Page 45 of Viking
I thought of Karoline’s face in the dawn light as I’d ridden away, her copper hair catching the sun, her eyes filled with a mixture of fear and determination.I thought of her words --I love you-- and how they’d hit me like a physical blow, cracking open something I’d kept sealed for years.
“Two minutes,” I murmured, checking my watch again.
My brothers melted away, moving to their assigned positions with the silence that came from years of practice.I watched them go, pride mingling with the cold focus of pre-combat clarity.Prophet and Bull, crouched low, disappeared into the shadows along the western perimeter.Sarge and Flicker, despite the latter’s injury, moved like ghosts toward the eastern approach.Saint remained at my side, his breathing steady as we prepared for our own advance.
I checked my weapons one final time.Glock with suppressor at my hip.KA-BAR knife strapped to my thigh, the leather sheath worn smooth from years of use.Two flash-bangs and a smoke grenade on my belt.Extra magazines in the pockets of my tactical vest.The weight of it all was familiar, almost comforting -- tools of a trade I’d mastered long ago.
Saint tapped my shoulder and pointed.The roving guard had completed his circuit and was lighting a cigarette near the back of the main building, his rifle slung carelessly over one shoulder.Amateur.The cherry glow illuminated his face in brief flashes, revealing a young man who looked barely old enough to buy the cigarettes he was smoking.
I keyed my mic.“In position?”
Four whispered affirmatives came through my earpiece.
The night air was cool against my face, carrying the scent of pine and distant water.A perfect night for hunting.For justice.My body hummed with controlled energy, every sense heightened.
“On my mark,” I whispered into the mic.I raised three fingers, then lowered them one by one.“Execute.”
We moved as one, six shadows converging on the compound from different directions.The night swallowed us whole as we advanced through the tall grass, weapons ready, vengeance in our hearts.For Kris.For Karoline.For Athena.For the family I’d claimed as my own.
The perimeter guard never heard me coming.I slipped behind him, one arm snaking around his throat in a practiced choke hold, the other hand clamping over his mouth.He struggled for three seconds, body bucking against mine before going limp.I eased him to the ground, checking his pulse -- unconscious, not dead.I gave the all-clear signal and watched as my brothers emerged from the darkness, converging on the main building like shadows with purpose.
Across the compound, Prophet took down another guard with similar efficiency, the man’s rifle caught before it could clatter to the ground.Sarge and Flicker disabled the security cameras with quick bursts from their signal jammers.Thirty seconds in, and we already owned the perimeter.
I spoke into the Comms, “Main entrance.Standard breach pattern.”
We moved as a unit toward the administrative building, boots silent on the packed dirt.The door was reinforced steel with an electronic keypad -- exactly as Wire’s intel had indicated.Bull knelt before it, attaching a small device to the keypad.Six seconds later, the lock disengaged with a softclick.
I held up my fist, then three fingers.Saint positioned himself on the opposite side of the doorframe, Sarge and Flicker flanking, Prophet covering our rear.Bull readied a flash-bang.
Three.Two.One.
Bull tossed the flash-bang through the gap.We turned away, eyes closed, mouths open to equalize the pressure.The bang reverberated through the night, followed immediately by confused shouts from inside.
We surged through the door, weapons up, moving in practiced formation.The entrance hall was clear except for a disoriented guard stumbling around, hands over his ears.Sarge took him down with a swift rifle butt to the temple.
“Left clear!”
“Right clear!”
Our whispered confirmations echoed in my earpiece as we swept the first section.So far, so good.Maybe we’d get lucky.
Then everything went to shit.
A door banged open at the end of the hallway.A man in tactical gear emerged, eyes widening at the sight of us.He opened his mouth to shout a warning -- too late.My suppressed Glock coughed twice.The man dropped, but the damage was done.An alarm began wailing, high-pitched and insistent.
“Looks like they definitely know we’re here now,” Prophet said.
“Plan B,” I barked.“Sarge, Flicker -- secure the east corridor.Bull, find that server room.Prophet, Saint -- with me.Control center should be straight ahead.”
We broke into our assigned teams just as gunfire erupted from the end of the hallway.Bullets pinged off metal doorframes and splintered into drywall around us.I ducked behind an overturned desk, Prophet and Saint taking cover behind a concrete pillar.
“Three tangos, north hallway,” Saint called, popping up to return fire.
I slid to the edge of the desk, using its metal frame for partial cover as I sighted down my Glock.One.Two.Three shots.A man screamed, clutching his shoulder as he fell.
“Moving!”I shouted, darting forward as Prophet provided covering fire, his shotgun roaring in the confined space.
The gunfight intensified as we pushed deeper into the building.Muzzle flashes lit up the darkened hallways in strobe-like bursts, casting nightmarish shadows across walls streaked with old water damage and fresh blood.
