Chapter 2

Madlax turned and dived as the grenade fell alongside her. Landing on her side, she rolled to her right, gripping her pistol tightly in both hands. Behind her, the grenade exploded, the shockwave forcing her along the ground.

Just another job, she reminded herself. Today's mission was to provide a security escort for Australian and American prospectors whose employer had heard of a platinum deposit in the mountains to the north and wanted to assess the site for viability. The mine that could result had the potential to create jobs and inject income into the Gazth-Sonikan economy – if they didn't all get killed first; the company that sent them knew about the domestic situation and also hired a team of mercenaries to act as security escorts. Two local mercenary agents, one of whom was Madlax, were hired as local guides.

They had left the capital in a small convoy of five SUVs at first light. Eventually, the convoy turned off the roads and drove into the jungle, for the site had no paved roads leading to it, just a worn dirt track, with bushes and trees on either side. Everything was all well and good until an RPG had been fired in front of the lead SUV. Gunfire surrounded them from several points in the jungle. The foreign mercenaries and the two Gazth-Sonikan agents returned fire from either inside the vehicles or from outside after making hasty exits.

The prospectors screamed and cowered, some running or crawling to cover on either side of the dirt path against the advice of the mercenaries, with most remaining in the SUVs that had brought them here. Automatic gunfire filled the jungle air.

The report of an AKS-74U firing from nearby bushes told her that the attackers were Galza – their AKs sounded different to the FAMAS F1 favoured by the Kingdom Army, and besides, the government would not interfere with an operation that had the potential to give the economy a shot in the arm.

Even if it meant capturing or killing her.

Madlax stopped her roll and rose to a crouch. She dug into her MA-1 flight jacket with her left hand, whipping out the other SIG P210 from her dual shoulder holsters. Displaying her typical balletic grace, she sprinted over to the bush, then, approaching the treeline, whirling around as she slowed to fire with her left hand. The man in the bushes saw her, and shifted, raising his carbine.

Madlax fired.

The guerrilla's head snapped backwards with the impact. The man collapsed to the ground, dropping his weapon.

There was movement to the left. Madlax snapped her head around, moving her left arm to line up with the new target. A second Galza guerrilla emerged from behind the tree, bringing his AK-47 up to his shoulder to shoot.

Madlax fired, the shot grazing the man's arm as he shifted to move back behind the tree. She heard a yell and saw the AK-47 fall to the ground at the man's feet. She stood up and started to walk towards the tree.

Movement, this time to her right. Madlax turned her head and raised her right arm. Her finger pulled the trigger.

The shot hit the approaching Galza man in the chest. He dropped his rifle and fell to his knees, then on his face.

This distraction was enough for the man behind the tree to come back around, a Tokarev TT-33 pistol drawn. Madlax turned back around and dived forward as he raised his pistol. She fired a shot at him from each of her pistols, one hitting the tree, the other striking him in the shoulder. The sound of a different automatic weapon filled the air as the man's upper torso was riddled with bullet holes, and the man collapsed, falling to the ground.

Madlax turned to see one of the other mercenaries standing nearby, a British mercenary clad in green and brown woodland fatigues and armed with a Heckler and Koch MP5. "You alright?" he asked her in a Cockney accent.

Madlax nodded. "I'm fine." She then abruptly brought her right arm up and fired on another guerrilla to her right. Behind him was a second guerrilla; Madlax shot him as well.

Behind them, a man screamed. Madlax and the Brit turned in the direction of the scream, Madlax whipping up both of her P210s as she turned.

A Galza fighter had grabbed one of the prospectors and was using him as a human shield, a TT-33 to his right temple. He had the man by the scruff of his collar. "Drop it! Both of you! Or this asshole gets it!"

The Brit snapped his MP5 up, looking at the guerrilla through the sights. "Let him go!" he yelled. "Drop your weapon!"

"Shut up!" The guerrilla glared. "Drop the damn guns!"

"I can't do that."

"Drop 'em! Now!"

The British mercenary hesitated. He slowly started to lower his MP5.

Madlax took one step forward and lowered her left arm, intending to take a shot at his shoulder. The Galza man moved his right arm to shoot Madlax.

She threw herself to the left just as he pulled his trigger. The shot grazed her extended right forearm, and she gritted her teeth in pain, fingers twitching. She dropped the P210 in her right hand.

The Brit raised the MP5.

The prospector twisted free of the guerrilla's grip and dived to his left.

Madlax raised her left arm as she fell.

The guerrilla turned to face the Brit.

He was met with nine rounds in the chest.

Madlax pulled herself up from lying on her side to crouch. She let her right arm hang as she turned back to the prospector. Her eyes widened as she saw another guerrilla beyond him, raising his AKS-74U. She whipped up her left arm and fired a shot. The man dropped his weapon and fell to the ground.

Her breath hissed through gritted teeth as she pulled herself up to one knee, her left arm out in front of her, her right hanging at her side. Already, she could hear the gunfire along the road slowly stopping, fewer weapons being fired as the surviving Galza guerrillas turned in retreat. The rustling of the bushes was drowned out by the receding gunfire.

After a few moments, the gunfire stopped altogether. Madlax let out a sigh, dropped her left P210 on the ground and pressed on her stinging, bleeding right forearm with her left palm.

"Clear!" one of the mercenaries yelled nearby.

"Clear!" came a reply, a bit farther away.

"Clear!" the other Gazth-Sonikan mercenary called out.

"Clear here," the Brit shouted a few metres away. He turned to Madlax, who was still gripping her right forearm. She looked up at him.

His eyes met hers for a fraction of a second, then his eyes shifted lower – probably at her arm. She looked down at it; her blood stained her fingers.

"Hang on," he said, kneeling and unlimbering his backpack as he set his weapon on the ground. "Let me get that."

"Shit!" someone yelled. "Nick's down!"

"Hang on, I'm coming," one of the other mercenaries replied.

Madlax looked up at the British mercenary. "I'm fine," she said, gritting her teeth. She turned to the prospector on the ground and tilted her head in his direction. "Check on him."

"I'm ok," he called out hesitantly, sitting up. He was breathing fast, his shirt was drenched in sweat from the heat and nervousness and fear from the skirmish, his face was pale, and his eyes were still widened in fear and panic, but he was unhurt.

"He's not hurt," the Brit pointed out. "You are." He withdrew a first aid kit and opened it. He pulled out a pad of gauze and removed Madlax's left hand from her injured right forearm.

He then applied the gauze to the bleeding scrape on her arm. Over the gauze he tied a length of cloth bandage, tying the knot over the gauze pad.

Of the ten-strong foreign mercenary team, none were fatally injured, but three had sustained gunshot wounds to limbs, and one of those three had been shot in the shoulder. The other Gazth-Sonikan mercenary had been shot in the leg. A prospector was helping him limp back to an SUV.

One of the uninjured mercenaries checked the fallen Galza guerrillas. He counted twelve bodies. "Want me to secure their weapons?" he called out.

"No, just get back here and help Nick," came the reply. The man jogged back to the convoy.

Another mercenary ran along each SUV, checking on the prospectors. Each SUV had sustained gunfire; of the five, the windows were shot out of four. Most of the prospectors had stayed in the vehicles and only sustained cuts from flying glass. Two had fled the vehicles during the confusion. One was the man sitting in the dirt path. The other had taken a bullet to the shoulder and leg, and was being treated on the dirt path by another mercenary.

"That's it," one of the mercenaries declared, closing the door after helping a wounded man into one of the SUVs. "Fuck this. We're headed back."

The expedition leader, who had left his vehicle, didn't argue. He knew better. He nodded in agreement.

Madlax winced as the knot was tied. "Thank you." She turned and picked up one of her fallen P210s with her right hand.

The British mercenary nodded. "You're welcome."