"Goddamn it!" Warren yelled, opening his booth door and stepping out into the lobby. His orders had been to take the FLEB agents without gunfire if possible. The young hotheaded agent had made this impossible. Now all ten of them were laid out on the carpet, only two of them showing any signs of life whatsoever. The Martian red carpet beneath them was soaking up the blood and turning a darker shade.
"Second and third platoon," he said into his radio link as he walked carefully towards the pile of FLEB agents, "we've made contact. Move in and secure the outside forces." Both of the platoon commanders acknowledged his orders. He then asked for a status report on his own men. "Anyone hurt?" he asked the group at large.
None of them answered up, which meant that either all of them were dead or none of them had been hit. Logic favored the latter. "Get down here and secure these idiots," he ordered. "Medics, start sorting through them."
From all around the room his platoon emerged, all of them dressed in battle gear, all of them pointing their weapons at the FLEB agents.
"Get those weapons secured," he ordered. "Move the dead off towards the back of the room, move the living towards the doors so we can get some dip-hoes in here to pick them up."
"Warren," came Jackson's voice over the link. "What the hell's going on down there? Give me a status report!"
"The lobby is secure, General," Warren told him, watching as his men went to work disarming and securing. "They went the hard way. All ten are down and we're sorting through them right now. All of my people are uninjured. The outside forces should be moving in as we speak."
"Copy that, Warren," Jackson responded, a hint of regret in his voice. "I'm sure it was unavoidable."
"It was," he confirmed.
"Mark this moment, son," he said. "Your platoon has just fired the first shots of the revolution. Let's make sure that they weren't in vain, shall we?"
"Yes sir."
The FLEB agents standing by outside heard the gunfire from the lobby of course. More than forty M-24 assault rifles firing on full automatic made a considerable amount of noise. They also heard the silence on the airwaves when they tried to contact their companions. Instinctively the four groups of them rushed to whatever entrance they were guarding to try and lend assistance. In each case the entrance in question was closed and locked, inaccessible to anyone without a cutting torch or some primacord.
The Internet camera crews, who had set up shop across the street, had heard the gunfire as well and had actually transmitted the entire gun battle live on the air as it unfolded with the assistance of digital zoom and infrared enhancement. Perversely enough, the camera crews and the few people on Mars that were actually watching the big three at the moment (less than three percent of the Martian viewers, the computers would later reveal) knew the fate of the FLEB agents inside the building long before their companions.
It was while the FLEB agents were peering through the thick glass, trying to get a look inside to see what the situation was that the two MPG platoons swarmed out of their hiding places, weapons ready for action. Each platoon had split into two elements, which gave twenty soldiers to cover each side of the building. The FLEB agents never even heard them coming until it was far too late.
"MPG! Everyone freeze!" yelled the leaders of each element as they positioned themselves behind what cover they could find.
Most of the agents took one look at what they were facing and complied with the order, knowing that to do otherwise would be futile. A few hotheads of the Brackford variety however, did make the mistake of trying to resist capture. On the south side of the building, against the side entrance, a five-year member of the FLEB made what he thought was a quick spin towards the enemy behind him. He made it less than halfway around before five rifles cracked out three-round bursts of high velocity bullets at him. All fifteen shots hit within a half a second of each other, ripping through every major organ in his chest. He collapsed to the ground, a bloody, twisted mess. On the west side, next to the main entrance, another agent, this one a twelve-year veteran, tried diving down to the ground to make himself a smaller target. This he was able to accomplish but before he could bring his weapon to bear nine bullets smashed into his face, exploding his skull into three separate pieces. On the east side of the building an agent that had once been a corporal in the WestHem army actually managed to turn and get a single shot off. His bullet passed neatly between two MPG members and buried itself in the steel of the building across the street. The unfortunate agent was then plastered by more than sixty rounds as the entire line of infantry troops fired at him.
Any cute ideas that the rest of the agents might have had about resistance or escape disappeared at this point. They threw their weapons to the ground and allowed themselves to be restrained with their own handcuffs. Before their radios were removed however, most of them managed to squeak out pleas for assistance from the main office.
Once disarmed and secured they were marched inside the nearest entrance where they got a good look at what had become of their fellow agents that had gone in to make the arrest. Seething with hatred, rage, and fear, they were led down a stairway and into the building's basement where they would be placed under guard.
With the outside threat taken care of, the two platoons of infantry pulled inside the building, leaving the street to the astonished crowd of reporters and bystanders.
"The capital is secure," Jackson told Whiting once the status reports had all come in. "Most of the FLEB guys out front surrendered without a fight."
"Most of them?" she asked, sipping from a cup of coffee.
"Most of them," he said. "Three were killed trying to resist. We have no reports of civilian casualties. Of the agents that came inside, seven of them are dead, three quite badly wounded. We've asked for some dip-hoes to pick them up out front of the main doors but the police aren't letting them through."
"I see," she said wearily. "Are there police out front right now?"
"You know it," he said. "A lot of the FLEB agents outside were able to call for assistance on their radios. Plus the entire thing was captured on Internet cameras. It would seem that the FLEB tipped the big three to what was going on here. The camera crews arrived at about the same time as the agents themselves."
"Imagine that," she said cynically.
"Yes, big surprise huh? In any case, the FLEB office called the New Pittsburgh Police Department for assistance with a hostage situation. They've deployed most of the downtown patrol units around the building and they have the SWAT teams on the way. I also have reports from intelligence that forty more FLEB agents in full gear have left their main office and are heading this way."
"I see," she said. "So what is our next step?"
"Now the rest of the infantry that we called up last night will secure the entire area. They were staging at the MPG base and I just gave the order to have them move in. They should be here in less than an hour. We need to get those cops out of there before they arrive."
"I'll talk to Chief Sandoza," she said. "Hopefully it won't be a problem. He's a bureaucrat in every sense of the word but he's also a Martian. He's supported the reforms that we've initiated so far."
"Do it quick," Jackson said. "The worst thing that could happen to us right now is for there to be gunfire between the MPG and the police. And it's also time to put out the general call up of forces. We'll need everyone suited up and ready to go as quickly as possible. Those marines at the Eden barracks need to be secured before someone has the bright idea of using them."