Chapter 12 - THE VIPER’S NEST
Z
The rain had turned into a freezing sleet by the time I reached the foothills of the Garnet Range. The dirt roads had turned into rivers of thick, dark mud that swallowed the tires of my blacked-out Chevy Tahoe—a vehicle stripped of all civilian registration and equipped with infrared headlamps.
I killed the engine two miles out from the coordinates, switching entirely to passive thermal optics.
Slipping through the freezing woods, the night vision goggles painted the world in shades of luminous green and silver. The trees loomed like jagged teeth around me, but my focus was locked on the thermal signatures rising from the valley floor below.
The abandoned mine wasn't abandoned at all.
It was a fully functional forward operating base. Three heavy tactical command vehicles were parked beneath camouflage netting. Portable generator units hummed softly, powering a satellite array mounted on the old timber headframe of the mine shaft. Around the perimeter, six heavily armed contractors walked disciplined patrol routes—moving with the distinct, practiced synergy of active-duty mercenaries.
This wasn't a local cleanup crew. This was a private military strike element.
I crouched behind a boulder, zooming in with my thermal optic. Inside the glass-walled portable command trailer at the center of the camp, a tall woman in a tailored black tactical coat stood over a digital map table, issuing orders to two squad leaders.
The woman from the phone call.
I brought up my laser rangefinder: 340 meters. A clean shot for a sniper, but taking her out now wouldn't stop the strike team she had undoubtedly positioned near the Helena highway as a contingency. I needed her primary server access and the comms log to shut down the entire network.
I slung my carbine, pulled two flashbangs and a pair of suppressed sidearms from my tactical harness, and began my descent down the rocky ridge.
Moving through enemy-controlled territory requires a rhythm. You move when the wind blows through the trees to mask your footfalls; you freeze when the patrol sweeps their lights; you strike when the target is isolated.
I caught the first perimeter guard as he paused beneath a rusted ore car to light a cigarette. I stepped out from the shadows behind him, wrapped my arm around his neck, and drove my tactical knife cleanly between his shoulder blades, severing the brain stem. He went limp without making a sound.
I dragged his body behind the ore car, stripped his encrypted comms unit, and snapped it into my ear.
The radio crackled instantly: "Sierra-1, report status."
I mimicked the guard's raspy voice, speaking low into the mic: "Sierra-1, perimeter clear. Minor visibility issues with the sleet."
"Copy. Keep your eyes open. Executive wants the area secure before the transport arrives."
I kept moving, staying within the blind spots of the thermal cameras mounted on the command trailer. Reaching the back of the generator unit, I pulled a small electronic jammer from my pouch and attached it directly to the primary power distributor.
Counting down from three, I hit the remote trigger.
SPARK!
A blinding blue arc flashed as the generator shorted out, plunging the entire camp into absolute darkness.
May you like
Shouts echoed through the valley instantly: "Power failure! Go to night vision! Secure the executive!"
Before the mercenaries could adjust their optics, I threw a flashbang straight through the open side window of the command trailer and pulled my night-vision goggles down over my eyes.
