Chapter 9 - The Extraction Bloodbath
Within twelve minutes, the low-frequency thrum of twin rotor blades rattled the treetops.
A dark gray MH-60 Black Hawk sliced through the blinding rain, its searchlights slicing through the mist like white spears. Sitting in the open door with an M4 pressed into his shoulder was Commander Daniel Hayes, accompanied by a four-man armed security detail from the Quick Reaction Force.
The chopper hovered ten feet above the muddy logging lane, the rotor wash whipping the branches into a frenzy and flattening the saw palmettos.
Ropes dropped. The QRF team slid down in seconds, instantly taking up security perimeters around the trucks and the bound mercenaries. Hayes dropped to the ground last, his boots sinking into the black muck as he jogged directly toward Avery.
“Report, Petty Officer!” Hayes shouted over the roaring turbine.
“Four hostiles neutralized, sir,” Avery shouted back, handing over the seized satellite radio and the encrypted drive she had retrieved from the contractor's vest. “Rogue private intelligence cell attempting to intercept Atlantic Fleet crypto-keys from the regional relay substation. Two hostiles deceased, two secured with zip-ties for interrogation. Sergeant Briggs sustained a superficial gunshot wound to the left forearm.”
Hayes looked from the bodies in the mud to the trembling Briggs, who was being helped onto a stretcher by two field medics. Briggs wouldn't lift his head; his face remained buried in his hands, trembling uncontrollably beneath the thermal shock blanket.
Then, Hayes’s eyes caught the dark red stain spreading across Avery’s right shoulder.
A piece of high-velocity shrapnel from the opening volley had torn through her utility blouse, slicing deep into the meat of her deltoid. Blood was dripping steadily from the tips of her fingers, mixing with the rain on her rifle barrel.
“You’re wounded, Mitchell,” Hayes said, stepping forward, his jaw tight.
“Shrapnel, sir. Non-critical. Mission accomplished.”
“Get on the bird,” Hayes ordered, his voice thick with an unshakeable, profound respect. “Both of you. Base command has already locked down all access gates. The Pentagon wants every single detail of this exercise debriefed by dawn.”
As the medics hauled Briggs up into the cabin of the helicopter, several of the junior enlisted operators from the QRF team caught sight of Avery stepping aboard under her own power, refusing the stretcher, her uniform caked in mud, blood, and victory.
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The whispers began instantly through the comms headsets. The story was already moving faster than the storm: Briggs broke. The girl took the cell down alone.
Avery sat against the cold metal bulkhead of the Black Hawk, leaning her head back against the fuselage. Across the cabin, Briggs sat huddled, clutching his sling, avoiding her gaze like a man looking at an executioner. He knew the live fire was over, but the administrative bloodbath had just begun.
