And the quiet stretched and grew and Gunny knew that it was good. Anything was better than the unshirted h.e.l.l they'd been in for...he glanced at his watch.

Only the last thirty minutes!

That was impossible. He raised his watch to his ear. It was still ticking. A fine old windup watch handed down from father to son for more times than Gunny wanted to think about.

It still ticked and insisted his eternity in h.e.l.l had been little more than half an hour.

He shook his head.

As the quiet stretched into something that was almost a delicious peace, Gunny glanced over his shoulder. In the distance he could just make out the revolving lights of dozens of emergency services vehicles.

Why weren't the ambulances moving?

He turned back to look for his fastest runner, someone he could send back there to get the lead out of that bunch...

And spotted dark figures skulking out of the north wing of the Gallery.

Not being an officer, Gunny might not know all the important stuff. But he knew the stink of rats leaving a sinking ship. Especially the stink of rats leaving a ship they had done their best to hole.

A slight change of plans here.

Gunny caught a runner's eye, but sent her off to bring back the sniper team on the south end. Then he motioned to his own fire teams in the center to start their movement north.

The northern sniper team was led by Corporal Donovan. She never needed to be told where the action was. She and her partner were already up and doing a slow, low walk from car to car, headed north.

But Gunny needn't have worried about his rats getting away.

They didn't go all that far, maybe fifty yards, before they stopped at a tree surrounded by stone flower pots.

Half a dozen faced out. Four or five talked among themselves in the center.

If that wasn't a well-organized rally point, Gunny hadn't spent twenty years in the Corps.

And they waited.

That was what professional troops were supposed to do, wait to see if anyone detached or just lost showed up at the rally.

But after that last explosion and fire, the place was pretty quiet.

Gunny sure would have been tempted to keep the bugout boogie going.

But that looked to be an officer doing the look-around from the center, so good NCOs were waiting, just like they should.

Which gave Gunny's team time to catch up, overtake, and pa.s.s them. Gunny spotted several good ambush sites and smiled.

When that bunch of rats moved north again, it would be right into his waiting arms.

As the seconds flew and Gunny's Marines set up their kill zones, he watched the one he took for the senior NCO exchange words with the guy who had to be the senior officer.

Gunny heard not a word, but he knew the drill.

"Sir, we should move on. We can't afford to lose a second."

But the officer only glanced at his watch. Who was he waiting for? Gunny would bet money the officer knew personally the one who was holding them up-likely had served under him as a junior officer.

Maybe, another time, waiting would have served a purpose. Today, Gunny was prepared to make sure it didn't.

And Gunny made up his mind.

He signaled to the crew in sight of him. Sleepy darts.

And they pa.s.sed it along.

Sleepy darts were a risk, but Gunny was one of the many NCOs who were getting sick and tired of Greenfeld pukes doing this or killing that and no one living to tell the tale.

The officers might be happy not having to face the hard truth about the undeclared war they were in, but all the dancing around the truth made an honest fighting man just want to puke.

This call was Gunny's to make, and he was making it.

These rats were beaten; he could see it in the hunch of their shoulders. They were walking into an ambush put in place by good Marines.

These dudes were going to wake up with a roaring headache tomorrow morning, and they were going to sing, sing, sing.

And kings and captains could just bite themselves if they didn't like what a sweating, cursing Gunny Sergeant had done to them.

The enemy officer took a final glance at his watch. A final glance at the Gallery. Nothing moved out of it.

He signaled to his troops and a scout pair led off, quickly followed by others as the outer guards of the rally point folded themselves into a traveling column.

It was a beautiful work of art that Gunny was fully qualified to appreciate...unlike much of the c.r.a.p hanging in the now-smoking building.

But they were moving right into his ambush. His work of art.

Gunnery Sergeant Brown grinned and drew a sight picture on the officer. He and his Marines were artists in their own right.

Come and see the art we do.

55.

Who said the only sight more sickening than a battle won is the sight of a battle you lost?

At the moment, Kris's addled brain refused to cough up the answer to that question. And she had better uses for Nelly.

"Are you still jammed? Can you get out a call for medical services?"

"I am sorry, Kris, but yes, I am still jammed."

Kris shook her head. The jammer had clearly lost, but either was keeping it on for pure evilness or forgetfulness.

Or maybe they hadn't given the battle up for lost.

That was not a comforting thought.

Marines in battle gear now moved purposefully into the rotunda to disarm and secure the prisoners. "Captain DeVar, what's your situation?" Kris called from the second-floor balcony.

One Marine looked up. "Ah, I'm Lieutenant Troy, ma'am. I think I'm in command, ah, Your Highness."

Told Kris a lot about the company of emba.s.sy Marines.

"Lieutenant, secure your prisoners, set up a defensive perimeter here for the hall, then send armored detachments to check out the rooms in this place. They may find civilians who managed to stay lost through the shoot. They may find shooters trying to get away."

"Ah, ma'am, I'm not sure I've got enough troops to tackle all that. And do you have any medical aid? We could sure use more out back."

That told Kris all she needed to know about her company.

She nodded, thinking through what mattered most and shortening her list of priorities. "Lieutenant, secure your prisoners and the perimeter of the great hall against a counterattack. I'll get us medical aid."

Kris turned to Jack, muttering under her breath, "Where are those ambulances?"

They headed down the stairs. "Boys, stay close to us or you may be mistaken for prisoners. You deserve our grat.i.tude."

Admittedly, they'd turned their coats several times in the last-Kris glanced at her watch-only a half hour! Still, Bronc and his friends had done the right thing after doing the wrong thing.

"Marines coming in," Jack called as they approached the main floor. It was good he did.

They were still blacked out from head to toe, a shadow of a shadow. That camouflage had probably saved their lives tonight. But now they were approaching fellow Marines.

There had been a fight here. Kids with rifles and men in dark clothes lay where they'd fallen.

Several of Penny's hand grenades had been used here.

A statue had been rolled up to the stairwell exit. A marine and a security guard looked at Kris over pistol sights. Beside them, two or three more lay where they had died.

The Marine raised the aim of his automatic and whispered a dry mouthed "Semper Fi."

And they pa.s.sed within.

The south hall had gone from being a bright, gala party to a dark, b.l.o.o.d.y, slippery mess of groaning humanity. At least it groaned where it wasn't deadly silent.

It was far too quiet for Kris's tastes. She concentrated on watching her step and getting where she needed to go.

Behind her, one of the teens added the contents of his stomach to the slime they waded through.

Penny and several surviving Marines held the middle of the hall. The Navy lieutenant and those around her were just risking sitting up.

While several of the Marines stood to greet their comrades, Penny settled for just sitting there. A long sliver of bronze had sliced through the flesh of her upper right arm.

The lieutenant eyed the spear point in her flesh and shook her head ruefully. "I survived this whole b.l.o.o.d.y mess, and then you make your usual entrance and whack me one."

"Sorry about that," Kris said, and tried to put some actual feeling into the words. Even she didn't hear any. "I'll try to get someone to look at that."

"In a thousand years after the really bad cases are cared for," Penny said, looking around. "Where are the ambulances?"

"I don't know." Kris hated to admit it. "And Nelly says we're still being jammed. Can't say squat."

"Kris, I think I can home in on the jamming," Nelly said. "It seems to be coming from below us."

Kris took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. So this thing wasn't over yet. Maybe she could hand Nelly over to a fresh Marine and let a couple of them go chasing into the bowels of this building.

So there is a limit to just how much a Longknife can take, a small voice said somewhere inside her.

And this isn't it, another part of her growled.

"Thank you, Nelly. Jack, you and your Marines up for another ramble through the artwork?"

Jack nodded. The "Ooo-Rah" from the Marines might have been a bit below their usual enthusiasm, but they got it out.

From outside somewhere came the familiar sound of M-6s barking on single shot. Marines had someone under fire.

The rapid staccato of machine pistols answered them, but only for a few seconds. Then the night got quiet again.

"Nelly?" Kris asked.

"I am still jammed."

Kris turned back for the stairs.

"Be careful, Kris," Penny called. "Don't be the last one killed in this shoot-out."

"I'll do my best," Kris answered over her shoulder.

"So will I," Jack shot back.

"Us, too," the Marines added.

"Me, too," came from the kids who trailed right along.

"I guess I better go along with you," one of the Marines with a rifle said. "Someone might have left a little gift behind and I suspect you'll want a demolition tech," he muttered.

And so Kris led her scratch team once more into the black mouth of h.e.l.l.