Page 100 of Rescuing Rebel

A sudden movement catches my eye—across the ballroom, two guards force a group of Angels through a side door at gunpoint. The girls shriek and resist until the guards fire warning shots into the ceiling. The Angels quickly subside, terrified into obedience again.

“They’re taking them back to the cells,” I snap, “We have to stop them.”

“Ready when you are, boss.” Hank’s voice comes steely and cold through the helmet’s modulator. The optics lock onto the retreating forms, tracking their progress.

We surge forward, weapons raised. The guards notice us when we’re halfway across the open space. Their own guns swing up. Adrenaline spikes through me.

“Down!” I roar. We dive behind overturned tables as a hailstorm of bullets peppers our previous location. The Angels scream and cower as wood splinters explode around us.

“Suppressing fire!” At my command, Hank and Walt rise up and unleash a barrage from their weapons. The heavy caliber rounds chew through the guards’ cover, driving them back. They retreat through the door, pulling the hostages with them.

“Don’t let them get away.” I break cover and sprint after them. Hank and Walt are right on my heels. We charge through the door, weapons ready, but the corridor is eerily empty. Muted gunfire and faint screams echo from up ahead.

“Ambush,” Walt warns tersely.

We advance swiftly, covering each other through intersections, checking our six. The low ceiling and bare concrete walls seem to press in. Industrial lighting flickers erratically, throwing ominous moving shadows.

Up ahead, I hear a girl’s pleading whimper followed by a harsh male voice. We stack up on a closed door labeled “Holding Area 6” from which faint sounds emanate. I nod to Hank, who rips it open, sweeping inside with his weapon. Walt and I rush in behind him.

The scene within makes my blood boil. Five Angels cower against the far wall, bloody and bruised. Before them stand six guards, two with pistols aimed at the girls, the rest training rifles on us. The hostages’ wide eyes flip between us and their captors, terrified.

“Well, looks like we’ve got ourselves a standoff,” one guard sneers. “Guns down, or these bitches get it.” He jabs his pistol at a girl who sobs hysterically.

“How about you let them go, and we leave you breathing.” I adjust my aim. Walt and Hank stand rock steady at my flank.

The guard’s eyes narrow. “Drop your weapons unless you want to see their brains splat—”

His word cuts off mid-syllable, replaced by a strangled gurgle as Hank’s rifle barks, dropping him with a gaping neck wound. Before the other guards react, Walt and I open fire. The corridor fills with deafening reports. Two more go down instantly in sprays of blood. The remaining three dive for cover, firing wildly back at us.

“Get the girls clear.” I point Walt toward the cowering group. He nods and lays down suppressive fire while circling around. Hank and I drive the guards back down the hall until they duck through a doorway.

Fucking cowards.

I signal a halt, not wanting to charge blindly after them. “Walt, status?”

“Hostages secured. No injuries, but they’re scared shitless.”

“Take them to the extraction point, we’ll handle these assholes.”

“Copy that.” Walt gathers the Angels and heads out.

I tap my comms. “Walt’s headed your way with five hostages. Gabe, meet up with him to assist.”

“On my way.” Gabe’s clipped reply crackles through my headset.

“Watch your six.” I jerk my head at the doorway and look at Hank.

Walt escorts the whimpering Angels back the way we came while Hank and I stack up again. We breach the room in unison, sweeping with rifles ready. It appears to be a barracks, with triple-decker bunks lining the walls. The guards are nowhere to be seen.

I’m about to move deeper when a barrage of fire drives us back into the hall. These bastards are putting up a vicious fight. Hank tosses a flash-bang through the doorway to clear the room. It detonates with an earsplittingbang. We rush in while they’re still stunned, laying down relentless fire.

Two guards pop up from behind a bunk, pistols blazing. My rifle punches them back down, howling and bleeding. Hank eliminates another trying to flank us. I press forward, sights hunting the final target.

There’s a flicker of movement between some lockers. I empty a burst, and a scream rings out as the guard crumbles, clutching his shredded leg. Hank kicks away his fallen weapon while I cover him.

“Please, no more.” The guard crawls back, whimpering, hands raised in submission. “I give up.”

“Where are the other Angels?” There are twenty in total. Walt has five. I need to know where the others went.

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