Murmansk-13

Tala looked at Jamal, Jamal knew not to look at her. He kept his eyes forward, they were in the antechamber now. “Still two?”

Jamal gave an almost imperceptible nod.

With surprisingly little coaxing, the Captain had joined Katja and Diego just off centre in the cell as the inner door began pulling back. For the briefest second, as the hydraulic mechanism quietened, the cells were silent save for the fluorescing buzz overhead. Tala held her breath.

The two soldiers entered the cellblock, each carrying a submachine gun. As Tala hoped, the hazmat suits limited the field of peripheral vision and the wearers were further hampered by their lose fitting nature. Neither appeared to see her as they wheeled around to face the cell, their hoods orientating half-a-beat slow. Had the corridor been wider they may have taken a step back to fully survey the situation in front of them, but they were not afforded the opportunity.

“Prisoners, step toward the bars.” Over amplified, synthetic American crackled through one of the suit mics.

Tala prayed neither Diego or Katja looked toward her seeking direction. They didn’t. They just held their ground.

The soldier repeated the order, this time raising the gun to counterpoint his authority. It was a Colt 9mm.

“No hablo Ingles,” implored Diego, stalling.

The soldier paused, if he’d been briefed on the numbers in the cells they were toast. Tala had hoped they would enter the cell to carry out the execution, but clearly weary of the infection onboard, Smith’s party were antsy. They weren’t going to make their dirty work any more personal or humane. They’d shoot where they stood, the time for stalling was at an end.

“Too bad,” replied the talking soldier, his voice a harsh wash of static.

Tala sprang across the cell, grasping the thin barrel of the gun and deflecting it as the weapon discharged. Tor barely flinched as the bullet nicked the deck in front of him, leaving a little dark scar that pointed to a dent in the hardened veneer where the slug came to rest. Tala felt the vibration shock benumb her hand to the wrist, but had little time to think about it. Still grasping the barrel, she pushed hard and yanked back.

The gun was almost pulled from the stunned soldiers hands as he was forced against the bars of the cell. Tala’s free hand, sensation intact, closed around the throat, trying to choke off the windpipe through the oversized and loose PVC fabric.

Her face was pressed against the view plate of the soldier, a thin Perspex visor all that separated them. He was older, perhaps a retired combat veteran who’d chosen private military contracts over a desk job. Institutionalized perhaps, or greedy. Bushy, salt and pepper eyebrows provided a canopy over widening and shocked eyes.

Desperately, Tala tried to pinch off the struggling soldiers trachea. In his efforts to pull away from her grasp, the soldier had pinned his compatriot against the opposite cell with his oxygen cylinder. Tala needed to get the gun before the second soldier could mobilize. Again, she tried to pull the weapon from his weakened grip. She could feel her purchase on his throat loosening.

If she let go of either, they would all be dead.

Then Katja and Diego were beside her. Lithely, Katja disappeared behind her, twisting the air feed hose closed through the fabric of the hazmat suit while Diego tried to peel away the soldiers hands.

Another shot rang out as the second soldier tried to fire at Katja. Compromised by their position, the bullet ricocheted harmlessly against one of the cell bars. Still, Tala knew Katja was now in danger and that wouldn’t do. Initially inert with fear, Katja and Diego had seen the gambit begin to fail and intervened. It didn’t matter, Tala was not in the habit of putting people she cared about in danger.

With Katja slowly occluding the soldiers air supply mechanically and Diego holding the 9mm, Tala stepped back and wound up a wild cross. As she brought her fist back to her chin, she could see the realization dawn upon the oxygen deprived soldier. Tala transferred her weight forward into her lead foot as her hips and torso rotated. Her fist whistled between the bars of the cell, impacting the Perspex shield with such force it cracked. The shield was rammed into the soldiers breathing mask, in turn smashing his nose. Blood and sweat smeared the fractured face shield. The soldier dropped to the deck and Diego fell away with the gun.

The second soldier was freed. Katja yelped and pulled away as the mercenary stumbled over the dazed form of her companion – loosing two wild shots, aware she was now in a hostile situation.