The wind howled as Nathan descended through the darkened sky, the hum of his parachute blending into the night. He adjusted his night-vision goggles, the world below lighting up in a hazy green. Silvija drifted nearby, her movements precise, a testament to her years of experience. Nathan glanced her way to ensure she was in position, then refocused his attention downward.
The radar facility loomed below—a squat, heavily fortified structure perched precariously on the edge of a jagged cliff, its satellite dish rotating slowly against the backdrop of the ocean.
His gaze zeroed in on the guard stationed on the rooftop, leaning casually against the railing, a cigarette glowing faintly in the dark. Nathan's lips thinned into a frown. Careless, but not entirely. A solitary guard on the roof suggested others close by, out of sight.
He turned back to Silvija and made a quick series of gestures: pointing to the guard, then dragging his thumb across his throat. Silvija nodded, her silver hair catching faint moonlight as she maneuvered her parachute closer. Nathan adjusted his course, aiming to drop silently over the unsuspecting man.
As he neared the rooftop, he drew his knife, gripping it tightly. The plan was simple—cut his chute, land on the guard, and silence him before he could react. But the wind suddenly shifted, jostling him off-course. His jaw tightened as he adjusted midair, managing to free himself from the parachute just in time, landing with a muffled thud a few feet behind the guard.
The sound wasn't loud, but it was enough. The guard spun with startling speed, his assault rifle coming up in one fluid motion. The barrel gleamed faintly as it locked on Nathan, but the man didn't get a chance to fire.
A throwing knife whizzed through the air, burying itself deep into his throat.
The guard staggered, choking on blood, his hands clawing desperately at his neck. Silvija landed with a soft thump moments later, her movements efficient and unflinching. She kicked the rifle away from the dying man and crouched beside him, her expression cold as she ensured he posed no further threat.
Nathan knelt beside the guard's lifeless body, his movements methodical and devoid of hesitation as he began rummaging through the man's pockets. His expression remained neutral, though his mind worked quickly.
There was a clear distinction in his mind between someone desperate—a city thug trying to scrape by—and a professional assassin. The former might stumble into violence without fully understanding the stakes, but the latter picked up a weapon every day, fully aware of the risks. He didn't relish the necessity of killing, but he wouldn't lose any sleep over it either.
"Well?" Silvija's voice broke the silence, calm but expectant.
Nathan didn't reply immediately, pulling a walkie-talkie from the guard's jacket. As he turned it over in his hand, static crackled to life, followed by a voice: "Number 5, report. What's your status?"
Nathan's brows furrowed. A small, unwelcome spike of tension hit him, but before he could anticipate a worst-case scenario, another voice chimed in over the channel: "This is Number 5. All clear."
He exhaled quietly, shaking his head. "Looks like their communication system is tight. They're checking in with each other, and it's only a matter of time before someone actually calls this one and gets silence instead." He stood, gesturing down at the motionless body.
Silvija, crouched nearby, stayed composed. "So a Haakon Fjord?" she said, referencing an old mission when the two had fought side-by-side as soldiers. A similar situation, a similar solution.
Nathan's lips twitched, just barely. "I don't see any better alternative." He then went on to survey the roof and take a look at the facility below, making sure he wasn't noticed.
From inside his coat, he pulled a small sticky C4 charge and walked toward the rooftop entrance. He studied the heavy metal door carefully, noting the way its hinges were positioned. "Opens outward," he said, a faint glimmer of satisfaction in his tone. "It's our lucky day."
Silvija crossed her arms, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "If that's your measure of luck, we need to have a serious talk after this."
Nathan ignored the quip and began working with meticulous precision. He attached the C4 to the doorframe, its adhesive sticking firmly to the surface. From the charge, he pulled a thin but sturdy wire, anchoring it securely to the opposite side of the doorframe. A tripwire now stretched across the entrance, invisible in the dim light. The moment the door opened, the bomb would detonate.
Nathan then went on to install two more explosive devices, spreading them across the roof, enough to take down the massive satelite dish and spready chaos across the facility.
"Hooks?" Nathan asked, glancing back at Silvija as he finished.
"Is that a rhetorical question?" she shot back, already pulling a pair of climbing ropes with grappling hooks from her duffle bag. She tossed one to him with practiced ease.
"Good," Nathan said, testing the weight of the hook before securing it to the rooftop's edge. "We'll hang on the cliffside where they're least likely to spot us. Once the fireworks start, we make our entrance."
Silvija's smile returned, faint but genuine. "Just like old times, right?"
Nathan secured his harness, glancing at her briefly before stepping onto the ledge. "You mean the times when things went sideways, and we made it out by the skin of our teeth?"
"Exactly," she said, following his lead and tossing her hook over the edge. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."
They descended silently into the darkness, the roar of the ocean below masking their movements. Behind them, the rooftop door stood innocently, a trap lying in wait for anyone unlucky enough to open it.
...
Nathan and Silvija clung to the cliffside, their climbing ropes taut as they hung suspended outside two windows, separated by a few meters. The faint glow of light spilled out from the windows, painting fragmented patterns on the jagged rock face beneath them. The ocean roared below, its relentless rhythm masking their hushed conversation.
Silvija, her voice low but firm, broke the silence. "Taking out the radar and communications won't be enough," she said, her tone edged with urgency. "The defenses have to go, or my men won't make it past the shoreline."
Nathan glanced over at her, his night vision goggles perched on his forehead now that they were close to the facility's interior light. "Agreed," he said. "Stealth's no longer an option. We're going to have to split up once we're out of here—one of us handles the defenses, the other creates enough of a distraction to keep the heat off."
He paused, eyes narrowing as a plan started to take shape. "I spotted a jeep down in the parking lot. It's got a mounted machine gun."
Silvija's lips curled into a thoughtful smile. "So, we grab the jeep, raise hell, and make as much noise as possible. Then we split up." Her tone turned wry as she added, "The real question is, who gets to jump out of a moving car, and who gets to sit behind the wheel playing decoy?"
Nathan gave her a deadpan stare. "You want to draw straws?"
Silvija let out a soft chuckle, the sound almost drowned out by the waves below. "No need. I'll let you decide."
Nathan grunted, his brow furrowing as he weighed their options. "Well, only one of us is an Olympic-level gymnast. If I jump out of a speeding jeep, I'll probably break half the bones in my body."
Silvija tilted her head, acknowledging the point with a faint nod. "Fair enough," she said, the hint of a smirk still playing on her lips.
Before she could elaborate, the guard's walkie-talkie, tucked into Nathan's jacket, crackled to life. A voice, sharp and professional, cut through the static. "Number 9, report. Status update."
Nathan froze, his hand instinctively going to the device. There was no response.
The voice repeated, more impatient this time. "Number 9, do you copy? Status update."
The seconds stretched out, heavy with tension. Then, the voice shifted, now barking orders. "Numbers 6, 7, and 8, proceed to the roof and check on Number 9. Move now."
Nathan grimaced, his gaze darting to Silvija. She met his eyes, her expression steady but serious. "Time's up. Get ready to move," she said, her voice calm but resolute.
Nathan drew a steadying breath, closing his eyes as he began to count down silently in his mind. Three… two… one.
The night erupted into chaos. A sharp, concussive explosion roared from the rooftop, followed by a second and then a third. The groaning of strained metal echoed through the air as the satellite dish began to collapse, its frame buckling under the force. Sparks and debris rained down like a fiery storm.
"Go. Now," Nathan barked, his eyes snapping open. With a practiced motion, he pushed off the cliff wall, letting the rope slide just enough so his boots connected squarely with the glass window ahead. The pane shattered on impact, shards scattering like a cascade of jagged diamonds.
Nathan swung into the room, already in motion. His hands moved with precision, drawing two compact Uzi submachine guns from his coat in one fluid motion. Landing in a low crouch, both firearms raised, he scanned his surroundings—and froze momentarily at the unexpected scene before him.
The room was dimly lit, its furniture arranged in disarray. Four men, disheveled and half-dressed, stared back at him in wide-eyed panic. One of them was hopping on one leg, still trying to pull his pants on. A woman, wrapped hastily in a sheet, was scrambling toward a pile of clothes thrown carelessly in the corner.
Nathan's gaze shifted to the sofa, where a cluster of firearms rested within arm's reach of the men. His instincts flared to life as one of them made a desperate lunge for the weapons.
That was all he needed to see.
Nathan pulled the triggers, the Uzis roaring to life with an unmistakable staccato rhythm. Bullets tore through the air, shredding upholstery and punching into flesh with devastating precision. The men barely had time to cry out before they crumpled to the ground, their blood pooling rapidly on the floor.
Nathan turned toward the woman, his sharp gaze locking onto her trembling form as she clutched the sheet tighter around her. Her wide, terrified eyes met his, and she stammered out a plea, her voice trembling.
"Please... I'm being held here against my will."
Her face was pale, her entire body trembling with fear—or so it seemed. Nathan's expression remained cold, his voice precise and cutting through the charged air like a scalpel.
"Get dressed and hide. I won't hurt you."
The woman nodded anxiously, her lips quivering as she whispered, "Thank you..."
Nathan gave her a curt nod before turning his back to her and heading toward the door. His steps were deliberate, his focus already shifting to the mission ahead.
But behind him, the air changed. The woman's wide, terrified eyes hardened, a sharp glint of calculated intent replacing her earlier terror. In one swift motion, she lunged for the weapons on the couch, her hands finding a pistol with practiced ease. She flicked off the safety with precision, her grip steady as she aimed at Nathan's exposed back.
She pulled the trigger.
Or at least, she tried to.
What greeted her instead wasn't an oblivious target but the cold barrel of Nathan's Uzi already leveled at her. He didn't hesitate. The rapid-fire bursts of his weapon tore through the room, and the woman's body jerked violently before crumpling to the floor in a lifeless heap.
The Uzi clicked empty. Nathan discarded it with a flick of his wrist, the weapon clattering onto the blood-soaked floor. Without missing a beat, he grabbed an MP5 from the couch, his movements smooth and unhurried, as though this sequence of events had been anticipated.
In truth, it had.
Nathan cast a brief, detached glance at the woman's body. He had known from the start that she was one of them. These weren't ordinary thugs; they were professional assassins and mercenaries, their skills honed by years of lethal practice. The idea that they'd kidnapped a woman and kept her captive for their amusement didn't fit.
The clues had been there—the fifth set of weapons on the couch when there were only four men, her quick reflexes, and her seamless shift from helpless victim to calculated predator. Still, Nathan hadn't been willing to shoot her outright without confirmation.
But he had been ready.
He let out a quiet breath, his grip tightening on the MP5 as he turned back toward the door. The mission was still underway, and he wasn't about to let a single misstep derail their progress.
"Amateurs," he muttered under his breath, moving forward without a second glance at the carnage left behind.
Nathan stepped into the hallway, his movements precise and silent, his senses honed and alert. The corridor stretched ahead, dimly lit, with shadows pooling in the corners. He scanned the area carefully, his sharp eyes darting left and right, seeking any sign of movement.
It was empty.
He turned to the left, his boots making barely a whisper against the floor as he advanced. He knew Silvija's entry point would have placed her in a nearby room, and sure enough, he spotted a door slightly ajar down the hallway.
As he approached, the sound of heavy thuds and sharp curses filtered through the crack. Nathan's body tensed, his grip firm on the MP5. He reached the door, poised to kick it open and provide backup when the decision was made for him.
The door burst outward with explosive force, and a man was flung through it, his body colliding with the opposite wall with a sickening crunch. He slumped against the wall, dazed but still breathing.
Silvija followed in a blur of silver and fury. She moved like a predator, closing the distance to the fallen man with fluid precision. Her bloodied knife glinted in the dim light as she drove it into his chest without hesitation.
The man gasped, his eyes widening in pain and shock, but Silvija wasn't done. She reached to her belt, retrieving another combat knife. Her movements were surgical, almost graceful, as she delivered two swift strikes, puncturing both lungs.
The man made a desperate, wet choking sound before sliding down the wall, leaving a smear of blood in his wake. Silvija stepped back, her chest rising and falling with controlled breaths, her gaze cold and unflinching.
Nathan, standing a few paces away, regarded her with his usual calm, his voice level as he asked, "Are you alright?"
She turned her head, nodding once, her composure as steady as his.
"Good." Nathan's tone was as matter-of-fact as if they were discussing the weather. He adjusted the grip on his weapon, gesturing down the hallway. "Let's take the stairs. Kill anything that moves."
Silvija wiped her blade on the fallen man's shirt with practiced efficiency before sliding it back into its sheath. "That's the plan," she said, her voice steady, carrying a faint edge of grim resolve.
The two of them moved as one, their steps purposeful and silent as they headed for the stairwell, the bloodied corridor behind them now a silent testament to their ruthless precision.
...
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