He did not need to continue, the mission doctor was already on his knees next to the child. In a swift motion, he got to work – getting as fast as he could to try and restore the spark of life to the child's body.
The soldiers took to work rapidly – two of them searched the guards for weapons, removed their boots – these were immediately given to the slaves – and handcuffed them with a set of plastic cuffs, of the sort that are sometimes used to close off sacks of laundry. The thin lines of plastic bit painfully into the guards' flesh, but their comfort was clearly not the first concern here. Two more cut off the electronic bracelets off each of the former prisoners and threw them on the ground, where a third commando methodically smashed the now-useless electronics to bits with an axe, no doubt to the prisoners' glee.
"Get on that comms center!" - Lysander pointed to two of the men – "Everyone else, secure the perimeter! We need to make sure nobody comes in for the next few hours. "
Somewhere, far away, the first two helicopters took off and flew towards the facility.
Mathematics were now on the Allaneans side. Sort of. Kind of. They had two helicopters, which could airlift everyone out – if they did something like two or three flights each. Naturally, the situation could get worse for them in any number of ways, still. But it was better than the mathematics that they started out with. And those had worked out.
Almost.
They didn't work out for that little girl. Even if she lived – this was a concussion injury. There could be brain damage, or she could be deaf for life.
Lysander checked back on his actions. No, he'd done everything right. He knew the rules. Sometimes, you do everything right, and you still fail. Fundamentally, it's not your fault. It's the fault of people – were they, really, even people? – like Skender Cernat and Miran Cozma.
In a voice that Lysander was not certain was his own, he said, "Set the explosives."