The catsuited woman’s torso spasmed with the short burst—heavy 7.62 Soviet rounds slamming into her on one side and blood, bone chips, chunks of her heart and lungs, and spatters of liquefied brain spraying out the other. And that was it.

The Svenska soldier chuckled quietly to herself, watching the woman in the catsuit flop to the pavement. They had files on these two. The woman in the catsuit was Emma Rind, and the one with the pink camo top was Marzipan.

Rind’s legs kicked several times, but the Svenska thought that was probably the shock of the woman’s brain turning to slush inside her skull. Still, she put another burst into Rind just to be sure, and a third into Marzipan.

It would be good to close the files on these two. It would be even better, the Svenska thought, to strip them naked and fuck one of her sisters with a dead merc between them.

The Svenska smiled again, and waited to see if any more mercenaries would be dumb enough to fall for the bait.