The resort hotel was quiet now. No music. No talking. Only the sound of boots on broken glass and the distant groans of the dead outside the walls.
The boss stood at the seventh-floor window and looked out over the dark bay. Smoke hung low where the rooftop had burned. The railing there was twisted and black. The men had covered the bodies with tarps, but he could still see the shapes. The LMAT launcher was gone—smashed, burned, or blown off the edge. Either way, useless.
Yamada stepped in, helmet under his arm, face streaked with dust. He closed the door behind him and stayed by it, as if the room might bite.
"Report," the boss said without turning.
"We counted eleven dead on the roof team," Yamada answered. "Three more died in the stairwell from the cannon fire. Five are wounded. Two won't keep their arms."
The boss nodded once. He kept his eyes on the city lights that were not lights—just reflections from the moon on broken glass. "Morale?"
