back of Deacon’s neck prickled as he registered the urgency in Bandit’s voice. It wasn’t a question. It was a warning: Move. Now.

“Go,” Deacon barked, his voice a whip of authority. The team bolted, feet pounding against the uneven ground, their breaths harsh and fast in the narrow confines of the tunnel. The dim light of Ranger’s flashlight flickered, throwing eerie shadows as they reached the second junction. Rip slammed the charge against the wall, glancing at Deacon just as the first bullet ricocheted off the wall near Bandit, sending sharp shards of rock flying.

“Blow the cache!” Deacon roared, his voice nearly drowned out by the staccato of enemy gunfire. The kitten had stopped moving and was clawing into his back with a death grip, but he barely noticed.

He dropped beside Ace, the chill of the stone biting through his uniform as they laid down suppressive fire.

“Cap, move your ass—you’re the one injured!” Ranger slid beside him, his voice tight but resolute as he added his fire to theirs.

“You’ve got fifteen seconds!” Ace shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos.

“Hold them for five more, then follow us!” Deacon ordered, pulling back and firing again. His injured leg screamed in protest as he pushed himself to his feet and stumbled into motion.

Ranger and Ace stayed behind, firing in practiced rhythm before peeling off, sprinting down the shaft after giving them lead time.

“Rip!” Deacon’s shout was hoarse, the grit in the air already stinging his throat. “Blow it!”

Rip didn’t hesitate, his thumb jamming down on the activator as he ran. A second later, the blast roared through the mine. The earth bucked under their feet, the shockwave slamming into their bodies and sucking the air from their lungs. A deafening rumble followed, and the tunnel filled with a choking cloud of dirt and debris, the sharp scent of scorched rock and pulverized concrete clogging their noses.

“Rally, now!” Deacon yelled over the noise, his voice raw with urgency.

They skidded to a halt, turning to face the tunnel as Ranger and Ace emerged from the choking dust, silhouettes sprinting through the haze. Another wave of the explosion’s aftermath rippled past, stirring loose pebbles that rattled against the walls.

Deacon’s heart thundered as they regrouped, his breathing labored but steady. “Click, can you hear us?”

There was nothing over his comms. He glanced at Ranger. “Anything?” Ranger shook his head.Fuck. Okay, they knew the way out, at least. “Status?”

“Good to go,” Ranger said.

“Yeah. Good,” Ace agreed.

Rip gave him a thumbs up, and Bandit pointed to his leg. “Ripped open that patch job, Cap.”

Deacon looked down. Blood seeped through the mud-encrusted digital jungle print of his uniform. There wasn’t time to worry about his fucking boo-boo. Besides, his back was probably shredded. The kitten poked its head up to the opening of his uniform shirt and meowed plaintively. Deacon patted its head and looked at Bandit. “It’ll be fine. Let’s go.”

Ranger took point, and the array of flashlights illuminated the tunnel in an eerie glow, extending their shadows as they walked out of the lingering dust from the explosion.

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