Chapter 17 – Preparing for War

 

Chapter 17 – Preparing for War

The Wicklow lodge buzzed with hushed activity. Salty sat at the wide oak table, blueprints spread out before him. Sarah leaned over his shoulder, marking entries and exits with a stylus, while Karen stood at the end of the table, arms folded, braid swinging as she paced.

Ruairí O’Donnell watched silently from the fireplace, sipping black coffee from a white china cup. Outside, dawn was beginning to break through the mist, casting pale gold across the mossy courtyard.

“So,” Salty said gruffly, tapping the Port Tunnel map, “they’re using the old maintenance access shafts as backup data vaults?”

Karen nodded. “Yes. The diplomatic protection covers the main server floors. But their darkest files – the unregistered asset lists, child trafficking manifests, EU payment proofs – they’re hidden down here.” She pointed to a shaded section beneath the tunnel entrance. “Heavily guarded by Horizon private contractors. Ex-military, ex-Garda, and pure scum.”

Sarah shivered, pulling her cardigan tighter. “And we’re going in with… what, exactly? A few trucks and half-trained marchers?”

Salty smiled faintly, the lines around his eyes crinkling. “Don’t worry, love. The lads are ready.”

He flicked his wrist implant, opening a live feed. On-screen, dozens of rough, determined men and women loaded pallets of equipment into trucks: oxygen tanks, cutting torches, drone jammers, EMP slugs, and riot shields painted with Celtic crosses and tricolour stripes.

“They marched with me at Malahide Castle in ‘25,” Salty said softly. “They marched again when they tried to take the Docklands from us last year. They’ll march into hell if it means Ireland stands free again.”

Ruairí cleared his throat. “This is bigger than any march, Mr. O’Sullivan. Horizon has mercs with smart visors, kill drones, and remote-lock blast doors. You’ll need more than passion.”

Salty looked up, eyes blazing. “I’ve got Karen.”

Karen smirked, sliding her smart contact lens case back into her vest pocket. “Their entire internal comms system is built on a Horizon-BT encrypted grid. I’ve already injected a Trojan worm. When I trigger it… all their cams, drones, and locks go blind for fifteen minutes.”

Ruairí raised an eyebrow, impressed. “That’s all you’ll get.”

Salty grinned. “Fifteen minutes is a lifetime if you know what you’re doing.”

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🗝️ Later – Outside the Lodge

Salty stepped out into the crisp dawn air. The mist parted around him, revealing three black tactical trucks idling in the gravel yard. The drivers saluted as he passed.

Sarah joined him, tucking her blonde hair under a woollen beanie. “Are we really ready for this?”

Salty looked down at her, his beard twitching with a faint smile. “No one’s ever ready for a fight worth fighting. But we’re going anyway.”

Karen walked past them, pulling on her tactical gloves. “Truck’s ready. Let’s move before Horizon’s AI flags the comms breach.”

Ruairí appeared in the lodge doorway, his suit immaculate despite the early hour. “Godspeed, Mr. O’Sullivan.”

Salty turned back, his eyes dark and calm. “Pray to whoever you want, O’Donnell. But God’s busy. We’ll handle this ourselves.”

He climbed into the lead truck, slamming the steel door shut. Engines roared to life, rumbling across the old courtyard. As the convoy pulled away into the misty Wicklow morning, Sarah felt her heart hammer with fear… and hope.

Today was the day. The day Ireland remembered who she was.