Phoenix

31. The B-25

The shadow of the B-25 Mitchell didn't just emerge from the hangar; it seemed to tear its way out of history itself.

Garfield and his band of mercenaries stood frozen for a heartbeat, their tactical masks reflecting the gleaming, olive-drab nose of a ghost. The sheer, impossible scale of the warbird-a twin-engine behemoth where they expected a fleeing sedan-sent a jolt of primal shock through the ranks.

​But shock was a luxury Garfield's men couldn't afford. The surprise evaporated into a professional, lethal focus.

​"Fire! Bring it down!" Garfield's voice roared over the communal comms.

​The mercenaries braced themselves, the staccato rhythm of automatic fire erupting in a coordinated symphony of violence. Bullets began to stitch jagged lines across the B-25's fuselage.
The duralumin skin of the aircraft, though reinforced by Elisa's restoration, groaned under the onslaught. Small, jagged "wounds" blossomed across the tail and wings, sparks flying where lead met vintage metal.

Yet, the B-25 didn't flinch. Driven by the raw, unbridled power of its twin Wright R-2600 engines, the bomber kept charging down the runway, a wounded but unstoppable titan.

​Garfield didn't waste time venting his fury. He was a man of cold logistics. He snatched the walkie-talkie from his tactical vest, his eyes locked on the escaping aircraft.

​"Pilot, get in the air! Now! Block the runway. Do not let that relic taste the sky!"

​Inside the vibrating belly of the beast, the world was a cacophony of screaming machinery and the terrifying sound of bullets piercing the outer skin. Jin scrambled through the narrow passageway, peeping into the aft compartment where the two women were huddled.

​"Keep your heads down!" Jin bellowed, his voice straining to be heard over the roar. "Stay away from the portholes! The glass is old-it won't stop a rifle round!"

​Eva Lawrence collapsed into a defensive ball, her hands over her ears, surrendering to the chaos. But Dr. Elisa Van Buren was possessed by a different kind of mania. She was hunched over, her fingers flying across the screen of her encrypted mobile phone with a desperate, white-knuckled intensity. She looked like a woman trying to type her way out of a nightmare.

​"Dr. Buren!" Jin barked, reaching out to steady her. "Head down, please! Now is not the time for correspondence!"

​"I... I have to..." Elisa's voice was a thin, high-pitched reed, barely audible. "I'm trying to bridge the connection... to get help from the outside... the protocols..."

​"No one is coming to save us in the next thirty seconds!" Jin countered, his eyes flashing with a mix of frustration and protective urgency. "If you want to survive to see the outside world, ditch the phone and pray to whatever God you believe in. Knees to chest, Doctor! Move!"

​Elisa looked up at him, her eyes wide and glassy, mirroring the fragmented lights of the cockpit. She saw the absolute gravity in Jin's face and finally, slowly, tucked herself into a fetal position against the seat.

​"Jin!" Arya's shout pierced through the cockpit door, sharp with impending doom.

​Jin didn't hesitate. He pivoted and lunged back into the cockpit, sliding into the co-pilot's seat. "What have we got?"

​Arya didn't need to speak; she simply pointed. Through the curved glass of the nose turret, the horizon had been hijacked. The enemy's Bell helicopter, which had been circling like a vulture, was now hovering mere feet above the runway, slowly descending. The pilot was positioning the craft as a physical barricade, a five-million-dollar speed bump designed to force a collision or a desperate brake.