Sanctuary - Central Command Hall, Evening
The command hall had evolved from hastily organized meeting space into genuine war room over the months since The Order’s raid. Maps covered every available surface—wall-mounted parchments showing regional geography, table displays with hand-carved wooden markers representing troop positions, detailed architectural diagrams of target structures pinned to boards. The air smelled of lamp oil, parchment, and the collective tension of people preparing for violence that would determine whether their cause survived or died.
Seven hundred and thirty-two fighters filled the hall and spilled into adjacent corridors—the largest force the Liberators had assembled since the movement’s founding. Not just Sanctuary’s people, but representatives from two other major cells: the Coastal Vanguard from the eastern territories and the Mountain Brotherhood from the northern ranges. Three groups that normally operated independently, now coordinating for single massive operation.
Commander Marcus Voss stood at the central table, his presence commanding attention despite the crowd. Beside him: Commander Kaida Sato of the Coastal Vanguard—woman in her late thirties, East Asian features, missing her left hand from some past engagement, the stump covered by leather cap that she’d long since stopped trying to hide. And Commander Bjorn Thorsson of the Mountain Brotherhood—not to be confused with Sanctuary’s Bjorn Eriksson, though both shared Northern heritage and imposing physicality. Thorsson was older, maybe mid-fifties, with gray beard reaching his chest and scars suggesting he’d survived things that should have killed him.
Amari stood among the assembled fighters, positioned near the front where team leaders gathered. He wore combat gear that still felt foreign despite months of missions—reinforced leather over chest and shoulders, weapon harness holding his chain with weighted blades at both ends, smaller backup daggers at his belt. At thirteen years old, he was youngest person in leadership position, youngest team leader the Liberators had ever appointed.
The whispers about prophecy followed him everywhere now. The Returner. The one born without divine favor. The prodigy who fights without Uncos and still wins. He’d stopped trying to discourage the talk—people believed what they wanted regardless of his protests. Better to accept the role and use whatever authority it provided.
Lena stood beside him, her plant manipulation Uncos having developed significantly over recent months. She could heal minor wounds now, not just drain energy. Could make vegetation grow fast enough to trap opponents or create cover during combat. She’d proven herself on dozen missions, earned her position through competence rather than prophecy or reputation.
Voss raised his hand—silence fell immediately, seven hundred voices cutting off mid-conversation. The commander’s eyes swept the assembled fighters, his expression carrying weight of what he was asking them to do.
"The Order raided us three months ago," Voss began, his voice carrying through acoustics designed for exactly this purpose. "Killed thirty-seven of our people. Destroyed sanctuaries across three continents. Forced us to rebuild from scattered remnants while they celebrated their ’successful counter-insurgency operation.’"
Murmurs of anger rippled through the crowd—controlled, focused, the kind of rage that had been cultivated carefully rather than exploding spontaneously.
"Tonight, we respond," Voss continued. "Not with scattered attacks or symbolic gestures. With coordinated assault on one of their most important installations—the Regional Logistics Hub at Keldrin Pass. This facility processes supplies for Order military operations across the entire western territories. Destroy it, and we cripple their ability to conduct operations for six months. Maybe longer."
He gestured to the map behind him—large-scale diagram showing compound layout in precise detail. The intelligence had cost three lives to acquire and another five to verify. Every building, every guard post, every patrol route marked with annotations that represented months of observation.
"The facility is defended by approximately two hundred and forty Order soldiers," Voss said, pointing to marked positions. "Professional military, not conscripts or local militia. They have defensive fortifications, prepared fallback positions, supply stockpiles that let them withstand siege for weeks. Direct assault would be suicide."
He smiled—expression mixing grim satisfaction with tactical confidence. "Which is why we’re not assaulting directly. We’re hitting them from seven different vectors simultaneously, each strike group targeting specific objective while others create chaos and confusion. By the time they understand what’s happening, we’ll have destroyed their capacity to coordinate defense."
Voss gestured to Commander Sato, who stepped forward with slight limp—old injury, probably knee, that she’d learned to compensate for. "Commander Sato’s Coastal Vanguard specializes in water-based operations. Keldrin facility draws water from mountain river running through eastern perimeter. Sato’s teams will poison the water supply and destroy the pumping station. Forces defenders to either abandon access to clean water or risk mass poisoning."
Sato nodded, her voice carrying accent that marked her as born in the Eastern Kingdoms but having lived in the west long enough to speak Common fluently. "My teams include water manipulators who can accelerate contamination spread, ensure poison reaches every cistern and barrel in compound. We’ll also collapse the pumping station’s foundation—building sinks into river, blocks future water access even after we withdraw."
"Coastal Vanguard’s strike will occur at midnight exactly," Voss continued. "Thirty minutes later, Commander Thorsson’s Mountain Brotherhood hits the northern ammunition depot. These soldiers train in high-altitude combat, specialize in demolitions and sabotage. They’ll destroy stockpiled munitions—approximately four thousand rounds of rifle ammunition, three hundred artillery shells, various explosives and specialty equipment. Explosion will be visible for kilometers, will draw defensive response away from other objectives."
Thorsson’s voice was deep, rumbling, carrying Nordic accent that made Common sound like grinding stones. "My boys—and girls—excel at making things explode spectacularly. Ammunition depot is built into mountainside, reinforced against external attack. But reinforcement means nothing when explosion originates inside structure. We penetrate, plant charges at load-bearing supports, withdraw before facility becomes crater."
He grinned, showing teeth. "Will be very loud. Very dramatic. Order soldiers will panic beautifully."
Voss pointed to third objective—barracks complex on facility’s western side. "While northern explosion draws attention, Sanctuary’s Alpha Team assaults western barracks. This is direct combat engagement—we’re not trying subtlety here, we’re trying to kill as many defenders as possible while they’re disoriented and separated from command structure. Alpha Team includes our heaviest combat Uncos users: Kace with strength enhancement, Thane with defensive barriers, Erik with—"
"Sir," a voice interrupted from the crowd. Young man, maybe twenty, with fire manipulation Uncos that made the air around him shimmer slightly. "Why hit barracks instead of command center? Wouldn’t killing their leadership be more effective?"
"Command center is underground bunker with reinforced entrance and prepared defensive positions," Voss replied patiently. "Assaulting it directly means fighting through prepared killzone while they coordinate entire facility’s response against us. Barracks assault achieves two objectives: reduces their total force by approximately third, and forces command to emerge from bunker to coordinate response. Once they’re exposed, Beta Team eliminates them."
He pointed to second position—elevated ridge overlooking compound. "Beta Team establishes position on eastern ridge before operation begins. Mix of ranged combatants and precision strikers. When command personnel emerge to coordinate defense, Beta Team picks them off. Without leadership, remaining defenders fragment into uncoordinated groups that can’t mount effective response."
Commander Sato added: "Beta Team will also provide covering fire for withdrawal. Once primary objectives are achieved, all strike teams extract through predetermined routes while Beta Team suppresses pursuit. We’re not trying to hold position—we’re trying to destroy infrastructure and extract before Order reinforcements arrive."
"Fourth objective," Voss continued, pointing to facility’s eastern sector, "is the communications tower. This installation allows them to coordinate with regional headquarters and call for reinforcement. Gamma Team’s mission is simple: climb the tower, destroy transmission equipment, make it impossible for them to request help until we’re long gone."
He looked directly at Amari. "Gamma Team leader is Amari Zanders. Youngest team leader in Liberator history, promoted based on consistent performance across eighteen successful operations and demonstrated tactical judgment that exceeds most veterans."
The attention of seven hundred fighters turned toward Amari—some expressions showing approval, others skepticism, many just curiosity about the boy who’d supposedly fulfill prophecy about returner who’d overthrow The Order’s supremacy.
Amari forced himself to maintain steady posture despite wanting to sink into the floor. Being noticed was uncomfortable. Being celebrated was worse. He just wanted to fight effectively and survive—prophecy and recognition were complications he hadn’t asked for.
"Gamma Team consists of twelve members," Voss continued, pulling Amari from his internal discomfort. "Six with climbing-specialized Uncos or equipment, four with demolitions expertise, two with communication jamming abilities. Their approach route uses the eastern cliff face—natural terrain that’s considered impassable by facility’s defensive planners. Which means minimal guards, no prepared defenses, maximum surprise."
He traced the route on the map with one finger. "Gamma climbs two hundred meters of vertical rock face carrying demolition equipment. Reaches transmission tower’s base. Plants explosives at structural supports. Destroys tower and all communication equipment. Extracts via descent ropes while rest of facility is focused on other attacks."
"And if we encounter resistance during climb?" Amari asked, his voice steady despite nervousness at speaking before assembled army. "If they have guards we didn’t account for?"
"Then you adapt," Voss said simply. "That’s why you’re leading this team—because you’ve demonstrated ability to modify plans based on changing circumstances without panicking. Your combat record shows sixteen engagements where you encountered unexpected complications and successfully adjusted tactics to complete objectives."
He looked back at the full assembly. "All strike teams understand the same principle: plans are guidelines, not rigid requirements. When you encounter unexpected resistance or opportunity, you make tactical decisions based on available information. Trust your training. Trust your team leaders. Trust that other teams are executing their portions while you focus on yours."
Commander Thorsson stepped forward again. "Delta and Epsilon Teams have support roles. Delta provides perimeter security—prevents Order patrols from detecting our approach, intercepts any runners who try escaping to request reinforcement, maintains secure extraction routes. Epsilon Team handles casualty evacuation and medical support. They establish field hospital one kilometer south of facility, treat wounded who can’t fight but can survive with proper care."
"Zeta Team," Voss added, pointing to final marked position, "targets the vehicle depot on southern perimeter. Destroys transport trucks, armored vehicles, anything that could be used to pursue our withdrawal or quickly reinforce the facility. This is sabotage mission—disable or destroy twenty-plus vehicles in under ten minutes, extract before defenders can mount coordinated response."
He surveyed the assembled fighters once more. "Seven teams. Seven objectives. Perfect coordination required. We strike at midnight exactly—Coastal Vanguard’s water contamination begins operation. Thirty minutes later, Mountain Brotherhood detonates ammunition depot. Five minutes after that, all remaining teams initiate simultaneously. Total operation duration: forty-five minutes from first strike to final extraction. Any longer and Order reinforcements from regional headquarters will arrive."
The room buzzed with controlled energy—not celebration or excitement, but focused anticipation. These were veterans who understood what was being asked of them, who’d lost friends in The Order’s raid, who wanted revenge but recognized this was tactical operation rather than emotional catharsis.
"Questions?" Voss asked.
Hands rose throughout the hall. Voss addressed them systematically:
"What if mountain weather prevents Mountain Brotherhood from reaching their position?"
"We have backup teams positioned with alternative routes. Operation proceeds even if one strike group encounters delays."
"What about civilian casualties? Facility likely has supply workers who aren’t combatants."
"Intelligence suggests non-combat personnel will be in separate quarters on facility’s eastern side. We avoid that sector. But understand—some civilian casualties are inevitable when attacking military installation. We minimize them where possible, but mission completion takes priority."
"If Beta Team can’t eliminate command personnel, do we abort?"
"No. Destroying infrastructure achieves strategic objective even without killing leadership. Command elimination is optimal but not required."
The questions continued for twenty minutes—tactical details, backup plans, extraction contingencies. Voss answered each with precision that came from months of planning. Nothing was left to chance where chance could be eliminated through preparation.
Finally, the questions exhausted themselves. Voss looked at his fellow commanders, received nods of confirmation, then addressed the assembly one final time.
"We move out in three hours. Strike teams assemble at designated staging areas. Check your equipment. Review your objectives. Rest if you can—some of you won’t sleep again for thirty-six hours. And remember why we’re doing this."
He paused, letting silence build before delivering final point: "The Order thinks they can raid our sanctuaries without consequences. They think we’re terrorists and criminals who’ll scatter when confronted with professional military force. They think their fortifications and training make them invincible. Tonight, we teach them they’re wrong. We prove that people fighting for freedom can defeat soldiers fighting for paycheck. We demonstrate that killing our friends and destroying our homes has price they’re not prepared to pay."
His voice hardened. "We make them afraid. We make them uncertain. We make them question whether their next mission might be the one where Liberators destroy their entire facility and everyone in it. Fear is weapon—tonight, we wield it like they’ve wielded it against us for decades."
The crowd erupted—not cheering, but something deeper. Determination. Recognition of shared purpose. Acknowledgment that they were about to attempt something that would either break The Order’s confidence or get them all killed.
Voss raised his hand again. Silence returned. "Dismissed. Assemble at staging areas. And—" He smiled, expression mixing grim satisfaction with genuine pride. "—good hunting."
The assembly dispersed in controlled flow—strike teams moving toward designated preparation areas, support personnel organizing medical supplies and extraction equipment, commanders gathering for final coordination meeting.
Amari found himself surrounded by his team—twelve fighters whose lives would depend on his decisions over the next several hours. He recognized most from previous missions: Petra, the fire manipulator from his school who’d joined the Liberators six weeks ago after Order soldiers killed her father. Kael, not the draconic hunter but different Kael, with wind manipulation that would help during the climb. Maya, demolitions expert whose calm demeanor made handling explosives feel routine rather than terrifying.
"Gamma Team," Amari said, his voice carrying authority he still didn’t quite believe he possessed. "Gear check in thirty minutes. We review the climb route, confirm everyone understands their role, then we rest until movement time. Questions?"
"Just one," Maya said, her hands already moving in unconscious motion—checking pockets, confirming tools were present, the nervous habit of someone who’d survived too many missions where missing equipment meant death. "You really thirteen years old? Because you give orders like you’ve been doing this for decades."
Amari smiled despite the tension. "I’m thirteen. I’ve been doing this for eight months. And I give orders because someone has to—might as well be the person who’s supposed to fulfill prophecy about overthrowing gods."
The sarcasm landed—his team laughed, tension breaking slightly. Good. They needed to be focused but not paralyzed. Confident but not reckless.
"Thirty minutes," Amari repeated. "Then we prepare to make The Order regret ever finding Sanctuary."
Staging Area - Two Hours Before Operation
The staging areas were scattered throughout the forest surrounding Sanctuary—each strike team positioned separately to avoid creating single target if Order scouts somehow discovered their presence. Gamma Team occupied small clearing three kilometers southeast of their target, close enough for rapid approach but far enough that preparation activities wouldn’t alert facility guards.
Amari sat on fallen log, methodically checking his chain weapon for the fourth time. Each link examined individually, testing for stress fractures or weakened connections. The weighted blades at both ends were sharp enough to draw blood from gentle pressure—he’d honed them personally that afternoon, using technique Bjorn Eriksson had taught him about maintaining combat equipment.
Around him, his team performed similar rituals. Petra tested her fire manipulation—small flames dancing across her knuckles, heat carefully controlled to avoid creating visible light that might betray their position. Kael practiced breathing exercises that enhanced his wind Uncos, each breath producing subtle air currents that rustled nearby leaves. Maya organized her demolition supplies with almost religious precision, explosive compounds separated, detonators triple-checked, backup materials confirmed.
The others—whose names Amari had memorized during briefing but whose capabilities he was still learning—prepared with quiet efficiency. Two with climbing enhancement Uncos, making their hands and feet adhere to surfaces like insects. One with sound suppression ability, useful for masked approach. Three general combatants whose role was security during the climb and assault. One with communication jamming—his Uncos specifically targeted radio transmissions and magical message systems.
"Team leader," said one of the climbers—woman named Sasha, maybe mid-twenties, with scars on her hands suggesting years of climbing experience. "Question about the route."
Amari looked up from his weapon maintenance. "Go ahead."
"Intelligence says the cliff face has overhanging section at approximately sixty-meter mark. Report suggested it’s passable but challenging. You have plan for getting whole team past that obstacle while carrying demolition equipment?"
Good question. Showed she was thinking beyond just following orders. "We use Kael’s wind manipulation to provide uplift during that section—reduces effective weight, makes overhang manageable. Maya’s equipment gets passed between climbers rather than carried individually through difficult section. Slower, but safer. We have forty-minute window for the climb before we need to be in position. That’s comfortable margin if we don’t encounter complications."
"And if we do encounter complications?"
"Then we adapt," Amari said, echoing Voss’s earlier words. "Worst case: we abort the climb, signal other teams that Gamma objective is failed, and provide support for Alpha Team’s barracks assault instead. Mission success doesn’t require every team completing every objective. It requires destroying enough infrastructure to cripple the facility."
Sasha nodded, apparently satisfied. She returned to her preparation, checking the climbing harness she’d wear and the specialized gloves that would help her maintain grip on vertical rock.
Lena approached, her plant manipulation having recently manifested vines that wrapped around her forearms like living bracers. The vegetation pulsed slightly—bioluminescence that she could suppress or enhance depending on need. Right now they were dim, barely visible, not compromising their concealment.
"You nervous?" she asked quietly, settling beside him on the log.
"Terrified," Amari admitted. "I’m leading twelve people up a cliff face in darkness to blow up a communications tower while two hundred Order soldiers are below us. If I make wrong decision, people die. My decisions. My responsibility."
"But you’ll do it anyway."
"Because someone has to." He finished checking his chain, coiled it carefully, secured it to his harness. "And because Voss was right—I’ve done this before. Maybe not this exact mission, but enough similar situations that I trust myself to make decent choices under pressure."
"Plus you’re the prophecy child," Lena added with small smile. "Destined to overthrow The Order and restore freedom to the world. Probably should be able to handle climbing a cliff."
"Prophecy is just people’s way of making sense of things they don’t understand," Amari said. "I don’t have Uncos because I’m genetically unusual, not because I’m destined for greatness. I fight well because I’ve trained constantly and because I apparently have good combat instincts. No destiny involved—just work and luck."
"Maybe," Lena said. "But people believing you’re destined for greatness makes them follow you. Makes them trust your decisions even when you’re thirteen years old and leading them into combat. That’s useful, even if the prophecy is nonsense."
True. Pragmatic. Lena had developed ruthlessly practical worldview over past months of combat operations. She’d lost the hesitancy Voss had noted during her evaluation—replaced it with calm certainty about what needed to be done.
"How’s your Uncos development?" Amari asked, changing subject from uncomfortable topic of prophecy. "Last mission you could drain energy and promote minor healing. You’ve added the vine manifestation?"
"And limited plant growth manipulation," Lena confirmed, raising her arm so the vines became more visible. "I can make vegetation grow faster, direct its growth patterns, even use it for climbing assistance—the vines can extend themselves, find handholds I couldn’t reach normally. Bjorn says I’m approaching intermediate proficiency, which is apparently impressive for eight months of training."
"It is impressive," Amari agreed. "You’ve worked hard. Deserved your position on this team."
They sat in comfortable silence for several minutes, surrounded by quiet preparation sounds from the rest of Gamma Team. Somewhere in the distance, another strike team was probably having similar conversation—warriors preparing for violence, acknowledging fear, finding courage in shared purpose.
A runner arrived—young man, maybe sixteen, breathless from sprinting between staging areas. "Message from Commander Voss. All teams report ready status. Operation proceeds as planned. Movement begins in ninety minutes."
"Understood," Amari said. "Gamma Team is ready."
The runner departed toward next staging area, carrying confirmation to command.
Amari stood, addressing his team with voice that carried authority despite his age: "Ninety minutes. Rest if you can. Check equipment one final time. Review objectives. When we move, we move fast and quiet. Questions?"
No one spoke. They’d asked their questions earlier, received their answers, prepared as thoroughly as possible. Now was just waiting—the worst part of any operation, when imagination could run wild with scenarios of failure and death.
"Then rest," Amari repeated. "We’ve got work ahead."
Forty-Five Minutes Before Operation
The teams began moving toward their assault positions in carefully staggered timing. Coastal Vanguard had departed an hour earlier—their approach required navigating to the river system and positioning for water contamination. Mountain Brotherhood left thirty minutes ago, taking longer route through high-altitude terrain to reach the northern ammunition depot.
Now Sanctuary’s teams and the remaining support units moved through darkness toward the Keldrin Pass facility. They traveled in small groups, separated by hundreds of meters, using different routes to avoid creating obvious trail if Order scouts happened to patrol this far from their installation.
Gamma Team moved through forest with practiced silence. Amari led from the middle of formation rather than front—tactical decision that let experienced point scout detect threats while keeping team leader positioned to make quick decisions. Behind him, twelve fighters navigated by minimal moonlight and careful attention to the person ahead, their footsteps almost soundless on forest floor.
They reached the cliff base forty minutes before midnight—comfortable margin for the climb, assuming no complications. The rock face loomed above them, vertical stone disappearing into darkness, looking significantly more imposing in person than it had on architectural diagrams.
Sasha, the experienced climber, approached the wall, running her hands across the surface, feeling for handholds and evaluating the route. "Surface is rougher than intelligence suggested. That’s good—more texture means better grip. But it also means more noise if we’re not careful. Everyone needs to test each hold before committing weight."
"How long?" Amari asked quietly.
"Thirty-five minutes to top if we’re careful. Forty if we encounter problems. We’re within acceptable timeframe."
"Then we climb."
The ascent began with methodical precision. Sasha took point, her climbing enhancement Uncos making her hands and feet adhere to rock surface with supernatural grip. She moved upward smoothly, testing each hold, finding the optimal route, setting anchors for the ropes that would help those following her.
Amari went third in the climbing order—team leader needed to be high enough to make quick decisions but not so high he couldn’t communicate with those below. He climbed with careful attention to handholds, his chain weapon secured across his back to avoid entanglement, both hands free for the ascent.
The cliff face was cold—autumn night had dropped temperature enough that the stone felt like ice against his fingers. His breath came in controlled rhythm, each exhalation producing small cloud of steam that dissipated quickly in the darkness. Below him, the rest of Gamma Team followed in single file, maintaining spacing to avoid crowding.
At the sixty-meter mark, they reached the overhanging section Sasha had asked about earlier. The rock face actually curved outward, creating section where climbers would be hanging with their backs to open air, hands and feet the only things preventing fall to forest floor below.
"Kael," Amari said quietly. "Wind assistance."
The wind manipulator activated his Uncos—subtle upward air current that reduced climbers’ effective weight without creating obvious wind that might alert facility guards. The effect was disorienting—feeling lighter, gravity pulling less strongly, the sensation of floating even while gripping rock.
They passed the overhang without incident, each climber handing Maya’s demolition equipment to the next before navigating the difficult section themselves. Slower than ideal, but safer than risking dropped explosives or injured team members.
One hundred meters. One hundred fifty. The facility’s upper structures became visible—communications tower rising another thirty meters above the cliff edge, its transmission equipment visible as geometric shapes against star field.
At one hundred eighty meters, Amari signaled halt. They were close to top, but emerging directly onto facility grounds without reconnaissance would be suicide. He climbed level with Sasha, both of them positioned to peer over cliff edge while remaining concealed.
The facility spread before them—organized military compound, exactly as intelligence diagrams had depicted. Barracks on western side. Command bunker entrance on south. Ammunition depot to the north, built into mountainside, vulnerable to the explosive assault Mountain Brotherhood would deliver in—Amari checked his mental clock—approximately fifteen minutes.
The communications tower stood directly ahead, maybe forty meters from cliff edge. Two guards visible at its base, both looking relaxed, not expecting threat from this approach vector. Between Gamma Team’s position and the tower: open ground, minimal cover, thirty seconds of exposure if they moved quickly.
"Maya," Amari whispered. "Can you hit the tower from here with initial charges? Weaken the structure before we assault?"
The demolitions expert peered over the edge, calculating angles and distances. "Possible. But if initial charges don’t place correctly, we alert them to attack vector before we’re in position to finish the job. Safer to approach, plant properly, ensure complete destruction."
"Agreed. We wait for Mountain Brotherhood’s explosion, then advance during confusion. Sound suppression active during approach?"
He looked at the team member whose Uncos specialized in dampening noise. The man nodded. "Can suppress our movement sound within ten-meter radius. Won’t help once combat starts, but approach will be silent."
"Good. Everyone ready?"
Affirmative gestures rippled through Gamma Team. They settled into position along the cliff edge, hidden but prepared to surge forward the moment their signal came.
Amari’s chain weapon was in his hands now, weighted blades resting carefully to avoid noise. His heart hammered despite his outward calm. Thirteen years old. Leading a strike team. About to assault military facility defended by professional soldiers. About to participate in violence that would kill people and destroy infrastructure and maybe change the balance of power between Liberators and The Order.
If I make wrong decision, people die.
The thought repeated itself, unavoidable weight of command responsibility.
But he’d made his choice months ago, when he’d pledged himself to the Liberators. When he’d decided that dying in battle against The Order was preferable to accepting the world they’d created. Tonight was just extension of that choice—living out the implications of rebellion, accepting the costs, trusting that victory was possible even when odds suggested otherwise.
In the distance, barely audible: rumbling sound that might have been thunder but probably wasn’t. The sound grew louder. Became clearly not thunder.
The Mountain Brotherhood’s assault had begun.
Three seconds later, the northern sky erupted in light. The ammunition depot exploded—not single blast but sustained detonation as four thousand rounds of ammunition and three hundred artillery shells ignited simultaneously. The explosion was visible from kilometers away, fireball rising into night sky, shockwave rattling leaves on trees hundreds of meters distant.
Every guard in the facility turned toward the explosion. Including the two at the communications tower base.
"Move!" Amari commanded, his voice cutting through the shock of the massive detonation. "Sound suppression active! Fast and quiet!"
Gamma Team surged over the cliff edge and sprinted toward their objective while The Order’s defenders stared at the catastrophic destruction of their ammunition stockpile, completely unaware that seven other strike teams were about to turn their organized facility into battlefield that would leave nothing intact except bodies and ruins.
The raid had begun.