Hundreds of the newly hatched Screachers thundered through the valley towards the giant heat beacon that Bert had set up, consisting of roughly 50 slow burning magnesium flares, generating a heat signal detectable by any infrared scanner within 5 miles

Bert, Jack and the others waited on a ridge above the cul-de-sac like clearing, waiting for the Screachers to walk into their death trap. Cpl. Miller (who was in charge of the satellite readings) nudged Bert and told him that the motion signal had suddenly vanished. It took a few seconds for the cogs in Bert's head to process the meaning of this and piece it together... Those sons a bitches are going to flank us! He yelled into his Com for everybody to pull out and fall back to any fortified position available. "Every body, FALL BACK! We're being flanked! The little shits are coming from behind and both sides, we have to get out now or we won't get out! Get to the Flakvierling. Jack, cover us!"

With that they began sprinting as fast as they could to the relative safety of the Flakvierling to regroup and counter-attack. As they rounded onto the anti-aircraft gun, they saw that Jack had his hands full with a wave of Screachers attempting to knock the gun out. Neither of the women were to be seen so only the worst could be assumed. Cpl. Miller flanked off from the others as they circled the placement, fending off at least 75 of the two legged horrors. Pvt. Jenkins and Richard Mills were blasting away with looks of unbeknownst seriousness on their faces. "HA HA. GET SOME. GET SOME! WHOOOO! GET SOME. HAVE SOME MORE! YA LIKE THAT YOU LITTLE FREAKY MUTHA FUCKER?" Richard Mills had lost all control, the barrel of the gun was only meant for short bursts or maybe sporadic rapid fire, but this free fire with the drum clip was doing murder to the barrel. It soon began to melt, causing Mills to switch to a 9mm sidearm, standard issue for all police. It was indescribably harder, it required damn near a full clip to kill the bastards.

Meanwhile, Cpl. Miller had ascended the tall spike-like ridge and now had freedom to snipe at will. He looked down and saw Richard cut off and surrounded by the Screachers due to his trigger inspired adrenaline rush, and instantly started picking off the ones nearest him. He expended his five round clip in about 2 seconds, swapping the spent clip for a fresh one and resumed guarding Mills.

quite expectedly they were unconsciously causing over 120 decibels of noise that could be picked up by any and all creatures, an the creature that picked it up and homed in on it was none other that El Blanco. Mills had his back turned to the Flakvierling to open fire on another Screacher when the ground beneath him shook and he knew that he was a goner. He tossed hi pistol and ammo to the others on the concrete slab that the gun was positioned on just in time. El Blanco rose up beneath him and bit into him half way between hips and shoulders. Mills had no breath to scream with though he felt indescribable pain. EB opened his mandibles one last time and Mills slid out of sight for the last time. Jack was incoheriently screaming his friends name as he rounded the 4-barreled gun onto EB, unloading at least 50 rounds into the Grabboid, causing it to explode.

Seeing the Grabboid so easily slaughtered, the Screachers turned tail and fled... to who knows where... Seeing the aggressors retreating, Perfection Squad now had time to mourn the loss of Mills. They gathered around the hole El Blanco came out of, looking down... there was something odd there... something moving... something vaguely manlike... "MILLS!" Shouted Bert, falling onto his chest to lift the grievously wounded man out of the hole. No one could believe it... Mills was alive!!! They bounded his wounds before heading back to the facility.