Chapter 13 - The Breach at Blackwood Ridge
The first physical strike did not come at the refuge center itself, but at Blackwood Ridge—a small communication outpost fifteen miles north that handled the sanctuary's encrypted satellite internet routing.
At 3:14 a.m., David’s monitors flashed red. "The primary relay is down," David reported through the comms. "Someone just cut the fiber-optic trunk line at the ridge. They're trying to blind our early warning system."
"Vance and I are on it," Arthur’s voice came through the earpiece.
Arthur and Vance moved through the darkness of the Texas brush like twin shadows, their movements perfectly synchronized from a lifetime of shared combat. They reached the perimeter of the Blackwood Ridge station within twenty minutes, their tactical night-vision goggles rendering the world in shades of luminous green.
Near the base of the tower, three figures dressed in unmarked black tactical gear were installing a military-grade signal jammer onto the main terminal box. They didn't look like standard mercenaries; their movements were disciplined, precise, and professional.
"Black ops regulars," Vance whispered from behind a rocky outcrop, his hand resting on the grip of his silenced carbine. "The kind of guys who don't exist on any government roster."
"Take the one on the left," Arthur murmured. "Leave the leader alive. I want answers."
Before the mercenaries could finish securing the jammer, Arthur and Vance struck. Arthur closed the distance in three silent strides, grabbing the mercenary by the terminal box, twisting his arm back with a clean, brutal snap, and slamming him against the steel structure. Vance fired two non-lethal rubber rounds from his carbine, dropping the second mercenary instantly.
The third man—the team leader—swung his weapon around, but Arthur’s boot caught his wrist, sending the rifle clattering into the brush. In a single, fluid motion, Arthur pressed the man against the tower, his forearm locked against the mercenary’s throat.
"Who owns your contract?" Arthur growled, his face inches from the man's tactical mask.
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The mercenary choked out a dry, rattling laugh. "You're fighting the tide, Miller. Vanguard was just a branch on the tree. The roots run deeper than you can dig. The Chessmaster has already moved his pieces into your valley."
The man suddenly convulsed, his eyes rolling back as a faint smell of bitter almonds filled the air. A suicide capsule, embedded in a false tooth. Arthur stepped back, his jaw tightening as the man collapsed to the ground.
