"They're coming," Clay spoke in a low, gravelly monotone, breaking the heavy silence that hung over the room. He walked to the window, sliding back a small section of the heavy camouflage curtain to scan the rugged dirt road winding toward the compound.
In the distance, the sharp, piercing beams of high-intensity headlights suddenly slashed through the midnight shroud. Three heavy-duty tactical vehicles finished in matte black roared into the clearing, their tires crushing dry brush and snapping branches with an ominous crunch. Heavily armed mercenaries clad in black tactical gear poured from the vehicles, rapidly establishing a tactical perimeter around the entire timber mill under Salazar's direct orders.
"They outnumber us, and their equipment is overwhelming," Rachel whispered, her fingers tightening around the edge of the workbench. "Can we really hold out here, Clay?"
Clay turned around, fixing her with a steady, resolute gaze and a faint, reassuring smirk. "They have numbers, and they have modern hardware. But this place is my home turf. I know every wooden beam, every hidden angle of this compound, long before men like Salazar even knew how to hold a rifle."
Outside, a loudspeaker mounted on the lead vehicle crackled to life, shattering the stillness of the pine forest:
— Clay! You can't hide forever! Hand over the custom chopper and the data drive, and we'll spare you, the waitress, and her kid!
Clay didn't bother answering. He walked over to Rachel, placing a fully loaded semi-automatic handgun on the table in front of her with the safety engaged. "Keep this close. If anyone breaches the outer perimeter and makes it inside, protect Lily. Leave the rest to me."
CHAPTER 12: COUNTERATTACK IN THE MIDNIGHT HOUR
The first gunshot cracked through the night like a sudden lightning strike, signaling the formal commencement of the assault. A hail of automatic gunfire tore through the rotting wooden walls, sending jagged splinters flying across the interior of the workshop. Salazar’s elite enforcers pressed forward, deploying heavy sledgehammers and crowbars to smash against the reinforced iron front doors.
Inside, Clay maintained an icy, tactical composure. He didn't waste ammunition firing blindly; instead, he waited for the precise moment. When the heavy steel door finally buckled inward under a brutal coordinated strike, the lead mercenary burst through the threshold with his rifle raised. Instantly, from the shadows of the elevated loft, Clay squeezed the trigger. A sharp, thunderous report echoed through the room, dropping the intruder before he could even register the muzzle flash.
The firefight escalated into a furious, chaotic melee. Smoke grenades and flashbangs were lobbed through the shattered windows, filling the interior with blinding white smoke that severely limited visibility.
Yet, bolstered by Rachel's steady nerves—she had quickly fashioned damp cloths to shield Lily from the smoke before stepping up to help pass ammunition magazines to Clay—they formed an exceptionally synchronized defensive unit. Scanning through a narrow gap in the barricade, Rachel's sharp eyes caught a mercenary attempting to slip past the side window to flank them.