Bunkers are mighty easy to terrorize in power armor. They have only one or two exits so the victims can’t scatter and they’re armored so when rescuers arrive their small- and medium-size weapons are ineffectual.
Like I said, this is the first battle of the war. The front and back doors are guarded, but open. I walk in the front; Chin walks in the back. I down only two guards before the rest are convinced I’m machine gun–proof. I close the blast doors and herd everyone in front of me into the main room.
When Chin comes in from the back we have close to 150 hostages. We beam videos back to Al and with the rebels’ assistance we pick out five federal civilian VIPs and the three top-ranked generals.
“Ya never have the right equipment when ya need it,” I grumble. “We’ve only got the hostage collar I lifted off of Gunther’s suit.” We collar one of the civilian high mucky-mucks and tape two of his compatriots to the collar. In truth the collar’s shaped charge will do little more than break the eardrums of anyone whose neck isn’t physically inside the collar, but they don’t know that.
While the three civilians kneel huddled in the center of the room, the ranking general negotiates with me and my buddy Governor Algers. In ten minutes the general surrenders his arms on the promise that his people and the leaders can march out.
The federals have to get the word that they’ve surrendered—and believe it—before the governor’s militia can start out. So the next few hours are tricky.
Chin and I, we have to make sure not one of the 150 people inside or the hundreds outside does something heroic and precipitates a massacre before the rebel forces arrive to secure the area. We play games with them. We organize groups and search for weapons. Then we organize new groups and put all shoes in the center of the room. We organize more new groups; some search for contraband and others assure those outside that all is well inside.
A little before noon the rebels are knocking on the bunker door and our task is complete. We hitch a ride back to town on a truck filled with civilians carrying rifles. All the way back we are hailed as heroes. I’m bushed—it’s been close to a day of continuous activity—but I stand up and wave like a politician. Visibility may give us leverage in the coming days.
We’re back to the square in time for a late lunch. One of the students formally invites us to the celebration dinner that night. We accept. “Who’s in charge of this building?” I ask the student.
“I’ve already taken care of it,” responds Al. “We’ve got the bottom two floors of it.”
“The bottom two?” responds Chin. “You must’ve got some strange looks asking for that. These people are top-dwellers.”
“Yeah … now that you mention it … and that would explain why everything looks so primitive and Spartan in these offices.”
“We’ll decide if we need different after we get rested and cleaned up,” I put in. “Come on, folks, it’s celebration time this evening.”
“Oh, by the way, Gunther and Johann woke up this morning,” Al reports.
“Good, but that’s after-rest news. Folks, I’m coming down and I’m shutting down.”
“Me too,” says Chin.
Considering the start, it’s been a day well done.