Rebecca stalked back and forth behind the line of kneeling prisoners. A truck and the two Humvees were parked at the end of the row of barricades now, headlights blazing away at the house. She was good for her word, the guy who'd given up the keys was sitting in the lawn chair the barn guard had originally lounged in, two freed civilians watching over him with pointy hand tools.

There was occasional movement at the windows, a twitch of drapes or a brief shadow, but nobody took any potshots at the sources of illumination. She'd been hoping to find a bargaining chip in their batch of captives — Mags' nephew or whatever, someone she'd care about. Unfortunately, it seemed she'd depleted her good fortune with the truck keys. A bit of a waste. Fine.

She stopped her hungry pacing somewhere near the middle of the line, but close to solid cover of the table barricades, and got a good lungful of air.

"Mags! I know you're in there and that this is your shitshow. So let's talk already!"

A gravelly woman's voice echoed back at her from the house after several moments.

"My shitshow? Who's the one lighting people on fire and blowing up buildings?"

Rebecca couldn't tell which opening it was coming from, alas. Even if she could, she didn't have Felicia at the ready. An oversight on her part. "That'd be me. I think we both know the only thing keeping me from doing it again is the hostages you've got in there."

The disembodied voice from the creepy rural farmhouse cackled. That was unsettling. "You, little girl? You think you can come in here and destroy what I've built? What I carved back from the end of civilization?"

"You certainly aren't doing anything to restore that precious civilization, Mags. Children, tied to crosses? If that's civilization, I'm happy to burn it down again."

"You hypocritical child. I did what needed to be done. Nobody can survive this on their own, someone has to make the hard calls and make people work towards a common goal."

Rebecca shook her head. Classic megalomaniacal rationalizing. She pondered that old "make the bird want to sing" proverb she'd discussed with Ronnie a few times. This lady was definitely of the "if the bird doesn't want to sing, kill it" variety. "Funny, Mags. Where I come from, we're doing just fine without holding a gun to each other's heads."

"Funny yourself, girl. You with a line of line of prisoners out there. I don't think you even know what to do with 'em."

Everyone flinched at the muffled report of a gunshot, and a body crashed out through the a second floor window, falling to the ground below with a thump. Someone in the woods screamed.

"I've got more of those, girl. I don't think you're taking me seriously."

Rebecca was torn between shock and rage. Movement to her left caught her eye and she looked towards the barn, seeing Sam coming her way. Rebecca took a half step back from the barricades, thinking Sam was coming to comfort or counsel her...

... but Sam walked right by, maybe not seeing when Rebecca raised her hand a few inches towards her. Rebecca watched in puzzlement and then genuine shock as Sam stopped behind the second guy from the end and just stone cold shot him in the back of the head. Amongst her jumbled thoughts as the M4's loud crack echoed and the corpse flopped forward, she realized Sam's movements were oddly specific. At no point did she look like she was picking and choosing.

Lowering her gun, Sam glared at the house while Rebecca still watched her, stunned. "That's what happens to people who crucify kids, bitch! Sic semper tyrannis. You really want to keep throwing away your lifelines, see what happens! Don't test us when it comes to 'doing what needs to be done', you cunt."

Rebecca realized she'd seen Sam talking to Dylan in the barn while they were waiting for Epstein to bring up the trucks. She hadn't thought about it much at the time, beyond the idea that comforting the little guy and his mom, seeing firsthand that they'd helped these people, might do her some good. Now she realized Sam must have inquired about who amongst the remaining goons was involved in the incident with Jack. Sure, she was upset about it too, but just... executing the guy like that was thoroughly uncharacteristic for Sam.

Rebecca was starting to deeply regret putting Sam through this right after learning of her mom's death, and the ensuing scene with her father. But... what else were they supposed to do? She couldn't help but feel a worried chill gnawing at the edges of her consciousness, but the only way out was forward.

She might as well run with the tone Sam had just set. "Mags, I don't know any of the people in there. Your dumbshit boys simply tried their tricks on the wrong crew today. At some point, I'm going to get bored out here and cut our losses, nuke that building, and just get back on the road to where we were trying to go in the first place. The rest of those hostages are the only thing keeping me from turning you into a fine red mist right now. You think on that."

"You're a couple of crazy bitches, you know that? I can almost respect you. Fine. You've established it's not in my interest to kill anyone else, but I sincerely doubt you're about to let me and mine just walk away. I guess we got ourselves an impasse."

Yeah, you just think that, bitch.

**

Rebecca was waiting for Dylan and a couple of other unwilling residents to sketch out floorpans of the surviving farmhouse, and beckoned Sam over to a quiet corner. "Hey, I know it's been a brutal day for you. I just wanted to say I'm sorry for dragging you into this... I didn't know what alternative we had."

Sam nodded quietly. "I know, sugar. I don't know that there really was one."

"I'm worried about you, Rosie."

Sam lifted an eyebrow. "Are you going to lecture me about putting a bullet in that asshole's head out there?"

"Not much where Dylan can hear me. It was really risky, they might have escalated, but it worked out and the last thing you need right now is me harping on you. Odds are he deserved it anyway."

"I was gonna say... after your light show. But, we gotta get through this and get it done, right? There'll be time to sort things out after. Everything that's happened already isn't going to change."

"Assuming there isn't something else, and then something else, and then something else." Rebecca sighed. She held out a hand where Sam couldn't miss it and waited for her to take it, then ran her thumb back and forth over Sam's gloved knuckles. "I'm here, okay?"

Sam squeezed her hand for a moment before releasing it. "I know. We take care of each other."

Rebecca nodded. "Right." She wished she could think of more to say, some balm for Sam's raw wounds that would numb them for the night. She was at a loss.

It didn't matter much right then anyway, because Dylan waved her over. "We're done." When Rebecca approached, she continued. "Hope it helps."

"Oh, it will, we've been blind about what's inside until now. How many good guys and bad guys do you think there are?"

"They make the ones who are too weak for the hard labor cook and clean in the house, etcetera. We did a head count, and there should be four of us inside. Them... it's hard to say, I don't know how many were in the other house."

"We had... seven guys shooting at us from that one. Four or five from the house that's still a house. Four... well, three survivors from the first house. Six that we dropped outside before things got messy."

"There were twenty two of them total, counting Mags."

"So anywhere between four and nine bad guys left in that house. Ugh. Thank you." Rebecca shook her head, there was too much ambiguity, and she didn't like the worst-case odds. She picked up the maps they'd sketched out and took them out front to where Landry and Epstein were keeping an eye on things. Christine and Patrick were coming up the hill from where they'd parked the SUV's by the gate. "Hey Chrissie, nice shooting. That's the second time you've gotten to blow something up."

"Yeah, I promised Patrick that he gets to next time. Though I would really, really appreciate it if we could limit the number of next times, please!"

Rebecca nodded. "Fair. For now I'm just trying to figure out how to get to the point where we worry about the next one."

"Well," Sam said. "What would Ronnie and/or Sun Tzu do?"

"I'll let you know when I think of the right quote, but for now, I figure she'd start by listing our assets or advantages. Skipping over us personally and just talking about gear, I can think of the night vision, the lightning hamster ball, flex camera, flashbangs, a bunch of ammunition, a sniper rifle, and an assault rifle with really big mags. Were you guys able to get a transmission out?"

"We didn't hear any replies. I sent a summary just in case they could pick it up, but... " Patrick shrugged.

Chrissie sighed next to him. "And we can't exactly leave and come back, best case they get away, worst case they retaliate against all these folks."

Rebecca glanced at the crosses beyond the barricades. "Yeah, they don't seem the type to live and let live. Guys, here, take a look at these maps and see if you get any ideas."

Landry took the maps she held out, not even needing to tilt them towards the cars for light with those goggles Rebecca wished they had more of. "You mean beyond Mr. Monkeywrench's idea of trying to take an armored door off our transpo and making me carry it like a shield? Yeah, okay."

Leaning over his shoulder, Epstein shook his head. "Wish it was a single floor. We could figure out a way to storm one all at once, simple breach-bang-n-clear. But as soon as we do that, the folks upstairs know we're coming."

Rebecca sighed, starting to feel like she'd really gotten them in over their head. She couldn't just abandon these people to their fate, but couldn't see a good path forward.

Sam bumped into her intentionally and gave Rebecca a little encouraging smile. That was good to see at least, a couple of different ways.

"Hey, Rosie. The lightning ball... you don't have any idea if it's lethal or not, huh?"

Sam shook her head. "Hard to say. A lot of it would depend on the person too, like, do they have a heart problem, how close are they, are they between it and a ground path. Pretty sure it would leave severe burns at the very least."

"Damn. Remember what Amira said, about the places by the airport making ramps and shields? That kinda shit sure would be useful right now."

Epstein stepped over. "Sorry to interrupt. Landry and I were talking, and we may just have to do it the hard way. It's not much different than some of house searches we had to do overseas. He and I can take the front, a couple of you stacked up behind us. Turn the headlights off right before we go in, use lots of flashbangs, watch our corners, move hard and fast. We've got a decent shot."

Rebecca's lips tightened. "I don't like your choice of words there."

"Hey, at some point, putting ourselves in danger to protect people is what we signed up for."

"Fuck that, Lance. I know the oath is still important, but I'm damned well not ready to send people into the grinder. I'm not Ronnie."

"You think she ever wanted to?"

"No, dammit, that's not what I mean." If this day could stop giving her reasons to sigh, that'd be great. "If we do it the hard way, how do we deal with the top floor?"

"Depends on if we're actively forcing them up the stairs. Say we manage to take everyone downstairs out cleanly." Epstein held up one of the maps so she could see it backlit by the headlights' scattered reflected light. "The stairs in the middle go up to a landing, that splits left and right towards bedrooms with a bathroom in front."

"And doors on each, which'll probably be closed, and nothing says they won't shoot through the walls as soon as the doorknob turns. No, we're not doing that."

"If they knew we were there. Maybe the flex camera and the taser sphere's or something. Or turn the lights on the trucks on right before we get up there, then off again. Give us a little time to get a flashbang in. The night vision will give us a big advantage too."

Rebecca shook her head. "So many fucking 'if's. We need to cut down on some." She resumed her pacing, keeping an eye on the house. The clouds from the smoke grenades had mostly dissipated, but enough remained to drift lazily. The old, dirty light-colored paint on the house was even more washed out in the headlights, stark contrast against its own shadow beyond it, cast long by the angle of illumination. Speaking of things that looked like spooky skulls in the dark.

She almost walked into Sam as she turned for her third pass. "Oh! Hi Rosie."

"Hey, you. So what would Sun Tzu say about cornered enemies?"

"To not corner 'em."

"Whoops."

"Yeah. And not to press a desperate foe."

"So, like... somehow make them less desperate, less cornered?"

"I guess. Build them a 'golden bridge to retreat across'. But I'm not letting Mags go."

"Fuck no. But, we're looking at a pretty impossible situation, right? We can't have everything we want, so what are our priorities? Save the hostages, stay alive, kill or capture Mags, in that order, right?"

Rebecca glared at the house contemplatively, then looked back at Sam again. Her features were still dim in the shadows behind the barricade, lit only by reflected light, mostly off the house itself. Weirdly poetic in a way. "Yeah. Maybe let the folks here deal with Mags, and the worst of her cronies."

"The boys said if it was only a single floor to storm, it'd be better, right? Maybe we can get the assholes on the ground floor to surrender somehow, or lure them out and jump them in the dark."

Rebecca folded her arms, Felicia still hanging from a shoulder sling. She glanced at the prisoners they already had, which was an open question all on its own. "Let's go talk to Dylan, since she's the one we've had the most face time with."