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0200 Hours; Buffalo, New York. December 1, 2000.
The morning had not started well for the team. Blizzards along the Canada-USA border in upstate New York had made the driving nearly impossible. Patterson complained the whole way: "Why don't tech ops invent a sonic snow plow laser heater widget!" -- "How come security doesn't pick a better road?" -- "Goddamnit! If I have to swerve to miss one more effin motorist in the ditch, I'm gonna stop this car and get out and shoot them."
"Hey, Mister I-Kill-Things, why don't you try and make one if you're so smart," quipped Gypsy. Granted it wasn't a great quip, but he tried and he was real busy with a new gadget.
"Now both of you. Shut your holes." Deacon stuck his head up into the front of the UPS truck. He never smiled, but this time it was an anti-smile. "If I hear one more complaint, I'll request a mission to the arctic, or maybe the Amazon river basin. Just to make you two miserable. Now focus on getting us to New York. Mutton heads."
Grumbles from the front seat followed, but Deacon had already returned to the back of the van and was back in thought. Operating on the east coast was not something he relished. The controller, The Priest, was just odd. Not in a bad way, but not a good way either. He was just unreal, like impossible to read, understand, or predict. The Priest only dealt in hard facts and logic; he never offered opinions or conclusion, just facts. Of course this made him a good controller, but it pissed Deacon off. So he sat in the back of the truck, smoked a cigarette, and scratched his buzz cut.
Fifty yards behind them in a Survival/Rescue Jeep decked out in the latest gear and accessories rode Solo and Melissa. Solo was behind the wheel driving with one hand; the other was on the handle of his Beretta. Well one of nine Berettas, he really had to admit he liked the Beretta. Melissa sat beside him and fiddled away on a laptop computer thinking about the new team she was on. She liked Gypsy, he was nice and really seemed to know his stuff, but focused about as well as tumbleweeds. Paterson was a little creepy, way too serious, and probably psychotic. Deacon redefined stick in the mud.
They'd trained for a month together after she graduated, and she hadn't seen him laugh once. Maybe he was incapable of laughing; that would be sad. Those three were freaks, were obviously traumatized, and probably bound for 'retirement.'
That's why she rode with Solo, sure he barely looked human, but he had a calmness and humanity that was hard to find. He always thought of others, could tell what the other guy was thinking, and saw things from other peoples perspectives better than they did. "Why is Deacon in charge of the team?" -- "What?" he replied. -- "You heard. I don't get it, he's a SecOp."
He looked over at her with eyes that looked so real it was easy to forget they had a dozen modifications. "Deacon is a leader, so he leads," he said then turned his head back to the road.
"But sometimes he a prick, and has no emotion," she continued. -- "Make no mistake he has emotion. Fear, hate, love - I think, joy; he's got em all like you and me, but it's his control that puts him in control." -- "But.." her voice trailed off as she realized she wouldn't win, and that the conversation didn't need winning. Pushing some red hair back behind her ear she went back to typing on the computer.
As they both got back to their thoughts, Solo his driving, and Melissa typing on her computer. But they both shared one: it would be a long drive into New York.
2000 Hours; New York New York. December 1, 2000.
The snowstorm had slowed their trip into the city but it was more reliable than air travel. Deacon gave Patterson the signal to pull over at the next restaurant for food. Patterson flashed his blinker at Solo. They pulled into an exit ramp Diner and got out. As they came in from the cold and flakes of snow blew in as they entered they took a look around the diner. It was small, with only eight booths and a long counter. One man worked behind the counter who was probably in his sixties and another worked back in the kitchen. At this time of night it would usually be busy with holiday travelers, but now it was empty. Just like the highway and just like all the hotels along this back way into New York.
The old man stood up behind the counter and straightened his apron, with an easy smile he said, "Evenin'." -- "Coffee," was all Deacon replied as he moved the unit into a booth in the front corner of the Diner.
As they took their seats (Deacon and Solo on one side; others on the other) the old man brought them their coffee. As he left Deacon took his attention away from the swirling and drifting snow outside and focused on the mission at hand. "You all know why we've been sent to New York. The Succubi there still hasn't been found. As far back as '83 the Company has known about it. They thought teams killed it in '83, '87, '92, '97, and '99. But it wasn't, and now it's back. Parapsychologists haven't been able to tell us why or how it keeps coming back and it wasn't until '97 when I killed it last that Shadow discovered it was the same one each time."
Deacon paused to see if anyone had anything to add. Their silence meant no. "So, that fuck Johnson," grumbles came from Patterson and Gypsy, "didn't believe us then and The Priest doesn't believe it now."
Melissa was thinking that they sure harbored allot of anger; that couldn't be healthy.
"Melissa, come back to the party," he said staring her in the face with so blank an expression it made her break eye contact first. -- "Sorry." -- "Don't be, just pay attention. You'll be finding a way to kill it permanently. Necessity is the mother of invention and it is now officially necessary. Go anywhere, do anything, just find it." -- She nodded, "Ok." -- He continued, "Solo, you'll have to round up the usual Succubi killing goodies, and Gypsy what do you have to say?"
Gypsy had had two cups of coffee already and stammered as he began, "I I got ttthe newewew thing I I, wassuz working on to gugugu-go." -- "Great, now take an anti-caf and continue, Geek." Paterson cut in with all the tact of a bullfighter.
Deacon was somewhat more diplomatic, "Explain." -- "I callll it it it a P Ku Ku Ku K-Eeee meter." He paused to wash down Patterson's anti-caf tablets with another cup of coffee. "Ah. It's a PKE meter. Damn those work good bich. Have you taken those to the zoo to have them analyzed, distributed, and produced for the rest of the ops. I could do that." -- Deacon cut it, "Focus G Dog."
Patterson interrupted, "I would geek, but ancient Japanese concoctions don't take well to laboratories. People out of tune with life like you screw it up," he said glaring at the tech op.
"Ok, whatever Grunt. Like I was saying. The PKE meter will allow us to treat the Succubus' Psycho-Kinetic-Energy like radio wave radiation and track it. Right now I only have it working like a RDF (Radio Direction Finder), but I hope to have a larger scanner model operational soon. That will give a sonar-like readout, being totally passive of course and operating with a near frequency to 45 MHz, but on a totally different spectrum than electromagnetic radiation. A student at the Academy actually gave me the idea during one of my recent lectures to his class there. It was a refresher course and he was real megalomaniac, but a good idea none the less. Sally also.."
"Ok, Ok. We get the idea. Now how many do you have?" Deacon cut in as Gypsy started to ramble.
"Why four of course, PKE is five dimensional." -- "You just said that PKE was five dimensional, don't we need five?" asked Patterson. -- "No, one is a base dimension like a plane that never appears to move." -- "Goddamn Geek. I swear you are more annoying than any Doc ever was," Patterson added.
"But at least he's useful," Melissa added.
Patterson glared over at her and Solo thought he was going to draw.
"Ah, I mean more useful than a Doc, unless you're shot that is." Recovering from the near insult of the best gunslinger in the company had forced her pale milky complexion to go to a flaming crimson in an instant.
Two hours later, both Diner operators had been Mem-O-rized after their food had been delivered. Then without paying the bill they got up and left. The Diner operators would never remember they were there so there was no sense paying.
0600 Hours; New York New York. December 2, 2000.
As they got into New York the roads had gotten better and they made it to their Motel just before 2200. That allowed them to all take a short Combat nap and then be up at 0500. Gypsy made a run to an all night grocery store and stole a shit-load of food for breakfast and lunch. When he got back everyone was sitting on the beds facing each other with their cases of gear in front of them. "What the hell took you so long Geek?" inquired Patterson mockingly. Melissa didn't understand why he gave the techie such a hard time, he always performed the best. In fact he'd taught several of her classes at the Academy. Maybe Patterson was jealous.
Gypsy came in and passed out food without a word, then sat in a chair by the small table that Motel 6 provided and began tinkering with his four PKE meters. She wondered what made him go, probably not Oxygen-Lithium batteries like those PKE meters. Maybe if he kept taking them apart and putting them back together enough soon he'd have five.
Deacon began to speak, "Now we have to decide how to take down this Succubus. When Gypsy gets the PKE meters working soundly," Patterson snickered, "we'll be able to pin point it and then wait for the situation to be to our liking." He looked around the room and met everyone's eyes, "Are there any objections?"
"DONE!!" Gypsy Exclaimed. Holy shit, Melissa thought, he did have five now; Amazing. "Now we'll have a backup," said Gypsy.
"Will the other four work?" asked Deacon reproachfully. -- "Yeah, but each is missing about 10% of their parts. I figure they didn't need them anyway," replied Gypsy, "They're good to go, really."
"Ok then, people, we got a job to do." As Deacon finished speaking they broke up and calmly began taking on the task of preparing for a search and destroy. Each knowing what the other was thinking and doing because of their long hours spent together. They all had a bond that made them a cohesive unit, Melissa was just starting to form that bond.
1900 Hours; New York New York. December 4, 2000.
After dark in New York the real nasties came out. Solo wasn't just thinking about the junkies, dealers, and pimps lining the street; they could be killed faster than he could draw the auto-shotguns under his jacket -- cuz he'd only need his claws. But what had his attention was the tall, slim, elegant form of a woman ahead of him. Across the street she stood outside her limo giving directions to the chauffeur. Her blond hair, the color of platinum, was done up and held in place with two large gold pins. The black low cut dress clung to her waist and thighs like a shadow, accentuating every curve. The gentleman in the back seat was likewise handsome and debonair, eagerly waiting with glasses of champagne in hand for an evening of pleasure.
"Nope, he's all meat. A bonifide' squishy," said Gypsy who was crouched beside him in the first floor of the convenience store. The store was closed and they were using it to watch their prey. Tonight it looked like she would feed. Now if only Melissa would find how to permanently destroy it.
"Manager Gold, Serf One here. Mark entering limo, heading east of Vincent Ave. Over," said Solo. As the long stretch black limo with tinted windows and gold accessories pulled away from the curb, his thoughts drifted back to the platinum blond. Her long features, sharp nose, and high cheek bones qualified her for one of the most beautiful women he'd ever encountered; besides his ex-wife he though, becoming morose.
"Mark acquired. Following," said Patterson in his characteristic mechanical monotone.
Too bad he would have to rip her limb from limb or something equally vile, he thought. Oh well, she probably doesn't even look like that anyway.
2400 Hours; New York New York. December 5, 2000.
"Yes, the businessman she was with was reported missing yesterday. He was an Australian citizen and in town for a large RV convention. Wife, three kids," Deacon said. Personalizing the feats of the enemy and dehumanizing (or reinforcing they weren't human) made them easier to kill.
Melissa burst into the room and slammed the Motel 6 hotel room door behind her. "I found it!" she exclaimed and slapped a large leather-bound book with a copper spine and buckle down on the table. Everyone looked at the book, the writing on the front was a script none of them recognized, and the copper was very old judging from the thickness of corrosion on it. "This is it."
"Great, please explain," asked Deacon.
"Ok," she said panting and losing her breath from sheer excitement. "I was at Ray's Occult Books. Ray said that some of his texts had information on Succubi. Well, after subduing Ray and parusing his shelves there were three texts that had what I wanted. The first and second were documents from the Catholic Church in the year 1689, pretty explicit. The last was from the Greek Orthodox church around the year 1575. I then went to the St. Peters Cathedral in downtown and got into their vaults. Somehow the book the three documents referred too, had ended up in New York. Coincidence? Yet it can't be overlooked. So then I made a copy of the book and brought the original here." She looked up at the faces of her teammates, for whatever reason she'd been talking to the book the whole time. They had an astonished look on their faces, they met her eyes and looked her full in the face. It was the strangest look she'd ever gotten. "I haven't opened the book yet, cuz I just wanted to tell y'all what I'd found."
"Great work," Deacon said. "Now when you've got the last bit of info, tell us and we can get done here." He spoke as he put his hand on her shoulder, speaking in a calmly reassuring voice, that she'd never heard him use before. He walked her over to the bed and sat her down, where she then opened the book and began reading. As he was walking away, he glanced over his shoulder and looked at Melissa. She was totally absorbed in the book and was reading quickly.
Another step away from her, he hand-signaled rapidly so that only expert hansigners like the deaf could understand: 'SHE IN TROUBLE. SITUATION STRANGE. TEAM OUTSIDE. PATTERSON STAY.' Quietly they all stood up and moved outside, as he was stepping out she looked up and met his eyes. Her hazel eyes shone with a new fire, while his dull gray eyes held their usual contempt and tiredness. He smiled and signaled 'FOOD', she returned his smile, nodded in understanding and went back to reading.
Outside in the open air of the balcony overlooking the parking lot, the three of them began walking very slowly towards the stairs at the far end of the Motel. "What's up Deac?" asked Gypsy in a quizzical manner, now he wasn't distracted or absent minded but totally focused on what had startled Deacon. "I think Melissa is in trouble, she seemed very different," said Solo answering for Deacon.
The wind blew at their jackets and cut at their necks. Gypsy zipped up the high collar on his parka, Deacon adjusted his turtleneck and Solo didn't notice; being more machine than man. "Whatever is up with her, now we have to find that out too," said Deacon. "You're ri-" Solo was saying when a shouted, "AGGGH! Fuck!" cut him off. It had come from their room.
Inside the room Patterson was looking at Melissa one second, and then she was gone the second as the room was bathed in an incredible white light from a flash that engulfed her. When the light died, she was gone and a huge slobbering dog was crouched on the end of the bed. No ordinary dog, it was furless, with its skin being a combination of leprosy, burns, scars, and scabs. As Patterson sat in the chair by the table he calmly observed it in all it's detail contemplating how to destroy it as the slowness of motion that came from hyper reflexes set it. It was twice the size of any dog he'd ever seen and it's muscles were knotted in huge clumps under its warped skin. The head was gigantic and held blazing red eyes. But by far the most worrisome part of this hound was its teeth. The two-inch long canine teeth could rip off his arms or legs he was sure. Not being bitten by them became a very high priority. As he was watching it, the hound began crouching and winding up its hind legs like a spring.
It's whole body crouched and aligned with Patterson. It seemed to be staring right at his neck. The drool running off its teeth glistened. Then he stood up in under .05 seconds and had his revolver out in .06 seconds. He was slow today. More practice, less sitting around the hotel room he thought. The smartsights projected the impact point, range, and ammo type on the inside of his eye.
The faintest sliver of a grin crossed his lips as the applied the 2 lbs. of pressure to each trigger of his customized HK SOCOM .45 Super. He could almost see the six slugs in flight as they left the ten-inch suppressed barrel. Their impacts on the dog traced a foot long line from the center of its breastbone to the end of its muzzle, each impact two inches apart.
Instictively Gypsy moved aside and allowed Solo and Deacon to blast by as they moved towards the room at the first sound. Solo was faster and got to the door first, but didn't even slow down to stack up or any of that crap. They'd gone through doors hundreds of times, and had their own strategy - fast and violent. He smashed through the door with Deacon two steps behind. His claws rent it off its hinges and threw cheap hollow core door splinters all over the room. As he entered the room he saw the bullets hitting the hound. Each tore into the dog.
Hollow points only expand 50% of the time in most flesh. Luckily for Patterson they all did. Each entered and began expanding until they had four times their original diameter. The temporary wound cavity formed as they plied their way through the dogs chest would be up to 10" in diameter. The last two that hit its skull just blew it up as their 1300-fps velocity created tremendous hydrostatic pressure. The pressure was enough to splatter bloody brains all over the wall behind Patterson, who himself would be quite messy. The hollowpoints exited splattering lung and skin all over the wall behind the dog and into the bathroom beyond. Solo just stood there as the hound's body went limp and collapsed onto the floor between the beds. The hounds body had been relieved of almost 8% of it's volume Patterson estimated, when Solo said, "I hope that wasn't Melissa."
1000 Hours; New York New York. December 6, 2000.
Patterson and Gypsy pieced together what had happened by scanning the ancient tomb into a computer with a hand scanner. Evidently it was a 'magic' book, they had explained to Deacon. It possessed its readers if they completed the whole volume. Overall the book was only 100,000 words; quite small when you consider the type size was giant because it was inked by hand and that space was also taken up by the illustrations and illuminations that gave the book old world feel and informed the reader on the nature of Succubi. Every time someone read the book it began turning them into the new Succubi, presumably transforming them into it physically over time, since all the Succubi killed over the last several years were identical; even genetically.
It had taken the twosome three hours to come to this conclusion. Five hours to get Whitehall to give the team a real-time track on Melissa's Omicron and two more hours to get to where she was.
Now Gypsy was across the street in the upper floor of a Macy's department store in downtown New York. Saks Fifth Ave was just down the street and a huge catholic church St. Johns was across the street. They would have to bust in there and find her regardless of the time of day because they had no idea of her condition. Gypsy kept thinking about how much she liked his gadgets, even the ones that would explode on her and burn the tips off of her pretty red hair. She would always come back for more though, Intel ops were like that. Lost in his thoughts, he was assembling the four sniper rifles from memory. The building had been shut down by a false fire-alarm and the Fire department was keeping everyone out because Deacon had the Chiefs nuts over a salad shooter, SecOps often used the Companies control of Mayors to get things down in cities. Just so Gypsy could get in there and kill people. He loved Deacon.
After three short minutes he had the rifles assembled and laid out side by side on his ground mat with the spotting scope and multiple clips of ammo laid out. The XM-6BFG was on the left: 1 bore (1") barrel diameter, over five mile range, and could bring down anything from elephants to small tanks. The 12.7mm Trebuchet was just to it's right; over two mile range was made to blast through hard targets, like armor, brick walls, and steel barricades. Third in row was the .45 cal subsonic sniper rifle; the barrel couldn't even be seen under the huge suppressor, the only sound of firing was the silent click of the trigger sear falling. Last, and the weapon snug in his shoulder now, was the XM-100 7.62mm Magnum-round-firing suppressed sniper rifle; though just the muzzle blast was suppressed. It didn't fire subsonic ammunition, but that was not a big give away for snipers - few are trained to locate riflemen by the crack of their rifle. He was sighting down the 20-power scope going from window to window in the huge church looking for the Succubi, Melissa or both. "Overlord in position," he subvocallized into the mic. The best part was that he had his new WOW-1000 S-Ray scope mounted on quick change rails and the zero points were set for all the rifles. (WOW stood for World Of Wonder, and yes it is S-Ray, not x-ray. For See-through-Ray.) It didn't work all the time, but he didn't complain. "My eyes are working too Rangers. Will advise. Out."
Two clicks on the radio, three times meant everyone heard, but didn't convey their nervousness at having a tech op with x-ray (S-Ray) vision and high-powered rifles on over-watch. Inside the church Patterson and Deacon were dressed as Catholic Priests, in the casual black slacks, and black shirt with white band at their throats. Under the winter coats they carried nasties that no real priest would even consider touching. Patterson had his requisite six pistols, and Deacon carried the .45 Cudgel, .45 USP Compact, and the broken down .45 Copperhead SMG; all chambered for .45 Super. "Ranger Two," said Deacon, "to Ranger Three, any sign of quarry?"
"Ranger Two," said Patterson, "Negative, Over." Outside Solo added, "Ranger Three, Limo is cold and back is observed. Will hold. Over."
Deacon led up to the second story where more of the church offices were. They smiled politely as they passed old ladies working as secretaries, and waved and bowed their heads at the nuns in the hallway. But after sweeping all the offices, there was no sign of Melissa or the Succubi. He looked at Patterson. Patterson, with his hand at about his waist, pointed his index finger at Deacon then rotated his wrist slowly downward until his index finger was pointing at the floor. The signal was clear: the cellars.
"Rangers One and Two coming out. Prepare Bags." Deacon hoped Gypsy would be ready by the time they got there. Sure enough, after walking back downstairs, across the street, through the crown of shoppers, and around back to the UPS van; Gypsy was waiting for them with two soft leather attaché cases, one brown, one off black. Just the kind of bags you might expect a Clergyman or medium level businessman to carry. But each of these carried a heavy vest, plates, mini-EMGL pistol with a dozen grenades, headset with recorder, util belt, med packs, flashlights, a frame charge, four 1 lbs. blocks of PLASTEX, and a Gas Needler (loaded with tranquilizer and a heavy hallucinogenic.) Deacon looked at Gypsy, nodded, and said, "Great. Excellent work. Hard work pays off eh?"
Gypsy smiled and said, "I figured you'd need em so I put in the extra time earlier today." He was ever the hard worker, if misguided sometimes. But now it paid off and with a short glimpse between the three of them; they went back into the fire.
1105.
Deacon and Patterson walked back towards the church carrying their new burdens. "Rangers moving in. Three, SITREP," Deacon said over their sub-voc mics.
"All quiet, upgraded, waiting, ready to go. Distraction devices placed for extract and vehicle waiting," Solo replied. He'd been busy during their absence, but got everything done.
"Roger." Then Deacon was back in the church and moving into the basement. At the top of the stairs, they stopped and opened their bags. Patterson watched for anyone at the top and bottom of the stairs while Deacon suited up. He strapped on the util belt, and put the Gas Needler in the holster. The Armor went on next over his head and he strapped on the sides, then inserted the heavy plates in front over his vitals. The he put on the headset and strapped on the chin-guard. He clipped on the flashlight to his head, his shoulder and his belt. He put in a mouth-guard, and began clipping grenades to the pouches of his vest and then put the mini-EMGL into the pouch on his chest. Fully suited up now he stood guard and waited for Patterson to repeat the exercise.
1134.
Both outfitted for death and mayhem, they began moving downward. At the top of the stairs they placed another mini-camera/bug just like at the tops of all the other stairs in the church and all the hallways. Gypsy would have to monitor all of these, but the Geek liked it the way Patterson figured.
Deacon was leading on the way down, with the Copperhead slung in hand, attached to a shoulder tactical sling (yes, it had Velcro and was black.) "Rangers, Overlord here," Gypsy said, "All stairs clear and no sign of marks." Three more sets of double clicks told Deacon everyone was there. At the bottom of the stairs they began moving through the old basement of the church. The decor was from somewhere around the turn of the century or the early teens. That must have been when it was remodeled last.
"Ranger One to Overlord. Exact location of Omicron-track. Walk us in."
"Roger Ranger One. Fine tuning." Deacon looked back as Gypsy copied, and saw Patterson roll his eyes. "Ok. Rangers, Overlord needs to image the basement, hold while satellites come into position. Aligning antennas, continue Hard search."
"Roger Overlord," Deacon said, and this time Patterson rolled his whole head. They were moving down a hallway back to back, so that they could see 360 degrees around them, also making sure they looked up. Patterson had a HK SOCOM in .45 Super in one hand and a .700 Nitro double-barrel cutoff in the other. "Deac, this feels bad, I got nothing again," he said as he pulled the probe away from the door again. It was one of Gypsy's sonic probes that gave a cross section of the room and guessed objects by cross-referencing their densities. It was on the tip of his shoe, so all he had to do was touch the door with his foot.
"Keep going." Deacon was getting worried too, they'd searched over three-quarters of the doors on the floor, when their implant communicators came to life. "Overlord to One and Two. Over." Deacon said, "Rangers here."
1143.
"Go west down the hallway to the end. Take the stairs down. Over." -- "Over," Deacon and Patterson continued their search to be sure there were no surprises, but went much faster. At almost one foot per second, they made no noise walking with the silence that Ninja's would envy. At the top of the stairs, they opened it using the perfected SOP, and went down to the floor below.
"Rangers at the base of the stairs. Over." -- "Enter floor, take third door on right. Copy." -- "Roger," Deacon was getting really excited. Even with the years of desensitizing, this time he was getting worked up. Melissa was new, his responsibility, all the guys on the team liked her and now she was gone. Maybe for good. Standing at the base of the stairs she was all he could think about, and if some damn anonymous random book got her on the spire, he would be deeply upset. Then Patterson gave the clear sign and they went through the door.
1151.
This floor was even more dank and dark than the last. It couldn't have been remodeled in this century. It was cold and dry from the winter outside and from their depth below ground. Patterson swept the room and waved Deacon over to the given door. "Rangers at door. Over." -- "Enter, far door lead to room of marks. Copy." -- "We copy. Far door. Relative position and numbers."
"Unknown numbers, depth too great. Melissa is five yards in three yards to the right of the center of the door. Sorry. Over." -- "Ranger Three come to Main floor lobby. Copy." -- "I hear ya. Out." Patterson was scanning the door ahead of them and gave the all clear. He opened it after looking under it with a probe.
1200.
They dashed in to the next room and headed for the far door which opened inward. Patterson was covering the door and scanning the room beyond, while Deacon slipped a booby trap probe under.
They both pulled back at the same time, their check completed, and came up into assault positions. Deacon signals: 'DOOR CLEAR. NO TRAPS. OVER.'
Patterson replied: 'ROGER. MEL AT DESIGNATED SPOT. TWO TANGOS AT TABLE TEN YARDS RIGHT. ONE TANGO FAR SIDE OF ROOM. SUGGESTIONS? COPY.'
Deacon finished the conversation. 'TRAP DOOR FOR EXIT. TO GET PERSUERS. YOU LEAD, SWEEP ROOM, ACQUIRE ORIGINAL TARGET. ME BLOW DOOR, CLEANUP, RECOVER MEL. YOU COVER OUR EXTRACT THEN EXIT FAST.'
Patterson nodded agreement.
1202.
Decon placed the frame charge on the door after taking the contact paper off the cyanoacrolate (super) glue pads. With it stuck on the door, he reached in his pocket took out a 3 second fuse, stuck it in the detonator plug, and yanked out the pin. He and Paterson braced for the concussion, then the door blew in. The feeling was like having your breath taken away by having a medicine ball thrown at your chest by a guy like Atlas. "Breech!" Deacon called over the com as Patterson charged in.
A pistol in each hand he fired directly ahead at the tall blond kneeling by a desk. She had been knocked over by the blast at the door, then she toppled to the ground towards Patterson as three more of his custom hollow-points did a replay of the dog at the hotel. Then the .700 fired twice. Holding the gun on target with the expertise a world class marksman would never know the two elephant gun slugs flew out of the barrel. Each had the impact of nearly a ton of foot-pounds. Literally a ton. They hit the blond in the chest. She was violently separated from all her major organs and rib cage. Bone, sinew chunks, and skin were splattered all over her desk. Then he called "Mark Down, Shots fired."
Deacon charged in the room and dragged the stream of bullets from the .45 EECS rounds over Patterson (which his smartgun didn't fire) and clipped off the three guys in the room.
Deacon yelled, "Shots fired, three Tangos in room," as Patterson hammered three more rounds into the bloody mass on the floor from the SOCOM, Deacon then triggered his whole ten round burst into the unfortunate guard standing in front of Melissa. He was glad the slugs he fired opened up the targets chest cavity like a firecracker in the palm of your hand because he was holding a FN P90 (an advanced hybrid SMG/carbine) at her chest. As he crumpled to the ground and the mist of blood from his heart and lungs fell, Deacon got to Melissa. He radioed, "One Tango down."
She was seated in an antique wooden chair appolstered in what looked like horsehair. When he reached her he heard the clicking of Patterson reloading; He's leaving the others for me? Deacon thought. He planted, spun around, and crouched in a wide stance to shield Melissa from any return fire the opposition might deliver.
Out of the corner of his eye he did see Patterson reloading the two barrel behemoth. The he saw why. Both of the Tangos across from the Door were bulging and seemingly transforming. Their teeth were bursting out of their lips, and their hair was growing long and scraggly. Warts appeared on their faces and hands. Muscles rippled under formerly flabby skin. Both held Jackhammer shotguns. Bad news, even for Black Ops. So Deacon squeezed the stock of the rifle to his chest, flexed his arms to hold the barrel down, and gently squeezed the trigger. All ten rounds crossed the fifteen-yard distance to his target in approximately .05 seconds with nearly all their muzzle energy. All hit within' three inches of his point of aim. Odds are it would have killed a man, but not this man, and not today.
Deacon looked on in what could almost be horror as the wound began to close. "Regeneration. Regeneration. Extract. Extract," he spoke into his mic with a cool calm that belied the horror he was feeling at the moment. "Ranger Two cover," he shouted out loud and into the mic. Though both of their weapons were suppressed, the adrenaline still compelled him to yell.
He flashed the tanto into his left hand from his utility belt and crouched to the right of the chair and cut Melissa's bonds. She was unconscious and slumped forward in the chair. As Patterson pumped three rounds into the head of each of the big goons, Deacon thumbed another ten round burst into the chest of the other one. Patterson was walking forward firing his last two elephant rounds into their skulls again. These damn beasties healed almost as fast as Patterson could drill them; and these were head wounds.
Very bad, Patterson thought to himself. I need bigger effin' guns! Deacon changed magazines in a flash, and began lifting Melissa up onto his shoulder in a modified fireman's carry. While Patterson had holstered the .700 Nitro he drew another SOCOM. After reloading the empty SOCOM, they both held specially made hollow-points with mercury fulminate tips: explosive. He had holstered and rearmed in less than a second as he walked up to the door. He left just enough room for Deacon to get by with Melissa, as he stood over the bodies and fired point blank into their faces.
Deacon was really worried now as the explosion echoes through the room, not loud enough to hear but definitely could draw attention. He turned when he was at the door and fired another full burst at the lady on the floor, then stepped out. He lobbed two grenades into the room, one at her and one at the goons. As Patterson stepped out they detonated; their timing was excellent. Both jumped over the booby trap they left as they entered and ran for the stairs up. "Ranger Three, tear gas on the main floor. Now. Make it look like a fear/terror attack. We need a cover. Coming out hot," Deacon said into the mic. He was up to the next floor by the time he was done speaking. Meanwhile Patterson had emptied both of the SOCOM's of their twelve round magazines unerringly at their two pursuers. The big goons had gotten up to chase them only to be blasted by the booby-trap Deacon and Patterson had left. This gave the pair of Ops another seconds lead, but the goons just regenerated and chased after them.
Patterson had drawn out two Glock 32 Compact .357Sig Automatics and was firing back over his shoulder as he ran sideways. "Boss, they're after us." -- "Yeah I hear them," Deacon said as he rounded another corner and was almost to the main level. "We'll lead them out the front and let Gypsy take them." -- "Ok, but when he misses," BOOM BOOM BOOOM BOOM! he fired at one just behind them, throwing it off balance and into the one behind it, buying them another second, "don't blame me."
Meanwhile Solo had run through the main floor wearing a balaclava dropping tear gas grenades with instant fuses, three per second. This wasn't true tear gas, CS gas; but nauseous gas, CN gas. Trailing clouds in his wake he ran in the back door and out the front door. A total of sixty were distributed the building, then he lobbed another ten throughout the crowd across the street. "Gas set. Masks on," he said as he engaged his internal oxygen supply. -- "Roger that Ranger Three," Deacon said, "Check the basement once we get out with our tails. -- "Over, Ranger One," said Solo.
Deacon and Gypsy ran through the main floor knocking down people and heading out the main door as the goons opened up onto the main floor. Patterson held his fire to maintain the guise and just sprinted full speed out the door.
1203.
On the upper floor across the street Gypsy had loaded Silver Fulminate core iron jacketed bullets into the XM-175 .45 caliber silenced sniper rifle, and switched over the S-Ray scope. When Deacon and Patterson exited the basement he saw them with Melissa. The crosshairs lingered on Patterson's chest for a second or two, but then he decided it would probably only piss him off. Then he gave a silent prayer to the technology gods that his gadget would hold together for another minute. He made technology and saw that it was good. For it was neat. When the two big ugly things ran out the door behind them appeared clear as a light July fog he set the cross hairs on the rear one's chest. And it worked for it was cool, and he saw that it was good. Three rounds squealed out the barrel not making more than a puff as they crossed the street and met the goon as the just stepped out of the church onto the long raised steps.
Gypsy was pleased as the explosion tore it open and it slumped to the ground. Letteth death come to thine enemies, that they be blasted to littly ittsy bittsy bits. Three more rounds, and then three more flew into the chest of the lead one and dropped it to the ground. It went down like a cheap date. And thy shall have microchips in heaven my son. "Two Tangos Down. At the Steps of the Church. Over." -- "Moving to clean up, Overlord hold overwatch. Roger," Patterson said. -- "Roger that Grunt."
Patterson sprinted to the car and got there nearly ten seconds ahead of Deacon. He grabbed three cryobags and passed Deacon going through the crowd outside of Macy's. He got to the two bodies on the steps and bagged them, then dragged them inside. Operating in a cloud of smoke and tear gas should give them ample cover. Then behind him he heard a door open. It was Solo, carrying the body of the blasted Succubi in a big garbage bag. "I found her and got a bag to go," he said with a smile as he hunched down to give Patterson a hand with one of the bodies.
Solo carried two bodies and Patterson one, as they ran across the street to the waiting UPS van, with Deacon waiting behind the wheel. As they ran up to the back Gypsy yanked up the tail door and they jumped in. "What took you so long Grunt?" he asked, directing the question towards Patterson not Solo. Patterson just glared at him, seemingly out of words.
Solo dropped the bodies in the back and moved up between the two front seats. He looked over at Melissa who was slowly gaining consciousness. "How is she Deac?" -- "Ok, seems normal, but just drugged or something? Though the chem sticks don't show any foreign chemicals in her blood." Solo reached over and pulled her out of her seat and laid her down in the back. Patterson had to kick the garbage bag up onto one of the cryobags to make room, and the squishy sound was reassuring. Once she on the floor, he snapped a Revive capsule under her nose. She shook her head twice, and sat bolt upright. "Huh! What!! Where-am-I??" she looked around with a dazed look in her eye and took in everything around her, throwing stray red hairs into her face. Then recognition dawned on her and he brushed her hairs back and pushed them behind her ear. "Oh, you guys," she let out a big sigh and visibly deflated, "I am so glad that you came. That bitch was draining me alive."
"NEAT!" Gypsy said, Solo glared at him, "I meeeaan... bummer."
"What?" Deacon asked.
Then she sat up, found the copper bound book in the back of the UPS van and opened the back door. Then she opened the demolition case and took a quarter pound block of C4 and cut it in half. She took some slow fuse, duct tape and a detonator. "Hold on, I have to destroy this damn thing."
"No." Deacon stared her right in the eye. "Give it to me. It must go to a Warehouse."
"What? I'm just going to destroy it. It'll only take a minute," she said.
"I said no."
"That book held the spirit of the Succubi. It could recorpreate itself with the blood gathered by her hench-goons. They were in the midst of taking my blood when you showed up. I was dyin' for you guys to get there," she said with a smile.
"Don't make me repeat myself again." His gaze hadn't wavered and suddenly the action that seemed to be the most correct action in the world to Melissa now had a sociopath locking her in a staring contest. She blinked.
"How come I can't destroy it? Then it will never hurt anyone ever again. Plus, it was trying to KILL me." Her bright hazel eyes tried to look him in the face but couldn't hold his gaze for more than a second. The question was plane on her face, like the emotion reddening the color of her skin.
"Since you are new on the team I will grant you this one chance to question. But know that under different circumstances you can't ever question me, only present a better way to do things." Melissa nodded and then looked around for any sign of support from the other team members. She found only blank stares, or eyes of reproach for her questioning the leader. Even Solo nodded in agreement with everything that Deacon said, while sitting mute when Melissa spoke.
Deacon continued. "If you could guarantee me that it would not fang-dangle its way back into existence through some spell contingency of reformation then might consider allowing you to destroy it. But you are neither a sorcerer nor an alchemist and I don't think you could make that guarantee ironclad. Since you cannot, that book must be taken out of circulation and put under the eye of The Company. It is that simple."
Gypsy sat in the drivers seat nervously tapping his thumb on the steering wheel as the team waited for her to hand him the book. He almost bounced up and down in the chair with anticipation as the tension became taunt as a steel cable. Patterson and Solo sat with a perfect stillness. Melissa looked Deacon in the eye one last time, then handed him the book.
"Thank you," Deacon said.
"Wooo," Gypsy hooted. "Glad that's done with," he said to no one in particular. "Anybody want to go for some ice cream. That sure was a sticky situation."
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