[Harry Jordan]

                                                                                                                          (CHAPTER CONTD)                      

6th FEBRUARY 2004 — BALTAL BASE CAMP, JAMMU AND KASHMIR



The cold didn’t just bite—it hunted. Lieutenant Dhananjay 'Dan' Shankar sat on a weathered ammunition crate, gloved hands clasped, breath fogging into the pale Himalayan dusk. The mountains loomed like silent sentinels around the base, their snow-covered ridges glowing faintly under a dying sun. There was a tension in the air that no amount of training could numb—a quiet, suffocating awareness that something big was coming.

Dan had arrived that morning under sealed orders, separated from his previous unit without explanation. That alone was enough to raise alarms. In Kashmir, nothing happened without reason. And lately, reasons were soaked in blood. Mujahideen attacks had escalated, becoming more brazen, more surgical. The valley wasn’t just unstable—it was boiling.

The camp reflected that unease. Soldiers moved with purpose, their conversations clipped and low. Crates of ammunition were stacked like barricades. Radio chatter crackled constantly from the command tents. Somewhere in the distance, a patrol vehicle roared to life and disappeared into the icy wilderness. Dan observed everything, his instincts sharpening with every passing second.

He stood up, adjusting his combat jacket, eyes scanning the perimeter. Every detail mattered. Every shadow could hide a threat. But just as he began piecing together the patterns of movement around him, a deep mechanical hum sliced through the air.

A helicopter.



Dan turned sharply toward the sound. Cutting through the pale sky was a Mi-16 transport chopper, descending steadily toward the landing zone. Snow whipped violently beneath it as it touched down, the rotor wash scattering ice and dust like a storm unleashed. Dan narrowed his eyes. Another unit, no doubt. Baltal was becoming a convergence point.

The side door slid open.

One by one, soldiers stepped out—disciplined, calculated, their boots hitting the ground in synchronized rhythm. Their gear was different—lighter, sleeker. Special operations, perhaps. Dan watched carefully, noting their posture, their silence, their precision. These weren’t ordinary troops.

Then, at the very end, someone else emerged.

The man stepped out without urgency, yet commanded attention instantly. Unlike the others, he wore an olive-green t-shirt instead of the standard uniform shirt. Aviator sunglasses shielded his eyes despite the fading light. His physique was imposing—broad shoulders, powerful arms, every movement radiating confidence without arrogance.

He walked past Dan.

For a fleeting moment, the man turned his head slightly, his gaze landing on Dan. Then came a smile—not mocking, not casual—but something warm, assured… dangerous in its own way. It wasn’t just charisma. It was presence. The kind that didn’t need to announce itself.

Dan felt it immediately. Respect. Curiosity. And something else—a quiet realization that this man wasn’t ordinary.

The moment passed. The man continued walking.

But it stayed with Dan.

Hours later, the entire assembly gathered inside the main hangar. Rows of soldiers stood in formation, boots aligned, shoulders squared. The hum of generators echoed faintly as floodlights illuminated the steel interior. The air inside felt heavier than outside—thick with anticipation.

"At ease!"

Major Sharma’s voice cut through the silence like a blade. He stood at the front, posture rigid, eyes scanning every man present. The room shifted slightly as soldiers relaxed just enough to comply.

Then came the sound of boots—measured, authoritative.

Brigadier Bakshi entered.

Every man straightened instinctively, respect snapping into place. Bakshi wasn’t just a senior officer—he was a battlefield legend. His presence alone carried the weight of decades of war, strategy, and survival. His gaze moved across the crowd, calculating, knowing.

"Gentlemen" he began, voice calm but commanding, 

"You are here because you are among the finest this country has to offer"

No one moved. No one spoke.

"Since the hijacking of IC 814, we have understood one thing very clearly—our enemies are evolving. They are no longer confined to borders. They are targeting our skies, our systems… our sovereignty"

A pause.

"And so, we evolve"

The words landed like a declaration of war.

"A new elite task force is being formed. Prototype designation—Tiger Force. Its purpose—strategic operations and the protection of India’s critical air infrastructure. You are the candidates"

A ripple of silent intensity spread through the room.

"To test your capability" Bakshi continued, 

"We are initiating a covert strike. Not far from here. A terror camp operating under heavy concealment in the hills. You will engage. You will neutralize"

His eyes hardened.

"And you will accomplish your mission"

He stepped back. Major Sharma took over. 

"Squad assignments will be issued now. Listen carefully"

Names were called. Units divided. Tension sharpened.

"Lieutenant Dan"

Dan stepped forward instantly. 

"Yes, sir"

"You have been assigned to Delta Squad"

"Understood, sir" Dan nodded once. 

Sharma’s gaze held his for a second longer. 

"You’ll be assaulting from the high ridge. Shock and awe. Fast insertion, aggressive engagement"

Dan felt a flicker of adrenaline surge through him.

"Your commanding officer—"

A pause.

"Captain Kumar"

Dan froze for just a fraction of a second. That man. The one from the helicopter. He could read his nameplate now.

Cpt. Hemant Kumar

There he was again—but different. Gone was the relaxed aura. In its place stood a fully geared soldier. Tactical vest, combat uniform, weapon slung with effortless familiarity. The sunglasses were gone, revealing sharp, focused eyes. The transformation was absolute.

"Lieutenant" Hemant said, extending a hand.

"Lieutinent Dan reporting for assignment sir" Dan shook it firmly. 

"Relax, Dan. Out there, we don’t have time for stiffness" A faint smile returned. 

There was something reassuring in his tone—confidence without ego.

“I’ve reviewed your record, You think fast. You adapt faster. I like that" Hemant continued. 

"I won’t slow you down, sir" Dan didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he met his gaze steadily. 

"Good. Because you won’t just be keeping up" Hemant chuckled lightly. 

A pause.

"You’ll be assisting me on this assault"

That hit harder than any order so far. Before Dan could respond, Hemant turned, addressing the squad now assembling behind him—battle-hardened men, each one carrying the same silent intensity.

"Listen up!" Hemant’s voice rose, sharp and clear. 

"We move at 1400 hours. High ridge insertion. No noise, no mistakes. We hit hard, we hit fast, and we neutralize them before they even understand what happened"

He looked at each of them, one by one.

"This isn’t just another mission"

A beat.

"This is the beginning"

Dan felt it in his bones now. This wasn’t routine. This wasn’t just another operation in a troubled region. This was something bigger. Something that would define them. Hemant’s final words sealed it.

"Gear up, Delta Squad"

His eyes locked onto Dan for a brief second.

"Operation Flaming Sun is a go!"

And just like that—The conquest had begun.

The sun stood high over the frozen passes of Zoji La, its light harsh and unforgiving against the white expanse. Noon in the mountains did little to soften the cold—but it revealed everything. And today, it revealed war in motion. Columns of Indian Army vehicles rolled steadily along the narrow highway below, engines growling against the silence of the valley. Dust and snow trailed behind them like a signal flare. It was deliberate. Loud. Impossible to ignore. Exactly as planned.

Inside those vehicles sat soldiers ready for impact—but their true purpose was deception. Miles above, hidden among jagged rocks and steep ridgelines, Delta Squad waited. The Hizbul Mujahideen launchpad nestled in the hills stirred to life as expected. Through binoculars, Dan could see the chaos unfolding—men scrambling, weapons being hauled into position, anti-tank launchers mounted with urgency. Radios crackled. Orders were shouted. The bait had been taken.

"They’re locking onto the convoy" Dan muttered, adjusting his scope.

Beside him, Commander Hemant Kumar remained still, eyes sharp, calculating every movement below. There was no excitement in his expression. Only timing.

"Good, Let them" Hemant said quietly. 

A beat.

"Delta… move"

The command was all it took. Within seconds, ropes were deployed over the cliff edge. One by one, shadows dropped from the sky—silent, precise, deadly. The wind howled as they descended, but their focus never wavered. Boots skimmed against rock, hands controlled the descent with mechanical perfection.

Then—Impact. The first soldier hit the ground and immediately opened fire.

The silence shattered. Gunfire erupted across the launchpad as Delta Squad unleashed controlled chaos. Suppressed bursts from customized UMPs tore through the startled terrorists. AK-47s roared in response, but it was too late. The attack had come from above—from nowhere.

Panic spread like wildfire.

"They’re on us! From the ridge!"

"Take cover—take—!"

The orders never finished.

Dan landed hard, rolled forward, and fired in one smooth motion. Two targets dropped instantly. He moved without hesitation, covering his flank, coordinating with the rest of the squad through hand signals and instinct. This wasn’t just combat. This was domination. At the center of it all was Hemant. He moved like a force of nature—relentless, unstoppable. His shots were precise, his movements fluid, every action calculated for maximum impact. He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t second-guess. He led. And the battlefield bent around him. Within minutes, resistance began to crumble. But one man ran.

A terrorist broke from the chaos, sprinting uphill, desperate to escape the kill zone. He zigzagged through rocks, trying to break line of sight, trying to outrun death itself. Hemant saw him. Without a word, he gave chase. Dan noticed—but didn’t follow. Something told him this wasn’t a pursuit anyone else needed to interfere with. The chase climbed higher, away from gunfire, away from the dying echoes of battle. Boots crushed snow and gravel as predator and prey raced toward the edge of the mountain.

Then—The cliff.

A deep gorge split the terrain ahead, a deadly drop separating two rocky ledges. The terrorist didn’t stop. Driven by fear, he leapt across the gap—barely making it, crashing onto the other side. Hemant stopped at the edge. For a moment, there was only silence. The terrorist scrambled up, breathless, then turned back—and laughed. A broken, hysterical sound.

"I will bring more men from across , we will not spare a single one of you!!!!" 

He shouted across the gap. Hemant didn’t respond. He simply stared. Slowly, he reached to his side and pulled out a compact hatchet. The steel glinted under the harsh sunlight. Then, with deliberate calm, he tied it securely to the end of a rope coiled at his waist. The terrorist’s laughter faltered.



"What are you—"

Hemant began to swing. Once. Twice. The rope cut through the air with a low, rising whistle. The motion was smooth, controlled, gaining speed with every rotation. His eyes never left the target. The terrorist stepped back. Too late.

With a sudden, explosive motion, Hemant released. The rope shot forward like a missile. The hatchet spun once—Then struck. Clean. Brutal. Final. The blade buried itself into the man’s neck with devastating force, the momentum snapping his body backward. His decapitated body fell to the cliff followed by the severed head. Silence returned to the mountain, swallowing the last trace of resistance.

Hemant stood still for a second longer.

Then he pulled the rope back. And turned. By the time he returned to the launchpad, it was over. Smoke lingered in the air. Weapons lay scattered. Bodies marked the battlefield. Indian soldiers moved through the area, securing positions, confirming kills, checking for any survivors. Dan approached him, rifle slung but ready.

"All targets neutralized" he reported. 

"Mission Parameters Achieved"

Hemant gave a small nod, scanning the area once more. Satisfied.

"Mission accomplished"

The words carried weight—not just of victory, but of precision. Of perfection. Moments later, the sound of approaching vehicles echoed through the hills. Major Sharma arrived with reinforcements, stepping out with a look that quickly turned into unmistakable satisfaction. He surveyed the scene. Then looked at Hemant. At Dan. At Delta Squad. A rare smile broke through.

"Well done, gentlemen" Sharma said, voice filled with pride. 

"Command just confirmed"

A pause.

"This task force is no longer a prototype"

The soldiers nearby straightened, attention sharpening.

"It has been officially designated—"

He let the moment hang.

"—the Garuda Task Force"

The name settled into the air like a legacy being born. A wave of energy passed through the men. Some exhaled deeply. Others allowed themselves a brief grin. It wasn’t celebration in the traditional sense—but it was something stronger. Recognition. Honor. Beginning. Dan turned toward Hemant. For the first time since the operation began, there was a quiet exchange between them—not of rank, not of command—but of mutual respect earned in fire.

"Hell of a first mission" Dan said.

"You kept up" Hemant smirked slightly. A beat.

"Better than I expected"

Dan allowed himself a faint smile. Around them, soldiers secured the last of the perimeter as the sun began its slow descent beyond the peaks of Jammu and Kashmir. The mission was over. The battlefield was theirs. But neither of them mistook this moment for an end. This was only the beginning.


MONTHS LATER AT NAL AIRFORCE STATION BIKANER , RAJASTHAN


Two months later — skies above Bikaner.

The rumble of engines echoed through the dry desert air as an Antonov An-32 descended steadily toward the runway of Nal Air Force Station. From above, the base looked like a fortress carved into sand—runways cutting through golden terrain, hangars lined like silent guardians, and heat waves dancing over the tarmac.

Inside the aircraft, the atmosphere was far from relaxed. Gear rattled softly with the vibration of descent. Soldiers of the newly formed Garuda Task Force sat strapped in, their expressions calm but alert. For them, "Airfield Protection" didn’t mean rest—it meant more awareness. And waiting, in their line of work, was often more dangerous than action.Commander Hemant Kumar sat by the side, arms folded, eyes half-closed—not asleep, but thinking. Across from him, Second In Command Dhananjay 'Dan' Shankar wiped sweat from his forehead, already irritated.

"We’ve barely landed and I can feel my soul evaporating, who posts combat units in an oven?" 

Dan muttered. 

"You survived Kashmir. You’ll survive Rajasthan" Hemant smirked without opening his eyes.

"That was cold, this is a giant microwave owen!" Dan shot back.

A few of the squad chuckled under their breath. The aircraft touched down with a heavy thud, tires screeching briefly before stabilizing. 



The rear ramp lowered, and a wave of heat rushed in like an ambush. It wasn’t just hot—it was relentless, wrapping around them instantly. They stepped out onto the tarmac. Blinding sunlight. Dry wind. Endless horizon.

"I take it back. I’d choose bullets over this" Dan squinted. 

Hemant inhaled deeply, scanning the base with quiet appreciation. 

"Feels alive, different kind of battlefield" he said. 

They moved forward, carrying their gear, boots striking against concrete. Around them, Indian Air Force personnel moved with their own rhythm—pilots, engineers, ground crew. It was a different world from the mountains, but no less intense. A commanding officer approached, crisp and efficient.

"Commander" he acknowledged. 

"Your quarters are assigned near the control tower. New block. You’ll report for coordination brief at 1800 hours"

"Understood, sir" Hemant gave a sharp salute. 

The officer returned it and walked off without another word.

"Control tower, huh?" Dan said as they began walking. 

"At least we’ll get a breeze up there"

"Or a better view" Hemant replied casually.

They walked across the base, their pace steady. Conversations drifted naturally—fragments of past operations, near misses, silent victories. Since the formation of Garuda, they had already seen more action than most units would in years.

"Where do you think we go next?" Dan asked.

“Wherever the next bad guy emerges!" Hemant shrugged slightly. 

Before Dan could reply—A roar split the air. Both men instinctively turned. A Mikoyan-Gurevich MiG-27 screamed across the sky, descending with precision. The jet cut through the desert heat like a blade before touching down smoothly on the runway, trailing dust and power behind it.

Hemant stopped walking. Watched. There was something about fighter jets—the raw aggression, the control, the defiance of gravity. Even for a man like him, it commanded respect. The MiG-27 taxied toward the hangar, slowing as ground crew rushed into position. Ladders were brought in. Signals exchanged. Then the cockpit opened. The pilot emerged. At first, it was just a silhouette against the glare. Then clearer. A figure climbed down—confident, fluid. And then—Something unexpected. The helmet came off. A cascade of long hair loosened from a tight bun, falling freely over her shoulders. The desert wind caught it instantly, giving the moment an almost cinematic stillness. Hemant didn’t blink.

The pilot stepped down fully now—composed, unhurried. She removed her gloves, exchanging a few words with ground crew before turning—Toward him. Her face came into full view. Sharp eyes. Calm confidence. A presence that didn’t demand attention—yet owned it effortlessly. She then tied her hair to a bun and put on her aviators showing some swagger and personality.



Hemant felt it. A rare, unfamiliar pause in his otherwise controlled mind. As she walked past, his eyes instinctively dropped for a second—just enough to catch the name stitched onto her uniform.

Kirti Raghuvanshi

He repeated it silently. She kept walking. Then—Her eyes met his. Just for a second. And in that second, something shifted. A faint grin appeared on her lips—not wide, not obvious—but deliberate. Knowing. Then she looked ahead again and continued walking. Hemant remained still. Dan stepped beside him and snapped his fingers right in front of his face.

"Hey, This is an Air Force base, not a Bollywood set" Dan smirked. 

No response.

"Don’t tell me… Commander Saab is hit" Dan leaned closer. 

"Maybe" Hemant finally exhaled, a small smile forming. 

"You’re serious?" Dan blinked. 

Hemant looked ahead, then slightly back—just where she had walked.

"Maybe I just found something worth staying for"

"This place melts brains. That’s what it does" Dan shook his head, laughing. 

Hemant didn’t reply immediately. Instead, almost unconsciously, he looked back again. She was farther now. Walking away. Not looking back. For a moment, something unspoken passed through him—an absurd, fleeting thought. Turn back.

And then—As if the desert itself carried the message—She did. Kirthi Rathod turned her head over her shoulder. Her eyes found his again. This time, the grin was clearer. Warmer. Undeniable. And then she walked on. Dan went quiet. Even he felt that. Hemant stood there for a second longer, something settling deep within him—not distraction, not weakness… but anticipation.

Nal Air Force Station was supposed to be his new responsibility. A posting. A pause between spec ops. But as he picked up his gear and resumed walking—He knew. This place wasn’t just going to test him as a soldier. It was about to heal some things that were broken not so long ago. The breakup with Sanjana was still a flesh wound in his heart , but after seeing her. Something in him simply said maybe just maybe he was ready to move on. Something he had never trained for. And for the first time in a long time—The New Commander Hemant Kumar didn’t mind the uncertainty.


He was looking forward to experience what the future holds.

                                                                                                                     END OF CHAPTER 33

[Harry Jordan]

PHEW!

Another solid chapter. Now a lot of you may have noticed I ended the chapter halfway through the flashback. That is because we will spending a lot of time there getting to know Hemant's backstory before his ascension to the Archangel Vigilante. We are going to explore the blueprint behind Michael King and showcase what events resulted in someone like Hemant to transition to that. 

So enjoy Chapter 33 for now as more interesting events awaits us in the future with our Action Man right here!

      FROM YOURS TRULY

  HARRY JORDAN 

[Harry Jordan]

But what a wonderful update , 11/10 worth the wait . 

Thanks for the update , Man . 

Glad you loved the chapter , I too enjoyed plotting it because I finally found something interesting to do with Sonarika's character.

Now about her incidents in this chapter. The whole reason for her "close encounter" with Vikram was to show that Sonarika is a changed woman now. If you remember the past chapters , Sonarika always gave in to Vikram's advances pretty easily. She had that "easily submissive" trope in the past which was part of her hypersexuality. It was more ellaborated in the "dress" scene where how she reacted to both her men in the past and the change she went through now. In that past, she ignored Hemant's blue dress and accepted Vikram's dress in different situations showing her leaning towards Vikram in the past. But now she realized those mistakes and hence her choosing the blue dress for the concert implied she wasn't succumbing to temptation that easy.


Even the "Almost Make-out" scene between Sonarika and Vikram was to show how much she has brough that change in herself. In the past she never resisted. The only resistance she has ever shown was in Bali and that too happened because Vikram insulted Hemant. She still believes that Hemant is her lightning rod. This was the first instance where she showed resistance , that she finally said no to Vikram. And her conversation with Reshma was her realization that she has changed. This is the beginning of Sonarika reconnecting to her roots and find the "curios" mindset she once had back to her. Another part is that Reshma's relevation of her own marriage not being perfect and doing kinky stuffs with consent shows Sonarika the error in her ways. As for Sonarika still "meeting" Vikram , she understands she failed him as a partner too. And now she is aware of the broader mind games she is being played with by people around her , thanks to Meghna and her overconfidence. Sonarika is changing,  and she is changing for the better. Now Hemant's backstory will eventually be another motivating factor for her in the future. And another instance in her evolving character , is her outlook afterwards. When she almost made out with Vikram , she was disgusted by herself and cursed herself. While even though she was angry at Hemant in the beginning of the chapter because of him keeping his past from her , she doesn't care much and on the contrary still holding onto his memory. Sonarika's biggest fear is being "Alone" , but she is willing to live that fear only for him , because now her mind is more clear and stable. And in a way , once again , it will be Hemant that will play an important role in her transformation. Her arc will be paving the way to transform her from the pawn to the player of the game!


Anjana and Meghna are still to many level the negative characters in this story. With Meghna being the main bad in Sonarika's arc. Anjana is no saint here either. She has an ambition. And that is to have Sonarika and Vikram become a couple and move to Goa. That is her goal , because only if that happens will she be able to rule the entire BAJAJ CORP. For her , Sonarika and Vikram reunion is a necessity she wants to achieve. Which is why she is twisting Ritesh's murder to her advantage and trying to convince Sonarika to move on with Vikram and live their life. The only human part of her is that she doesn't want to hurt Vikram as she still loves him and cares for him as a younger brother. She doesn't care about Sonarika as long as she keeps Vikram away from Bajajcorp.


As for Vikram , he is still that desperate lover trying to win back her woman's heart. But he is doing the same methods he did initially to seduce her but its not seems to be working anymore. He is shrinking his world around her unaware of his sister's manipulation to throw him away from the family business. 

Now , for Katherine , she is very much relevant. She has a connection to a certain "You know who" which will play into our heroine learning the truth.


As for Hemant's backstory,  Sonarika believed Hemant was just a random soldier who seeked voluntary retirement after watching his friend die. It is now she learned he was no "Average" Solider but rather a ruthless commando with insane battle experience. This backstory will be her tying the thread understanding how Hemant built this weapons company with extensive knowledge on hand held weapons. Also to note , Dan's recollection of the flashback will only tell the story of Hemant's Garuda days , he may or may not know about Michael King. And as for the world building , that will only get crazier in the future chapters as next chapter too will predominantly feature Hemant's backstory as there will be a lot of events to unpack.


Now as for my choice of Kriti Sanon as the "Visual Representation" for Kirti Raghuvanshi. I already hinted this is a woman we have already seen in the story before , only she was introduced with a different name , this is her backstory here. This specific woman was introduced as a lean and tall figure with features of an acrobatic and agile fighter. Initially my plan was to use Deepika Padukone as we already have enough material of her in an Air Force Uniform. But I thought it would be too obvious. So it was just my personal choice because I kind of see Kriti in this character's appearance and in some way truly capture the essence of this fighter pilot character in those arts. Plus based on my research , Air Force pilots are meant to lean and fit as they are supposed to endure mach speeds in fighter jets. And our beautiful Kirti is a MiG-27 Jet pilot so she is an elite class!


This backstory is important because this will also pave the way for a change in Sonarika as a person as well because this backstory will change her own outreach in life. She will see things in a new way and find a deeper resolve in finding herself. I also teased her "Revenge" arc. She is only aware about the mind games on her life right now. Imagine her reaction when she learns her baby sister wasn't dead by accident but murder. So , for people concerned with Sonarika's arc , just wait when the "DHURANDHAR" in her awakens after the truth is revealed!! 


More than Hemant , I am actually going to enjoy the future plans I have for her!!!! 

[Harry Jordan]

Sonarika even allowing Vik to touch her right now is insane and blowing my mind after all that countless hours of therapy and calm, matured self discovery. This this episode of resisting should have come earlier, the timing doesn't feel right as its proving what Hemanth's thoughts on double date.

Well , this was needed for the situation as after the talk with Reshma , Sonarika learned to put things together and see that someone is playing with her life. Plus its not easy to recover faster from something that was close to an addiction considering how many times Sonarika gave into Vikram's charms pretty easily in the past. The segment was important to show that she was indeed healing but also its a struggle for her as she is fighting her "addiction". One thing is sure , Vikram is loosing his hold on Sonarika as she is drifting away from her infactuations towards him!

[Harry Jordan]

I agree on the context as without an episode of almost giving up then resisting last minute is needed to show she is evolving, I just felt after all the therapy, alone time with plants, sessions with friends and doctor and self awareness while Hemanth's never ending taunts while she was recovering herself, this seems like a step back not progressing. That's just my opinion. 

~RCF

Yeah , I get your point. I wanted to do this because she will be getting another boost of motivation after Dan completes a portion of Hemant's backstory which will fuel more resistance and resolve for her. Plus with some other revelations in the horizon , Sonarika will transform into a different person when she learns about certain "Tragedies" in her life and how she must avenge it.

[Harry Jordan]

Did you recognize when was your story went to second page?? That's when you lost your frequency in updates.. You were an regular updater weekly once and you surprised us one with two update on one week..I know you have your own personal reasons..
But also please try to come in a week.. I am big fan of Hemant and sona.. Eagerly waiting for their interaction after a long time face to face..

I understand your observation....unfortunately time constraints is what limits me in my work plus this is not like the early chapters. We are moving in a very intricate part of the main plot. I am still trying to construct the "Mini" love story of Kirti and Hemant and how the Garud adventures came to an end so that this flashback draws a motivation factor and more intrigue in Sonarika's character regarding Hemant. The problem here is there is a lot of connection to some characters who were in the background to be finally revealed on how they came in Hemant's world. And I have to restrict that in a single chapter that is being worked. Its a real hectic of a work , but like I said to my readers. I will not sacrifice the story's quality to maintain my punctuality. If I start doing it on time and people start seeing the quality lower , I will be upset. 

I honestly don't know by when it will be ready. All I know is there is some crazy amount of action and "Spec Ops" stuff that will give an introductory opening to the world of Michael King and AZRAEL. And Kirti is an important part for that world to form.

So I understand what you mean , but unfortunately , the process is pretty hectic for now. But I assure you , every chapter will be quality material as the story unfolds on Hemant and Sonarika as they will walk their individual paths to acquire their justice!

[Harry Jordan]

I AM BACK!

Belated Hello to all my fellow Readers.

  I know a lot of you were looking forward for the next part of this saga but things didn't go according to plan with me. For me it was partially good and partially terrible. The terrible part was obviously I couldn't update this story. The good part was I took a break thanks to a fellow friend who took me to a much needed social break to a camp with nature and the wilderness. It felt very invigorating and peaceful to never touch Social Media for weeks. It also gave me enough quiet and time for my mind to recharge and for me to completely heal from my irregular health. 

So with a new energy , I am back and this time I want to gift all my readers who enjoyed my story till now to give you a reward for this delay. 

I will be uploading Chapter 34 after this post. And I would like to point why this is unique. Chapter 34 and 35 will completely focus on Hemant's backstory and him stepping into becoming Michael King in the past. And Chapter 34 will be the first chapter in this story which will have "No Sex". Chapter 34 is heavily "Action Packed" , we will be seeing the early adventures of Hemant as a Garud Commando and a teaser to the next phase of his life. This chapter is special for me because we are finally revealing his origin. Who Hemant is and what is his origin. So expect a lot of action set pieces and badass fight scenes in this chapter.

And Chapter 35 will be given to you on Saturday without delay as I've completed that as well. But it will come with some spicy content involving our new temporary heroine in this phase of the story. 

So folks , brace yourself. BECAUSE The Longest Chapter in this story is coming online in an hour!!! 

Enjoy the Spectacle.

        From Yours Truly

  HARRY JORDAN   

[Harry Jordan]

                                                                                                                            CHAPTER 34

Nal nights were a different kind of battlefield.


At Nal Air Force Station, the heat of the day gave way to a deceptive calm. The desert cooled, the winds softened, and silence stretched across the runways like a held breath. But for the Garuda Task Force, nightfall didn’t mean rest—it meant vigilance.

Weeks had passed since their arrival.

Hemant and Dan had settled into a rhythm that felt almost unnatural. Days blurred into routine—perimeter checks, coordination drills, surveillance patterns. To an outsider, they looked like elite soldiers reduced to glorified security guards.

But that illusion didn’t last long. Twice already, the call had come. Once back in Jammu and Kashmir—another Mujahideen stronghold wiped out with surgical precision. And once deep in the northeast, where a Maoist insurgent camp had been dismantled before dawn even touched the jungle canopy. Two missions. Two successes. Zero noise.

They returned each time without celebration, slipping back into their roles at Nal like shadows returning to their corners. Tonight was no different. Hemant stood atop the watchtower, rifle slung across his shoulder, eyes scanning the base under dim floodlights. From this height, everything was visible—the runways stretching endlessly, the hangars resting in disciplined rows, the occasional movement of personnel below. It was quiet. Too quiet for most. Perfect for him.

He leaned slightly against the cold railing, letting the desert wind brush past him. His gaze moved methodically—entry points, blind spots, patrol routes. Every inch of the base was etched into his mind now.

And then—Movement. Not a threat. Something else. Near the far side of the base, a small group of cadets walked toward their quarters, their silhouettes faint against the low lighting. Hemant’s eyes lingered—not out of suspicion, but recognition.

She was there.

Kirthi Raghuvanshi



Even at a distance, she stood out. There was a certain rhythm to her walk—confident, unhurried, almost detached from everything around her. The other cadets talked among themselves, but she seemed… centered. Focused.

Hemant exhaled slowly. There it was again. That pull. Subtle. Persistent. Uninvited. He didn’t like it. Or maybe… he didn’t trust it. He shifted his gaze away, forcing his attention back to the perimeter. A soldier couldn’t afford distractions. Especially not ones he didn’t fully understand. Footsteps approached from behind.

"Still scanning the same empty fence?" Dan’s voice came, casual as ever.

"Empty places are the ones that get you killed" Hemant didn’t turn. 

Dan leaned beside him, following his line of sight. It didn’t take long for him to notice.

"Oh" he smirked. 

"That empty space"

"Don’t start" Hemant gave him a look. 

"Too late" Dan chuckled. 

"You’ve been staring at that direction for the last five minutes"

A pause.

Then, softer—

"What’s really going on?"

That question lingered. Hemant stayed silent for a moment longer than usual. The kind of silence that wasn’t avoidance—but decision. Then he spoke.

"Her name’s Kirthi Raghuvanshi"

"You noticed the name too? This is serious" Dan raised an eyebrow. 

Hemant ignored the remark.

"I’m not… interested" he said, though even he didn’t sound convinced.

Dan didn’t push immediately. He just waited. And that was enough. Hemant’s grip tightened slightly on the railing.

"There was someone else" he said finally.

"Yeah?" Dan’s expression shifted. 

A long breath.

"Sanjana....Sanju"

The name carried weight.

"We were together before I joined" Hemant continued.

"It was… real. At least, I thought it was" 

He stared out into the darkness, but he wasn’t seeing the base anymore.

"Her parents didn’t approve. Said they didn’t want their daughter tied to a soldier"

A faint, humorless smile appeared. 

"Too risky. Too uncertain. One day I’d be gone, and she’d be left alone"

"That’s—" Dan’s jaw tightened. 

"They weren’t wrong" Hemant cut in calmly.

That stopped him.

"They were thinking about her future" Hemant went on. 

"Stability. Safety. A life partner for life....something my profession cannot guarantee" 

He gestured vaguely at the base, the uniform, the unspoken dangers.

"So you just walked away?” Dan asked.

"I ended it" Hemant nodded once. 

Silence settled between them.

"Doesn’t mean it didn’t cost anything" Hemant added quietly.

For the first time, there was something raw beneath his composed exterior. Dan looked at him, a mix of frustration and understanding crossing his face. 

"Still doesn’t make it right"

"No" Hemant admitted. 

"It doesn’t"

Another pause. The desert wind picked up slightly, brushing past them like a reminder that time never stood still.

"So what now?" Dan asked.

Hemant leaned back, eyes returning to the present.

"Now?" he said. 

"Nothing"

He shook his head lightly.

"I’m not looking for anything. Not anymore"

His voice was steady again. Controlled.

"I’ve got this life now. The missions. The unpredictability. The… clarity" 

A faint smirk returned. 

"It’s enough"

Dan studied him for a moment. Then he nudged his shoulder.

"Good" he said. 

"Because you’re stuck with me in that ‘adventurous life"

Hemant let out a small chuckle.

"Could be worse"

"Damn right it could" Dan grinned. 

He straightened up, stretching slightly before adding—

"You won’t be alone, you know. Not out there"

A beat.

"Or in here"

Hemant glanced at him. There was no joke in Dan’s expression this time. Just certainty. For a moment, the weight felt lighter.

"Yeah" Hemant said quietly. 

"I know"

Below them, the base remained calm. The cadets had disappeared into their quarters. The runways stood still under the night sky.


June 2nd, 2004 — THE MOUNTAINS OF BOGDANG, LADAKH


The wind howled like a warning no one was listening to. Perched on a rocky watchpoint, a JeM militant scanned the vast plateau below through his binoculars. Nothing moved. Just endless stone, snow, and silence. It was the kind of silence that made men careless.

Another militant approached, exchanging a few quiet words before turning back toward the hidden base carved into the heights above. Routine. Predictable. Safe. Or so they thought. Inside the base, dim lanterns flickered against rough stone walls. A group of heavily armed clerics knelt in prayer, their chants low and rhythmic. Nearby, others checked rifles, loaded magazines, prepared for a war they believed would come from the front. They never considered the shadows behind them. Outside, at the eastern edge, a still lake reflected the pale sky like glass. One militant stood guard near its banks, occasionally glancing back toward the base. Another called out to him from afar.

"All clear?"

The guard raised a hand, signaling affirmation. Everything secure. Everything under control. He turned back toward the lake. And the water moved. A hand burst through the surface—fast, violent, undeniable. Before the militant could react, a blade followed. A combat knife drove straight through his throat, silencing him instantly. No cry. No struggle. Just death. Commander Hemant Kumar emerged from the icy water like something born of it, breath controlled, eyes locked, movements precise. He lowered the lifeless body gently, letting it slip back toward the shore without a sound. His voice came through the comms, low and steady.

"Dan"

A pause.

"Watchpoints. Now"

Elsewhere, Lieutenant Dan Shankar was already in motion. Hidden beneath a grass-covered stealth suit, he moved like part of the terrain itself. Invisible. Patient. Deadly. He closed distance on the first lookout, suppressor raised.

Thwack

One shot. Clean. The body dropped before it even registered fear. Dan shifted instantly, repositioning. Another militant. Another breath.

Thwack

Gone. No alarms. No noise. Just surgical elimination. Within minutes, the outer eyes of the base were blind. Hemant and Dan converged at the main entrance, shadows aligning into purpose. Behind them, the rest of Delta Squad assembled, weapons ready, breathing steady. Hemant glanced once at Dan.

"Shock and awe"

No more needed to be said. Dan moved forward, planting charges along the reinforced entrance. His hands were quick, practiced. He stepped back, giving a sharp nod. The squad stacked behind Hemant. Weapons raised. He counted silently.

Three. Two. One—

The explosion tore through the silence.

The entrance blasted inward in a storm of debris and fire. Before the dust even settled, Hemant surged forward, rifle blazing. Delta Squad followed. The confined space erupted into chaos. Gunfire cracked through stone corridors, each shot deliberate, controlled. Militants scrambled, disoriented, their prayers turning into panic. But there was no time to recover. Hemant cleared corners with ruthless efficiency. Dan covered angles, dropping targets before they could even aim. One militant lunged from behind cover—Down. Another raised his weapon blindly—Down. Seven left. Then five. Then three. Then none. Within minutes, the base fell silent again. Only the echo of gunfire remained.

"Clear" Hemant lowered his weapon slightly, scanning. 

"Clear" Dan nodded. 

But something felt… off.

"Basement" Hemant said.

They moved down cautiously, boots echoing against the narrow steps. The air grew heavier. Stale. Suffocating. At the bottom, they found no armed resistance. Instead—Sacks. Dozens of them. Moving.

"What the hell…" Dan frowned. 

Hemant stepped forward, tension rising. He knelt and tore one open. And froze. Underneath the rough fabric was a girl. Young. Terrified. Bound. Alive.

"Dan—" His voice changed.

Urgency. Shock. They moved faster now, ripping open sack after sack. More girls. Dozens. Some barely teenagers. Some even younger. All restrained. All silent in fear. Dan’s hands shook slightly as he helped untie one. 

"My god...."

Hemant’s jaw tightened as he scanned them. Then he saw it. Marks. On their arms. Each one bore the same symbol—etched in blue ink. A grotesque design. Twisted. Almost ritualistic.

"What is that?" Dan pointed at it. 

Hemant stared at it longer.

"It’s a temporary mark!" he said quietly.

He looked closer. The shape. The pattern. Something sinister.

"Looks like…" Dan hesitated.

Hemant finished it.

"Satan"

The word hung heavy in the air. But that wasn’t the worst part. Hemant looked around again, sharper now.

"These aren’t all locals"

Dan followed his gaze. He was right. Different faces. Different features. Some clearly Indian. Others—East Asian. African. Even European. A cold realization settled in.

"This isn’t just a terror cell" Dan muttered.

Hemant stood slowly, his mind racing.

"No" he said.

"This is bigger"

Much bigger. He activated comms immediately.

"This is Delta Actual. We have multiple female hostages—repeat, multiple hostages. Require immediate medical extraction. Send ambulances, full support. Location secure"

Acknowledgment came through. But Hemant barely registered it. He turned and walked out of the base, stepping back into the open air. The mountains felt different now. Not silent. Watching. Dan followed him, catching up quickly. 

"What the hell is going on here, Hemant?"

Hemant didn’t answer immediately. His eyes scanned the horizon, as if searching for something beyond what was visible. Then he spoke. Low. Certain.

"I don’t know yet"

A pause.

"But this—"

He glanced back toward the base.

"—this isn’t the end of anything"

Another beat.

"It’s the beginning"

Dan studied him. Hemant’s expression had changed. Not just focused. Resolved.

"Something’s moving behind the scenes, something far more sinister!" Hemant continued. 

The wind picked up again, carrying a chill that had nothing to do with altitude. Hemant’s voice dropped further.

"And we just stepped right into it"

SOME TIME LATER

The convoy cut through the stark, wind-carved terrain of Ladakh, engines growling against the thin mountain air. Inside the transport vehicles, silence sat heavier than the cold. The rescued girls were wrapped in blankets, guarded carefully, attended by medics who worked with quiet urgency. Fear still lingered in their eyes—but now, there was something else too. Safety. Behind them, another vehicle carried the men of Delta Squad. No one spoke much. This victory didn’t feel complete. At the Army Base Camp, everything moved quickly. Medical teams rushed the girls into secured facilities for examination and care. Officers coordinated logistics, intelligence units sealed off recovered materials, and soldiers stood guard with renewed alertness.

But for Hemant and Dan—The mission wasn’t over. Not yet. Inside a temporary operations tent, Delta Squad spread out everything they had recovered from the JeM base. Crates. Documents. Weapons. Maps. Every piece mattered now. Dan sifted through ammunition logs while another soldier cataloged weapons. Hemant focused on the paperwork. His eyes moved fast, scanning, connecting. Then—He stopped.

"Dan" he said quietly.

"What?" Dan looked up.

"I found some transport records" Hemant held up a document. 

"What about them?" Dan walked over, leaning in. 

"The girls and the shipments....they've come from Karachi port" 

Hemant’s jaw tightened slightly. 

"That’s not surprising. Cross-border supply routes has always been part of a Terror Network's activities—" 

Dan frowned. 

"Wait" Hemant cut in.

He flipped to another sheet.

"They were being prep for transport"

Dan’s expression shifted as he read.

"To the Nepal border…" he muttered.

"This wasn’t meant to stay here" Hemant nodded slowly. 

A chill crept into the room.

"So India was just… a passage?" Dan crossed his arms. 

Hemant didn’t answer immediately. He picked up another manifest. His eyes narrowed.

"No"

"What now?" Dan leaned closer. 

Hemant turned the paper toward him.

"The Final destination of these girls and the shipment was...."

A pause.

"Shanghai"

The words landed like a blow.

"You’re telling me… all those girls…" Dan blinked. 

"Were never meant to stay in India. Kashmir was just a pit stop!" Hemant finished.

Silence. Heavy. Unsettling.

"This is trafficking. Global Trafficking" Dan ran a hand through his hair. 

"Not just trafficking" Hemant’s gaze hardened. 

He thought of the markings. The blue symbol. Burned into skin. Identical. Deliberate.

"Something organized, something that doesn’t stop at borders" he said. 

"Then this is definitely a nexus" Dan exhaled slowly. 

Hemant didn’t respond. Because one question kept echoing in his mind—Who marks people like that… and why? Later that evening, Hemant stood outside the command cabin. A soldier stepped out.

"General will see you now"

Hemant nodded once and entered. Inside, General Bakshi stood by a table, reviewing files. His presence, as always, filled the room without effort. He looked up briefly.

"At ease, Commander"

Hemant complied, but his posture remained firm.

"Sir, I need to discuss something regarding the Bogdang operation"

"Go ahead" Bakshi gestured. 

Hemant stepped forward, placing the documents on the table.

"These aren’t isolated findings" he began. 

"The supplies, the hostages—this operation connects multiple locations in multiple countries. Karachi, Nepal border, Shanghai. This isn’t just a terror module"

Bakshi listened. Silent. Measured. Hemant continued, his voice gaining intensity.

"Sir, this points to a larger syndicate. Organized. Structured. Possibly operating across continents. And the markings—"

He paused briefly.

"They’re not random. They mean something"

A beat.

"We should pursue this lead"

Silence filled the room. Then—Bakshi closed the file. Calmly.

"I understand your concern, Commander"

Hemant waited. But something in the tone already felt… off.

"However, your job here is done" 

Bakshi concluded. The words were simple. Final.

"Sir—" Hemant frowned slightly. 

"All recovered materials will be handed over to Intelligence. They will carry out whatever process is forward" 

Bakshi went on,  A pause.

"You and your unit have performed exceptionally. Once again"

Recognition. But not permission.

"Sir, with due respect—this could be bigger than—" 

Hemant didn’t move. Bakshi’s gaze sharpened. And just like that, the air changed.

"I know that you have… a tendency to push beyond your orders" 

He said, voice firmer now, A beat.

"But remember who you are"

Hemant held his ground.

"You are a Garud Commando"

Each word landed with weight.

"Your duty is to protect Indian assets. Not chase shadows across borders. Not investigate syndicates. That is not your mandate"

Silence. Tight. Controlled. Bakshi stepped closer.

"Good soldier follow orders"

The message was clear. Conversation over.

"Return to Nal Air Force Station, resume your protection detail of our Air Base" Bakshi added. 

Hemant’s jaw clenched slightly. But he saluted.

"Yes, sir"

And turned. Outside, the cold air hit differently now. Sharper. He stepped down from the cabin—Just as a military vehicle rolled into the compound. Its engine cut off. The door opened. A man stepped out. Broad-shouldered. Confident. Wearing dark shades despite the fading light. His build was unmistakably military—but not Indian. Hemant slowed. The man glanced at him. Then smiled. Warm. Casual. Like they shared a secret. Hemant frowned slightly, confused—but didn’t stop. He walked past. A few meters ahead, Dan waited. He had seen it too.

"Who the hell was that?" Dan asked.

"No idea" Hemant shook his head. 

"Didn’t look like one of ours" Dan glanced back once more. 

Hemant didn’t reply. Because something about that smile—Didn’t sit right.

"So? What did Bakshi say?" Dan asked, turning back. 

Hemant exhaled.

"He reminded us who we are"

"Let me guess… ‘follow orders, go back’?" Dan groaned. 

"We’re returning to Nal" Hemant nodded. 

Dan threw his hands up. 

"Fantastic. Back to roasting alive in Rajasthan"

That got a faint smirk out of Hemant. But it didn’t last. They walked in silence for a while. Each lost in thought. Because both of them knew—This wasn’t finished. Not even close. Back in their quarters, Delta Squad began preparing for departure. Weapons cleaned. Gear packed. Reports filed. Routine. Normal. Expected. But beneath it—Something lingered. Unanswered questions. Unseen enemies. Unfinished business. Dan lay back on his cot, staring at the ceiling. 

"You ever get the feeling we’re walking away from something we shouldn’t?"

Hemant sat quietly, the documents still fresh in his mind. The markings. The routes. The girls. And that man.

"Yeah" he said finally.

A pause.

"Every second"

THE NEXT DAY AT NAL AIR BASE

Nal had a rhythm now.

Back at Nal Air Force Station, the days no longer felt like a forced pause between missions. They had shape. Routine. Faces that were becoming familiar. For men like Hemant and Dan, that was rare—and strangely grounding. Garuda wasn’t just guarding anymore. They were embedded. Integrated. Useful in ways that went beyond pulling triggers. It started with her. Pranali Gupta. Call sign—Rani. And she lived up to it. Rani ran the engineering floor like a monarch in overalls—sharp, efficient, and absolutely uncompromising when it came to aircraft performance. If something flew out of Nal, it flew because she allowed it to.

Hemant respected that instantly.

"Don’t touch anything unless I say so" she had told him on day one, not even looking up.

"That’s fair" He had smirked. 

Three days later, she trusted him with a toolkit. That was her version of approval. Hemant slipped into the engineering role naturally. His background made him valuable—understanding systems, retrofits, structural tweaks. He wasn’t just muscle; he was precision. Rani saw that early. Dan, on the other hand, found his place with the armaments. Explosives. Ballistics. Payload systems.

"Basically" Dan had said once, inspecting a missile rack. 

"I make sure things go boom… correctly"

"Comforting" Rani had rolled her eyes. 

The base slowly revealed its hierarchy. Pilots. Cadets. Ground crew. Stories attached to each one. One evening, as they worked inside a hangar, Rani nodded subtly toward the training barracks.

"See that guy?"

Hemant followed her gaze. A man was mid-workout—pull-ups, controlled, effortless. Lean build. Sharp features. Confidence in every movement.

"That’s Vishal Agnihotri, Call sign—Victor" Rani said. 

"Looks like he knows it too" Dan leaned in slightly. 

"He is our Top Ace of the base. Best pilot we've got" Rani smirked. 

Hemant watched him for a moment. Measured.

"He flies like that too?" he asked.

"Better, and he doesn’t let anyone forget it" Rani replied. 

Then she added—

"Second best…"

Hemant didn’t need to ask.

"Kirti Raghuvanshi, Call sign—Kira" Rani said. 

That name landed differently. Hemant’s focus sharpened just a bit. Rani noticed.

"Oh, you know her" she teased lightly.

Hemant didn’t deny it.

"She flies a Mikoyan MiG-29, while Victor flies a Sukhoi Su-30" 

Rani continued, tightening a bolt as she spoke. 

"That’s not a fair fight" Dan raised an eyebrow. 

"Exactly, and yet—she beats him on certain sorties" Rani said. 

Hemant’s interest deepened.

"Skill" he murmured.

"Pure skill" Rani nodded. 

But there was more.

"Both of them come from… influence" Rani added.

"Of course they do" Dan groaned quietly. 

Rani ignored him.

"Vishal’s family has long-standing Air Force ties. Legacy pilot background. It shows"

Then she looked at Hemant.

"But Kirti…"

Something in her tone changed.

"Her father is Viren Raghuvanshi. Retired Colonel"

Hemant listened carefully.

"Her grandfather is a veteran of the Indo-Pakistani War of 1971. Passed away last year" 

Rani continued. A lineage of service. Of sacrifice.

"He’s got two older kids. Neither joined the forces. So… Kirti? She’s his pride" Rani said. 

Hemant exhaled slowly. That explained something. The discipline. The confidence. The weight she carried without showing it. He respected her more now. Not just for what she did—But where she came from. Rani wiped her hands and leaned against the workbench.

"There’s one more thing" she added casually.

Hemant glanced at her.

"Victor’s been....really interested in her!"

"Of course he has" Dan snorted. 

"Their competition seems to bring them closer. Lately they've been bonding outside base in the same friend circle. Its not at all surprising considering they're both from reputed defense families. Other cadets here have already hyped them due to their competetive nature, they’re pairing them up like it’s a done deal" 

Rani said. Hemant didn’t react immediately.

Then—

"People love some gossips....maybe its just some exaggerated humor" he said simply.

But something in his voice had shifted. Rani noticed. She didn’t push further. A few days later—Inside the hangar, Hemant worked under the exposed panel of a Mikoyan MiG-29, carefully adjusting components under Rani’s supervision.

"Align that bracket properly, if the rudder response lags even by a fraction—" she said. 

"I know...It’ll drag the maneuver" Hemant replied calmly. 

Rani gave a small approving nod.

"Good"

Footsteps approached.

"Rani?"

Both of them looked up. Kirti. She walked in with that same composed energy, helmet tucked under her arm.

"Status on my bird?" she asked.

Rani gestured toward the open panel. 

"Upgrades are pretty much done Kirti. The rudder lag has been reduced, will have smoother response on turns"

"Good. Last sortie felt was just…..sticky" Kirti nodded. 

Then her eyes shifted. To Hemant. A pause. Recognition.

"You two haven’t been formally introduced, have you?" Rani smiled slightly. 

She gestured.

"Commander Hemant Kumar. Garuda Task Force"

Then to him—

"Flight Lieutenant Kirti Raghuvanshi"

Kirti tilted her head slightly, a faint smile forming.

"So , these 'bodyguards' been reassigned to… aircraft maintenance now?" she said.

There was a teasing edge in her tone. Before Hemant could reply—Rani cut in.

"They’re not bodyguards, Kirti. They’re support integration. And frankly—better engineers than half my crew"

Kirti raised an eyebrow.

"Is that so?"

She looked back at Hemant, amused.

"Then I hope he doesn’t break my plane"

Dan, watching from a distance, almost laughed. Hemant just met her gaze calmly.

"I won’t" he said.

Simple. Certain. That seemed to satisfy her.

"For your sake" she replied lightly.



Then she turned and began walking away. Hemant watched her. Not openly. But enough. Halfway to the exit—She looked back. Just once. And smiled. Not teasing this time. Something softer. Real. Then she left. Dan appeared beside him almost instantly.

"Mr.Lover Boy is going to his fantasy world again!!!" Dan teased him.

Hemant didn’t respond. He just looked at the aircraft for a moment. Then back toward where she had walked out. And for the first time in a long time—The chaos of missions, the weight of secrets, the shadows of something larger lurking in the world…All of it felt quieter. Not gone. But distant. Because sometimes—In between war and duty—There are moments. Small ones. Unexpected ones.

That remind you there’s still something worth holding onto.

                                                                                                                                                  (TO BE CONTD)

[Harry Jordan]

                                                                                                                           (CHAPTER CONTD)

The directive came down like a quiet shift in doctrine—but everyone at Nal Air Force Station felt its weight immediately. Air Force cadets would now undergo commando training. Not optional. Not experimental. Institutional.

The future of the Garud Commando Force would be shaped from within the Air Force itself. And that meant one thing—Hemant and Dan were no longer just operators. They were instructors. The first day on the training ground was brutal. Not because the cadets were weak—they weren’t. They were already disciplined, already sharp. Pilots and engineers trained to operate under pressure. But this—This was different. This was weight. Recoil. Sweat. Close-quarters instinct.

"Again!" Dan barked, watching a group struggle with weapon transitions. 

"You hesitate—you die. Simple math"

Hemant, meanwhile, stood at the gun range, overseeing the heavy weapons module. His presence was quieter, but no less intense.

"Control the weapon, don’t fight it. Let it move with you" he told one cadet calmly. 

Then she stepped up. Kirti. She approached the station assigned to her—a heavy platform-mounted M16 rifle modified for sustained fire drills. Even for trained personnel, it demanded strength and control. She gripped it. Fired. The recoil pushed her stance off balance. She reset. Tried again. Same result. A flicker of frustration crossed her face. Hemant noticed. He walked over.

"Shift your footing, you’re absorbing the recoil wrong" he said, stepping beside her. 

She glanced at him briefly.

"Show me"

He adjusted her stance—subtle, precise. One hand guiding the weapon alignment, the other correcting shoulder placement.

"Lock here...Not here" he said. 

She followed. Fired again. Better. Still not perfect—but controlled.

"Okay… that helped" She exhaled slightly. 

Before the moment could settle—

"Hey, Kirti"

The voice cut in smoothly. Vishal Agnihotri stepped in, confident as ever.

"Let me, You’re overthinking it" he said, already moving closer. 

Hemant stepped back without a word. Vishal positioned himself behind her, hands guiding hers more directly.

“Relax your shoulders, You’re tensing up" he said. 

Kirti didn’t object. She let him. They fired again. This time smoother. And she smiled. That didn’t go unnoticed. Hemant turned away. No reaction. No expression. He moved to the next cadet, continuing instruction like nothing had happened. But he saw it. All of it. The days that followed only reinforced it. Training sessions. Briefings. Downtime near the hangars. Vishal and Kirti—together more often than not. Talking. Laughing. Flying. There was ease between them. Familiarity growing.

And every time Kirti smiled—Hemant noticed. He never lingered. Never interfered. But he noticed. Duty became his shield. If there was work, he buried himself in it. Weapons drills. Tactical simulations. Engineering support. Anything to keep his mind occupied. Because when it wasn’t—It drifted. To things he didn’t want to confront. Then came the next turn. A call from General Bakshi.

Hemant and Dan stood in the briefing room, listening.

"You’ve been selected, Garuda Task Force will be deployed next month for a special UN charter peace keeping operations at Congo!" 

Bakshi said, voice steady. Dan’s eyes lit up slightly.

"We’re going global" Dan couldn’t help it. 

Hemant didn’t smile. Instead—

"Peacekeeping operations aren’t clean" he said quietly.

"Exactly" Bakshi nodded once. 

The room fell silent. Because they both understood—This wasn’t escalation. This was exposure. New terrain. New enemies. Unknown rules. That night, the base buzzed quietly with the news.

"UN mission, yaar. That’s next level" Dan was still energized. 

"Also next level danger" Hemant leaned against the railing, eyes distant. 

"When has that stopped us?" Dan shrugged. 

Hemant didn’t answer. Because something else was occupying his thoughts. The next morning—Sorties. Hemant stood near the runway, watching the sky. Two aircraft cut across the horizon—An Su-30 and a MiG-29. Victor and Kira. They danced in the air—maneuvers sharp, aggressive. Competitive. Alive. And once again—Kirti edged ahead.

Despite the disadvantage.Despite the odds. She outflew him. Clean. Precise. Hemant watched as the jets descended. And when they landed—He saw it. Vishal laughing. Kirti smiling back. That same smile. And this time—It hit differently. Not sharp. Not sudden. Just… there. Persistent. Unwelcome. He turned away. Again.

Days later—Hemant was called to the visitor deck. Unusual. He wasn’t expecting anyone. As he stepped in—He stopped. The man from Ladakh. Broad-shouldered. Calm. Wearing that same easy confidence. And those shades. The man smiled.

"Good to see you again, Commander"

"I've seen you in Ladakh" Hemant’s eyes narrowed slightly. 

The man stepped forward, extending a hand.

"Name’s William J Irons. But you can call me Will"

Hemant didn’t take the hand immediately.

"Lets just say I was once a soldier like you. Just from another country. Former Marine to be exact" 

Will added casually. That explained the posture. The presence.

"What do you want?" Hemant finally shook his hand. 

"Straight to it. I like that" Will smiled faintly. 

A pause.

"I know what you did in Bogdang"

That got his attention.

"More importantly, I also know you haven’t stopped thinking about it" Will continued, 

Hemant said nothing. Because he hadn’t. Will reached into his pocket. Pulled out a small photograph. Placed it on the table. Hemant looked. The symbol. That same blue marking. His jaw tightened.

"You’ve seen this" Will said.

Not a question. A fact.

"Satan!" Hemant’s voice dropped.

Will leaned in slightly.

"We’ve been tracking it. Long before you stumbled onto it. So lets make it clear , whatever you're doubts are , its true. There is a larger set of players behind this operation. But this is way beyond your army paycheck. But like it or not , your actions in the military camp has brought you in their radar. Which is why I believe you will be more than willing to accept the offer I am giving you"

Global. Structured. Hidden. Hemant felt it again—that pull from Bogdang. That unfinished thread.

"You want answers" Will said quietly.

Hemant met his gaze.

"Yes"

Will smiled.

"Then I can give them to you"

Silence. Then—

"What’s the catch?" Hemant asked.

Because there’s always one. Will didn’t hesitate.

"You work with us"

A beat.

"Covert operations. Off the books. No chains. No bureaucracy"

Another step closer.

"You won’t be kept in the dark anymore. But you will become Darkness itself!"

The words landed deeper than expected.

"And in return?" Hemant asked.

Will’s voice dropped.

"You get closure. Something tells me this is the kind of things you prefer. A job where no one questions you , no one controls you. You get to do the right thing without anyone putting a leash!"

He tapped the photograph.

"So lets find out whats you're made of. Lets do some covert collaborations and see your talent and then we can make it permanent. What do you say? Ready for the new world order?"

A long pause. This was it. A line. Duty on one side. Truth on the other. Hemant didn’t hesitate.

"I’m in"

That evening—Dan listened. Every word. Every detail.

"And you just said yes?" he asked, stunned.

Hemant nodded.

"I had to"

"Or you wanted to?" Dan paced slightly. 

A beat. Then—

"Is this about that symbol… or about escaping this place?" Dan asked carefully.

Hemant didn’t respond immediately. Because the question hit closer than expected.

"Or maybe, it’s about her" Dan added 

Silence. Then—Hemant exhaled.

"…Partly"

He didn’t deny it.

"You’re unbelievable" Dan shook his head slowly. 

Hemant looked up.

"Not everything you desire can be achieved , but this is something I know I can control and it only needs my consent. The life of adventure and on the edge? its calling to me!" 

He said. His voice steadied.

"And this is my calling" he gestured vaguely beyond the base, beyond everything—A pause.

"The edge" Dan studied him.

"You think this is your path?"

"Yeah" Hemant nodded.

Quiet. Certain.

"Something tells me… this is where I’m supposed to go"

NAL Air Base had changed.

What was once a disciplined, predictable Air Force base had slowly transformed into something far more intense ever since the Garud commando training program began. At Nal Air Force Station, a new training yard had been carved out—ropes, obstacle rigs, firing pits, and endurance circuits replacing the quiet routines of cadet life. The air now carried the constant rhythm of boots hitting dirt, commands being shouted, and bodies being pushed past their limits.

The cadets adapted faster than expected.

They were already trained to handle pressure in the skies; now they were learning to survive on the ground. Bonds began to form in this new crucible—shared exhaustion, shared bruises, shared victories. Among them, Kirti seemed to thrive the most. There was something about this raw, physical challenge that suited her. She moved through the exercises with a quiet determination, pushing herself without complaint, embracing the grind rather than resisting it.

Vishal, on the other hand, struggled—but not in a way he would ever admit openly. The physical strain frustrated him, the loss of dominance irritated him, yet he showed up every single day with the same drive. Not for the training.

For her.

Hemant noticed.

From a distance, from the sidelines, from moments in between instruction—he saw the conversations, the shared glances, the easy laughter that now came more naturally between Kirti and Vishal. It wasn’t forced anymore. It was becoming something real.

One evening, as the cadets wrapped up a grueling drill, Hemant stood watching them disperse, his expression unreadable. That was when Rani walked up beside him, wiping grease from her hands with a cloth.

"You know, you never really had a chance" she said casually, following his line of sight, 

"Didn’t know it was a competition" Hemant didn’t look at her. 

"Everything is. You just don’t always realize it in time" Rani gave a faint smirk. 

"They’re… similar. Same world, same upbringing. Defense families. Expectations. Pressure. People like them—they understand each other without needing to explain"

She leaned against the railing, her tone softening slightly. A pause.

"People like us? We’re just spokes on the wheel. We keep things moving, but we’re not the center" 

She added quietly. That made Hemant turn. There was no irritation in his expression—only clarity.

“You might be right about the differences, But I’m not here to be just a spoke in the wheel" 

He said. Rani raised an eyebrow. Hemant’s voice remained calm, but there was something firm beneath it.

"I intend to be the whole machine"

That lingered.

Rani studied him for a moment, something like intrigue replacing her earlier certainty. Then she gave a small nod, almost impressed, and pushed herself off the railing.

"Well, I am curious on how this machine works from the rest!" she said, 

Hemant didn’t reply. He simply turned back to the field and resumed training the cadets, his focus sharper than before. A few days later, something else shifted.

Will returned. Hemant was called again, this time with less surprise but far more anticipation. When he reached the designated meeting area, Will stood waiting, as composed as ever.

"This is where things get real" Will said without preamble.

"They already are" Hemant crossed his arms slightly. 

"Not yet" Will smirked faintly. 

There was a pause before he continued.

'I told you who I was , now its time you knew who I am. And most importantly , what you are going to be a part of" 

Will said. Hemant said nothing, but his attention sharpened.

"We’re called SENTINEL" Will revealed. 

"A global military initiative operating under a special United Nations Security Council charter. Off-the-record operations. No bureaucracy. No delays. We handle threats the system can’t—or won’t—deal with. We operate outside the proper chain of command"

He stepped closer.

"Our purpose is simple. Eliminate the bad guys. Maintain global order of things and reduce the cause of chaos"

The weight of those words wasn’t lost on Hemant.

“And now, about your initiation" Will added.

"Understand this commander" Will confirmed. 

"If you perform the way I think you will… doors will open for you. Not just here. Everywhere. You won’t be another soldier waiting for orders—you’ll be someone the system depends on"

Hemant considered that for a moment. Then spoke.

"I am ready for it but on one condition"

"Go on" Will tilted his head slightly. 

"Dan comes with me"

There was hesitation this time. Will studied him, weighing the request.

"He’s not part of the selection" Will said.

"He’s part of me, If I’m in, he’s in" Hemant replied evenly. 

A longer pause followed. Then Will exhaled. 

"Fine. Dan will be part of our initial cordination missions with the GTF , but let me be clear , he will not be part of the Sentinel unit , because we're interested in only you. His responsibility in these missions is on you"

"It always is" Hemant said.

Will nodded once and shifted the conversation.

"Three days ago" he began. 

"A Chechnyan separatist group hijacked an oil rig in the Chukchi Sea—right between Alaska and Russia"

Hemant listened carefully.

"On the surface, it looks like a political disruption, but intelligence suggests something deeper. They’re trying to create a choke point on Russian oil production. Force instability. Push decisions that could ripple globally" 

Will continued. 

"Their trying to stir the russian population with a manufactured crisis!" Hemant said.

"Precisely" Will agreed.

He leaned in slightly.

"And if it escalates…the consequences will be catastrophic!"

"So what’s the plan?" Hemant nodded once. 

Will’s expression sharpened.

"SENTINEL inserts a strike team Zebra One to assault the base through an underwater approach. Silent. We take the rig back and neutralize the terror targets and neutralize the hostility"

"Underwater insertion into an active rig? Is that even possible in this day and age?" 

Hemant frowned slightly. Will smiled.

"Well...it is now!"

A beat.

"We’re deploying the USS Virginia. The first of its kind Stealth Submarine designed by the United States. On paper , it is meant to be revealed on the October of this year , but our Operation will be its first unofficial naval campaign"

Hemant’s eyes narrowed slightly. That changed the scale of things.

"Custom tools, advanced grappling systems, silent ascent gear. In many ways , this operation will change the warfare you've experienced till now!" 

Will added. Hemant absorbed it all. This wasn’t just a mission. This was a statement.

"You can brief what I have just said to Dan yourself. Be ready , I'll let you know once I've setup your travel arrangements" 

Will said finally. 

That evening, Hemant found Dan in their quarters. He didn’t ease into it. He told him everything. SENTINEL. The mission. The stealth submarine. The oil rig. Dan stared at him for a long moment.

"…You’re serious?"

"Completely"

"This isn’t just another op, Hemant. This is—this is global" 

Dan ran a hand through his hair, pacing slightly. 

"I know"

"And you already agreed?"

"I had to"

"Or you wanted to" Dan stopped pacing, looking at him carefully. 

Hemant didn’t deny it. There was a brief silence before Dan let out a breath and shook his head.

"You remember what I told you?" he said. 

"About being stuck with you in this life?"

Hemant gave a faint nod.

"Well… guess I meant it" Dan smirked slightly. 

The tension eased just a bit. Excitement began to creep in.

"We’re really doing this?" Dan asked. 

"Arctic waters…..covert global op....….oil rig…"

Hemant’s expression hardened slightly.

"Don’t romanticize it" he said. 

"What we’re walking into… makes everything we’ve faced so far look small"

Dan held his gaze. Then nodded.

"Good, after all , that is what's living on the edge is all about!" he said. 

A pause. And for the first time since Will’s proposal—Hemant allowed himself the smallest hint of a smile.

                                                                                                                         (TO BE CONTD)

[Harry Jordan]

                                                                                                                        (CHAPTER CONTD)

The call to New Delhi came sooner than expected. Within a day, Hemant and Dan were flown out from Nal Air Force Station to report directly to higher command. The shift in environment was immediate—desert silence replaced by the controlled intensity of a military complex where decisions carried national weight. Neither of them spoke much on the way in; both understood this wasn’t just another briefing. This was about consequences.


Inside the office, General Bakshi listened without interruption as Hemant laid out the mission parameters from SENTINEL. The general’s expression remained steady, but there was a visible tension in his posture that hadn’t been there before. When Hemant finished, Bakshi leaned back slightly and took a moment before responding.

"I’ll be honest" Bakshi said, his tone measured. 

"I don’t like this. Not the location, not the timing"

Dan shifted slightly but stayed quiet.

"Russia is one of our closest allies" Bakshi continued. 

"Any operation involving our men with the Americans in their soil—even indirectly—can turn sensitive very quickly. If something goes wrong, it won’t just be about a failed mission. It becomes a diplomatic problem"

"Its not just America sir , this unit features operators from many countries" Hemant nodded. 

"But they are using an American Submarine , if things go wrong guess who will be blamed"

"I understand sir" Hemant accepted his concern.

Bakshi looked directly at him. 

"Then you also understand why I’m hesitant to send two of my men into something like this without a clear line of accountability"

Hemant chose his words carefully. 

"Sir, our Indian identities won't matter. SENTINEL handles the operation. So , we'll be treated as their operators"

Bakshi gave a short, almost skeptical exhale. 

"That’s exactly what worries me. The moment you step out under their banner, you’re on your own"

There was a brief silence before he added, more firmly, 

"If this goes south, the government will not step in. Officially, you won’t exist in that situation"

Dan glanced at Hemant, but Hemant didn’t hesitate.

"I see your concern sir. But desperate times call for desperate measures , they chose us because we are familiar with the mission they are conducting. Right now , those oilrig workers need rescue , and India cannot be involved unless diplomatically" 

He said. 

Bakshi studied him for a few seconds, as if weighing more than just the mission itself. Then he nodded once.

"Sometimes you really surprise me Hemant. Alright, the reason I am agreeing for this arrangement is because SENTINEL is willing to share intel and techs to us and our interests as a favor for both of your roles. I am fully confident in both of you boys. Be careful though , because this is different from the threats you have faced before" 

He said. 

"Yes, sir"

The meeting ended there. No ceremony, no reassurance—just an understanding of risk. Outside the office, the two of them walked in silence for a while before Dan finally spoke.

"Well… that was encouraging" he muttered.

"He said yes. That’s what matters" Hemant gave a faint smile. 

"Yeah. It just feels different this time" Dan nodded, though the weight of it was still settling in. 

"It is" Hemant replied.

They split soon after, each heading in different directions within the complex to complete formalities before departure. Hemant moved through one of the corridors, his thoughts still partly on the mission, when he noticed a familiar face at the far end. He slowed down. The man stood speaking to another officer—composed, authoritative, someone who carried respect without needing to demand it.

Viren Raghuvanshi.

Hemant had only seen photographs ever since he learned he was Kirti's father, but there was no mistaking him. For a moment, he considered just walking past. It would’ve been easier. But something held him there.

Then he stepped forward.

"Sir" Hemant said politely.

"Yes?" Viren turned, slightly surprised at being addressed by someone he didn’t recognize. 

"I’m Hemant Kumar" he said. 

“I’m stationed at Nal Air Base.”

"A soldier stationed in an Air Base?" Viren’s expression shifted just a bit. 

"Part of a special protective detail sir!"

"I am guessing you know my daughter"

"Yes, sir. I do. Wing Commander Kirti Raghuvanshi. We've met" Hemant nodded. 

There was a pause, and Viren studied him more closely now. 

"And you wanted to speak to me about…?"

Hemant hesitated for the first time that day. This wasn’t a battlefield, but it felt just as uncertain. Still, he had made up his mind.

"Sir, I’ll be direct" he said. 

"I've been noticing her for months. And she is a formidable woman , she carries every difficuilties and hurdles with grace and faces challenges with a confidence I've never seen before. She is an inspiration for every young girl and woman who are seeking to serve the country. Which is a pretty longer way to say that....."

Viren braced as Hemant finished his sentence.

"I have....feelings...for Kirti"

Viren didn’t react immediately, but the surprise was clear.

"I haven’t told her" Hemant continued. 

"And honestly I don't know how. But since I saw you here I felt the need to tell this truth to you because....."

He took a breath before going on.

"Because I felt that if I ever had to say this, it should be to you first. Because it’s not just about two people. It’s about families too. A union between two people is not just between them , but also their families."

Viren’s gaze didn’t soften, but it didn’t harden either. He was listening.

"I don’t come from an illustrous background like yours" Hemant said honestly. 

"No influence, no legacy. I grew up in a small town in Kerala. My parents were farmers. Everything I am today, I’ve built it with total dedication and hardwork"

He paused briefly.

"When it comes to the field , I push myself to be the absolute best!"

Another pause.

"Which is one of the reason why I admire and respect her. I see my same level of dedication and focus she has on her own service. In a way I find compatibility between us. So its not just a fling or a spur of the moment. My feelings for her is genuine. That’s all I wanted you to know"

For a few seconds, there was no response. Then Viren exhaled slowly.

"That’s… not something I expected to hear today" he admitted.

"I understand, sir. I just wanted you to know that when it comes to a bond between two people , sometimes it also involves both the person's families. So through admiring Kirti , I admire you and the legacy she represents"

Viren looked at him more carefully now, not as a stranger—but as someone worth evaluating.

"You should talk to her" he asked.

"I can't"

"Why not?"

"Because I don’t know how? Even though I had relations in the past but when it comes to love , I am quite vulnerable and weak in expressing it" 

Hemant answered honestly. That answer lingered. Viren gave a small nod, as if acknowledging the thought behind it, even if he wasn’t fully convinced. 

"Hemant , in my experience , I always expected men of your age to be bold and daring , and never to be bothered with the woman's family. But you are different , the fact that you confessed your feelings to me before telling her is quiet  commendable. But at the same time , when it comes to love , you have to take the hard steps. And here hard steps means telling her. I cannot have an opinion about your love and feelings , the opinion that matters is of Kirti's. So tell her your truth and find out whether she is willing to accept your feelings. Then I will come in the picture!" 

He said finally. It wasn’t approval. But it wasn’t dismissal either.And for Hemant, that was enough.

Later that day, Viren found himself sitting across from General Bakshi. The two men greeted each other like old colleagues, the conversation beginning with familiar ground—shared postings, old operations, names that only they seemed to remember. After a while, Viren leaned back slightly and said. 

"I met one of your men today. Hemant Kumar"

"You would’ve eventually" Bakshi gave a faint smile. 

"He didn’t say much about his work" Viren raised an eyebrow. 

"Well , its because its a freshly made Task Force with not a full on discrete role so chain of command has dictated the designation classified" 

Bakshi replied.

"So I’ll ask you" Viren said. 

"Who is he?"

Bakshi was quiet for a moment before answering. 

"He is a Garud Commando Viren. He is part of the Garuda Task Force , a combat unit designed to protect and safeguard India's defence airspace and air network.But since it is also a prototype , we are using his force for classified operations with Special Forces"

Viren nodded slowly, taking that in.

"And turns out he is too good , because certain Global outfits are seeking his skills for some black ops" 

Bakshi added.

"SENTINEL?" Viren asked.

"You’ve heard" Bakshi looked at him, slightly surprised. 

"For military folks like us they're not easy to ignore. They've been collecting assets across the globe, building and armada for the UN Peace Keeping Obligations"

Bakshi leaned back. 

"They’ve taken an interest in him. Which means he’s likely to be involved in missions that won’t officially exist"

"And you’re okay with that?" Viren folded his arms. 

"Honestly no. But I understand that if their mission has to succeed then Hemant is the best choice! When it comes to the field ops , he is something else!" 

Bakshi said calmly. There was a pause before Viren asked. 

"So how is he as a soldier?"

Bakshi thought about it for a moment.

"On paper , a big headache. He doesn't exactly operate well with the chain of command. Very Anti-Beurocracy. Every time command looses their calm with his missions. But he is still around because of his 100% track record. Every mission he has participated in , he accomplished it. His unit also suffers zero casualty. His method of warfare is very different , his approach questionable. But in the field , he himself is an absolute unit. His results are the reason he is still in the force" 

He said. 

"That doesn’t sound reassuring" Viren frowned slightly. 

"It depends on what you value, remember that conversation we had about warriors?" 

Bakshi replied. He leaned forward slightly.

"That the world needs not just patriots. But people who can look beyond instructions and understand what’s right. People who won’t fold under pressure—political or otherwise"

A brief pause.

"I see that in him. The perfect warrior. That's him. Who is not defined by a nationality or patriotism. But is the right man to get the job done. The man who we know will do the right thing!"

Viren listened carefully now.

"What is his history?"

"Nothing extra ordinary, He grew up in a small village town of Panthalam in Kerala , culturally rich. Small farming family. Parents—Damodaran and Shalini Nair. They named him Hemant Kumar because his dad was a big fan of old hindi music and named him after the famous music composer. Moved to Mumbai for higher studies but maintained connection to the mainland through summer vacations. On paper its a simple origin. Except"

Bakshi continued 

"Except?" Viren asked.

"Except he was trained in Kalaripayattu from a young age by one of his uncle Madhavan Nair , a renowned Martial Art Teacher in his village. So from an early age , his passion for combat grew. Later, in college—St. Xavier's Mumbai—he joined an MMA circuit with the club WFLF. Built himself up. Physically and mentally. Where once he even considered to seek a career in Pro Wrestling but later switched to joining the army. There he learned kick boxing and some Muai-Thai. In many ways a perfect student in physical combat!"

Viren nodded slowly.

"He’s always chased something more. And that shows in his missions since he takes death defying risks in achieving goals , something Command is not comfortable with" 

Bakshi added.

"Do you like him?"

Bakshi didn’t hesitate.

"Absolutely , he might be a handful. But his heart and mind is in the right place"

A pause.

"Like I said....the perfect warrior. That's him" Bakshi said.

Viren leaned back, absorbing all of it. For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Then, quietly—

"You know....I think I like him too!"

"Of course. Who Wouldn't!" Bakshi gave a faint smile. 

When Viren left the room later, his thoughts were different from when he had entered. The initial surprise from Hemant’s confession had settled into something more reflective. Surprisingly Viren thought he actually met a suitable men that he has pictured for his daughter. He had seen clarity. Hemant already impressed him with his honesty and words. But after hearing Bakshi—He understood something else. Hemant wasn’t just some soldier. He was a man with untapped potential and in many ways a man meant for glorious purposes. 

And as that realization settled in—Viren found himself feeling something unexpected.

Respect.


FEW DAYS LATER AT NAL AIRFORCE BASE


Nal settled back into its routine, but for Hemant, nothing felt quite the same anymore. The training yard buzzed as usual with cadets running drills, instructors barking instructions, and aircraft engines roaring in the background. He was adjusting equipment for the day’s session when he noticed Kirti Raghuvanshi walking toward him. Her stride was sharp, her expression tight. He didn’t need long to guess what had triggered it—her father.

She didn’t wait for pleasantries.

"How dare you!" Kirti lashed out.

Hemant stayed silent.

"You dare to say you have feelings for me to my father.What exactly were you trying to do?" 

She asked, her tone firm and controlled, but clearly irritated. 

"Going to my father instead of talking to me?"

"I wasn’t trying to go around you. I just thought—" Hemant stayed composed. 

“You thought it would make things easier? Or that it would give you an advantage?" she cut in. 

"That’s not what this is, I just wanted to be respectful" he said. 

Kirti shook her head, unconvinced. 

"Doesn't feel respectful at all , to me it seems like manipulation. You were trying to influence my parents so that you can make it easy to approach me"

"That is not my---" He tried to explain again, but she wasn’t in a place to listen.

"Enough....just to make it clear....I don't like you!!" she said finally, her voice flattening. 

"From this moment on.....keep your distance from me....period!!"

There was hostility in the last line, a clear boundary. She turned and walked away without waiting for a response. Hemant stood there for a moment, letting it settle. He didn’t argue further. But it stayed with him. The next few days were awkward. Hemant tried to fix things in small ways, keeping it light so it wouldn’t become heavier than it already was. 

A folded paper with a simple “sorry :)” left on her workbench. 

Another near the shooting gallery she used regularly. Nothing dramatic—just an attempt to say he knew he’d crossed a line. Kirti didn’t take it well. Sometimes she ignored them completely. Other times she’d pick one up, glance at it briefly, and tear it without saying a word. When their paths crossed, she didn’t engage. At best, a cold look. At worst, complete indifference. He didn’t push it beyond that. After a point, he stopped leaving notes. What made it harder wasn’t just the silence—it was how normal everything else seemed for her. Hemant noticed how she continued interacting with Vishal Agnihotri, if anything, a little more openly than before. They trained together, joked around near the hangars, and often stayed back after sessions. None of it was overdone, but it was visible enough. Hemant didn’t comment on it. He didn’t need to.

A few days later, Rani mentioned casually that Kirti had gone out of station for a short camping trip with Vishal and a few other cadets.

"Kirti usually never does this....but she is going with the group for some off-time activities" 

She said, checking a maintenance log.

"Good for them" Hemant nodded. 

He meant it. Or at least, he chose to. The timing helped in one way—his focus shifted back to something else entirely. The SENTINEL mission. That took priority now. Hemant and Dan spent long hours going over what they knew, filling gaps with assumptions, preparing for variables they couldn’t fully predict. The idea of an underwater approach, hostile takeover, and zero-error execution wasn’t something you improvised on the field.

"Entry is the tricky part" Dan said one evening, sketching rough layouts on a notepad. 

"Though the risk only gets higher after that"

"And that's not it" Hemant replied. 

"An oilrig in itself is a complicated structure. And we have zero experience in those kinds of situations. So we need to be ready for the unpredictable and unexpected surroundings. Our senses need to be in high alert until the mission is accomplished. We cannot afford recklessness"

They ran through scenarios—silent breaches, compromised entry points, fallback options. It wasn’t just planning; it was conditioning their thinking to react the right way under pressure.

A week later, routine training resumed at full scale. Hemant and Dan were assigned to field-test the laser designation system with aerial coordination. 

A section of land, marked “Tango 1,” had been prepped a few miles out from base. Scrap vehicles, mock structures, and scattered targets created a simulated hostile environment. From the ground, Hemant handled target marking for Kirti’s aircraft, while Dan coordinated with Vishal.

The sky above came alive soon enough—two jets cutting through the desert air, executing maneuvers with precision. 

"You two still not talking?" Dan glanced sideways while adjusting his scope. 

"Yup...she is pretty pissed" Hemant kept his focus on the laser marker. 

"I mean...i don't blame her. Talking to her dad before her is a rookie mistake" Dan said.

"I just didn't want to have the same Sanjana situation. I had to do it" Hemant almost smiled.

"I get it , maybe give it time. She might come into her sense later" Dan shrugged. 

"Later....yeah" Hemant repeated.

They didn’t dwell on it. The exercise demanded attention, and both men returned to work. Back at base, Rani had her own conversation. She caught Kirti near the hangar later that evening.

"You need to understand him Kira....he had no sinister intentions" 

Rani said, not accusing—just stating. Kirti didn’t deny it. 

"Don't come for his defense"

"He didn’t mean it the way you think" Rani added. 

"Dan told me what happened"

"Please Rani , stay out of this" Kirti sighed, clearly not interested in revisiting it.

Rani nodded. A pause.

"Okay....but please Kira. Don't jump to conclusions and see the bigger picture"

Kirti didn’t respond to that directly. 

"I have no interest right now Rani, let’s just leave it there" she said. 

Rani didn’t push further. Later that day, Kirti joined Vishal and a few cadets who were discussing plans for the weekend.

"Hey , we're planning a short cold trip to Manali this weekend since we have non sortie days coming. You interested?" 

Vishal said. 

"Sounds good....definitely need more breaks right now" Kirti nodded.

"Something bothering you?" Vishal asked concerned

"Appreciate the concern Victor. But this is something you cannot solve" 

Their conversation drifted easily, until a deep engine sound cut through the air. All of them turned instinctively toward the runway. A large aircraft was descending—unfamiliar in presence.

"That’s a C-130 Hercules" one cadet said.

"But it’s not ours, it has none of our defense markings" Vishal added, narrowing his eyes.

Another cadet pointed out modifications along the fuselage. 

"I know about these aircraft makes and......That’s not standard configuration either"

"Seems to me this is covert ops" Rani, who had stepped out by then, watched quietly. 

The aircraft landed smoothly, rolling to a controlled stop at a restricted section of the runway. Then they saw them. Hemant and Dan, carrying their gear, walking toward the plane. No insignia on the personnel waiting for them. No formal exchange. Just a brief acknowledgment and immediate boarding procedures.

"Where are they going?" Kirti frowned slightly. 

"Might be their next assignment" Rani folded her arms. 

"Assignment?" Kirti looked at her. 

"Do you seriously still believe they're just some Base Security Unit?" 

Rani gave a small, knowing look. Kirti processed that quietly.

"They're not a normal squad Kirti. If the Garuda Force is being created for the Air Force and its infrastructure defense , then no doubt the current squad members are probably recruited for their best service. From what I can deduce , they have some involvement with the Special Forces. Hemant and Dan are part of a bigger strategy!" 

Rani added, her tone softer now. Kirti didn’t reply. Her eyes followed Hemant as he climbed into the aircraft. There was a moment—brief, almost unnoticeable—where he paused near the ramp and glanced back toward the base. Not searching. Just… looking. Then he stepped inside. The ramp closed. The engines roared louder. Within minutes, the C-130 lifted off the runway and disappeared into the sky.

Kirti remained standing there a moment longer than the others. Something about it didn’t sit the way she expected. Not guilt.Not regret.Just… curiosity.Because for all the time they had spent at the same base—She realized she didn’t actually know him. Not really. And now—He was gone on something she couldn’t even define.

                                                                                                                                (TO BE CONTD)

[Harry Jordan]

                                                                                                                         (CHAPTER CONTD)

JULY 18th, 2004. 50 MILES OFF THE COAST OF VANKAREM , RUSSIA

 

The Chukchi Sea stretched endlessly under a grey, unforgiving sky, its waters cold enough to kill within minutes. Rising out of that frozen expanse stood the oil rig—steel bones creaking under the weight of wind and salt, now held hostage by a well-armed group of Chechen separatists. The platform had been turned into a fortress. Men in heavy snow gear patrolled every level, their rifles slung tight, eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of retaliation. They expected ships, aircraft, maybe even a direct assault.

They never thought to look beneath them.

Inside the rig, the situation was worse. The workers had been divided into five groups and locked into separate compartments. Their hands bound, mouths gagged, fear hanging thick in the air. Guards rotated between the rooms, keeping watch with mechanical discipline. Explosive charges had been rigged at key structural points—not just leverage, but a final threat if anything went wrong.

A mile out, far below the surface, something else moved in silence.

The USS Virginia hovered at approximately 120 feet beneath sea level, its presence completely undetectable. No noise, no signal—just a shadow in the water. From its forward tubes, two cylindrical pods were deployed, slipping out into the dark like predators leaving cover. They began a slow, controlled ascent toward the rig.

Inside those pods, the SENTINEL strike team waited.

The vehicles reached the submerged lower structure of the platform and locked into position. The hatches opened, and one by one, the operators stepped out into the freezing water, their movements precise and practiced. They moved upward along the rig’s skeletal frame, using specialized climbing rigs to scale toward the maintenance level just below the surface.

Two guards stood near the lower railing, unaware.

They didn’t hear the water shift.

They didn’t see the hands that reached out.

Each was pulled down in a single motion, dragged beneath the surface before they could react. Blades flashed briefly in the dark water, and both bodies went still before sinking into the depths.

The strike team entered through the lower access point without raising an alarm.

Inside the rig’s basement corridor, the team removed their underwater gear and regrouped. Masks came off, breathers detached, weapons checked. The dim lighting flickered slightly, casting long shadows along the metal walls.

William J Irons stood at the front, steady as ever. Beside him, Hemant and Dan adjusted their gear, now fully transitioned into combat mode. Two additional operators stood with them—Sharon, codename Phoenix, and Sachiko codename Jinx, silent and focused.

Dan glanced briefly at Sachiko, still carrying a hint of distraction from when he’d first seen her back at the Alaska facility. Hemant noticed, but didn’t comment.

"Check in" Will said quietly.

"King, ready" Hemant responded.

"Stallion, good to go" Dan added.

Phoenix and Jinx confirmed as well.

Will gave a small nod. 

"We move fast and quiet. Five rooms, five groups. Same pattern throughout"

Hemant took point without hesitation. The team moved upward through a narrow staircase, boots landing softly despite the metal structure. Every corner was cleared with precision, every movement deliberate. Hemant slowed near the next landing, raising a hand slightly.

"There’s someone above" he said into comms, voice low.

Dan shifted position behind him.

"Clear Shot"

"Smoke em"

Hemant leaned just enough to get a clear line. A suppressed shot followed—clean, controlled. The militant dropped instantly, his body collapsing against the railing before slipping into the sea below. No alarm. They continued. The first hostage room was located along the mid-deck corridor. Sharon stepped forward, checking her thermal reader.

"Two inside, armed. One near the door, one towards the back" she said.

"We take them together" Sachiko moved beside her, weapon ready. 

There were two entry points. The team split accordingly.

Hemant and Will positioned themselves at the far door while Sharon, Sachiko, and Dan took the near one. Charges were set quickly, each team syncing their timing through silent hand signals.

"Three… two… one"

Both doors blew open in perfect coordination.

The entry was fast and controlled. Will neutralized the first guard before he could react, while Sharon took down the second with a clean shot. Sachiko covered the room, scanning for movement, while Dan moved straight to the hostages.

"Clear" Hemant confirmed.

They worked quickly, removing restraints and disabling the explosive triggers placed near the group. Will signaled into comms for extraction support.

"First group secured. Send in retrieval"

Within moments, a secondary SENTINEL unit began moving in to escort the freed workers. The process repeated across the next three compartments. Each room presented slight variations—different guard placements, tighter spaces, more complex rigging—but the team adapted without slowing down. Hemant’s awareness stood out. He picked up on subtle movements, faint sounds, and potential threats before they fully formed, allowing the team to stay ahead of the situation. By the time they cleared the fourth room, the operation had gone nearly perfect. Almost too perfect.

The shift came suddenly. An alarm triggered across the rig, sharp and loud, breaking the silence they had maintained. Somewhere, something had tipped off the remaining militants.

"Looks like Stealth is optional now!" Dan said.

"Last group is at the top" Will replied.

The upper levels quickly became more difficult to navigate. Militants began repositioning, setting up defensive angles and deploying gas canisters along key corridors. Thick smoke started filling sections of the rig, reducing visibility.

But SENTINEL had anticipated that.

Their secondary optics activated—infrared cutting through the haze. Hemant led the push upward, movements sharper now, faster but still controlled. Each engagement was decisive. Targets were identified and neutralized before they could coordinate a proper defense. Dan covered angles from behind, ensuring no one slipped through.

Sharon and Sachiko maintained flanks, clearing corners with efficiency. The resistance was stronger—but not enough. The final room sat at the highest enclosed section of the rig. This time, there was no stealth left. The team breached under pressure, taking out the remaining guards in a rapid exchange. Within seconds, the space was secured.

"Last group clear" Hemant said.

Hostages were freed, restraints cut, explosives disarmed. For the first time since the mission began, there was a brief pause.

Then Will spoke.

"That’s it. We’re done here"

Extraction moved quickly.

The team made their way to the helipad as the sound of approaching aircraft cut through the wind. Two SENTINEL transport helicopters descended, stabilizing against the harsh Arctic gusts.

"Russian forces are inbound" Will said.

One by one, the operators boarded. Hemant stepped onto the helicopter last, taking one final look at the rig below—now quiet, secured, no longer under hostile control.

The mission had gone clean. Efficient. Exactly as planned.

As the helicopters lifted off and turned toward open waters, the oil rig shrank beneath them, soon becoming just another structure in the vast emptiness of the Chukchi Sea. Inside the cabin, no one celebrated. They simply checked their gear, reset their focus, and prepared for what came next.


SENTINEL OPERATIONS BASE , ESPENBERG , ALASKA





The cold carried the same sharp edge of the Temporary Operations Base here. The bay stretched out in front of the base, grey water meeting a pale horizon, the kind of view that made everything seem still even when it wasn’t. Hemant stepped out briefly before reporting in and noticed Dan standing near the viewing deck, talking to Sachiko. Their conversation looked easy, unforced—Dan gesturing animatedly, Sachiko responding with the occasional nod and a faint smile. It was enough to make Hemant pause for a second before turning away. Whatever this place was, it was already starting to leave its mark on both of them in different ways.

A call came through soon after, directing Hemant to the command center. Inside, the atmosphere shifted immediately from calm to purposeful. William J Irons stood near a central table, with Sharon reviewing data on a screen. Around them were several sealed crates stacked in an orderly manner. Hemant’s attention went straight to them—not because of their placement, but because of what was stamped on their surface.

The same blue symbol. The one he hadn’t been able to get out of his head since Bogdang.He walked closer, studying it briefly before asking. 

"These from the rig?"

"Part of what we recovered" Will nodded. 

"Are they smuggline Weapons?" Hemant tapped lightly on one of the crates.

"Its actually something....Worse" Will gave a slight shake of his head. 

Sharon keyed in a command, and one of the crates was opened. Inside were tightly packed, sealed packages. Even without being told, Hemant understood what he was looking at.

"Cocaine. Safe to say its originated and produced in Russia , with its destination somewhere else" 

Will said plainly. Hemant’s expression tightened slightly. 

"So the rig wasn't just a hostage crisis"

"Exactly , the takeover was meant for a safe passage of these drugs to the United States" 

Will replied. He stepped closer to the table and brought up a set of files. 

"Mr.King , Its time you knew what who you're opponents were!"

Hemant listened without interrupting.

"The symbol you’ve been seeing—it belongs to a network we’ve been tracking for years" 

Will continued. 

"In the whispers and intel , we learned this organization is called AZRAEL. Named after the six heads of its leaders and their place of origin. Not a typical syndicate. No public structure, no visible leadership. It goes back to the Cold War—in the chaos of a massive unrest around the world. This empire rose in those chaos!"

He paused briefly, letting that settle.

"They used that environment to build something bigger than smuggling. Though majority of their smuggling included Drugs , it evolved into arms, human trafficking—everything runs through different layers. The Chechen group on the rig? Just one of those layers. They move product across routes like Alaska into North America. In return, they get weapons, funding, support"

"Interesting that they chose the name Azrael , they've taken the name inspired from the ---c and Jewish mythos. The legendary Angel Of Death , Azrael. Though in the folkore , he is an angel who takes the soul from the dead. Here , the definition is twisted. This syndicate is just a plague of death , anyone and everyone that tried to expose it as either vanished or dead" 

Hemant folded his arms slightly. 

"I knew you were special , and yes , you are right. They are giving a twisted meaning to AZRAEL here" 

Will said. 

"And the more terrifying part is—we still don’t know who ‘they’ are"

Sharon added.

"There are links. Fragments. Some connections to elements within the Russian Bratva. Some to Chinese Triad networks. But nothing solid enough to point to a central command"

Will continued. 

"The Central Intelligence Agency has been trying to piece it together. So have others. But AZRAEL stayed buried. No faces. No confirmed identities. The heads of this snake always stayed below the ground. It simply functioned with its minions carrying and doing their dirty work"

"Which makes them harder to track and neutralize" 

Hemant looked back at the crate, then at the symbol again. 

"And more dangerous" Will said. 

"Because they’re expanding. Invisibly around the world , hiding from everyone's eyes. AZRAEL is corrupting big techs , world leaders and is forming a large web of control and power around the globe. If they're not stopped now , they will be too powerful and become the new world order!"

There was a brief silence before Will shifted the conversation.

"This is why I asked you to come here, because I don't see just a good soldier , I see a perfect warrior that can hunt and destroy this empire of shadows with your skillset" 

He said. Hemant didn’t respond immediately.

"We need people who can operate outside limits, people who won't be corrupted by these shaodws and eventually bring light in erasing it" 

Will continued. 

"People who can step into situations like this and push back before it spreads further. More than a soldier , more than a spy. Someone who can face them head on and won't falter. Which is my proposal to you Mr.Kumar"

"I want you to join SENTINEL. I want you to level up , and serve a higher purpose. One that will not only save your country but the entire world!"

He held Hemant’s gaze. The offer wasn’t dramatic. It was direct. Hemant exhaled slightly before answering. 

"I already have a purpose. To the Garud Commando Force. To my unit"

Will nodded, as if he expected that answer. 

"I get that Mr.Kumar. I was committed too. I was a proud US Marine. Same for Sharon. That doesn’t change overnight. But we had to because we knew no one were more capable of doing this than us. Sometimes we have to evolve from what we are for the greater good" 

"All for a higher purpose. To save the world!" Sharon added quietly, 

"This isn’t about replacing where you come from. It’s about where you can be more effective. What you can actually influence" 

Will continued, he gestured toward the crates. 

"AZRAEL is not just a powerful organization , its a Virus. And its spreading its corruption across the world. If we don't contain or destroy it now , tomorrow it will be too late for any of us..."

Hemant remained thoughtful, not dismissive—but not convinced either.

"I’m not asking you to decide now" Will said. 

"Just understand what’s out there. And what you’re capable of doing about it"

The conversation ended there. No pressure, no insistence. But the weight of it stayed. Outside, the cold air felt sharper than before. Hemant walked back toward the open deck area, his thoughts quieter but heavier. Dan was just stepping away from Sachiko, hands in his pockets, looking unusually relaxed.

"What's the matter? planning to hook up with her Tonight?" Hemant gave him a slight look. 

"Mind your business Mr.Know it all. It ain't like that. But I have to admit , I always believed japanese women are something but.......she basically proves it true" 

Dan smirked. 

"Well.....I hope you had a good time" Hemant replied.

"Good times are yet to come"

They started walking back together. On the return flight later that day, the tone shifted back to something more familiar. The hum of the aircraft, the long stretch of sky, and the knowledge that they were heading back to Rajasthan.

"So… what’s going on in that head of yours?" Dan leaned back in his seat. 

"Nothing urgent" Hemant looked out the window for a moment before answering. 

"That usually means something’s definitely going on" Dan raised an eyebrow. 

"We’re heading back to our favorite oven in Nal. That is something that must be going on" 

Hemant gave a faint smile. 

"You know , I would agree with you before. But after spending months there , I don't think that tracks anymore. Nal might be a steaming furnace , but I think I like the heat now!" 

Dan laughed lightly. That made Hemant glance at him. 

"Oh ,  so you like Nal now huh?"

"Yeah , its growing on me" Dan admitted.

Hemant nodded slowly, taking that in. That was the thing—Nal had started to feel familiar. Predictable. In some ways, even grounding. And yet, what he had just seen in Alaska didn’t fit into that world. As the aircraft moved steadily toward Rajasthan, Hemant leaned back and let the thoughts settle without forcing an answer. One path was clear, structured, defined by duty and command. The other was uncertain, wider, and carried a different kind of responsibility.

He didn’t choose between them yet.

But for the first time, he was seriously considering that he might have to.

The return to Nal Air Force Station was quieter than their departure. The same unmarked Lockheed C-130 Hercules touched down on the runway under the harsh Rajasthan sun, its engines winding down as if nothing extraordinary had just happened beyond the horizon of ordinary duty. For everyone else on the base, it was just another arrival. For Hemant and Dan, it marked a subtle shift—something had changed, even if it wasn’t visible yet.

Near the hangars, Pranali 'Rani' Gupta was the first to greet them. She walked up with her usual ease, wiping her hands on a cloth, her tone light as ever. 

"You two finally back" she said. 

"Hangar’s been too peaceful. I almost missed having someone do the heavy lifting for me"

"You mean you missed free labor" Dan chuckled, adjusting his bag. 

"Same thing" Rani smirked. 

Hemant gave a brief nod, the kind that acknowledged the moment without stepping fully into it. The rhythm of the base resumed almost instantly. Orders were picked up, routines fell back into place, and within hours, the Garud squad was once again part of the system—guarding, maintaining, observing.

On the surface, nothing had changed.

Inside the hangar, Hemant returned to work with a focus that felt sharper than before. Tools in hand, systems laid out in front of him, he moved with quiet efficiency. The environment was familiar—the hum of machinery, the smell of fuel, the distant sound of aircraft engines—but his attention stayed locked on the task in front of him.

Kirti Raghuvanshi was there too. And for the first time since they had met, Hemant didn’t acknowledge her presence. Not even in passing. No glance, no pause, no moment of hesitation. He worked as if she wasn’t there. At first, it went unnoticed. Then it didn’t. Kirti picked up on it gradually—the absence of something that had once been constant. Those brief exchanges of eye contact, the quiet awareness they had of each other, even the awkwardness—it had all disappeared. In its place was something colder. Not hostility, not anger—just distance.

And it unsettled her more than she expected. Hemant’s detachment wasn’t only about her. Part of it came from her words that day—clear, firm, leaving no room for misunderstanding. He had respected that boundary. But beyond that, something else had taken over his thoughts.

SENTINEL.

The conversation with William J Irons hadn’t faded. If anything, it had settled deeper. The idea of stepping beyond structured duty, of operating without limits, of confronting something like AZRAEL at its root—it aligned too closely with the life he had always imagined for himself.

The edge. The unknown. The purpose beyond routine. In his spare time, that restlessness began to take form. At one corner of Rani’s hangar, away from the usual workflow, Hemant started working on something of his own. It began with a simple concept—a tool he had used before, something instinctive to him. A hatchet. But this time, he modified it. Reinforced the head, balanced the weight, and attached it to a chain instead of rope, welding the links himself to ensure durability.

The result wasn’t just a weapon—it was something more personal. A memory translated into steel.

He remembered being fifteen, back in Panthalam , Kerala. Despite moving to Mumbai , the summers still spent in his native lands. Where rice fields and nature dominated the aroma and ambience , Hemant trained in Kalari at his uncle's training grounds, when his uncle had first handed him the Kalaripayattu weapon known as the urumi—a flexible, whip-like blade that required precision, control, and complete awareness of movement. It wasn’t just about striking; it was about flow.

This new weapon—hatchet and chain—felt like a modern echo of that.



A blade that could control and unleash chaos.

When Rani noticed him working on it one evening, she paused, watching him test the balance.

"That doesn’t look standard issue" she said.

"It isn’t" Hemant replied.

"You made this?" She stepped closer, studying it. 

"Weapon smithing is something of an expertise for me. I've grown attached to hatchets since my first deployment. This is me honoring my legacy and my roots" 

He nodded. Rani raised an eyebrow. 

"Didn’t know you were into this"

"Even though I was raised in a small village in Kerala. It had significance and divinity. I grew up learning about the legendary young warrior Manikanda who is worshipped as Lord Ayyappa to the world . From a young age I loved martial arts , and my families connection to Kalari through my uncle made me an easy influence. Even after moving to Mumbai for higher studies didn't stop my training in the summers at Kerala. Though my mother claims my liking towards it helped her in me never becoming a naughty and spoilt child!!" 

He said. There was no showmanship in how he said it—just quiet confidence. Rani nodded slowly, taking it in.

"You are full of surprises Hemant Kumar!" 

Meanwhile, the distance between him and Kirti continued to widen. At first, she tried to ignore it. Then she tried to counter it. She spent more time around Vishal, leaning into conversations, laughing a bit louder, staying back a bit longer. It wasn’t entirely forced—but there was an intent behind it now. She expected a reaction. There wasn’t one. Hemant didn’t look. Didn’t pause. Didn’t acknowledge. And that… began to bother her. More than his earlier attention ever had. Over time, that unease started to affect her focus.

It showed in small ways first—slight delays in response, minor miscalculations during simulation drills. Then it became more visible. During sorties, her precision slipped just enough to be noticeable. Not enough to fail—but enough to raise questions. One afternoon, after a less-than-clean run, a senior officer pulled her aside.

"Everything alright Kira?" he asked.

"Yes, sir" Kirti nodded instinctively. 

"Doesn't seem to me judging from your performance lately" he replied calmly.

She acknowledged it, but the conversation lingered. Because she knew. Something was off. Back in the hangar, Hemant remained unchanged. Focused. Detached. Moving from one task to another with the same steady discipline. If he noticed her struggle, he didn’t show it. His attention had shifted entirely toward what lay ahead.

The upcoming deployment under a United Nations charter in Democratic Republic of the Congo was approaching fast. Briefings had started, logistics were being finalized, and the Garud unit was preparing for another transition—from base duty to active field operations. For Hemant, it was more than just another mission. It was movement.

Forward. 

And somewhere beneath all of that—quiet, unresolved, but present—Was the question he hadn’t answered yet. Whether he belonged here… or somewhere far beyond it.

The days leading up to deployment grew heavier at Nal Air Force Station. What had started as a standard international assignment was quickly evolving into something far more serious. Briefings became longer, more frequent, and far more detailed. Hemant and Dan found themselves spending less time in routine duties and more time studying maps, intelligence summaries, and contingency plans.

The update came during one of those briefings. Their stay in Kinshasa had been reduced—from one month to just one week. No one needed to ask why. The intelligence reports made it clear. The situation in the Democratic Republic of the Congo was deteriorating rapidly. Illegal extraction and smuggling of gold and coltan had surged, fueling the rise of armed militias that appeared and disappeared just as quickly. Loyalties shifted overnight, alliances broke without warning, and entire regions were slipping into chaos. What was once a volatile environment had now become a pressure cooker.

The United Nations wasn’t just observing anymore—they were reacting. The decision to deploy a relatively new unit like the Garud Commando Force into such a situation reflected both urgency and calculated risk. There was no room for prolonged engagement. The mission would be short, precise, and highly controlled.

Hemant and Dan adjusted accordingly.

Their discussions shifted from broad strategy to tight execution. Entry protocols, extraction timing, communication discipline—everything was refined. There was an understanding between them that this wasn’t a place where mistakes could be corrected easily. The margin for error was thin.

"Seven days" Dan said one evening, reviewing their notes. 

"Things might be quiet intense for them to reduce the timeline that small"

"I've been reading the news. Things are pretty tense there , that country is still recovering from a bloody civil war few years back , even their government is in shambles...the humanitarian crisis is out of control which is why UN stepped in with assistance to the poor" 

Hemant replied. Dan nodded. 

The day of departure arrived with a different kind of atmosphere.

Unlike their previous missions, this one wasn’t hidden. The involvement of Garuda had been announced, at least within military circles. People knew they were going. That alone changed how the base felt. There was more attention, more quiet observation, and a sense that this mission carried expectations beyond just execution.

Transport aircraft lined the runway, ready.

The squad assembled near the boarding area, gear checked and rechecked. New members who had recently been integrated into the Garuda unit stood alongside Hemant and Dan, some focused, some quietly processing the weight of what lay ahead.

Goodbyes were brief but meaningful.

Rani approached first, arms folded as usual, but her tone softer than usual. 

"Try not to come back with more work for me" she said.

"No promises" Dan smiled. 

"Take care of them" She looked at Hemant. 

"Always" He nodded. 

Vishal Agnihotri stepped in next, offering a firm handshake. 

"Heard it’s rough out there...Just… stay sharp" he said. 

"We will" Hemant replied.

There was mutual respect in the exchange—no competition, no tension. Just acknowledgment. Kirti stood a little apart. Kirti Raghuvanshi didn’t approach immediately. She watched as the others finished their exchanges, her expression composed but quieter than usual. When Hemant finally walked toward the aircraft, their paths crossed naturally.

She spoke first.

"Take care"

Simple. Direct. Hemant nodded slightly. 

"You too"

There was a brief pause before he added, almost matter-of-factly, 

"Focus on your sorties...this base and this country need its best pilots...and you are one of them!"

Kirti didn’t react immediately, but she understood what he meant. There was no judgment in his tone—just observation.

"I will" she said.

That was it.

No extended conversation. No unresolved tension surfacing. Just two people acknowledging each other before going their separate ways. Boarding was quick. Inside the aircraft, the atmosphere shifted from personal to professional. Seats were taken, gear secured, final checks completed. The engines roared to life, and within minutes, the plane began its ascent. As the base shrank below them, Hemant leaned back slightly, his focus already moving ahead.

"Back to work" Dan glanced over. 

"Yeah" Hemant said.

Outside, the landscape changed gradually as they gained altitude, the familiar terrain of Rajasthan giving way to open sky. Inside, conversations quieted.

Each man and woman onboard understood what this mission represented—not just for themselves, but for the Garuda unit as a whole. This was their first major international deployment under global scrutiny. Expectations were high. And the environment they were heading into would test more than just their training.

Hemant closed his eyes briefly—not to rest, but to center himself. The distractions, the uncertainties, the unresolved thoughts—they all took a step back. Because what lay ahead demanded clarity. And in that moment, as the aircraft carried them toward a continent defined by conflict and complexity, there was only one thing that mattered.

Execution.

                                                                                                                           (TO BE CONTD)

[Harry Jordan]

                                                                                                                       (CHAPTER CONTD)

KINSHASA , CONGO


The first two days in Kinshasa were relentless in a way that no briefing could fully prepare them for. The city carried a constant tension—streets that looked normal at a glance but felt unstable underneath. The Garuda teams moved in tight formations, escorting convoys, securing perimeters, and coordinating closely with the World Health Organization medical units who were operating in high-risk zones. Every movement required planning. Every halt required vigilance.

Even with aerial coverage from the Royal Air Force, there was no real sense of safety. The skies were monitored, but the ground told a different story. Local militias shifted positions unpredictably, and intelligence updates changed by the hour. Sleep came in short, uneven stretches. Weapons stayed within reach at all times. By the fourth day, the pressure on operations had increased enough that command decided to split the Garuda contingent.


One unit, led by Avinash Tiwari, was assigned to oversee security for the WHO teams operating deeper within volatile zones. It was a significant responsibility for someone relatively new, but his performance during training had earned him that trust. Hemant and Dan were assigned elsewhere.

They, along with the rest of their unit, were tasked with securing a UN-sponsored technology summit being coordinated alongside the FARDC. The event had drawn international presence—engineers, diplomats, and strategic partners. That made it a high-value target.

The setup was tight. Entry points were controlled, patrol patterns established, and communication lines kept open with both local forces and RAF surveillance overhead. Hemant and Dan took position near the main entrance, maintaining a steady watch as delegates moved in and out under layered security.For a while, everything held. Then it broke.

The first sign was the crash.

A truck rammed into the rear gate with sudden force, tearing through part of the barricade. The sound alone triggered immediate response. Hemant and Dan, along with several others, moved quickly toward the breach, weapons raised, scanning for follow-up threats. For a brief moment, it looked like a direct attack. It wasn’t. It was a diversion.

Almost simultaneously, reports came in from the front entrance—multiple armed vehicles approaching at speed. By the time Hemant redirected, the attackers had already begun their assault.

Leading them was Bosco Katanga, known locally as “The Cannibal,” a name tied to his brutality and loyalty to the Union of Congolese Patriots. His men didn’t hesitate. They pushed forward aggressively, firing into defensive positions and overwhelming the FARDC soldiers guarding the perimeter.

Gunfire echoed through the compound. Civilians scattered. The summit was no longer secure.

Hemant and Dan moved to intercept, coordinating with their team to break the momentum of the assault. They managed to slow the advance, cutting down several militants before they could fully establish control inside the building. But Katanga’s group had already reached deep enough to create chaos.

Inside the summit hall, panic had taken hold. And in that confusion, Katanga made his move. One of the Indian delegates—a VIP attendee—was pulled from the group and taken hostage. The militants began a rapid withdrawal, using the hostage as leverage. They moved toward their vehicles with practiced urgency. By the time Hemant reached the front, the convoy was already pulling away. He watched it for less than a second. Then he turned to Dan.

"Secure this place" he said.

"Don’t do anything reckless" Dan understood immediately. 

Hemant didn’t respond. He was already moving. The chase began on foot. Hemant cut through side alleys, narrow streets, and crowded passages, using his knowledge of urban movement to close distance. The convoy had a head start, but they were restricted to main routes. He wasn’t. He moved fast, pushing through the chaos until the sound of engines grew closer.

Then the situation escalated again.

A technical—a pickup mounted with a machine gun—cut into his path, blocking his advance near a crowded local market. Without hesitation, the gunner opened fire. Bullets tore through stalls, sending civilians scrambling in every direction. Hemant dropped behind cover instantly, assessing. If that gunner wasn’t stopped quickly, the casualties would multiply. He shifted position deliberately, drawing fire toward himself, making his presence obvious. The gunner adjusted, focusing on his movement. That was the opening Hemant needed. He pulled a grenade and tossed it toward a nearby corner. The explosion diverted the gunner’s attention just enough.

Hemant moved.

Using the wall beside him, he pushed off into a jump, bringing his rifle up mid-air. His shots were controlled but rapid, cutting through the gunner before he could recover. The technical fell silent. Without wasting time, Hemant moved in, pulled the body aside, and took control of the vehicle. Through his comms, he reached out.

"Status on the convoy?"

"Moving north. Approximately two kilometers ahead" The RAF feed responded quickly. 

"Copy"

He accelerated hard. The engine roared as the technical pushed onto the main road, weaving through traffic and debris. Within minutes, the convoy came into view—two vehicles moving fast, clearly not expecting pursuit. Until they noticed him.

Gunfire erupted again, rounds striking the body of the technical as Hemant ducked low behind what little cover he had. He closed the distance anyway. At the right moment, he swerved and rammed the trailing vehicle. The impact was violent. The vehicle flipped, rolling across the road before coming to a stop in a twisted heap.

One down.

The second vehicle didn’t slow.

Hemant made a quick decision. He locked the accelerator, then climbed out of his seat and onto the moving vehicle itself. Wind tore against him as he steadied his footing. Timing it carefully, he leapt. He landed against the side of the fleeing vehicle, gripping onto the frame just long enough to pull himself up. Inside, the militants reacted too late. Two shots. Both precise. Both final. But without a driver, the vehicle lost control almost instantly. It veered off course, crashing through the railing of a bridge and plunging down into the water below.

The impact was hard. Disorienting. But Hemant pushed through it, forcing his way to the back of the vehicle. He found the hostage, unconscious but alive, and managed to drag him free before the wreck submerged further. They broke the surface seconds later. Hemant swam hard, pulling the man with him until they reached solid ground. The hostage wasn’t breathing properly. Hemant didn’t hesitate.

He began CPR immediately—steady compressions, controlled breaths. Seconds stretched, then finally—A response. The man coughed, gasping for air. Alive. Relief came only briefly. FARDC reinforcements arrived soon after, securing the area and taking over medical support. Hemant stood up slowly, catching his breath as the situation stabilized.

Back at the summit site, the damage was contained. But the mission wasn’t over. Dan met him as he returned, his expression serious.

"There’s been another hit" he said.

"Where?" Hemant frowned.

"The WHO team. They attacked the other team of Garuda"

A pause.

"They took Avinash!!" Dan added.

For a moment, Hemant didn’t say anything. The noise around him faded slightly—not completely, but enough for the weight of the information to settle. Two coordinated attacks. Two objectives. One successful recovery from failure. One a total failure. He looked toward the gathered Garuda team, now regrouping under pressure. This wasn’t random. And it wasn’t over. Hemant’s focus sharpened again, this time with a different edge.


A few hours later, the atmosphere inside the temporary command center in Kinshasa felt heavier than it had all week. The room was filled with layered voices—radio chatter, low conversations, the occasional sharp instruction—but none of it cut through the tension that had settled after the news about Avinash Tiwari. Hemant and Dan stood across the table as General Bakshi joined the briefing remotely, his presence commanding even through a screen.

Bakshi didn’t waste time. 

"All units will stand down from any independent offensive action" he said. 

"Primary focus is containment and protection of remaining personnel"

"Sir, with respect, every hour we wait—" Hemant’s jaw tightened slightly. 

"I’m aware of the situation" Bakshi cut in. 

"Then you also know delay reduces his chance of survival. We need to move now" 

Hemant held his ground. Bakshi’s tone remained controlled. 

"I’ve already coordinated with external assets. The S.A.S and other special forces are being looped in for a joint operation. Planning is underway"

"That will take time" Hemant replied, steady but firm.

"Because it needs to be done right" Bakshi said. 

"Sir, time is exactly what we don’t have" Hemant shook his head slightly. 

There was a brief pause before Bakshi spoke again, this time more measured. 

"Avinash is a soldier. Just like you. We all understand the risks when we step into this line of work"

Hemant’s expression hardened. 

"We’re trained to fight and protect, not to sit back and wait for one of our own to be executed"

The room went quieter. Bakshi’s voice dropped a degree. 

"Watch your tone, Commander"

"Sir , give me few hours , I can retrieve Tiwari with my unit!" Hemant didn’t step back.

"Denied" Bakshi replied immediately. 

"Garud is not a personal strike team you can deploy at will"

Hemant exhaled slowly, but his stance didn’t change as Bakshi continued.

"You will hold position. Further orders will be issued once the joint operation is finalized"

There was nothing more to say. The call ended. Outside the command center, the air felt different—hotter, heavier, like the city itself was pressing in. Dan walked alongside Hemant, his usual composure replaced with something more unsettled.

"This isn’t good" Dan said quietly.

Hemant didn’t respond right away as Dan continued.

"I spoke to Captain Adjani. He gave me more details about the guy we’re dealing with"

Hemant glanced at him.

"His name is Bosco ‘The Cannibal’ Katanga. His base is at the age of the city , an old scrap yard. He doesn’t just kill people. He… drags it out. Makes a show of it. Human torture and suffering is his favorite pass time!"

Hemant’s gaze sharpened.

"Adjani says he runs a fight pit on his domain. No rules. No oversight. People who tend to go there....never returns"

That was enough. Hemant didn’t ask anything else. He already knew what that meant for Avinash. Back in his quarters, the noise of the outside world faded. Hemant shut the door behind him and stood still for a moment, letting the silence settle. The order to stand down echoed in his head—but it didn’t sit right.

It never did.

He thought about Avinash—young, capable, someone who had earned his place in the unit. He thought about the briefing room, about waiting for a coordinated response while a clock ticked somewhere else. And then, almost instinctively, his mind went back to something else. A different voice. A different conversation. Not about orders. About purpose. About choosing when to act.

Hemant walked over to his bag and opened it. Inside, wrapped carefully, was the weapon he had built in the hangar. The hatchet, its edge sharpened, the chain coiled around it like a sleeping thing waiting to be used. He picked it up, feeling its weight, familiar in a way that went beyond training.

He secured it around his left wrist, tightening the grip. Next came the firearms.

From a locked storage crate containing confiscated weapons, he selected what he needed—two Zastava CZ99 pistols, extra magazines to sustain a prolonged fight. Nothing excessive. Just what he could carry and control. He changed quickly—black t-shirt, camo trousers, minimal gear. No insignia. No identifiers. This wasn’t an official operation. As he stepped out, Captain Adjani was already approaching, having clearly been alerted.

"What are you doing?" Adjani stopped in front of him, eyes scanning the gear. 

"You already know" Hemant didn’t slow down. 

"Are you crazy...this is suicide!" Adjani shook his head. 

"Don't tell me you wouldn't do the same thing if it was one of your men...he has killed some of your men in the morning remember?" 

Hemant adjusted his grip on the pistol.

"I haven't forgotten that commander. But you need to understand. These people—Katanga’s psychos—they’re not like street thugs" 

Adjani said, voice firm. 

"They are the worst of the worst. They don’t stop. That place he runs… it’s not just a base. It’s the final gateway to people who've went there"

Hemant met his gaze, calm but unyielding.

"These theatrics can scare other people....but not me!"

"You better be....many have dared like you in the past...even with an army but none survived that hellscape. Its not just the Cannibal's Kingdom. Its a domain of Monsters!" 

Adjani stepped closer, lowering his voice.  There was a brief pause. Then Hemant said quietly. 

"Everyone claims to be a monster… until the Hunter steps in!!!"

Adjani didn’t respond immediately. There was something different in Hemant’s tone—not reckless, not emotional. Just resolved. Hemant moved past him, heading toward the outer perimeter. Before leaving, he added. 

"You didn’t see me"

"And when this goes wrong?" Adjani turned slightly. 

"Then add me to the list of casualties. But if it goes the other way , send med teams in an hour"

Hemant didn’t stop. That was all. As Hemant stepped into the dim streets of Kinshasa, the city felt different again—not like a place to secure, but like terrain to move through. Somewhere beyond the lights and noise, Bosco Katanga had built his domain. 

A place people feared. A place no one walked into willingly. But tonight , that place was no longer going to be a gateway to hell. It was about to become his Hunting Grounds!


THE CANNIBAL'S KINGDOM



The scrap yard at the edge of Kinshasa looked less like a hideout and more like a kingdom built from rust and fear. Mountains of dead vehicles rose like steel cliffs under the moon, their jagged frames casting long shadows over lanes of mud and oil. At the front gate, two militants stood with rifles hanging lazy at their sides, convinced the night belonged to them. Beyond them, dozens of armed men wandered through the maze of wreckage, laughing, smoking, trading threats like currency. 

At the center of it all, a circular patch of cleared dirt had been turned into an arena. Bosco Katanga sat above that arena on a throne welded from axles and engine blocks, a machete laid across his lap. They called him the Cannibal, and tonight he wore the title like a crown. Below him, two desperate men hacked at each other with crude blades, every breath ragged, every swing slower than the last. To either side of the ring, Bosco’s men held the fighters’ loved ones at knifepoint. The Cannibal watched with a grin, feeding on the agony in front of him.

At the gate, the two guards exchanged a nod—the last thing either of them would ever do. Hemant appeared behind the first like he had been born from the dark itself. His combat knife slid across the man’s throat so fast the guard didn’t even have time to scream. At the same instant, Hemant’s other arm snapped forward. The chained hatchet spun through the air and buried itself in the second guard’s neck with a wet, brutal crack. He yanked the chain once. The body dropped. The hatchet came back into his hand.

Then he vanished into the scrapyard.

What followed was methodical slaughter. A sentry rounding a corner caught a knife under the jaw. Another was dragged behind a stack of ruined buses and left with his own rifle sling biting deep into his throat. A lookout perched on a stripped van barely had time to turn before Hemant’s hatchet opened him from collarbone to chest. He moved like a ghost, but every strike was brutally precise. One by one, Bosco’s empire began to bleed in silence, and nobody at the center even noticed.

Hemant moved deeper into the yard, rigging fuel canisters as he went. TNT bricks disappeared beneath piles of tires, under truck frames, inside the hollow bellies of burned-out engines. Each fuse took flame with a quiet hiss. Each one became a countdown. The Cannibal still sat at his throne, amused, while the trap around him tightened like a noose.

In the arena, one fighter finally drove the other to his knees. Bosco rose forward, eyes glittering. 

"Kill him" 

The victor hesitated. His arms trembled. He looked at the man before him—looked at the woman being held with a knife at her throat. 

"I’m sorry" he whispered. The kneeling man shut his eyes. 

"It’s alright"

He never got the chance to die. Gunfire ripped through the night. The militant holding the woman dropped first, a hole punched clean through his forehead. Another spun backward, chest exploding red. Then Hemant stepped into the open, both pistols barking fire. Every shot found flesh. Men who had spent years ruling the scrapyard suddenly fell like butchered cattle. He advanced through the chaos, emptying magazines with terrifying calm until the survivors finally answered with a storm of bullets.

Hemant dove toward the edge of the arena and came up behind an old tribal shield mounted as decoration. Rounds hammered into the ancient wood, splinters flying past his face. He fired from behind it, dropped another two men, then the first explosion hit. A tower of flame erupted from the far end of the yard.

Then another.

And another.

The entire scrapyard convulsed. Fuel tanks burst. Tires ignited. Cars launched doors and shards of metal into the sky. Bosco’s kingdom became an inferno in seconds. People screamed and scattered, convinced an army had descended on them. The two fighters ran. Civilians fled. The Cannibal didn’t move. He just stared. Hemant stepped into the center of the burning arena.

Smoke curled around him. Fire painted his face orange. In one hand he held the tribal shield. In the other, the chained hatchet hung loose, heavy with blood. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to. 

The challenge was written in the way he stood there. Bosco’s closest men answered first.

They circled him with machetes, cleavers, hooked blades, rusted maces. Then they rushed. Hemant exploded into motion.

The shield smashed the first attacker’s nose flat. Before the man hit the dirt, Hemant’s heel cracked into another’s knee and folded the leg backward with a sickening snap. The hatchet whistled, buried itself in a third man’s temple, then ripped free with a spray of blood as Hemant yanked the chain back. A cleaver came for his neck—he slipped inside it, drove an elbow into ribs until something caved, then hammered a knee up under the attacker’s chin hard enough to drop him dead before he landed.

More came.

A mace slammed into the shield, nearly ripping it from his grip. Hemant answered with pure violence. He pivoted low, swept the man’s feet, then brought the shield down on his throat until cartilage gave way. Another lunged from behind. Hemant caught the wrist, twisted, and drove the attacker’s own machete deep into his belly. He fought with Kalari’s angles, kickboxing’s brutality, and the savage efficiency of a soldier who had long since stopped counting bodies. By the time the last of them crawled backward through the blood, Hemant was breathing hard, bruised, cut, but still standing.

Then only Bosco remained.

The Cannibal rose from his throne with a hammer that looked more suited for crushing engines than skulls. The first swing hit Hemant’s shield and blasted him backward. The second caught his ribs. Pain lit through his body. Bosco pressed forward like a beast, hammer crashing down again and again. Hemant landed shots, but the bigger man kept coming. A backhand sent him sprawling. The hatchet flew from his grip. He hit the dirt hard, blood spilling from his mouth.

Bosco stood over him, breathing like a bull. 

"I know you" he said, grinning through sweat and firelight. 

"The soldier from the summit. The one who killed my roaches" He leaned closer. 

"I believe you're here for your friend. He is inside. Still breathing. Barely. He didn’t enjoy the last torture session!!"

Something in Hemant broke. He punched the dirt and forced himself up.

His hand found the chained hatchet. With one savage kick, he knocked the blade loose from the handle. Metal clattered away. He wrapped the chain around his wrist instead. Bosco roared and swung the hammer. Hemant slipped just outside its path, the head slamming sparks off the ground. 

Then Hemant’s fist crashed into Bosco’s face.

This time the Cannibal staggered.

And Hemant did not stop.

He drove punch after punch into Bosco’s jaw, his cheekbone, his throat. A kick smashed into the left knee. Bone cracked. Bosco screamed and dropped. Hemant stomped the right leg next. Another snap. The Cannibal collapsed, crawling, hammer slipping from his fingers. Hemant grabbed the left arm and wrenched until it bent the wrong way. Then the right. The arena filled with Bosco’s screams, but Hemant heard only Avinash’s name in his own head.

He mounted him and kept punching.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Bosco’s face disappeared under blood. Teeth broke loose. Flesh split. The Cannibal, who had ruled through fear, had been reduced to a twitching ruin in the dirt of his own arena.

Hemant finally stood, chest heaving. He unwound the chain from his wrist, looped it around Bosco’s neck, then threw the other end over the hook of a nearby crane. Every muscle in his battered body screamed as he pulled. Bosco clawed at the chain, legs kicking uselessly, eyes bulging. He spasmed there above the blood-soaked ring, hanging over the place where he had made others die for sport.

Then he stopped moving. Hemant tied the chain to the crane's handle , leaving the Cannibal's corpse dangling in the air.

Hemant turned away.

Inside the main shack, he found Avinash strapped to a metal chair, shirtless, bruised, his skin marked by cuts and burns. His head hung limp. For one awful second Hemant thought he was too late. Then Avinash stirred. Barely. Hemant cut the restraints with shaking hands and caught him before he fell. 

"I’ve got you" he said, voice rough as gravel.

Together, one half-conscious and the other half-broken, they walked out of the burning scrapyard. By the time they reached the road, sirens were already closing in. Emergency crews. Congolese security officer. FARDC soldiers. Captain Adjani stepped out first—and stopped dead when he saw Hemant walking out of the fire with Avinash over his shoulder.

"Commander!!" Adjani said, staring past him at the inferno. 

"What did you do?!"

Hemant, bloodied from head to toe, managed the faintest crooked smile.

"The Cannibal.....is finished!"

Adjani gave a breathless laugh, half disbelief, half awe. 

"You’re not human"

Hemant winced as medics rushed forward and helped take Avinash’s weight.

"I wish that were true" he muttered. 

"Because right now, I feel every part of being human"

As Hemant and Avinash were led toward the ambulance, Adjani climbed the rise overlooking the scrapyard. Bosco Katanga’s empire was gone—reduced to twisted metal, fire, and smoke. And above the throne, silhouetted against the flames, hung the corpse of the Cannibal himself. For the people of Kinshasa, fear had ruled that place for too long. 

Tonight, something else had walked in. And it had brought justice.

THE MORNING A FEW DAYS LATER

For two days, Hemant knew nothing.

There were no dreams, no memories, only a heavy blankness that held him under. When consciousness finally returned, it did so slowly—first the distant hum of machinery, then the sting of antiseptic in the air, then the weight of bandages wrapped around his ribs and shoulder.

He opened his eyes and stared at a pale ceiling he didn’t recognize. The effort of breathing reminded him before memory did. Then he turned his head. Dan was there, slouched in a chair near the bed, half-awake, half-irritated in the way only someone who had been worrying for too long could be. Hemant tried to speak, but it came out as little more than a rough murmur.

Dan straightened immediately.

"You’re awake"

Hemant swallowed. His throat felt dry enough to crack.

"How’s Avinash?"

Dan let out a short breath, almost a laugh. Hemant looked at him. Dan shook his head. 

"He’s alive. Stable. Doctors say he’ll recover"

For the first time since opening his eyes, some of the tension left Hemant’s face. He shut his eyes briefly and nodded. Dan leaned forward, arms folded over his knees. 

"most people wake up after nearly getting themselves killed and ask how bad they look"

Dan said, quieter now. Hemant managed a faint smile. 

"Didn’t have time to think about that"

"You didn’t have time to think about anything" Dan muttered. 

"You went into that place alone"

"He was one of ours"

"That doesn’t mean you just walk into potential death!"

"I know. But I could not sit there knowing Avinash's moments were numbered , I could not"

Hemant turned his face toward the ceiling again. There was a pause before he added. 

"I also know command’s not going to like this so I could not risk you or anyone else of this unit in trouble"

Dan didn’t deny it.

"Command's definitely not liking this" he said. 

"You disobeyed a direct order, went off-grid, and nearly started an international incident. General was furious"

Hemant gave a small, tired exhale.

"When is he not!!"

Dan looked at him for a moment, then nodded once.

"Honestly , now I understand why General Bakshi hates your guts" he said. 

By the next morning, Hemant could walk—barely comfortably, but enough. Every movement reminded him of the night at the scrap yard. His knuckles were bruised, ribs stiff, one side of his face still swollen. Still, when word came that command wanted him present, he got dressed and made his way to the temporary operations center.

The room was fuller than usual. Members of the Garud unit stood assembled, fatigue visible on every face but something else too—anticipation. At the front stood General Bakshi. Bakshi let the room settle before speaking.

"The mission in Kinshasa has been officially declared successful" he said. 

"The UN peacekeeping command has acknowledged the role of Garud in stabilizing the immediate crisis. Based on the outcome, the Government of India has approved a structural transition. Effective immediately, Garud will fall under the full authority of the Indian Air Force"

A low current of excitement ran through the room. Bakshi continued. 

"Command of the unit will be formally handed over to Air Chief Marshal Krishnaswamy"

For the younger men especially, it landed like a moment of arrival. What had begun as a prototype task force had now become something permanent. Hemant felt genuinely glad for them. Then Bakshi looked at him.

"And now the other part"

The room went quiet.

"Commander Kumar" Bakshi said, voice flatter now. 

"You are hereby relieved from Garud Force with immediate effect"

No one moved. Bakshi held Hemant’s eyes.

"Command wanted a court-martial. I argued otherwise"

Hemant said nothing.

"Because you see, men like you are a bad example to soldiers"

Bakshi paused.

"So instead of a court-martial, you’ll receive a different kind of punishment when you return to NAL Air Force Station"

There was no elaboration. No one asked for one. Hemant simply nodded.

"Roger that, sir"

Bakshi gave the slightest inclination of his head, as if that was all he expected. Later, as preparations began for the return to India, the mood among the Garud men had split into two currents. One was excitement. The other was quieter. They talked about what it meant now—that they were officially part of the Air Force structure, that the unit had survived its trial phase, that future batches would be trained with what they had built here as precedent.

Hemant listened, even smiled when someone joked that now at least they’d get better aircraft and worse paperwork. He was happy for them. But beneath it all was the steady realization that whatever waited for him at NAL might be the first real wall he had hit since joining this life. For the first time in a long while, the road ahead felt uncertain. He was fastening the last buckle on his duffel bag when someone approached.

It was Avinash Tiwari. He still looked rough—fresh bruises, slower movement—but alive. For a second he just stood there, awkwardly. Then he said. 

"I wanted to thank you"

Hemant looked up. 

"You don’t have to"

"I do"

Avinash shifted his weight.

"I’ll be honest. Back at NAL… I didn’t really get you. I spent too much time around Vishal and the others. They used to joke about you. About Kirti. About how much of a terrible romeo you are to Kirti. And the whole facade and theatrics of Garud Force surrounded around you"

Hemant said nothing. Avinash looked faintly embarrassed.

"I believed some of it"

He paused.

"Then I saw what you did"

Hemant’s expression stayed calm.

"Its okay Avinash...no need to make it a big deal"

Avinash shook his head.

"No. It must be"

He held Hemant’s gaze now.

"I get it now Hemant , you're not just the best of us. You're the blueprint for a soldier to be!"

That landed more quietly than praise usually did. Hemant stood and adjusted the strap of his bag.

"You got a second chance" he said. 

"Use it properly"

Avinash nodded.

"And carry Garud forward"

As he walked toward the transport line, another man stepped into his path. For a moment Hemant didn’t place him. Then memory clicked. The hostage from the tech summit. Up close, he looked older than Hemant remembered—middle-aged, well-dressed despite the travel wear, eyes carrying the kind of exhaustion that came after narrowly escaping death. Before Hemant could say anything, the man stepped forward and embraced him. It caught him off guard.

"Thank you" the man said simply.

"I was doing my job" Hemant pulled back slightly. 

"No, you were doing more than that" the man said. 

He spoke quickly, as if he didn’t have much time.

"My son still has a father. My wife still has a husband. That doesn’t disappear because you call it duty"

Hemant didn’t know what to say to that. The man reached into his coat, took out a card, and pressed it into Hemant’s hand.

"If you ever need anything" he said. 

"Anything at all—money, help, contacts—call me"

"That won’t be necessary" Hemant replied.

"Maybe not" the man said. 

"But keep it anyway. My door will always be open for you!"

He gave a final nod. Then he was gone, moving quickly toward another convoy. Hemant looked down at the card. It was simple, understated. But the name made him pause.

Mr. Vardhan

Director — QUADRON INFOTECH
Subsidy to Astra Group


                                                                                                                            (TO BE CONTD)

[Harry Jordan]

                                                                                                                        (CHAPTER CONTD)

BACK AT NAL AIR BASE


The engines of the troop carrier still hummed with the heat of Africa as it cut across the night sky toward Bikaner. Inside, the men of Garuda Force were louder than the turbines. Someone had managed to produce packets of sweets from a field ration crate, and laughter rolled through the cabin in bursts. Their mission in Kinshasa had ended in success, and the bigger news had set the whole aircraft buzzing—Garuda Force was now under the direct command of the Indian Air Force.

"About time" Dan shouted over the noise, knocking his shoulder against another soldier.

"Now we are totally legit!"

"You only care because now you can brag you’re Air Force" Avinash laughed. 

"Exactly" Dan grinned. 

But a few seats away, Hemant sat motionless.

He barely heard them. His fingers were clenched so tightly around the edge of the bench that his knuckles had gone pale. Last night, before they had boarded, the order had come. Officially relieved from Garuda Force. No ceremony. No debate. Just one line on paper for defying direct orders in Kinshasa. Every laugh in the aircraft sounded farther away than the stars outside the porthole.

"What do you think they’ll do?" Dan asked quietly, leaning toward him.

Hemant gave a dry smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

"Well, thankfully its not a court martial!"

When the aircraft finally touched down at Nal Air Force Station, the wheels struck the runway with a violent jolt that seemed to drag Hemant’s thoughts back into his chest. The rear ramp lowered. Warm desert air rushed inside.

Outside, cadets were already lined up.

"Avinash!" 

Rani called first, running forward the moment she saw him. Beside her stood Vishal and Kirti. Vishal slapped Avinash on the back so hard he almost stumbled.

"You idiot, heard you got yourself taken hostage" Vishal laughed. 

"And still came back prettier than you" Avinash shot back.

"Thank God you’re back" Dan stepped down next, and Rani threw her arms around him. 

"Never thought I’d miss sand this much" Dan exhaled, looking at the familiar lights of Nal.

Then Hemant emerged. The conversations faltered. He walked down the ramp alone, shoulders straight, face blank. Everyone at the base knew already. The news had spread faster than the aircraft itself.

"Hemant… at least you made it back" Rani stepped toward him, forcing a smile. 

"Yeah" He nodded once. 

Nothing more. Kirti took a half-step forward. For a second it seemed she might say something—anything. But Hemant was already moving, walking faster, as if the runway itself was on fire behind him. She stopped. Her hands tightened at her sides.

"Leave him be Kirti....he is in both kinds of pain right now!" Dan glanced at her.

In his quarters, the silence felt heavier than gunfire. Hemant opened his locker and began packing methodically. Spare clothes. A notebook. A battered torch. A photograph he didn’t even remember keeping. Then, slowly, he removed the Garud uniform. For a moment he simply held it, staring at the insignia stitched over the chest.

A few minutes later he stepped outside wearing a simple striped shirt and faded denim jeans, the folded uniform cradled in his hands. From across the courtyard, Dan and Rani watched him heading toward the base command building.

"He looks like he’s going to a funeral" Rani said softly.

"In a way...it is" Dan replied, eyes fixed on Hemant’s back.

Farther away, Kirti stood under the shade of a corridor pillar. She watched him go, and guilt pressed like a stone against her ribs. She remembered turning him away, the brutal verbal lashout on him, his immediate disconnection, the silence after. Now he looked like someone leaving a life behind.

The office of Air Commodore Prajapati was colder than the desert outside. Hemant entered, shut the door behind him, and stood at attention. Prajapati looked older than he had before Kinshasa. Without a word, Hemant stepped forward and placed the folded Garud uniform on the desk.

"Sir" he said, voice firm.

He saluted.

"I am here to handover my uniform. Considering my removal from Garuda , protocol demands to return the uniform. Would like to cordinate with command regarding my punishment assignment"

For a long moment, Prajapati did not answer.Then he leaned back in his chair, studying Hemant with something strangely close to pity.

"You are a terrible soldier Hemant. One that questions every rules , every protocol. Good soldiers follow orders. But you seem to always like to think with your heart. And look where it got you. General Bakshi did say there will be a punishment. But I am afraid I have a feeling you might like it!" 

Prajapati said at last. Hemant’s brow tightened. 

"Sir?"

"I cannot defend what you did in Kinshasa" Prajapati said. 

"You disobeyed orders. You crossed lines you had no authority to cross"

His voice hardened.

"But…..you are also the reason Garuda Force succeeded in its international mission" 

He exhaled slowly. The room went still. Then Prajapati opened a drawer and took out a small key attached to a metal locket. He placed it on the desk between them.

"Take this"

Hemant stared at it.

"Go to Bikaner town , a few miles from here. Near the Highway. Your punishment is waiting there" 

Prajapati said. Hemant picked up the locket. At first he only saw the scratches on the metal. Then he turned it over. And his breath caught.

SENTINEL.

For a second, the office vanished.

He was somewhere else—he was back in Alaska when he and Dan were present at the mission briefing of the hostage rescue. Then it shifted , he was in that oil rig. Taking down militants with precision. THE Sentinel , the very organisation that took him to unexplored waters. The organisation that gave him his recent hauntings regarding the mysterious blue Satan symbol. That Sentinel was now approaching him.

"Sir… this—" Hemant looked up sharply. 

"Like I said...this is probably a punishment you will like!" Prajapati gave the faintest smile. 

Hemant stood frozen, the weight of the little key suddenly greater than any medal he had ever worn. A few minutes earlier, he had walked into this room believing he had reached the end of his road.

Now he understood. It was not a wall. It was a door. 

And that door was about to open.

The desert wind carried dust across the empty highway as the rickshaw carrying Hemant rolled past the faded milestone reading BIKANER – 14 KM. The engine hummed steadily, but his thoughts were louder. Every kilometer behind him felt like another piece of his NAL life being buried beneath the sands of Rajasthan.

Garud Commando Force.

The name still echoed in his head with bitterness. Suspended. Disgraced. Removed. Officially, he was no longer a soldier. Hemant tightened his grip on the passenger railing of the rickshaw. The address folded in his pocket had only one line written on it—Sector Road 8, outskirts east of Bikaner. No explanation. No sender. Just instructions. Typical military fashion.

The highway gradually emptied until civilization became little more than scattered electric poles and distant mud houses. Then he saw it. A lone modern house standing in the middle of barren land.

The rickshaw stopped at its gateway as Hemant picked up his luggage and paid the driver as he drove off. The structure looked absurdly luxurious for its location—smooth sandstone walls, tinted windows, a shaded porch, and a silver SUV parked silently outside the gate like it had been waiting for him. There were no nearby homes except for a few tiny settlements far beyond the dunes.



"Not gonna lie....place is not bad!" Hemant muttered under his breath.

He scanned the surroundings automatically, old instincts refusing to die. Highway to the west. Open terrain to the north. Minimal cover. Quiet. Too quiet.

The front door was slightly open. His eyes narrowed immediately. Hemant approached carefully and pushed the door wider. The cool air inside contrasted sharply against the desert heat outside. The living room was spacious and fully furnished, with leather couches, dim yellow lighting, and a massive television mounted against the wall. And sitting calmly in the center of it all was General Arvind Bakshi. The old military head sat with one leg crossed over the other, holding a cup of tea like he owned the place.

"…Sir?" Hemant froze.

"You took longer than expected" Bakshi looked up casually. 

Hemant shut the door behind him slowly. 

"With all due respect, General, last I checked suspended commandos don’t usually get invited to luxury homes"

Bakshi gave a faint smirk and gestured toward the couch opposite him. 

"Sit down, Hemant"

There was something unusually relaxed about the General today, and somehow that unsettled Hemant more than battlefield tension ever could. Hemant sat carefully. For a few moments, silence filled the room. Then Bakshi spoke.

"I am disappointed in you"

Straight to the point. Of course. Hemant leaned back slightly. 

"That makes two of us, sir"

Bakshi ignored the remark. 

"But here's the thing. I am not disappointed in just you but also in myself. Because I failed to understand where your true potential were. As a soldier you were always a liability. You disobeyed direct orders in Congo. You compromised operational command. You crossed international boundaries without authorization"

He paused and looked directly into Hemant’s eyes.

"And you nearly created a tense ground level situation inside Kinshasa"

"I could not leave Avinash at that monster's hand sir" Hemant exhaled sharply through his nose. 

"You were ordered to wait for extraction"

"And you already know , that extraction would be worthless and he would've been slaughtered"

Bakshi’s stare hardened for a moment. Then unexpectedly, he nodded.

"Yes, time was our enemy at that moment. And even though you failed as a soldier at that moment , you were the person needed at that moment. You didn't walk there as an Indian Army Soldier , you walked in there to make things right. And you didn't let the brutality and savagery to stop you" 

He said quietly. 

"That is exactly why I expected you to do what you did"

Hemant blinked in surprise. Bakshi placed the teacup down carefully on the table. 

"Because of your actions, Garud Force did not lose a single soldier in Congo" 

His voice lowered. 

"And because of your actions… Bosco ‘The Cannibal’ Katanga is dead.....liberating the people of Kinshasa from a Tyrant!"

The room suddenly felt heavier.

Hemant remembered the blood-soaked scrap yard. The screams. Katanga laughing while human bones burned in barrels nearby. And the mayhem that culminated. His lifeless corpse hanging over his throne. That monster deserved worse. Bakshi leaned forward slightly.

"On paper" he continued 

"You have been removed from military service permanently. Forced early retirement. No command authority. No official operations" 

A pause followed. 

"That is the punishment the Indian government will acknowledge publicly"

"Publicly?" Hemant frowned. 

Bakshi’s expression changed subtly.

"But unofficially…..you will be working for India as a Freelance Operator hired by SENTINEL....every operation you accomplish , every target you neutralize. The credit will not be given to you but Garuda Forces. For your services to SENTINEL , they will provide us intel and other defense proposals that benefit India and its interests" 

He said. The General reached into his coat and tossed a black file onto the table between them. One word was printed on the cover.

SENTINEL

Hemant stared at it silently.

"SENTINEL is a multinational covert military unit" Bakshi explained. 

"Off-record operations. International crisis intervention. No flags. No politics. No bureaucratic chains" 

He gave Hemant a long look. 

"Which makes it the perfect place for someone like you. You will have complete freedom , no burdens of responsibility or orders over your head. You can carry out your missions with your input. Though the downside? We will not acknowledge you....you are one of the unknown for Indian Defence...but as a deal towards SENTINEL right now....you have been designated HVI (High Value Individual) to NAL Air Base as an asset to Indian Defence's interest. That is the only protection you'll get here in Bikaner!"

"Interesting presidential treatment" Hemant let out a dry laugh.

"But let me be clear" Bakshi replied immediately. 

"You are a terrible soldier"

Hemant actually smiled at that.

"You are reckless, rebellious, insubordinate, and an administrative nightmare" 

Bakshi stood up slowly. 

"But you are effective. You have the right attention , most importantly , you do the right thing."

He walked toward the window and looked outside at the desert horizon.

"People in Kinshasa are sleeping peacefully tonight because you killed a savage that even governments feared touching. And you didn't face him as a Garud commando. You faced him as yourself. That is your world Hemant , a world where you can shift the balance and bring order to the world. A Perfect Warrior!" 

His voice remained calm, but every word carried weight. 

"You function better without the uniform, Hemant. This is your path. The Path of a warrior!"

Hemant looked at the file again.

SENTINEL.

A new gateway. New challenges and adventures in the horizon. Bakshi turned toward him one final time. 

"This house belongs to you now. The SUV outside is yours. SENTINEL will provide you with every resource you require" 

Then his eyes sharpened. 

"And every victory you earn from this point onward will quietly strengthen the reputation of Garud Force"

"The Higher Purpose" Hemant said softly.

"Exactly. You are strengthening this nation's defense in a unconventional way" 

Bakshi nodded once.  The General walked toward the exit before stopping near the door.

"I will be watching your progress carefully" he said without turning around. 

"Just don't reshape the world during your first month"

"No promises, sir"

That finally earned a small chuckle from the old veteran. Then he was gone. The sound of the SUV engine faded into the distance, leaving Hemant alone inside the massive house. For the first time in months, there was no mission briefing waiting for him. No commanding officer barking orders. No uniform hanging nearby.

Just silence.

Hemant slowly walked through the house, taking everything in—the polished kitchen, the weapons locker hidden behind a sliding panel, the upstairs balcony overlooking the desert highway.

He stepped out onto the balcony as the evening sun sank into the dunes, painting the horizon orange and crimson. The warm desert wind brushed against his face while trucks thundered far away on the highway below.

His duties at Nar Air Base was done. But a different kind of commitment and responsibility is engraved on him now. One that is beneficial to not just this nation , but to the world. His GARUD life had ended at the gates of Nal Air Force Base. But something far more dangerous had just begun.


The next morning, after moving the last of his belongings into the house outside Bikaner, Hemant found himself driving back toward the familiar gates of Nal Air Force Base. He hadn’t planned it. At least that’s what he told himself. But some part of him needed one last look—one last reminder that the place where he had slept, laughed, and guarded still existed, even if he no longer belonged to it.

The guards at the gate recognized him instantly and waved him through without question. Inside, the base felt strangely hollow. The tarmac shimmered under the desert sun. A few ground crew moved about lazily, but the usual noise was missing. No Dan yelling at cadets. No Avinash complaining about drills. No sarcastic remarks from the younger recruits. No sign of Kirti striding toward the hangars with that cold, impossible confidence.

Hemant walked slowly past the parked aircraft, hands in his pockets. For the first time since Congo, he felt truly alone.

"You look worse than when you came back from Kinshasa"

The voice made him stop. He turned. It was Rani, standing beside a maintenance trolley with grease on one cheek and concern in her eyes.

"That obvious?" Hemant managed a tired smile. 

"You landed here with the best brooding look I've ever seen" 

Rani stepped closer. She tilted her head. 

"What happened?"

Hemant stared past her toward the runway for a few moments.

"I did what I thought was right" he said quietly. 

"I killed a savage monster and got 'punished' for it. Its actually more complicated than that!"

"Try me" Rani folded her arms. 

He exhaled slowly.

"I got upgraded"

"Upgraded?" she repeated.

"To SENTINEL"

Her expression changed immediately.

"The global operations unit?" she asked, almost disbelievingly.

Hemant nodded. 

"I’m with them full time now. Off the books. No uniform. No official military ties" 

He let out a dry laugh. 

"Only condition is… whatever I achieve out there gets credited to Garuda Force"

Rani stared at him for a second, then smiled faintly.

"That sounds less like punishment and more like they’ve unleashed you"

"The general said something similar too" Hemant muttered.

His eyes drifted around again.

"Where is everyone?"

Rani followed his gaze.

"Oh...Command gave most of the recruits and Garuda squad a day off" she said. 

"Some of them were pretty shaken up after Congo. Especially after everything that happened in Kinshasa" 

Her voice softened. 

"They’ve gone to a lake camp not far from here. A much needed break from their heavy turmoil"

The words landed harder than Hemant expected. A day off. A lake. Laughter. Friends. And somehow he was outside of it now. He nodded once, but said nothing. Rani caught the shadow passing over his face.

"Hemant…"

He forced a smile that fooled neither of them.

"If Dan comes back before I see him" he said, turning away. 

"Tell him where I’m staying"

He pulled a folded slip from his pocket and handed it to her.

"My new address"

Rani took it carefully.

"You could still go to the lake" she said quietly.

Hemant shook his head.

"No , I've caused enough trouble for them with Congo. Let them write their own adventures" 

He said. By late afternoon he was back at the house. The silence inside felt heavier than before. He dropped himself onto the couch and stared at the ceiling, but his thoughts refused to stay still. He imagined the lake. Dan was probably already making an idiot of himself trying to impress some female cadets. Avinash would be pretending he wasn’t still rattled from being held hostage. The younger recruits would be retelling the Congo operation for the hundredth time, exaggerating every gunfight.

And Kirti…

That thought hit harder. He closed his eyes. He could almost picture her there by the water, hair loose in the evening wind, laughing in a way she never laughed around him. And Vishal beside her. The golden boy of the base. The ace pilot. The man everyone admired. He remembered the cadets whispering about them. Best among the best. He clenched his jaw. For one ugly moment his imagination betrayed him—Kirti leaning into Vishal’s shoulder, both of them somewhere beautiful, far away from blood and dust and war. He opened his eyes immediately, irritated at himself.

"Enough" he muttered.

His phone buzzed. A message. From Will. Hemant sat up.

First official assignment confirmed. Kazakhstan. Transport lands tomorrow morning at Nal Air Base.

Be ready.

He read it twice. Kazakhstan. First mission. The first step to another world. The thought cut through everything else. Nal was behind him now. Garuda was behind him. Whatever came next belonged to SENTINEL. And deeper than duty, deeper even than the thrill of action, was the thing that truly sharpened his focus—

AZRAEL.

The hidden syndicate. The unseen faces moving wars from the shadows. For the first time that day, Hemant felt something close to purpose. By evening, the doorbell rang. Hemant opened the door and nearly laughed. Dan stood there in civilian clothes, staring past him at the house.

"You bastard , what is this?!!!!" Dan said.

"Come in" Hemant stepped aside with a grin. 

Dan walked inside, eyes widening. He looked at the polished floors, the leather couch, the staircase, then through the window at the silver SUV outside.

"I cannot believe this!" he declared. 

"I’m sleeping in a glorified concrete box at HQ while you’re living like a smuggler king"

"High risk....high rewards!" Hemant chuckled. 

Dan dropped onto the couch. Then his grin softened.

"They made me lead commander"

Hemant looked at him.

"Garuda Force?"

Dan nodded.

"Since you were relieved. They saw me as the perfect replacement. Avinash has jumped to my former rank"

For a moment there was no humor in either of them. Then Hemant crossed the room and handed him a mug of coffee.

"Then they have the right choice who can lead Garuda Force in its glory!"

"Says the man who got promoted to an international black-ops unit" Dan snorted. 

Hemant sat opposite him.

"Sure...but its not easy as you think"

Dan raised an eyebrow. Hemant explained the arrangement with Bakshi. When he finished, Dan let out a low whistle.

"So every time you take out a bad guy, Garuda gets the medal" Dan said, 

"Looks that way"

"General Bakshi. That old fox." Dan lifted his cup. 

They drank. After a while, Hemant said. 

"You know you should stay here. You can take advantage of these amenities for me!"

Dan shook his head immediately.

"No chance. I need to be at the base if I’m running things now" He looked around again. 

"Though I hate to admit it… this place is far better than HQ"

Hemant smiled faintly.

"I went to the base this morning" he said. 

"Couldn’t find anyone"

Dan nodded.

"Yeah. Command sent most of them off for recovery. Congo hit some of the boys harder than they’re willing to admit" 

He looked down at his coffee. 

"Avinash especially. What happened at the scrap yard… that messed him up"

Hemant nodded slowly. Then, almost casually, he asked, 

"And Kirti?"

Dan’s head snapped up. A grin spread across his face.

"You’re still stuck on her"

Hemant rolled his eyes. 

"Just asking"

Dan leaned back smugly.

"Relax. Kirti and Vishal got called to Delhi this morning. Some special training sortie...for the upcoming Air Force Day or something"

Hemant blinked.

"Delhi?"

"Yeah. Flew out right after the orders came"

For reasons he didn’t want to examine too closely, Hemant felt some of the tightness in his chest ease. So the lake had been only that. A lake. Not whatever his mind had invented. But the relief was incomplete. Because Kirti was still with Vishal. Still somewhere beyond his reach. He hid the thought behind another sip of coffee. Dan noticed anyway, but wisely said nothing. Instead, he lifted his mug.

"To new duties"

Hemant looked at him. Tomorrow morning, a transport would land. Tomorrow, Kazakhstan. Tomorrow, SENTINEL. He raised his cup and tapped it against Dan’s.

"To the future" Hemant said.

The cups clinked softly in the quiet house. And for a little while, between old wounds and new wars, that was enough.

                                                                                                                          (TO BE CONTD)

[Harry Jordan]

                                                                                                                         (CHAPTER CONTD)

THE NEXT MORNING


The noon sun over Nal Air Force Station hit the concrete hard enough to make the entire air base shimmer. Inside the canteen, the usual clatter of steel plates and loud cadet chatter rolled through the room like background fire. A moment later, the door swung open and in walked Kirti and Vishal, fresh off their assignment in Delhi. Cadets straightened instinctively. Even members of the Garuda unit looked up. Dan, Avinash, and Rani were the first to greet them, dragging them into the center of the crowd before either of them could sit down.

"So?" Avinash asked, leaning forward. 

"What was so important they sent both of you?"

Kirti shrugged with a grin, trying to sound casual. 

"It was just a training exercise. Some…. new and interesting sorties for the upcoming Indian Air Force Day celebrations"

"Interesting?" Vishal snorted. 

"That’s one way to put it. The higher-ups were more impressed with her than me"

Kirti immediately flushed and smacked his shoulder. 

"Will you stop talking?"

Dan laughed, folding his arms. 

"He’s not wrong. For me, you’ve officially overtaken Vishal as the top ace of this base"

Vishal only smiled, taking the blow with theatrical dignity, while Rani’s grin widened at Kirti’s obvious embarrassment. But Kirti wasn’t listening anymore. Her eyes had already begun scanning the canteen. The cadets. The officers near the far table. The men stepping out into the heat. Searching. Restless. Dan noticed first. He always did. A slow grin spread over his face. 

"Who are you looking for?" he asked, loud enough for everyone nearby to hear. 

"Your boyfriend’s standing right next to you" 

He jabbed a thumb toward Vishal. Kirti turned so sharply her chair almost scbangd backward. 

"He is not"

Vishal clutched his chest and staggered half a step. 

"Ouch" he said, deadpan, earning a ripple of laughter. 

But Kirti didn’t laugh. Her eyes were still searching. Dan’s grin faded just enough to sharpen. 

"If you're looking for Hemant, then he's not here" 

He said. The words landed heavier than they should have. Kirti’s expression dimmed. Dan saw it. For once, he didn’t press. 

"He is no longer part of Garuda. That’s why I’m sitting in his position now"

For a moment, even the canteen felt quieter. Then Dan added, almost casually, 

"Relax. It’s not what you think. He’s got a bigger job now. They’ve designated him HVI for the base. Hemant isn’t out. He’s become a military asset"

Everyone knew what HVI meant. The short form for High Value Individual. Something shifted inside Kirti. Relief first. Then pride. Quiet, reluctant pride. The kind she didn’t want anyone to see. Before anyone could say another word, a rising commotion spilled in from the airfield. Chairs scbangd. Heads turned. The entire canteen seemed to empty toward the windows. Out on the blazing tarmac, a sleek private Cessna Citation XL rolled to a stop, absurdly elegant against the harsh military backdrop.



"That’s an unusual sight here....what is a civilian aircraft doing in an Air Force tarmac?" 

Rani muttered. Her finger pointed toward the tail fin. A strange insignia gleamed there—a Roman sentinel helmet. Dan’s eyes narrowed, and for the first time all afternoon, even he sounded impressed. 

"That" he said quietly. 

"Is the one and only Sentinel. A UN backed blackops operations unit. Also…..Hemant’s new workplace"

"Really?" Kirti asked amused.

"Indeed...what he did in Kinshasa really impressed them to which he is getting this 'promotion' in disguise of a 'punishment'...."

"Heh...you don't say" Avinash interrupted them as he continued.

"The things I saw he did to those scums....my torture chamber had a live TV feed of the fighting grounds...it was like I was watching someone superhuman....the way he swung that weird weapon!"

The canteen had gone dead silent by the time he appeared.

He stepped onto the tarmac like he owned the sunlight. Blue checkline shirt left open. Black V-neck beneath. Blue jeans. Aviators hiding his eyes. One travel bag slung over his shoulder like the weight of the world didn’t mean much to him anymore. He didn’t look back. Didn’t hesitate. Didn’t even slow down.

A group of armed men bearing the same sentinel crest emerged from the jet and walked straight toward him. Their boots hit the ground in clean, measured rhythm. The one in front stopped, gave a sharp nod, and said, 

"Welcome to Sentinel Sir. Your ride is here"

And every cadet watching understood the unspoken part. This wasn’t transport. This was extraction.



From behind the glass, Kirti could only stare at Hemant. There had been a time when he stood in this same base with dust on his boots, reckless in his grin, heart stupidly honest enough to hand to her. She had turned it away. She had told herself it was the right thing. Standing there now, watching armed internationals escort him like he belonged to a larger map than any of them could imagine, that certainty didn’t feel so solid anymore. It wasn’t regret exactly. It was heavier than that. A sharp, private ache wrapped in admiration. He looked untouchable now—like the kind of man nations borrowed when something somewhere had gone terribly wrong.

The engines ignited with a deep metallic roar. Heat blasted across the tarmac as the jet began to move. Nobody in the canteen spoke. Not Dan. Not Vishal. Not even the cadets who usually found jokes for everything. They simply watched. Watched as the aircraft gathered speed. Watched as it tore free from the earth.


AUGUST 11th 2004 TIAN SHAN MOUNTAIN RANGES , KAZAKHSTAN



The Tian Shan range swallowed sound.

Blizzard winds tore across the western spine of Kazakhstan, smearing the world into a white void where sky and mountain became the same frozen abyss. Buried into that wilderness sat the airbase—a Russian ghost installation carved into rock and ice, loyal not to Moscow but to General Barkov’s private war machine. Beneath floodlights and drifting snow, Sukhoi fighters crouched like iron predators on the elevated runway. Hidden directly beneath its edge, fingers locked into frozen stone, Hemant codename King—waited.

Above him, the roar of a departing jet ripped across the storm.

King glanced sideways. Will codename Wolf—hung there beside him, half-buried in shadow. Wolf pulled the cigar from his mouth, watched the orange ember fight the wind, then flicked it into the abyss below. 

"Show Time!!" he muttered. 

That was all either of them needed. Their ice hooks bit deep. They climbed like phantoms, scythes and climbing claws chewing into the mountain face. Snow lashed their Sentinel stealth suits, but the white camouflage turned them into shifting pieces of the storm itself. In less than a minute they were over the lip of the runway, crouched low as two Russian patrolmen emerged through the veil of snow.

Two muffled coughs.

King and Wolf fired at the same instant. Suppressed HK416s spat tiny flashes that vanished in the blizzard. One guard dropped before he even knew he was dying, a clean shot through the eye. The second staggered, blood misting hot and black into the snow, before Wolf’s follow-up round punched through his throat and folded him silently to the ground.

They advanced.

The storm covered everything—footsteps, bodies, muzzle flashes. Patrol after patrol disappeared into the snow. King moved with terrifying economy, every pull of the trigger measured, every burst ending in collapse. Wolf drifted beside him like a hunter born in war, never wasting a bullet. Men died without alarms, without shouts, without even seeing the faces of the ones killing them. At the edge of the runway, their route split. Wolf climbed onto a jagged ridge overlooking the compound. 

"Clear that building Mr.King , I'll provide overwatch!" 

He whispered over comms. King descended alone toward the first building. He slipped inside.

Warm air hit him, carrying oil, gunmetal, sweat. A corridor opened ahead. Two soldiers died before they could turn. A third stepped out of a side room and caught a glimpse of movement—just enough to tense, not enough to react. King’s suppressed rifle coughed once. The round tore through cheekbone and spine. The man dropped twitching.

Then a fourth guard farther down the hall froze. Too far for the rifle without risking noise. King’s hand moved. The hatchet flew. Its chained blade spun through the dim light and buried itself deep in the man’s neck. Bone cracked. Blood sprayed across the wall in a dark fan. The soldier clawed weakly at the steel as King strode forward, planted a boot against his chest, and yanked the weapon free with a wet ripping snap. He scanned the rooms. Nothing.

"No ACS here" King murmured.

"I see a Hangar far side ahead. Heavy at the front. Dead at the rear. The ACS Module is likely to be there , race you there , Wolf out!" 

Wolf’s voice came through the static. King ran. Not openly—he became the storm. The snow-covered stealth suit blurred him into the white chaos as he crossed the open ground at speed. Searchlights swept past and found nothing. Wind hammered his face. The hangar loomed out of the blizzard like a steel fortress.

At the back entrance, Wolf was already waiting.

"Took the scenic route, huh?" He smirked. 

Inside, only two guards. One never saw Wolf’s knife until it punched up beneath his jaw. The other turned at the sound and saw King for half a second before the hatchet buried itself in his temple with a hard metallic thunk. Both bodies hit the concrete almost together. The hangar smelled of fuel and scorched metal. A jagged section of the shattered satellite lay on the floor like the carcass of something dragged from orbit.

"I’ll check the wreckage" Wolf said. 

"Check the tech room upstairs. Go"

King climbed the steel stairs two at a time. The tech room was empty. Monitors flickered over banks of equipment, cables, and classified telemetry. He moved fast, scanning. Then he saw it. The ACS module. Cold, compact, deadly. Beside it sat a hardened military drive loaded with extracted satellite data. King snatched both, sliding them into his pack. Mission complete. Then the comm hissed.

"King?" Wolf said.

There was something wrong in his voice.

"I've been compromised....keep a low profile!"

At that exact moment the hangar doors thundered open. Floodlights exploded inward. Engines roared. Outside, rows of gunmen spread out behind armored vehicles, rifles leveled straight at Wolf in the center of the floor.

"King...go to Plan B" Wolf snapped.

King’s eyes dropped to the backup detonator clipped to his vest. Armed. Blinking. And suddenly he understood. Every step to the hangar, every dead corridor, every shadowed wall—Wolf had seeded the route with C4 satchel charges. King didn’t hesitate. He pressed the detonator. For one frozen heartbeat, nothing happened. Then the mountain erupted.

A chain of coordinated detonations ripped through the base. Fire punched out of buildings. Concrete split apart. Fuel lines became rivers of flame. The blast wave smashed into the hangar as Russian heavy weapons vanished in blooming orange fireballs. Men were hurled screaming through the snow. Sirens shrieked. Searchlights died. The entire airfield descended into chaos.

"Move!" Wolf barked.



They ran through hell.

Russian soldiers poured through smoke and debris, firing wildly. King and Wolf answered with surgical violence. King’s rifle hammered three men off a stairwell, then he buried his hatchet into another soldier’s collarbone and ripped downward. Wolf stitched a controlled burst across a line of advancing troops, dropping them in the firelight like cut marionettes. They carved a path through bodies, sparks, and shattered steel, never slowing. At the runway edge, they rappelled off the cliffside and hit the snow below running. Snowmobiles were already coming. Headlights slashed through the trees.

King and Wolf split into the woods, using trunks and blizzard cover like living cover. One pursuing rider took a round through the visor and cartwheeled into a drift. Another clipped a buried rock and launched into a pine, breaking in a spray of blood and shattered machine parts. Within seconds, the hunters had become the hunted.

They stole two snowmobiles and gunned the throttles.

Now the chase truly began.

More Russian riders burst from the burning base behind them. Overhead, two Chinook gunships descended through the storm, their mounted weapons lighting the snow with streams of tracer fire. Ice exploded around King and Wolf as they weaved between trees, drifted around boulders, and skimmed over frozen ravines. Wolf keyed his comm.

"Overlord, this is wolf. The heat is too hot , I need you to bring in the rain!!"

"Be advised Wolf , you're still close to the blast radius. This will be a danger close" 

Mission command warned instantly. Wolf grinned through the wind.

"Solid copy Overlord...Send it"

Ahead, an ice glacier rose like a wall of glass. King brought his snowmobile alongside Wolf’s.

"Time for shock and awe" Wolf looked over. 

Then the sky came apart. MLRS rockets screamed out of the storm. They slammed into the glacier in a rolling barrage of fire, turning the mountain into a collapsing inferno of ice, steel, and pulverized rock. The shockwave swallowed the Russian pursuit whole. Snowmobiles vanished in blossoms of flame. One helicopter caught a direct hit and broke apart in midair. The second clipped the collapsing ice wall and spiraled into the white abyss.

For a moment, everything disappeared inside smoke and fire.

Then, from the burning cloud, King burst out first. His snowmobile tore through the flames like something born of them. Wolf sat on the back, one hand gripping the frame, the other reloading calmly as if the apocalypse behind them were just weather. They reached the plateau. A black Buzzard helicopter hovered there, rotors chopping through the blizzard. Sharon—Phoenix—leaned out from the open side door.

"Get in!"

King drove straight up the loading skid. Wolf jumped first, hauled himself inside, then dragged King in as the snowmobile fell away into the dark. The helicopter banked hard and climbed.

Below them, the base was dying.

The C4 chain had touched fuel reserves, ammunition dumps, missile storage. Secondary explosions rolled across the entire installation. Hangars collapsed inward. Fire spread beneath the storm until the whole hidden airbase burned like a wound carved into the mountain.

Phoenix looked down at the inferno.

"That’s going to be a problem" 

King peeled off his frost-covered gloves and stared through the open door.

"Not exactly. On record, that base never existed. This thing will be buried in the history books" 

He said quietly. Wolf laughed, pulling off part of his rig.

"We did it. ACS is ours" 

King reached into his pack. He held up the ACS module first. Then the hard drive.

"I've plucked some of their data!" he said. 

For the first time since the mission, the Wolf gave a genuine smile.

The Buzzard vanished into the storm, carrying them eastward. Behind them, the flames of the secret airbase were slowly swallowed by the blizzard—buried beneath snow, silence, and history that would never admit it happened.


SENTINEL EUROPE DIVISION HEADQUARTERS , HEREFORD


By the time Hemant Kumar reached SENTINEL HQ in Hereford, the cold from Kazakhstan had long left his skin, but not his thoughts. The hard drive recovered from the Tian Shan operation sat open across a bank of monitors in the intelligence wing, its contents unfolding line by line in pale blue light. Hemant stood alone, sleeves rolled, eyes fixed on maps and encrypted manifests. At first it looked like noise—shipping codes, false invoices, satellite timestamps—but the deeper he went, the clearer the pattern became. He found smuggling corridors running through Oman and Turkmenistan, routes carefully masked through commercial freight lanes. Hidden among them were stash houses, offshore fronts, and transit hubs tied to AZRAEL. Narcotics. Human trafficking. Weapons components. But one route caught his attention more than the rest. It didn’t match the Indian networks he had spent months dismantling. This one was newer. Cleaner. Built for something bigger.

Hemant called Will down to the analysis floor.

Wolf leaned over the terminal, studying the route overlays in silence while Hemant broke down the data. Cargo moved from the Gulf, crossed inland through Turkmenistan, then vanished into dead zones near the Russian sphere of influence. It was too deliberate to be coincidence. Hemant pointed at a cluster of movement markers and spoke quietly. 

"I just found the smuggling route from the land among the north countries..their destination is Shanghai , China....to be handed over to the Triads..they are using hidden cave systems and the terrain as cover in their smuggling routes....which would also explain me finding them in Ladakh since India-Pakistan has still unexplored hidden cave systems in their border mountains..but that is not the concering part....I found a notable name who is associated with AZRAEL in Russia!" 

Wolf’s face hardened as he listened. Then he reached over, dragged another file onto the main display, and gave Hemant the missing piece.

"Barkov......General Barkov!"

The name hung in the room like smoke.

Will explained that the data recovered from the Russian base confirmed what SENTINEL had only suspected before. General Barkov wasn’t merely associating AZRAEL—he was doing business with them. In exchange for weapons sourced through black-market channels and other illicit networks, Barkov had been providing protected movement corridors, safe storage, and operational cover inside Russian-controlled territory. Suddenly the mountain base made a lot more sense. It had never just been about the ACS module. Barkov was using the chaos of civil conflict to build a private ecosystem of war, and AZRAEL had become part of the machinery.

Before either of them could say more, the doors slid open and Sharon—Phoenix—walked in carrying a tablet under one arm. 

"You’re both going to want to see this" she said. 

With a flick of her fingers, a fresh set of files appeared across the screens. Financial transfers. Shipping registries. Corporate fronts. She had been tracing a separate line out of Russia and had landed on something bigger. The trail connected Barkov to the Tarasov Crime Family, one of the most powerful names in the Russian underworld. But it didn’t stop there. Phoenix zoomed in on a cluster of encrypted transactions and shipping manifests moving east. 

"Tarasov’s negotiating with a faction of the Chinese Triads, and the location they've chose is not exactly remote" 

She said. The location flashed on the screen. Macau. A luxury resort district. High money. High secrecy. A perfect place for empires to shake hands without ever admitting they met.

Will folded his arms and looked from Sharon to Hemant. 

"Is Tarasov part of AZRAEL?" Hemant asked.

"Not just part , they are the Founders. Specifically the main head Evan Tarasov , who started that crime family which evolved into the Syndicate that is today. He is long dead though. Killed in 1988 by a US funded hitjob with no records!"

"And let me guess , he built his empire by taking advantage of the collapse of the USSR"

"Precisely, and if Tarasov and the Triads are building a pipeline for AZRAEL, we need eyes inside before they lock it down" 

He tapped the display, enlarging the date of the meeting. 

"This isn’t a smash-and-grab. The meetup is being planned in a month so we must build some short term influence and gain some intel on the ground" 

Then he looked directly at Hemant. 

"You’re going undercover. And you won’t be alone"

"I am already working on it Will. I've learned about AZRAEL tie up to the Triads through my own investigation regarding the supply chain from India to Nepal on my first day in SENTINEL. Those girls we liberated months ago , they were meant to reach Shanghai. I've build some ground level contacts within the Triads. People who have our best interests. Fed them our intel for their benefit in return for a favor for us in the future. Turns out not all the Triads are on board with AZRAEL!"

"Now that's my man Mr.King. Always planning ahead. But its time you get some backup"

Hemant already knew who was coming before Wolf said the name.

"Jinx will join you!"

For a moment, Hemant said nothing. He stared at the glowing map of Macau while the implications settled into place. He has been studying the Triad's operations for weeks , interacting with someone who wants to bring change in the ranks. Now with the right angle and planning , he feels this will solve a lot of troubles in that country. But the rules are different , this isn't a battlefield , there is no tactical approach or heavy gun battles. No rifles in a blizzard. No shadows to disappear into. Just silk suits, false names, smiling predators, and one wrong move away from a knife in the dark. For Hemant this was different , but one thing he was known for , always prepared. A new kind of adventure excited him but at the same time alerted him. This was the edge. And more importantly , his glorious purpose. And he was now ready to step into a different kind of warfare. One that is close to the notorious underworlds and espionage. Somewhere inside Macau, AZRAEL was preparing to expand its empire. And now, for the first time in months, Hemant felt it—that quiet certainty in his chest. He wasn’t chasing ghosts anymore.

He was finally getting close.

                                                                                                                         (TO BE CONTD)

[Harry Jordan]

                                                                                                                        (CHAPTER CONTD)

SEPTEMBER 23 , 2004. MACAU, CHINA



The Red Dragon Hotel stood at the heart of Macau like a jewel dipped in blood. Flashbulbs cracked against polished marble. Wealth, perfume, and false smiles flowed beneath chandeliers the size of small moons. Tonight’s charity gala looked almost noble from the outside—red carpet, silk gowns, camera flashes, men laughing too loudly—but Hemant knew better. Behind those golden doors, girls disappeared. Behind those smiles, the syndicate called AZRAEL sold human lives to the highest bidder.

A black Hongqi Qijian CA7460 eased to a halt at the entrance. The rear door opened, and Hemant stepped out, every inch the part. Black tuxedo. Crisp collar. Shoes that caught the hotel lights. A killer disguised as a gentleman. He handed his entry pass to the valet.

"Welcome to the Red Dragon, Mr. King"

Hemant gave a faint nod and crossed the threshold. In his hidden earpiece, Will’s voice crackled with amusement.

"The bowtie doesn’t work on you at all"

Hemant’s mouth barely moved. 

"Yeah? Guess I’m not cut out to be James Bond"

A low, smoky female voice slid into the channel.

"No" she said, amused. 

"You’re too rugged to be Bond. But you’ve got certain qualities"

Hemant’s gaze shifted—and found her. Jinx. Already inside. Already working. She stood beside a crystal pillar in a violet gown that hugged every curve like a secret. The slit rode high enough to reveal toned legs as she crossed them with deliberate elegance, and the neckline was dangerous enough to make powerful men forget caution. Her lips curved when their eyes met. 



Not affection. Not exactly. Just the kind of dangerous understanding that only came from surviving hell together. Then she turned away, drifting back into the glittering crowd, hunting monsters with a smile.

They split. Hemant was guided through a private corridor toward the upper levels. Plush carpet swallowed every footstep. A masked attendant handed him a lacquered black half-mask. 

"For discretion, sir"

He slipped it on and entered the auction room. Inside, every face was hidden, every suit expensive, every silence predatory. Hemant scanned the room. He couldn’t identify them, but instinct screamed at him—Chinese Triads, maybe even men tied to the Russian Mafia. Somewhere below, Jinx was getting close to one of AZRAEL’s brokers, her beauty turned into a blade.

Then the auction began. One by one, girls were brought onto the stage beneath white light. Bare shoulders. Painted lips. Eyes hollow with terror. Hemant sat absolutely still while disgust crawled under his skin like acid. Every bid made him want to break someone’s jaw. But not yet. He had to play the part. Then one girl stepped into the light—young woman, trembling, but unlike the others she wasn’t completely broken. Her eyes were alert. Conscious. Watching. Hemant raised his paddle. Another bidder challenged him. Then another. He kept going, voice calm, heartbeat cold. Finally the hammer fell. Sold.

A masked escort led him to a private room higher up in the hotel. When the door shut, Hemant stood alone in silence and reached into his pockets. Tiny pieces. Two screws hidden in the first buttons of his shirt. A spring in the cuff seam. A sliver of machined steel in the lining. He assembled them with practiced hands. By the time the girl entered, he was seated calmly, the makeshift pistol hidden behind his leg. She froze when she saw him. Terror widened her eyes.

"It’s all right" he said quietly. 

"I’m not here to hurt you"

It took a minute. Then another. Her breathing slowed.

"Do you know where the others are?" he asked.

She nodded, barely. Hemant showed her the weapon. 

"Good. Then I’m getting you out"

They moved through the hall like shadows. Hemant fitted a suppressor onto the tiny gun. No elevator. Too exposed. Stairwells only. Every turn was a coin toss. Once, voices drifted close—guards laughing, keys jingling. Hemant pressed the girl against the wall, one arm around her shoulders, the other holding the pistol low. They passed without seeing them. Three floors down. Service corridor. Kitchen exit. Rain hit them the second they stepped outside into the neon glow of Macau. Twenty minutes later, the girl was inside a SENTINEL safe house, wrapped in a blanket, shaking but alive.

Jinx arrived moments later, breathless, heels abandoned somewhere between here and the hotel. A few strands of dark hair clung to her cheek, and for the first time all night she looked less like a socialite and more like the operator she truly was. Relief flashed across her face when she saw the rescued girl. Then the girl spoke.

"Someone else tried to save us" she whispered. 

"A priest. The bad uncles took him. To the cemetery. They said… they’ll kill him there"

The room went still. Hemant felt something cold settle into his bones. Will got the confirmation minutes later. 

"Father Dominic. Priest from London. He was in Macau for some Missionary work. He tipped SENTINEL off about the trafficking network. If the Triads have him, they’ll make an example of him"

"We need to get him" Hemant said immediately.

"No" Will snapped. 

"Our objective is the girls. We use the witness, convince the authorities, bring in the raid. We cannot compromise the mission for one man"

"Hemant… he’s right" Jinx stepped closer. 

He looked at her, and something in his expression made her stop talking.

"SENTINEL doesn’t have a choice" he said. 

"I do"

He crossed to his bag and unzipped it. Steel whispered. Out came his signature weapon—a hatchet chained at the base of the grip, dark metal hungry for blood. 



He slid a QSZ-92 into the back of his waistband. Jinx caught his wrist. For a second, the room narrowed to just the two of them. Her perfume, rainwater on bare skin, the warmth of her hand against his pulse.

"Don’t do this" she said, voice lower now. 

"You’ll blow everything"

Hemant leaned closer, so close he could see the storm in her eyes. 

"No" he said softly. 

"I’m going to end their partnership"

He placed his phone in her hand. 

"If I’m not back in an hour, dial the last number. Take her to PJ Law Enforcement HQ. Get the paperwork moving"

Then he turned and walked toward the door.

Jinx stood there, fingers curled around the phone, watching him disappear into the Macau night. Neon bled across the rain-slick street outside. Somewhere beyond the city lights, in a cemetery full of stone dragons and dead men, Father Dominic was waiting to die. And Hemant King—tuxedo stained with rain, chain coiled at his side, murder in his eyes—was coming for him.

AN HOUR LATER AT ST MICHAEL CEMETERY , LAZARUS STREET, MACAU

Midnight had long strangled the city in silence.

At the forgotten edge of Lazarus Street, the ancient grounds of St. Michael Cemetery slept beneath drifting fog and flickering sodium lights. Rainwater glistened across cracked stone pathways, reflecting rows of weathered gravestones like shattered mirrors. Above them all towered the great statue of Archangel Michael—wings spread wide, sword lowered in judgment—as though the cemetery itself waited for sinners to be weighed.

The peace broke beneath the sound of chains scbanging pavement.

A battered middle-aged man groaned as he was dragged through puddles and broken gravel. His wrists were bound in rusted handcuffs, chains wrapped cruelly around his chest like shackles for the damned. His priest’s collar was stained with dirt and blood, his face bruised from interrogation. Yet despite every bruise and every staggered breath, Father Dominic refused to bow his head.

Dragging him by the chains with a sneer carved across his scarred face was Johnny Ratface, one of the feared lieutenants of the 18K faction of the Triads. Rings glittered across his fingers as he shoved Dominic toward a freshly dug grave waiting like an open mouth in the earth.

"You should’ve minded your business" Johnny spat. 

"Thought you could save our girls?" He kicked Dominic hard into the mud. 

"You have no clue what kind of monsters run this operation. People disappear because of men above me"

Dominic coughed blood into the dirt but still raised his eyes.

"If innocent people are suffering, then someone must stand for them. I would make the same choice again"  

He said quietly,  His voice carried no fear.  Johnny barked out laughter as the surrounding Triad thugs joined in.

"And where did that courage get you?" Johnny gestured to the grave. 

"Right here, Father. Your final resting place" He pointed toward the towering Michael statue looming through the fog. 

"You talk about God, justice, angels. But look around. This city belongs to devils. Even your precious saint watches and does nothing"

Dominic slowly lifted his bruised face toward the dark sky.

"He is a saint only for the innocent and the beloved" he whispered. 

"For scum like you.....he is the raging fire of Justice!!!!"

Johnny crouched beside him with a grin full of rotting arrogance.

"Then lets see if his fire reaches here when I bury you six feet under.....there is no God here!!!!" 

He spread his arms across the cemetery. Dominic shut his eyes. He prayed weakly into the freezing air. 

"My lord......please… bring justice to this place...."

And that was the moment an eery silence filled for roughly a second. After which footsteps echoed. Every thug froze. Slow. Measured. Heavy.

Across the cemetery entrance, beyond the statue of Michael, a silhouette emerged through the fog. Streetlights behind him stretched his shadow impossibly long across the graves. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dressed in a charcoal suit dark enough to vanish into the night itself.

A hatchet hung from a chain wrapped around one arm. Its steel edge glimmered. Hemant Kumar walked forward without hurry. The cemetery felt colder.



"Who the hell are you?" Johnny narrowed his eyes. 

Hemant stopped beside the towering Michael statue. Fog curled around him like smoke rising from a battlefield.

"You must be Johnny right?" he said evenly.

"You goddamn right.." Johnny replied with pride and twisted cruelty before adding

"And you are"

Hemant's response was a grin , a grin that could be devilish but in Dominic's eyes it was assurance. That things will be right from now on. For Dominic, battered and half-conscious, the moment felt unreal. The statue behind Hemant seemed brighter somehow—light catching strange against rain and stone. Standing beside the archangel, the stranger appeared like an extention of the archangel. With that same grin Hemant responded.

"I am the one that kills Johnny!"

Johnny laughed again.

"This guy is funny. Boys , lets show him I am in no mood for comedy!" 

He shouted to his men. The cemetery exploded into motion. Triad enforcers charged with cleavers, rusted machetes, iron rods, and Chinese batons. Hemant moved. The chain snapped through the air with terrifying speed. The hatchet spun outward like a guided blade and buried itself deep into the face of the first attacker with a wet crack. Bone burst apart as the man collapsed instantly. Hemant yanked the chain back violently—the weapon ripping free in a spray of blood before smashing into a second thug’s jaw hard enough to twist his neck sideways.



Three more rushed him.His Kalari instinct took over. Hemant stepped inside the first swing, twisted low, and drove the hatchet upward beneath a thug’s ribs. The blade punched through flesh and emerged slick with crimson from the other side. Before the body even dropped, Hemant pivoted and slammed an elbow into another attacker’s throat, crushing cartilage with a sickening crunch.

Steel flashed toward him. He ducked. The cleaver missed. Hemant answered by wrapping the chain around the attacker’s wrist and pulling hard. Bones cracked. The weapon fell. One brutal hatchet strike followed—clean and merciless—sending the thug crumpling beside gravestones painted red.

The cemetery became chaos.

Rain mixed with blood across old marble. Men screamed. One tried charging from behind only for Hemant to hurl the hatchet backward without looking. The blade buried itself in the attacker’s chest, pinning him against stone before Hemant retrieved it with another violent pull of the chain.

Johnny’s confidence evaporated.

"This psycho—kill him!" he shouted.

Another group rushed. Hemant met them head-on. A baton shattered against his shoulder but he ignored the pain, grabbing the attacker by the collar and smashing his face into a gravestone hard enough to split skin and teeth. Another lunged with a sword—Hemant caught the wrist, twisted until the arm bent wrong, then buried steel into the man’s neck.

One strike. One body. Again. Again. Until only Johnny Ratface remained. Breathing hard, soaked in rain and panic, Johnny backed away.

"You have no idea who you’re messing with" 

Johnny growled, suddenly drawing a hidden knife and lunging in desperation. Hemant was already moving. The hatchet flashed once. Johnny screamed. Then again. His legs collapsed beneath him. Blood spilled violently across the mud as he crashed near the open grave, horror replacing arrogance. Hemant stood over him. Johnny coughed desperately. 

"The Triads will hunt you—"

Hemant tilted his head.

"Don't worry Johnny....your Overlords....they will let you know who I am when I send them to you to the place you are going right now!" 

He said quietly. One final kick sent Johnny tumbling into the grave. He landed hard, bleeding into the soil prepared for Dominic.

"In Hell!" Hemant finished with him. 

No prayer came for him. Only silence. Hemant turned and broke Dominic’s chains.

"You alright?" he asked.

Dominic stared at him, shaken.

"Who are you?"

"A man who is interested with some devious activities here" Hemant answered. 

"I rescued one of the girls from the Red Dragon Hotel. She told me about you"

Dominic’s face darkened.

"There are more...girls… women… held at a warehouse not far from here" he said urgently"

Hemant looked toward the city lights.

"Show me the way!"

The warehouse crouched near the waterfront like something abandoned by time. Rust bled down corrugated walls. Salt wind howled through broken windows. Dominic led Hemant through a side entrance, his breathing uneven as distant waves crashed somewhere beyond the industrial district. Inside, the silence felt wrong. Then they heard it. Whimpering. Behind stacked crates and concealed steel plating lay a hidden chamber secured with thick chains. Hemant shattered the lock with the back of his hatchet.

The door creaked open. Inside were frightened girls and women huddled together beneath flickering lights.Bruised. Terrified. Some barely looked old enough to understand what had happened to them. Dominic immediately rushed to comfort them.

"You’re safe now" he said softly.

Hemant turned toward the warehouse floor. Something felt off. Then the side door burst open.

"About damn time"

Jinx stepped through carrying tactical gear slung over one shoulder. Gone was the glamorous party attire from earlier. Now, Jinx wore combat armor fitted tight for movement, a rifle hanging against her back and pistols holstered at her waist.

"Took care of the surveillance blackout" she said. 

"You look terrible"

Hemant glanced down at blood splattered across his suit.

"Not all of it are mine" he replied.

His eyes drifted toward a massive enclosed fishing truck sitting near the rear loading dock.

"Did you call the number?" he asked.

"Yeah. Nobody picked up" Jinx nodded. 

"Noone's supposed to" Hemant said.

Her expression shifted.

"That number? It was your research work few days back isn't it?"

"Exactly , and that contact will help us clear this thing in whole" Hemant replied.

He pointed toward the rescued captives.

"Take Father Dominic and the girls to the PJ Law Enforcement headquarters. Use the truck and leave through the back"

That was when engines thundered outside. Headlights flooded broken windows. Vehicle doors slammed. Voices shouted in Cantonese. Jinx swore under her breath.

"They're here!"

Hemant calmly looked toward the warehouse entrance.

"Take them and go"

"What about you?"

He walked toward stacked crates.

"I’ll buy time. Give them a taste of the traditional SENTINEL shock and awe!"

The front shutter exploded inward. Triad gunmen stormed through carrying rifles, machetes, and iron weapons. One shouted the order to kill everyone. Hemant’s eyes landed on stacked crates filled with smuggled rifles. AK-47s. Illegal imports. He cracked open the crate and pulled one free. The firefight erupted. Automatic fire ripped through the warehouse.

Hemant moved like something ancient and merciless. Controlled bursts dropped the first wave before they even understood what was happening. Men crashed through stacked boxes as bullets tore through cover. One attacker rushed too close. Hemant dropped the rifle, swung his chained hatchet, and buried steel into the man’s shoulder before slamming him into shelving hard enough to collapse it. Another charged with a blade.

Hemant sidestepped and answered with brutal efficiency. Close combat became carnage. The warehouse floor transformed into a battlefield of overturned crates, shattered lights, smoke, and screaming steel. Triad enforcers expected fear. Instead they met a storm. Gunfire. Chain strikes. Broken bodies. Blood streaked across concrete. Every step Hemant took carved deeper panic into their ranks. Rumors were already beginning. Some whispered Johnny Ratface had been butchered by a ghost. Others claimed an executioner had come for the underworld. Tonight, fear gained a face. By the time the truck escaped through the rear gate carrying Dominic and the survivors, Hemant stood alone among wreckage.

The remaining enforcers hesitated. He used that hesitation. A flashbang taken from confiscated cargo detonated. Chaos followed. Hemant disappeared into the alleyways of Macau. But not before half the warehouse burned. The chase lasted minutes. Black SUVs flooded narrow streets. Gunmen poured out. Hemant vaulted fences, ducked through neon-lit alleyways, and fought his way across backstreets until he finally reached a dead end near the waterfront. Footsteps surrounded him. Weapons raised.

"End of the line" one enforcer sneered.

Then came headlights. A long black limousine drifted into the street like something from another world. The rear door opened. No hesitation. Hemant sprinted, slid inside, and the limo peeled away before gunfire could land. Inside sat Jiu Mey. The Current Red Pole of the Sun On Yee faction watched him quietly, dressed sharp despite the late hour.

"You really made a mess tonight" she said.

"They were trafficking children" Hemant leaned back, breathing steady.

"I heard" She nodded once.

The city blurred outside as the limousine carried them toward the coast. Eventually they stopped near a rocky seaside overlook where crashing waves struck black stone. Jiu stepped out first.

"You know, I was curious with your proposal when you came to me weeks ago. We were concerned you were a spy until what you proposed what we did and what you wanted in return. Your insight and intel helped our influence in many ways" 

She said, lighting a cigarette against the cold wind. Hemant folded his arms.

"You took Water Street in Shanghai" Hemant stated.

"And two more territories, Sun On Yee’s stronger now" she answered. 

She studied him.



"But 18K is getting desperate. More violent. This recent uprising from our side could be catastrophic"

Hemant stared toward the ocean.

"It has to, my interest is not in the 18k taking over the Triads" he said quietly. 

She raised an eyebrow.

"You sound idealistic for someone covered in blood"

"Even if you're a hunter , you cannot keep your hands clean killing monsters" 

Hemant answered. 

"Desperate times need desperate measures!"

He looked toward her.

"Build a crew. People loyal to you. People willing to dirty their hands if it means protecting something better"

"I already have some" Jiu nodded.

"But if I move, I will become the next target" she added.

"Then make me the target" Hemant gave the answer without hesitation.

"What?" Her expression shifted.

"Don’t tie this to Sun On Yee" Hemant said.

"Create a new threat, someone that is believed to be the new enemy of the Triad coming from the sea across. An outside force determined to shake the Triads and its chain of leadership of crime!"

He stepped closer.

"A ghost. A mythical hunter who butchered Johnny Ratface. Someone coming after the worst of the underworld. A new danger to the triads. And when the overlords of 18K and the oblivious Triad masters are trying to find this new threat,  the Sun On Yee can climb ranks and grow its influence in this chaos"

Fear was currency. Stories were weapons. Hemant intended to weaponize both.

"Turn me into a symbol of new challenge for the Triads. Make me a force they must be concerned!" 

He continued. Jiu slowly smiled.

"You want me to build you into a legend?"

"No" Hemant replied. 

"I want you to build a false crisis that will concern the Triads giving the Sun On Yee the opening to grow their worth!!!"

The next morning aboard a SENTINEL C-17 aircraft bound for Hereford, Hemant and Jinx stood in the control room watching international news. Macau law enforcement had launched massive raids. Trafficking warehouses were being dismantled. Arrests spread across criminal networks tied to 18K. National inquiries had begun. Jinx crossed her arms.

"So, this was your strategic masterplan?" she said

Hemant allowed himself the smallest smile.

"SENTINEL was made to maintain order of the world , and Shanghai's order lays in Sun On Yee's success. Its a bigger victory in the long road!"

Somewhere in Shanghai hours later, Jiu Mey assembled trusted figures in an underground meeting hall. Father Dominic stood nearby, protected and awaiting transport to England. Names were assigned. Territories discussed. Orders given. One man stood out.

Ricky Tan. A local operator chosen to help command the new movement. Mey’s people already whispered about Hemant. His SENTINEL codename—Mr. King—passed from mouth to mouth. Still, something about it felt incomplete. Then Dominic arrived carrying newspapers from Macau. Front pages displayed images from St. Michael Cemetery. Most focused on the massacre. But one image lingered. The statue. Archangel Michael standing above the fog. Dominic placed the clipping before Jiu.

"The name you are looking for is right here!!!" he said.

Jiu looked up.

"He came when darkness ruled as a beacon of justice , with ruthless strikes and burning vengeance" 

Dominic said softly. 

"I see the Archangel in him!!"

Jiu stared at the photo. Then smiled. Moments later she called a news contact. The reporter asked the question everyone wanted answered.

"Do you know who killed the Triads?"

Jiu leaned back. Her voice carried calm certainty.

"Yes , I know who the killer is!"

She paused just long enough for anticipation to grow. The city held its breath.

"His name…...is King........Michael King!!!"

                                                                                                                                               END OF CHAPTER 34

[Harry Jordan]

1 turned to 2 then it turned to 3 now weekend 4 is empty with no updates. Wish I could leave this story here forever and move out.

Harry, If you are planning to come one day, I suggest you write the whole story and come back when you are ready with update for week.

~RCF

I apologize for the delay. But in a way , this delay was very much needed for me personally as it helped regain my lost health and vigor in activities. Weekly updates will be regular from now as health is alright. And promise is a promise , not matter what happens , LSW : Age Of Darkness will be a completed story one day. As for your issue with Sonarika's arc. I understand , her arc doesn't hold the magnitude to Hemant's. But this narration is important because this is the final leason to Sonarika to understand her husband better so that she can finally find closure in her own vulnnerability and move on.

[Harry Jordan]

Hello Harry... You don't know how I feel now man.. you gone through lots of stuff man.. Which i don't have that much of knowledge man.. A long chapter.. You know what I had head ache man... Happy to have you back.. kudoos to you.. keep it up..

I am glad to give you a relief with a lengthy chapter with this one.....I too enjoyed it especially to have a chapter with no sex in it LOL.....but that will be the highlight for chapter 34 only.....from Chapter 35 sex will return since we have to see the best of Kira after all!!!!   

[Harry Jordan]

Unfortunately , it needs a little more time. I need to correct some stuff and evaluate the "Sex" stuffs to ensure the quality is intact. So it might take a little further. I'll post a simple message before posting the chapter because me pre-setting the schedule for chapter update has never gone the way I wanted LOL......

Like I said...no compromise on quality. I also need the right place where I can end Chapter 35 rather than end it abrupty. It will be a short chapter but this chapter will end with the Hemant flashback and return to Sonarika and how his backstory impacts her!

[Harry Jordan]

Knew you wouldn’t deliver the update on your story as promised this Saturday — your reputation remains intact lol.

I really try LOL....guess I will simply post a simple message hours before upload. 


BUT I'll definitely follow a weekly timeline , that is something I can do since the bulk of the backstory I already covered in chapter 34 so 35 will be short and sweet with some spice! 

[Harry Jordan]

Mr. Harry please add gif and pics between sex scenes.

I am trying man......especially gifs because it helps spice the sex but for some reason its not working....no idea which porn gif site works in Xossipy