of the building; the others had eliminated the two grounds patrolmen, leaving the bodies stacked in a neat pile beside a date palm. That left only the pair on the second floor walkway and the two on the rooftop.
Together the group approached the outdoor staircase to the second floor. Once more Ethan split from the others, and silently padded up the steps. He crouched beside the corner where the stairs joined the walkway and then waited.
"Clear," Doug said over the encrypted comm.
Ethan peered past the edge: in the dim moonlight he spotted the two guards moving away from him along the walkway. He unsheathed his second blade so that he gripped a Voron in either hand. Then he left his cover and started after the men. In that moment he favored speed over stealth; he used the militants' footfalls to conceal the noise of his own steps.
When he was two meters away, one of the guards unfortunately decided to look back.
Ethan was forced to close the distance early. He plunged the first knife into the carotid sinus of the man's neck, dropping him instantly. The second guard spun as Ethan launched his next blow. The act saved the man's life because Ethan missed the mark: the blade sunk into the meaty mass of the enemy's opposite shoulder. The guard screamed, managing to shove Ethan away.
Ethan withdrew his Glock but in the dim light he stumbled over the body of the first man and started to fall.
The militant, still shouting, swung his assault rifle to bear.
As Ethan toppled, he released two nine-millimeter shots at the biggest target he could see in the dark: the militant's chest. The pistol's report sounded all too loud in his ears.
Ethan slammed into the walkway. Even with the adrenaline pumping through his veins he felt the pain in his back from the fall. That would hurt later.
The militant toppled beside him.
He heard a commotion on the rooftop and knew the two guards there were rushing forward.
So much for the advantage of stealth.
The mortally wounded militant was shaking violently in the dim light. Ethan dealt a final headshot.
Gunfire came from the rooftop. He forced himself to get up and then carefully leaned past the edge of the walkway, aiming upward with the Glock; assault rifle bursts sounded from the courtyard below before he sighted anyone, and two bodies dropped from the rooftop, landing with a thud on the pavement three stories down.
Looking over the railing, he saw Doug and William rushing toward the entrance, three resistance members in tow.
Ethan tried a door. It opened. He entered, crouching. He stood on a long balcony that circled the main floor of the dye house. He took a moment to orient himself to the directions of the compass, then peered through his NV scope. In the green illumination he saw several large, open-top metal cages below, holding what appeared to be large bundles of yarn. Those cages took up the majority of the space. Beyond them, he spotted the various machines involved in the dying process, including spindles, separators, and vats.
Several windows allowed rays of moonlight into the interior. Thanks to that light, the night vision picked up two green, humanlike blobs perched behind one of the machines.
"Two potential tangos on the northeast," Ethan said quietly. He wanted to check his phone to see where Doug and William were at, but was worried the light from the display would reveal him to the enemy. "Confirm your positions."
The tangos opened fire the moment the words left Ethan's mouth, and he ducked behind the balustrade, thinking the bullets were meant for him. But when no impacts or ricochets struck the metal rail, he realized the tangos targeted something else.
"We're on the southwest," Doug's voice came over the line. "Got two more tangos, westside."
Ethan aimed between the balustrade at the original two targets. He lined up his reticule and let off a burst, sliding his weapon over the second target as he did so. He ducked immediately, knowing that the muzzle flash
Together the group approached the outdoor staircase to the second floor. Once more Ethan split from the others, and silently padded up the steps. He crouched beside the corner where the stairs joined the walkway and then waited.
"Clear," Doug said over the encrypted comm.
Ethan peered past the edge: in the dim moonlight he spotted the two guards moving away from him along the walkway. He unsheathed his second blade so that he gripped a Voron in either hand. Then he left his cover and started after the men. In that moment he favored speed over stealth; he used the militants' footfalls to conceal the noise of his own steps.
When he was two meters away, one of the guards unfortunately decided to look back.
Ethan was forced to close the distance early. He plunged the first knife into the carotid sinus of the man's neck, dropping him instantly. The second guard spun as Ethan launched his next blow. The act saved the man's life because Ethan missed the mark: the blade sunk into the meaty mass of the enemy's opposite shoulder. The guard screamed, managing to shove Ethan away.
Ethan withdrew his Glock but in the dim light he stumbled over the body of the first man and started to fall.
The militant, still shouting, swung his assault rifle to bear.
As Ethan toppled, he released two nine-millimeter shots at the biggest target he could see in the dark: the militant's chest. The pistol's report sounded all too loud in his ears.
Ethan slammed into the walkway. Even with the adrenaline pumping through his veins he felt the pain in his back from the fall. That would hurt later.
The militant toppled beside him.
He heard a commotion on the rooftop and knew the two guards there were rushing forward.
So much for the advantage of stealth.
The mortally wounded militant was shaking violently in the dim light. Ethan dealt a final headshot.
Gunfire came from the rooftop. He forced himself to get up and then carefully leaned past the edge of the walkway, aiming upward with the Glock; assault rifle bursts sounded from the courtyard below before he sighted anyone, and two bodies dropped from the rooftop, landing with a thud on the pavement three stories down.
Looking over the railing, he saw Doug and William rushing toward the entrance, three resistance members in tow.
Ethan tried a door. It opened. He entered, crouching. He stood on a long balcony that circled the main floor of the dye house. He took a moment to orient himself to the directions of the compass, then peered through his NV scope. In the green illumination he saw several large, open-top metal cages below, holding what appeared to be large bundles of yarn. Those cages took up the majority of the space. Beyond them, he spotted the various machines involved in the dying process, including spindles, separators, and vats.
Several windows allowed rays of moonlight into the interior. Thanks to that light, the night vision picked up two green, humanlike blobs perched behind one of the machines.
"Two potential tangos on the northeast," Ethan said quietly. He wanted to check his phone to see where Doug and William were at, but was worried the light from the display would reveal him to the enemy. "Confirm your positions."
The tangos opened fire the moment the words left Ethan's mouth, and he ducked behind the balustrade, thinking the bullets were meant for him. But when no impacts or ricochets struck the metal rail, he realized the tangos targeted something else.
"We're on the southwest," Doug's voice came over the line. "Got two more tangos, westside."
Ethan aimed between the balustrade at the original two targets. He lined up his reticule and let off a burst, sliding his weapon over the second target as he did so. He ducked immediately, knowing that the muzzle flash
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