''I think you have to do something with this lever,'' the kid to his right said. He lay his rifle down, leaning it sideways so Bronc could see what he was pointing at.
He also made the mistake of getting higher up on his elbows than he'd been.
Something took the top off his head, spraying blood and stuff along the wall behind him.
Bronc felt like throwing up.
''Shoot, damn you.'' That may or may not have been aimed at Bronc, but he got his head down, pushed the lever with his thumb, and shot.
The gun fired. It fired a long burst until Bronc remembered to ease back on the trigger.
''Don't go automatic,'' the kid on his left warned, staying low. ''The sergeants don't like that. Push the safety back a notch.''
Bronc did. The next time he pulled the trigger, it only fired one shot.
''And aim,'' the kid said. ''The sergeant hates it when you shoot but don't aim.''
That kid was looking hard down the barrel of his own gun. Bronc did the same. He tried to line it up on that half-naked lady and pulled the trigger.
Some plaster above her head exploded. Was that him?
''I'm out of here,'' a kid shouted, down the line from Bronc, as he jumped up and headed for the stairs.
''No you ain't,'' the sergeant snarled, and blew his head off.
''Enough of this,'' the kid at the sergeant's feet shouted, rolled over, raised his gun, and put three rounds into the sergeant's belly, below the body armor that they had and the kids didn't.
The other sergeant drilled that kid, but a girl, one of the few that got jobs as shooters, put two rounds into the back of that sergeant's head.
But then she half got up and someone below put a bullet into her.
''Now what do we do?'' the kid next to Bronc asked.
''I know a way out of here, I think,'' Bronc said.
''I'm right behind you,'' said several voices.
''They're gonna kill us,'' said one guy who was still shooting.
''You can stay here and get killed by those Marines. Me, I'm taking my chances with anyone else,'' said Bronc and led a dozen or more in a low crouch off the balcony to the stairwell. He'd seen his sensor sergeant go up higher when he was peeled off to back up the firing line.
Bronc led the way up, rather than down the way they'd come.
A couple of guys headed down. But a second later there was fire from that direction, and the screams of dying youth.
The rest followed Bronc up.
''Sorry, ma'am, I must have tossed you a demolition grenade.'' That sort of explained to Kris the mess she was looking at.
Jack's flashlight showed a grizzly scene. The counter and its glass enclosure had held, as had the windows. That left nothing for the explosives to work on but four human bodies and the electronic gear still smoldering in the room.
The walls were covered in soot and blood and bones and body parts. The armored glass wept red onto the counter.
The sergeant used his last bit of C-8 to blow the lock on the door and let them into what they had done.
''You see any switch that might turn the lights back on?'' Kris asked.
''Looks like the grenade blew up on that work station,'' Jack said, aiming his light at one particular sparse bit of wreckage. Cables led into to it, and away from it, but there was no telling what they might have done in between.
''Do we have the auto-guns out of commission?'' Kris asked.
That got only a shrug from Jack. On a well-designed ship, any station could be brought up as any station. Even if they had demolished the primary work center for the guns, was there a backup security center in the basement?
No way to tell.
''Nelly, order the Marines to attack.''
''I can't, Kris. That jamming just started.''
Kris said a very unprincesslike word.
''Jack, can you signal the captain?''
''Let's see how good my Morse code is.''
Jack wiped the gore from a small section of the window and started flashing a message toward the river. ''Let's hope this is good enough.''
''Stop or I'll shoot!'' came from the sergeant guarding their back door. He followed that up with a shot.
''Don't shoot. Please don't shoot!'' came in a voice that sounded familiar to Kris.
Captain DeVar knew things were changing in the Gallery when he spotted the explosion behind several windows on the roof.
''Let's get ready to ride, troops,'' he ordered, wondering if he was ordering them into a slaughter.
Then the lights went out.
''That sure looks like showtime to me,'' he said, ordering the first squad forward.
They splashed from the river and slid down on the riverbank, rifles at the ready. Nothing happened.
Then a light started flashing from the window that had been lit up a moment ago by that explosion.
It took Captain DeVar a second to realize that the light's flashes had meaning.
''FROM THE HALLS OF MON'' said enough for one Marine.
''Charge,'' Captain DeVar ordered for the first time in his life.
''Move it, move it, move it,'' sergeants echoed to his right and left.
''Last one to the big house does KP next month'' came from somewhere along the line.
And a hundred sharp troopers raced across the manicured lawn of the Gallery as fast as full-battle rattle would allow.
And ahead of him, on the roof, the captain spotted movement. More movement down on the west portico.
Muzzles flashed there. Dirt exploded here. A Marine went down.
''First squads, hit the deck,'' DeVar ordered. ''Provide covering fire. Second squads, advance with me.''
Nobody joined the Marines for an easy berth.
It didn't look to this Marine captain like his crew would be seeing one anytime soon.
52
Penny ordered the sergeant to reorient his axis of attack.
The balcony was silent, all the shooters up there either dead or fled. If she wasn't mistaken, Bronc had been the one that led the final flight from up there but it was hard to tell in the faint light from the emergency lamps.
She hoped he lived. They owed the kid for his warning.
Then a grenade sailed in from the rotunda, and another. And another. The general slaughter had begun.
The first grenade landed among a clump of civilians. They stared at it…and died as it exploded. The second landed in a group that had a Marine. He fell on it and died…but the others lived. Another fell among the group of Marines. One of them tossed it back to explode above the head of the raiders.
It was nice hearing screams from them.
More grenades flew. More examples of folly and denial leading to death. Or bravery and courage leading to a single death or death to the enemy.
Long forgotten virtues quickly were remembered on Eden.
The grenade toss became a full participation sport.
''Don't we have a few of those ourselves?'' a Marine asked. So Penny and a security type ended up pealing grenades of their own out of their petticoats and tossing them to Marines in the front who tossed them into the midst of the shooters and throwers around the bronze figures holding pride of place there.
A lot of art shattered. A lot burned.
But then, so did a lot of people.
A security type saying, ''I was a pitcher for the Dodgers,'' asked for a grenade. He stood in the doorway to the west portico and tossed it toward the main entrance. There were screams. From Mulhoney came the first sign of life. Only a weak thumbs-up, but it was a sign.
But somehow, the portico force was reinforced. The sounds of a major firefight out there aimed at the car park and the one exit from the great hall told Penny safety didn't lie in that direction.
More grenades flew in. More grenades were tossed out. People died cringing in on themselves. People died fighting. But here or there, Marines shouted for more grenades or a fresh magazine. Penny found herself promoted from pack mule to supply sergeant.
How long could this keep up?
Kris watched the Marines charge from the river, hope rising in her belly. Then she turned for the door. ''Don't shoot, sergeant. Is that you, Bronc?''