“Target is the main warehouse,” Hayes whispered into her comms. “The buyer is arriving via helicopter in ten minutes. We secure the stolen tech, apprehend the buyer, and neutralize any resistance. Non-lethal if possible, but do not hesitate if engaged.”
“Copy that, General,” Thorne replied, racking the bolt of his rifle.
The distant thumping of rotor blades broke the silence of the night. A sleek, unmarked civilian helicopter descended into the mill’s courtyard. A man in a tailored suit stepped out, flanked by armed guards. He carried a heavy aluminum briefcase.
“Move,” Hayes ordered.
The assault was a masterclass in tactical precision. The Delta team moved like shadows through the tree line. Snipers took out the perimeter floodlights in perfect synchronization, plunging the courtyard into sudden darkness. Before the mercenaries could react to the blown bulbs, smoke grenades hissed, filling the air with thick, obscuring cover.
“Breach!” Thorne shouted.
Explosives blew the heavy steel doors of the warehouse inward with a concussive blast. The operators stormed in, lasers cutting through the thick smoke. Gunfire erupted—the sharp, deafening cracks of M4s answering the heavy, chaotic chugging of the mercenaries’ AK-47s.
Hayes didn’t stay on the ridge. She moved with her team, a ghost in the chaos. A mercenary lunged at her from behind a stack of wooden pallets, swinging a tactical knife. Hayes sidestepped with fluid grace, parrying his arm, delivering a devastating strike to his throat, and sweeping his legs out from under him before he could even gasp for air. She zip-tied his hands in three seconds flat, moving seamlessly to the next target.
As the firefight raged on the ground floor, Hayes pushed toward the elevated foreman’s office overlooking the warehouse. The buyer and the mercenary leader were frantically trying to escape with the encrypted drive containing the drone schematics.
Hayes kicked the office door open, her sidearm raised. “End of the line,” she said coldly.
The mercenary leader raised his weapon, but Hayes was faster. Two rounds center mass dropped him instantly. The buyer, a corrupt defense contractor she vaguely recognized from Pentagon briefings, dropped the briefcase and raised his hands, trembling violently.
“Please! I have money! I have offshore accounts!” the buyer pleaded, backing into the glass window.