Chapter 29 - The Breach at Sycamore Lane
The first concussion grenade hit the front yard with a blinding flash of white light and a deafening shockwave that blew out the remaining glass in the front windows. Shards of antique glass rained across the hardwood floor as the heavy oak front door shuddered under a massive, synchronized kinetic breach.
"They're using a pneumatic battering ram," General Thomas muttered, pressing his back against the hallway wall just beside the shattered doorway. He motioned for me to take the opposite flank. "Hold your fire until the threshold is clear. Let them step into the kill zone."
I sucked in a slow, steady breath, steadying my breathing just as I had on the sniper ranges at Fort Bragg. My heart rate dropped into the tactical red zone—calm, focused, and utterly devoid of fear. I wasn't the helpless girl who had stood frozen while her stepsister kicked her in the ribs years ago. I was a United States Army Sergeant standing on my own ground, defending the legacy of a father who had sacrificed everything in the shadows.
*SLAM.*
The door hinges screamed in protest as the heavy oak panels gave way, splintering inward in a shower of wood chips and iron screws.
Two masked figures in matte-black tactical gear, wearing night-vision goggles and carrying suppressed short-barreled rifles, poured through the shattered threshold. They moved with terrifying efficiency, sweeping their weapons left and right.
"Now," I whispered.
Two suppressed shots cracked in unison within the confined hallway. The lead operative took a precision round directly to the ceramic plate of his tactical vest, spinning him violently off balance and sending him crashing hard into the wall. The second operative immediately pivoted toward my position, his rifle muzzle flashing in the dark.
I ducked low beneath the arc of his return fire, sliding across the polished floorboards and sweeping my boot hard into his ankle. He went down hard, his rifle clattering across the floor. Before he could recover, General Thomas stepped forward and brought the butt of his pistol down squarely on the helmet rim, dropping him into unconsciousness.
"Clear!" the general barked, stepping over the fallen operative and peering out into the moonlit yard. "Hannah, look at the tree line."
May you like
I scrambled to my feet, moving cautiously to the shattered window frame. Emerging from the dense fog at the edge of the lawn were not two, but four more operatives, advancing in a textbook bounding overwatch formation. And right behind them, cutting through the darkness with its headlights off, was a heavy armored personnel carrier bearing no military insignia.
"They brought heavy equipment," I said, my teeth clenched. "They aren't trying to break in quietly anymore. They're going to level the house."
