Iron Eagle: The New American Reich

Betrayal Within

The warehouse was dimly lit, shadows pooling in the corners as the leaders of the resistance gathered around a battered table. A single bulb swung overhead, its faint hum the only sound in the room. The atmosphere crackled with tension as Harrison leaned over the map, tracing a critical supply route with his finger.

"We're close," Harrison declared, his voice firm. "If we hit their southern depot, they'll have to pull resources from the front lines. It's our best shot."

Murmurs of agreement echoed through the room. For the first time in months, there was a sense of cautious optimism. Hamilton nodded thoughtfully, but he couldn't shake the unease gnawing at him. Kale, sitting at the far end of the table, was fidgeting. His eyes darted nervously, as if each glance was a struggle to mask the anxiety bubbling inside him.

"We've got this," Davis added, a confident smirk on his face. "We hit fast, we hit hard. They won't know what's coming."

But Hamilton's attention was still on Kale. The young man's usual eagerness seemed forced tonight, his smile thin and strained. Hamilton had seen that kind of tension before—back when soldiers cracked under pressure. But Kale was young, inexperienced. He shook the thoughts away, focusing on the plan instead.

"Let's move forward," Hamilton said, hoping his voice carried more conviction than he felt. The operation was critical, but so was maintaining trust. One misstep, and everything could unravel.

As the meeting adjourned, leaders split into smaller groups, reviewing maps and double-checking plans. The room buzzed with low conversations and the clatter of gear being prepped. Hamilton stayed back, keeping an eye on Kale. Something was off, but pinpointing it would require more than gut instinct.

Kale hesitated before slipping out of the warehouse. He moved cautiously, blending into the shadows of the deserted streets. The city was a maze of crumbling buildings and abandoned factories, perfect for hiding—but also perfect for secrets.

He stopped at a secluded spot near the edge of the industrial zone. His heart pounded as he fumbled with a small, outdated communication device. The screen flickered to life, casting an eerie glow on his pale face. Kale's hand shook as he activated the device and whispered into it.

"The depot hit is scheduled for Tuesday. They'll strike the southern supply route."

His voice cracked as guilt clawed at him, but fear drowned it out. He knew what he was doing was wrong, but he justified it by telling himself it was the only way to survive. The resistance couldn't win, not against the regime's overwhelming power. If he played his cards right, maybe he could make it out alive.

The response crackled back through the device, cold and indifferent. "Understood. Keep quiet. Your safety depends on it."

Kale shut off the device, stuffing it back into his jacket. His legs felt weak as he stood, but he forced himself to walk back to the warehouse, blending in as if nothing had happened.

Back at the hideout, the usual routines continued. Members of the resistance moved quickly, preparing weapons, reviewing details, and checking gear. The atmosphere was a strange mix of determination and nervous energy. Hamilton was deep in conversation with Harrison when a distant thud echoed through the walls.

"What was that?" someone asked, but before anyone could answer, the unmistakable clatter of boots filled the air—growing louder with every second.

"All units, prepare for—" The warning was cut off by a thunderous explosion. The entrance to the warehouse shattered as regime soldiers swarmed in, moving with lethal precision. The resistance was caught off guard, their preparations undone in an instant.