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All three ducked as the M90 cut loose in a long, wild burst. Debris rained down from the ceiling.
"Have they made any demands? Do they want anything?"
"Not really. They're saying they want out but that's nothing new. I figure they've just been pushed too far."
"They must know that they'll be killed in the end. Nobody up here can have any illusions."
"That's less reason for them to give up easy."
There was another burst of firing. It was deafening in the closed space of the corridor. One of the uniforms trying to set up the steam hose was hit. He lay exposed, bleeding badly from a head wound. Parkwood turned so his back was against the upended golf cart.
"About the only piece of good luck in this whole mess is that it hasn't spread to the other living areas. It should be shift change right about now, but everyone's being held at their work stations. The other GLAs on this level are bottled up by the military. Lamas has taken charge and he seems to have some idea of what he's doing."
"What about Lloyd-Ransom?"
"Nobody's seen him."
"That's weird."
Parkwood's eyes were bleak.
"What isn't?"
Vickers glanced back. Behind them a mixed force of military grew and security yellow were moving up.
"I guess that's it for those women inside. It can only be a matter of time.
Debbie checked the clip on her machine pistol.
"It could be a lot of time and it may well cost dearly. It depends how much ammunition they have."
Vickers raised an eyebrow.
"You sound like you're on their side."
Debbie's head turned. She gave Vickers a long, cold stare.
"That's right. I probably am. At least they've got the courage to say enough after eighteen months in this stinking hole. Who wouldn't be on their side?"
"It might not be such a good idea to say so out loud!"
"Big Brother's still watching us?"
"Did it ever stop?"
"That, in itself, is reason to say enough."
Parkwood eased himself into a more comfortable position.
"Do you feel the remains of any collective sanity are right now slipping away?"
For some reason Debbie took this personally.
"I'm starting to dislike you."
"You're starting to dislike everybody. It's one of the symptoms."
Before the argument could escalate, there was another burst of gunfire from the barricade and a flurry of movement behind them. Yabu and a captain in the military slid into their patch of cover. There wasn't quite room for five of them behind the golf cart and the captain had to scrunch up to avoid her left side being exposed. She seemed wild-eyed, as if the experience of being shot at was a little too much for her.
"Who's in charge up here?"
Parkwood regarded her with a perfectly straight face.
"I thought you were."
The captain's eyes widened as if she'd been slapped. Vickers looked away. He didn't want to see any more people come unhinged. Up ahead the squad with the steam hose had it in position and were looking back for some kind of instruction. Debbie glanced contemptuously at the captain.
"Don't you think you ought to give them some sort of order? You seem to be the highest rank around here."
The captain stood straight up, seemingly without stopping to think. Vickers reached to pull her down but he was too late. She opened her mouth and suddenly a section of her face, just above the left eye, was missing. She toppled backward.
"Oh Christ."
Vickers looked quickly over the top of the golf cart and yelled to the crew on the steam hose.
"Okay, goddammit, let them have it."
The valve opened with a roar. There were screams from the other side of the barricade. The crew let it run for about thirty seconds and then shut it off again. The steam drifted back past where the four corpses were crouched. Yabu ran a hand over his bald head.
"That probably wasn't too much of a good idea. We may have cooked a couple of them but the rest will pull back inside. They'll still have their weapons. Steam won't hurt them. They may even build a second barricade."
"I just wanted to stop them shooting at us."
Yabu's stone face cracked the faintest of smiles.
"Always a laudable motivation, but perhaps we should have tried to negotiate first."
"How in hell could anyone negotiate? Those women know they're all going to be killed."
"Some would have forced themselves to believe it. Individuals will become exceedingly credulous when the matter in hand is their own deaths. It might seem a cruel deception but it might have also saved a number of lives. As it is, they will fight with the knowledge that they are already doomed. You know the saying."
"The best killers have already died."
"Also the most frenzied have already died."
"Did the Japanese make that up?"
"I heard it was the Irish."
As Debbie had predicted, it did indeed take a good deal of time and a number of lives before the barricades were cleared and the uniforms fought their way into the living area. For almost two hours both security and military had held off from the final assault. Nobody in the corridor wanted to take the responsibility for giving the order. It was quite likely that, when all was said and done, Lloyd-Ransom would simply look at the casualty lists and, in a fit of pique, order the execution of whoever had assumed command. In the end, Lamas had arrived in the corridor with apparently enough authority to start something. Quite in character, he had decided that it would be done the hard way. More golf carts were moved up to provide a certain amount of cover. The barricades were hosed down with high pressure steam, pounded with ultrasonics and finished with frag grenades. One grim little major had suggested also using gas but this had been vetoed as far too likely to contaminate the air system of the whole bunker. Grappling hooks were shot into the tangle of metal and as much as possible was dragged away. Only then did the very reluctant troops move in.
The handlers fought like furies. When their ammunition at last ran out they used homemade fire bombs, they threw corrosive cleaning fluid into the faces of the attackers and they went for them with knives and steel bars. When the area had been all but secured, the butcher squads, who had effectively kept themselves out of the costly first assault, moved in to finish off the wounded and probably a number of women who had had no part in the fighting at all. The butchers swept through the living area killing everyone that so much as twitched. Their simplest technique was a fast bullet in the back of the head from a sidearm but others did fancier, more disgusting work with garroting wires and bayonets. Lamas made no effort to stop them. Apparently General Living Area 26 was to be used as a terrible example of the penalty for rebellion.
Vickers, Yabu, Debbie and Parkwood walked slowly into the scene of carnage. Bunks had been overturned and the walls were pitted with bullet holes and spattered with blood. A half-dozen small fires were still smoking. There were bodies strewn all over, both soldiers and handlers. A uniformed corporal had a handler down on her knees. She was bleeding from a gash on her forehead and the top of her uniform had been torn away. He held a pistol but he seemed in no hurry to fire. He seemed to be savoring her terror. Suddenly and inexplicably, Yabu erupted.
"Leave her alone!"
The corporal looked up and made a fatally stupid mistake. He told Yabu to go fuck himself. Yabu was on the man before anyone could stop him. The action was too fast for Vickers to see exactly what he did. In one fluid movement, seemingly impossible for one of Yabu's size and bulk, he ripped off the corporal's helmet. He grasped the back of the man's head like a basketball. His other hand came down, a clubbing fist. Blood spurted out the man's eyes, ears and nose. Yabu let the body drop to the ground. He looked defiantly around the room.