Frozen Flame of Dawn - Chapter 43

Chapter 43: Chapter 21: When Lines Are Crossed_1

A sharp crack of gunfire echoed from the treeline. The scream followed a second later.

“Sir!” A soldier came sprinting toward them from the eastern perimeter, eyes wide, chest heaving as he ran full tilt. “The town nearby— it’s under attack! Mutated beasts broke through! People are running for their lives!”

Manas head shot up. He turned to Billy, eyes locked in an unspoken conversation.

“What do we do, sir?” the soldier asked, still catching his breath. “Do we warn them to stay away or—”

“We save them,” Manas said, his voice like steel. His eyes never left Billy’s. “We save them, Billy. That’s not up for debate.”

Billy snorted, wiping his face with his gloved hand. “You’re not wrong, but if we go, Grant’s gonna throw a fit. We’re supposed to babysit this place.”

“Then let them throw a fit.” Manas’s eyes flicked toward the perimeter. “They’ve got all their ‘precious cargo’ on that chopper. They don’t need us to play watchdogs anymore. We do what’s right, Billy.”

Billy let out a short, sharp breath through his nose and nodded. “Fine. I’ll take 60. You hold the rest. We’ll sweep, bring them here, lock it down. We move fast.”

Manas glanced at the injured soldiers lying under the tarps nearby. Some of them were barely hanging on. “You sure about this? You’ll be down 60 men.”

Billy grinned, sharp and wild. “I don’t need 60 men to win, just 30 good ones. And I’ve got 60.”

“Fair.” Manas raised a hand and pointed toward the perimeter. “Don’t drag your feet. And bring them back. All of them.”

Billy slapped his arm against Manas’s forearm, a firm clasp. “You already know. We’ll be back before you miss us.”

The squad of 60 moved in a tight formation, jogging through the forested path that led to the shantytown. The sounds of chaos grew louder with every step.

The distant shrieks of women, the terrified cries of children, and the snarls of mutated beasts painted a clear picture.

“Move it! No breaks! If you’ve got a second wind, use it!” Billy barked, his eyes sharp as he sprinted forward. His boots crunched against gravel and loose dirt.

As they reached the edge of the shantytown, a sight of horror greeted them.

Mutated goats—twice their normal size with jagged horns and wild red eyes—ran rampant. Several were smashing into homes, wooden walls shattering like paper.

A woman screamed as a goat rammed straight into the door of her home, splintering it to pieces. She tried to shield her two children behind her.

“On me!” Billy’s voice boomed as he surged forward, his tactical knife glinting in the light.

He hit the goat at full sprint, slamming his knife into the beast’s side. It thrashed, bleating in pain, but Billy didn’t give it a chance. He twisted the knife and drove it deeper, forcing the goat to collapse with a final twitch.

“Move them! Now!” he shouted, waving to one of his soldiers. “Get her to the rally point!”

“Yes, sir!” one of the soldiers ran to the woman, pulling her and her kids away.

While this was going on here, outside the research facility. Manas crouched next to one of the wounded soldiers, tightening a makeshift bandage over a deep cut on the man’s arm.

His hands moved with quick precision, his brow furrowed in focus. The soldier winced but didn’t make a sound.

“Hold still, kid. You’re lucky it missed the artery,” Manas muttered, tugging the cloth tight before tying it off. He stood, wiped his hands on his vest, and glanced around.

The rest of his men were patrolling the area or resting with their backs to the facility wall. Most of them were battered, bruised, and dead-tired, but none of them were broken.

“Hold the line, boys. We’re almost done here,” he called out, earning a few tired nods and weak grunts in response. They were holding, but barely.

The clatter of footsteps echoed from the facility’s entrance.

Manas turned his head, eyes narrowing as Grant strode forward like he owned the place. His uniform was pristine, not a single scratch on him. His grin was sharp and condescending, like a wolf cornering its prey.

Behind him, members of his escort team followed, their helmets casting shadows over their faces.

“Where’s the rest of your squad, soldier?” Grant’s tone was sharp and demanding, eyes locked on Manas like he was a misbehaving child.

Manas jaw tightened. “Patrolling. Securing the perimeter. Like you told us to.” His voice was firm but calm, controlled like a man sitting on a powder keg. “Everything’s fine. We’re doing our job. Stay out of it.”

Grant stepped forward, his grin vanishing. “Don’t play smart with me, soldier. I’m asking you where they are. I won’t repeat myself.”

Manas tilted his head slightly, his eyes flicking toward Grant’s team. “Didn’t realize you were my commander, Grant. Pretty sure last I checked, my orders didn’t come from you.”

The tension in the air snapped taut. Grant’s eyes narrowed into sharp, predatory slits. “You cocky little—”

“Sir, second squad leader took 60 men to nearby town,” one of Grant’s men said, his voice dry but loud enough to be heard. “They’re helping the townspeople evacuate.”

Grant’s eyes widened in shock before his face contorted with anger. He spun on his heel, jabbing a finger toward Manas as his voice rose to a sharp yell.

“You sent them off without orders? Are you out of your mind?! What do you think this is—your personal crusade? Your job is to protect us and this facility, not chasing after every peasant that screams for help!”

“They’re people, you arrogant clown—citizens of the Federation.” Manas snapped, taking a step forward. “Our mission is to protect them, too. We had extra men, so we used them. What’s your problem?”

Grant’s face twisted into a sneer, “My problem is that you think you get to make decisions but not. All you are a hired sword whose job is to keep us and the cargo safe not save worthless nobodies.”

Manas’s eyes burned like embers. “Worthless? You think they’re worthless? If they’re worthless, what does that make you?”

Silence.

Grant’s grin vanished. His fist moved fast—a straight punch to Manas’s face. Manas tilted his head at the last second, the punch glancing off his jaw.

The next moment was chaos.

Manas’s body moved on instinct. He grabbed Grant’s arm, twisted it, and shoved him back. They stumbled, locked in a scuffle.

“YOU’RE AWAKENED!” Manas shouted, realization dawning on him as he felt the unnatural strength in Grant’s arm. “You sat back and watched my men die, and you could have helped?! You coward!”

Grant grinned, shoving Manas off. “We’re paying you to do the work, soldier. Why would I dirty my hands when I’ve got dogs like you?”

Manas didn’t hesitate this time. He lunged. They collided hard, rolling across the ground. His fists were a blur, striking Grant’s ribs and face, but Grant was faster than expected. His hand shot up, grabbing Manas by the throat.

“You think you’re better than me?!” Grant snarled, squeezing hard. “You’re just a grunt. You’ll die like one too.”

“Take them down! Take them all!” Grant barked, his eyes wild. “Kill the injured first. No space for trash on the helicopters!”

His men moved. The Rienfeld team, all awakened individuals, sprang into action.

The first soldier drove a knee into the chest of one of Manas’s wounded, flipping him to the ground. Another soldier raised his weapon, ready to fire—but one of Manas’s men tackled him from the side.

“They’re trying to kill us!” one of Manas’s soldiers yelled, slamming his opponent’s head into the dirt. “They’re killing the wounded!”

“Fight back!” Manas roared, “DON’T YOU DARE LET THEM WIN!”

The air filled with the sounds of metal on flesh, grunts, and screams. Blood splattered the ground. One of Manas’s men swung his tactical knife, carving a line across a Rienfeld men’s leg. Another soldier, already bleeding from his arm, tackled a Rienfeld fighter to the ground.

But the Rienfeld escort team was stronger. Their awakened powers gave them the edge. One man’s skin turned as hard as stone, absorbing every punch thrown his way. Another had enhanced speed, dodging blows before striking back with precision.

It wasn’t a fight. It was a slaughter.

Soldier after soldier from Dragon Unit fell.

Manas saw it all happen in slow motion — soldiers he trained, fought with, laughed with. One soldier’s eyes widened in shock as a blade slipped through his chest. Another fell clutching his leg as blood poured from his thigh.

“STOP!” Manas roared, his voice hoarse and raw. “STOP THIS NOW!”

A gunshot echoed.

Grant’s smile vanished. He turned his head just in time to see three of his men collapse.

Billy stood at the edge of the treeline, rifle aimed steady. His eyes were cold as ice. Smoke drifted from the barrel of his gun.

“You’re done, Grant,” Billy’s voice was calm, deathly calm. “You’ve gone too far.”

The Rienfeld men froze. Three of them were already dead. Billy’s rifle didn’t miss.

“Anyone else want to play hero?” Billy asked, his gaze sweeping over them.

“Stand down,” Grant ordered, his voice stiff. He clenched his fists, his eyes burning with rage.

The battle ended as suddenly as it started.

Aftermath resulted in the ground soaked in blood. Bodies of the fallen lay scattered like broken dolls.

Billy crouched next to one of his men, checking for a pulse. Nothing. He closed his eyes for a moment, his jaw tightening.

“We lost too many,” Manas muttered, his voice hollow. “From 200, only 83 of us left.”

Billy didn’t respond. He stood slowly, eyes locked on Grant.

“You’ll pay for this, Grant,” Billy said, voice cold as steel. “You think we’ll forget? Think again. You’ll answer for every one of them.”

Grant climbed into the helicopter, grinning like he’d already won. “Talk all you want, grunt. When we’re back in the capital, we’ll see who gets punished.”