Do no harm.” “That oath applies to patience, Liam,” Be said, her eyes locking onto his. “Those men upstairs aren’t patients. They are a disease. Andright now, you’re the cure. Take the damn gun.” Liam swallowed hard and took the weapon. His hands were shaking. Be Arthur said softly. Why are you here? The agency scrubbed your file.
We thought you turned or that you were liquidated. Be didn’t look at him. She was setting up a trip wire across the entrance using a roll of surgical tape and a flashbang grenade. I didn’t turn, she said quietly. I just stopped. After Yemen, after the village, I couldn’t look through a scope anymore without seeing their faces.
I wanted to save lives for a change. I wanted to wash the blood off. She looked at her hands. They were covered in grease, dust, and fresh blood. Turns out, she whispered, “The blood doesn’t wash off.” A massive thud shook the ceiling above them. Then another. “They’re inside,” Beia said. “They’re clearing the ground floor.
They’ll be at the stairwell in 2 minutes.” She walked over to the corner where she had stashed the CheayAc M200 intervention. She had carried the beast of a rifle all the way down here. It seemed useless in such a small room, a weapon designed for miles, not meters. But be had a plan. Liam, Arthur, she said, “Get in the back behind the refrigeration units. Stay low.
What are you going to do?” Liam asked. “I’m going to knock.” Be didn’t aim at the door. She walked to the far wall of the morg. She knew the blueprints of this facility better than the architects. Directly on the other side of this concrete wall was the main boiler room. And running along the ceiling of the boiler room was the main fuel line for the backup generators.
If Kalin was smart, and he was, he would stage his team in the boiler room before breaching the morg. It was the only cover in the basement hallway. She visualized the room through the concrete. She calculated the angles. She set up the chay tac on a metal autopsy table extending the bipod legs. She loaded a fresh magazine of the solid brass rounds.
These bullets could punch through an engine block. A 6-in concrete wall was nothing to them. She waited. She closed her eyes and listened. Not with her ears, but with the instincts honed over 20 years of hunting. She felt the vibrations in the floor. Heavy boots, multiple contacts, stacking up, breaching charge, ready.
A muffled voice came through the wall. Kalin, he was right there on the other side of the concrete. Bae opened her eyes. She exhaled, her breath steady. “Welcome to the hospital,” she whispered. She pulled the trigger. “Boom!” The sound in the enclosed concrete room was apocalyptic. The recoil slammed into her shoulder. The bullet punched a clean hole through the concrete wall.
On the other side, in the boiler room, the round didn’t hit a man. It hit the high pressure fuel pipe Bee had aimed for. The fuel sprayed out, vaporizing instantly under the pressure. Be cycled the bolt. Clang. She aimed 6 in to the right at the electrical junction box she knew was mounted there. She fired again. Boom.
The bullet smashed the junction box. Sparks flew into the cloud of vaporized diesel fuel. The result was instantaneous. A dull wump shook the foundation of the hospital, followed by a roar like a jet engine. The boiler room on the other side of the wall turned into a blast furnace. Screams erupted from behind the wall.
Terrible, agonizing screams that were quickly cut short by the consumption of oxygen. The blast door of the morg rattled in its frame, but held. My god, Arthur whispered, staring at the wall where smoke was starting to seep through the bullet holes. Thermobaric effect, Bee said clinically, though her hands were trembling slightly. Confined space, fuel vapor.
It burns the air. She stood up, leaving the rifle. It’s not over. Kalin won’t be in the stack. He leads from the back. As if on Q, the radio on her belt crackled. You burned them, Kalin’s voice came through. He sounded breathless, coughing. He had survived, likely staying in the stairwell. You burned my men alive.
I told you to leave, Bee said. I’m going to peel the skin off your face, Kalin snarled. I’m going to A new sound cut him off. A high-pitched whine that grew into a roar. The sound of jet engines. Fast movers. Be looked up at the ceiling. Do you hear that, Kalin? Bravo ground. This is Vulture 11. A pilot’s voice crackled over the open emergency frequency.
We have eyes on the thermal signatures. Cleared hot on all hostile targets outside the perimeter. Cavalry, Be said, a grim smile touching her lips. Major Graves must have fixed the comms. The ground shook as the air strike hit the mercenaries stationed outside. Kalin was alone now. His army was dead or dying, and he was trapped in a burning basement hallway with the most dangerous woman on earth.
The silence that followed the air strike was heavy, broken only by the dripping of water from fire suppression sprinklers. Be unlocked the morg door. She had the Glock in her hand. “Stay here,” she told Liam and Arthur. She stepped out into the hallway. The air was thick withsmoke and the smell of burnt diesel. The door to the boiler room was blown off its hinges.
Inside it was a charal house, but the stairwell was empty. Bee moved up the stairs, clearing each corner. She reached the ground floor lobby. The sun was just beginning to crest over the Zagros mountains, casting a pale, bruised purple light through the shattered windows. The rain had stopped. Major Silas Graves was sitting on the floor near the entrance.
a bloody bandage wrapped around his thigh. He was smoking a cigarette that looked like it had been flattened in a pocket. He looked up as Bea approached. He didn’t raise his rifle. “Kalain?” Be asked. Graves pointed toward the courtyard. Be walked to the door. Lying in the mud, face down, was the massive form of the mercenary leader.
“He had tried to run when the jets arrived. A 20mm cannon round from a strafing run had caught him a few yards from the gate. It was over. Be lowered the gun. The adrenaline crashed, leaving her legs feeling like lead. She slumped against the door frame, sliding down until she hit the wet floor. Graves limped over and sat next to her.
For a long time, neither of them spoke. They just watched the sun come up over the wreckage of the hospital. Diplomat? Graves asked. Alive in the basement. Dr. Concincaid is with him. Graves nodded. He took a drag of the cigarette and offered it to her. Bee took it, her fingers leaving a smear of soot on the white paper.
She took a long drag, the smoke stinging her lungs in a way that felt grounding. Rescue bird is 5 minutes out, Graves said. Secure transport. They’ll debrief everyone. Langley is going to be all over this. He looked at her sideways. They’re going to run Prince B. As soon as you step on that bird, nurse Beatatrix Cole ceases to exist.
And considering you’re technically a ghost, they might just lock you in a hole for the rest of your life to keep their secrets. Be stared at the mountains. He was right. Agent 49 was supposed to be dead. If she went back, she wouldn’t be hailed as a hero. She would be processed as a loose end.
I can’t go back, Silus, she said softly. Graves stared at the cigarette ash. The perimeter fence on the south side was blown open by the mortar fire. Lead vehicle left a dirt bike near the tree line. I saw it. Be looked at him. I have to write my report, Graves said, looking deliberately away from her towards the incoming helicopters in the distance.
It’s going to be a mess. Confusion of battle. Hard to keep track of personnel. I’ll probably report that the brave night nurse Beatatrix Cole died in the initial breach. Tragically killed while trying to save patients. Body unreoverable in the fire. He turned to look at her, his eyes warm. She was a hero. That’s how I’ll remember her.
Be felt a lump in her throat. She reached out and squeezed his hand. A brief soldiers’s grip. Thank you, Major. Go, Graves said before they land. Be stood up. She didn’t look back at the hospital. She didn’t look back at the life she had tried to build. It was gone, burned to ash in a single night. But she was alive.
She ran towards the treeine, her silhouette disappearing into the morning mist just as the first rescue helicopter touched down. Inside the hospital, Arthur Sterling was being helped onto a stretcher by the paramedics. “Where is she?” Arthur demanded, looking around frantically. The nurse, the woman who saved us. Major Graves walked up, his face an unreadable mask of stone.
I’m sorry, sir, Graves said, his voice steady. We didn’t find her. She didn’t make it. Arthur looked at the open door at the empty hills beyond. He saw the faint tire tracks of a motorcycle in the mud leading away from the war. He looked at Graves and he understood. I see, Arthur said quietly. a tragedy.
The world should know her name. No, sir, Graves said, watching the mist. The world doesn’t need to know her name. They just need to know that when the darkness came, she was the one holding the light. Graves turned back to the chaos of the hospital. The night nurse was gone. The wraith was in the wind.
And somewhere out in the wild, the guardian was still watching. So that is the story of Beatatrix Cole, the woman who tried to bury her war but dug it up to save the innocent. It makes you wonder how many people walking past us in scrubs or suits or uniforms are hiding a past we couldn’t possibly imagine. Real heroes don’t always wear capes.
Sometimes they wear bloodstained scrubs and carry the weight of the world in silence. If you enjoyed this story, please smash that like button. It really helps the channel grow. Share this video with a friend who loves a good thriller. And don’t forget to subscribe and hit the bell notification so you never miss a story. Let me know in the comments.
Do you think Bee should have stayed and accepted the glory, or was disappearing the only choice she had? I’ll see you in the next
