Chapter 47 - The Rust and the Rain
The Toulon naval drydocks were a graveyard of rust and rotting steel. Massive, decommissioned submarines and stripped frigates sat in concrete basins, battered by the relentless coastal wind. It was a desolate, echoing labyrinth of metal—a perfect killing floor.
Maxwell and Martha arrived hours early. They rigged the central basin with proximity charges, set up intersecting fields of fire, and established a sniper hide for Martha atop the rusted conning tower of an old attack submarine.
As night fell, a thick, rolling fog moved in from the sea, blanketing the drydocks in an eerie, suffocating gray.
At midnight, the perimeter alarms tripped.
Three heavily armored transport trucks rolled silently through the main gates, their headlights cut. A dozen men in tactical gear disembarked, sweeping the fog with laser sights. At the center of the formation walked Silas Vane, and beside him, leaning on a cane, was Victor Vance.
"He actually came," Martha whispered through the comms, peering through her thermal scope.
"He's arrogant," Maxwell replied, crouching behind a barricade of steel barrels near the basin floor. "He thinks he has us outgunned."
Victor stopped in the center of the concrete basin, his voice echoing unnaturally in the damp air. "Maxwell! I know you're here! Come out and give me the ledger, and I promise to make it quick!"
Maxwell didn't answer. He pressed a detonator.
The proximity charges they had rigged to the floodgates exploded in a deafening roar. Millions of gallons of freezing seawater surged into the drydock, washing away the mercenaries' cover and knocking several of Vane's men off their feet.
Simultaneously, Martha opened fire. Her first shot took out the mercenary carrying the heavy squad machine gun. Her second shattered the knee of Vane's lieutenant.
Chaos erupted in the basin. The mercenaries fired blindly into the fog, their disciplined formation shattering under the sudden, brutal ambush.
Maxwell moved through the mist like an apex predator, using the roar of the rushing water to mask his footsteps. He engaged Vane's men in brutal close-quarters combat, his suppressed rifle dropping three operatives before they even realized they were flanked.
"Push forward!" Vane roared, drawing a heavy assault rifle and firing at the conning tower where Martha was perched. Sparks showered over her as heavy caliber rounds chewed into the rusted steel.
Victor, realizing the trap, began retreating toward the catwalks leading into the bowels of the decommissioned submarine, seeking shelter from the sniper fire.
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"Victor is moving into the sub," Maxwell yelled over the comms. "I'm going after him. Keep Vane pinned!"
"Copy that," Martha said, chambering a new round. "Make it count, Max."
