Natasha Romanoff stood in front of Cole Shaw and gave a crisp, precise salute.
Cole returned the nod — controlled, satisfied. The Widows were here, and unlike anyone else in his orbit, their loyalty was absolute.
One less thing to worry about.
Across the mercenary group, loyalty levels were high — above ninety for every veteran under his command. No one was going anywhere.
Gisele was newer, still earning her place at seventy. That would rise.
Cole turned slightly toward Ross and the others.
"These are the members of the Widow Unit," he said. "They maintain their own civilian covers and won't be stationed in the base unless directly assigned."
He gestured toward the larger uniformed contingent behind him.
"And this team — one hundred and twenty-six operators. Six captains. They'll form the backbone of our private military company once it's active."
Ross, Christmas, Yin Yang, and the rest exchanged looks. No questions. Just that growing awareness — Cole kept revealing more layers, and none of them ever saw the reveals coming.
From the desert base itself…
To the emergent Widow Unit…
To a fully formed strike battalion standing in front of them…
Cole was full of surprises.
"Your operational roles won't change," Cole continued. "But Natasha and Yelena will remain with me."
The Widows behind Natasha — eight elite operatives from across MCU-aligned recruitment eras — gave silent, flawless nods. They moved with the same poise and lethal stillness that defined every Red Room graduate.
Their covers varied:
executives on the rise, socialites with hidden skill, embedded intelligence assets, quiet shadows built for infiltration.
System-assigned identities — but only Cole knew that.
Their futures would branch according to performance.
That was the point of the Widow Unit.
Cole shifted his attention to the formation team.
"You six captains — step forward."
They snapped into a clean line. A true global mix: Black, European, East Asian, South Asian, Middle Eastern, Latin American — a cross-section of the world's most dangerous talent.
"Each of you will command twenty operators," Cole said. "You'll be the first employees of The Argonauts. For now, standby here at the base. After the company is established, you'll transition immediately."
Cole's voice dropped just a shade — pride, iron, quiet ownership.
"The name comes from Greek mythology. Jason's crew. Adventurers, protectors, and a shield to the people they trusted. That's what we're building."
"Yes, sir!"
The six captains barked the words in unison.
One stepped forward.
"Captain, we request access to open our weapons arsenal."
"Approved," Cole said.
He led them toward the southeast wing. A secured door waited there — one he'd never been able to open. Not until the Widows arrived.
Another lock undone. More to come.
Multiple levels of this base were still sealed:
cruisers, submersible docks, full-scale flight simulators on the second and third floors — systems waiting for the right trigger.
Cole keyed in the passcode.
The captains stepped forward together, submitting fingerprints, facial scans, and iris checks.
A heavy mechanical CLANK echoed… and then:
BOOM!
The door slid open.
Inside lay a weapons hall the size of two basketball courts — a cathedral of steel.
HK MP5 9mm SMGs.
Colt 5.56mm platforms.
G36C rifles.
Benelli M1 Super 90 shotguns.
Remington 700 precision rifles.
Gear racks lined the walls:
door breachers, flash-bangs, tear gas, smoke, OC grenades, reinforced fire-resistant suits, TAC plate carriers, modular load-bearing rigs, helmets with integrated comms, fibre-optic scopes, breach hammers, tactical phones.
Up above on the garage level, Cole had already glimpsed the motor pool:a custom-built tactical Truck and multiple armoured Chevrolet Suburbans.
The Truck alone was an operator's dream — a rolling command platform built on a reinforced two-axle chassis, fitted with:
• drawer-rack equipment bays
• encrypted comms
• audio/video intercept feed
• uplink to remote recon teams
• secure negotiation channels
• multi-team command capability
A true elite team loadout.
More specialized than the Widows — because the missions were different.
Widows infiltrated governments.
The formation team handled war.
Owen, Ross, and the others stared like kids in a candy store. For men who lived their lives on battlefields, the sight bordered on envy.
"Cole, can we use the equipment here?" Christmas asked, barely containing himself.
Cole smirked. "Sure. Just pay for what you take. My prices are fair."
No generosity. No handouts.
Everything here belonged to the formation team. Cole would facilitate — not subsidize.
And mercenaries understood that the true cost wasn't the guns… but the ammo.
Good thing their last gold contract padded everyone's accounts nicely.
A ringtone cut through the room.
Owen's phone.
His expression darkened as soon as he answered.
Cole stepped closer. "Talk to me."
"Letty's been taken," Owen said, jaw tight. "Only one of my people — Vegh — made it out. Everyone else is dead."
Cole's eyes narrowed.
During the Barcelona snatch, Owen had taken only Klaus and Adolfson.
The rest had stayed at the city base to guard Letty.
Now that base was gone.
Everyone gone.
Except Letty — and no one knew where she was.