He heard someone cry out, possibly from behind the door straight ahead, to the left of the stairway. He could pick out Greg’s silhouette quite clearly now, and he raised his hand, signalling Greg to go left, covering the left-hand wall of the building. In the meantime, he shuffled across the open space to the base of the stairs, his right shoulder up against the left-hand banister, a reception desk off to his right. The stairs, wide at the base and heavily carpeted, narrowed as they reached the next level, splitting into a wide landing, doubling back into two wide balconies either side. Glen couldn’t see any movement or hear any activity above. The only sound he could pick out was from the far door directly ahead of him. He heard a crackle of broken glass and turned round to see the dark shadow of Greg moving behind him, past his position, closing in on the wall opposite. Glen pushed forward, his right shoulder touching the wall supporting the stairs. He tried to be as quiet as possible, but it seemed as though the entire country, inside and out, was carpeted in a layer of dust, ash and splinters of glass. He slowed his steps, placing each foot down carefully, but grit still popped beneath his boots.
He paused just outside the door and waited while Greg moved up to the first door on the far side. On arriving in position, Greg removed his helmet, placed his ear to the wood, and listened. Nothing resonated through the wooden door; the room was silent. He twisted the handle slowly. The unlocked door opened silently, the well-maintained hinges ensuring the opening would go undetected. What little light there was from the shattered windows was enough for Greg to confirm the room was clear.
Moving along the wall, Greg arrived at the second door and went through the same routine. Glen’s head suddenly shot round from watching Greg as a clatter of what sounded like furniture crashing came from behind the door ahead of him, followed by the sounds of a woman protesting. He crept closer to the door, moving across at an angle, away from the stairs, until directly opposite, then moving straight towards it. Moving to the side, standing with his back to the wall, he was alongside the door. The sound of a loud slap was as clear as day and then what sounded like more furniture crashing across the room. The door would open to the left, and Glen took up a position on the right of it, his hand on the doorknob ready. He turned it slightly, checking its resistance, but didn’t attempt to open the door. Greg moved opposite Glen’s position and prepared himself on the left side of the door, pulling a flashbang from a pouch. Greg picked out Glen’s shadowy face and watched his lips counting, his nodding head accentuating the countdown.
Three… two… one… go.
Glen twisted the knob all the way and, putting the weight of his shoulder behind the door, flung it open as far as he could. Then he pulled his body back out and Greg reacted instantly, tossing the flashbang through the opening. Both men turned their heads away, protecting their eyes from the flash that filled the high-ceilinged room. They crouched down, relaxing their bodies, focusing on the next steps, ignoring the violence of the explosion that erupted through the room. Then, standing up, Glen launched himself through the room, moving left, scanning the area, taking in the layout of any furniture, picking out X-rays from Yankees, looking for threats, conscious of Greg’s position.
“What the fuck!” exclaimed Colin, looking back over his shoulder, a piece of Lucy’s torn clothing in his hand. Still blinded by the bright light of the flashbang, his head and ears ringing, his scrambled thoughts struggled to assimilate what had happened.
Glen clocked the scene in less than a second. Colin was standing over Lucy, the woman spreadeagled on the floor. Two men had each been holding an ankle, and a third man had been gripping her wrists yanking them painfully above her head. But now she had been released as they knelt there shocked and dazed. To the left, a second woman was bent over a desk, where one man had been pulling on her arms, forcing the woman tight up against the edge of the desk as the last X-ray thrust into her from behind. Now, all three were standing there stupefied. More than 1 million candela and a loud 180-decibel bang had inflicted on all of them flash blindness, deafness, and complete disorientation. For Glen and Greg, who neither suffered from confusion nor loss of coordination, it was time to make themselves felt. Two shots from Glen’s HKG shocked the occupants of the room out of their bewilderment, the flashes from the muzzle lighting up the room as Danno’s startled facial expression was shattered by two 5.56mm rounds tearing through his face. Greg added to the cacophony of sound as he fired three-round burst after deafening three-round burst, the bullets punching into Colin’s chest, the second burst hitting Shifty just as he was about to dive for one of the shotguns. The force of the bullets knocked the young man off his feet, his body jerking in time to the strikes and flash from the barrel, creating a stroboscopic effect as his cartwheeling arms knocked the second woman of the group, Lizzy, over, saving her from the next burst fired by Greg. But, although not the best weapon for close-quarter fighting, the 100-round magazine meant he had plenty of ammunition left to finish the job, firing five rounds into her body as she crashed to the deck. To his left, Glen emptied his magazine into the last of the living X-rays, quickly replacing the empty magazine with a fresh one before taking stock. His chest heaved and his ears rang as a consequence of the din they had caused. He gagged slightly at the pervasive smell of fumes and burnt nitroglycerine mixed in with the stench of faeces as the dead evacuated their bowels.
The two surviving women whimpered as they clutched each other for comfort curled up on the floor. Glen and Greg check the bodies of the men and the woman. None had survived. Glen and Greg had come in with the intention of killing every single one of them. Once satisfied, they gathered up the weapons and were about to check on the two women when a body crashed into the room.
“Lucy, Lucy!” bellowed Tom, panic building up inside of him as the smell of death filled his nostrils. Another body, in the form of Andrew, stumbled through the open doorway, his cries for Maddie.
Both Glen and Greg swung round, weapons at the ready.
“Relax, Greg,” said Glen, placing his hand on Greg’s LMG, lowering the barrel, the heat felt even through his gloved hand. “It’s just their husbands.”
Both Tom and Andrew consoled their weeping wives, Maddie’s cries becoming louder and more hysterical as what had happened to her clouded her thoughts.
“Get them both outside. They’ll feel a lot better for it,” suggested Glen.
“My wife’s been raped!” snapped Andrew.
“Hey, hey,” intervened Tom. “These men aren’t to blame. They’ve helped us.”
“I know, I know. I’m sorry,” Andrew apologised. “Thank you. It’s just—”
“Don’t worry about it. Let’s get the hell out of here. Then we can talk,” Greg encouraged him.
Tom and Andrew helped their wives up and out of the room, leaving the dead bodies behind. Greg pushed the dead woman away from the entrance to allow the women free passage. They stumbled down the steps, supported by Tom and Andrew, passing the dead X-ray near the bottom. A sudden squeal of delight let rip as Mary tore herself away from Patrick, left outside to look after Mary, and ran towards her mother. Patrick was not far behind her. Both women flung their arms around their respective children, and the sobbing started all over again.
While Lucy and Maddie were consoling their two children, and vice versa, Tom went up to Glen and held out his hand. Glen accepted the handshake, pulling down his mask and smiling.
“You’ve saved our wives from a fate worse than death, and probably all of our lives as well.”