Part Twenty-one
Abandoned warehouse, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. January 12, 2001
Malcolm Fletcher watched the building across the street, through the binoculars mounted on a tripod. He watched two men approach the building, then enter it. After they had done so, he leaned back and made a notation on the notepad the man had set up next to the tripod.
"Two more just entered," the balding agent said to his companion.
"How many does that make?" the Siberian nicknamed Red leaned over his shoulder, to look at the building in question.
"Total of 25 have gone in, since sundown. Of those, 17 are still in there," Fletcher responded.
"Not counting those who came in through the sewers," Red commented.
Fletcher frowned at that one. He had joined Siberian Trip Wire to help fight against the nasties in the dark; of course, someone with the skills that he had picked up while with the FBI would be completely wasted, as just another grunt in the STW armed forces.
So he'd promptly found himself doing the same things he had done in the Bureau, for his new teammates. A good investigator was worth his or her weight in gold, in this game.
Because fighting the baddies in the night involved more than just busting in through doors, and cracking heads open. That sort of thing only took place in the movies or on television, as more and more people in America were starting to realize. In order for everything to work properly when the time came to fight, preparation and investigation had to be done first.
And that was where Fletcher came in.
When he'd started his new job, Malcolm found himself tracking crime reports, crime statistics, missing person trends, newspaper stories and a multitude of other facts. He'd sifted through it all and when he thought he had spotted something, well - that's what he was doing here in the City of Brotherly Love.
Fletcher had spotted a discrepancy in the number of bodies of homeless people discovered by the local police.
Namely, there were too damned few of them.
An urban metropolis the size of Philadelphia should have had more dead homeless people per square capita, than the numbers he had unearthed. And somehow, Fletcher had doubted that it was just because that the local authorities were doing such a great job of dealing with the homeless problem.
So he had taken an investigation team to the area, and done some good old-fashioned detective work. After a week of digging, the unit had discovered the building across the road from where he was now sitting. He had called for reinforcements, and a day later Red had shown up leading a team of commandos.
"What are their peak hours?" Red asked.
"Looks like from about midnight, to five in the morning or so."
"So, we definitely don't want to go in during those hours. We'd have to deal with both the customers and staff, and that's too many variables for me to be comfortable with..."
Fletcher went back to the binoculars, and examined the building across the way. Every window was boarded up, on every floor. There was one door in the front, and he knew the only other entrance above ground was a loading dock in the rear. Everything else had been bricked up.
"Your people been able to figure out how large the staff might be?" the former FBI agent asked.
Red shook his head. "Uh, no. We'd normally do it by looking at the target area with heat sensors, but the problem is that vampires don't show up on heat sensors. We're having to find alternate ways of trying to figure out the enemy numbers."
"No Ninja recon?"
Red shook his head again at Fletcher's question. "No way, until we have at least some idea how big the operation is - we don't need to go tipping them off that we're coming. They're flying out some ground radar to us, should be here later tonight. Once it's in place, we'll give it a try."
Fletcher looked grim. "I hope it works. The sooner we get in there, the sooner I stop being physically ill - from thinking about what they're doing over there..."
Cleveland, Ohio. The same time
Wesley Wyndham-Pryce leaned back in his seat and sighed, massaging his temple. He was not happy to be here.
As part of Angel's quest to cure Darla, Wes had travelled to this city - not long after a major case in LA had been resolved. He'd come to a large warehouse with an apartment suite on the top floor, that was used by the Watcher named Sam Zabuto - and his Slayer named Kennedy.
The reason for this was that Mr. Zabuto was reputed to have an excellent, wide-ranging library, and if there was any chance a cure for the blonde woman could be found - this place was the best bet for it, outside of the Council's book repositories in England.
That wasn't why Wes was unhappy at being here...
Rather, meeting the latest incarnation of the vampire Slayer was.
Wesley hadn't met Kennedy yet, and he was dreading doing so. He understood now why so many Watchers retired or resigned after their charge was killed; after all, how do you relate to the latest Chosen One, knowing that a young girl that you had trained and cared for had to die in order for her to become empowered this way?
Not that Faith had cared for *him* very much, mind you, but still.
Sam Zabuto walked into the library, and handed Wesley a cup of tea. "Here you are, Mr. Wyndham-Pryce. Earl Grey, hot, two sugars."
Wes smiled at his host, thanking him at once. Sam then asked, "How does it progress?"
Pryce sighed again. "Nothing so far, I'm afraid. All the healing spells I've uncovered so far are either based on irredeemably dark magicks, or require a witch of unthinkably immense power to be cast. Neither of which are compatible with our current circumstances in Los Angeles, I'm sorry to say."
Zabuto shook his head. "I still find it hard to believe the tale you told me, my friend. Vampires returning from the dead, in human form? It almost makes our job redundant, treating vampirism as some sort of disease that can eventually be overcome..."
Wes chuckled. "Quite, yes. Still, I doubt the ritual of the Raising could ever be mass-produced that way - which is probably just as well-"
Just then, Kennedy the vampire Slayer came in to prepare for her night's patrol. "Sam? Where are you-" She stopped at seeing Wyndham-Pryce sitting with her Watcher. "Hi. Uh, who are you?"
Wesley froze, instantly knowing who she was. The Jamaican Watcher noticed and said hurriedly, "Miss Kennedy, may I present to you a former colleague of mine - Wesley Wyndham-Pryce, currently with the Angel Investigations detective agency in Los Angeles."
Kennedy's eyes went wide. "*The* Wesley Wyndham-Pryce? You were the Watcher for my predecessor, what was her name - Faith - weren't you? As well as the man who debriefed that guy Xander Harris back in 1999, right?"
Wesley slowly nodded his head, {Suck it up and deal, man. Faith's been dead for nearly two years now. And even if you failed her miserably at the end, that doesn't change the fact that she died a true heroine.} "I am he. And I knew Xander, yes."
The Slayer demanded, "Was he really from the future? And if he was, did he ever mention anything about me? Was he really romantically involved with Faith? Did he ever-"
"I should think that's quite enough for the moment, Miss Kennedy," Sam interrupted somberly. "Not only does the man need a moment of silence to answer your questions one at a time, you should show some respect for his feelings in these matters."
The young woman looked abashed as Wesley said with a sigh, "That's quite all right, Mr. Zabuto. Well, to answer your questions in order, no - he wasn't from the future, exactly, even if he was cursed with the knowledge of it-"
"How did that happen? I mean, I've heard the rumors - but really, what took place then, exactly?" Kennedy demanded.
Wes shrugged, "A botched magic ritual, by the witch called Willow Rosenberg. As the man had amnesia after spending nearly five years in a hell dimension suffering unthinkable torment, and the woman tried to restore his memory..."
Then he paused. "And did Xander ever mention anything about you...no, not to me at least. But then, he only ever talked freely to me once, that night we restored his memories. Hmm, he might have talked about you to Angel, I suppose..."
"The vampire with a soul? Ewww," Kennedy screwed up her face in distaste. "No offense, but as far as I'm concerned - a vamp is a vamp is a vamp!"
"Kennedy!" Sam scolded her at once, in consternation. "Have your parents and I taught you no manners?"
"Sorry," the dark-haired Slayer shrugged, not sounding it at all.
Wesley politely ignored her attitude and finished up, "And as for whether he and my Slayer Faith LeHane were lovers, well, uh - the answer's yes. Or so I'm told - I, um, I never actually knew either of them, when they were still sleeping together. Faith was still under the supervision of Mr. Rupert Giles, along with Buffy Summers, during that stage of her calling."
Kennedy looked at her Watcher. "I've got to meet that Buffy girl one day. And Rupert Giles? The English guy who was here last month?"
Zabuto nodded and explained to Wesley, "Rupert was in the city then for his own reasons, and I invited him around for a cup of tea - despite the Council's orders. We reminisced somewhat, about the old days..."
Kennedy got a look of boredom on her face, and decided to go out - rather than listen to another story of Watcher 'do you remember whens'. "I'm outta here, Sam. See you in a few hours after patrol..." Pausing only to gather her weapons, the lesbian girl then vanished out the door.
Wesley watched her leave, his face suddenly expressionless. Sam said simply, "My apologies if Miss Kennedy caused offense, Mr. Wyndham-Pryce..."
Wes denied it with a shake of his head. "Please, call me Wesley. And no, no, it's fine. In fact, compared to some of Faith's temper tantrums, your girl was quite positively well-mannered..." He then looked at his companion, "She turns 18 years old within the next six months, doesn't she?"
Zabuto looked away. "You are referring to the Cruciamentum, I take it. I must confess, that I am not looking forward to that part of my duty at all - no, not in the slightest."
Wesley shrugged. "You're thinking perhaps of emulating the example of Mr. Giles, with Miss Summers?"
Sam didn't answer directly, "It is difficult to say. One never knows till one is tested - and my previous charge Kendra was killed by that damned hellspawn Drusilla before she came of age, after all..."
Wes became somewhat uncomfortable with the topic of conversation, and taking a sip of his cooling tea decided to hit the books once more. "Well, I'd best get back to it. Please, don't let me keep you from your duties..."
The Caribbean native nodded and got up. "I have some urgent cross-referencing to do, from 'Bristow's Demon Index'. But if there is anything you need, please do not hesitate to call for me..." The Council operative then left, as Wesley quickly buried his nose in the ancient tome he was holding.
Hyperion Hotel, Los Angeles, California. January 13, 2001
Darla absent-mindedly sorted through the mail, as she walked into Angel's private office. Ever since she had moved into the Hyperion she had felt better, both physically and mentally, and the color was slowly returning to her skin.
Even though the syphilis was still eating away at her heart, she now had hope. Because even if medical science had given up on her, Angel and the others hadn't; they were still looking for some magical cure. Something to stop her dying, within the next two months or so.
Seeing how determined Angel was and the effect it had on the others, Darla had allowed herself to feel hope for the first time, in a *very* long time.
She placed the mail requiring Angel's immediate attention on his chair. The mail requiring his attention in the near future, she placed in the in tray sitting on the desk. The others quickly found their way into the wastepaper basket next to the desk.
Since she had settled into the Hyperion, Darla had been trying to make herself useful wherever possible. One of these ways was to help with the clerical work. Which was a good idea, except for the fact that it put her in close proximity to Cordelia Chase.
The 20-year-old woman who detested Darla, with every fiber of her being.
The former whore couldn't really blame the other femme, well - not too much, anyway. Because Darla knew that Cordy worried about the effect she was having on the former Angelus. Every once in a while, she could even hear the former cheerleader muttering something along the lines of, "First Buffy, and now her? Maybe I ought to put on a blonde wig or something to get him to do anything around here..."
Darla knew something had happened between the time Angel had staked her in Sunnydale, and when Wolfram & Hart had brought her back from the realms of oblivion. Something that had resulted in Angelus returning for several months, after a moment of pure happiness during 1998. But neither the vampire in question or Cordelia were willing to talk about what *exactly* had happened, between Buffy and Angel.
Whatever the blonde knew she had gotten from Lindsey MacDonald - and from Wesley, who was still a little bit wary of trusting her with too much information. Still, the blonde woman was wearing him down bit by bit, and had learned much during the last week or so.
Darla quickly exited the office back into the lobby, as Cordy looked up - then glared at the former vamp, before going back to her filing. The one-time May Queen thought to herself, { This just isn't right. Why can't those stupid Powers just send me a vision on how we can cure her already, and get her the hell out of our lives? }
Yes indeed, Darla was not having any success bringing the former Queen C of Sunnydale High School over onto her side. The centuries-old woman at times thought that Cordelia was acting like an angry lioness, protecting her territory. And the longer that Darla was part of the Fang Gang, the more territorial Cordy got.
"Any word from Wesley?" she suddenly asked her rival. Darla knew that Wesley was in Ohio, trying to find some way of curing her illness.
"The guy called about half an hour ago. He's going to arrive back tomorrow morning," Cordy replied, without looking up from her filing.
"And?" Darla asked hopefully.
Cordy stopped filing. Even though she didn't like Darla, she didn't enjoy the news she was about to impart either. "I'm sorry, but no dice. What he found wasn't usable, except through the creepy black arts or whatever."
Cordelia thought for a second. "You know, you'd think that healing would be something that those people who do the whole white magic thing would really be big into - wouldn't you?"
Darla shook her head. She had actually picked up a fair amount of knowledge about magic, during her 400 years of being a vampire. "No, in this sort of situation you'd expect only the black arts would do. White magic tries not to disrupt the balance of things too much, whereas black magic exults in upsetting the balance. With my condition, such that it is, well - a lot of upsetting the balance would be needed..."
Ms. Chase didn't know what to say in response to that. Sometimes it was hard to dislike Darla, particularly when Cordy remembered that she was dying like this.
Everything the Fang Gang had tried so far to reverse her condition, had been unsuccessful. Both Angel and Wes had tried to find someone within the magic scene in Los Angeles to cure her, without success. And so with nowhere else to go, Darla had sung for Lorne...
The anagogic demon had then sent them to an empty pool, and after diving in Angel had undergone some trials conducted by an English butler type. Later the Champion had gotten pissed when, even though he had passed the trials to give Darla a second chance at life, the wording he had used to try and save his former sire had proved insufficient to give her said second chance.
Angel had been furious. Furious, as in 'throw things around and break them' furious. Furious, as in 'going out and laying the smackdown on any demon or vampire foolish enough to get in his way' furious. Furious in a way that had wrecked the lobby so badly that Gunn had grumbled about it for days, afterwards.
It was after that that the gang had concentrated their efforts on finding a cure for her. Whether they were working on a case or trying to save the world, curing Darla was their mission. It was a mission that all of them, even Cordy after some hostility, had adopted.
The brunette looked up at the blonde. "Darla, I want you to know-"
"Don't," the blonde interrupted her. "At least - not right now." She quickly walked off, across the lobby and up the stairs.
Not knowing that the two of them were being watched the whole time, by not unfamiliar eyes.
Washington, D.C. January 14, 2001
"He'll see you now."
Esther Marcum and Joshua Cleburne looked up in response to the statement of the aide. Then they got up and followed him, into the temporary office set up by the man they had come to see.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Secretary," Esther greeted him.
Donald Rumsfeld got up and shook their hands. "Not yet, not officially; not till after the twentieth..."
He then motioned for them to sit down across the desk from him, as the man took his seat. "Now, what's all this about? It strikes me that a Marine colonel and a civilian would not bypass the chain of command this way, unless there was something really important at stake."
Esther started up, "Mr. Secretary-designate, I'm not sure if you're familiar with our organization, but we're from Siberian Trip Wire. That is-"
Rumsfeld interrupted Esther, "Yeah, yeah, I know what it is. I was SecDef back in '75, when you guys had to handle that A-bomb those Palestinian terrorists had smuggled into Boston. I'm familiar with your organization..."
This man, in addition to being the oldest Secretary of Defense in U.S. history, had also been the youngest in U.S. history. "...and as I recall, you people only come out of the woodwork when there's something drastic going on. So what's the situation here?"
Esther spoke up. "Sir, we have intelligence - in which we place the highest possible degree of confidence - that within nine months, we will be attacked in such a manner that the casualties will exceed the number of dead from Pearl Harbor."
Rumsfeld's eyes narrowed at Esther's declaration. "Who?" he demanded simply.
"Al-Qaeda," Cleburne said succinctly.
"That's the group that bombed the embassies in Africa during '98, isn't it? Osama bin Laden and his associates?" Rumsfeld asked.
"Yes, sir. They want to try to hit us on our soil here, in an attempt to bring the jihad to us," Cleburne clarified.
"State-sponsored?"
Cleburne had a suspicion about what state it was that Rumsfeld had in mind. "We don't believe so, at least not anything beyond unknowingly providing logistical support," Joshua quoted what Xander had told him.
"Why within nine months?"
Esther answered this one, "Our information indicates that the attack will take place, during the first two weeks of September this year."
Rumsfeld fixed Esther with a piercing look. "This all seems mighty detailed. How confident are you that it's not disinformation?"
"Completely," was Cleburne's strong reply.
"You've got a human resource in al-Qaeda?"
"No sir, as far as we know, our informant's never left the country - except in the company of U.S. military personnel."
The soon-to-be Secretary of Defense looked puzzled now. "Then why the huge confidence in him?"
Esther mentally prepared herself. She nodded at Cleburne, who opened an attaché case and pulled out a large file. "Mr. Secretary-designate. Let us explain - but let me say first, we're not insane and we can prove every detail of the fantastic tale that you're about to hear. Do you remember the situation with the USS Cole, back in October?"
"That destroyer that some terrorists tried to blow up in Aden?"
"Yes sir, our source tipped us off about that also. You see, his memories are...different from any of ours. The fact is - he can remember everything up till the summer of 2003 quite clearly," Esther said, half enjoying what she was doing and half-worrying over the reaction.
"Explain yourselves right the hell now," Rumsfeld said tersely, glaring at them both.
And thus, they did so.
Outside the abandoned warehouse, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. Later that day
Xander checked his weapon one more time. And down the line behind him, the other commandos did the same.
The ground radar of the Siberians had done its job, and now the STW force had both a detailed layout of the interior of their target, and an idea of the number of hostiles they would face. Enough information was present, 'actionable intelligence' as the professionals called it, to make the planned operation feasible.
The commandos for the operation, including Xander, had arrived the night before and hurriedly familiarized themselves with the target area and the plan. And once they'd learned the exact nature of their target, they had all thrown themselves into the preparation with a vengeance.
Now, in the midday sun, Xander found himself with the other soldiers - preparing to storm the building. He shifted uncomfortably in the gear that the Siberians had issued him. {These things are uncomfortable as hell. Huh, as I recall good old PFC Grant never had to wear anything like this in Vietnam.}
He was outfitted in the standard get-up for a special operation team. Helmet, bulletproof vest, night-vision goggles (not in use at the moment, but they would come in handy indoors) and everything else a SWAT team member could need or want.
But Oz, who was next to Xander, was dressed casually. Because after all, such equipment would just get in his way, when he turned into a werewolf.
Up ahead of Xander was Red, the Navy SEAL in command of the operation. And Mike Byrne was talking on his throat microphone, coordinating with the other teams. Agent Fletcher was in the back with another team, sealing off the loading dock in the back of the old warehouse.
Under the street, there were three teams maneuvering to seal access to the target through the sewer system, under the command of Graham Miller. Xander was glad of that, because over the last year or so, he had come to be good friends with the Army Ranger. In the previous history, Harris had really never gotten to know him; he was someone that had hung around with Riley, not the Scoobies.
Xander regretted that now. He had come to treasure his friendship with Graham, and felt that if he'd known him better in that other world - it would have been nice to have had a friend outside the tight-knit circle of Scoobies.
Xander looked at his watch. "How much longer?" Oz asked, seeing his old buddy checking the time.
"About ten minutes, according to the schedule," Xander replied.
"What are we waiting for?" Oz asked.
"Philadelphia's main contribution to our little party," Xander replied tersely.
The Philadelphia PD had cleared out the few civilians in the abandoned industrial area, and was keeping the media away with a cover story about a large-scale methamphetamine lab. However, their main contribution was a piece of equipment almost tailor-made for what STW had in mind.
Xander's chain of thought was broken, as he saw Red tense up. "Say again, Team Delta. I did not copy your last transmission..." He listened for a few seconds, and then spoke again. "Come in, damn it - Montgomery! What's going on-"
Suddenly the commandos heard a burst of gunfire, sounding tinny and far off. Xander looked around, and saw that it was coming from up through the grate in the street underneath them. Red listened to his mike for a few seconds. Xander mentally kicked himself as he turned his radio on, as they hadn't done a radio check yet.
He caught the last little bit of the transmission, "...only two of them. We got one right away, but the other one slipped past us. Jeremy's down, but he got off a burst before the vamp got him...what the-!" Xander recognized the voice of Smithers, the commando in charge of Team Delta.
Red started running, with the other commandos hurrying to catch up. "All teams, listen up. Move in now! I repeat, move in right the hell now! And bring the ram up, IMMEDIATELY!"
Xander caught up to Red. "What happened?"
"Two vamps looking for a midnight snack stumbled across Team Delta. One of them got away. We have to assume he's tipping off the rest of the bad guys that we're coming..."
They turned the corner onto the street, where the front door of the abandoned warehouse was. Xander could see the door had been cracked open, with a figure in the shadows looking out.
Whatever was looking out, it saw the commandos and slammed the door shut. Even from down the street, Xander could hear bolts and bars being placed on the door. "Well, that wasn't unexpected," the young man commented, as he headed towards the target.
"Yeah, sometimes the bad guys can be so predictable. Luckily we planned for that," Red replied, as they reached the front door.
Behind them, they heard an engine roaring. Turning to the sound of the noise, Xander saw an armored personnel carrier come around the corner and start down the street towards the front door. On the top of the APC and extending outwards, was a battering ram. At the end of the ram was a large plate with the words 'HAVE A NICE DAY' emblazoned on it, above a police shield.
The APC picked up speed, as it approached the building. Xander, Red and the others quickly moved out of the way, as the battering ram impacted on the door with a loud thud. The door bent, but held as the APC backed up halfway down the street. It then came back at the door, at a high rate of speed.
This time, a loud crash accompanied the impact as the door crumbled and fell backwards, exposing the interior of the building to the outside.
Two of the commandos rushed forward, and tossed grenades into the entryway of the building. After three seconds, a loud boom came to the ears of the white hats.
"Go, go, go!" Red shouted as he entered the building, after slipping his goggles on. Xander followed along with the other commandos, Oz bringing up the rear of the attack.
Two bodies that were still smoldering greeted Xander, as he came through the doorway. Before he had even gone ten feet, one of the bodies erupted into flames and then turned to ash. The other started to get up; the disadvantage of fighting the undead, was that usually it took more to kill them than the living.
Red stepped over the rising vampire, and fired a five-round burst from his M4A1 carbine into the chest of it. The undead American cried out in pain and then his eyes grew wide, as smoke came from his skin. Suddenly his chest burst into flames, as the vampire futilely tried to pat the fire out with his hands. Within seconds, the bloodsucker was consumed by fire and turning to dust.
Red looked over his shoulders at the commandos. "You know your assignments! MOVE!" The team quickly split up into several groups and headed into the building, with one group staying to secure the front entrance. Xander could hear the sound of gunfire from elsewhere in the building, as the other teams effected entry themselves.
He followed Red into the building, figuring he needed to keep an eye on Cleburne's friend - who was definitely in love with that waitress these days, and had a lot to live for. Xander made his way through the maze-like interior of the warehouse, looking at scene after scene through the greenish tint of his night-vision goggles.
For the current occupiers had not turned on any lights, clearly to maintain control of the premises.
After several twists and turns, the commandos came to what appeared to be a lounge room. There was a bar, with several barstools that had been overturned. A pool table was in the center of the room. It looked like any other honkytonk bar in the world, except for the employees who were reacting to the new arrivals.
Several vampires were approaching with their game faces on, as a handful of fiercesome-looking demons came out from behind the bar. What alarmed Xander the most was that two of the demons were carrying shotguns.
"Targets at ten o'clock!" Red shouted out.
Three of the commandos raised their assault carbines and aimed, they then let loose a five-shot burst each. The head of demon closest to them crumpled from the impact, as green blood replaced much of its forehead.
The second demon howled, as a bullet hit its shoulder. But apparently, his shoulder was more bulletproof than his compatriot's head. He swung the shotgun up to hip level and fired off a blast.
The pellets flew through the room. Several of the vampires howled as they were hit by them, while one of the commandos screamed as the ammo hit his leg below the vest. Xander could also hear beneath the boom of the shotgun several low thuds, as pellets hit the vests of several of the commandos.
Himself included. Xander felt the hammering sensation in his left ribcage, and he staggered for a second before his reflexes kicked in and the human started moving once more. The other combatants were doing the same.
Suddenly behind them, an inhuman roar was heard - as a werewolf bounded into the bar.
Oz, in lupine form, looked around - and then leaped at the vampire nearest to him. The vampire, which had been a gangbanger before he had been turned, raised his arms in an attempt to deflect the ball of enraged fur flying towards him.
But the momentum of Oz's impact pushed both him and the vamp back and over the bar. After a few seconds, screams could be heard from behind the bar.
This caused the vampires and remaining demon to pause for a second. The Siberians had no such qualms, as they took advantage of the opportunity and attacked their opponents.
Red fired off several shots from his carbine into the head of the still-standing demon holding the shotgun. These gunshots found their mark and the head of the demon vanished into a fine mist. "Head shots, always go for the head shots..." Red muttered.
Xander stepped forward towards a vampire that had just turned from the spectacle at the bar. He swung the stock of his assault weapon into the vampire's chest, hard. His opponent groaned and fell back. So Xander brought the barrel of the weapon up and pointed it at the falling form of the vampire, firing off a five-round burst once it was in position.
The Siberians preferred firing five-round bursts these days, actually, as they had determined that in general...three of their bullets with potassium in the tip grouped together, started enough of a fire to turn a vampire to ash. So it was three shots, with two spares for the kill strike.
In this case, it worked. The vampire looked down with wide eyes, as the smoldering fire on his shoulder lit up the darkness of the room. This was clearly not what the vampire had expected, from being shot. The fire then flared up and within seconds the vampire was consumed, turning into dust.
Around them, the commandos and vampires were mixing it up. Most of the Siberians choose not to use their firearms unless they were almost touching the enemy, so as to avoid the danger of collateral damage upon friendly fire.
This evened up the odds somewhat. Still, the vampires were fighting professionally trained killers, not your normal blood bag walking along the street. The Siberians mostly came out on top, but not in every fight. Xander saw one commando go down, with blood flowing from an open wound on the neck.
At the bar, Werewolf Oz jumped up from behind it and crouched on the bar top surveying the scene. It appeared that his supernatural senses enabled him to see in the dark, without the aid of the goggles worn by the soldiers. The wolf then fixed its glare at one of the remaining demons.
Oz leapt through the air towards his intended target, landing on its back. The demon twisted and turned, trying unsuccessfully to dislodge the werewolf. The whole time, Oz's claws tore into the bad guy, opening up huge gashes that it could not ignore.
Xander made his way across the bar room, fighting a vampire here and there. He finally reached his destination, a large and sturdily-built door. He tugged at it once, and it wouldn't budge. He saw a vampire laying on a table nearby, with its arm clearly broken. A commando was about to plunge a stake into its chest...
"Wait!" Xander shouted out, his comrade stopping the stake before it began its downward descent. Harris then hurried over, and grabbed the vampire by the collar. "How do we get through that door? Tell me, and you might get to see tomorrow night!"
His prisoner gulped, he had seen enough to know his chances were not good unless he cooperated. So he nodded over towards the bar, "There's a button underneath the counter, near the beer dispensers. It disengages the lock and opens the door. But we've got guards on the other side..."
"Don't worry about that part," Xander pushed the vampire down. "Now don't resist, and you'll survive this. Probably..."
Xander looked around, and saw that the Siberians had taken the room. Red headed over to the bar, having heard the response to Xander's question. He waited a few seconds till the Siberians were in position. He then nodded, and pushed the button.
A loud click could be heard from the door, as it swung open. A primal scream was then heard, as a huge red and blue demon ran out.
He was easily nine feet tall, and had to bend down to come through the door. But before he could straighten up, the Siberians opened fire on him. He extended himself to his full height, just shrugging off the bullets.
"Oh great, he's bulletproof!" Xander shouted.
Red shouted, "Fall back. Pineapple inbound!"
The commandos scrambled out of the way, taking what shelter they could. The demon shook himself, several bullets falling out of its clothes when it did so. It then looked up, and was hit almost square in the face with the grenade that Red had just thrown. It squinted the its eyes as the grenade came to rest at the feet of the demon.
The grenade then went off with a loud boom. Dust, much of it from former vampires, swirled around the room.
The demon guard swayed on its feet, clearly stunned by the explosion. Over the Siberians, Oz leaped and attacked the demon, tearing into him where the bullets had failed to penetrate.
Unfortunately, this just brought the demon back to its senses. With a roar, it grabbed Oz and held him out at arm's length. The evil thing then prepared to hurl Oz across the bar, but before it got the chance Xander slammed into the demon's torso. {No one hurts my friends, asshole! }
The demon tried to hit Xander, but he was able to dodge the blow. The former slave then slipped out the silver knife issued to the commandos for the mission, and thrust it upwards into the demon's armpit. Luckily, the attack had the desired effect as the demon howled in pain and dropped Oz.
The werewolf quickly pressed the advantage, as Xander pressed the knife in further and twisted. Several other commandos swarmed the demon, as the guard fell to the ground and was quickly dispatched.
Red made his way over to the door. A quick peek revealed that the next room was devoid of opposition. "Okay, the way's clear. Straight through to the holding cells. Come on!" Byrne then went through the door, followed by the others.
Another part of the building. The same time
Graham Miller led his team down a darkened corridor. His team had encountered less resistance than Red's or Fletcher's had, as they had slipped in through one of the sewer entrances.
Although the undead minions they were facing had never really expected an assault, they had still gone ahead and made some preparations for trouble from the surface. But they had never thought though that there would be any trouble coming up from the sewers, apart from maybe a customer or two trying not to pay the cover charge.
So the commandos had made short work of the sole vampire acting as a doorman, for the sewer entrance. They had then quickly made their way into the interior of the abandoned warehouse, encountering the occasional vampire here and there.
They were able to hear over their radios the progress of the other teams. And they'd heard the fight Xander and his team had had, up in the waiting lounge. They were now making their way to link up with the team Xander was in; it was taking longer than they'd expected, for the blueprints they had of the building were incomplete.
Or more accurately, the building's interior had been changed somewhat since the blueprints had been filed. The undead owners had added walls and rooms, which made the interior into a maze. So the commandos had to make their way cautiously through the corridors, with military precision.
The commando in front of Graham suddenly signaled for the others to freeze in place. Thus, they all did so immediately.
"Report," Graham whispered into his microphone.
"Movement up ahead," was the instant whispered reply.
"Team Charlie, this is Team Bravo. We have movement in front of us. What is your position?" Graham radioed to the other team.
"We've entered the basement. Making our way through the corridors. Unsure if we have your position pegged accurately," Red's voice came in reply.
"Okay, we'll advance to see if that's you up front..." Graham signaled for two commandos to come forward. "Game plan is, we're going to move forward and see what's there. Watch your six and be on guard for anything," he ordered.
They nodded, and the three of them half-walked and half-crawled to the advance scout's location. He nodded at them. Through hand signals Graham ordered the scout and one of the commandos forward. The two of them started scooting forward to the junction, where the movement had been spotted.
As they arrived at the junction, a dark shape dropped down from the roof onto the point scout. The shape, by now recognized as a vampire, pushed the scout down to the ground and tore a huge chunk of flesh out of the back of his neck. The other commando twisted and brought his H&K submachine gun up, and pointed it at the vampire.
The commando waited for a few seconds till he had a clear shot, then he fired a short burst from his weapon. The vampire twisted and growled in pain, before exploding into dust. The soldier then quickly checked his companion; not liking what he found, he signaled for the others to come and help.
Graham and the two other commandos in front started forward. Suddenly, Miller saw a large burly shape fly above the commandos. His goggles showed that one end of it was burning slightly. Then it hit the wall, and exploded.
Graham and most of the other commandos then screamed in pain, as the light from the explosion filled their night-vision goggles and blinded them.
Miller hurriedly tore off his goggles, and he could hear the other commandos doing the same. Unfortunately, that wasn't the only thing he heard. He could hear growling and feet coming towards him.
The soldier-in-charge then heard the screams of the scout and commando ahead of him, as the vampires that had thrown the improvised Molotov cocktail reached them. Graham heard the sickening sounds of flesh being torn, and tried to keep it together...
The scout, who had been looking down when the explosion had blinded the others, still had some vision left. He swung his carbine up and slammed it into the face of the vampire moving in, to finish him off.
The vampire cursed, as it fell backwards. The scout saw the soldier next to him hit the floor hard, as another vamp tore out the poor soul's throat. He also saw several other undead moving past him, down the corridor.
Graham heard those vampires scurrying towards him. He agonized over his decision; the man's first impulse was to fire his carbine at the sound of the approaching vampires, but firing blind might hit his fellow commandos in front of him.
So Miller pulled at his equipment harness to get out the standard-issue silver knife, even though he would have to slash blind with that. He blinked furiously, hoping to regain his vision in time.
He was surprised to hear at least one step of footsteps hurry by him. One set stopped near him, and Graham felt the presence of a body nearby - one that wasn't breathing.
The soldier lashed out, and was rewarded with a cry of pain. "You bastard!"
Graham instantly felt a kick in his stomach. He heard nearby the sounds of attack on the other members of this team that had come forward. Behind him, he heard a series of gunshots take place as the vampire that had fled past him got to where the commandos not blinded were.
Graham also heard a lot more footsteps coming his way. Clearly, the vamps and demons in the building were trying to escape, right through his team. Graham knew that they couldn't stop them now, with most of his team blinded. So he resigned himself to dying, but he was still going to take as many of the bastards with him as he could...
A second kick to his stomach gave him the chance to grab the attacking foot, and pull the vampire off its feet. Graham stabbed again with his knife, feeling the weapon sink into its target.
A fist to his face was the vampire's reply. But suddenly, Graham heard an animalistic roar ahead of him, and could feel the vampire shift his attention towards the source of the sound.
"Shit!" the bloodsucker cried out.
The growling got closer, and Graham could suddenly smell an animal nearby. The attacking vampire turned to deal with the new threat; Graham heard the sounds of a fierce hand-to-hand combat nearby, accompanied by grunts and growls.
He also heard more motion in front of him, as the commando moved his body to put his back against the wall. There were shouts and curses, and he also heard what could only be the sound of flesh tearing. Graham was sickened, 'cause he knew that was the men under his command dying...
He suddenly heard shouts and the sounds of advancing men from in front of him. "Careful about using the firearms. You might hit one of ours!" Graham recognized Red's voice.
The sounds of footsteps trying to get past him quickened. The bad guys were clearly desperate to get away from the advancing commandos, from in front of Graham. Of course, to do so they had to get past whatever was growling nearby, which the Ranger had a strong suspicion was Oz in werewolf form.
He heard some more shouts and cries, both of the attackers and his men. And by this time, Graham could see blurry shadows. Of course, since the hallway was darkened almost to the point of invisibility, the only thing he *could* see if he had functional eyesight was dark shadows.
There was a large blur near him, swinging at several smaller blurs. One of the blurs suddenly staggered back, as a small part on top of it came loose and separated. The blur then disintegrated, as it turned to dust. Happy for a moment, Graham knew that one of the vampires that had attacked his men was no more.
Behind him, he still kept hearing shouts and gunshots, as most of the fleeing demons and vampires reached the commandos Miller had left behind. He saw several blurs of brightness, as those vampires burnt up and turned to dust - as the potassium-tipped bullets of the soldiers reacted with the water within the vamps, and started a fire that consumed their target.
A blur came up to him, and knelt down. "Miller, what's your status?"
Graham recognized Red's voice. "What about my men?" he asked first.
"They're being taken care of. Now what about you?"
"What's happened to my men?!" Graham insisted. He blinked again, as more of his eyesight returned. He could make out some features now. The soldier could now definitely make out the werewolf he knew was Oz crouching over several of the wounded, in a protective stance.
Red was silent for a second. "It's real bad. At least five dead; multiple casualties down, and most of them won't make it, if I'm any judge of battlefield wounds..."
"Damn," Graham muttered. He had failed his men, he had...
Red seemed to know what the Army Ranger was thinking. "Don't beat yourself up about it too much, Miller, this wasn't your fault - despite all the planning beforehand, sometimes the situation just turns into a complete goddamn nightmare. But learn how to deal, as it's most likely gonna happen again in the future. Now, lean back and let the medics look at you..."
Graham leaned back, as he heard Red on the radio calling for the corpsmen to get down to their location. Then he noticed his eyesight had returned enough that he could make out the trail of blood flowing, from further up in the hallway.
Another part of the building. The same time
Fletcher led his team through the hallway. Suddenly, his earpiece squawked to life. "We're about to turn the lights on in twenty seconds. Get ready."
Malcolm and the others took off their goggles. And waited. The lights in the room flickered on; but forewarned, the commandos were able to quickly reorient themselves.
Once they were ready, they made their way down the hallway to a large door bolted on this side. A commando stepped forward, and undid the bolt. The door then swung open, as the soldiers advanced, with their weapons at the ready.
They entered what looked like a hospital ward, with a long line of gurneys - along with chairs next to each one. Fletcher noted that each gurney had a set of restraints. Off to the side was a table and chair, that had been turned on its side. The lead commando noticed that a cup of coffee was spilled, and steam was rising from it. He signaled for the others to stop.
It was obvious that the table wasn't big enough for a large man to hide behind. Still, no chances were being taken, so the field commander circled wide to get a view of behind the table, outside of the reach of whatever might be behind it.
The thoughts of the commando were right, the table wasn't large enough for a man to hide behind.
But a small teenage girl turned into a vampire, that was different story.
She leapt up, growling in game face. "Goddamn bastards locked me in when they ran. I'll have to pay them back, once I'm done with you!"
The girl vamp then attacked the lead commando. Unfortunately, she was far enough away that a full burst from the H&K submachine gun caught her in the stomach, as she advanced. Smoke came from her clothes, as she started to burn and then quickly disintegrated.
The sound of the weapon firing was answered by screams from further down the chamber. Fletcher and the commandos looked at each other, and made their way down the room as quick as they safely could.
They got to a large heavy door that was secured form this side also. They quickly flung the door open, though.
They were greeted by a line of cages, within which were whimpering forms trying to shield their eyes from the now-blazing lights. Fletcher keyed his throat mike, "We've reached the holding cells. Get the medics in here, pronto! They're in pretty bad shape."
Fletcher looked down the row of cages at what were, even if they were unrecognizable as such, human beings who had once existed as the homeless of Philadelphia.
Thirty minutes later
Xander leaned his back against the wall, then he sat down exhausted as a steady line of U.S. army medics led the former captives out of their holding cells. It was obvious that the road to their recovery would be a long and difficult one.
{Sometimes I wonder} Xander thought to himself. {Is all of it really worth the blood and pain? No, wait a minute - right now, in that other world, I'd be standing around like an idiot while Glory was kicking our asses, and wondering how to stop Anya embarrassing me with her tactless comments. Instead, I'm here in Philly and *I'm* the ass-kicker. So maybe it was just a little bit worth it, after all.}
Oz sat next to him, having gotten some new clothes after turning back into a human being from his lycanthrope form. "Rough day," he commented.
"Worse for them," Xander nodded at the homeless people.
Oz nodded. "True, but we caught this one at least. The vamps killed or captured today won't do something like this ever again."
"These ones, yeah. But there are still plenty of others out there, killing people," Xander's cynicism was in full force today.
"Yeah, and we'll take care of them one at a time as soon as we find them," Oz responded. He stood up. "There's some bottled water outside, man. Come on."
Xander shook his head. "Go ahead, I'll be along in a little bit. I just want to rest here for a few more minutes."
Oz nodded. "Okay, see you outside." He then walked towards the exit. Xander closed his eyes, and leaned his head against the wall.
"Hey buddy, you all right?"
Xander barely opened his eyes to see a medic in front of him. He waved his hand in answer, "I'm fine."
The medic looked down at Xander. "Okay. Uh, it's Lieutenant Hall right? I think we share a mutual acquaintance..."
Xander's alarm bells starting going off in his head. "And who's that?"
The medic leaned down. "Oh, he's in Los Angeles right now. Tall, dark-haired fella? Depressed all the time."
{Angel} Xander immediately thought. "I know several people like that."
The medic looked around, and instantly Xander knew this guy wasn't supposed to be here; and probably wasn't even a real medic. {A messenger from Angel. Huh, wonder what's so important that Deadboy is contacting me like this? }
"We'll talk more later. Come to this address later tonight, around ten or so; I kinda doubt your bodyguards are gonna be keeping too close an eye on you this evening, not after everything that everybody went through today. And it's best if the rest of your pals in the organization don't know about any of this..." He handed Xander a bottle of water, with some paper wrapped around it.
Xander took the bottle, and saw that the outer sheet of paper had an address written on it. "Okay, how do I find you there?"
"Not me. Just mention the name Sam Lawson," the medic said hurriedly, as he walked back towards the sewer entrance.
TBC...