Wanstead seem unbothered by the shotgun. “Guards!”
The sound of locks disengaging filled the corridor, and when Mass glanced back he saw soldiers filing out the three locked side rooms. They were quick and prepared, aiming their rifles, ready for the kill. At the same time, three guards stepped out of the office behind Wanstead, each of them sporting semi-automatic handguns that they aimed at Mass’s face.
Wanstead still wore a polite smile. “Time to behave, Mr Mass. I have no personal grudge against you, so please understand that I am merely following orders.”
Mass lowered his shotgun, sick to his stomach. “Don’t you care that your orders came from an egotistical maniac? General Thomas murdered Wickstaff to take over Portsmouth. He’s been executing people for daring to even speak against him.”
“Yes, I suspected his involvement in Wickstaff’s death, but such things happen in war. If I don’t follow orders, I dare say I’ll end up the same way. Do you know, I met the woman once, Amanda Wickstaff, back before all of this started. She was an officer fresh out of Sandhurst, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. It was an inter-regimental sports day, if I remember correctly, and even then it was clear that she was a force to be reckoned with. She was captain of the women’s junior rugby team, and she had those women moving back and forth like pegs on a string. I wish I had such a talent for leadership.”
Mass shook his head, not understanding. “Why are you doing this?”
Wanstead seemed genuinely pained. “Because Thomas has twenty thousand men out in the field, and they need a safe home to which to return. Whatever you are doing here, Mr Mass, it isn’t anything good. You’re a troublemaker, and I suspect you always have been. All the same, I promise you that your people shall not harmed while under my care.”
“Until Thomas comes back and kills us all,” said Tox, still pointing his shotgun despite Addy and Smithy having lowered theirs.
“You take us prisoner,” said Mass, “and my people will storm this place. You think we’re alone?”
“No, I believe there’s a second larger group led by Mr Cullen. Ah, you seem dismayed? Don’t be, I’ve instructed my men not to use force unless absolutely necessary. All the same, no one is going to rescue you. Peacefully is my preferred way of doing things. Please do not force me to make a mess.”
“We can take these guys,” said Damien, leaning up against the wall with his arms folded. “What you reckon, shall we start a ruck? I got this beady-eyed little princess with the pretty mouth.”
The guard to whom he was referring growled, and looked desperate for the order to kill.
“Don’t do anything,” said Mass, holding up his hand to Damien and staring at the angry guard. “We’ve warned Colonel Wanstead about the threat coming this way. Now it’s up to him.”
Wanstead nodded. “There’s a good chap. Now, your weapons, please, gentlemen.”
Mass turned and gave everyone the go-ahead. They placed their shotguns on the ground carefully, but Mass tossed his aside angrily. Things hadn’t gone exactly as planned, but it wasn’t the worst outcome either. Wanstead seemed a reasonable man – perhaps too reasonable. Either way, this felt like a defeat.
Mass put his hands in the air. “Okay, we’re going to play nice.”
“Wonderful news. I do so hate bloodshed.” Wanstead whipped a handgun from his belt and pointed it at Mass’s forehead. “I really am sorry, but my orders were explicit.”
Smithy gasped. “Y-You lied? We gave up peacefully and you’re going to execute us anyway? Wow, that’s fucking cold, man, even for a baddie.”
“I am no baddie,” said Wanstead, seeming utterly offended by the word, “but the reverence people have for the Urban Vampires is a concern. We don’t want a rebellion fermenting, do we? We can ill afford it.”
“You kill us,” said Addy, “and you’ll make us martyrs.”
“I imagine people would have said the same about General Wickstaff once upon a time, but alas, most have gone willingly to fight by Thomas’s side. Anyway, my orders are only to execute your leader, so don’t fret, young lady, you’ll be quite all right.” He looked at Mass and sighed. “I’m sorry for this, old chap, truly.”
“You fucker!” Tox threw himself forward, a glint of steel flashing as he yanked a blade from an ankle sheath. With surprise on his side, he buried the blade in the colonel’s chest just as he fired off a shot.
Tox grappled with Wanstead, trapping him in a bear hug. The knife disappeared somewhere between them. Wanstead cried out in pain. Mass tried to make use of the distraction, but before he could take a step, a guard walloped him with the grip of his 9mm. He stumbled but didn’t go down. Behind him, Addy and Smithy put their hands up as the guards aimed their rifles, ready to fire. Damien stood with his arms folded, leaning against the wall as if bored by the entire scene. Mass was just glad none of them were being shot… yet.
Wanstead hissed and gave Tox a vicious shove, forcing him to the ground. The knife was sticking out of the fat officer’s chest, though not deep. He removed it and examined the blood on the blade with a curious expression on his face. “I’ve had worse, I suppose.”
Tox was panting on the floor, but he soon went still. A bloody bullet wound marked his chest, a point-blank shot to the sternum. His glassy eyes were wide open and fixed in place.
Mass felt woozy, but his anger kept him standing. He looked at Wanstead, a glare on his face. “I’m going to kill you.”
Wanstead looked genuinely upset, but it didn’t stop him from pointing his gun at Mass’s chest. “That was inhumane, but I must say he brought it on himself.”
“You’ll die for this.” Mass closed his eyes, hoping he would get a chance for
