Chapter Fifty-five: The Ice We Skate, is Getting Pretty Thin -
Monday, November 3, 1997: Sunnydale Parts and Salvage, Sunnydale, Early Morning 4:10am –
CRASH!
Oops. Damn. Boy was she gonna get yelled at when the real salvage people got here in the morning. This was harder than it had looked, way back when.
Damn good thing they were a ways away from the defunct office trailer. It would just really cap the weekend off for Cordelia to finish killing her idiot doofus by accidentally knocking over a stack of freaking cars onto him. Oops! Sorry honey! Woman driver, don't you know!
CRASH!
Oops. Sigh. Oh well. At least she hadn't dropped her truck, yet.
Luckily, she didn't have far to go. Old Larry-bot was still crawling determinedly and blindly along, one arm length at a time.
By the time that she realized that she was tunelessly humming the Ballad of Irving, the One Hundred and Forty-second Fastest Gun in the West, under her breath, Cordelia suspected that maybe, just possibly, she might have lost sanity somewhere along that last hairpin curve way back there. Either that, or sanity had said 'fuck this,' and bailed the hell out.
Ah well. At least she was having fun.
What the hell. When insanity beckons, it's only polite to wave back.
"He was mean and nasty right clear through, which was kinda weird, 'cause he was yellow, too." Cordelia giggled, the tip of her tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth just so, and her eyes narrowed and focused on the Larrinator.
Ok, huh. Right about here... now. Let's see, is there a parking brake on this thing? No? What kinda screwed up design is that?
Hi there, Larry! Miss me?
Let's see now... Cordelia began scanning the rows of switches, knobs, levers, and buttons. Ok, is it possible to lower this thing without releasing the magnet? Ah. Why, yes, I do believe it is.
Carefully, eyes narrowed and tongue tip stuck out of the corner of her mouth, Cordelia maneuvered the dangling truck body to right about where she thought it should be, and then raised it up as high as she thought it was safe to go. Ok, now. Where's that release lever for the – ah.
WHAM!
Dammit. Missed him. Oh well. If at first you don't succeed...
Slowly, the heavy truck body rose up into the air. This time, Cordelia stopped it about a mere seven feet up, and carefully, working the levers and sliding knobs with care, maneuvered it until she judged it was right over the crawling, now frantically hitching Larry-bot. She gave it a moment until it stopped oscillating quite as much, and then hit the winch control again.
At the top, when the heavy flattened (and now slightly more flattened) ex-F550 was hanging about ten feet from the bottom of the massive electromagnet arm, she hit the release lever again.
WHAM!
And, bingo!
A hundred and forty-one could draw faster than he, but Larry-bot was looking for number one forty-three.
He found number one forty one, instead. Sucks to be him.
Gee, Larry. I'll just bet you wish that you'd had one of these when you were going up against Grant High School's defensive line, huh? This is better than a Tonka toy.
Still humming, Cordelia watched as the now even more flatter F-550 rose all the way up, and slowed, and stopped oscillating again. Release lever, and –
WHAM!
Kewl. And one more for good luck. My good luck, natch. Larry-bot used up all of his when he tried to blow up my freaking Xander and pissed me the fuck off.
Humming, she watched the crumpled and battered truck body rise to the top of its chain again.
WHAM!
Oh-kay. Yup. Definitely better than Jesse's Tonka trucks back in second grade. Eh. Once more for extra good luck. Raise and drop, wham. Oh-kay. Now...
Carefully, Cordelia maneuvered the currently much worse for wear ex-Ford F-550 off to one side out of the way –
CRASH!
Oops. Not carefully enough, huh.
– and began playing with the controls for the crane arm and the big grab claw.
Larry-bot was looking a bit worse for wear, too. He wasn't crawling any more. Oops. Think I may have broke him.
Oh, well... "He was sittin' there twirlin' his gun around, and then butterfingers Larry done gunned himself down!" Cordelia said, snickering.
Very carefully, with a bit of start, stop, and readjustment, Cordelia began lowering the grab claw down over Terminator T101L Larry.
Monday, November 3, 1997: Circling overhead near Ballard Drive, Sunnydale, Early Morning 4:15am –
"How're we doing on fuel, Colonel Fast Mover?" Michaela said into the intercom.
«We are still currently a ways yet from hitting bingo fuel, CWO Army Puke,» Lt. Colonel Brockhurst said. «Have a bit more than half a tank left, seeing as how Sunnydale County just isn't all that big.»
"Coolness. Ah, hey, got me some outside comm chatter," Michaela said. "Let me put you on hold there, Colonel Zoomie."
Grinning, she switched the mike over, and opened the right channel. And, hey, this bird was just made out of awesome. Air Force over at Vandy had stuck all sorts of neat-o stuff into it, including police bands and even common cell phone frequency channels. More fucking commo gear than Air Force One.
All that and FLIR, LIDAR, thermal imaging, and radar too.
«Hello? Hello? You up there, CWO Sky Gal?» Chief Stein's voice came in over the channel.
"Hey there, Chief Detective Stein, sir," Michaela said. "Was starting to think we lost you. You've been just awful quiet. Over."
«Didn't want to joggle your elbow with a lot of radio chatter, Snake. And then I found that my God damned cell phone ran out of charge without me noticing. Had to plug it into my cigarette lighter back here in the car,» Stein said, sighing. Brockhurst snickered up front, and Michaela grinned at the back of his head. «Over.»
"Well, us Army types never ever have equipment problems like that, Chief, so I really am unable to sympathize, sir," Michaela said. "Over."
«Yeah, right,» Stein said. «Go pull that one on someone who didn't serve six years in the Corps, way back when. Anyway, be advised. Have had two calls waiting for me. One: we have a Rupert Giles, local, who is on the ground at Sunnydale Salvage Yards, along the beach and to your westerly, who has two wounded, both of whom you are familiar with. Over.»
"Do tell, Chief," Michaela said, her voice and her interest suddenly sharpening and her senses wired and on full alert status. "And hey, that other is because you Marines always get Army surplus before it's defunct enough to go to civilian markets. Over."
«I do believe that, and yup, do tell indeed. Secondly: owner of a custom bike shop at the edge of the Sunnydale Landfill and Dump reports a lot of heavy rifle fire and explosions coming from that area, recently. Said he figured at first it was just locals getting in some late night shooting and dynamite fishing off the beach – they do that apparently – but when the heavy equipment started up there, he called us. Over.»
"Huh. Again, do tell. And we are now inbound at speed," Michaela said. "Be advised: we are running hot, weapons live. Over."
«Figured as much, Snake,» Stein said. «I am also inbound. Be advised: Rupert Giles is requesting ambulance. I have one inbound, but since the two on the ground are supposedly seriously wounded, thought you might have an in to get a medevac in and out faster. Over.»
"Might just do at that, Chief," Michaela said. "Clear my freq, and I'll make a call or two and see what I can scare up. Over."
«Roger that. See you there, Michaela. Oh – also be advised: it is nominally just us for now. Am trying to keep this low key and on the QT. Over.»
"Roger that. Over."
While Brockhurst was bringing the bird out and then up along the beach, Michaela got a call in to Fort Halleck, and managed to get someone who hadn't mistaken the thumb up their ass for a finger on the pulse, and got a medical bird into the air.
Huh. So... Chief Stein had been a practicing Marine, once. Well, now, that just explained a lot.
Good man for a Blue Belly. Even if he had been a Jarhead in a previous life.
They had spent far too long on the ground following that little altercation with Maggie Walsh and her goons. Far too much time eaten away with making explanations and yakking away with Stein and various LEOs. Way too much time listening and watching as Stein and the Staties and SCSD sifted through widely dispersed and wildly conflicting reports, trying to sort out a solid lead from the background chatter of a town still deeply within the throes of meltdown...
More time eaten away with warming up the bird and pre-flight checks that couldn't be skipped, not by a professional.
Was fucking nice to be in the air at the gunnery joystick of a shit hot and fully loaded bird, finally, weapons live and with a definite destination and possible target –
«Holy crap, Chief Warrant Officer,» Brockhurst said, «Are you seeing what I'm seeing?»
"I do believe I am, Lieutenant Colonel Brockhurst, sir, but just in case," Michaela said, "Please to tell me what it is that you think you're seeing?"
«Hah. I think that I'm seeing a teenage girl in the control room of the ginormous frigging multi-tracked heavy mover over there,» Brockhurst said.
"Well, now. I do believe that that is just exactly what I am seeing also, sir," Michaela said, starting to grin again.
«Should we swing by and wave at the pretty lady?»
"Tsk tsk. You Air Force are all the same. Always thinking with your little heads, sir," Michaela said. "Good thing I'm along to keep you in line. Why yes, let's go by and say hi there."
The Comanche banked and slid over in a long, graceful curve toward the big mover, dropping altitude as it went.
«Good God,» Brockhurst said. «The hell is she doing?»
"Huh." Michaela said. "Dunno for sure. Lemme see if I can ask her, sir."
There had not been a response from Cheng's comm frequency for a long, long time now. After she had come to and managed to drag herself out of the downed Apache, and then had quit seeing triple briefly, she'd made one, count 'em, one radio check and contact with the Master Sergeant. Had gotten a fast and terse precis and SITREP from him over the unit comm freq, and given him hers.
Then for quite awhile after reaching the scene of the firefight, Michaela had left him strictly off the air on her end. All things being equal, considering that for some time he had apparently been and was in a running firefight with a Terminator and about half the county and state cops in SoCal, she hadn't wanted to joggle his elbow. And then she'd been busy, and then he'd been off the air, and not answering.
But...
Just for shits and giggles, Michaela keyed her mike over to the company freq, and said, "Hello, hello. Greetings, you there in the cab of the heavy mover. This is your eye in the sky in the whirly bird off your front and starboard."
«Huh? Waitaminnit. Huh?»
"Said, greetings and salutations. I am the gunner in the heavily armed helo hovering about a hundred and fifty meters in front of you and off to your right. And up about two hundred feet."
«Ok. Wait. I forgot I even grabbed this damned thing. Lemme dig it the hell out of my jacket... »
Michaela heard Brockhurst laughing his ass off up in the front over intercom, and resisted the urge to flip him the bird.
"Roger that. Am on hold. Gonna pipe me some elevator music now?"
«Oh! hey, I see you now. Uh... OK. Who the hell are you? And what the hell do you want? I'm kinda busy here.»
"I am the hell Chief Warrant Officer Michaela Reeves of the Black fucking Company, and you the hell apparently have one of our comm units. Now, who the hell are you?"
«You're the who of the what? Oh! Oh thank gods. Hey! About fucking time one of you people showed up! We thought all of you were dead, dammit!»
Michaela watched almost incredulously as the girl worked some levers and stuff, and the grab hook on the end of one of the, uh... monstrous fucking thing's arms rose up with what looked like a very small shiny and battered metal figure clutched in its metal fingers. Slowly and ponderously, it started to swing over toward one side of the auto yard, pausing briefly to slam into a stack of cars and send them toppling over.
«Oh! Crap. Dammit! I thought I learned better than that, God dammit.»
Slowly, the oscillating claw began to rise higher up. Brockhurst was starting to sound like he was gonna either choke or have an aneurism. Michaela hoped he didn't do either while he still had the bird...
"Ummm. Negatory, there, crane operator. I am NFG and barely functional, but alive and ambulatory enough to pull a trigger. Over."
Michaela could see the ambulance bird from Halleck heading in now. Which stood to reason: it just wasn't all that far away from here. Amazing, though. Based on their previous, she'd figured it'd take 'em forty minutes just to figure out how to start the rotors.
«Anyway... I am Cordelia the hell Chase, Warrant Officer ma'am.»
"That's Chief Warrant Officer ma'am, civilian."
«Oh, fucking bite my ass, bitch.»
Brockhurst started laughing so hard the front of the helo actually dipped. Goddamned zoomie.
Placing her tongue firmly in cheek with her eyes dancing merrily, Michaela said, "Ah'm a gonna let that go seeing as how you are not actually in the Company yet, Chase. We can always discuss it later. Ok, so... whatcha doing?"
The grab claw started to move again, jerkily, over to where it hung more or less over a big metal, um, crusher contraption. At least it looked like the movie's version of a car smasher, anyway.
Big enough to turn an entire semi into a cube of metal. Trailer and all.
«Well, currently I am killing me a Terminator, Chief Warrant Officer ma'am civilian suh. Duh. Since there hasn't been anyone fucking else around to do it for me, dammit. Seeing as how all you professional military types were too busy either getting blowed up or dying on me.»
"I see that now. Carry on, please. I am finding this absolutely fascinating, ma'am. Over."
The claw lowered, swinging gently, until it was just a few feet over the crusher. After the claw swung a few times, apparently while Chase was eyeballing it, it opened abruptly and the limply hanging metallic form dropped in, hit the edge somewhat, hung a moment, and then slid over and disappeared inside.
Brockhurst keyed the intercom, apparently having gotten his, ah, coughing fit under control.
«Gee, Chief Warrant Officer ma'am,» he said. «I can see now why you want to recruit her so badly. If she's like this now, I can't wait to see what she's like after she is fucking trained.»
"I'd say me neither, but I am suddenly not so certain that the Western half of the U.S.A. is capable of surviving her, Colonel, sir," Michaela said. "May have to rethink that whole plan."
Chase apparently found the right combination of levers and switches she was searching for, and the crusher began to grind itself closed. Just like in the movies and on TV.
«I have the comm,» Brockhurst said. «Miss? This is Lieutenant Colonel Brockhurst, the pilot of the aforementioned helo. Am I to understand that you have killed the hostile responsible for all of the devastation up past Ojai and points elsewhere?»
«Well, duh! No, not yet, actually.»
The crusher ground shut, and then began the process of turning whatever was inside of it into a small cube of crushed metal.
«Aiiee-wah! The bone is fucking cracked! Yes! Terminate that, motherfucker.»
«That sounded a bit like an affirmative,» Brockhurst's voice said, dryly.
«Okay, now I've killed the fucker, Mister Colonel sir,» Chase's voice came back over the frequency. «Yeah, buddy!»
"Heh. Guess that answers that, Colonel Zoomie, sir," Michaela said, snickering.
«Does seem to put a rather fine point on things, does it not, Chief Warrant Officer Leg Ape?»
Monday, November 3, 1997: Sunnydale Parts and Salvage, Sunnydale, Early Morning 4:40am –
And, my what an interesting little tableau we have down there. Chief Warrant Officer Michaela Reeves felt herself starting to settle into a slow burn. Goddamned night just wasn't gonna get easier, was it?
Well, fuck me running sideways.
"I think I see a parking space open over there, Colonel Sir," Michaela said. "What say we go down and join the party, huh?"
«Why, let's do, Chief Warrant Officer,» Brockhurst said. «I do believe that I want to meet this interesting young lady.»
"Me too, Sir," Michaela said.
Reeves put a solid lid on the impulse to track that GAU-12 over and down as they circled in for a landing and turn a few selected civilian vehicles into flaming scrap. And then sat on the lid. She was a fucking professional and a Warrant Officer of the Black Company. She did not give in to the urge to throw childish tantrums.
The fucking hell she didn't.
Goddamned good thing for some people that she had to wait for Brockhurst to get down, come over, and climb up so that he could help her up and over the edge of the cockpit so that she could climb down.
Goddamned leg. Goddamned knee. Goddamned fucking Terminator using one of their own fucking SMAWs to shoot down her fucking Apache and give her a goddamned bum knee and wrenched fucking ankle...
She really, really hoped Chase had set that damned crusher on 'slow press.'
Huh. And the rap on the noggin she'd taken during the Apache crash must've scrambled her few brain cells worse than she'd thought. Coming down, what was that tiny bright green glow zipping away down there? And those shadows... did one of 'em have a tail?
"Shoulder?" Brockhurst said.
"Naw. Just prop me upright and let go, Colonel Zoomie sir," Michaela said. "I'll make it under my own steam."
"Your leg's funeral, Chief," Brockhurst said, shaking his head.
"Don't need– "
"– Legs to run a fucking autocannon, yeah," Brockhurst said. "Heard the routine already, Reeves."
"Y'know? You're all right for a zoomie. You should really consider a change in outfits," Michaela said.
"Why, are the benefits better?"
"Well, the pay sucks and the hours suck worse," she said, "But you get to meet all sorts of interesting things and have them try to kill you. And at least the food sucks, too."
"Gee. I can hardly restrain myself from running to the recruiter's office," Brockhurst said.
Huh. Let's see... Chief Stein, with a truly epic looking sour expression on his mug. Check. Tall fortyish man in tweed with wiry hair and wire frame glasses, currently dangling from his fingers, and holding a big, big bore rifle over his shoulder by the barrel, African style. Middling tall dark haired woman, very pretty, wearing a pissed off look, and holding a really big first aid case. Check and checkeroonie.
Add to this, a pair of Army EMTs with a dark haired kid on a stretcher gurney full of tubes and wearing an oxy mask. Said Army EMTs looking half pissed off, half concerned, and half intimidated.
Yeah yeah. Three halves. Bite my shiny metal ass.
Should not check, but it was par for the fucking course on this endless fucked up night.
My oh my. Big, flattened pile of wreckage and still glowing embers over blocks showing where a huge double-wide used to be, and a peeled open former propane tank just beyond that. Cheng, Chase, and uh, Harris must've had themselves a grand old time. How come she never got invites to all the best parties? Maybe it was her perfume.
Just past the former mobile home, a huge Army Dauphin with the rotors cycling at idle, with a cross on the nose and sides, and the doors open. One stretcher gurney already loaded and strapped down, IV and tubes and stuff running down to it and another pair of Army medics working on the stretcher's occupant. Almost homey, kinda.
All that Dauphin needed was a pair of XM-214's in the door mounts and an armed Lynx buzzing irritably overhead, and this could be a Black Company S&R dust-off.
'Course, this was a Company dust-off, fucking nobody would be interfering with those EMTs and that Dauphin. Guarantee it.
Civilian ambulance off to one side, a matched set of bored and curiously looking on EMTs, paramedics, and driver standing around it or leaning against. Check.
And... and...
Dr. Director Maggie fucking Walsh with her two remaining plain clothes faux DIA agents, cut cheekbone with a nice set of butterflies over it, and a quartet of toy fucking soldiers wearing cammies and having DIA ID folders open and hung from their uniform blouse pockets under the name patches. Blank no-name patches... Oh, armed toy soldiers. Well then. That's different now.
Idly, Michaela wondered how the hell Walsh had gotten the jump on them and gotten herself an invite, and then shook it off, irritably.
Doh.
Herr Docktor Director Walsh's outfit and the faux DIA were probably monitoring commo and cell-phone frequencies. Including police and military bands, and emergency bands. Duh.
Well, of course. That was what Michaela and the probably defunct Allred did for a living, after all. Doh, again.
Hrrm. One of the suited DIA goons had what looked to be a heavy barreled express rifle slung over one shoulder, and a big single action stuck in his belt. Now, where had Michaela seen a rifle like that, and recently, too... couldn't quite place it...
And Cordelia the hell Chase, wearing black leather jeans, stylish hiking boots, a grungy and somewhat worse for wear once white Mountain tee, and an also somewhat grungy and worse for wear dark gray suede jacket. With a length of folded and bloody woodland camo cloth wrapped around her upper right thigh –
Kinda of a familiar looking pattern of woodland camo...
Oh. And her arms pulled back behind her back and one of the DIA goon agents holding her left arm and giving Michaela a dirty look past the ginormous bruise on his temple and upper cheekbone. Fuck 'im.
Oh yeah. And, just for shits and giggles, add in a second unmarked with a dome light and a California fucking Ranger and a tall blonde gal with a CBI badge folder hanging over her belt buckle to the mix.
Oh, and one, count 'em, one Chief Warrant Officer Michaela Reeves with an LAR Grizzly in a tanker shoulder holster under her flight jacket, a .325 Winchester Short Magnum AR-10 on a battle sling over her shoulder, and an Al Mar SERE in her left boot. And an empty thigh holster where her Para-ordnance used to be. Lt. Col. Brockhurst had an M9 in a milspec holster. And Chief Stein had a really nice looking satin nickle SIG under his jacket.
Yeppers, this had all the makings of a truly nice little clusterfuck just a waiting for an excuse to go all FUBAR on everyone.
There was a brief distraction at the entrance of the Salvage Yard front parking lot as a big civilian SUV came slowly up the drive with a crunch of tires on gravel, and one of the uniformed goons ran out in front of it yelling and gesticulating angrily. Michaela slowed and then limped to a halt with Brockhurst next to her, watching curiously.
The SUV lurched to a halt and the uniformed DIA goon stuck his face in the window, still yelling. The yelling cut off and he yanked his head out twice as fast. A dark hand appeared in the open window where it had apparently shoved him out via his nose, along with a very angry and very female voice apparently attached to it. Michaela was pretty certain she caught a silvery flash that just might be a large revolver inside the window...
"Hey! Motherfucker! Don't you even grab at me, goddammit," the voice yelled. "I don't care what fucking uniform or badge you're wearing, asshole. Fucking PRESS, dammit! Ever hear of the First fucking Amendment? And the Second? Let us the fuck through!"
A tall and skinny looking youngish man with a huge video camera popped up out of the sunroof like a Jack in the Box and started panning across everything in sight.
Michaela snickered, getting the first glint of real humor she'd seen since they'd come in over this cluster fuck down here.
"Hey! Stand down and let them the hell through, damn it!" Stein yelled, turning toward the tableau with his badge in one hand. "I mean NOW!"
One of the plain clothes DIA goons stepped forward, saying something, and Stein rounded on him angrily. "I said, let them the fuck through. Or are you hard of hearing as well as stupid? In my goddamned town we do not manhandle the Fourth fucking Estate, got me?"
Reeves and Brockhurst came up alongside Chief Stein and pulled up facing Chase, Walsh, and Walsh's little band of groupies. "Problem, Chief?" Michaela said, her voice mild and her expression guileless in stark contrast to the hand caressing the pistol grip of her battle rifle.
"Naw, Sky Chief," Stein said, looking as sour as his voice. "Just a little jurisdictional pissing contest. Which is now over," he added, glaring at the plainclothes goon.
Plainclothes Goon looked to the Esteemed Doctor Walsh and got a shrug and a nod, along with a pained expression. He turned, whistled loudly, and waved the uniform off and away from the vehicle. The SUV began pulling in farther into the lot, the guy on top still filming away.
Turning back to the matter at hand, Michaela nodded to Chase and winked at her, getting a huge bright smile in response, along with a seriously pissed off sidelong look at the two agents on either side of her.
Michaela plastered a great big wide and cheerful grin across her mug and drawled, "So. Hi there, Chief. Who're the two civvies? Um... why isn't my kid there already loaded on that there care flight whirly bird; why isn't that whirly bird presumably with my Master fucking Sergeant on it already in the fucking air; and um, why is my person of interest in fucking handcuffs over thar?"
Gee, the bright cheerful grin slipped a bit suddenly on that last, but oh well. Fuck it.
Maggie fucking walking dead woman Walsh gave Michaela a malevolent smile and said, "Do please inform the young lady of the changing circumstances, Chief."
Interim Chief Paul Stein shot Walsh a dark look, rubbed the back of his neck tiredly, and said, "Well, now. Sorry Sky Gal, but apparently Director Walsh has a Federal Warrant for Miss Chase, fresh off the fax machine in her Mercedes, and we seem to be having a slight jurisdictional dispute as to whether or not one Alexander Harris is or is not included in the warrant."
"Ah. I see." Chief Warrant Officer Michaela Reeves nodded slowly. "Uh huh. Well, gee now. That do seem to be a bit of a problem thar, huh?"
Dimly, she registered Chase's eyes widening slightly, and heard her Zoomie Colonel mutter "uh oh," under his breath.
Well, she did say that her South Texas always tended to come out when she was done gone fully on the prod. Or about to.
"Ah see. Well, now. Let me just fix that there little problem for you right fucking now."
And then all of a sudden the two Army medics were turning all pale and scrambling to hastily pull their gurney out of the line of fire, and that California Ranger's eyes were widening, and Walsh's two remaining upright DIA agents were turning kinda white and reaching and one of 'em was doing his level best to hide behind fucking Chase, not like that was gonna help 'im, and Walsh was turning pale and stumbling back because Michaela's palm was no longer just caressing the pistol grip of her AR-10, it was –
– And all of a sudden fucking Brockhurst had both goddamned hands clamped down on Michaela's right wrist and fucking upper arm, hanging on with all of his strength. And Chief Stein was once again proving that there was a bit of upper body there above that incipient paunch, because he had a hold of the damned gimpy left arm that was doing its best to eel under her flight jacket and find the grips of her LAR.
And, naturally, both of them were yelling at her, sounding kind of panicky even over Brockhurst's naturally commanding kind of tones. And there was a growling sound coming from somewhere indeterminate, and Michaela all of a sudden realized it was coming from way down deep in her chest...
"Let me fucking go goddammit," Michaela ground out, her eyes riveted to DIA goon number one who had a forty cal M9 out and looking like he wasn't quite sure where to aim it.
Just shoot yourself in the head, son. It'll save time.
"No, Chief Warrant Officer," Colonel Brockhurst said, "No, goddammit."
"Oh, come on. Let me go – I just wanna shoot the bitch in the head a little," Michaela said. "Won't hardly hurt, there just aren't any vital fucking organs up there."
"No, Reeves, no," Stein said, "Not the time, not the place, stand down please Chief."
Chase turned her head slightly, saw the expression on Walsh's face, and started laughing fit to bust, and everything damned near broke all sideways again, because the DIA goon on her right, Michaela's left, raised his M9 and pistol whipped her a nice one across the cheekbone. "Shut the fuck up, bitch," he said.
Ranger guy and CIB gal both uncoiled from their leans and yelled "Hey!" at almost the same time.
There was that growling noise again. Someone really outta do something about that attack dog...
Like let slip its fucking leash.
"Let. Me. Go. Now. Goddammit."
"No, Chief Warrant Officer," Colonel Brockhurst said, "No. There are fucking civilians and goddamned press in the line of fire here, Chief. Stand down. Stand it down now."
"He's right goddammit, Michaela," Stein was saying. "Shoot her all you want on your time. Please don't start a firefight on my time with my citizens in the way. Please."
"Goddammit. Just god damn it all to fucking hell."
Sighing raggedly, Michaela ceased struggling against the two bigger men. No point, anyway.
Chief Warrant Officer Michaela Reeves might be hell on wheels at CQC, deadly with an automatic rifle, and possibly second only to Lieutenant Keisha Barkley with a handgun, but God damn it. She was still a five foot eight inch and one hundred and thirty five pound combat effective. And Chief Stein and Brockhurst were both over six foot and probably had about four hundred plus pounds split between them. Size, strength, reach, and mass matter, god damn it.
Especially when you really don't particularly want to cripple, kill, or maim either of the two people trying to hold you. Hell, Reeves kinda liked Stein. And her Zoomie Colonel was kinda starting to grow on her.
Mister Ranger Californicus was arguing with a pair of the uniformed DIA people, along with Miss CBI.
"All right. I am stood fucking down now, sirs," Michaela said. She drew in a deep, ragged breath, let it out just as slowly and raggedly, and drew in another and let it out. Let it flow. "I am. Really. You can let go now."
Check to the Chief Warrant Officer with the hazel eyes and the stupid expression.
Stein and Colonel Brockhurst both gave her dubious looks that she felt more than saw, because her eyes were still riveted on DIA goon numbah one, Mister Pistol Whipper.
Sighing heavily, both of them loosened their grips slightly, and when she didn't immediately go back on the prod, a bit more, and finally let go and stepped away.
Straightening, Michaela nodded once, short and sharp. "Right then," she said. She took in another slow, deep breath, and let it out. "Right, then," she repeated.
"Better?" Stein said.
"No. But I'll do until better comes along," Michaela said. She wrenched her gaze from Mister Pistol Whipper, not before spitting once at the ground in his direction, and locked it onto Walsh's eyes. "Know this. You are dead. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but at some point, you will look into cross-hairs and see my eyes behind them. Count on it."
Walsh had apparently managed to scrape up her composure again, for while her goons shifted uneasily, she just smirked and said, "I don't think so, uh, Chief, is it? You'll find there's been some developments in your way on that. Check with your superior officers about this."
"I don't have superiors," Michaela said, almost reflexively. "I have commanding officers."
"Ah. Is that what the problem is?" she heard Brockhurst say, soto voce. Michaela threw him a sidelong look and a lopsided grin.
"Well, whichever it is, your commanders have had some home truths spoken to them," Walsh said, "By some people who are very interested in what I am accomplishing here. Do check on that."
"You can rest assured that I will, Doctor Director," Michaela said.
"Good. Well, then... " Walsh said, turning away and toward the Army EMTs. "If you gentlemen would – "
"Excuse me, please," Mister Ranger said. "May I see that warrant? First?" It was phrased as a request, but it really wasn't... good. 'Bout time they got off their fucking car.
Walsh sighed, and walked over to him, taking a folded sheet of paper out of her inside jacket pocket. "I'm quite certain you'll find it all in order here."
"I'm sure," Mr. Ranger drawled. He read it over carefully with Miss CBI looking over his shoulder.
"Would you guys mind actually, oh, gee, I dunno, getting my fucking boyfriend to the fucking hospital before he goddamned dies on us? Maybe?" Chase said, rolling her eyes.
Mister Pistol Whipper started to raise his M9 again, and Stein said, "Ah!" raising his left index finger. "Don't do that." Somewhere and somehow, Stein's big nickle SIG had found its way into his right hand.
"I'm seconding that," Mr. Ranger said. "Unless you want to find yourself cooling your heels in a California holding cell while our superiors sort this out." He scanned the document a second or so more... "Ok," he said. "This is Cordelia D. Chase here, is it?"
"Yes," Walsh said. "That is correct."
"And this," he motioned toward the gurney, "Would be the Alexander Harris that Interim Police Chief Stein mentioned?"
"Yes," Walsh said again, nodding.
"Then I'm not seeing the problem here. Miss Chase is clearly identified on the warrant," Mr. Ranger said. "However, I am seeing exactly zero mention of any Alexander Harris by name here."
"My thoughts exactly," Stein said, nodding.
"But- but, wait," Walsh said, her eyes narrowing. "That warrant clearly states that – "
"It stated when I read it," Stein said, "That it is for Cordelia D. Chase, for custody for involuntary psychiatric evaluation pending a declaration of competency and legal disposition. And any and all persons in her association, along with any... unusual artifacts in her vicinity. I can assure you, with witnesses, that Mr. Harris and the other gentleman were nowhere within her vicinity nor in her association when I arrived."
"That's completely ridiculous," Walsh said, drawing herself up and glaring at him.
"Nope. It means that as Alexander Harris is in Sunnydale City Limits as a person of interest," Stein said, "He is in my jurisdiction and custody, until me and the Staties here can sort things out."
"Not for long," Michaela said.
"I can assure you that – "
"Pardon me, Director," Lieutenant Colonel Brockhurst said, looking at the Ranger for his answer. "But, is this correct?"
"Definitely seems that way to me, sir," Mr. California Ranger said. "Could be interpreted loosely, but at the moment, I'm inclined to be lawyer literal – "
"Well then," Brockhurst straightened and looked at the Army Medics. "Get that man loaded on that helo, and get both of those men to the ER forthwith. Meaning, now."
Both Medics glanced over at Walsh and the decidedly unhappy looking uniformed toy soldiers and DIA agents.
"You can't simply – "
"Don't bother looking at Director Walsh. Both of you are military personnel," Brockhurst said, "And as ranking military officer here, I just gave you a direct order. I expect it to be obeyed, promptly. Is that understood."
"Sir! Yes, sir!" Both medics suddenly got very busy moving the gurney toward the Dauphin, post haste.
"Oh, thank gods someone finally pulled their head out of their ass," Chase said. "Thank you, uh, Colonel?"
"Ma'am," Brockhurst said. "Lieutenant Colonel William Brockhurst, ma'am."
Chase beamed at him, nodding. "We met recently over a comm frequency. In a manner of speaking."
"Now see here, Colonel Brockhurst," Walsh said. "You cannot just come in here and order my subjects taken off to a civilian facility – "
"I think I just did," Brockhurst said, mildly, "So I'm pretty sure I can. In fact, this silver leaf here says I can order around any military personnel I please up to the rank of Full Bird, well, with the possible exception of my Chief Warrant here."
"Oh, so I'm your Chief Warrant Officer now, huh?" Michaela said.
"I've adopted you. You'll just have to live with it."
The tweed dressed civilian with the wiry hair and glasses wandered over, and cleared his throat. "Um, Chief Stein?" he said, "Am I correct in understanding that Cordelia here is to be remaining in the custody of, um, the good Dr. Walsh?" He glanced over, smiling, and added, "And, hello again, Cordelia."
"Hey, Giles," Cordelia said, returning the smile with interest. "I'd offer you some tea, but... " she shrugged and indicated her bound hands.
"Oh, that is quite all right, dear," the presumed Giles said. "Don't trouble yourself."
Sighing, Stein said, "I'm afraid so, Dr. Giles. Her warrant is in order, and it is signed by both a Federal Judge and a California Supreme Court judge. It's only the fact that the wording is a bit less than specific that means that Harris isn't in her custody as well, right now." He looked over and said, shrugging, "I'm really sorry, Cordelia. There's nothing I can do right now."
"And that last will change very soon, Chief Stein," Walsh said. "Just as soon as I can speak to my superiors and those judges again."
"Over my bleeding and defunct corpse," Michaela said.
The Army Dauphin got its rotors up to speed and began lifting off in the large back compound of the salvage yard.
"That can be arranged," one of the uniformed supposed DIA people said, giving her a hard look.
"Any time, Tin Soldier," Michaela said, smiling. "Any place."
"Down, Fido," Brockhurst murmured, soto voce.
"Well, in the meantime," Stein said, "He's mine. Suggest you be happy with what you've got."
"That's ok, Paul," Cordelia said, her chin up. "I know you're doing your best. And besides, hey – I killed a Terminator. Bitch Walsh here just isn't going to be any problem at all."
She gasped and jerked her head around to glare at the DIA guy on her left arm as he twisted it and said, "Watch your mouth."
Enough of that shit.
Somehow, Michaela found her AR-10 at her shoulder, with the post of the sight over scope centered in the ghost ring and the bridge of Walsh's nose just above it. "Belay that now and forever, or the bridge of Director Walsh's nose is just gonna be all over the back of her skull." Her lips peeled back in that thing that wasn't a smile, and she added, "Come on. Just one more gasp out of Miss Chase. Just one."
"Knew we shouldn't have let her go," Brockhurst said, sighing. He had his own M9 in his hand, not really aimed at anyone.
Stein had never put his SIG away, apparently. "Or else shoulda clapped her in irons."
"And a choke collar and muzzle," Brockhurst said.
"Hrrm. I'd suggest we all stand down, gentlemen," Mr. Ranger said. "Seeing as how we seem to have a Mexican standoff going here." Interestingly, he had a SIG out as well.
"Naw," Michaela said. "A Mexican standoff is when the bad guys are certain that you care whether you and everyone else around gets killed while you are making them dead. Walsh's toy troops are under no such misapprehensions about the Black Company. Not any more."
"You know? I really like her," Chase said, to no one in particular. No gasp of pain, this time. Good. Gee, they are trainable.
"I stand corrected," Mr. Ranger said, dryly. "So, what's it gonna be, Director Walsh? You want to order your people to treat your prisoner with kid gloves from here on in? Or do we have a bloodbath that no one walks away from?"
"You mean you're just going to stand by and allow this... soldier to threaten Federal personnel?" Walsh said, sounding incredulous.
"Hell no," Mr. Ranger said. "I'm going to help her. Don't know about this Black Company, but I can tell you that we have the same slogan our Texas counterparts do."
"One riot, one Ranger," Michaela said. "Make up your mind, Doc. My finger is beginning to itch."
Walsh paled under her sights, and she stepped back, raising her hands palms outward. "All right. Jennings. Durgan. Treat the subject with respect. That's an order." She cast a sidelong glance toward the SUV and camera, and repeated it. "We don't need any of that kind of unprofessional behavior."
"Good enough, for now," Michaela said. Her left arm was starting to throb, anyway. She brought the rifle offline and down to port arms ready, and gave Chase a crisp nod.
Heh. Interesting. That Giles character had that big express rifle at port ready also, and no longer looked quite as diffident and scholarly as he had before, somehow...
"All right, for now, Trooper," Mr. Pistol Whipper said, nodding. "Now, you want to move that chopper so that we can take our subject out of here?"
"Oh, I'll move that chopper all right," Michaela growled...
"No!" Stein said, shaking his head. "Really don't think we want you flying a snake with a two-five mike mike and a full missile load right now, Sky Gal."
"I will move the helo," Brockhurst said, mildly. He holstered his M9, and then demonstrated that he too could do that lips peeled back not a grin thing as well. "Do keep in mind though that that puts me with my hands on the stick of a fully armed Comanche with a full rack of Hellfires and twenty-four rockets internal. You guys all behave down here, you hear?"
While he was heading to the Comanche to lift it, Michaela sighed and glanced around, before locking eyes with Chase. She nodded, and said, "All right. This round to the bad guys. For now."
"Yeah, well, that happens sometimes," Chase said, flipping her hair and shaking her bangs from her eyes. "Keep my Xander safe, uh, Chief Warrant Officer is it? And my Master Sergeant. I'm going to want them back at some point."
Michaela nodded. "You have my word. Nothing and nobody gets past, through, or around me."
"Don't give a word you can't keep, Chief Warrant Officer," Director Walsh said. Director of what, exactly, hm?
Michaela made a note to find out. She found herself suddenly extraordinarily interested in just precisely what exactly the 'Defense Intelligence Initiate' was, and downright fascinated by the questions of what it did, exactly, and what and who it got its remit from and from whence its authority was derived. Gonna have to make a special project out of digging deep and finding that out.
And then see to putting a slight crimp into its activities and a minor dent in its personnel roster.
Permanently.
"Suggest you don't try me," Michaela said, meeting Walsh's eyes calmly and evenly.
Brockhurst got the bird up to speed and began lifting it. Michaela sighed as the two DIA suits began to move Chase toward the parked cars on the other side of the front lot. Something nagged at her...
"Oh, by the way," she said. "Where did that big bolt action there come from?"
"Ah." Mr. Giles removed his glasses, beginning to polish them. "That was Cordelia's, I'm afraid. They took it from her when she came running up after... "
"Ah." Michaela whistled, and the little group stopped. "The express rifle," she said. "Unsling it – slowly – and lay it on the ground and step away. It stays. The big single action, too, as I seriously doubt that that is DIA issue."
"My warrant says that any and all effects with Chase are ours," Walsh said, turning.
"Not what I heard. It said: any unusual artifacts in her vicinity. That's a fucking rifle. It ain't all that unusual," Michaela said. "It stays with me."
"You heard the Director, soldier," the DIA goon with the rifle said.
Michaela sighed. "Let's not do this again, guys, I'm tired, so just FODA and deal," she said. "Lemme just ask you: how many did Barkie and Allred leave alive in your little toy soldier box before they went down?"
Purely fucking amazing how fast that express rifle and the sixgun got laid down on the parking lot.
See? Kill enough of them, and even toy soldiers and DIA goons are teachable...
"Oh! Chief?" Cordelia said, "Make sure someone takes our Land Rover away from here and keeps it safe?"
"We will, Cordelia," the dark haired female civvie said, nodding.
"Good." They began hustling her toward the Mercedes and the Humvee over there again.
"Director Walsh," Mr. Ranger said.
Walsh stopped and turned to face them again, impatience and 'what now?' stamped into every line of her being. "Yes?"
"Do keep in mind: you are going to be required to produce Miss Chase on request," the Ranger said. "Make absolutely certain that she is uninjured when that request is made, and that she does not vanish into some unknown facility."
Walsh gave him a frozen looking nod, glancing almost imperceptibly toward the camera again, and turned back to follow her people to their vehicles.
"Am kinda glad you dropped in, Michaela," Chief Stein said, his voice mild. "I was starting to feel a bit outnumbered here."
"I don't doubt it, Chief." Michaela made careful note of the big military six by six parked nearby, its markings – or lack thereof – and the two uniforms peeling off to it. Pulling down her mike, she said into it, "Bring that bird back down, please, soonest, Colonel Zoomie sir. And get me to that hospital post haste and forthwith, please. I do not want any chance of that bitch getting her hands on Harris."
"You seem to have quite a way with words, uh, Miss... " Giles said. His female civvie companion came over and took him by the arm.
"It's a knack," Michaela said, walking over and picking up the rifle and handgun. Griffin & Howe .416 Rigby and a Freedom Arms Cashull. Nice. "And it's Chief Warrant Officer Michaela Reeves of the Black Company, not Miss. Pleased ta meetcha. You can call me Michaela, sir."
She saw Giles' eyes widen on the unit name, and wondered about that.
"I'm afraid that that rifle, and the other one are evidence, Chief Warrant Officer," the Ranger said.
"All due respect, but, fuck your evidence, Ranger," Michaela said. "If that one Mr. Giles has is part of the package, then it stays with me as well. Chase and Harris are gonna want them back."
"Umm... " the Ranger and the CBI girl looked over at Stein, who shrugged.
"I am gonna get me an Air Force Comanche just like that one," Michaela said, her eyes following the Mercedes as it turned into the driveway, "And I am gonna strafe that bitch. And then I'm gonna rubble her little toy soldier box. And then I'm gonna fill it with napalm while her little toy troopers are still inside. Count on it."
"But not today," Giles said, sighing.
"No. Not today," Michaela agreed. "And yeah, it's a knack, and I am sorry. I'm generally much easier to get along with, believe me."
"Believe me, Chief, uh, Warrant Officer? You have nothing to apologize to me for, I assure you," Giles said. English accent, received pronunciation. Interesting. "I greatly appreciate your efforts on the behalf of Miss Chase and Xander, no matter how unorthodox others might view those efforts as being."
Michaela nodded. "Heh. Unorthodox appears to be my middle name tonight. All I can say is: right now, I am the only effective of my entire unit left here on the ground upright and ambulatory. And I am exhausted, injured, and damned near NFG. And I am not playing any more. Sooner people get that through their pointy little heads, then the soonest we can all start getting along just wonderfully."
"Getting along wonderfully on your terms, of course, you mean," Miss CBI said.
Michaela looked at her and sighed. "Miss California. Let me make something abundantly fucking clear here. I landed in this hell hole of a fucking town with eleven other highly trained and very fucking competent people. And now we have eight dead on the ground, count 'em, eight, and three badly wounded, plus one badly wounded associated civilian. And two people of interest to me are down and wounded and one of them is in enemy fucking hands as far as I am concerned. And on top of all that, as if that wasn't fucking enough, we have another hostile loose on the ground here that is every single bit as fucking dangerous as the one that Miss Chase, Harris, and Master Sergeant Cheng took down apparently with those express rifles, a car crusher, and a lot of ingenuity."
Michaela's lips peeled away from her teeth again, and she found Miss CBI's eyes widening before her gaze, "So, again, please allow me to be abundantly fucking clear, Miss California Bureau of Fucking Investigation and Mr. California fucking Ranger sir, until I am ordered to stand down, and cease and fucking desist by my commanding officer, then my fucking terms are the only ones that matter. And seeing as how that commander is one of the wounded and NFG right now, you are just a gonna have to wrap your pointy little heads around that and fucking deal. Get me? Good. And if not? Well, BOHICA baby. Be optimistically happy, it's Christmas again."
Michaela gradually became aware that she had stalked up to where she was nose to chin with the taller woman, looking slightly up into her blue eyes, and Miss CBI was backing away as fast as she was boring in, looking a bit pale. Michaela snorted, spun on her heel, and headed back to Stein and Giles and his gal, and fuck what that did to her ankle.
Fuck 'em. She was a combat effective, not a diplomat. Command wanted someone to play nice with authority, they shoulda sent in public fucking relations.
"Base, Chief Warrant?" Stein said, carefully ignoring the whole thing. "So, just what kind of a base is Call-me-Maggie Walsh running in my town, anyway?"
"I'm kind of curious about that myself, now that it's been mentioned," another voice said. The speaker was a tall, slender, dark haired man in his possibly early thirties wearing slacks and a worn leather jacket. There was an attractive looking late twenty-ish black woman with him that Michaela recognized as the face behind the big silvery revolver in the SUV's passenger window.
She also recognized them from earlier, from the cluster fuck at the Summers home, but she hadn't had time to catch their names there or get formal or even informal introductions. Not in the midst of all of the tumultuousness and disarray of the confrontation with the local cops and deputies.
Michaela sighed tiredly, and held up a hand. "My apologies, but... no fucking comment."
The black woman laughed, tossing her head, and the dark haired guy grinned at her, looking cheerfully unoffended. "Believe me, ma'am. This is just for our curiosity – not for public consumption at the moment."
"Yup," the black woman nodded, adding, "Completely off the record for now."
"Good. And understood, with the 'for now' implying that there's a 'for later'," Michaela said. "So still, no comment, Miss... ?"
"Perry White, L.A. Beacon," the woman said, "And no problem."
"And the lanky galoot with her is Kolchak, same paper," Stein put in. "They are more or less allies for the moment."
The dark haired reporter nodded, also smiling, and turned toward the SUV. He held up a hand, palm out and made a throat cutting gesture, and then pointed outward and swept his pointing finger across the rest of the scene away from them. The cameraman nodded vigorously and started filming activities around the rest of the area.
"Gotta say," Michaela said, watching him, "Ya'll are awfully accommodating for members of the Press. Unusually so." Kolchak... something about that name...
Kolchak grinned at her, shrugging. "We have an arrangement with the Interim Chief here. Right now, we're just gathering footage and data, regardless of whether it goes out or not. And for now, nothing is going out for vetting and broadcast until we've had a chance to go over it in detail with Chief Paul."
The woman, Perry, nodded and winked at Michaela. She then turned slightly with narrowing eyes and a suddenly serious expression, gazing after the vanished Mercedes. "Let's just say that we understand that this is an unusual town and a very unusual situation. We're interested in getting to the truth, but we're not interested in crucifying anyone that doesn't need it – nor in becoming laughing stocks in our profession."
"Good attitude. I approve," Michaela said. Her eyes narrowed suddenly, and she snapped her fingers. "Kolchak? Carl, I.N.S., and Las Vegas and Seattle before that. But I kinda figured you'd be a lot older – 1972 and Janos Skorzeny was a long time back."
"My father," Kolchak said, giving her an impressed look, "Not me. I don't use the 'Carl Junior' as my professional pen name. And I am honestly amazed that you've heard of that incident – the Las Vegas authorities were thorough with their coverup."
Michaela grinned at him, relaxing slightly – but not to the point of trusting him. Press, after all. "My outfit has pretty good sources. And Carl Kolchak, Monster Hunter had a bit of a rep in some circles."
"And that outfit would be... ?" Perry asked, giving both Michaela and her companion a curious look.
"Classified," Michaela said, smiling. "Now I remember the names from the footage of the so-called monster fight from Friday night as well." Shrugging slightly, one armed, she jerked her head toward Kolchak and added, "Have your partner ask his old man about a group called Spectre Ops, and then both of you come talk to me."
Kolchak frowned, looking thoughtful. "I'll do that. Should be an interesting conversation," he said.
"I'd still like to know the answer to my question, Sky Gal," Stein said, mildly. Mr. Giles nodded next to him.
"As would I," Giles said.
"We are gonna have to talk, Chief Stein," Michaela said, smiling. "At least up to the point where my commanders rein me in and tell me no more information sharing, of course." She shook her head, adding, "But not now. I need to get to the hospital ahead of the Not-so-good Doctor Walsh and company."
"Ah, quite," Mr. Giles said, looking a bit abashed. "Certainly."
"Perhaps you should get your injuries looked at while you are there, Chief," the woman with Giles said. Definitely apparent it was a with, now.
"Fuck it, I'm busy," Michaela said. "Injuries won't stop me from running an autocannon or a battle rifle, anyway. Chief Stein? If you would please, gather up the military hardware around and take it under your wing. It is company property."
Stein nodded, glancing to where the Comanche was coming back in over the parking lot. "Not a problem, Michaela."
Accepting the other express rifle from Mr. Giles, she turned and headed over to where Lt. Col. Zoomie was settling the Comanche down, not allowing herself to limp or favor her right leg.
Thus Endeth the Second Book of the Cordelia Chase Cronicles -
The Hell-er-Nator: Ghosting the Machine
(To be continued in Book III: Tin Man's Alley)
.