Weapons at the ready, the companions moved deeper into the quiet of the enemy barracks as the clock in the ville bell tower loudly began to chime the arrival of dawn.
Chapter Fourteen
Ten more sec men died quietly as the companions moved like ghosts through the sleepy barracks. Another locked door blocked the main corridor, and J.B. easily got them through in record time.
Now a hallway dimly lit by oil lanterns stretched ahead of them, multiple doors on each side. The first two opened into large rooms lined with empty bunk beds, and the faint stink of stale sweat and cigarette smoke permeated the air.
“That’s forty,” J.B. counted. “Should be twenty more here asleep and twenty on patrol duty.”
“Should be,” Krysty agreed. “But then how many more in the east wing?”
“Probably the same,” Ryan answered, watching for movement in the shadows. “If not more.”
Another door proved to be the linen closet; the next was to the lav. Oddly, faint light seemed to be coming from the bottom of the pit visible through the hole in the wooden seat.
“So you don’t miss in the dark?” Dean guessed.
Ryan scowled, but said nothing.
The last door opened to another bunk room, but this one was full of snoring men, boots on the floor, blasters hanging off the end of bedpost newels. Assuming a marksman’s stance, Ryan leveled his silenced blaster to give them cover fire, while Dean and Doc moved quietly among the sleepers gathering their longblasters. One man started to awaken, and Dean clubbed him unconscious with the butt of his pistol, the sharp blow delivered expertly to the temple. The sec man snorted and went limp on the mattress.
Exiting the room, J.B. placed an armed Claymore mine on the floor and closed the door, locking it with a twist of the key.
“That’s my only mine,” he whispered, backing away from the room. “It better chill most of them, or we’re in for a hell of a fight.”
Reaching the end of the hallway, Ryan knocked softly on the door. A voice mumbled a question, and he muttered something unintelligible. After a few moments, the door swung open, exposing a sec man with a greasy napkin tied around his neck and a plate of food in his hands. The sergeant froze motionless as the business end of the SIG-Sauer was pressed against his throat. Silently, he walked backward into the office, and Krysty closed the door.
“Master keys,” Ryan demanded.
With some difficulty, the sergeant swallowed the food in his mouth before speaking. “Top drawer of the desk, left side, behind a blaster.”
J.B. walked across the room and searched for traps before checking the drawer. Mildred kept watch, while Doc and Jak moved to a blaster rack filled with long-blasters and started to dig into the breeches with knives, snapping off the firing pins.
“Well?” Krysty prompted.
“Got them,” J.B. replied, examining the ring of keys. “Seems legit.”
When Doc and Jak were finished, Ryan jabbed the blue shirt with his blaster, the sharp muzzle cutting his pudgy skin. “Where’s Tabitha Cawdor?”
“Cellar,” the sweaty man replied. “She’s in the cellar. But honestly, I had nothing to do with”
In a rush of anger, Ryan buried his left fist into the fat man’s stomach. The guard doubled over, vomiting, and the one-eyed man, clubbed him to the floor. Blood welled from the gash on his head, but the sec man was still wheezing for air as they departed.
“Cellar?” Krysty asked.
Ryan gestured. “Should be this way.”
Turning a corner, they found a sec man sleeping in a chair, his longblaster laid across his lap.
“Hey,” Ryan called.
The man awoke with a start and stared in astonishment at the invaders. With a curse, he pawed for his weapon and died in the chair, a soft chug from the SIG-Sauer knocking him from the chair.
As J.B. undid the cumbersome lock, the companions noticed a faint, unpleasant stench reminiscent of a sewer. As the door opened, the pungent reek of night soil filled the air, the smell thick enough to cling to the tongue and bring tears to their eyes.
Oil lanterns hanging from nails illuminated a short flight of stairs leading to the water-stained floor one flight below. Holding their noses and breathing shallowly, the companions proceeded down the rickety stairs into the dank basement. Immediately, they could see dozens of prisoners manacled to the walls. The men were skeleton thin, little more than skin covering bones, their clothes rotting rags. Not one lifted his head to look at the approach of the companions.