Thirty
Crouched in the shade of the lean-to they’d parked under, Jackson pulled the radio from the last surviving mercenary’s hand, cursing when he found it had been rendered inoperable. Major Wallace’s radio had been damaged in the attack, meaning they had no way of calling for help for the wardens who had been injured.
‘Who hired you?’ He placed his hand on the shard of glass embedded in the mercenary’s thigh, resisting the urge to twist it until he got the answers he was looking for.
The mercenary, features impassive despite the pain he must be in, stared back at him without saying a word.
‘It’s no use. His lot pride themselves on never revealing who hired them. They’d rather die than dishonour their creed.’ Major Wallace glared down at the injured mercenary, before scanning the bod
