The school

The team of women had fallen back to a local high school on the edge of the suburb. Mark's unit would be digging them out. Thomas, Vane, and Barkley were with him again, Thomas' arm wrapped in a tight bandage but looking better. Mark turned to him as they trekked to the lines. "You give her a little payback last night?"

Thomas grinned. "I felt a bit better after I got stitched up, and got some food. Didn't quite give her what she gave me. Didn't want to have a weapon near a new one, what with not being in my best shape anyway. But I smacked her up a bit. She won't be sitting easy for a day or so. Or lying down, either. Or walking..." He grinned and stretched his hips. "Yeah, I had a good night."

Mark smiled cruelly. Thomas was known to be quite well-endowed, and was strong as an ox to boot. He shrugged. It was the way of the war, and male captives likely received the same treatment on the other side. Though probably without the internal bruising... "You ready to go today?"

The big man grunted. "I got some sleep too, don't you worry. I got yer back."

They reached the edge of the school a few minutes later. The four story complex had been surrounded by men, but he was informed that a number of women were holding the campus, and it was costing them manpower to surround it and still hold the line in this area. They needed it cleared out quickly, and then they could turn their attention to pushing the bitches out. Mark's unit would help sweep the school. They headed into the school and down to the lowest floor, then down a staircase into the supply basement.

They fanned out, alert to sounds in the dim light. Dirty windows had once leaked tiny amounts of light into the basement but now they were filthy and gave barely anything. Mark held his baton and his new machete at the ready as he led the team into the gloom. With his gesture, Vane and Barkley swept off to the right side, the other two taking the left. Thomas loomed over his shoulder, covering his back.

Suddenly a crash came from the other end of the cellar. Mark and Thomas both turned back towards their teammates, but as they did, two women leaped out of the dimness towards them. Both wore dirty coveralls, tough utilitarian outfits that didn't tear easy, and they each carried lengths of pipe. The first woman, tall and fit with long, strong-looking legs, wasted no time in belting Thomas across the back of the head with hers. He dropped like a stone, and wile Mark hoped his teammate was alright, he didn't think about it for long. As the second woman swung her own pipe, he got his baton up and silently apologized to whatever might listening for what he was about to do. With the first woman behind her in the narrow basement corridor and Thomas down, Mark had no time to spare capturing her. He swung his baton across, trapping her pipe momentarily. A moment was enough; he drove his machete between her ribs with his off hand. Her gasp seemed to echo forever. As she slumped across Thomas on the floor of the hall, he let her body drag the machete out of his hand and braced himself for the second woman.

She leaped over the two prone figures and swung her pipe wildly, Mark barely blocking it with his baton. The two blunt weapons clanked dully against each other, the heavy sound a sharp contrast to the fervor with which they were being used. Mark backed up deeper into the basement gloom, praying these two were the only women on this path. If they weren't, he was already done for, probably permanently. These women wouldn't take captives, especially not after he killed one of theirs. She followed him ruthlessly, still swinging with abandon. Anger burned in her eyes. Mark blocked another swing of the pipe, but the heavy iron weapon caught his baton near the grip and drove it from his hand.