Page 87 of Rescuing Ally: Part 1

“Thanks,” I say, surprised by the compliment. “I have good people looking out for me.”

“Good men,” he counters. “But, if they haven’t mentioned it yet, Guardian HRS has a robust post-trauma recovery program,” Rigel adds, his tone warm and gentle. “If you ever want to talk to someone specializing in this kind of thing, we’ve got the best.”

Before I can respond, Ethan’s voice rings out. “Wall drill. Positions, gentlemen.”

Rigel gives me a mock salute. “Duty calls. Enjoy the show—these two never pass up a chance to compete.”

I watch as the team gathers equipment—climbing gear, what looks like training weapons, and communication headsets. My laptop screen goes completely black. The battery finally gives up. I sigh, close my laptop, and set it aside.

So much for getting work done.

But as I watch the men prepare for their drill, I can’t bring myself to be too disappointed. Seeing Hank and Gabe in their element is mesmerizing in a way—professional, focused, part of something bigger than the two of them.

Ethan climbs up to a platform halfway up the wall, apparently playing the role of hostage. Blake and Walt take positions at various points on the structure, clearly the “hostile forces” in this scenario.

“Standard extraction protocol,” Ethan calls down. “Rigel on comms, Hank on point, Gabe covering. Begin on my mark.”

I lean forward, invested in how this plays out. It’s one thing to know theoretically what they do—it’s another to witnessthe reality of their training, to see the precision and trust that factored into my rescue.

“Mark!” Ethan calls.

And they move.

Hank takes the lead, scaling the wall with terrifying speed. His fingers find holds where none seem to exist, his body flowing up the vertical surface like gravity is merely a suggestion. Every movement is economical—no wasted energy, no hesitation, just pure, focused power driving him upward.

Gabe follows a different route, slightly to the left, keeping pace with equally impressive skill. Where Hank moves like water, Gabe climbs with explosive bursts of energy, covering ground in powerful lunges that defy physics.

“Hostile at your ten o’clock, Hank. Cover fire needed, Gabe.” Rigel directs from below, his voice calm and steady as he calls out positions based on Blake and Walt’s movements above.

It’s choreographed chaos—Hank dodging a “hostile” (Blake) while maintaining his upward momentum, Gabe providing cover with what must be a training weapon given the lack of actual gunfire. They communicate with hand signals and terse words, a language all their own.

Blake puts up an impressive defense, using his long reach to block Hank’s advance. It seems like the mission might stall for a moment, but then Hank does something I barely follow. He swings outward from his handhold, using momentum to launch himself up and around Blake’s position. It’s a move that requires inhuman strength and perfect timing, the kind of thing you’d see in action movies but never expect in real life.

Meanwhile, Gabe engages Walt, who’s set up a sniper position on a ledge. Gabe scales a seemingly impossible overhang, muscles straining as he pulls himself up and over. He and Walt engage in close-quarters combat on a tiny platform barely big enough for one person, let alone two fighting men. The skill required—to battle effectively while balancing on a narrow ledge a hundred feet up—is mind-boggling.

I hold my breath as Hank reaches Ethan, securing a line to the “hostage” while Gabe provides cover from his position. Their coordination is flawless—as if they can read each other’s minds, anticipating needs before they arise.

The speed with which they complete the extraction is staggering—under three minutes from start to finish, with Ethan safely on the ground and both “hostiles” neutralized.

“Not bad,” Ethan says, unclipping from the line. “Gabe, you hesitated at the north junction. Blake would have had a clear shot if this were real.”

Gabe nods, accepting the criticism without argument. “Got caught watching Hank’s line. Won’t happen again.”

“Hank, good adaptation on the fly when the primary route was blocked.”

Hank inclines his head in acknowledgment.

“Again,” Ethan says, already moving back toward the wall. “Switch positions. Gabe on point, Hank covering.”

I watch three more iterations of the drill, each with different configurations, before they finally call a break. All five men are drenched in sweat now, breathing hard but looking satisfied.

Gabe drops into the chair beside me, running a hand through his damp hair. “Enjoying the view?” There’s a teasing lilt to his voice.

“It’s… educational,” I say carefully.

Hank appears on my other side, passing Gabe a water bottle before taking a long drink from his own. “Your laptop die?”

I nod, frustrated. “The battery drained way too fast. I couldn’t get through editing a single section.”

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