Chapter 14 — WRATH OF THE ADMIRAL
The Blackhawk ripped through the Appalachian storm, flying at a suicidal velocity.
Inside the cabin, Thomas Hale was a man possessed. His eyes were locked on the GPS tracking monitor, watching the blinking red dot of the Alpha Bunker.
"We lost communications with the bunker ten minutes ago," Hayes reported, his face pale in the green glow of the instrument panel. "Thermal imaging shows a massive heat bloom at the primary entrance. They breached the doors."
Frank racked the bolt of a heavy light machine gun mounted to the door frame. "How much farther?"
"Three miles," the pilot shouted back. "But the winds are hitting sixty knots! I can't put us down near the entrance without clipping the trees!"
"You put this bird down right on top of them, or I will throw you out and fly it myself!" Thomas roared, the absolute ferocity in his voice silencing the entire cabin.
He had played by the rules his entire career. He had been measured, calculated, and disciplined. But they had crossed a line that could not be uncrossed. They had gone after his blood.
The helicopter crested the final ridge, the heavily forested mountain valley sprawling out below them.
"I have visual!" Frank shouted over the wind.
Through the night vision goggles, they could see four armored SUVs parked outside the smoking wreckage of the Alpha Bunker’s blast doors. Six mercenaries were setting up a defensive perimeter, fully expecting the Navy to arrive eventually.
They just didn't expect them to arrive this fast.
"Light them up!" Thomas ordered.
The Blackhawk banked hard, angling its side door toward the ground.
Frank opened fire. The heavy machine gun roared, sending a devastating barrage of high-caliber tracer rounds into the mercenary vehicles. The SUVs erupted into fireballs, tearing through the metal and the men seeking cover behind them.
The SEAL team didn't wait for the helicopter to touch down. From fifteen feet in the air, they leapt into the mud, rolling and immediately engaging the surviving hostiles.
Thomas hit the ground, his M4 raised. A mercenary rounded the burning wreckage, raising his weapon. Thomas didn't even break his stride. He fired twice, dropping the man instantly, and marched directly into the smoke-filled bunker entrance.
"Rachel!" Thomas's voice boomed like thunder through the ruined corridors.
He found Jenkins first. The young corporal was slumped against the command console, bleeding heavily from his shoulder and leg, but he was alive. He had a dead mercenary at his feet.
"Admiral," Jenkins coughed, trying to salute. "Sub-level three... emergency shaft."
Thomas clapped the boy on his good shoulder. "Medic! Get a tourniquet on him!"
Thomas and Frank sprinted down the stairs, their flashlights cutting through the settling dust. They reached the water filtration room, finding the shattered grate and the dead mercenary at the bottom of the shaft.
Thomas looked up the dark, narrow tunnel.
"Rachel! Sarah!" he shouted, his voice echoing up the pipe.
No answer. Only the sound of rain falling through the open hatch above.
Thomas climbed. He didn't feel the burning in his muscles or the heavy weight of his tactical gear. He hauled himself up the slick concrete, emerging from the hatch into the dark, freezing forest.
He swept the area with his flashlight. The woods were thick, the terrain treacherous.
Then, he heard it.
A sharp, agonized scream echoing through the trees.
Thomas bolted toward the sound, crashing through the brush like a battering ram. He burst into a small clearing, his weapon raised, ready to kill anything that stood in his way.
But there were no mercenaries.
Under the sheltering canopy of an ancient oak tree, Sarah had laid out an emergency thermal blanket. Rachel was lying on her back, her knees pulled up, screaming in absolute agony. Her water had broken, mixing with the mud and the rain.
Lucy was sitting nearby, her hands over her ears, tears streaming down her dirty face.
"Dad!" Rachel cried out as Thomas dropped to his knees beside her.
"I'm here, sweetheart. I'm right here," Thomas threw his rifle aside, tearing off his Kevlar vest to wrap his warm jacket over her shivering shoulders.
"The baby... the climb... it's coming, Dad. It's coming right now!" Rachel gasped, her back arching as another massive contraction hit her.
Sarah looked at Thomas, her expression dire. "She's crowning, Admiral. We can't move her to the chopper. We have to deliver right here in the mud."
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Thomas Hale, the man who had commanded fleets, directed wars, and crushed international crime syndicates, took his daughter's hand in both of his. He looked into her terrified eyes.
"You are a Hale," Thomas said firmly, his voice cutting through her panic like a beacon. "You survived a monster. You climbed a mountain. You can do this, Rachel. I am not letting you go."
