CHAPTER 21: FIREWORKS

The survivors moved in a ragged line, men and women too weak to lift their heads. Marines shouldered them up like bundles of cloth, cradling ribs and thin limbs. The CH-53 crews leaned out of the ramp, hands taking weight, hauling bodies into the cavernous belly of the birds.

"All stations, all survivors are inside of the chopper, I repeat, they are all inside of the chopper.

"Copy that Major, board your choppers now we are heading out."

The Marines and the Atlas Operators boarded their respective helicopters. And once they are accounted for, it lifts off from the ground. They watched as the CH-53 helicopters headed towards the base. And just as the MH-53 pilots were about to do the same. He keyed in his radio.

"Eagle One and Two, Actual. Hold your hover. Do not leave until I clear you."

"Copy that Actual, Eagle One is on holding pattern," Eagle One pilot said.

"This is Eagle Two, wilco."

Albert’s eyes flicked to Ward. "Predator, give me coordinates. I need grid on that temple, now."

A thin static hiss and then the drone operator’s voice sounded in his radio. "Predator One to Actual. Visual locked. Center mass of structure at grid 092-56-14 by our overlay. Repeating, 092-56-14. Bearing zero-nine-zero from your position."

"Copy grid 092-56-14," Albert replied. He keyed Command channel, hard tone. "Command, this is Atlas Actual. Sitrep, found enemy assembly beneath temple. Large hostile concentration and a heavy leader. Survivors evac complete. Request immediate top-down fires: one HIMARS volley, six rockets, target grid 092-56-14. Clearance: danger close negligible, civilians clear of impact zone. Do you copy."

A beat. Then a voice sharp as a razor: "Atlas Actual, this is Command. Copy your sitrep. Confirm: civilians are clear of grid 092-56-14 and no friendly forces inside? State rules of engagement."

"Command, confirm. Civilians staged, PSYOPS, 500 meters southwest of structure. No friendlies inside objective. Atlas and Bravo are PAX in an chopper north of the temple. Requesting hot launch for maximum suppression and destruction. Fire for effect."

"Copy, Actual. Hold one." Static hissed like wind in a wire. Albert heard the delay that always came with big guns, checks, legalese, theater coordination. Time was a measured thing. He watched the temple like a hawk, thinking in slices: survivors airborne, MHs holding, bird in the sky for overwatch, Predator eyes on the mark.

"Predator, re-verify mark," he said. "Confirm no secondary structures within 200 meters."

"Predator One to Actual: mark verified. Temple centroid clear of friendly heat signatures. Secondary thermal contact, small pits and cache to the northeast, outside 150 meters. Grid is clean for a six round salvo."

"Command, this is Actual. We are green on your check. Call it in."

Silence, then finality. "Actual, Command. Clearance granted. HIMARS battery, Tango-One, launches in two minutes. You will have impact at roughly T+ five. Standby for splash."

Albert’s jaw tightened. "Copy. Standby for splash." He turned to Ward.

"Tango-One, rockets away," Command said.

"Splash in T-minus two minute," Predator reported.

They watched.

The rockets were fast, fast enough it looked like a ribbon of light unspooling toward the crater. Tracker dots on the feed blinked as they cut through cloud and smoke. The pilots of the Pave Lows banked slightly with the tension, rotors creaking under the load as the first sonic boom rolled over them like distant thunder.

"T-minus thirty," Ward said softly.

Albert’s throat was dry. He keyed the Command channel on a precautionary tone.

"Command, Actual. Confirm suppression pattern—north-south string, concentric. We want fragmentation on approach, then HE on center mass."

"Copy, Actual," came back. "Pattern executed. Warheads armed. ETA on impact T+ five."

"Oh I see it now."

"Heads-up! We got incoming!"

The missiles hit the thermal signature of the temple like four white comets. The first round punched into the north terrace and detonated—instant bloom. The concussion hit them in the chest; the Pave Lows shuddered in the hover as the shockwave roared past. The night detonated into a wall of orange and smoke; a column of flame climbed the sky like a second sun.

"HOLD YOUR RIDGES!" someone shouted into the net, voice nearly lost in the blast.

The second round detonated across the inner courtyard; stone and earth sheared outward in a crown of debris. Sparks and bodies of timber arced into the dark. The third and fourth followed in quick succession, collapsing outer faces, turning carved pillars into rubble. Whole sections of the temple peeled apart—massive stones thrown like toys.

The Pave Lows shuddered, rotors trembling as if the air itself had been punched. Albert had to brace both hands on the ramp when the concussive force rolled under them. For a second the world was only a roaring kettle of wind, heat, and falling rock.

Through the falling ash and the scent of hot metal, the drone overlay painted the aftermath: the temple was a cratered ruin, a smoked-out cavity where the cloister had been. Thermal returns flared, pockets of white-hot that spoke of bodies and building materials igniting, and then dwindled as fires ate their oxygen.

"Predator One to Actual: initial assessment, centroid destroyed. Secondary pockets igniting; thermal clusters dropping. Estimated enemy KIA: heavy."

"That’s nice to hear. Good effect on target. Surely no structure would survive that. It’s fire and brimstone now," Albert said.

"So, where are we off to?" Ward asked.

"Well, us and the Marines will head back to the Aldo village to confirm the extermination of the goblins and to get our payout."

"We are not going back to base?" Ward added.

Albert shook his head. "Not yet. Aldo comes first."

He keyed the net. "Eagle One, Eagle Two, set a heading to the Aldo Village, we are going there now."

"Copy, Actual. Routing to Aldo," Eagle One replied. The Pave Low banked, nose dropping as it swung toward the valley where Aldo’s flickering torches and palisade waited below.

The flight down to Aldo is fast and low. The valley opens like a cupped hand, thatched roofs, the palisade still standing, villagers gathered in the square. As they descend the wind from the rotors picks up dust and ash, turning faces gray. Harvin is visible near the gate, hands raised, every line in his face sharpened by the night’s ordeal.

"Eagle One and Two, actual," Albert said. "You’re cleared to land at Aldo LZ. It’s done!"