Counting the shots, she knows when the last bullet is fired and ducks back to eject the magazine from the grip and ram a fresh one home. Her eyes glance down at the assault rifle next to the fallen body and the second the idea forms so the weapon is grabbed. Military grade, high specification. Expensive hardware designed and built for professional soldiers. In training they teach not to use dropped weapons as you can never be sure if the weapon has been properly maintained, but right now she needs more than a nine-mill pistol can give. She checks the rifle magazine and slams it back in. She test fires once into the screaming body of a black-clad man. With the recoil and weight noted, she shoulders the weapon and runs back down the stairs, gripping the screaming Prime Minister by his hair. If the shit hits the fan it doesn’t matter how you do it but get him into that basement.

At the bottom, she shoves the Prime Minister against the steel door of the bunker and holds position with the rifle pointing back up the stairs. A camera checks the view, the door opens to the duty military intelligence staff clutching their own sidearms. She shoves the crying man inside as the stairwell behind is sprayed with automatic fire. Turning quickly, she fires up and paces a step forward to keep the attackers suppressed. The door closes behind her with the brutality of protocol. The Prime Minister is safe. Nothing will get through that door and into the bunker. She glances back with barely a reaction showing on her face but knowing inside that the soldiers would have seen the Prime Minister crying like a baby and covered in piss with his dick hanging out. Worth it. So worth it.

She goes up, trained to defend but designed to attack. One foot after the other. Rising to meet the threat. Intense heat wafts down from the blaze burning through the house. The acrid smoke burns her eyes. She ducks down at the rounds ricocheting on the walls ahead and waits prone on the stairs for the next attacker to come into view. She fires the heavy rounds up into his stomach and chest, sending him staggering back. On her feet and she executes him with a shot to the head and tugs a magazine free from his belt to replace the one in her weapon. Up again she goes, ascending while aiming for the ground floor door of the stairwell with a decision made to hold that position until reinforcements can arrive. The radio traffic blasts through her ear. Officers still being killed and a few confirmed kills on the attackers but many more still at large.