Chapter 147 - Blood Against Steel
The mercenaries froze.
"Turrets!" someone screamed, but it was already too late.
The automated defense cannons erupted in a synchronized, devastating roar. High-caliber rounds chewed through the mercenary ranks with ruthless mechanical precision. Two contractors were cut down instantly, their body armor shredded. The rotor blades of the second transport helicopter were struck, shattering into supersonic shrapnel that ripped through its fuselage, igniting the fuel tank in a massive, blinding orange fireball.
The blast wave threw me flat against the patio. Heat scorched my face, melting the ice on my collar instantly.
The surviving mercenaries broke ranks, scrambling toward Vance's helicopter in a desperate attempt to flee. Vance, his face blackened by soot and twisted in agony, kicked Clara onto the metal floor of the chopper's cargo bay and lunged for the pilot's cabin.
"Lift off!" Vance screamed over the intercom. "Pull pitch now! Get us out of here!"
I didn't hesitate. I sprinted across the burning, cratered lawn, leaping over the smoking wreckage of the destroyed helicopter. My combat boots found purchase on the slippery flagstones as I sprinted directly toward the ascending transport.
Arthur was screaming behind me, clutching his shattered leg in the burning snow, but I didn't look back. The man had sold my honor, my wealth, and my sacrifice for a piece of paper, and fate had finally handed him the bill.
The lead helicopter was already six feet off the ground, snow whipping violently around its skids as the pilot pulled the collective.
With a final, desperate surge of adrenaline, I launched myself off the edge of the shattered infinity pool coping. My fingers caught the cold steel tube of the helicopter’s right landing skid.
The sudden weight tilted the aircraft violently to the right.
"He's on the skid!" the door gunner yelled, raising a submachine gun toward me.
Hanging by my left hand over a thirty-foot drop onto jagged granite boulders, I unholstered my sidearm with my right and fired through the open bay door. Three rounds struck the gunner squarely in the chest plate, knocking him backward into the cargo hold.
I hauled myself up with explosive strength, hooking my combat boot over the skid, and threw myself inside the cabin just as the helicopter banked hard over the freezing waters of Lake Tahoe.
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Inside, Clara was curled into a fetal position against the troop seats, screaming hysterically. Across the narrow cabin, Vance was waiting for me, a combat knife drawn in his good hand, his eyes burning with the madness of a cornered beast.
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