Why We Fight
Part One
'Get out of here! Go on! Move it!' The man ushered his terrified family towards the back entrance. 'They're here - go on - I'll try to hold them back!'
'No!' the demon woman turned back to her husband and tried to pull him along with her, but he shoved her away, 'run!'
One of the children tripped over their feet - almost falling, and her mothering instincts kicked in, she scooped her little girl into her arms and began to stumble her way towards the back door; glancing sorrowfully over her shoulder at her husband - who was staying behind to buy them more time.
BAM BAM the front entrance began to buckle under the force of the jackboots pounding on it - a relentless banging that echoed around the open space inside. 'Get out of here!' the man cried again - and faced the doorway, expressions of terror and determination mingling on his face.
But it was too late. The door suddenly flew off its hinges - and the foot soldiers of The Scourge stormed inside, trampling all over the remains of the barricade the demon family had hastily flung up to protect themselves.
The massacre was swift and brutal and - by the time the soldiers marched back out - there wasn't a demon left alive inside the hideout.
Even though it was getting late, Doyle and Cordelia were still in their office - the lamps switched on and the coffee maker still in constant use. Not only were their bodies not quite used to the time difference - after returning from Europe - but Giles had also given them a hefty stack of books on the old ones to work their way through, and they were up late researching; trying to learn all they could.
'I don't think this one is gonna be much use,' Cordelia sighed, flipping listlessly through the yellowing pages of her current tome. 'It's about the old ones that were killed - in this dimension - and how they're buried in some deep well. It's got a big long list of their names but…' she exhaled loudly, blowing out her cheeks, 'nothing on The Scourge. I'm gonna file this under 'next!'.' And she put the book down and picked up the next one, yawning widely as she did so.
Doyle looked up from his own book; he was sat in the chair behind the computer, whilst Cordy flopped about on the sofa, and being more upright was keeping him more alert than his girlfriend. 'This stuff is pretty interestin',' he said to her, 'you know, origins o' the earth, demon family trees … but combin' through 'em for a mention of The Scourge isn't so much like looking' for a needle in a haystack as it is lookin' for a needle in Kansas.'
'This new one's about different dimensions,' she lifted her book slightly to indicate what she was talking about, 'maybe it'll have some mention of The Scourge's dimension - maybe a clue of how to get there or…'
'And then what? If you're thinkin' of goin' down there then you're on your own, Princess.' He shook his head - as if he thought she were mad - 'the unstoppable killin' machine that is The Scourge is bad enough up in this reality - but down in their dimension…?' he trailed off and shook his head again, it was too horrible to contemplate.
'Well - maybe if we could find the dimension we could seal it off - you know, like Quortoth?'
'Maybe … though it might just be easier if we could just get some direct info straight from the…' He stopped talking and brought his hand up to his head as the pain of a vision slammed into his mind, washing over him like the waves on the shore. He gasped and blinked at the terrible images being conveyed straight into his mind's eye, his whole body shuddering under the agony crashing into his skull.
As it subsided into a dull twinge, he looked up - still breathing heavily - and met the dark and worried eyes of Cordelia with his own horrified ones. 'We need to go.'
Angel checked on Connor and then went and sat out in his living room - staring out at the spectacular cityscape. The lights of L.A twinkled like a thousand fallen stars and, as always when he found himself quiet and high up, he felt that familiar sense of peace wash over him.
He smiled. He hadn't felt peace for what felt like a long time now - so trapped, as he was, here at Wolfram and Hart - so desperate to get out but with no hope of doing so. Having lost his identity as a champion and being forced to wallow in the shades of grey, never sure which side he was really helping.
That had all changed now. The Powers had sent Doyle a vision meant only for Angel, they were still in his corner, he was still their champion - even here, in this den of evil - they were still counting on him to fight the good fight. They had shown him a way to defeat, or at least defy, The Senior Partners - they were asking him to risk everything to bring evil to a grinding halt. The Circle of the Black Thorn. He needed to find it - and destroy it.
But - even though half of him wanted to get out there and rip this secret society to shreds without so much as a second thought - he knew he still needed to go carefully. The Senior Partners, already alerted to the fact that he knew of their emissaries, had tried to kill him already. He would have to lull them into a false sense of security. And his team - they would need to be kept in the dark - for now. Protected. He didn't doubt for a moment that The Senior Partners wouldn't try to get at him through his family; fire warning shots if they thought for a moment they were losing control of the vampire.
And of course - most important of all - there was Connor. Whatever course of action Angel determined to take, he couldn't do it until he had found a way to keep Connor safe. So - for now, he was going to have to keep his head down, and look like he was playing the game, look like the faithful servant of The Senior Partners, look like he was embracing those god damn shades of grey. Because - if he didn't play this game just right - then he had no idea what measures The Senior Partners would take against the people he loved … but he knew they would be nothing good.
Gunn sat at his desk, whistling a tune from the Mikado as he worked at filing depositions. He put one testament to the side and picked up the next, working his way through it swiftly, his pen scratching against the paper as he annotated. He read part of the statement and - realising that something was unclear - began to make notes, to check with the witness and seek clarification over … over … he stopped whistling and put his pen down. He shook his head as if to clear it and squinted down at the text - trying to regain his train of thought.
The words swam in front of him - he must be tired. He needed to know … he needed to know … but damn if he couldn't get his brain to work right now. He couldn't for the life of him remember what it was he had been about to write. He picked up his pen and just scribbled a large question mark over the pertinent section. He'd pick it up again in the morning after some rest.
He began to whistle again … repeating the last few bars and then … man, he must be tired. He couldn't remember what came next.
Despite the lateness of the hour, Fred was still not done working - she had to redo an entire experiment which Knox was supposed to have done but … he'd been distracted lately. Whatever was going on with him, he'd dropped the ball on this one - and now Fred had to go over all his work again. She entered the lab, it was dark and shadowy and - at this time - she expected it to be deserted. But that was not the case. A man, one she'd never seen before, was standing at the workbench looking through her notes.
'Excuse me…' she said, he ignored her and carried on reading. 'Hello?'
Eventually he looked up, 'oh - hi.' He smiled at her - he was young, good looking in a wholesome, all American sort of way. Very clean cut - but there was a darkness in his eyes, and a hunger to his smile that Fred found unsettling. 'I'm sorry,' he said to her, 'I was just trying to understand some of your equations here. I used to have a pretty good head for numbers. It's funny how you lose part of your mind when you stop using it.' He smiled again and put the notes down.
'Is there anything I can help you with?' she asked.
'Oh, don't be alarmed, Ms. Burkle. I just came to talk.'
Fred stiffened up. 'How do you know my name?' But the stranger ignored her question. 'Do you like working here?' he asked her instead.
'What?'
'You know - do you enjoy what you do? Do you wake up in the morning eager to start your day?'
She smiled, and started to take casual steps towards the door. 'Uh - I don't know, I guess I had my doubts at first but lately I've been feeling we're…'
'Please don't try and run, Ms. Burkle.' She froze up. 'I'd only have to stop you.' She turned and stared back at him, he smiled again. His tone was polite, friendly even - but he was looking at her like he was the big bad wolf, and she was Red Riding Hood. 'What do you want?' she asked him; knowing running, reasoning and pleading were out - she might as well cut to the chase.
'Actually, I came to see your boss. Angel and I are ... old acquaintances. I was friends with him back in the day, back when he was in his patriotic phase.'
Angel sat in his dank little apartment, the wireless was playing music - which was better than the news broadcast. Ever since '41 the news had been nothing but war - in Europe, in the Pacific theatre - 2 years of troop movements and casualties, attacks from their side - retaliation from the allied side. The newspapers were just as bad. There were piles of the New York Journal stacked on his table, the top one read 'Allies Strike Back' … it was all there ever was, and Angel didn't care. Not about the war effort - not about the battles - not about the deaths. Not about any of it. He took a sip of his blood.
BAM. His front door was suddenly kicked in and a group of men came tumbling through, knocking Angel from his chair and onto the floor. When he stood back up, the men brandished huge, sharpened stakes right at his chest. He backed off.
'Alright, alright, calm down,' a middle aged man in military uniform came through the door, barking orders. He looked at Angel, 'when I say 'calm down' I'm talking to you. I want these guys wound good and tight in case you don't feel like cooperating. Take a seat.'
Angel sat back in his chair, and the military guy took a seat opposite him. Behind him another man appeared in the doorway. This one was middle aged as well - but he wasn't in uniform, he was dressed in a long black coat and a suit. He stayed quiet and stared at the vampire - whilst military guy asked Angel if he'd ever considered joining the war effort.
Angel shrugged. 'No,' his voice was dead and blank.
'Well, that's a shame. In these times we need all the able bodied men we can get.'
'I'm not a man.' He eyed the sharpened stakes pointing at him, 'but I'm guessing you already knew that.'
'Everybody's gotta do their part - that's all I'm saying,' the military guy told him. 'Doenitz has been kicking the holy hell out of us in the North Atlantic. We're losing 100 ships a month to his u-boats. Their damn submarines are faster, stronger and more powerful than anything we've got in the water. Up 'til now we haven't had much luck figuring out what makes 'em tick. But two days ago our boys happened to capture what happens to be a T-class German prototype submarine.'
Angel stared at the military guy with his blank eyes. 'That's … great news.' His voice was just as blank as his eyes were.
'It is,' military guy told him. Unfortunately - that wasn't the end of the story. Something went wrong when they were bringing it back in. Late last night, fragments of a distress call had been received - something was on that ship. 'You ever heard dying men screaming for their lives, Angel?'
By the door, the man in black smirked, 'of course he has.' Angel glanced up at him.
'That sub's stuck in hostile territory,' the military guy said, 'but we need it if we're gonna win this war. It's down too deep to send divers. Pressure, cold'd kill a man...'
'But those aren't problems for you, are they?' The man in black took a few steps towards Angel, still smirking. 'You've been on our radar for some time now, Angelus.'
'The name's Angel.'
'Oh,' the man in black chuckled, 'right - you have a soul now. I represent a relatively new agency, the Demon Research Initiative. And we think you might be the solution to our little problem.'
Angel got to his feet, 'I'm not interested.' The man with the stake punched Angel right in the stomach, knocking him back into his chair.
'We don't particularly care,' the man in black told him, matter of factly. 'We figure if we strap enough weights to you, you will sink, regardless of your interests.'
'We need that sub,' military guy said, 'and we need you to deal with what's on it.'
'We had military intelligence investigate that sub's cargo manifest.'
Military guy pulled out a dossier marked 'Top Secret' and handed it across to Angel. 'We think we know what attacked our boys.'
Angel sighed and opened the file. He began to read the details - and his brow furrowed as he read.
...
The survivors had holed up in the bunking area - just a handful of men, led by the ensign. Their captain had been killed along with most of the crew. So now it was just them - with Lawson in charge - and one Nazi they were holding prisoner. They were hot and sweaty, scared to death and tempers were running short.
From outside of the compartment came a horrible screaming sound - a dying man pleading for help. The crew all listened in horror as their shipmate yelled in agony, listening to him die. 'Christ, he's still alive out there!'
Lawson made up his mind - and headed for the door. He was cut off by another of the crew, 'hey - where do you think you're going?'
'Get out of my way, Spinelli,' Lawson said.
But Spinelli shook his head, 'they're dead - nothing we can do to help them now.' They'd been chased through the sub by … monsters - things the men had never seen. Never imagined before. And the monsters had killed all but this few of them, ripping the men apart as if they were made of straw. The only thing standing between the survivors and that same fate was the locked sub door. Hell if Spinelli was going to let the ensign open it up.
'Stay here, I'll go alone,' Lawson said, trying to get past his crewman. But Spinelli grabbed him, pushed him back and then drew out his gun - levelling it at his superior officer. Sure, that was a court martial offence - but he was gonna live to see that court martial. He wouldn't if that door opened - and he knew it. 'You open that hatch, we all die.'
'Get that gun out of my face, right now.'
He didn't lower his gun.
'Right now.'
The tension was broken by a loud metallic clang suddenly reverberating against the outside of the hull. They all looked upward, dreading what this new thing might be. Lawson took that moment of distraction to gently lower Spinelli's gun.
Their heads moved as they followed the sound of the clanging, working out where it was going. 'Torpedo room,' Lawson realised, 'bring the German.'
They bundled their prisoner through to the torpedo room and listened. The clanging had become a tapping and they were trying to pinpoint exactly where it was coming from. 'It's in the tubes,' one of them realised.
'It could be another one of them.'
'I say we flush the tubes,' Spinelli said - not wanting to take any chances. But Lawson was still listening. The taps were coming out in a pattern - dots and dashes. Morse Code. 'It's SOS,' he told the others. 'Open tube number one.'
Cautiously, they flung open the hatch and then stepped back - guns pointed down the tube and stared at what was inside.
Lying cramped inside, Angel stared back out at them.
Doyle and Cordelia pulled up outside the place from Doyle's vision. It was an abandoned warehouse near the docks. The whole place had a deathly hush to it - a pall of silence that screamed volumes as to what had happened here.
Cordy killed the engine, and they took out their weapons and flashlights and headed into the building. They found the door kicked in - and inside the destroyed remains of furniture that had been flung up to form a barricade were scattered around like kindling for the fire. 'We're too late,' Cordy said.
'Yeah,' his voice was heavy. He knew they would be too late, knew before they had even set out. But still he had hoped…
They took a few steps further into the warehouse, spreading out - their hearts beating faster with trepidation for what they were about to find. Their flashlights shone into every corner and crevice, seeking out the grisly reason for their being there.
The Scourge were long gone - but the signs of their destruction, of their deadly rampage, were all around - the smashed windows; the door lying off its hinges; the belongings strewn around the room in a chaotic mess … and the trail of blood that the beam of Doyle's flashlight hit upon. He followed it.
Lying in a dark corner, half slumped against the wall with his eyes still wide open and glassy with shock, he found a demon man. His skin was a purplish grey and he had little black horns at his temples. He didn't look dangerous. He looked like a guy - just a purple one. But blood trickled down from an ugly head wound, and there was a sucking red hollow in his chest. Doyle sighed. 'Over here!' he called out to Cordelia, but his voice cracked half way through and he had to clear his throat and call out once more.
He felt her arrive by his side, and heard her soft, sad sigh as she took in the sight of the body. She squeezed Doyle's hand - and then crouched down beside the bleeding demon, checking for a pulse - or any sign of life. 'He's dead,' she said, and ran her finger tips over his eyes - closing them for the final time.
Doyle nodded. Of course he was dead. The Scourge wouldn't have left already if there was anybody left alive. He turned and shone his flashlight around the room - searching the rest of it. 'There must be more o' them,' he said quietly - 'all that stuff on the floor, this wasn't the lair o' just one guy. The Scourge…' he swallowed hard, 'The Scourge will have got 'em all.'
Cordelia got back to her feet. 'I'll … I'll go look for any survivors - will you be OK?' he nodded, but he didn't meet her eyes. She wandered away, the beam of her flashlight picking out a path for her, and Doyle gazed around the wide open space. He could feel the beating of his heart in his chest - slowed down to a heavy thud now he'd found a body, now his worst fears were confirmed. It felt weighed down with the horror that had happened here, too filled with sorrow - and guilt - to beat at a regular pace.
He wanted to get out. They had been too late. The Powers had sent him the vision too late - and even if they had got here in time … they couldn't fight The Scourge. They couldn't have prevented this - and the PTB knew it, so instead they had just sent him a punishment vision. Made him live the massacre, made him watch the people he had failed to protect die. He began to head for the back door, he didn't know how much more of this he could take. How much more of his own failure he could come out and look at, clear up the mess. Maybe next time - maybe next time he wouldn't even leave the office, wouldn't even tell Cordelia he had seen anything. It's not like they could do anything anyway…
Wesley pushed open his office door, a pile of books balanced in his hands. He came to a stop. Fred was inside, sitting on a chair - bound and gagged. He dropped his books and made to rush towards her, his every instinct pushing him on to rescue her - get her out of whatever trouble she was in.
But then he noticed the way her wide, frightened eyes were staring over his shoulder - as if trying to tell him something. He turned to look - and barely had time to register a man stepping out from behind the door and hitting him over the head, before he fell unconscious.
'You wanna tell me how a man gets 400 feet down without so much as a dive suit?' Lawson asked. Angel ignored the question, 'which of you is Captain Franklin?' But the captain was dead - and Lawson was now the senior officer on board. Angel gave him his clearance - the one the military guy had drilled into him before dropping him in the ocean. No good sending down a rescue mission if the guys in need of rescue killed him for being a Nazi spy.
The crew accepted the clearance and put their guns away. Angel glanced down at the weights tied to his feet. 'Somebody wanna get these things off me?'
Back in the bunk room, Lawson explained the situation. The handful of them was all that was left: An ensign, a helmsman and some petty officers. They weren't much against the monsters just outside the door. Angel nodded, 'OK, Lawson, keep everybody in this room - lock it up tight.' He headed to the door.
Lawson took out his gun and proffered it to the newcomer. 'I've seen what those things can do to a man, I wouldn't go out there unarmed. Not by yourself.'
But Angel shook his head, 'keep it - you might need it.' He opened the door up, just enough for him to climb out. 'It's OK, Lawson, I know what I'm up against. Don't open this door up for anybody but me.'
Lawson nodded and closed the door behind him. Angel made his way through the next compartment, and turned the wheel on the hatch at the far end, to open it up. The door swung open … And Angel came face to face with the monster trying to break through from the other side. It was ... Spike.
Spike took a step back and looked surprised to see his old grandsire on a German sub in the middle of the north Atlantic. It had been over 40 years, the last he'd seen of him was in China … 'Angelus!' He grinned, 'they'll let anyone in here.'
On his way to the door, the beam of Doyle's flashlight fell onto a small object lying in the middle of the floor, blocking his pathway. He headed for it, crouching down beside it. He picked it up, frowning, to examine it further. And then he felt his slow heartbeat falter to a stop.
It was a shoe.
A little girl's shoe. A black, patent Mary Jane with a red flower sewn onto the front. The girl it belonged to couldn't be more than five or six. And she must be somewhere in here - lying dead. Just like the last one.
