It made sense that the ground-level windows and/or rooms were blocked. Secure them so you don’t have to guard them, keep a few passages you can guard. She could deal with window boards with little issue, but any bigger barricades would be a problem. With the patrol approaching, Yekaterina moved her rifle to her back to get it out of the way. She briefly considered using the halligan for a weapon - knowing what the spike could do to a car hood made her morbidly curious for a moment - but it wasn’t appropriate for this situation. The situation called for speed and silence, and keeping this down would be hard enough without swinging around five kilos of 1040 steel. Besides, the day’s been a damn rollercoaster and a lot of it was still ahead, so if she could avoid tiring herself out like that, all the better. The half-empty magazine from the checkpoint breakthrough was a better, disposable tool. If time permitted, she’d have to search the bodies for a knife or a baton.

Yekaterina unfortunately didn’t have time to watch Hayden destroy his skinny along with the wall, there were more where that one came from. Unwilling to try to tackle her target and bet on surprise now that her three compatriots had begun their attack, she instead aimed to disable. Taking a swing at his right wrist with the magazine in her left, the strike ought to have been enough to make him drop whatever he was holding. Chiefly though, it was a distraction that opened the door for a right cross to his windpipe. She may have been just a featherweight, but a hit to all the cartilage in the throat was a great equalizer. She may have even hit an artery, she wasn’t sure, but the guy certainly wasn’t having a good time going by the sounds he was making as he stumbled backwards. She threw the magazine in the general direction of his face just for good measure, the ‘Oh, crap!’ reflex making him flinch and raise his right hand to shield his face. Closing the distance again, Yekaterina barged into him with her shoulder, grabbing his right wrist with her left hand to keep control of him and in his state he went down on his back without much resistance. A pair of wet crunches signaled that her heel had found its target, his throat between his adam's apple and clavicle bones now pushed in a few centimeters. He was still alive, but unable to breathe, much less stand up and fight, and his clock was ticking down to zero fast.

Seeing the immediate coast around her was clear, she picked up her magazine and stood-by to assist anyone who looked like they may need it and keep lookout in case more showed up.