Chapter 144: The Last Piece
Three days passed without incident.
For most of Atlas Base, that would have sounded like good news.
For Marcus, it was frustrating.
The drones continued their endless circles above the Forest of No Return. The Predator remained assigned to Black Fang while the Reaper alternated between the capital and the expanding list of settlements scattered beneath the canopy. Every day produced more information. More routes. More patrol patterns. More routines. Yet the one thing Marcus needed most remained stubbornly out of reach.
Certainty.
The quarry detail had become increasingly regular.
Every two to three days, shortly after sunrise, groups of prisoners would leave the eastern pens under armed escort and march northeast toward the stone quarry hidden among the hills. They would spend nearly six hours extracting stone before returning shortly before sunset.
The route never changed.
The terrain never changed.
The guard composition changed slightly.
Sometimes six guards.
Sometimes eight.
Occasionally wolves accompanied them.
Occasionally they didn’t.
That unpredictability bothered Marcus more than anything else.
Inside the operations center, the latest footage played once more.
The quarry appeared on the screen.
A rough excavation site surrounded by steep stone walls and scattered boulders. Wooden ramps had been built along the northern edge while several partially carved blocks waited near the loading area for transport back toward the settlement.
Twenty-two prisoners worked inside.
Seven guards watched them.
No wolves.
Marcus stared at the image.
The room remained quiet.
Finally Tomas spoke.
"That’s the third time this week."
Marcus nodded.
"The pattern’s becoming reliable."
Elaina looked up from her notes.
"The nearest patrol remains two kilometers south."
"Response time?"
"Twelve to fifteen minutes minimum."
Rolf folded his arms.
"Assuming they know immediately."
Good point.
Very good point.
The quarry itself had no direct line of sight to the settlement.
If communications were interrupted...
If nobody escaped...
The response delay might be considerably longer.
Marcus hated relying on assumptions.
Unfortunately, intelligence work often involved assumptions.
The challenge lay in making sure they were educated assumptions rather than optimistic ones.
The drone operator switched screens.
The terrain model appeared.
Multiple routes stretched away from the quarry.
The stream bed.
The forest trail.
The eastern ridge.
The extraction options had been analyzed so many times that Marcus could practically recite them from memory.
The stream remained the favorite.
Dense vegetation lined both banks, providing concealment while naturally masking movement from aerial observation by the Dominion.
It also offered several locations suitable for temporary holding areas while helicopters moved into position.
Not perfect.
Nothing was.
But workable.
Marcus looked around the room.
"Any new concerns?"
One of the squad leaders raised a hand.
"The wolves."
Marcus nodded.
Understandable.
The wolves had become the biggest unknown in the entire operation.
Modern infantry understood human enemies.
Human reactions.
Human behavior.
The giant wolves were another matter entirely.
Nobody knew how quickly they tracked.
Nobody knew how far their scent capabilities extended.
Nobody even knew whether suppressors would reduce their reaction time or simply make them harder to locate after firing began.
The medic spoke next.
"Malnutrition."
Everyone looked toward him.
"If the prisoners have been there for months, some won’t be physically capable of rapid movement."
Another good point.
The doctor continued.
"We should assume stretchers will be necessary."
Marcus nodded slowly.
"How many?"
"At least six prepared in advance."
He looked toward the terrain map.
"Potentially more."
That complicated things.
Stretchers meant manpower.
Manpower meant fewer rifles securing the perimeter.
The rescue operation was becoming increasingly complicated with every discussion.
Marcus wasn’t surprised.
Hostage rescue always looked easier on paper.
Reality tended to disagree.
The meeting continued for another hour before eventually ending.
No final decision had been reached.
Again.
Outside, Atlas Base carried on with its usual rhythm.
Infantry squads trained.
Vehicles moved between workshops.
Maintenance crews serviced helicopters.
The world continued moving.
Yet beneath the surface, everyone could feel it.
Something was coming.
The rescue operation had become inevitable.
Nobody said it aloud.
Nobody needed to.
Marcus found Tomas near the training grounds later that afternoon.
The former adventurer watched a squad practicing casualty evacuation procedures across rough terrain.
The soldiers carried weighted dummies through mud, over obstacles, and through simulated enemy fire zones.
Not glamorous training.
Necessary training.
Tomas noticed Marcus approaching.
"You still haven’t decided."
Marcus stood beside him.
"No."
Tomas watched the soldiers for several moments.
Eventually he spoke.
"You’re worried about what happens afterward."
Marcus looked toward him.
"Of course I am."
The answer came instantly.
Because he wasn’t worried about the rescue itself.
Not really.
Atlas could rescue twenty prisoners.
Maybe thirty.
The company possessed the capability.
No.
The real concern lay beyond extraction.
The aftermath.
The consequences.
Tomas seemed to understand immediately.
"The Dominion responds."
"Probably."
"They strengthen security."
"Definitely."
The former adventurer folded his arms.
"And then?"
Marcus looked toward the western horizon.
The forest sat beyond distant hills.
Hidden.
Watching.
Learning.
"Then we find out whether they want war."
Neither man spoke after that.
Because there wasn’t much left to say.
The possibility had existed ever since the observation post.
Every action carried reactions.
Every move changed the board.
The rescue operation would be no different.
The radio clipped to Marcus’s vest suddenly crackled.
"Atlas Actual."
Marcus grabbed it immediately.
"Go ahead."
The voice belonged to the operations center.
"Commander, you should return."
Marcus frowned.
"What happened?"
A brief pause followed.
"The quarry detail deployed again."
Marcus looked toward Tomas.
Both men immediately began walking.
"Anything unusual?"
Another pause.
"Maybe."
The command center was already crowded when they arrived.
The main screen displayed live Predator footage.
The quarry.
Twenty-six prisoners.
Eight guards.
Still no wolves.
Marcus stepped closer.
"What am I looking at?"
The operator pointed.
One of the prisoners.
Specifically...
A child.
Marcus froze slightly.
Because until now, every work detail had consisted entirely of adults.
The boy looked young.
Twelve.
Maybe thirteen.
Far too young to be carrying stone blocks larger than his own torso.
The child stumbled.
One of the guards shouted something.
Another prisoner immediately moved to help him.
The guard allowed it.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
The operator switched angles.
The same older prisoner stayed close to the child throughout the day.
Helping him lift loads.
Supporting him while walking.
Protecting him.
Marcus stared at the footage.
Something about the interaction bothered him.
Not because it existed.
Because it looked familiar.
Human.
The analyst beside him spoke quietly.
"Father and son?"
Maybe.
Marcus didn’t know why that possibility hit him harder than the others.
Perhaps because it transformed numbers back into people.
Not prisoners.
Not civilians.
A father.
A son.
Families.
Lives interrupted.
The room remained quiet as the footage continued playing.
Eventually the child collapsed.
Not dramatically.
Not violently.
Simple exhaustion.
The older man immediately knelt beside him.
The guards approached.
Marcus expected violence.
Instead...
One guard handed over a water container.
The room became quiet.
Because nobody expected that.
The older prisoner helped the child drink.
After several minutes, work resumed.
Marcus frowned.
That didn’t fit.
Not entirely.
Slavers didn’t usually behave like that.
At least not the ones Marcus understood.
The footage replayed.
The guard definitely offered water.
No mistake.
No misinterpretation.
Rolf stared at the screen.
"Okay."
Nobody looked toward him.
"That’s confusing."
Very confusing.
The image didn’t match expectations.
Not completely.
Marcus watched it again.
The guard showed impatience.
Annoyance.
But not cruelty.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
The Dominion kept violating assumptions.
Again and again.
Civilization.
Writing.
Agriculture.
Now this.
Marcus leaned back in his chair.
Because every answer seemed to create two new questions.
The radio operator suddenly looked up.
"Commander."
Marcus turned.
"What?"
The operator pointed toward another monitor.
"The work detail is returning early."
That immediately got everyone’s attention.
The timestamp confirmed it.
The prisoners had begun leaving nearly two hours ahead of schedule.
Marcus frowned.
"Why?"
Nobody knew.
The footage showed no obvious emergency.
No attack.
No weather changes.
Nothing.
Yet the column continued moving toward Black Fang.
Fast.
Faster than normal.
The guards looked tense.
Alert.
The prisoners had been ordered closer together.
Marcus felt something cold settle in his stomach.
Because he recognized that posture.
Security posture.
The operator switched feeds.
The settlement gates had opened.
Additional guards waited inside.
More than usual.
The work detail entered quickly.
The gates closed immediately afterward.
Nobody in the command center spoke.
Because everyone felt it.
Something had changed.
Somewhere inside Black Fang...
Something had happened.
Marcus stared at the screen.
Thinking.
Calculating.
Trying to understand.
The answer arrived several minutes later.
A messenger.
Mounted.
Exhausted.
The rider entered the settlement at speed before disappearing toward the central district.
The room became silent.
Because they had seen this before.
Messages from the capital.
Orders.
Information.
The board had moved again.
Marcus slowly folded his arms.
Whatever decision had been made in the great hall...
The effects were beginning to spread outward.
And somehow...
He doubted that was good news.
The Predator continued circling silently overhead.
Below, Black Fang became increasingly active.
More guards appeared on the walls.
Patrols increased.
The eastern pens received additional security.
And for the first time since discovering the settlement...
Marcus felt time pressing against him.
The rescue operation wasn’t merely approaching anymore.
It was becoming urgent.
Because whatever the Dominion had decided...
Atlas was no longer the only side preparing for the future.
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