Strike time. In thirty different locations around the world, teams moved in. Some met with no resistance, some with a spirited fire fight. All were rapidly successful, sending their captives back, some injured, most just bewildered, through the wormhole to the Flamino under city. There to be met by their worst nightmare. An interrogation team headed by a stern and unforgiving internal security officer. Most of them broke even before drugs were used and spilled everything they knew into the eagerly waiting recorders.
None of them knew much, really. Mainly confirmation of what was already known. A few bit players to be brought in. Don Brent dispatches teams to pick them up. Two of these bit players were Family. They were quietly segregated, interrogated for any useful information, and shot. Every Family has rules that don't get broken.
The rush subsides. Waiting now on the last three locations. Wyoming, Rio and Paris. Patched through to Paris on three separate cameras, put it on the main screen. Let his people see what they have been fighting against, even if they didn't know it. They gather around, waiting to see.
And wait for the calls from Rio and Wyoming.
* * *
Pressing forward against unexpectedly fierce resistance. Don't know who owns this place, but he has some serious fire power at his command. See why the Old Man insisted on heavy armour for the entire squad and not just the tanks. It is sporadic though. Some places unprotected, one wing of the ranch heavily protected indeed.
Crackle of the radio. “Clear that wing. We have to drive them hard. Not give them time to think.”
Wave the howitzers forward. A triple crump as the three speak as one, followed a few seconds later by a crashing boom as the outer end of the wing simply disappears in a hell of expanding gases. Follow up with a couple of plasma cannon blasts, and most of the resistance is simply gone.
The Old Man is not even watching the action. As the occasional bullet ricochets off his armour, he is concentrating totally on the strange machine on his wrist. Move up along side him and triple pump at the shooter. As the shooter falls, hear the Old Man shout into his phone over the noise of the battle, “He is moving out now! Good luck, we'll secure here.” A hand gesture, recognise it of old. Set comms to wide band.
“Stop the shock tactics. Mop up the resistance without further damage, there is evidence here that is needed. Plasma, Howitzers, keep their heads down but try to avoid the buildings from now on.” Back to private channel. “Sir, should I call for forensics.?”
“Eh? Oh, yes. They are standing by, channel 87. Unarmoured, so clear the hostiles first, but get them in as fast as possible.”
What the hell is going on here?
* * *
“He is moving out now! Good luck, we'll secure here.” They all heard it.
“Typical RRF, sounds like World War four over there.” Sergei grumbles as they start to move forward. “No idea of subtlety.” Enrique moves forward with them, looking so intently at his equipment that one of the bodyguards has to guide him with a hand on his shoulder.
“Yes! Field strength peaking. He is coming here!” They reach the designated LZ and halt.
Cold smile from Sergei. “Perfect. Soon as he is definitely here, kill his Gate. It is time to see these Mister Bigs in the flesh.” Glance at Luigi. “You armed?”
“Of course.” Luigi shows a late model automatic, complete with silencer. “Have twenty full magazines with me. Don't look surprised, amico, I served in the last war too. And bullets made to upset demons will kill men if necessary, just as well as ordinary bullets.”
Nod of approval. “Lets go.”
Three men slip silently, intently, into a fortress.
* * *
Why do I always wind up with totally insane drivers? Margareta is not quite as fast as Cat, mainly because this is no gas jeep, but she is certainly trying. Electric motors screaming and the batteries glowing red hot with the forced rapid discharge as we race down the corridor to medical, swerving around pedestrians and trolleys delivering materials. The strobing lights and screaming horn give them some notice at least.
Margareta shouting orders into her communicator. Sounds like she is calling the full Guard to a state of readiness.
“Where do we need our forces, Lady?” she shouts above the noise.
Close my eyes. Concentrate. Block out the noise, the rushing wind, the panic. Try to see. Too clouded. Nothing comes. Concentrate on Luis, try to see his Sight. I see nothing, he is in too much pain and terror to respond. I'll need to touch him to find out what he sees. Final option. Relax totally against the seat. Ask the ones who send my visions directly. They are many and wise, goodness radiating from them like a benediction. An amused chuckle in my mind. “You know the rules, little one. We cannot tell you. Trust in yourself to be in the right place at the right time.” A feeling of tenderness, almost like a kiss of blessing. Not much help, as usual, but help enough.
Look at Margareta. “I do not know. But we will be where we are needed. So if you need back-up, have it come to you.”
* * *
“Smell bad.” Flash sounds totally disgusted as she daintily picks her way through the sewers. “Danger front. One run.” About two hundred metres then. Hold up my hand to halt the team.
“Flash smells the outriders of the retinue about two hundred metres ahead.” Call up the map. “Assuming the maps are right, the Eater will be in one of the chambers one hundred metres beyond that on the left.” Franco slips a sun grenade out of its loop and arms it. Everywhere is the slight shuffling of final checks being made.” I concentrate a second, reach for the rage and fear, and fade from demon sight. Again, I feel the brief touch of Ahitana's mind against mine as I fade.
Look around. All ready. Raise my hand, two fingers extended. Attack pattern two. Wickham's throat moves as he sub-vocalises instructions. We slowly move deeper into the tunnels, Flash dropping to six paces behind me.
A small pop from ahead as del Toro banishes the outrider demon. Round a bend and come face to face with a ghoul, eating what looks like a leg. Unlike most demons, ghouls have eyes. It sees me, starts to bring up its claws, and is suddenly gone in a cloud of black smoke as Hong sends it back to hell the instant before I can shear its head from its shoulders. He looks at me apologetically.
“You need to save your strength for the Eater.” he mutters over the comm. Force the rage back to a manageable level. He is right. Step over the pathetically small, partially eaten leg. Thirty metres to go. This tunnel is clear all the way to the first chamber. Narrow entrance, part of the tunnel, ancient brick at this point, looks like it has collapsed. Just room for two side by side. Slip up and peek around, eyes in full night mode. Fifteen demons. All War Lyches. They are silent, unmoving. Do demons sleep? Almost trigger the phone to ask Luigi, then remember he is busy elsewhere tonight. A large archway leading to the next chamber which is, according to the map, much bigger. Trigger my communicator.
“Fifteen War Lyches. Nearest is two metres inside the door. I am going to slip through and check the next chamber. Wedge formation at this door, sun grenade in ninety seconds please. Outwards in attack.” Slip through and quietly pick my way to the other entrance.
This chamber has two other entrances. One large, one very small. No Eater in here, I can see the gleam of its skin coming from the last of the large chambers.
Odd. Only one demon visible. A shelob, it's giant spidery shape clinging to the ceiling with all twelve legs. Look down. The floor of the chamber, worn and crumbling brick, is covered with things. Parts of bodies. Crystalline masses about the size of a double fist. Eggs. Thousands of them.
Oh, fuck. Too late to change the plan. Twenty seconds left. Rapidly pick my way across the littered chamber and take up position beside the large entrance. Two seconds. A blinding flare and terrifying screech from the first chamber as the sun grenade detonates.
Knock, knock, hellspawn.
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