Chapter 4 - The Sky Falls
The drone’s rotors hummed like an angry hornet. Nathan’s mind raced through the physics of the threat: a shaped thermite charge dropped down the chimney flue would ignite the entire central structure within thirty seconds, trapping Arthur, Clara, and Toby in the root cellar below.
Nathan dropped the radio, raised his carbine, and aligned the iron sights with the hovering rotor mount. In high-wind mountain conditions, hitting a twelve-inch moving target fifty feet up required absolute stillness.
He exhaled slowly, squeezed the trigger, and fired three rapid shots.
Two rounds ricocheted off the reinforced composite shell, but the third pierced the drone’s optical gimbal. The drone lurched sideways, its gyro-stabilizer spinning wildly. The thermite pod detached prematurely, tumbling onto the gravel driveway thirty feet from the porch and detonating in a blinding, white-hot pillar of magnesium fire that incinerated the crushed river stones.
The silver-haired commander cursed over the radio. "Light him up! Saturate the woodline!"
Automatic fire ripped through the trees around Nathan, barking bark from the trunks and clipping pine boughs above his head. Nathan dove behind the granite retaining wall near the orchard, bullets pinging off the stone.
He had one magazine left for his primary weapon. The remaining five mercenaries were closing their perimeter into a coordinated pincer, bounding between tree trunks, their tactical lights flashing.
Suddenly, a loud crack echoed from the cabin’s upper attic dormer.
One of the advancing mercenaries threw his hands up, spun around, and collapsed into the dirt. A second later, another deafening shot echoed across the valley. A second operative dropped behind a boulder, clutching a shattered shoulder.
Nathan glanced up in astonishment.
Poking through the louvers of the attic window was the long, blued steel barrel of a vintage Winchester .30-06 hunting rifle. Behind the glass stood Arthur Blackwood. The old man was steadying the heavy rifle on the windowsill, his weathered face hard as flint, cycling the bolt with smooth, veteran precision.
Arthur hadn't stayed in the cellar; he had climbed the rear ladder to the attic to provide sniper overwatch for his son.
"Move, Nathan!" Arthur’s shout echoed faintly over the gunfire. "Take the commander!"
The distraction broke the enemy's concentration. The two surviving ground operatives scrambled for cover behind the vehicles, confused by the crossfire from above.
Nathan surged from behind the stone wall, charging straight toward the lead ATV where the silver-haired commander stood reloading his sidearm.
The commander saw Nathan coming and drew a tactical combat machete from his hip, lunging with blinding speed. Nathan deflected the blade with the receiver of his empty carbine, driving the heavy steel stock into the man's sternum.
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The commander staggered back against the truck tire, spitting blood, but reached into his tactical vest, pulling out a remote detonator.
"You're too late, Blackwood," the commander gasped with a bloody grin. "The second team hit your wife's extraction route."
