"Azrael is on scene, Strike Leader," the tech said. "One moment, please."
Cortin took the microphone he offered. "Azrael here, Strike Leader. What's the problem?"
"Prisoner evaluation. We have some here who present unexpected problems, and I would appreciate your expertise."
"Unexpected problems?" That didn't sound too likely, Cortin thought—Brad and Dave both had more specialty-time than she did, though she had to admit that her position had probably given her a wider variety of cases. Still, likely or not, she wasn't about to argue with anything that would get her out into the field, however briefly. "I'll be there as soon as I can find transportation. Azrael out."
To her surprise, fifteen minutes later she was airborne and well on her way to the convent. His Majesty had both ground and air transportation available at no notice, of course, and as one of the King's Own she was allowed to use elements of the Royal Fleet—but she hadn't expected to be able to use one of the alert craft!
The pilot circled the battlefield, more to avoid throwing dirt and rocks on the wounded than to let her observe—though it did that as well—following a ground controller's orders to land on the convent lawn near the temporary prisoner holding pen. Before, she'd always been in combat gear, exiting a helicopter; this was easier, in her service uniform, though she did have a little trouble holding onto the wide-brimmed hat. When she was clear and the copter had lifted off, moving back several hundred meters to wait for her, she took another look at the battlefield from this more familiar perspective. It was clearer to her this way, a bigger scene of carnage than she'd imagined it could be, and she found herself appalled at the unnecessary damage and loss of life. Compassionate Mother of God, what could the Brothers hope to gain from all this? At least the convent showed no major signs of damage, nothing worse than a few bullet pocks, and the Blue Sisters were working with Enforcement medics, as usual, to help the wounded.
She heard the rustle of heavy cloth behind her, and turned to see Bradford—who looked surprisingly comfortable, for a senior officer, in battle gear—and a nun she supposed to be Reverend Mother Superior Mary Gabriel. She returned Bradford's salute, bowed to the nun. "I hope none of the sisters were hurt."
"No, thank God," Bradford said. "We were able to warn them, then ambush the terrorists far enough away the Sisters were never in any real danger. Would Your Excellency care for a copy of my report?"
"Thank you, Colonel, but it won't be necessary; Team Azrael will brief me. I would appreciate it if you have time to visit Harmony Lodge this evening, though. Ah—were any of Team Azrael hurt?"
"Not seriously," Mother Gabriel said. "Lieutenant Degas was hit in the side, Lieutenant Powell in the leg. They are in no danger, and are able to travel, but I think it would be best if Your Excellency permitted them to remain here for three or four days."