The Return
A Ranma Sailor Moon fic thingy.
By Sunshine Temple
Naturally, I own neither Sailor Moon nor Ranma. So here's the disclaimer
Ranma 1/2 and its characters and settings belong to Rumiko Takahashi, Shogakukan, Kitty, and Viz Video. Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon belongs to Naoko Takeuchi, Koudansha, TV Asahi, and Toei Douga, and DIC.
Previous chapters and other works can be found at my fanfiction website.
http://jtemple.florestica.com/
Temporary Backup Site.
http://www.fukufics.com/fic/
Other website Temple of Ranma's Senshi Seifuku
http://fukufics.com
C&C is appreciated.
Book 4: Capital Offense
Chapter 5: Backup
Formerly: Reserve and Release Part 2i
The redheaded demoness rode in
a Canadian Army Griffon helicopter. As she listed in on her radio, her grip on
the hang-strap above her tightened. "Oh, that sneaky spook!" Ranma
shouted, feeling a chill in her stomach.
Major Sifton of JTF2 watched
her lips. The engine noise from the helicopter garbled most of her words.
Normally, the headset she wore would transmit straight to his earpiece but she
was currently on a different channel.
"Which one?" Eve
asked with an arched eyebrow.
"Both of them, Sis!"
Ranma replied to Eve. "Keep an eye on Puu."
Sifton leaned forward and
tapped her shoulder, in the cramped confines of the Griffon it was not a far
move. "Say again!" he yelled while tapping his ear.
"Of course she knows more
than the Princess," Ranma rolled her eyes. She then caught Sifton's gaze and paused. "Gotta
go." She switched channels on her headset.
"Our paranoid friend in
the black suit may be right," Ranma said over the local JTF2 network.
The helicopter banked as it
followed the
Ranma nodded. "Someone on
the eldritch side contacted one of our assets. It seems even the local
creepy-crawlies are against this little invasion."
"Shit." A second
later Sifton's thoughts reorganized.
"Intel?"
The demon nodded again.
"It's a summoning. "
"Wait. I'm putting us on
the general channel." Sifton switched over to where the whole team could
hear. "This is the Major. We've got a Beachhead. Repeat Beachhead. Miss
Saotome has additional info."
"Cutting it a bit close,
Sir," a voice said from one of the other helicopters.
Ranma's eyes went out at the
houses that passed below them. They were about to hit the city proper.
"Yeah, I'll cut to the chase. These two clowns broke into your facility,
rang the dinner bell, broke your jammer, and now you've got the many-angled ones
tumbling in looking for god-knows-what."
Silence stretched over the
channel.
The spike in controlled anger
hit the succubus in a heavy wave. The strong undercurrent of bloody minded
vengeance warmed her heart
"They're 'porting in
somehow. Priority is sealing the door." Sifton's
mind flashed to the list of Options Gagnon had prepared for this exact
scenario.
"Scanner results?
Corporal Green report," he then asked after keying into the channel his
Scanner crew used.
"Sir, we've got a smear,"
Lily Green said. "It hasn't resolved but.... it's shining like a
beacon."
"We're too far out.
Pattern won't get clearer until we close in. That is if it's something we
know." Ranma admitted. "But that don't matter you've already got to
have troops fighting these things."
"Sir, Ma'am,"
Lieutenant La Tour's voice cut in. "We've got contact reports on floors
six, ten, and the basement. Something's fighting our men in at least three
distinct locations. We're trying to contact the officer in charge of the
quarantine for a situation report."
"Right, we'll make
contact with the forces and bring in our heavy weapons. La Tour contact the
museum crew I need them crossing the canal now." Sifton looked to Ranma.
The dull red gem at the center of her Kevlar-sheathed chest bow bounced with
the helicopter's rough flight.
The succubus nodded.
"We've got three jamming
units. Delta and Gamma will protect our ground stations. Miss Saotome's got the
mobile model. Alpha and Beta will go with her and slam the door shut."
"I can also dump more
power into mine, boost the range but not for long," Ranma added. Her ears
tingled as the gleaming black gems of her capacitor earrings throbbed.
"Sir!" La Tour said.
"I've got a Lieutenant Borgne on the line."
"Lieutenant?" Sifton's eyes widened.
He had expected at least a
fellow Major, and that was presuming that one of the generals in the building
had not decided to command from the front.
Ranma got his glance and
shrugged.
"Put him on." The
radio channel chirped. "This is Major Sifton Joint Task Force Two. What's
the situation Borgne?"
"Bad," a man with a
Quebecois accent smoothly replied. "We've managed to scrounge up extra
ammo and find men but not fast enough."
"Right, we're ten out.
Headed straight to your location. Can you hold?"
Borgne chuckled.
"Bypassing second line, eh? Yes, we shall endure."
"Where's your CO?"
"Captain got his face
burned off... Sir," Borgne said with faux joviality. "Siboire de crisse,
those two freaks were bad enough but then... hosti de tabanaque de calisse
those fucking squids with
incendiaries started tumbling through the walls."
The officer's voice grew
distant as his attention diverted. "Ostie!
Fankie secure that door!"
Borgne's attention returned.
"Sorry Sir, but we've got a fucking alien invasion on our hands." He chuckled.
A tiny smile touched her lips;
Ranma flexed her hands. "What're you up against? You said squids? Incendiaries?"
"Yes. Like white phosphorus
grenades but mixed with some armor piercing rounds. Clusters of missiles too.
There's also rumors of something... amorphous in the basement,"
"How fast? How big? How many?" She asked looking up. To the north
smoke billowed out of the National Defense Headquarter building. She could see
little fires sparking in some of the broken windows.
"Quick."
"As bad as the
cyborg?"
"The what?"
Ranma frowned for a second.
Then shrugged. Secretly was out the window for now. Borgne was already in it up
to his neck. "The team that broke in. It was a super-powered cyborg and a
cultist assassin."
Borgne started to snort but
then made a thoughtful noise.
"Alien Invasion,
LT," Sifton reminded. "Are the squids as fast as the cyborg?"
the Albertan officer asked.
"No. We can kill them. As
for how big... I've seen Them up to the size of dogs. When the Captain went to
the Sixth Floor to find General Fochs, he reported a
big red one the size of a 'fridge. Only got two men back from that."
"No more recon, you hold
until we get there," Sifton ordered.
This time Borgne's Gallic
snort was able to fully execute. "Yes, Sir. Good idea Sir. As for how
many? A platoon or three... maybe. Hard to tell, they're just probing us. They've
definitely got a reserve force. No breakout attempt yet. Size is bad. One
patrol said they saw something fill a whole hallway, black goo
or something. Barely got out."
Ranma leaned to the side and
got a better look at the target. A chill ran through her. The column of smoke
had broken up into several distinct plumes. The streets adjacent to the Pearkes building were empty. The
The west side of the building
butted against the
A block or two beyond the
military positions, every intersection glittered with the flashing lights of
police roadblocks. In between, the roads were largely empty save for the few
cars that had been left when the perimeter went up. However the roads were
still busy with military traffic.
Ranma spotted City Hall. Just
across the canal and a bit to the south. It was within the police cordon.
Several helicopters were taking off and landing at the green parkland adjacent
to the complex.
The demoness concentrated, her
horns tingled. There was a gnawing anxiety that was like the weak spot in that
swampy field, but magnified and throbbing. They had broken through here.
The city hummed with life,
with nervous apprehension. However, inside the quarantine zone fear and panic
was welling up.
Sifton looked to Ranma.
"Miss Saotome?" In addition to a thousand yard-stare, he felt that
she looked eager, hungry.
The demoness nodded. "It
is a Beachhead Scenario. We didn't expect them to take such a high profile
location but they've hit your command structure. Dunno
how many they got, depends on how many evac'd at the
start and if the Squids are hunting anyone with stars on their shoulders."
Ranma closed her eyes. She could feel the wavering, wobbling pull of the rift.
A soft spot had torn loose in the world, and it preyed on her mind.
"Right now command structure
is gutted since we can't get in touch with any of 'em," Sifton said.
"Have we gotten anyone
else inside?" Sifton repeated. "The good LT could use some more
support."
"Plenty. People can still
call out." La Tour said, somewhat cross. "But Borgne's the biggest
group with anything more than their sidearms,"
she added.
Borgne noted the strange
woman's use of the phrase "your command," she definitely had a
foreign accent. Korean or Japanese if he had to guess. Though this was JTF2.
"Sir... Ma'am I'm just relieved someone sounds like they know what's going
on."
"Do we know what Pattern
this is?" Ranma asked.
"Yes Ma'am. Well sort
of," Corporal Lilly Green responded. "Our Wasserfall scanner's jumping up and down.
We're getting a big smear of low level readings and several higher spikes. But
it keeps fuzzing out. Worse, it can't decide between Pattern O and Pattern...
K. What the hell's a Pattern K?"
"I don't know..."
Ranma exhaled. "I didn't think that one was assigned."
Sifton noted the trepedation
in cross the demon's face. "Well Pattern O are squid monsters aren't
they?"
Regaining her composure, the
demoness nodded. "Yes. I don't think the Company's seen a live one. Mostly
from archaeological digs, preserved corpses."
"Looks like you folks
will get get plenty more to study," Sifton stated.
"Patterns? You lot know
what these things are?"
"Oh no Lieutenant, you
know far more about this enemy than us," Rama
assured.
"That is not comforting."
"We're bringing bigger guns,"
Sifton added.
"Ah there's that welcome
West Canadian spirit." Borgne's mock amusement suddenly stopped.
"Some more advice. Don't let Them take you. Whatever happens don't let
Them take you"
***************
Just north of the National Defence building was the
Pulling Mal behind her, Shest slipped through a concrete wall and stopped in front
of a parked car. She exhaled. Passing beneath the street had taken some time.
Fortunately
Mal looked around the
low-ceilinged cavernous room. Other than a few scattered vehicles, they were
alone. He looked up at a pillar. A sign declared: Level B,
Shest
straightened her shoulders. She checked to ensue she still had the core.
"Come on," she said after glancing at Mal.
The brutish man cocked his
head. He could feel the pull to the South. There was the growing hole. There
was also... She had arrived. Mal frowned. "Yes, it's definitely
time to get out of here."
After holstering his gun, Mal
shrugged his shoulders. The two ran down a row of parking spaces and around a
corner. A white panel van sat the third spot from the end in
Fishing out a set of keys, Mal
unlocked the back door. Shest followed and closed it
behind her. Once again, she checked the haversack containing the jammer core
before pulling sweater over her armored bodysuit. She pulled on a pair of
sweatpants and without looking back at Mal climbed to the front seat.
The haversack went down on the
floor between the driver's seat and the passenger seat. She sat down and turned
on the ignition. The van's engine turned over, and she put it into gear.
Mal de Veste
climbed up to the front when the van came to the parking garage's exit. Giving
a vague smile, he had slipped off his coat and tie and pulled a baggy green
boiler-suit on over his shirt and pants. His sun glasses came off and he
blinked at the dark tunnel. He slipped on a black ballcap.
The security gate to the garage's exit was still open. Though a red and white
bar was lowered across the exit lane, as expected.
Shest
glanced over. Mal had brought his briefcase and was stuffing it into a canvas
duffle bag that was loaded with various supplies. It already contained his suit
coat, tie, and the rifle he stole. He then concealed his gun amid the junk in
the open glove box. She drove up to the pay-station and slipped her ticket and
put a few dollar coins into the slot.
The white and red bar went up;
Mal nodded. Before the mission, they had made sure that the pay-station was
automated. He leaned out and looked both ways; the road in front of them was
part of an underground tunnel that ran for most of the block.
There was some traffic on
Shest
swore. "We should have gone to the Beta."
Mal shrugged. "Okay,
let's do that." Leaving the van, he grabbed his gun and duffle bag. He
went to the back and opened the doors.
Exiting the van herself, the
cyborg raised an eyebrow. "What about the vehicle?" she asked as Mall
rooted around in his duffle bag.
"Scuttle it," Mal
said as he tossed her an explosive charge.
Shest
eyed the white vehicle. Left there, it would block the exit. On fire, it would
make for an obvious distraction. It would also mark their egress point. She
swore, popped the hood, set the timer on the charge, and placed it.
Mal had already crossed the
street and stood in the shadows of the tunnel. "This way."
"Into the
roadblock?" Shest asked, as she walked down the
tunnel.
"Before that," he
pointed to an door lane to the right side just before the tunnel ended. A
painted sign said: "Deliveries Only. Restricted Access. Westin
Ottawa."
Shest
nodded, a hotel gave them options. She looked ahead, there were not just police
cars at the intersection. A couple military vehicles had also advanced to the
point.
Mal shrugged. "If they
stop us go with the cover story, if-"
"If they don't buy it go
to plan B." Shest sighed. They would not be able
to stop her, but it would delay things.
Shest
got them through the door and they went down the back corridors of the hotel.
After heading north for a hundred meters, they reached a flight of stairs.
There on the second level they found a bridge that arched over the
A small crowd had gathered on
the bridge. Most of them faced the west where they watched military vehicles
close down the various streets crossing the canal. Mal spared a glance as the
two briskly walked across. Both heard the fleet of helicopters that were flying
above them.
"They're really throwing
their all into this," Shest said.
Looking off to the West, Mal
noted a road that had been cleared of traffic. Seeing what was traveling down
the road, he gave her a bemused smile.
Shest
eyed him but held her tongue. They entered the mall. It was pandemonium as
confused shoppers and staff rushed about. Store guards talked with police. The
PA system cut in and announced that the mall was being closed and for everyone
to leave out the
"Quarantines are a lovely
thing." Mal smiled as they used a fire escape to cut ahead of the crowd
and use a side door.
Stopping to wait for an
opening in the traffic, they crossed the road and found a side lot for the
Ottawa School of Art.
A small black sedan had signs
for Umr Courier Services on either door. Shest unlocked the car and got in. Silently, she turned the
ignition and waited for Mal to stow his gun between the center console and his
seat. He looked back and up at the smoke rising from the National Defence building. The fraying, draining pull from the
building had increased.
Mal's
eyes went to the glove compartment. "Not going to call?"
"We're still in the city.
Job's not done."
He made a thoughtful grunt.
"Hell of a job."
The cyborg snorted, put the
car in gear, and started driving east. Once they hit
***************
Lieutenant Borgne tilted his
head when he heard the helicopters. Long-limbed with sharp features, the Quebecois
officer had a thin dark moustache, a hawkish nose and deep chestnut eyes. The
helicopters were much closer and in larger numbers than the last few batches of
"reinforcements". Puffing on his cigarette, he nodded to Corporal
Peck and Private Simone, the two soldiers then crossed the lobby using various
pillars as bits of cover. Furniture had been broken and scattered. Spent
casings sparkled on the tile and bunched up bits of carpeting.
He allowed a slight smile and
inhaled some acrid smoke. It was all hardly within regulations, but there was
not much time. And he supposed that some allowances could be made for the
Apocalypse.
The officer stepped around a bend and noted
the area where the wounded had been staged. It had been ten minutes since the
last ambulance run. Fortunately, they had dropped off supplies for the medics
he had dragooned.
Turning back to the elevator
bank, Borgne went to a crouch. Here the bulk of his men had taken positions.
All the elevators but one had been wedged open with chairs that had been
dragged in. The remaining elevator was held by a squad and had been sent up to
retrieve the odd group of stragglers that had missed the initial evacuation.
However, its use had all but stopped off after the Captain's failed attempt to
retrieve General Fochs.
Beyond the elevators, a
barricade had been thrown up. It was made from tables, concrete planters, stone
and metal facing from the walls and the pillars. Notably, there was nothing
flammable in the pile.
The burn marks on the walls
and the one chair still aflame were explanation enough. And yet, his men were
not behind the barricade, not directly. The splashes and splatters of dried
blood around the barricade showed the reasoning behind that. Instead the men
were further back and used the wall itself as cover.
Past the elevators, opposite
the barricade, was a set of double doors that had been wedged open. On the
other side was a set of stairs. Smoke still welled up from the steps and most
of Borgne's men kept their rifles trained on the stairs leading to the
basement. The remainder watched the ceiling, floors, and walls.
A cloying, squirming pressure
gripped his chest. "Attention!" he briskly ordered. It was different
than the prickly dread that came hand in hand with an attack of Them. If
anything it was more like the soothing warmth that came from his cigarettes.
"Sir, JTF2's here!"
Peck shouted as he and Simone ran across the lobby.
Borgne backed away from the
barricade. He turned and stood. The cigarette bobbed at his lips. That western
Major was correct. Their guns were bigger. They were definitely larger than the
5.56mm rifles his men were using.
They looked like refurbished
C2A1s that had underslung grenade launchers added.
The troopers were loaded down with boxy 7.62×51mm magazines and pouches full of
40mm grenades. Additionally, there was a couple teams with belt-fed C9 machine
guns.
Their shoulder patches gave a
twinge of familiarity: elongated red arrowheads consisted of
The weapon fired an 84 mm by
246 mm shell, nearly three and a half inches in diameter. Borgne noticed the
loader/ammunition carrier of the group. The man was doubtlessly weighted down
with the massive 3 kg shells. There was even another Gallic-looking fellow who
had the bulging satchels of a demolitions man.
It was overkill. Borgne
smiled. "Lovely, lovely! Finally someone took my calls seriously."
"Naturalment,
I'm Lieutenant La Tour. Major Sifton gives his regards," a smooth,
feminine voice replied. "MacDowell, have your team reinforce the
barricade," Lieutenant La Tour ordered. "We'll keep the quarantine
here before we move in with Saotome."
La Tour frowned at the
cigarette dangling on Borgne's lips. He sighed, pinched the end off, and
stuffed it into the vest pouch next to the pack with the rest.
He smiled and gave a Gallic
shrug to La Tour and her companion. So Apocalypse
or no, it was still a no-smoking zone,
Borgne thought to himself. "Ah.
"Ma'am." Sergeant Billy MacDowell nodded. "Jones, Bishop get the Carl into position. Rich! Get up here with your sack-of-boom. I want options in case we need to blast through these bastards."
Corporal Richard Bonhomme nodded and duck-walked over to MacDowell. He had
already taken out a folded section of blueprints and was frowning over it.
"Tahnee
get that MG up. Mind the back blast Jones!" MacDowel
added in a shout.
Borgne studied the woman who
stood next to La Tour. Her uniform was as different shade of grey-green and had
a skirt-like ring of pleated armor that hung below her vest and chest rig.
There was also a big stiff bow of some kind on her chest centered with a dull
red gem; a matching bow stuck out behind her.
The two women stood in
contrast. One had rich mocha skin while the other had an unnaturally pale
pallor. La Tour's straight glossy black hair was cut into a very short bob
while the other woman had a wild, wavy crimson mane. Bright brown eyes were
opposed to deep, deep violet ones. La Tour had a rifle, a side arm, a combat
knife, and several grenades. The other woman... simply had a massive bright
steel handgun.
Borgne's smile grew and he
extended his hand.
"It was getting quite bad
here," he said, noticing that some of his men were pulling back, having
been relieved by the JTF2 troops. "We almost felt alone. Out at the
pointy-end."
Both women looked at it and
the warm pressure spiked against his chest.
La Tour's hand darted out
taking Borgne's hand before the redhead could. "Never. We're bringing
everything we can into this." Her eyes narrowed slightly as she glanced at
her diminutive companion.
"And who might you be?
Miss Saotome I presume?" Borgne asked. She was probably the Asian woman he
had heard on the radio. Though her features were not quite right. The
bone-china white complexion was only part of it. Her jaw line was a just too
sharp and her eyes were a bit off. He kept looking away, looking to La Tour.
"Why yes," Ranma
smiled. She stepped to the side and looked to the barricade.. "Your men
have held well."
The corners of Borgne's lips
curled with amusement. Despite her diminutive size the redhead had a rich contralto
voice. He idly wondered if she sung. La Tour's own higher register would be
rather complementary, if the two were to do a duet.
Ranma sniffed the air and
glanced at La Tour. "You should detail a team to watch the wounded. Just
in case."
La Tour glared at the redhead
for half a second. The redhead briefly glanced at her then back to Borgne and
the other soldiers. La Tour exhaled and nodded. "Good idea. I'll make the
assignment."
Borgne raised an eyebrow.
"Uh, right. I'm just glad we've got some real firepower here."
Ranma tilted her head.
"Full power to the jammer but... I don't know." Her earrings flashed
and sparkled. She was reluctant to push it much further. Her shoulders slumped.
Her stomach shuddered and a headache fluttered in and out of existence. Being
this close to the "rift" was starting to get to her.
"Yeah, they're fighting it; they're still
active. I need to get closer. Hell, we might have to smash their
counter-jamming equipment." The redhead's lips separated flashing shiny,
pointed teeth.
"Quarantine
protocols," La Tour stiffly said. "Right, it couldn't be that easy to
close the door, but now they know we're here."
Pointing back to the elevators
with his rifle, Borgne raised an eyebrow. "Look at the ichor, they already
know we're here."
Ranma stepped back forward and
resumed her observing. She could see some charred and burst tentacles. They
reminded her of overcooked sausages wrapped in blackened tinfoil. Her eyes
scanned quickly but hungrily. That warm pressure flowed over Borgne again.
Borgne noted that despite the
heavy armor and boots she was light on her feet and walked with a nimble
bounce. "And what's your role here?"
"Moi?"
the redhead leaned forward. A slim hand with long, long fingers darted forward
and snaked a cigarette out of Borgne's pocket. She held it up. Flames sparked
on the tip and the cigarette caught aflame.
"I'm just a
contractor." The cigarette tumbled between her fingers and she offered the
filter end just in front of the officer's lips. She smiled warmly. "Good
work Lieutenant."
La Tour observed the exchange, and shrugged.
She tapped her radio. "Sir, we've met Borgne. He's holding. Saotome is active.
No Sir... I mean her Jammer is active. Yes, it's being opposed."
Borgne's men stopped. Corporal
Peck blinked. Getting backup from special forces troops was expected, but the
short redhead was something different.
"If it's opposed, that
probably means they know we're here," Ranma said into her headset as her
horns popped out. She flexed her neck. "Ah, much better." Her eyes
unfocused for a second as she looked down at, through, the floor between the
elevators.
La Tour swore.
Borgne stared. Aliens,
cyborgs, contractors, demons... sure why not. He turned back to the barricade.
"Break's over men. Peck! Get you ass in gear. Simone put some distance
between you and the gent with the rocket tube. Frankie snag some grenades from
these nice men if you will."
Ranma's eyes refocused and her
hands flexed. A lazy smile crossed her lips. With her horns out everything was
much clearer. She could feel the enemy, or at least sense a churning mass. It
was centered around the sucking tear that dominated the sub basement. They were
on the move.
"Yeah. They
noticed." The redhead chuckled as her tail snaked into existence. The fins
unfurled. "Someone kept a reserve force," she added in a sing-song
voice.
Sergeant MacDowell's
eyes narrowed. "Load Jones with anti-personnel zero-range, keep a HEDP on
ready! Everyone mind the back-blast!"
Ranma's tail stopped swaying
back and forth and she took a step to the side.
La Tour raised an eyebrow.
"It's a 84mm with over 3
kilos of explosives. I can respect that," Ranma's tone was sober though
her mouth was split into a broad eager smile.
For a moment La Tour wished
that she had not swapped with Lieutenant Hanna Hill. Though knowing her luck,
if she had, then that barren soft spot out in the woods would have been the
invasion site.
"Sir, expect incoming. Yes, Sir, good
luck."
Ranma rolled her shoulders and
her wings unfurled. Great purple on the outside, red on the inside membranes
grew out from special slits in the back of her uniform and armored back-plate.
"So, our military hires
demons; I did not know that," Borgne observed. "I suppose I should have
expected it."
"Not directly, I'm a
sub-contractor. The Canadians hired the-"
"Contact!" Corporal
Peck shouted. Followed a split second later by MacDowell. Writhing, matte black
tentacles appeared at the stairwell at the far side of the room. Pods of a glossy
white-grey material were clutched at the ends of several of the tentacles.
Both Canadian units opened fire.
Several of the
tentacle-creature's barrel-shaped bodies were perforated. The larger bullets of
the JTF2 members sliced right through the tentacles while the smaller rounds
the other troops were using required a cluster of shots.
Steam-like clouds came up and
an angry hiss came from the creatures. The rest opened fire. Arcing blue-white
comets raced out of their guns and slammed into the barricade and some of the
troops. The incendiary material began to splash about.
"Grenades!" La Tour
ordered, as Borgne's medics darted forward. The under-slung barrels of the JTF2
guns thumped.
As that happened, the
creatures towards the rear launched the larger pods they carried. Sparkling
clusters of rockets snaked out, lobed over to the Canadians, and exploded in a
blindingly bright shower of burning shrapnel.
Amid the explosions, there was
a tearing sound as the floors were ripped out of the elevators. More creatures
swarmed up out of them. They writhed out and right in front of the Canadian's
field of fire. Which had been drawn away from the stairwell at the end of the
elevator bank.
Ranma's eyes widened.
"Stairs!" she shouted her voice cutting through the chaos.
The doors leading to the
stairwell had been propped open, providing a choke point while adding some
visibility (and giving the enemy a bit of concealment).
Tentacles thicker than a fire
hose grabbed the door and ripped it off. A bulky rounded body the size of a
refrigerator levered its way out of the stairs. A mass of smaller barrel-shaped
creatures boiled out below it carpeting the far side of the room in the blue
with matte-black trim of their armored environmental suits. The larger creature
had thicker armor than its smaller cousins. Its armor was also matte-black and
bronze-red as instead of matte-black and dark blue.
"Hit the big one first,
I'll finish it off!" Ranma ordered as purple beams burst from her eyes and
raked across the attacking mass. Her head and heart pounded.
JTF2's machine gun crew added
to the kill-box the riflemen and grenadiers were trying to keep contained. Then
the giant creature heaved itself up and the thick-barreled weapons it clutched
opened up. A brilliant blue bloom burst across the room.
"Back!" Borgne
ordered his men as the barricade was blasted apart.
"Gustav!" MacDowell
shouted.
Jon Jones had already stepped
around the corner and the instant he planted his foot pulled the trigger. There
was a hollow metallic twang. The blast shot out the back end of the tube and
down the corridor while the shell shot out in a white blur.
The concussion echoed across
the barricade and the projectile slammed into the lead creature. The Gustav was
designed for long range anti-armor, anti-fortification and anti-personnel
roles. The high explosive anti personnel round barely went over the 20 meter
minimum arming-distance before it detonated, overwhelming the massive creature
in a conflagration.
The concussion shredded the
smaller squid-like creatures ripping them apart in a mass of tentacles and
pulped bodies. Steaming ichor splattered against broken walls and dented
elevator doors.
Jones stepped back and Bishop
was already on him, holding a new shell the size of his forearm. He lifted up
the weapon's back end, pulled out the spent shell which hit the floor with a
clang, and rammed the fresh shell in.
Gas hissed out of cracks in
the great creature's armor. Many of its tentacles had been ripped off and the
front part of its protective suit had been dented in. Still, it levered itself
up and pointed one of its great blue-silver guns at the Canadians.
"Active! Active!"
Ranma swore as she fired off a DarkStar Burst. The purple-wreathed obsidian orb
shot towards the creature. "Engaging!" the demon shouted as wings
snapped back and she jumped over the barricade.
The orb swerved in midair and
slammed into the creature's gun. Tentacles writhing, it twisted to get a better
view when the demon bounded straight at it. The thick appendages shot forward
to crush her.
Claws went out and sliced
through the armored limbs. Yellow fluid seeped out and tingled where it hit
against her fingers. She then landed on its back. Her boots braced against the
pebbled-armor while her claws sunk through and began to tear. Filaments
extended out of her tail and the appendage stabbed right through the armor.
More gas vented as she breached the armor.
A fusillade erupted from down
the room as the Canadians retook their position. The support machine gun opened
up spitting tracers across the sides of the creature below the demon. Every
fourth round in the belt was a tracer and they shot across the room in a
laser-like beam which raked further back on the creature's body and started
cutting at its tentacles.
The creature bucked but she
managed to tear a long strip of armor away before being tossed off. Mid-air,
she twisted, flared her wings, and shot another DarkStar Burst out of her hand.
The orb kinked and arced and popped right into the exposed bit where the armor
had been torn away.
Ranma landed in a mash of
broken squid-like bodies as the orb detonated. The explosion was muffled by the
creature's bulk but it flopped down to the ground with its tentacles flailing
about.
More seams appeared in the
armor and more creatures tried to scramble out. These were smaller and had
rubbery blue-green bodies and tentacles. However once exposed to the air they
started to thrash as they made high-pitched screeches.
The demoness had bounded back
and their screeches grew more intense as they tried to pull away from her.
Ranma blinked and with a flick of her claws sliced through one of the dying creatures.
Thick yellowish fluids came out and began to boil and fume in the alien
atmosphere.
Eyes flaring, the redhead
growled flicked the gunk off her claws. She sliced into the alien and flicked a
piece into her mouth. She grimaced and spit the rubbery flesh out with a hiss.
Angry, she drew her SSP and the monstrous
handgun barked as she blew the remaining three apart. The room stank of burned
gunpowder, smoldering plastic, and an ammonia and mint-like smell rising from
the alien bodies.
It was then that Ranma realized that she could hear gunfire in the distance. It was muffled and had to come from somewhere several stories and many rooms away, but it was definitely the heavier caliber guns that JTF2 had brought.
Sergeant MacDowell and
Lieutenant Borgne approached the redhead while the medics went to work on the
wounded and the uninjured troops moved forward and dispatched the few creatures
that still stirred.
"Your coming really got
them riled up," Borgne dryly noted. He glanced between the ichor
splattered demoness and the prim La Tour who had stood back and was on the
radio.
A few explosions detonated
several stories above them. The redhead smiled. "I think they felt us
coming." She tapped the gem at the center of her chest rig.
"What, the critters felt
someone futzing with their gateway and decided to put a stop to it."
"They sent something
after us they normally reserve for killing Generals."
Borgne returned from ordering
his men to drop some donated grenades down the opened elevator shafts. "I
don't know if this bastard was sent specifically to kill General Fochs but... the timing is pretty bad."
MacDowell nodded. He went over
to Jones and Bishop to talk to the about using some of the short-fuse shells
before getting got onto his headset and relaying Borgne's message up to Sifton.
"Jammer, eh?" Borgne
nodded at the wide Kevlar ribbons on Ranma's chest armor. "Little
something to keep the squids from coming in?" he asked taking a drag on
his cigarette
"I'd say it's classified
but..." Ranma shrugged her wings and kicked one of the creatures. It
bounced off her foot with a rubbery squelch.
The gunfire above them
increased. Ranma tilted her head, she could just make out the sound of breaking
windows. It was immediately followed by the burping, tearing noise of
helicopter door guns opening up.
"You guys really brought
everything."
Ranma stared at the Gallic
officer. Her gaze flicked between horror and hungry anticipation. "No...
not yet."
Borgne's cigarette slipped
from his lips.
"Saotome here. Moving the
timetable up. All teams keep pressure on the basement levels," Ranma
radioed before she turned to the JTF2 troopers. "MacDowell! I'm going
down. Get your men in gear! And shadow me on this level."
MacDowell looked at Bonhomme's map; he then looked at the demolition man's
satchel. The plan formed. He smiled. "Call the Beta team! I want their
gadget to come in, right behind Bonhomme." He
turned to the demolitions specialist. "Richard, scrounge whatever you can,
but I want you to make me a doorknocker; be creative."
Poker-faced, Bonhomme saluted and ran off. He then immediately started
pilfering ammunition and grenades.
Ranma nodded. Jammers were
designed to work on multiple dimensions; they were hardly limited to a mere
two.
***************
Sitting in its office, the
Comptroller's tentacles stilled. Weak light from the sky-spanning buttresses
and sallow silvery fields streamed through the partially-opaque shades. Sensor
cluster gaped at the projection before the Comptroller. The feed was shaky and
distorted, but a Scout Surveyor had managed to reach a window.
The Head Surveyor respectfully
bobbed next to its larger superior.
"Tell it to aim up,"
the Comptroller ordered with a quick tendril flick.
"Of course," Head
Surveyor completed transmitting a link to the Aperture Overseer. The Head normally
hated such micromanagement but this...
Some time passed and the Scout
flittered forward and lifted its camera pod. The view shifted from showing
slab-like constructs full of curiously narrow windows. It fumbled and the
camera panned wildly showing the rest of the scout team, including its Level 3
escorts. A dismembered alien quickly flashed past the screen.
But the Surveyor's and
Comptroller's attention was on the sky. Bright light streamed from a sky that
seemed aflame. High in the center was a great burning ball.
It was something that the
Comptroller only had second-hand memories of. Something in the dead past of the
Astronomers' Lore.
"They have a main sequence
star," Head Surveyor's said, tendrils hushed.
"It seems Echo-382 is
pre-Cataclysm."
The Comptroller's intensity
grew. If the Herald were to place his Heir somewhere safe...
"The Holder of
Souls?"
The Surveyor paused to wipe
its tendrils. It then moved them clearly and precisely. A lifetime had been
spend preparing for this. "Comptroller, as Head of the Pathfinder Survey
it is confirmed. My Pathfinders have breached the veils and broadcasted the
Herald's call. We found Her. The Holder of Souls, the Coverer of the Sky, She's
here," the surveyor formally stated gesturing to the display.
"The reply was
weak," the Comptroller stated. "We've been fooled before," it
added, though its words were laced with longing.
"Not like this." The
Surveyor was amused. "As you say: it is not blasphemy to be skeptical. The
Herald blessed us with minds; minds it expects us to use."
"The reply was... weak,
but it was exact. It was like the Holder was unable to reply..."
"Trapped?
Imprisoned?"
"I cannot say. We are
beyond the precipice. Something alerted us; something wore down the barriers on
their side of the wall.. So the
Holder must have allies; maybe even worshipers."
The great barrel-shaped
tentacle creature examined some recognizance reports. "I wish we could see
the horizon... see outside their city," the Comptroller absently waved at
some of the other buildings the Scout camera had captured. "We need more
information. We're going into this world blind."
The Head Surveyor gave an
amused respiration. "It is not so easy. My teams..."
The Comptroller waved in
acknowledgement. "The locals?"
The Surveyor's gesture was
noncommittal. "Strange. Tenacious. Bilateral symmetry, independently
motile. Cryptography and Chemistry are doing a workup. We'll have plenty of
samples... if they stay preserved. But..."
The Comptroller turned away
from the alien sky with its florid nuclear furnace. "But?"
"One is different." The
Head Surveyor's tendrils flailed for a moment. "It is particularly tenacious.
Moreso than the baseline locals. It also bears the
stink of the Enemy... and the Holder."
"Capture it." The
Comptroller said, annoyed.
"Of course, but... alive?"
The Comptroller paused, then
moved its tendrils in negation. "This is just basic reconnaissance. A permanent
collection outpost will come later. Preserve if you can, but I'll take a corpse
for examination if that's all we'll get."
"Understood," the
Head Surveyor replied. "Shall I deploy the Servitors?"
The Comptroller pondered once
more. Their lineage was getting harder and harder to bud fresh growths.
"Only the younger of the three. I want the rest in reserve."
The Surveyor bowed its
tendrils. "It is an honor to serve the Herald."
"The honor is mine,"
the Comptroller patted its subordinate. "Your tenacity will be
rewarded."
Neither particularly cared
when a buzzing construct crossed the sky and engaged the Scout Team. They
carried themselves well, but were ultimately destroyed. There was plenty more
in reserve. Besides the risks were minimal. Before crossing the Threshold it
was standard practice to get one's data copied.
No one ever died on a survey
mission. Not permanently anyway.
End Chapter 5
Author's Notes:
I'd like to thank the prereaders for their help in this project: J St C Patrick, DCG, Pale Wolf, Kevin Hammel, and Crimson Vixen.
Revision notes: And now we're in the meat of the battle. Or it looks that way