"It wouldn't change anything," I replied calmly. "I made my peace with death a long time ago, Major. Back in that hospital bed. This... this is just overtime."
Suddenly, the heavy iron door of the bunker shuddered. A massive, deafening boom rocked the room, showering us with concrete dust. The electronic lock sparked and sizzled.
Someone was breaching the door.
Vance spun around, raising his pistol, taking aim at the center of the metal frame.
"Stand down, Major!" a voice boomed from the other side, amplified by a megaphone. "This is General Hackett! The base is secure! Your men have surrendered! Drop your weapon and step away from the prisoner!"
Vance's hands shook violently. "Never!" he screamed back. "I'm not going into a cell!"
Another explosion, this one much larger, blew the heavy iron door entirely off its hinges. It flew into the room, crashing against the wall with a deafening screech of metal.
Smoke poured into the bunker, followed instantly by four heavily armored Special Forces operators. Green laser sights cut through the dust, all of them converging on Major Vance's chest.
"Drop it!" the lead operator shouted, his voice muffled by a tactical helmet.
Vance stood there for a long moment, his chest heaving. He looked at the operators. He looked at the doorway, where General Hackett was now stepping through the smoke, dressed in full combat fatigues.
Finally, Vance looked at me.
The terrifying, absolute certainty in his eyes had been replaced by complete and utter defeat. He slowly lowered his pistol, dropping it to the floor. He raised his hands, lacing his fingers behind his head.
The operators moved in instantly, kicking the weapon away, sweeping Vance's legs out from under him, and slamming him to the floor. Zip-ties ratcheted tight around his wrists.
General Hackett walked over to me, ignoring the struggling, cursing Major on the floor. The General pulled a combat knife from his vest and quickly sliced through the thick leather restraints holding me to the chair.
"Status, Specialist?" Hackett asked, looking down at my exposed, glowing jaw.
I stood up slowly, rolling my stiff shoulders. I reached up and gently touched the torn synthetic skin on my face. It stung fiercely now that the adrenaline was fading, but the blue light of the Aegis relay was pulsing a steady, rhythmic green—a sign of a successful mission.
"Data transfer complete, sir," I said, offering a crisp salute. "The rat is caught."
They led us out of the bunker and up to the surface.
The base was completely locked down. Black Hawk helicopters sat idling on the tarmac, their rotors chopping the thick night air. Floodlights illuminated the compound, casting long, stark shadows across the sand.
Dozens of soldiers—Vance's men—were sitting on the ground with their hands on their heads, guarded by heavily armed operators. Some looked angry, but most just looked confused and betrayed. Word was already spreading about why the raid had happened. They were realizing that the commander they had followed blindly had been selling their lives for profit.
They dragged Vance past his own men. He kept his head down, refusing to make eye contact with anyone. He was loaded into the back of a heavily armored transport, destined for a dark cell and a military tribunal that would undoubtedly end in a life sentence at Leavenworth.