On the deck, the air smelled of salt and diesel and the metallic tang of fear. Eight pirates stood with rifles raised, eyes darting through the smoke and gloom.
"Who the hell is out there? Come out!" the leader barked, AK speared across his chest as he swept the deck with short, angry bursts. He jabbed his communicator and got nothing back—no voices answering, no crackle of static. "They must be dead," he snapped. Only eight of them remained on the ship; the rest were gone.
His patience snapped. He kicked a hostage to the floor and shouted, "If you don't come out now, I'll kill every last one of you!" He drove the butt of his rifle into the man's ribs for emphasis. No one answered.
Then, without warning, several smoke grenades landed among them and uncoiled a choking, white fog. The deck filled in an instant.
Cole clipped night-vision goggles to his face. He had brought smoke and goggles but no long gun—he'd meant to grab a sniper rifle in his hurry but hadn't had the time. He only carried the Mad Dog Knife and the tactical advantage the cloak provided; a rifle, he decided, would have been more of a liability—too easy to reveal under the cloak's limits.
He searched the haze through green-tinted lenses, found a position, and raised the AK he'd taken off the dead pirate. Then the deck erupted.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
The pirates fired blindly into the smoke. Cole—blessed now by the Gun Master integration—moved like a machine. Each shot he took found a man. The advantage of training compressed into instinct made him precise. The noisy volley petered out as bodies fell.
When the shooting died, Cole slid the AK into the system warehouse and drew the disposable camouflage mask he'd prepared. The cloak didn't conceal weapons once deployed; the mask hid his face. He dropped the cloak and stepped into the clearing smoke, heartbeat even, blade at the ready.
More shots cracked; Cole returned two just to close the chance of any waking threat. When the fog lifted, eight pirates lay dead; only Cole remained standing on the deck, camo mask and jacket stained in places with other people's blood.
"Maggie—let's go," he said, his voice low.
Maggie, blindfolded and trembling, peeled the gag from her mouth and blinked. She saw the bodies, then saw him—impossible, sudden—and collapsed into tears.
The other hostages tore away their blindfolds and stared. Realisation rippled through them: someone had come for them.
Cole didn't waste time on speeches. He hauled Maggie up and moved toward the ladder. As he worked, a cluster of hostages flooded toward him, panic and hope colliding.
"Sir—please take me! I can pay!" a white man begged, voice cracking. "Please, take me with you!"
Another shouted, "I'll pay three hundred thousand!" "I'll give you everything I have!" cried a third, desperation painting every word.
Cole stopped and looked at them, expression neutral. "How much?" he asked.
The bids rose, frantic and ugly. One man offered a hundred thousand; another swore three hundred; another promised half a million and every possession he owned.
Cole considered it, then nodded. The speedboat he'd brought had room for four passengers besides him. He picked the three highest bidders and ignored the rest.
They climbed into the boat, trembling and clutching cash and disbelief. Cole shoved off and headed for open water, leaving the smouldering deck behind.
Not far away, the HU-16 seaplane rode low on the waves. The six men aboard the Expendables had checked their gear and were closing fast in a pair of speedboats. They cut toward the freighter and boarded.
Ross and his team found bodies almost at once. Lee Christmas picked one up, found the slit throat, and frowned. "Knife work—clean, and he didn't struggle," Christmas observed. "Someone very skilled did this."
Yin Yang found another corpse and called it out. Christmas moved over, studied it, and he and Yin Yang shared a look: the same brutal method. They had been beaten to the punch.
Ross' face went flat. "We're a step late," he said.
Caesar led them toward the main deck with his light machine gun slung, chain of rounds rattling. When they reached the place, the six found hostages huddled and pirates dead.
The hostages fell silent and then, when they saw men in black, sank to their knees pleading. Some cursed their luck—why hadn't they paid more and left earlier? Relief washed through them when Ross spoke up: "We're mercenaries. We're here to get you off this ship."
One woman told the story: a single mercenary had wiped the pirates out and carried off three hostages. The others filled in details—how he'd come out of the smoke, how fast he'd moved, the camouflage mask that hid his face.
The six looked at each other, unconvinced. "Do you know what he looked like?" Lee asked.
"No," a man answered. "He wore a mask. British accent. That's all."
Gunnar's face darkened. "Whoever he is, he stole our job," he snarled. "We came all this way, did the work, and someone else cleaned up. That's not how this works."
They'd all spent pay on the road—parties, repairs, stupid bets. A lost commission stung.
Gunnar's temper flared. "We can still do this. We're here; those pirates are our problem now." He swept his gun toward the hostages in a show of force.
Ross stepped forward and struck him across the face. "Gunnar," he said coldly, "you follow my rules. You do not threaten the people we save. If you can't live with that—get off my ship."
Gunnar swallowed his retort when he saw Ross' eyes; the man's authority shut him down.
"Highway, get the survivors moved," Ross ordered, turning away. He signalled the others to prepare to leave and headed back to the plane.
Once airborne, the crew talked in low tones—except Gunnar, who remained sullen. "Ross, you think that kid we heard about could be the same one who came to Tool earlier?" Christmas asked.
Ross folded his hands. "I'll ask Tool. Whoever he is, if he can do that alone he's no ordinary merc. Maybe worth recruiting."
Ross clenched his jaw. He didn't want a time bomb on the roster—an unknown talent that might explode when it suited him. The flight hummed with plans and irritated calculations as they banked away from the freighter into the dark.