Chapter 12 - The Race Against the Clock
The heavy security shutters slammed down behind Vance, Reynolds, and Miller with a thunderous metallic crash, cutting off their primary retreat route back into the maintenance tunnels. Across the cavernous armory, the red numbers on Thorne’s transmission console continued their relentless downward march: 02:45... 02:44...
"You just locked yourself in with us, Thorne!" Reynolds shouted, stepping forward with his rifle raised, though holding his fire as Vance gestured for restraint.
Thorne smiled calmly, leaning back against the console with his hands resting casually in his pockets. "I didn't lock myself in, Sergeant. I locked you out of the network. Once this upload completes, every tactical frequency, base layout, and troop movement plan in the Pacific will be broadcast to the highest bidder on the dark net. By morning, my buyers will have complete operational dominance, and I'll be halfway across the polar ice cap on a private transport."
Vance’s mind raced through the tactical options with icy precision. She didn't look at the countdown timer; she looked at the physical wiring harness running from the console up into the reinforced ceiling conduits.
"Miller," Vance said quietly, keeping her eyes locked on Thorne.
"Ma'am?" the young private whispered back, keeping his rifle steady.
"Look at the main power conduit feeding that terminal. It's not running off the base grid anymore. He’s using an isolated field generator behind those ammunition crates."
Miller’s eyes darted across the floor, tracking the thick rubberized cable as it disappeared behind a towering stack of wooden supply boxes. "I see it, ma'am. If I can get back there and sever the fuel line to the generator, the console goes dark before the transmission hits fifty percent."
"Do it," Vance commanded softly.
Without hesitation, Miller dropped low, utilizing the heavy stacks of crates as cover as he scrambled stealthily toward the rear of the armory. Thorne noticed the movement out of the corner of his eye, his composure cracking just a fraction as his head snapped toward the supply stacks.
"Guard!" Thorne yelled sharply into the open space.
From the upper catwalks ringing the perimeter of the cavern, two armed men in unmarked tactical gear raised their rifles, aiming directly down toward Miller’s position. Reynolds reacted instantly, bringing his carbine up and squeezing the trigger in a rapid three-round burst. The suppressed shots cracked loudly in the enclosed space, pinging harmlessly off the steel railing near the snipers and forcing them to duck behind the catwalk barrier.
"Covering fire!" Reynolds roared, unleashing another controlled burst to keep the snipers pinned.
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Thorne lunged toward the console, his fingers slamming frantically against the upload confirmation key to speed up the transmission sequence. The timer flashed: 01:15... 01:14...
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