Sandari, the entrance to the underground network. Wind whipped up grit, lashing against the rusted metal pipe opening, producing a mournful wail.
Kort squatted in the shadows, his helmet visor filtering out excess light, leaving only the blurry silhouettes of his companions in thermal imaging.
Thirty of them, their heartbeats drumming to the same rhythm—tense, but with no way out.
"Last check," Kort's voice was extremely low, tapping into the internal channel. "Target: Sector B armory. Enter through entrance three, exit through seven.
Place explosive charges on load-bearing pillars, energy battery packs, and main corridor junctions.
Omen, take Red Team left flank, I'll take the right. Detonate explosives, ten-minute countdown.
Keep the commotion to a minimum, but if we're discovered..." He paused, his finger unconsciously brushing the blaster pistol at his waist. "Then make enough commotion for them to remember for a lifetime."
No one spoke, only heavy breathing and the rustle of equipment responded. That was enough.
Deeper into the pipe, it grew darker, permeated with the smell of oil, dust, and a sour, overheated metallic tang.
In the green glow of the helmet's night vision, a spiderweb of pipes stretched out. Footsteps were light, treading on years of oily grime, sticky and slick.
Kort led the way, blaster pistol in hand, safety off, but his finger resting on the trigger guard.
The Force spread out like a thin spiderweb, catching changes in airflow, temperature, and any disturbances from living beings ahead.
Luck was on their side, or perhaps the Death Guard's patrol was lazy.
The first two-man team was leaning against a ventilation fan at a junction, their visors half-raised, sharing energy bars.
Kort even heard the sticky sound of chewing.
A hand signal, and two dark figures behind him, Beskar daggers reversed, glided past like cats.
No wasted movements: cover mouth, slit throat, take down.
The actions were clean and precise. The bodies were dragged into the shadows of a nearby abandoned pump room.
The whole process, three seconds? Five seconds? Only the faint tearing sound as the dagger pierced the neck guard fiber, and the dull thud of bodies hitting the ground.
Kort stepped forward, picking up a dropped communicator from one of the fallen Death Guard, preparing to shut it off.
The fallen body's arm was twisted awkwardly, pressing down on an emergency call button on the side of the communicator.
"Static... Sector B-7... Static... Skell? Respond! Static... Respond if you hear me!" The communicator's ear-splitting static suddenly exploded in the quiet pipe! Distorted with electricity, it repeated over and over.
Damn it! Kort cursed inwardly, his hand moving swiftly, crushing the cursed communicator! Plastic and circuit boards cracked between his fingers.
But it was too late.
A piercing alarm, without warning, blared throughout the entire underground base! It wasn't a long siren, but a short, sharp, ear-splitting buzz!
The dim emergency red lights above spun wildly, dyeing the pipe a blood-red hell.
Immediately following was the booming sound of heavy alloy doors rapidly falling, and from a distance came dense and hurried footsteps, the clatter of armor colliding into a continuous roar!
"We're exposed!" Omen's voice exploded in the channel, tinged with a panicked tremor.
"Plan unchanged! Plant the explosives! Quick!" Kort roared back.
What infiltration? What stealth? To hell with all of it! Now it was a race against time!
"Red Team! Left flank! Hold them off! Everyone else! Spread out! Plant the charges at your points! Quick!"
He led his men, a dozen or so youths on the right flank, plunging deeper into the pipe network.
The alarm lights flashed like blood-red eyes, chasing them. In his Force perception, cold killing intent surged from all directions, blocking their way.
"Boss! C-sector junction! Patrol team! Four men!" A youth behind him shouted, his voice trembling.
Kort didn't look back, firing two shots over his shoulder! "Bang! Bang!" The low roar of the Vesta-35 was deafening in the narrow space.
In thermal imaging, the two red figures charging at the front instantly fell.
The other two Death Guard immediately retreated to cover, and blaster fire began to spray over like rain!
Energy bolts struck the metal walls, sending up dazzling sparks.
"Don't stop! Plant the charges!" Kort yelled, while darting and rolling like an enraged lizard, using pipe corners and abandoned equipment cabinets as cover, suppressing with bursts from his dual pistols.
Bullets whizzed past his head and sides; he could smell the burning air from the energy bolts.
A youth dove next to a thick load-bearing pillar, fumbling with explosives, frantically slapping them onto the cold metal.
Another rushed towards a pile of dark green energy battery packs stacked in a corner, pulling out a fragmentation grenade to shove inside.
"Watch your left!" Kort's Force premonition struck.
He spun around abruptly, seeing a Death Guard peering out from an overhead maintenance hatch, his wrist flamethrower already aimed at the youth next to the battery packs!
"Get down!" Kort didn't even think, throwing himself forward, knocking the youth flying!
Searing flames scorched past his back armor, the hot blast of air momentarily blacking out his vision.
He fired a shot over his shoulder, the blaster bolt accurately piercing the Death Guard's visor, leaving a charred mess.
"Boss!" The rescued youth's face was ashen.
"The charge!" Kort yanked him up, pointing at the battery packs. "Put it on! Hurry!"
The youth trembled, shoving the fragmentation grenade into the battery pack's crevices and pressing the activation button.
"Boom—!"
A massive explosion roared from the left passage! It was Omen's side!
Accompanied by the dull roar of a Saber-class tank's main cannon! The ground shook, dust rained down.
The frontal assault had begun!
This explosion seemed like a signal; the entire underground armory went completely insane.
More footsteps surged, blaster fire grew denser, and Kort's team was scattered, fighting in twos and threes.
"Countdown! Seven minutes!" Omen shrieked in the channel, the background filled with intense gunfire.
Kort leaned against a massive pressure tank, gasping for breath.
On his helmet display, the icons representing explosive points turned from red to green one by one.
Quick! Only two more points left!
The main corridor junction he was responsible for was just ahead, but Death Guard firepower had completely sealed off the intersection.
He glimpsed two squad members pinned down behind another stack of cargo containers, one with a smoking shoulder wound.
Three Death Guard were advancing, using alternating cover, pressing closer.
Can't wait!
Kort took a deep breath. The Force... Qui-Gon taught him... perceive the flow... anticipate...
He closed his eyes, if only for half a second. In his mind, the movements of the three Death Guard seemed to slow down, surrounded by a blurry aura.
The next moment, he moved!
Not dodging, but charging directly into the hail of bullets! His figure twisted strangely in the gaps between blaster bolts, like sand scattered by the wind.
At the same time, he raised both pistols, aiming not at the men, but at the ground beneath their feet and the metal supports beside them!
"Bang bang bang!"
Blaster bolts exploded! The ground shattered, supports toppled!
Two Death Guard were caught off guard, forced back by collapsing metal plates and ricochets.
The third reacted slightly faster, just raising his weapon—
Kort was already upon him! The cold muzzle of the Vesta-35 pressed directly against his helmet visor!
"Bang!"
Kort didn't even glance at the body, rushing to the junction, pulling out the last timed explosive, and slamming it onto the alloy hub supporting the massive pipe!
He pressed activate! Five seconds!
He rushed towards the nearest escape tunnel entrance without looking back.
"Withdraw! Everyone! Withdraw along the escape route! Quick!" he roared into the channel.
Explosions erupted one after another. The rear guard of Red Team threw out their last few concussion grenades, temporarily halting the pursuers.
The youths supported each other, dragging the wounded, like a disturbed nest of sand rats, fleeing desperately along the narrow pipes of Exit Seven.
Behind them were the increasingly close roars of the Death Guard and the ominous ticking of the timer.
Kort was the last to retreat into Exit Seven.
He glanced back at the hellish depths of the armory, then abruptly pressed a hidden switch on the inner side of the pipe.
Boom!
The heavy alloy blast door slammed down, kicking up a cloud of dust, temporarily sealing off the pursuers' path.
Just as the blast door fell—
BOOM!!!!!!!!!!
Not one sound, but a earth-shattering roar formed by countless superimposed explosions! From the direction of Sector B armory, an incredibly searing white light suddenly expanded, instantly engulfing the blood-red of all the alarm lights!
The pipes beneath their feet twisted and groaned violently, as if struck by a giant hammer!
The shockwave, carrying scorching air and metal fragments, surged wildly through all the passages like a tsunami!
The blast door emitted an ear-splitting metallic tearing sound, caving inward significantly! Hot air and sparks spewed from the gaps.
"Run!" Kort roared only one word, pushing the people ahead to charge forward.
He didn't need to tell them; everyone ran with all their might, the passage shaking, rubble and conduits constantly falling from above.
The roar of the explosion continued, each muffled thud making their hearts pound.
They didn't know how long they ran, but finally, they saw the exit ahead, and the Kom'rk-class fighters anxiously waiting outside for extraction.
The moment they burst out of the pipe, behind them, the ground shook violently, the earth splitting open with jagged mouths.
Thick smoke and flames erupted skyward like a volcanic eruption from the entrance they had just escaped and countless other fissures!
The entire Death Guard's Sector B armory, along with a large area above it, was completely transformed into a boiling inferno and a twisted steel graveyard.
Mission accomplished.
Kort took off his helmet, breathing in lungfuls of acrid gunpowder smoke and dust, his face covered in sweat.
He scanned his exhausted, shaken team; a few were wounded, but all had made it out alive.
His gaze fell on Sandari in the distance, where artillery fire raged, and the battle was in full swing.
Saber-class tanks spat fire from their muzzles, and Viking fighters and Kom'rk-class starfighters screamed across the sky, unleashing missiles on the Death Guard positions.
He grinned, letting out a silent laugh, revealing a mouthful of white teeth, the firelight illuminating his sweat-drenched face.
"Time to go home," he re-donned his helmet, with the clear-headedness of one who had narrowly escaped death. "Go back and sweep up the remaining scum!