Page 86 of Rescuing Ally: Part 2
Hope and terror war in my chest. Guardian HRS is here. They found us. They’re coming.
But Malfor knows.
“Audio channel open,” the mechanical voice announces.
Sound floods the courtyard—rotor wash, wind static, and beneath it—voices.
“Contact bearing two-seven-zero,”a voice snaps through the headset, clipped and urgent.“Multiple aircraft. High speed. Closing fast on our position.”
“How many?”Ethan’s voice cuts through comms, low and hard.
“At least six aircraft. ETA to intercept, ninety seconds.”
Malfor’s smile turns predatory as he watches us break. He feeds on this—our pain, our helplessness, our love being weaponized against us.
“Your Charlie team,” he says, voice silky with satisfaction, “is about to discover that heroism has its limitations.”
We’re standing. Exposed. Helpless. And he’s watching us like it’s the finest entertainment money can buy.
Because for him, it is.
“Interceptor One locked.”The mechanical voice sounds almost pleased.“Firing solution calculated.”
A streak of light cuts across the screen, so fast the eye barely registers movement. Something small, deadly efficient, launched from an unseen platform.
The lead helicopter has no time to react. No evasive maneuvers. No warning.
The explosion blooms white-hot against the eerie wash of night-vision green. The tail rotor shears away, spiraling into darkness. The helicopter lurches, spinning out of control, then slams into the ocean. The main cabin holds together as it hits, sending a geyser of seawater skyward. The wreckage sinks fast into black.
“Charlie team is down! Repeat. Charlie team is down!”
No one could’ve survived.
Screams tear through the courtyard—ours, raw and ragged, echoing the panic blaring from the speakers.
“Evasive maneuvers! Deploy countermeasures!”
The second helicopter jerks left, flares arcing out in a dazzling burst of light. The missile clips its tail, sending it listing—but it stabilizes, engines roaring as the pilot claws for altitude.
The third bird banks hard to the right, flares bursting like fireworks across the sky. It vanishes into the clouds and disappears into the night.
Then—silence. Nothing but an empty ocean where three aircraft had been. No survivors visible. No movement beyond burning debris flickering against the darkness.
My knees buckle. I hit the ground hard, gravel biting through thin fabric, but I barely feel it.
They’re gone.
The words don’t make sense. My brain rejects them, shoving back like a bad equation that refuses to balance. But the screendoesn’t lie. The ocean swallows what’s left—twisted metal, scorched foam, silence.
Hank.
Gabe.
Charlie team … Gone.
The pain doesn’t come in a wave. It detonates. Shrapnel through bone. Through breath. Through my soul. I claw at the collar around my neck, needing air, needing them—needing it not to be true.
“Look at them,” Malfor murmurs, voice like oil on water. “I said, look.”
