Blood Soaked and Invaded - 02 (42 page)

Nancy’s mom straightened up, sniffled, and finished inviting me inside. The young woman in question was reclining on the living room couch, looking a bit worse for wear.

“Nancy, Mr. Frank came to see how you’re feeling! Isn’t that nice?”

Our teen beauty queen mumbled at me from inside the bandages circling her head, lifted an equally mummified hand and gave me a jaunty wave. The look was only slightly sullied by the glass of chocolate milk in her undamaged hand, and the straw that poked out of her head wrappings. It could have been a scene from an un-filmed movie entitled, “Revenge of the Mosquito Mummy.”

I stuck around just long enough to make small talk and find out that she’d be back to her lovely self in just a day or two more. There were gentle hugs all around before I left, and I strolled down the street feeling relieved.

“Relieved” does not equal “not preoccupied.”

I was worried for Charlie, and for myself. If there is a situation that I hate more than anything it is being powerless. All I could do for my partner was to be supportive and patient. Patience isn’t one of my strong points even in the best of situations; supportive I could do with no problem. Still, I’d never been hemmed in by powerlessness and rage at the same time without an adequate means of venting my displeasure.

It sucked.

My feet still managed to know what to do, even if my brain was cycling around huge thoughts and stories. They conveyed me to B1, and I knew why: a meeting at 9am, covering the events of the prior couple of days.

For a moment I wanted to crawl under a nearby rock and hide for a while.

Mood swings have a new name: Frank.

I made a note to myself to visit Jeff after the meeting, if nothing huge was happening. It would be nice if nothing huge happened. I wondered briefly if I could take a vacation somewhere warm on the government’s dime. I’d never been to the Virgin Islands, and for some random reason that sounded perfect.

The meeting room doors swung open, and there were quite a few people already seated in little conversation tribes around the room, chattering like a pod of dolphins. Casual talk stopped once people noticed me standing in the doorway. It would take a little time for people to adjust to my new parts; I needed time, too.

“I was minding my own business! These new body parts just appeared out of nowhere and latched on,” I declared, trying to break the tension.

“Don’t worry, sir. Black is always fashionable.” That remark came from one of our guards. I still didn’t know their names, but I secretly thought of them as Red Shirts in Black Armor.

Dr. Lucas approached me slowly. Too many expressions were vying for dominance on her face for me to pick one out. I waited to see which would win.

“Chunhua told me not to worry about you,” Dr. Jenny said, “and I can see why. Is this the sort of thing that will happen to the rest of us?” I could see her concern, and it certainly spoke to my own internal troop of frightened early-mammals.

“Dr. Lucas, I wish I could answer that with something other than, ‘I don’t know.’”

“What does it feel like, having an arm that isn’t... you?”

“Different than it would if this were a prosthetic limb. This,” I lifted my hand and flexed the dark fingers, “is a part of me. I just don’t know what it is made of.”

The fingers merged, and the limb narrowed down into a sinuous taper, writhing in place like a snake attached to my shoulder. In a moment of puckish inspiration, I caressed Dr. Lucas’ nose with the end of my tentacle. I could tell she still had soap residue on her skin, and what the ingredients of the soap were, down to their molecular diagrams.

I watched her cross her eyes, tracking the tip of my digit as I ran it over her face. I dimly realized everyone else was watching this little exchange.

“What,” Jenny Lucas gasped, “can your new eye do?”

My tentacle shortened and assumed a more familiar arm and hand while I considered her question.

“I can see with it and the world looks like it should. I haven’t tried any tricks yet.”

“Let me know when you do,” she whispered.

I nodded and smiled as she turned away to return to her knot of fellow medical professionals. I’ll never tell her I heard her whisper to herself as she walked away.

“Oh, God. So hot.”

Great, just what we need: a doctor with a tentacle fetish. Then again, I wasn’t on very sturdy judgmental ground. I’d watched enough Hentai in my time.

Matt and Major Kenney walked in the door closest to the far wall as I stood at the top of the incline, debating where to sit.

“People,” the Major began, “we’re going to broadcast this meeting to everyone not present in the room. We have quite a few individuals caring for other people who can’t be here.”

The HUD behind my eyes snapped into being, along with all the bright lights representing each person in the local network. Charlie was among the lights, and I couldn’t resist reaching out to her and sending her my love. She felt the touch and sent back one of her own. I breathed a little easier.

“Right now,” the Major went on, broadcast in stereo between my ears, “we have a location for Bravo Euro. They are engaged in a running fire fight approximately 2 kilometers from Dover Air Force Base.”

Headaches come from the combined roars of a crowd of people on an in-brain chat line. At the time I didn’t really care. Just like everyone else, I was eager for payback.

“They put the ’copter down outside Philadelphia, 90 minutes after they left our location,” he added. “We lost track of them after that, and it appears they took their time going cross-country to Dover AFB–making it much more difficult for us to track.”

“Why did they pick Dover? There’s airports all over the place,” Shawn commented.

“Good question, Mr. Cooper. The Air Force base has potential trans-Atlantic transportation and a substantial armory. They can dig in for quite a while and wear us down, or load for bear and run. Two of their cadre are rated on C-130 aircraft, as well as commercial jets.”

“Sir? We are going to intercept, sir?” That voice was new, and I tracked it back to one of the Major’s armored goons.

“Yes. This is our first combined OP. Mr. Stewart, Mr. Cooper, and Ms. Yan will be joining me and my Group Alpha for this clean-up.”

I could feel disappointment in the room–and a little resentment, unless I missed my guess. This wouldn’t be our last opportunity for good old mayhem, but a grudge in the hand will always be more interesting than two in the bush.

“Team Gamma is tasked with perimeter security. Delta, you’re on foot patrol–camo inactive. Epsilon, I’m putting you on surveillance. Eyes, ears, nano-shit, and noses to the ground people! You know what I expect. Sortie in 10. Form up in garage bay 2 in 6 minutes. Gear up if you’re in!”

I was the slowest person in the room. The moment Major Kenney dropped the call, everyone was on their feet and moving like the devil had appeared with a bottle of Jager and a randy expression. Me? I’d just reclined in the chair in an effort to relax.

No one should take this to mean that I’m interested in becoming Satan’s Gimp du jour. I’m not. I just had some thoughts in need of collection before I moved on to the next thing... proper attire for ripping the sphincters out of a crew of traitorous fuckers, for example.

Something in black to match my eye and arm?

Silver and rhinestones for the uncontrolled, unconventional, before 5pm tactical assault mission?

Stark, angry, lean-n-hungry naked for unsubtle WOW factor?

Perhaps Monsieur would enjoy our fashionable, mechanically assisted armor–in basic black? Non. Merci. Non.

I made my decision: jeans, old Pearl Jam t-shirt, Molle vest, and a Man Scythe. Classic? Oh yes, and utterly me. Happy as a schoolgirl, I tore out of the auditorium and across the street as fast as my old Doc Martins would carry me. The time to Bad Ass myself had arrived.

Charlie pinged me as I gathered up my kit.

“You gonna go and kick some ass?”

“Yes, my love. I am planning to dish out a little payback while I’m at it, too,” I replied to her.

“Good. You’re gonna come back, too? Don’t leave me all alone.”

“I’ll be home as soon as I can be. No one is leaving you. Count on us, beautiful!”

“I’m scared.”

“I know,” I said, wishing I could make the fear go away, “but we’ll be home soon. I’ll come see you as soon as we land.”

“You better had, Mr. Monkey-butt.”

Back in the day, V-22 Ospreys had an annoying tendency to fall out of the sky. I nearly called for an alternate form of transportation when the monstrous thing landed on the top of B-1–not only for fear of splattering on the ground after a long drop: I was worried the damned thing would collapse the roof.

The V-22 is a big aircraft. Don’t let the photos fool you. I was pretty impressed by it, even more so when I took a good look at the machine gun in the belly blister under the landing gear. Nice!

We assembled at the 6-minute mark, as ordered. Shawn looked gigantic and heavily armed, a stunning counterpoint to Chunhua’s Ninja Hottie in black. The 13 armored troopers made us look like complete poseurs, but that’s what you can do with government funding. (Note to self: ask Matt about our government funding. I needed new underwear.)

Major Kenney started to pass out adorable wireless headsets to his people,
chuckled ruefully, and gathered them back. At the beginning, it's hard to remember you're carrying communication hardware in your head.

He put one over his ear and ran the tail down to the side of his throat. The rest of them he handed back to the Osprey co-pilot. Half a second later, he turned back to us and motioned us to board the craft.

Group Alpha moved like a team of elite operatives should: silent, quick, and efficient. They liked the cargo area seats in short double rows on each side. The three of us got in together and gravitated to the inside middle row. I was a bit surprised when the Major sat along the bulkhead wall directly across from us.

On the miniscule chance he intended to be the in-flight entertainment, I started to make plans to play “naughty shapes my nanotech arm can make” to upstage his non-existent wit.

“Crew, this is the SITREP.” Kenney announced inside our heads, ruining my chance for rude arm puppet-theater. “Bravo Euro pushed through the cordon and arrived at Dover AFB ten minutes ago. We think they’re planning to snatch and grab a C-130 or similar and head across the Atlantic.”

“You’ve suggested as much, Major,” I stuck my nose in, “in the briefing. What I want to know is how un-enhanced soldiers are managing to hold down a pack of people like us.”

“Shut the fuck up, son. Use your ears.” Major Kenney’s snarl was a clear as a bell, even in my head. “We are attempting to keep them pinned down with drones, rocket-propelled grenades, and strategic strikes from orbital weapons platforms. Unfortunately, we need the base operational. If that weren’t the case, nuclear options would be authorized. As it stands, we’re being brought in to finish the job in order to limit further damage to important assets.”

“Sir, if I may ask,” Chu raised her hand, “why did you bring the three of us along on this mission?”

“Stewart–in the future–ask Miss Yan to speak for you. She’s got a knack for good questions.” He actually grinned. “Simple. Soldiers, regardless of their branch affiliations, fight like soldiers. The three of you don’t fight like soldiers: you fight like guerrillas. In short, you’ll fuck up their logic.”

“You want us to shake shit up,” Shawn said, smiling like a crazy person.

“Gold star for you, Cooper. Exactly.”

We were briefed in less than thirty minutes. Five minutes after that, we got new data from Dover. Bravo Euro was pinned down in a repair hangar right off the tarmac. Apparently, they preferred being boxed to coping with Predator drones... of which there were several, armed with scaled-down Hellfire missiles.

At the 10 minutes to arrival mark Major Kenney’s Group Alpha started running status checks on their armor and weapons. The three of us looked at one another, pulled out our weapons of choice, and gave them a quick once-over. My Man Scythe didn’t really need a check-up, so I cycled a round through my .45, popped the clip out and loaded the bullet back in with his friends.

Shawn packed a long-slide .45, one of our special baby rail guns, and a modified AK-47. If I’m not mistaken, he also had a machete strapped to his right leg. I hoped he wouldn’t have to draw it and use it.

Chunhua was a mystery, and for some reason it didn’t surprise me at all. I could see her railgun clearly, but if she was packing more than that, it wasn’t visible. There was something about her–beyond being possessed by an alien–that never added up properly. She had stories she didn’t tell, and I had enough curiosity to pry when an opportunity presented itself. It didn’t guarantee I’d get answers, but at least I’d have the wiggly things out in the open instead of crawling around in my head.

“People, we are 2 minutes from target. Cooper, Yan and Stewart will make a frontal assault on the hangar, as discussed. Alpha will exit the craft from the rear ramp in full camo, and flank the targets.” Kenney ticked off parts of the plan with one gloved hand. “Plan B: Alpha flushes Bravo Euro into the open. Predator drones will fire at targets of opportunity. Cooper, Yan and Stewart will secure the nanotech containment pod. Plan C: fuck it all and kill them. Am I clear?”