******
Rick rubbed his face with one hand; it smeared a few flecks of blood along with the sweat and grime. He had awoken two minutes earlier to the sounds of gunfire. Throwing off a dirty blanket and sprinting outside one of the nearby empty buildings, he had come upon Bates' last ditch effort.
Several other men had already arrived and were firing into the store. He saw the bodies of the fallen guards: both anger and relief coursed through him. What remained of his soldiers had returned to the Highland, but he'd relieved them with a few of the older ones used to light duty. They were not counted among the most skilled, but the dead men had still been good soldiers.
Rick had dropped the last man at the front, who foolishly stood up from cover, and burst into the store. Past a gravely wounded man was a radio operator sending some kind of distress call to the surface. He shot the operator, feeling a pang of regret for the cold-blooded execution, but it had been the fastest way to cease the transmission.
Now, after belting the wounded man who was smiling like an arrogant jackass, Rick felt a strong measure of dismay. The damage is already done, he thought. The radio on the table squawked as some person on the other end shouted for a response. Rick reached over and switched it off.
He rubbed his eyes and shook his head. This is bad, he thought.
Uprising Page 58
