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Cape Schanck
Date de publication:
2026-10-29 05:50:03POV: Malia
The roar of the ocean was deafening, a monstrous swell crashing against the jagged black rocks hundreds of feet below us. The rain came sideways, driven by violent gusts of ocean wind that threatened to rip us right off the narrow cliffside ledge. Jarrah led the advance, his massive frame cutting through the black gloom, his thermal goggles glowing faint green. Behind us, six of our elite tactical operators moved in silent, synchronized formation. We were clinging to a narrow, slippery trail cut into the face of Cape Schanck's sheer cliffs. Below us lay the boiling surf of the Bass Strait; above us, the dark wilderness masked by the raging storm. "Hold the rope!" Jarrah shouted over the thunderous boom of waves smashing into the cave mouths below. He reached back, his gloved hand locking around mine with crushing strength as my boot slipped on a patch of wet moss. He yanked me forcefully toward him, pulling my back flush against his chest armor. For a second, despite the freezing rain blinding us, I felt the intense, steady pulse of his heart against my shoulder blades. "Got you," he growled in my earpiece. "Watch the foothold on the left." "I'm good!" I called back, re-establishing my balance. We moved as a single entity. Every step was calculated, every glance back and forth a silent conversation forged over months of shared blood and survival. Where he stepped, I followed; where I covered, he advanced. There was no hesitation, no doubt, only a flawless, deadly harmony between two souls bound by love and war. Suddenly, a blinding white light cut through the black storm from a hidden embrasure higher up the cliff face. A high-caliber heavy machine gun erupted into a roaring chatter, tearing through the rock face inches above our heads and spraying sharp stone fragments into the air. "Suppressive fire! Down!" Jarrah bellowed, instantly throwing his body over mine to pin me safely against the rock recess. Bullets whined off the granite wall, sparks flying wildly into the night. Alastair’s remaining elite mercenaries were entrenched above, guarding the heavy steel entrance to the bunker. "Calaby! Smoke and flash charges!" I barked into the com-link. "Deploying now!" came the response. Three flashbang canisters arced through the torrential storm, bouncing into the bunker's firing slit. A series of muted, concussive THOOMS shook the rock wall, blinding the gunners inside. "Now!" Jarrah shouted. We burst from cover simultaneously. Jarrah unclipped a tactical cable, firing a magnetic grapple upward into the concrete ledge above the embrasure. Without a second thought, he kicked off the cliff face, swinging through the blinding rain across the abyss. I hooked my own line to his belt ring, ascending right behind him in perfect rhythm. As Jarrah cleared the ledge, kicking the dazed mercenary gunner backward into the dark interior, I swung up beside him, bringing my sidearm up and dropping a second armed guard who was raising his rifle toward Jarrah's unarmored neck. POP. POP. The guard collapsed. Jarrah turned, looking at me through his rain-streaked visor, giving a quick, firm nod of approval. We unhooked our lines and ducked inside the upper entry alcove, sheltered briefly from the howling wind outside. Before us stood a massive, five-ton reinforced blast door sealed tight, glowing with red indicator lights. "This is the front door to Alastair's escape hole," Jarrah said, his voice cold as steel as he unslung the heavy thermite breaching charges from his back. "He’s inside, Malia. Right beneath us." I checked my weapon magazine, slapping it back into place with a sharp metallic clack, my eyes fixed on the sealed steel barrier. "Then let's blow it wide open."
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