Ch.33 — Frontline Assault (1)
Lance Michaels sprinted through the sewer tunnels, boots splashing through foul water as the ground trembled with distant detonations.
Behind him, the outpost was dying.
His chest radio crackled to life. "Agent Lance—report! Mission status!" Captain Vaughn's voice snapped through the static.
Lance thumbed the transmit. "Mission mostly complete. Data pull hit seventy-five percent before I had to break contact. Facility should be rubble within minutes."
As he spoke, voices echoed from a side tunnel—shouts layered over the slap of boots and the hard sweep of flashlight beams.
Lance slid to the wall and peeked around the corner.
A squad of soldiers advanced through the sewer line in a tight wedge, rifles up, lights cutting through steam and stink.
They're already down here.
He pulled back and transmitted again, breath controlled only by will. "Enemy's pushing into the tunnels. I need support to exit clean."
Vaughn didn't hesitate. "Reinforcements are inbound. Which exit are you taking?"
Lance flicked his wrist-map open while still moving. Three viable routes:
West—back toward the approach route (bad; the soldiers were already there).
East—direct line to Yuonin City (too exposed).
Northeast—forest edge near Yuonin City (cover, concealment, best chance).
"Northeast exit," Lance said. "Stage the team in the forest."
"Copy."
Lance cut the channel and ran.
Footsteps grew louder behind him. The tunnel brightened as more lights joined the hunt.
A soldier rounded a bend and caught a glimpse of movement—just a shoulder, just a shadow turning right.
"Hostile spotted! Right tunnel—move!"
They surged after him.
Lance hit a corner and slammed into cover, blaster up. He dropped his pack, tore out a compact charge, and slapped it against the wall at ankle height—right where the tunnel narrowed.
He didn't need to wipe them out.
He only needed to break their pursuit.
Blaster bolts screamed past the corner, scorching the stone behind him. Lance forced his hands steady and armed the device.
Set. Done.
He leaned out and spotted a soldier moving wide for a flank.
Lance fired first.
The soldier tried to drop prone—too late. A shot caught his shoulder and spun him onto his back, open and exposed.
Two more bolts punched into his chest.
The man went still.
"Bastard!" someone shouted.
The rest of the squad pulled in tight around their fallen, returning fire down the corridor. Lance didn't stay to trade.
He palmed a grenade, cooked it for a heartbeat, and lobbed it toward the cluster of lights.
"Grenade!" a voice screamed.
Soldiers scattered, boots splashing, bodies colliding in the cramped space.
Lance snatched his pack and ran.
The grenade detonated behind him—heat and pressure rolling down the tunnel like a shove. Something wet slapped the walls. The air filled with smoke and grit.
The pursuing team regrouped in the haze, coughing, lights wobbling.
"He's gone!" one soldier barked.
A second soldier brought up a sewer map on a wrist display. "Closest exit from our position is northeast—forest line near Yuonin City. If he's smart, he's heading there."
The squad leader keyed his radio. "Delta Squad to Command. Target is moving northeast—request cordon at the forest exit."
Command replied instantly. "Roger, Delta. Continue pursuit."
Delta Squad sprinted again—boots pounding, lights stabbing forward.
They rounded the corner—
"WATCH OUT!"
A beeping device clung to the wall.
Beep. Beep. Beep—
The blast hit like a hammer.
Delta Squad dove back as the tunnel buckled, stone and filth collapsing in a roaring rush. Dirty water and debris slammed down, burying the path in a choking wall of sludge and broken concrete.
When the shaking stopped, the squad stood drenched—stinking, furious, but alive.
The tunnel behind them was sealed.
Lance heard the detonation from far ahead and allowed himself one tight smile without slowing.
Good. Stay buried.
Above ground, at the northeast exit, the forest was already occupied.
Twenty rebel soldiers lay in concealed positions around the manhole—rifles braced, scopes trained down a narrow approach path that led from the military perimeter into the trees.
A spotter high in the branches scanned the distance through binoculars.
His breath caught.
A column of soldiers was moving fast—too organized, too many.
He tapped his radio twice. "Large military group inbound—two minutes!"
Rebels shifted instantly, tightening their arcs. One of them keyed a private channel. "Agent—move your ass. Military's almost on us."
Lance's voice came back strained but steady. "Two tunnels out. Hold."
The rebel sniper team pre-ranged the corridor of trees and waited until the soldiers hit the kill zone—clustered, predictable, heads up as they searched for the exit.
"Enemy in sight," a sniper murmured. "Permission?"
A beat.
"Granted."
Three shots cracked through the forest.
Three soldiers dropped—hard, sudden, dead before their bodies understood why.
"Snipers!" a military voice roared. "Heads down!"
The column scattered into cover—rocks, tree trunks, shallow depressions in the dirt.
A military officer slammed into cover behind a boulder and keyed his comm. "Alpha Platoon to Command—we've got rebel snipers covering the northeast sewer exit. They're protecting their infiltrator."
He turned to the nearby squad. "Beta! Eyes up—find those shooters!"
A Beta soldier risked a glance through binoculars. "One target behind a tree—eleven o'clock—"
A shot snapped past and kissed the rock inches from his face.
He jerked back, heart hammering. "Damn—almost died."
The officer's jaw clenched.
The forest had become a battlefield.
And Lance wasn't even out yet.