The Reign is Over

Part 17 - Bulwarks

Lieutenant McNamara forced herself to let go of the pistol strapped to her left thigh for the sixth time in as many minutes. It took all the strength and will she could muster not to blast away across the desk in front of her no matter what it cost.

Laszlo Reignover, sitting calmly at that desk, hadn't commented on her barely restrained hostility, but there was zero chance that he hadn't noticed it. The smug grin he wore was proof enough of that fact.

She was, after all, standing in his office. The office her team had been killing and dying towards up until two hours ago. Two hours ago when her whole world had turned upside down and her commander of twenty years in the navy and close friend for as many more afterwards had stabbed her and everyone she had brought with her to this hellhole squarely in the back. She and her men were disposable and those who survived would be disposed of. They had been sent to clean out Reignover's offices and kill or capture his personnel before the wrong people received the right information which would condemn one Captain Walsh of the ISF Hidalgo to public disgrace followed by a gruesome death.

She hated Captain Walsh almost as much as she despised Laszlo Reignover, and given that Reignover had made her an orphan and slaughtered dozens of her friends and co-workers over the years, that was saying something. When it came to getting her team out of the inferno she'd landed them in, she would've shook hands with the devil himself if that's what it took.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, she had one of those ready to hand.

She finally settled on a crossed arms death-stare. The overall effect was spoiled slightly by her being a good half meter shorter than Reignover. However, the silent two-and-a-quarter meters of menace known as Lieutenant Armsworth standing behind her with his own far larger arms crossed made up for her stature. You could chisel granite with Armsworth's scowl.

Reignover considered the pair, his smirk dying as it crashed against the monolithic Armsworth. His statement came out all business, no trace of scorn or mockery in it.

"Lieutenant McNamara, your raid has been extremely successful. Captain Walsh has sussed out far more of my operations than I had considered possible. And your officers advancing into the spaceport, as well as the spectacular explosion of Lieutenant Armsworth's companion, have drained me of all those I would trust to have our backs. I'm afraid all I have left to offer for our escape are my own two hands and what information is left to me."

At the mention of hands, McNamara's drifted back towards the blaster. It would be so easy. Even with bionics, no one was that fast.

And with one pull of the trigger, she would doom all of them to an ignominious death. No. Justice was what she had wanted when this mission started. Justice was what she had seared into her heart when Lacy Americk had fallen. She wouldn't settle for the cold emptiness of revenge after all that.

"Alright then Laszlo, we need to know how many of Lieutenant Raithe's party are coming at us. Unless we know the forces arrayed against us, there's no chance we can make it out of this mess."

Reignover eyed them both over his steepled hands. Bionic fingers interlaced with regular flesh and blood twitched as his eyes bored into Lieutenant McNamara.

She didn't blink. They were in this together, no matter the why or how. He needed them, just as she needed him. This move had already taken her pride. She'd be damned if it took her nerve as well.

"Very well Lieutenants."

So saying, he reached out and toggled a setting on his desk. The walls of the room turned transparent, and across them the video feed from dozens of security cameras played side-by-side.

After a few tense moments spent scanning feeds, McNamara found what she was looking for.

There were fifteen of them, moving in precise formation across the complex towards the spaceport. Momentary relief at their number gave way to blazing anger at what that number represented. There had been forty officers in Lieutenant Armsworth's party. Twenty four of them had been killed by Raithe and her cronies, just because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time.

McNamara tried to breathe past the iron bands that had latched around her chest. It was hard work, but angry or not, her brain was working just fine. Fifteen fresh officers, replete with combat armor and unburdened by morality, backed up by the firepower of a crew-strapped but functional Hidalgo.

What did she have? Corporal Hidera's right eye would need surgery before it would work again. Officer Sturgeon and Officer Reinhardt were remarkably whole and healthy. Officer Strangline and Officer Lipscomb should be on their feet soon, having suffered light concussions when Brutus blew. Sergeant Hubert and Corporal Nadine had broken ribs and a smattering of broken fingers and toes, but were otherwise able to fight. Armsworth was Armsworth. He had lost Brutus though. While Reignover had given him one of the stolen plasma rifles, it was a far cry from the overwhelming firepower Brutus offered.

She had one other thing on her side. That other thing was staring at her across a desk which cost more than her entire salary. Laszlo Reignover. The reason she had spent a lifetime finding new family after he murdered them. The man she had promised to bring down.

And he was all that stood between her and oblivion.

To be continued...