Implacable: Vicky Peterwald, #5

by Mike Shepherd

  The Marines didn't seem inclined to administer any coup de grâces.

  One flight of stairs up, the fire door to the third floor was still closed. An engineer had slipped a spy scope under the door. Vicky pulled out her portable battle board and connected to the feed.

  A dozen meters past the door, a couch was shoved into the hallway. Four female hostages huddled on it. Behind them and the couch, three gunmen kept low, their guns at the ready.

  The company commander stood beside Vicky, watching the scene on her board.

  The engineer pulled back the scope, then slipped it through the top of the door. That gave them a full view of the hall. There was a couch barricade facing the other stairwell. More hostages, more gunmen.

  "This is a change-up," the skipper muttered. "Sarge, open the door nice and slow. I want four riflemen visible when that door is open, guns ready. Sergeant Stromm," he said into his commlink, "did you hear the order I just gave Hertz?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "I want you to set up four riflemen in the opposite stairwell. At my count of three, we open both doors. Got it?"

  "Yes, sir."

  The captain paused, then said, "One."

  The net was quiet.

  "Two."

  A pause as he and Vicky eyed the four riflemen in front of them, weapons aimed.

  "Three."

  The engineer pulled the door open. In a second, four Marine riflemen faced three redcoat gunmen.

  For a moment, they just stared at each other, then the Marines slipped cautiously through the door and began walking slowly toward the barricade.

  "Stop right there!" sounded from both groups of gunmen at about the same instant.

  The Marines quit advancing, but they kept their rifles up, aimed at the gunmen waiting for the shot.

  The four naked women on the couch looked terrified. Some wept. Some seemed to have no more tears. They huddled there, close together, holding hands and trembling.

  One of the women whimpered and curled up into a ball. As her head went down, a Marine got the shot he was waiting for. The head of the gunman directly behind the woman exploded. He fell back, instantly dead.

  The hostage screamed and folded into a fetal position. The brunet next to her stroked her back and tried to comfort her even as the redcoats behind her grabbed her hair, forcing her to sit upright.

  "You shouldn't ought to have done that," one thug said. "Ivan, get Mrs. Fancy Pants out here."

  Two doors down from the barricade, a woman was shoved into the hall. She collected herself, and, though nude as the other women, seemed to wrap herself in dignity as she walked carefully toward the gunmen.

  "Get your ass over on the other side of the couch. And if you so much as twinge, we blow your daughter's head off."

  Down the hallway, another, younger woman was forced into the hallway. Someone who didn't show himself, held a machine pistol to her head.

  "Do whatever you have to do, Mom," she said.

  "I can't risk losing you, Katarina," the older woman said. She cautiously stepped over the dead gunman, but there was too much blood and brains scattered around. Her feet now had gore on them.

  She climbed over the couch and took the place of the other woman. Now she held the woman she was replacing like a child. That woman sobbed on her shoulder.

  With a deep, disgusted sigh, Vicky stepped through the door.

  "What do you want?" she demanded.

  "Out of here," one thug said.

  "Safe conduct," another said.

  Vicky wanted to snap, "No way," but that would cut off discussion and she wanted to drag this out. No Marine had a shot. Maybe they'd mess up again.

  "Safe conduct for what?" she demanded. "Where do you think you can go?"

  That got the thugs casting nervous glances between themselves. Clearly, they hadn't thought this through.

  "Ah, a starship and safe conduct out of here," one finally said.

  "And you think a captain and crew would take you aboard? Take you aboard and not vent his ship to space? Gentlemen," Vicky almost choked on that word applied to these dregs of hell, "you have burned your bridges."

  "Then we kill the hostages," a very nervous gunman shouted.

  Two of the women cried out at that. The older woman reached out to them and made soothing sounds.

  "You don't live a second longer than your hostages live. You harm them and we’ll kill you slowly," Vicky snapped.

  There was dead silence in the hallway, disrupted only by the soft weeping or whimpering of the naked women on the couch.

  Finally, one of the gunmen, the bald guy who seemed to be some sort of boss man said, "You aren't giving us much of a choice here."

  "How did you think this would all end? Did you really think you'd get to die in bed raping another man's wife or daughter?" Vicky asked softly.

  Again, there were nervous glances between the men. Clearly, they hadn't thought through their actions for a long, long time.

  Unnoticed while they did this, the older hostage was tapping on the shoulders of the three other naked women. As one, they ducked down.

  Four Marines fired one volley, three heads behind them exploded. Then, without a moment's pause, the Marines fired a second volley, taking the so-called "security consultants" at the other end of the hall full in the back.

  One machine gun fired on full auto, but it merely sent a fusillade of bullets up the wall next to them.

  Marines were hurrying forward. The women hostages tumbled to the floor in front of the couches and Marines quickly stepped over them and the couches, and began clearing the rooms between the two barriers.

  One young woman had collapsed on the ground the second the firing started. The brute that had a gun to her head took a moment to realize things were changing. She rolled away even as he fired, working a line of bullets down the wall across from where her head had been, then tried to drop his aim. However, machine pistols on full auto go up, not down.

  While that poor excuse for a man and gunman was struggling with that, the Marine on the extreme right of the four advancing on him took him under fire.

  With Marines advancing from both ends of the hall, the risk of blue-on-blue casualties were high, but the four Marine privates weren't stupid. They had the left-most man to aim for the right side of the hall. The right end aimed left.

  The Marine stitched the door with a quick five round burst. One caught the gunman and blew the weapon out of his hand.

  The redcoat screamed. Then he made the mistake of reaching for the fallen gun. That put half his body out in the hall.

  His head exploded before he had a chance to realize his mistake.

  Clearing the rooms was a repeat of the second floor. Some punks hid behind hostages. Most did it poorly and died from a quick shot.

  Some tried to go out in a blaze of glory, firing at anything that crossed their door. A whiz-bang grenade left them dazed and a single shot to the head ended that noise and freed another dozen or so dazed female hostages.

  One tough guy was hiding under the unmade and filthy bed he'd been sporting in. Two women showed the Marines where he hid, and he was quickly dispatched.

  The two most cowardly of the gunmen threw down their weapons and begged for mercy. None of the Marines looked ready to serve as their executioners. At least, not without an order, and Vicky did feel the need to pass judgement when her blood was cooler.

  The Marines ordered them to strip, then bound their hands behind their back.

  Now it was time to tackle the third floor.

  24

  The goons might not be getting after-action reports or lesson-learned flyers, but they were getting smarter. Maybe the guys with more sense lived higher up. Maybe they had time to think things over more.

  Again, traumatized hostages huddled on a couch at either end of the hall. Now large tables provided a backdrop for the hoods. There would be no shooting these guys in the back if one barricade went down.

  This time, four of the gunne
rs held the hostages by the hair. The women could only weep and tremble in fear. They could not move.

  The gunmen also fired a fusillade of bullets as soon as the steel fire door began to pull open.

  The Marines let the door slip closed and turned to wait for orders.

  Vicky and the skipper silently eyed the situation. They were in a steel and concrete stairwell with a still door that had to remain closed.

  The Marine officer waved the combat engineer over to a wall. The technician ran a device along it, then pulled out a small circular saw and began cutting into the reinforced concrete firewall.

  It took him five minutes, but he had a large enough hole that Vicky could slip through.

  That drew a sharp, but whispered rebuke from the skipper, but she was smaller than the average Marine, and she fit.

  The engineer began widening the hole as Vicky, automatic at the ready, checked out the apartment. It stank of blood, sex, and terror, but it was empty.

  She was soon joined by two Marine trigger pullers, a very put-out captain, and the combat engineer. Since Vicky had cleared the apartment, the engineer quickly began cutting away the drywall, opening a hole to the next apartment.

  Soon they had access to the next studio suite. This time, a Marine led the way.

  Having cleared that apartment, they could hear the punks talking among themselves. They wanted to negotiate their way out of here and wondered what was keeping the Marines from talking to them.

  "Well, we did kind of try to shoot their balls off when they opened the door," one thug said.

  "I don't like this. They're not doing anything. That means they're doing something," said another punk.

  While that logic escaped Vicky, it did tell her that her Marines needed to be doing something.

  "Maggie," she whispered. "Can you contact the sergeants in the stairwells at either end of this hall?"

  "Yes, ma'am," Maggie whispered back.

  "I want them to toss a pair of whiz-bang grenades down the hall."

  "Do they need to coordinate?" Maggie asked.

  "Yes, but we want them five, no, ten seconds apart."

  "Got it. Wait one."

  Meanwhile, the engineer had cut a small peep hole through to the next apartment. The room in front of them was empty. He began cutting into the soft drywall.

  "They're ready," Maggie whispered.

  Vicky waited while the engineer finished a good-sized hole in the wall. A Marine stood by, ready to enter the next apartment.

  "Go," Vicky ordered.

  The Marine stepped through the hole just as the first whiz-bang went off.

  From the hall came the chatter of automatic weapons fire. Even though their senses were under assault, these bastards had an answer in place. It sounded like three or four machine pistols were spraying the door at the end of the hall.

  Vicky followed the Marine into the bedroom of the next apartment. He was already checking out the other rooms when the second whiz bang went off from farther down the hall. It also got a fusillade of small arms fire for a response.

  "Clear," he whispered as the captain joined Vicky.

  "Your Grace," the captain whispered in a strained voice. "Would you please stay behind me?"

  "Only if you move faster," she said, but gave the poor fellow a grin.

  He rolled his eyes at the overhead and stepped into the living room ahead of her.

  The engineer followed quickly on his heels. He headed directly for the wall shared with the next apartment. He got a snoop scope into the next room, then scowled.

  Vicky unfolded her battle board and scowled, too.

  The next room held hostages. A dozen nude women huddled together seated on or in front of a couch. A man with a machine pistol stood in the doorway, dividing his attention between the hostages and what was happening in the hallway.

  Vicky frowned; that divide would be his death.

  Vicky conferred in a whisper with the engineer and the captain. The engineer raised his eyebrows at Vicky's idea.

  The captain shook his head. "Your Grace, those machine pistols don’t pack enough energy to put a hole in the fire door or fire walls, but these dry walls are nothing. Those pistols will cut straight through them."

  "If he's dead, he can't do much shooting," Vicky replied.

  "And if I said no?" the skipper asked.

  "I'd pull rank on you."

  "But the engineer is my direct subordinate," the Marine officer countered.

  The engineer who was at the center of this debate looked from the captain to the admiral as they debated who would give him his next order.

  "Captain, I am both the admiral commanding this expedition and your sovereign. You will obey me."

  The captain shook his head, grimly. "They don't pay me enough to share a battle with you, Lady. Okay, Iven, do what she says.

  Things had quieted down in the hall, except for a few triumphant claims that they'd beat back another attack.

  Per his orders, the engineer cut two holes in the drywall in this apartment. One was wide enough to walk through. The other was much smaller. It, however, was above a dresser, so no one would be racing through a hole there. Instead, the engineer paused to wait for his skipper's orders.

  The captain had his hand raised and his eyes on the snooper scope. It showed the agitated gunman in the doorway. He glanced back at the women, saw they were properly cowed by the machine pistol in his hand, and turned back to the hall.

  "Now," the captain said, bringing his hand down.

  The tech drilled a small hole just above the dresser, then stepped back.

  Vicky filled that space with a gift from Kris Longknife, her automatic, held securely in her hand. Not only did she have it silenced, but she'd lowered the power of the charge behind the darts ready to be chambered.

  This automatic was something new that Kris had asked a gun maker to create. Most weapons like this one had three clicks for the safety: safe, sleepy darts, and lethal. This automatic had a fourth click: sleepy and lethal.

  As Kris had put it, this was the perfect load for when you wanted them dead, but quiet while they were dying.

  The power charge was somewhere between lethal and sleepy as befitted the intent.

  Using the weapon’s video scope, Vicky aimed for the thug's center of mass. Without pause, she pulled the trigger for a ten-round burst just as her target started to turn back to the women.

  Every round hit him in the chest.

  Shocked, the man glanced down at the holes that had suddenly appeared around his heart. Then he crumbled.

  Vicky regretted that he got to sleep through his death, but he neither made a noise nor any move toward the poor women he was terrorizing.

  Vicky raised her pistol, and the engineer made the final cuts to drop the second slab of drywall, giving them an opening into the next room.

  Shouldering her way past the trooper who had orders to be first through the hole, Vicky took those steps.

  Raising her finger to her lips, she shushed the women on the bed. She stepped off the distance to them as the Marine cautiously approached the door where the gunman now lay convulsing in the final throes of his death.

  It's amazing how long a body can bleed and the muscles twitch.

  Vicky took the poor women in a large hug. Several women slid into her arms. Others still fought their terror and as they fled to the far end of the couch or cringed under the coffee table. Still, not one of them screamed.

  "The Marines are here. You'll be safe now," Vicky whispered.

  The oldest woman who wrapped Vicky in her own hug, shook her head. "I'll never be safe again."

  Vicky could not argue with her.

  "I'm sorry, but I've got to look into killing the rest of those bastards."

  "Burn them in hell," the younger woman said. Then, those two went to console the other two.

  "Maggie, can we get a few women in here?"

  "I've got two volunteers making their way forward."

  "Yo
u may need to make it five or six," Vicky said, half attentively. She had already turned her mind toward the next objective. Killing these women's rapists.

  The engineer was at the open door of the apartment. His snooper scope turned first one way down the hall, then the next.

  The four gunmen at each barricade was focused on the fire doors at the end of the hall. They huddled behind their couches, behind their naked female shields. Each group had a thick wooden table covering their backs.

  However, the tables were at an angle to allow them space to come and go. Vicky grinned. She could think of something that would definitely come their way and send them to hell.

  "Give me a grenade," she whispered to the Marine who held his rifle high.

  The young Marine glanced at his skipper.

  The captain shrugged and nodded.

  Vicky found herself the proud owner of a very deadly handful of boom.

  "I'm going to roll this at the ones on the right. You go left."

  "Aye, aye, ma'am," the Marine said.

  Vicky selected her fuse for three seconds. The Marine chose five. Together they pulled the pin.

  "On three," Vicky whispered. "One. Two. Three."

  And both of them tossed their grenades out to roll along the floor toward their targets.

  The ones Vicky wanted dead had just enough time to react to the noise of something bouncing down the carpet toward them. One made to reach for the grenade, but the three second fuse didn't give him enough time.

  Vicky had pulled her head back in, so she missed the beauty of a grenade blowing four brutal animals to hell.

  At the other end of the hall, the thugs had more time to react. One of them twisted around and struggled to grab the rolling bomb. Another tried to leap over the couch to some sort of safety. Nothing helped them when the grenade exploded.

  Vicky found the captain had a solid lock on her elbow. She glanced down, then at him. "I know not to toss a grenade and jump out."

  "I don't doubt that," he said, "but I have to have something I can tell your husband that I did when he tries to roast me alive."

  "Let me handle Mannie," Vicky said, and made to enter the hall.