Chapter 6 - Fire in the Vault
6
The deafening concussive blast of the ceiling charge blew out the overhead ventilation ducts, raining chunks of concrete and twisted rebar down onto the polished floor of the vehicle bay. Smoke billowed down from the upper levels like a toxic waterfall, instantly triggering the bay’s automated halon fire suppression systems. Hissing white gas flooded the ceiling space, mixing with the acrid smell of high explosives and burning cordite.
"Contact! Twelve o'clock high!" Vance roared over the screaming sirens, dropping to one knee beside the armored tactical truck and opening fire with his submachine gun up toward the breached ceiling hatch.
From the smoke-choked gap ten feet above, dark tactical figures began rappelling down on reinforced nylon ropes with lethal efficiency. They moved with the terrifying synchronization of elite special forces operators, their suppressed carbines tracking targets before their boots even hit the ground.
Raymond didn't hesitate. He dived behind the reinforced steel engine block of the Rolls-Royce, drawing his Walther PPK and squeezing off three rapid shots. The lead Vanguard operative jerked mid-air, his rappel line snapping as he slammed violently into the concrete floor, motionless.
"Elena! Get in the truck—now!" Raymond shouted over the chaos of gunfire.
Elena didn't hesitate. She hauled herself into the driver’s seat of the Ford F-550 tactical truck, slamming the armored door shut and locking the heavy deadbolts from the inside. Through the bulletproof glass, Raymond saw her secure little Leo into the reinforced booster seat in the rear cabin, her hands moving with lightning speed as she engaged the vehicle’s biometric ignition system.
The heavy diesel engine roared to life with a deep, guttural rumble that vibrated through the concrete floor.
"Boss! They're flooding the lower service tunnels from the east wing! We're being flanked!" Vance yelled, his weapon clicking dry as he rapidly ejected the empty magazine and slapped a fresh one home.
Raymond popped up from behind the Rolls-Royce, firing methodically, dropping two more Vanguard operatives advancing from the stairwell corridor. But the sheer volume of incoming fire was overwhelming. More black-clad operators poured through the breached ceiling hatch, establishing a suppressive crossfire that pinned Raymond and Vance behind the vehicles.
"Vance! Cover the truck's exit ramp!" Raymond commanded, sprinting across open ground under a hail of buzzing rifle rounds, sliding behind a heavy steel workbench.
He reached out and smashed his fist down on the master manual override button for the subterranean vehicle bay's massive blast doors.
GRIND-CLANG!
The hydraulic heavy doors—designed to withstand a tactical nuclear shockwave—began to slide inward from both walls, grinding against the concrete frame with an ear-splitting screech.
"They're trying to block the exit!" Vance shouted, firing a short burst that forced a Vanguard squad leader back behind a concrete pillar.
May you like
Inside the tactical truck, Elena gripped the steering wheel, her eyes locked on the slowly closing blast doors. Without a second thought, she slammed the gearshift into low-range four-wheel drive, stomped her foot down hard on the accelerator, and launched the six-ton armored truck directly forward.
The heavy steel bumpers of the F-550 smashed through a secondary security gate with a deafening crash, hurtling toward the narrowing gap of the main blast doors just as they slammed shut with finality—trapping Raymond and Vance on the inside with a dozen armed mercenaries.
