The station shook with commotion. Mark led his team through the front doors into a throng of prisoners and officers. Punches were thrown. Mark felt a boot strike the back of his leg and fell forward. A Union man blocked his way, stopping him from hitting the ground. Mark grabbed him and shoved him out of the way. His riot gear was heavy, drenched in sweat and blood.
He sidestepped into the changing room and exhaled, enjoying a break from the chaos of the station foyer. It was shattered seconds later as the rest of his team piled in behind him. They kicked off their vests and helmets, pushing and shoving each other until their residual adrenaline was spent.
Mark took a seat on the bench and started to unbuckle his steel toecaps.
“Did you see that fucker"s nose when the bullet hit it? f**
