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Chapter 25: Skyward Siege

  Date: 7:30 AM, April 1, 2025

  Location: Cheyenne Mountain Complex, Colorado

  The command room’s screens flared back to life, casting a harsh glow over Sarah as she stood, rifle in hand. Harrington pointed at the live feed—three bio-ships loomed west, their bulbous forms pulsing, tendrils coiling toward the mountain. Dawn’s light bled red across the peaks, glinting off anti-air turrets swiveling to track the threat. The psychic hum twitched—“Above… now…”—a warning she couldn’t ignore.

  “They’re hitting us,” she said, voice steady despite the knot in her chest. “Hard.”

  Harrington nodded, already on the radio. “All units, topside—full alert! Turrets, prioritize the big ones—air wing, scramble what’s left!” He turned to her. “You’re with me—observation deck. Need your eyes up there.”

  She followed, boots pounding the corridor, soldiers rushing past—some bandaged, others hauling ammo crates. The psychic pulse grew, not Jake’s voice, just raw intent—“Crush…”—as they climbed a stairwell to the deck, a steel platform jutting from the mountain’s face. Cold air hit her, sharp with ozone and smoke, the sky a battlefield.

  Bio-ships dominated—two miles out, dropping swarms: gargoyles, winged horrors, spiraling down, while gaunts rained from tendrils, crashing into the valley. Turrets roared, tracer rounds stitching the air, shredding dozens—but more came, a tide of claws and teeth. Two F-16s screamed overhead, missiles streaking into a bio-ship—explosions bloomed, ichor raining, but it barely slowed, tendrils lashing back, clipping a jet. It spiraled, flaming, into the trees.

  Harrington cursed, binoculars up. “They’re tanking it—too damn tough.” He waved a lieutenant over—Nguyen, young, tense. “Status?”

  “West wall’s holding—barely,” Nguyen said, voice tight. “Gargoyles hit the emplacements—lost two turrets. Gaunts are massing at the gate—breach in ten if we don’t reinforce.”

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  Sarah scanned the chaos, the hum spiking—“Closer…”—her eyes catching movement: a larger shape descending, winged, massive, from the lead bio-ship. “Hive Tyrant,” she said, pointing. “Same one from the road—alive.”

  Harrington’s jaw tightened. “Knew it wasn’t dead. Nguyen, redirect air—hit that bastard. Ground teams, double the gate—RPGs, heavies!”

  Nguyen radioed, jets banking, but the Tyrant landed—crashing into the valley, its roar shaking the deck, psychic weight slamming Sarah. She staggered, gripping the rail—“You…”—not Jake, just hate, locking onto her. It charged, gaunts swarming ahead, a living battering ram.

  Turrets pivoted, shells pounding the Tyrant—chunks of chitin flew, but it barreled on, shrugging off hits. F-16s dove, rockets blazing—it swiped, clipping one, sending it spinning into the mountain’s flank, a fireball lighting the dawn. The gate buckled, steel groaning as gaunts clawed through, soldiers falling back, firing.

  “We’re losing it,” Sarah said, rifle up, useless at this range.

  “Not yet,” Harrington growled, grabbing a comm. “Artillery—west ridge, fire for effect! All units, hold the line!” A rumble answered—howitzers, hidden in the peaks, unleashing hell. Shells rained, blasting gaunts to pulp, rocking the Tyrant back—its wing shredded, ichor gushing.

  Sarah’s head throbbed, the hum shifting—“More…”—and she spun, spotting Kessler and Vasquez limping up, patched but armed. “Thought you were med bay,” she said.

  “Couldn’t sit,” Kessler replied, rifle ready. “Heard the boom—figured you’d need us.”

  Vasquez nodded, shotgun slung. “Gate’s key—if it falls, they’re in.”

  A screech cut through—gargoyles diving, strafing the deck. Sarah ducked, firing—bullets clipped one, sending it tumbling, but another raked Vasquez’s arm, reopening his wound. He cursed, blasting it point-blank, ichor splattering.

  “Inside!” Harrington yelled, as the gate cracked wider, the Tyrant roaring, closing in. They retreated, deck shaking, soldiers piling into the tunnel. Artillery pounded, slowing the swarm, but the bio-ships pulsed, tendrils dropping more—endless, hungry.

  Sarah stumbled in, the hum a snarl—“Break you…”—the Tyrant’s eyes glowing through the chaos, fixed on her. The blast doors slammed shut, muffling the roar, but the mountain trembled, the siege unrelenting.

  Harrington panted, radio up. “Hold the gate—everything we’ve got. We’re not done.”

  Sarah gripped her rifle, Kessler and Vasquez beside her. The line was thin, and the Tyrant knew it.

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