With a nod, Mac gestured to his team. They tightened their perimeter, ensuring no one could get the slightest chance of escape, but still refrained themselves from further aggression. Rajesh's remaining guards lowered their weapons reluctantly, recognizing the futility of resistance against an enemy who had already proven their dominance.
As the silence settled over the tense standoff, Mac's earpiece buzzed softly. A voice crackled through the static calm, measured, and unmistakably authoritative.
"Mac, report the Status?"
Mac tapped the device, his eyes never leaving Rajesh. "Objective secured. No casualties on our side. Minimal impact on the target's personnel."
The voice responded with a hint of satisfaction. "Good. Proceed as planned. We'll handle the fallout."
Lowering his hand, Mac turned his attention back to Rajesh, his demeanor shifting from the previous aggression to almost diplomatic. "Prime Minister Patel," he began, his voice steady, "you have a choice. Persist down this path and watch your nation bleed, or work with us to prevent further escalation. Your people deserve better."
Rajesh's jaws tightened, his lips pressing into a thin line. For the first time, the weight of the situation seemed to settle on him fully. He was a man of power, but at this moment, he was cornered—not by brute force alone, but by a calculated strategy of an enemy who had left no room for retaliation.
Finally, after a long pause, Rajest let out a heavy sigh and spoke. "I'll cooperate for now. But don't mistake this for submission. Indra will rise again, stronger than ever."
Mac gave a slight nod, acknowledging the words without conceding an inch. "We'll see, Prime Minister."
Turning to his team, Mac issued his final orders. "Secure the area. Extract the detainees. And prepare for exfiltration."
As his soldiers moved to execute his commands, Mac glanced over his shoulder at Rajesh one last time. "Remember this moment, Patel. It's not just about who wins today—it's about what's left standing tomorrow."
With that, he turned and strode away, his heavy footsteps echoing through the ruined passageway. Behind him, the Prime Minister of Indra stood motionless in silence, his defiant expression betraying the storm of uncertainty brewing within him. The battle was over, but the war—both external and internal—had just begun.
_____
"That's out of the question," another countered sharply. "If we retreat now, we lose all strategic advantage. We need to push forward."
A third officer, younger but with sharp eyes, leaned forward. "What if we wait until nighttime? We could use smaller boats for a covert infiltration. This approach might catch them off guard."
"But we don't even have their precise location," someone argued, shaking their head. "And sending in untrained teams without proper preparation is practically a death sentence."
The room erupted in a heated debate, suggestions flying back and forth, yet none seemed to offer a viable solution. They were running out of options, and the oppressive weight of uncertainty hung heavily over them.
Suddenly, a sharp beep cut through the tension, silencing the room. A message flashed on the screen, its words simple yet chilling:
[Cease all operations immediately. Await further instructions.]
The room went still. The officers exchanged uneasy glances, their earlier confidence replaced by confusion and apprehension.
"What does this mean?" one of them whispered, breaking the silence.
"Why stop now?" another muttered, his voice trembling with frustration. "If they're not sending reinforcements or giving us new orders, what are we supposed to do?"
Trivedi's jaw tightened as he read the message again, his fists clenching at his sides. His gaze swept over his men, noting their fear and dismay. But inside, his own thoughts churned with anger.
This wasn't a fight for his country, not really. He could feel it deep within. They weren't fighting to defend the people or protect the land; they were here merely to fight for the interests of the government and a handful of powerful individuals. The thought of this made his stomach churn.
And what angered him the most was the lack of information. His superiors had thrown him and his men into this battle while they were completely blind to the enemy's strengths. The fleet they faced was nothing short of extraordinary, their technology leagues beyond anything Indra's navy could contend with. The enemy's technology unfathomably advanced, their tacts overwhelming. Yet here they were, expected to fight and die with no strategy, no support, and no answers—only orders to hold the line.
Trivedi's lips pressed into a grim line. He couldn't voice his thoughts—not here, not now. But the bitterness seeped into his heart and for the first time, his loyalty to his superiors wavered. Staring at the screen, he wondered how much longer he could endure this charade.
"Hand me a map of the place."