January 6th, 2001
Paterson
No, no, no! First the lighting failed, then the steady hammer from the southern barricade fell silent. I bark, "Go, go, go!" and fully open my stride.
The troops holding the south wall are too busy trying and failing to keep the nearly a score of dements off our machine-gunners to acknowledge our arrival. The same goes for the dements. Too bad. M60 cocked back to club I lead my depleted reserve into a headlong charge.
The first of them falls, dead or near to, with a cracked skull. The second, straddling Sgt Ross, takes the back swing full in the chest. To my right, Doc stabs again and again with her knife. On my left, Torress falls as a stray round sneaks past the barricades clutching at his gut. Damn! A snarling, barely human face, turns away from J-boy to me, only to fall as his squad mate thrusts with a bayoneted M-16. Malcolm falls as a heavy pipe leaves his lower leg flopping at the wrong angle. I step past Ross; rolling over his attacker with a knife, and thrust with all my strength. The butt of the M60 folds Malcolm's attacker at the waist. Back, overhead, and down into his exposed neck. He crumples as Malcolm tries to choke back the screams.
Reaching the barricades I slide in beside the MG loader and set the 60 into one of the abandoned fire ports. Shapes, real and imaginary, move in the smoke. This old gun isn't supposed to be used as a battering ram. With a brief prayer I chamber a round and stroke the trigger.
She fires true, bucking right to left as I walk her across the parking lot. Over the hammering of the 60, J-boy orders the able to ready grenades. "Hold fire!" Count one, two, three. "Frags out!" Damaged ears can't hear them bounce out, but I can here the shouts of alarm in the silence, the sharp explosions, and the cries of the not yet dead.
"Jay! Fall back with wounded to Bravo." I return my 60 to her port. "We'll follow ASAP." I make quick eye contact with Freeman and Smith on the 50. "Let's make some noise!"
Alphabit
The air in the generator room is chocked with concrete dust and the harsh ammonia stink of C4. Breathing into the crook of my arm I shuffle towards the wall of generators. Please, please, let it be the switch. Blink back tears. Stifle my cough. Find the controls more by feel then sight.
Yes, the master's been thrown open. There's a comforting snick as the circuit closes. The fuel line is still locked open. I prime the pump and, with a prayer to the Saint, turn it over. The generator coughs on the polluted air. For a heart seizing moment it sputters and chokes, before sparking awake. Above the lights flare and dim back to their normal levels.
Leo
Smoke and thick dust swirl behind Alpha's disappearing form as he heads off to the generators. I keep time with our new friend.
A solid boot rolls it's bulk over. Keening cries and thick blood seep from ruptures and tears across the torso. More like road-rash than sausage. Ten shells of 00 buck. It should be sausage split all open.
I "think" at it as hard as I can. Ugly, it is your unlucky day. Yellow, pain-filled eyes blink trying to focus on my. I can only hope it heard. Try anything, I will take your eyes...
One of my American comrades approaches with chains, padlocks, and a box of dusk masks from storage. Good. I grab on of the arms, be thankful it is not your hose, and drag it towards a floor to ceiling support. The lights come on as I make our guest secure. Good, very good.
Closing the door into our improvised cell I detail two of the men to guard the door. "If that door opens, regardless of what you see, shoot. If you even think that door is about to open, shoot. Understood? Good!"
Coughing, Alphabit returns. I hand him a mask, "Cover-up, comrade." Slip one over my own face hiding my grin, "There's more inside. I can feel it."
He nods while adjusting his own own to place.
"Let's find them."
Paterson
Bravo's been reenforced by Lt Sanya Belski's men from the east side. He reports they've set their traps and deadfalls before falling back. J-boy and two others are on the second floor manning the murder holes. I lay the 60 down the long hall to reception. Smith and Beebe knock together and set the 50 up facing down to ER.
Doc's shouting for supplies as she works on Torres. I need to work to close her out and focus. Sharp gunfire and muffled thuds mark the approach of our enemy. Bleed them the whole way. The first survivor staggers into view. I pick up the trigger slack.
Leonid
Mud and bare wet prints darken the falling concrete dust. I lead Alpha, Ballard, and Shriver into the maze of maintenance tunnels. The Zver and their beasts ran. We can't move as blindly. We can feel the assault gaining speed above and we're stumbling in the fucking dust.
Alpha finds the bootprint, clear as day, under the emergency lighting at the rearmost stairwell. He spits to the side, "Witch."
Da, our friend Jones, I know it. Couldn't resist, could you? Ah, Nikita said it, "We will bury you!"
Paterson
We hold them at Bravo and chop them to pieces. They can't get past, but by the sounds of our traps, they'll eventually work their way around. We're being flanked. Doc's stabilized Torress and the other wounded have been pulled up a story and back. We can move.
A stretcher team shifts Torress. Doc nestles in beside me. "Head back."
"Not letting you have all the fun!"
Right, fun. "Take the belt. Belski!"
"Da!"
"Cease fire."
We let the fire slacken and stop. A passing moment of silence, then another that stretches. In the dark and smoke a shape approaches. A muffled shout brings out another. We let them come close, just feet away, before emptying rest of the belt down the hall.
Doc, Belski, and I fall back, undisturbed.
Leonid
We find a spilled duffel with small arms and shells scattered across the landing. They were ours, captured arms, what are they doing here? Never the mind. The sound of gunfire draws us.
Third floor, riverside, by the fire escapes. We left our civilian laborers here, safe to the rear. I recognize the sharp stutter of Ed's Papasha. Alpha curses and leads at a sprint. I bite back the order to stay him. Wouldn't be obeyed and just give us away. Don't get killed.
Paterson
Back and up. The first floor is theirs.
Thursday, February 28, 2013
Sunday, February 10, 2013
100: Besieged, Day 4, part 1
Paterson, January 6th, 2000
"What the fuck are they waiting on! George, how do we get them to do something stupid?" The energy in my voice is answered by smiles from the boys. I feel fresh and ready.
George smiles, "They already are."
Leo eagerly interrupts. "Da, he gives us time to heal. Another day and we push him."
"Been making plans, Leo?"
"My friends, when do I not?" He traces routes on the map. "We can ex-filtrate a team out the north and to the east along the river. We swing around behind their positions at the sub-train yards. Come out of the dark and...."
BOOM
A shiver runs through the halls.
Alpha's first off the mark. He's out the door, rifle in hand, shouting, "Basement!"
Heavy gunfire starts up from south side.
"You wanted them to do something stupid?" George asks as he slots a magazine into his rifle.
"Rhetorical, purely rhetorical. Leo, follow Alpha." I know explosives. "That was a breaching charge, not an attempt to bring down the building. Take a fire team. He'll need reinforcements." Leo leaves at a sprint.
"George, take charge of the civvies." He frowns. "They're our responsibility. I doubt Hizzoner's men have any compassion for them."
"Right, I'll raid the armory, pull some shotguns." Damn, I should have done that earlier.
Contact reports start to flow in. South face is under heavy suppressing fire. A follow-up reports smoke to their front. East side reports light contact. Just to pin them in place Lt Belski opines. The situation is under control.
And it all changes in a moment. Outside our meeting room the last of my reserve opens fire, a eardrum wracking mad minute. Doc leans out the door to add her weight to their fire. Inside, I receive hurried contact reports from the east and south, dements to their rear. More explosions inside and outside the walls, mostly to the south.
The fire just outside dies, replaced by single spaced M-16 retorts. Doc gives me a thumbs-up. East reports situation stable. No contact with the south. Again, no contact with the south. I can still hear the fire.
I signal to Doc, get ready to move, "South!". On the tac-net I signal, "Belski, execute Uniform, repeat Uniform."
I hear his acknowledgement as I head out the door. Dements are on the inside. We'll bust through to the men on the south or avenge them. I have to trust Leo and Alpha to close the hole.
-------------------------------------------
Alphabit
I take the stairs half a flight at a time, one hand on the rail, and one on the CAWs stock. The men I pulled curse and follow as they can. It won't do any good if we get there late, and St. Patrick help me, I know I'm already late. At least one of the hose-heads is inside. I felt the touch of its evil across my scalp as I hit the stairs to the basements.
Bellows of rage meet me as I round the last landing. A handful of dements charge from the generator room. A short burst bounces shot from the floor, walls, and through them. Bellows turn to screams.
My men have my back. "Hose-head inside! Hold and cover!" Crouching, I swap magazines before duck walking down the stairs. Claws tickle against my mind. Where are you?
There's a pair of double doors into maintenance storage before you get to electrical proper. As I approach them the generator fails. In the brief flicker of darkness before the battery lights kick in a second wave of dements boils forth.
Close enough to feel, the sharp bursts of M-16 fire pass over my head. In the confined space they fall. The doors to maintenance crash open and a dark, lumpen blur slams into me, clawed hands flailing, the vest shedding under it's strike.
Pity about his cousin's leathery replacing my old inserts. The creature's claws slid away. Staggered, I push back at the beast with my CAW. My men scream at me to drop as it steps away. Instead, I set the CAW in my hip and let it have five rounds of buckshot. It drops to one knee and the CAW comes up to my shoulder. I flip the selector to semi-auto and space the rounds until it drops.
Ears ringing I shout the men forward. "Secure the intersection!" Entirely on their own, hands pluck another magazine from my webbing and slam it home. The ugly bastard on the floor keens and curls tight around itself. I shift to cover it so the shot doesn't bounce into my troops.
Leo rounds the stairs, alone, his cold blue eyes taking in the scene. "We need chains," I tell him. "It's still alive."
"What the fuck are they waiting on! George, how do we get them to do something stupid?" The energy in my voice is answered by smiles from the boys. I feel fresh and ready.
George smiles, "They already are."
Leo eagerly interrupts. "Da, he gives us time to heal. Another day and we push him."
"Been making plans, Leo?"
"My friends, when do I not?" He traces routes on the map. "We can ex-filtrate a team out the north and to the east along the river. We swing around behind their positions at the sub-train yards. Come out of the dark and...."
BOOM
A shiver runs through the halls.
Alpha's first off the mark. He's out the door, rifle in hand, shouting, "Basement!"
Heavy gunfire starts up from south side.
"You wanted them to do something stupid?" George asks as he slots a magazine into his rifle.
"Rhetorical, purely rhetorical. Leo, follow Alpha." I know explosives. "That was a breaching charge, not an attempt to bring down the building. Take a fire team. He'll need reinforcements." Leo leaves at a sprint.
"George, take charge of the civvies." He frowns. "They're our responsibility. I doubt Hizzoner's men have any compassion for them."
"Right, I'll raid the armory, pull some shotguns." Damn, I should have done that earlier.
Contact reports start to flow in. South face is under heavy suppressing fire. A follow-up reports smoke to their front. East side reports light contact. Just to pin them in place Lt Belski opines. The situation is under control.
And it all changes in a moment. Outside our meeting room the last of my reserve opens fire, a eardrum wracking mad minute. Doc leans out the door to add her weight to their fire. Inside, I receive hurried contact reports from the east and south, dements to their rear. More explosions inside and outside the walls, mostly to the south.
The fire just outside dies, replaced by single spaced M-16 retorts. Doc gives me a thumbs-up. East reports situation stable. No contact with the south. Again, no contact with the south. I can still hear the fire.
I signal to Doc, get ready to move, "South!". On the tac-net I signal, "Belski, execute Uniform, repeat Uniform."
I hear his acknowledgement as I head out the door. Dements are on the inside. We'll bust through to the men on the south or avenge them. I have to trust Leo and Alpha to close the hole.
-------------------------------------------
Alphabit
I take the stairs half a flight at a time, one hand on the rail, and one on the CAWs stock. The men I pulled curse and follow as they can. It won't do any good if we get there late, and St. Patrick help me, I know I'm already late. At least one of the hose-heads is inside. I felt the touch of its evil across my scalp as I hit the stairs to the basements.
Bellows of rage meet me as I round the last landing. A handful of dements charge from the generator room. A short burst bounces shot from the floor, walls, and through them. Bellows turn to screams.
My men have my back. "Hose-head inside! Hold and cover!" Crouching, I swap magazines before duck walking down the stairs. Claws tickle against my mind. Where are you?
There's a pair of double doors into maintenance storage before you get to electrical proper. As I approach them the generator fails. In the brief flicker of darkness before the battery lights kick in a second wave of dements boils forth.
Close enough to feel, the sharp bursts of M-16 fire pass over my head. In the confined space they fall. The doors to maintenance crash open and a dark, lumpen blur slams into me, clawed hands flailing, the vest shedding under it's strike.
Pity about his cousin's leathery replacing my old inserts. The creature's claws slid away. Staggered, I push back at the beast with my CAW. My men scream at me to drop as it steps away. Instead, I set the CAW in my hip and let it have five rounds of buckshot. It drops to one knee and the CAW comes up to my shoulder. I flip the selector to semi-auto and space the rounds until it drops.
Ears ringing I shout the men forward. "Secure the intersection!" Entirely on their own, hands pluck another magazine from my webbing and slam it home. The ugly bastard on the floor keens and curls tight around itself. I shift to cover it so the shot doesn't bounce into my troops.
Leo rounds the stairs, alone, his cold blue eyes taking in the scene. "We need chains," I tell him. "It's still alive."
Monday, February 4, 2013
099: Beseiged Day 3
January 4th, 2000
"Damn it, George, what are they waiting for?"
"They want to wear us down."
The sniping has been going back and forth for over two days now. We have some casualties, all minor, from spalling and expended rounds. They have fatalities. Unfortunately, they have many more men.
"Why don't they just rush us. They have enough to human wave us."
Leo signals with a grunt. I give him the floor.
"They don't have the conviction." He pound his fist into his palm. "You need to be dedicated, wholly dedicated, to the cause to throw yourself away like that. They may fear their commanders, but it isn't enough to convince them. I blame American individualism."
Nervous laughter fills the room.
"See, is good for something."
--------------------------------------------------------
The tower's still burning. North wind is still holding. Fire hasn't spread so far.
Wish we could make more flaming rounds, but the stocks of catalyst are very low. We had enough for two more rounds. Alpha and Sterns put together another cannon. We've got one pointing south and the second on the east side. If we find them building up troops in a building on either side then we'll try and repeat our success from yesterday.
No point in burning a building till then.
-----------------------------------------------------
I'm feeling better by the day. If that fool gives us enough time we'll be strong enough to go with Leo's plan and take the fight to them. Give me that time.
----------------------------------------------------
I take a tour of the facility. Our civilian dependents have been plenty busy. I know they have as much on the line as we do, but damn is it gratifying to see them throwing in as hard as they can. Most of them have acquired multipurpose tools for work and mayhem. God knows they've had the time to learn how to use them.
Maybe I should have George move arms up to their area. With Ed conscious and responsive now I have someone I can spare to oversee them. Need to think about it.
Morale is good. We've given much harder than we've received. The men know how they'd take the hospital. The fact that Hizzoner's bullies haven't shows how much better we are than them. We can beat them. Give me time.
---------------------------------------------------
Ones
Down in the stone roots of the world, One and another and a man-thing crawl. The image is wrong, 'man-thing' is no more a man than One, but the body is so close. One knows the blood would be as sweet. It's thoughts are shielded well. Would it feel the same as a man when One fed? Bright quicksilver fears fading into dark waters as the last of the heat left the veins. Maybe?
A cold spike of though punctures One's back. "Be-Have." Yes, man-thing, not man-prey. Two could take him, but this is not the time, not when many prey are so near.
Focusing again on their task One and another reach for the painful, bright thoughts of prey through the stones. They scuttle together, closer and closer, with the stranger stumbling behind. It cannot feel the surroundings as they do, instead it brings its own light, dull and red. They wait on it.
Hard to share thoughts with it. It's shields are strong. If they weren't it would be prey. A prickle at one's back reminds One not to think on such things.
"Hic locus est?," It mutters to itself. "Venire diu tulimus." Like unshriven it burbles nonsensically to itself. It will never be made right. It is not One's task to make it right. One tries to communicate distance; close, near, touchable, just above.
Jones sighs unhappily. Right through the ceiling. It is a long way to haul the explosives. Never mind, he will do it. Breach the floor and let the Bloodkin and their surviving shriven animals inside. Let Paterson's men focus on the enemy within. Then the one without can fall on them. Yes, a good plan.
With any luck the Bloodkin will die as well. Their hunger, so carefully hidden, is visible every time their ugly yellow eyes fall on him. He isn't food.
"Damn it, George, what are they waiting for?"
"They want to wear us down."
The sniping has been going back and forth for over two days now. We have some casualties, all minor, from spalling and expended rounds. They have fatalities. Unfortunately, they have many more men.
"Why don't they just rush us. They have enough to human wave us."
Leo signals with a grunt. I give him the floor.
"They don't have the conviction." He pound his fist into his palm. "You need to be dedicated, wholly dedicated, to the cause to throw yourself away like that. They may fear their commanders, but it isn't enough to convince them. I blame American individualism."
Nervous laughter fills the room.
"See, is good for something."
--------------------------------------------------------
The tower's still burning. North wind is still holding. Fire hasn't spread so far.
Wish we could make more flaming rounds, but the stocks of catalyst are very low. We had enough for two more rounds. Alpha and Sterns put together another cannon. We've got one pointing south and the second on the east side. If we find them building up troops in a building on either side then we'll try and repeat our success from yesterday.
No point in burning a building till then.
-----------------------------------------------------
I'm feeling better by the day. If that fool gives us enough time we'll be strong enough to go with Leo's plan and take the fight to them. Give me that time.
----------------------------------------------------
I take a tour of the facility. Our civilian dependents have been plenty busy. I know they have as much on the line as we do, but damn is it gratifying to see them throwing in as hard as they can. Most of them have acquired multipurpose tools for work and mayhem. God knows they've had the time to learn how to use them.
Maybe I should have George move arms up to their area. With Ed conscious and responsive now I have someone I can spare to oversee them. Need to think about it.
Morale is good. We've given much harder than we've received. The men know how they'd take the hospital. The fact that Hizzoner's bullies haven't shows how much better we are than them. We can beat them. Give me time.
---------------------------------------------------
Ones
Down in the stone roots of the world, One and another and a man-thing crawl. The image is wrong, 'man-thing' is no more a man than One, but the body is so close. One knows the blood would be as sweet. It's thoughts are shielded well. Would it feel the same as a man when One fed? Bright quicksilver fears fading into dark waters as the last of the heat left the veins. Maybe?
A cold spike of though punctures One's back. "Be-Have." Yes, man-thing, not man-prey. Two could take him, but this is not the time, not when many prey are so near.
Focusing again on their task One and another reach for the painful, bright thoughts of prey through the stones. They scuttle together, closer and closer, with the stranger stumbling behind. It cannot feel the surroundings as they do, instead it brings its own light, dull and red. They wait on it.
Hard to share thoughts with it. It's shields are strong. If they weren't it would be prey. A prickle at one's back reminds One not to think on such things.
"Hic locus est?," It mutters to itself. "Venire diu tulimus." Like unshriven it burbles nonsensically to itself. It will never be made right. It is not One's task to make it right. One tries to communicate distance; close, near, touchable, just above.
Jones sighs unhappily. Right through the ceiling. It is a long way to haul the explosives. Never mind, he will do it. Breach the floor and let the Bloodkin and their surviving shriven animals inside. Let Paterson's men focus on the enemy within. Then the one without can fall on them. Yes, a good plan.
With any luck the Bloodkin will die as well. Their hunger, so carefully hidden, is visible every time their ugly yellow eyes fall on him. He isn't food.
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