Chapter 4 - The First Line of Defense
The second wave of automated alarms shrieked through the subterranean corridors, blending with the dull, rhythmic thud of muffled explosions echoing down from the upper administrative levels of the base.
"Stay right here," Vance ordered sharply, drawing a suppressed tactical sidearm from his shoulder holster with fluid, lethal efficiency.
"Like hell I will," Nora snapped back, her civilian nurse persona evaporating into thin air, replaced instantly by the cold, calculated reflexes of a trained combat operative.
Before Vance could argue, Nora reached down, unlatched the heavy security bolt on the exterior of kennel fourteen, and swung the wire gate wide open.
"What the hell are you doing?!" Creger shouted, stumbling down the stairs from the armory with a heavy tactical vest half-zipped over his shirt. "That animal is quarantined! He'll rip your throat out!"
Ranger didn't attack.
He didn't bolt for the open door.
Instead, the Doberman trotted out of the enclosure, trotted directly to Nora's side, and sat down hard against her left leg, his ears pinned forward, his muscles trembling with coiled, explosive energy.
"He stays with me," Nora said coldly, pulling a concealed trauma-shears blade from her scrub pocket with a quick flick of her wrist.
Vance stared at her for a fraction of a second, taking in her posture, the steady way she held the blade, and the absolute lack of panic in her green eyes.
"All right," Vance conceded tersely. "Move. Now."
The trio sprinted down the narrow corridor toward the reinforced elevator bay that led up to the surgical and administrative wards.
As they rounded the corner into the primary junction, heavy automatic gunfire erupted from the stairwell ahead.
Sparks flew in a blinding shower of white and orange as rounds slammed into the concrete pillars, gouging deep chunks out of the reinforced masonry.
"Contact! Twelve o'clock!" Vance roared, diving behind a heavy steel utility cart and returning fire with three precise, suppressed shots that echoed like thunder in the enclosed space.
Two masked operatives in unmarked black tactical gear tumbled backward down the concrete stairs, their weapons clattering across the floor.
"They're not base security," Creger gasped, pressing himself flat against the wall, clutching a standard-issue pistol with white knuckles. "Those are private contractors! Black-ops gear!"
"They're here for the dog," Nora said, her voice frighteningly calm as she tracked the movement of shadows in the stairwell above. "And anyone who gets in their way."
Ranger let out a deep, chest-rumbling growl, his teeth bared as he sensed the hostile intent radiating from the smoke-filled stairwell.
"Vance!" Nora called out over the ringing in her ears. "They're flanking the secondary service corridor to our left. If they hit the junction, they'll trap us in the crossfire."
"I know," Vance gritted out, reloading his sidearm with lightning speed. "Creger, cover the stairs! Nora, take the dog and secure the service exit behind the supply bay!"
"I'm not leaving you to cover a suicide bottleneck," Nora retorted, stepping forward with the heavy tactical blade gripped firmly in her hand.
"That's an order, Nurse Callahan!" Vance barked over the sound of incoming fire.
"My name isn't Callahan, Lieutenant!" Nora shouted back, a fierce, dangerous smile touching her lips as she dropped into a combat crouch beside the Doberman. "And I don't take orders from desk-bound liaisons!"
Before Vance could reply, three more black-clad operatives burst through the smoke-filled service door to their left, raising their carbines with lethal intent.
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Ranger didn't wait for a verbal command.
With a terrifying, guttural explosion of muscle and speed, the Doberman launched himself across the corridor like a living missile, slamming directly into the chest of the lead operative and sending him crashing hard against the steel door frame.
