Gunfight in Traverse Town

Disclaimer: Same as before. Warning darkfic coming.

Traverse Town has always been the hotbed of intrigue and cloak and dagger dealings. I have both the Walther 9mm with six rounds in the current magazine and an eight round clip I took from Fat Boy's corpse. Dodgson's .45 is in the waistband of my trousers and both pistols have safety's on with have rounds chambered. All I need to do is draw them, flick the safety off and fire away.

I've followed the latest clue of the now deceased Dodgson into Traverse Town. I need a clue before Diane's trail grows cold. As I walk through the First District I pass by the local tavern. If anything I can get a pint of ale before continuing on my merry search. One thing I've learned since leaving for the Army at seventeen is that information can usually be found at a location's watering hole.

I step inside the Tiki Room, the First District bar. I keep my hand near the P.38 in my coat pocket, this place can be a bit rough. Expatriates, beings from many different worlds destroyed by the Heartless, men and women a few steps ahead of desperation are all about the place.

The bartender is a fellow with a glass left eye named Falco. An Atlantean expatriate, if I'm not mistaken, his Tiki Room is the place to go for information. I head up to the bar, taking a stool closest to the back wall. I can't be ambushed from behind, but I've also got no line of retreat.

Falco comes my way, he's a stocky bloke with a bit of fat about his midsection. Color Sergeant Nikolas Kyprios told me about the old bloke he served with whilst protecting the King of Atlantis. "What can I get you soldier?"

"A pint of ale if you will, mate." I reply.

Falco leans towards me saying, "The pro-Heartless gangs in the area have been unusually active of late."

"Nothing I've heard of mate, pass that one on to other blokes in the neighborhood." I reply, indicating he should tell the Intelligence chaps operating around here.

"Got it." Falco says, "See that woman over there?"

"The blue haired lass at the other end of the bar?" I ask.

"She has an interesting yarn to spin, but often most of her tales are rather colored by the drink." Falco says, loudly for people to hear and then tells me, more subtly, "She's former Royal Forces Intelligence. A good source for intelligence, but rather expensive."

"Right, what's her name?" I ask.

"Goes by Cascade." Falco says, "Intelligence types, always acting strange with their weird code names."

"Well, fear not mate, I'll head her way, chat her up and hopefully I'll get some useful intel. Put it all on my tab." I reply.

I walk up to the mysterious woman, wearing a glistening evening dress and drinking a martini. "Barkeep, a martini for the lady." I say, as I take the stool beside her.

"Thirst for liquid can be quenched, but thirst for knowledge is always insatiable." Cascade responds mysteriously. That being said, she takes the vodka martini and drains in.

Wanker. If it's gonna be a vodka martini for every sentence I'll be broke if not dead by the end of this one. "The slaver gangs have been quite active of late. There is word that an American naval officer was kidnapped by them."

"Where is she?" I ask.

"Your voice betrays you, your concern for her safety is motivated by something other than duty." Cascade says, "She will not tarry for long here, her captors will move her..."

As she speaks I notice a couple of blokes walking up to Cascade and see the unmistakeable shape of a pistol being drawn. I shove Cascade to the ground, bring out the P.38 and fire rounds into the assassin, sending him falling to the ground.

The shots of my pistol draw out several screams and more weapons appear around the bar. "End of the line soldier boy!" his partner shouts, drawing his own pistol. I plaster him with two 9mm rounds and a .45 after I pull my other pistol loose.

Apparently more pro-Heartless gang members come into the bar, armed with pistols and knives. One of them behind me has a pistol aimed my way but doesn't fire it because he is promptly sent flying by a blast of buckshot.

Behind me I see Falco holding an M97 trench shotgun. He pumps the weapon again with a metallic click-clack and aims at another gang member, blowing a sizeable hole through his chest. I grab the deceased gang member's pistol, it's a Mauser M1918 pistol, commonly called a broom handle, that can fire full automatic. I aim it at another couple of thugs, firing towards Cascade from behind an upturned table.

I keep their heads down and run behind another table. As they taught us in the infantry, and later the SAS you always move forward and take the fight to them. You're dead anyway, so anything you accomplish is a bonus.

After I reload another clip into the P.38 I advance towards another table, shooting all the while. The broom handle went empty a long time ago, and I discarded it. One of the two thugs is lying on his back with a sucking chest wound, an almost always fatal injury unless a medic gets to you. The second thug aims his sawed off shotgun my way, only to get drilled twice through the head by pistol shots from a hidden derringer Cascade was holding.

Two thugs fire a burst of fire from a broom handle and Falco falls. They run outside into Traverse Town's Second District. I head over to Falco, vaulting over the bar, to see that he's wounded. Three bullets have shattered his left arm and grazed his side. It's nothing serious, when a doctor gets to him. I tear the shirt of one of the dead thugs into strips and bandage his wounds.

"Mind if I borrow this mate?" I ask, picking up his M97 shotgun.

"Sure, I've got about four more of them lying around the bar. Just be sure to give those bastards the good news for me." Falco says.

"Call a doctor." I tell Cascade, "I'm coming back this way."

"Wait! Don't be too hasty. Heartless and their agents populate the other districts, making it dangerous after dark." Cascade says.

"Right." I reply. I take stock of the various discarded weapons around the bar, picking up extra twelve gauge shells for the shotgun, picking up an M1911 .45 pistols, like the one I took

off Dodgson, and discarding the now empty P.38.

"I presume you know how to use this?" I ask, pressing a Webley Revolver into Cascade's right hand.

"I do." Cascade replies.

"Good." I say, passing her a handful of rounds. "Keep a watch over Mr. Falco..."

"It is dangerous to go alone." Cascade replies, "Falco can take care of himself."

She indicates him pulling a sawed off shotgun from behind a false panel and says, "I will accompany you, Mr. Puckett."

"Right." I reply, "Stay no more than two feet behind me and cover my back."

I enter the Second District in much the same manner as I did last time I was in Traverse Town, climbing over the wall. As I climb I feel bullets whiz past my head and see the two gang members running off. Three Soldier Heartless appear to challenge us and I squeeze the trigger of the shotgun as I land on my feet. The cloud of buckshot tears the head off the Heartless in a splatter of black blood.

The other two Soldier Heartless charge and I back against the wall, firing another shotgun blast. The first goes down with a smoking hole in the center of its chest. The second staggers back a pace, but is apparently still able to fight. I fire another round into the midsection at point blank range and tear the Heartless in half. The third Heartless retreats, running smack into Cascade's line of fire. With unerring accuracy she kills it. As I run after the gang members I reload my shotgun, making sure the chamber has the full five shells in it.

"HALT!" I shout, aiming my shotgun at one of the gang members. Apparently they've split up. Cascade is watching my back, to make sure the other isn't going to come up and kill me.

The fellow is young, a skinny little punk out of his teens. His wavy blonde hair is laced with sweat, indecision flickers in his blue eyes. Surrender or die, his options aren't good. The bore of a twelve gauge shotgun must seem like the barrel of a cannon or the maw of an abyss. He has to know that this is the fire breathing contraption that's blasted away two Soldier Heartless, ripping them apart bodily. He can lay down his weapon or fight.

"Lay down your arms, and you will not be shot!" I shout.

The man turns, pointing his M1918 at me and firing a shot that narrowly misses my head by an inch. BANG. I squeeze the trigger, blasting him back a pace. He is still determined to get me, however, raising the gun in his hand shakily. CA-CHUNK, BANG. The blast throws him backward into a wall, tearing a good sized chunk out of his lower midsection. He is still determined to kill me, his grip on the weapon firm and he raises it again. CA-CHUNK, BANG. The Mauser flies into the alley, as the buckshot breaks the punk's right arm. He dives after his weapon as I aim at him again. CA-CHUNK, BANG. At five meters, the shot completely misses. I'm frantically flapping, reloading rounds into the shotgun, running towards the bloke. CA-CHUNK, BANG. CA-CHUNK, BANG. Why the hell won't this bloke die? CA-CHUNK, BANG. With a final blast, the thug ceases movement, the alley awash with his blood.

The gang member makes his living kidnapping and transferring human cargo, but I feel no hatred for the young man I just killed. He was trying to kill me, but I shot first. The buckshot has torn horrible wounds in his body, his right arm and leg are both shattered and he has more lead ball bearings in his body than he has bones. I root through his pocket, finding two spare clips for his M1918, a shotgun round, and several papers.

From his identification I ascertain I've killed an initiate of a slaver gang. Cascade helps me determine that. The man was still trying to get me while I was killing him. He was so determined to carry out the said initiation, which involves killing a man, that he seemed not to care that chunks of his body were being ripped away and bones were being shattered by bursts of buckshot.

Inventorying my pocket I see I have eight rounds of shotgun ammo left, plus seven more on a cloth cover that was on the weapon's butt stock. I have one .45 pistol and three clips for it as well on my person. I hope to God I find Diane, and soon.

"Who is he?" I ask.

"He is an initiate of the Black Hand gang. They are one of three gangs in Traverse Town trafficking human beings." Cascade replies, "Morrero, the wandering one, knows where they are."

"Fools!" Maleficent shouted to surviving members of the Black Hand, "You could not handle one fat old barkeep or an alcoholic young woman? They should have been silenced before Puckett reached Traverse Town."

"Puckett just appeared on the scene." the leader replied.

Just then the door to the clock tower swung wide open and a somewhat pudgy young man entered, "They're dead! All of them! All they guys we sent to whack the bitch and the barkeep are dead. Some British soldier killed them all!"

Several captives in the next room were near enough to the door to hear this. But gagged and tied up as they were, they were in no state to do anything about it. Diane had just spent a very uncomfortable day and night, sleeping a little bit, crying a lot, trying to keep from panicking. She'd panicked when she had awakened inside a shipping crate shortly after leaving London and the resulting congestion resulting from her sobs nearly suffocated her.

A British soldier. That might mean Rusty. Because there was no overt British or American presence in Traverse Town as it was an apolitical zone where no soldiers were permitted. She'd been here, lying alternately on her back, side, or stomach on a cot of some kind. About a dozen other people were confined in the same area. Lengths of hemp rope bound her wrists behind her back, pinioned her arms at her side, and bound her thighs, knees and ankles. She was gagged by a rag stuffed in her mouth with several strips of that foul, sticky adhesive tape across it.

Despite her captive state, Diane knew she was still an officer. She did everything she could to gather intelligence and try to plan an escape. By her estimates there were a dozen gang members holding her captive. Despite being blindfolded she'd recognized one by the scent of cologne he wore, so she called him Stinky in her mind. Then there was Fatboy, the perverted chubby fellow who enjoyed handling female captives whenever he got the chance. She could still hear both of them talking, so they were still alive. They'd sent out eight guys to kill 'the barkeep and the bitch' but Rusty evidently killed seven of them. Fatboy had apparently been the only survivor, and the way he was describing the fight seemed to imply Rusty had gotten hold of a shotgun, because what else thundered like a cannon but could still be carried by one man.

As she shifted from her right side to her back to try to ease the pins and needles feeling in her side, she noticed a skinny, olive skinned youth with glasses and ratty clothes walking around muttering to himself. The gang didn't seem to think him any threat, but he wasn't part of their number because he'd been hit for stealing food from them on more than one occasion.

"A British soldier causes concern. They say he may bring more." The boy, Morerro, he was called, said.

"His terrible long gun rips holes and shreds in bodies. He'd best reach these captives bound before they are taken to a place of great sorrow..." Morrero said. He slid Diane's gag off her mouth.

"What British soldier? Are there more of them?" Diane whispered, "Can you get to the Allies?"

"Don't know if I can get there without being seen. The eyes of the Heartless are quite keen. Hark your captors do return, I'd best silence you again. The Allies shall learn..." Morerro said, gagging Diane again.

"So this Morerro kid knows where the gangs are taking Diane? Or which gang has her." I say.

Cascade smiles, "You are here on a labor of love. Beware, Rusty Puckett, for this is a dangerous path you tread. Many have gone in pursuit of missing loved ones, only to die."

"The motto of the Regiment, Who Dares, Wins." I reply, chambering another round into my shotgun just as I see Cascade aiming the pistol at me. I'm convinced that my quest will end in a Mexican standoff against this woman and Diane will be forever lost.

She aims the pistol away from me and fires. I see a Shadow Heartless fall dead behind me. Two more are leaping my way, only to be blown out of the sky by a cloud of buckshot from the shotgun. Both of them fall, mangled heaps in a shower of black blood, to the stony floor of the Second District.

"Where is this Morerro kid?" I ask, "Who is he?"

"He's known as the Insane Child of Traverse Town. Since his world, Wonderland, was taken over by the Heartless he lost his sanity." Cascade replies, "He is seen as harmless by the gangs."

I know one thing, these gangs, the Heartless, I'm not daunted. I'll fight through every last one of them to save Diane. Even though she may love another man, I will do all in my power to save her from her captors, even if I must die myself.

"Your devotion to her is great. But are you willing to give your all to bring her back. Many who have tried, many stronger than thee, but they have succumbed to the darkness..." Cascade says.

Before I can reply I hear gunshots in the Third District. Someone's being chased. I check that both my weapons are loaded and sneak into the Third District. As I do, I feel I've taken the first step into an unknown and dangerous world...

TBC: Coming in the next couple of chapters...the Haunted Mansion...