Hans crunched a knee against Jean-Paul Moreau's face and heard him moan. "You little fucker," he yelled in French, and slugged him as hard as he could. It had the desired effect. Moreau's body went limp, but Hans, wanting to take no chances, immediately yanked his arms around behind his back and handcuffed him.
"Clear," he yelled, still breathless.
"Clear," called Reggie, but not before looking around one last time, squinting through the smoke. He thought, hoped, it was true. A bloody great mess, that's what the assault had been, and Ramirez was still on the loose.
"Objective CQ," Armont announced finally, even as he surveyed the scene with bitterness and horror. Dimitri had screwed up twice, unforgivable, and now he was on the critical list, hemorrhaging from the two holes in his chest, barely conscious, with blood seeping out of the corner of his mouth.
While Willem Voorst was already bent over him, trying to begin stabilizing the crisis, Armont moved quickly to his side. "Hang on, cheri. Can you hear me?"
Spiros nodded, though whether it was in answer to the question no one could tell.
"Don't move. The blueprints show there's an emergency
medical facility here. They probably have a supply of plasma. We'll pull you through."
This time Spiros tried to smile and raised his hand slightly, but Armont gently took it and laid it back on the floor.
"Save your strength. We may need you again before this is over."