Four men stood with their guns at low ready, clearly eager to exit the elevator. My P8 was already at my shoulder and I was firing into their midst almost before I realized it, and they were firing right back as I sidestepped behind a sturdy looking green crate stacked at the entrance to the room. Bullets whizzed by as two of them crumpled, but two remained standing. One sprinted forward, trying to get out of that killing box while the other focused on lining up a shot on me. I squeezed my trigger and got a “click” for my efforts, then threw myself down behind the crate as hard and fast as I could, groping for a new magazine...