Chapter 6
Chapter 6
"He murdered our brothers for a three-hundred-million-dollar defense maintenance contract," I whispered through cold, venomous fury. The memory of Miller bleeding out against my vest became a sharp, clear mandate for absolute justice.
"Uploading data packets to the Department of Justice, the Inspector General, and thirty major press outlets," Vance announced. A progress bar appeared on the display, steadily filling from left to right as satellite packets transmitted.
Suddenly, the floor beneath us shuddered violently as a metallic thud echoed against the aircraft’s lower exterior cargo door. A red warning light flashed on the avionics bulkhead panel, indicating a pressure differential in the cargo bay.
"They deployed a mechanical cutting torch against the exterior baggage access hatch," I muttered, recognizing the structural vibration. The mercenaries had not abandoned their objective; they had executed a desperate high-risk manual breach attempt.
"How can they survive outside the aircraft at this altitude?" Vance asked, his eyes widening in utter disbelief. "The windchill and lack of oxygen would freeze human lungs within sixty seconds of direct exposure."
"Pressurized high-altitude diving suits," I replied, remembering black-budget equipment tested during my final SEAL deployment. "They knew this plane would slow down and descend once the Air Force fighters initiated intercept protocols."
I drew the captured subcompact weapon, checking the remaining rounds visible through the clear polymer magazine casing. Seven rounds of nine-millimeter ammunition remained; seven rounds to stop a breach that would depressurize the airliner.
"Finish the upload, Vance," I ordered, moving toward the small hatchway connecting the avionics bay to the cargo hold. "No matter what happens in the baggage compartment, do not interrupt that transmission for any reason."
I unlatched the cargo door and squeezed through, entering the dark, cavernous space filled with passenger luggage containers. The temperature had plunged dramatically, cold enough that my breath plumed into thick white clouds in the darkness.
At the far end of the compartment, a blue-white plasma flame was slicing through the reinforced titanium door hinges. The smell of burning rubber seals and scorched paint filled the compartment, whipped into eddies by rushing air.
With a deafening shriek of tearing metal, the exterior access panel gave way, sucked into the rushing slipstream. A massive rush of freezing wind tore through the opening, sending loose luggage containers violently skidding across the decking.
A figure clad in a matte-black high-altitude flight suit hauled himself through the opening against the violent hurricane. He secured a magnetic tether to the cargo floor rail, his dark visor reflecting the flashing interior warning beacons.
In his hands, he carried a compact carbine equipped with an oversized pneumatic compensator for firing inside aircraft. He raised the weapon, sweeping the cargo bay until his tactical light struck my tactical cap and tattoos.
I dove behind a heavy aluminum luggage container just as a three-round burst shredded the metal inches above my ear. The supersonic rounds punched clean holes through the aircraft’s outer skin, creating tiny whistling vortices of rushing air.
The sudden pressure change caused my ears to pop painfully, the cabin altitude warning alarms blaring from above. I had to end this engagement immediately before structural depressurization forced Captain Rodriguez into an uncontrolled high-speed dive.
I reached down and grabbed a heavy nylon strap attached to an unrestrained passenger suitcase resting near my knee. Peering around the aluminum container, I timed the operative's advance as his heavy boots crunched across the deck.
The mercenary advanced methodically, keeping his weapon tucked tight against his shoulder while checking every blind spot. He was five feet away when I slung the fifty-pound suitcase directly toward his knees with all my strength.
The heavy bag struck his shins, knocking his legs out from under him and disrupting his shooting platform instantly. His rifle discharged into the cargo floor as he stumbled backward toward the yawning, open hatchway behind him.
I closed the distance instantly, ignoring the burning shrapnel agony in my left leg as I drove forward. I slammed my forearm into his chestplate, pinning him against the edge of the open hull where the wind roared.
The mercenary drew a combat blade with his left hand, slashing wildly toward my throat with terrifying, desperate speed. I caught his wrist with both hands, using his momentum to spin his arm into an inescapable joint lock.
"This is for Miller," I yelled into his dark faceplate, pushing him backward into the freezing howling slipstream. The extreme wind caught his broad shoulders, ripping him away from the aircraft as his magnetic tether snapped instantly.
He vanished into the gray cloud layer twenty thousand feet above the Earth, swallowed by the sheer speed of flight. I reached out, grabbed the emergency cargo door manual seal, and hauled it shut against the screaming wind.
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With a heavy mechanical clunk, the pressure seals engaged, cutting off the deafening roar of the outside atmosphere. The sudden silence inside the cargo bay was broken only by my heavy, ragged breathing and the engine hum.
—END OF Chapter 6,
