Tad’s voice broke radio silence. “Third squad needs a band-aid. One troop has a belly full of buckshot and five rebels injured by a concussion grenade.”
“Roger,” came a medic’s voice. “On my way.”
“Reports,” Mortinson’s voice.
“First, all clear”
“Second, all clear,” said Galen.
“Third, one room to go. Stubborn rebels holed up in an office,” said Tad.
Mortinson said, “Stay put third, I’ll bring in my squad and talk them out. First and second, secure your prisoners and bring them to third’s position.”
“Drag ‘em out in the hall and tie them up,” Galen ordered his troops.
The mercenaries dragged the prisoners into the hallway and tied them to each other in a line with disposable handcuffs. Two troops gathered up the weapons and piled them in the broom closet. After gagging them, they lifted the prisoners to their feet and led them along the hallway. Galen’s squad arrived at the office where the holdouts were just as the men from Mortinson’s squad finished setting up a heavy machine gun. They had it pointed at the solid steel office door at the end of the hallway. Soon there were about thirty troops lining the walls of the hallway, their tranq guns at the ready. Mortinson stood beside the machine gun with his hands on his hips and his feet planted firmly, more than shoulder width apart. The Chief switched off his personal communicator and yelled at the solid steel office door.
“Come out of there and surrender!”
“No! Go to hell!” said a heavily accented voice. It came from the intercom speaker beside the door.
“Come out or I will kill you,” said Mortinson.
“If we come out, promise you won’t hurt us. Promise we’ll get a pardon from the planetary council and free passage off this planet on the next ship leaving.”
“I’m going to kick your ass. Come out and I’ll beat you senseless and shoot you in the ass with a tranq rifle. But you’ll probably survive.”
“You’re crazy.”
“Listen, dumbass. I’m not a police officer, I’m a professional mercenary. Come out or I will kill you.”
A buzzer sounded and the door swung outward, opened by electric motors inside the wall. The interior of the office was dimly lit by an emergency-power light. One rebel came out slowly. Fear showed in his dark eyes. Stress lines distorted his face. He held his hands high over his head. Another appeared behind the first.
“One at a time only! Second dumbass, get back in there!”
The second rebel ducked back into the office.
Mortinson pointed at the first rebel, “Come here, you!”
The prisoner approached him. Mortinson grabbed him by the shirt collar and punched him in the stomach, causing the prisoner to double over. Mortinson threw him to the floor and said, “Tie him up. Tranq bullets cost the unit money, so don’t shoot him.”
Two troops drug the prisoner off to third squad’s line of prisoners and tied him to the rest.
“Next!” called Mortinson. The Chief simply slapped the second prisoner across the face and had him tied up like the others.
“Next.” The third prisoner was tied without being abused.
“Next!” A buzzer sounded and the steel door slammed shut. The same voice as before came over the intercom. “No way! Come in and get us!”
“Pistols at the ready,” ordered Mortinson.
The troops drew their pistols and slung their tranq rifles. The sound of pistol safeties being disengaged clicked with the rhythm of popcorn. Mortinson turned on his personal communicator and switched it to another channel. “Haller? Good. I want you to kill the emergency power… yeah, the warden’s office. Thanks.”
He turned the communicator off and yelled at the door. “Now I have to kill you. Don’t try to come out, you dumbass.”
Mortinson reached into his combat vest pocket and pulled out a small explosive device. He walked forward and pressed it firmly in place, stuck at the bottom center of the door. He armed the device. “Clear the hallway.”
The troops ducked into the rooms, the heavy machine gun crew taking the weapon with them. Mortinson pressed a button on the device and then darted toward the nearest open room. He stopped, drew his pistol and turned, aiming the weapon at the steel door. He waited another moment, and then pulled a small radio transmitter from his left shoulder pocket. He stepped sideways into the nearest room and pressed the red button on the side of the transmitter.
The explosive charge detonated. Galen felt a shock wave pass through his body. The noise was intense and deafened him. He looked into the hallway and saw Mortinson charging into the office. The steel door was lying flat, distorted and ripped from its hinges. Galen followed Mortinson, signaling by hand for first squad to follow. To Galen’s deafened ears, the sound of Mortinson’s pistol fire sounded like plastic bubble wrap being popped. When Galen caught up to Mortinson, four bodies with gunshot wounds to their foreheads were laying on the floor at the Chief’s feet. A ringing started in Galen’s ears, his hearing starting to come back. Mortinson said something but Galen couldn’t hear. He was sure whatever the Chief said included the word “dumbasses.”
Two hours later the Mandarin police came with their trucks to haul away the prisoners. Galen noticed that the police officer in charge was the same one he saw at the small town the mercenaries had liberated a few days earlier. The police chief was looking at each prisoner, deciding which ones would be released on the spot, which ones would be trucked away and which ones would go right back in the prison. This time he had a noteputer and two assistants. There was also a team of local medics. They were working on some wounded rebels.
“So what do you think?” asked Spike. “Did we knock this mission right out or what?”
Galen said, “I think I need a big meal, a hot bath, a bottle of ale and a full body massage.”
“I hear you. I could use a break myself.”
Galen grabbed at the front of his coveralls, pinching a fold of the fabric on his chest with the fingers of his left hand, “Yeah, but you don’t stink of river water and dried blood. I need a new uniform and maybe a new line of work.”
“This is our chosen profession. We’re mercenaries.”
“We’ve only been at this for a week and we’ve already seen more dead bodies than most people see in a lifetime. If we keep up at this rate, Mandarin will be de-populated before we finish our year of training.”
“Mortinson told me this isn’t normal. This much action doesn’t come around very often. He said he’d never seen this much happen on Mandarin before, and he’s been here the past five years.”
“Five years?”
“Yes. He did his first contract and then applied for permanent assignment on Mandarin. He does field duty between cycles.”
“Cycles?” asked Galen.
“Training cycles. He’s a drill instructor and trains brand new troops for basic training. He does three months of busting in raw recruits, three months off, three more months of training and then three months of field duty. That’s his annual cycle as a Brigade school instructor.”
“I’ll just be glad when this field cycle is over for us. I think that being a student at the Panzer Brigade Platoon Leader School will suit me just fine.”