Brother

Episode 7: Enter the Counter-Attack

Disclaimer: I don't own Toryama-sama's characters, just James, Ed, the TCA, and the Skeemdians (well, there's more, but that would be spoiling the later parts of this story).

Warning: Sharp language (somewhat sharper than DBZ), violence, gore (more than DBZ), and maybe a little sexual innuendo. I would rate this fic a heavy PG-13, but not R. Enjoy!

The first died standing, fingers poised to radio in a report.

The second died turning to face its leader.

The third actually aimed its weapon at the shadow.

The forth saw its companions' killer.

James grinned like a demon, covered from head to toe in the blood of his enemies. He danced around them like smoke, cackling madly and calling to them. Insane laughter echoed in his wake, bodies falling to the ground as he passed.

The effect was, as Ed had once observed, like throwing mice at a mountain lion; hard on the mice and somewhat amusing to the mountain lion.

The lone Skeemdian felt real fear at that moment. It blinked, taking in the empty space of air that once held a Human assassin of legendary skill. It was sure something had been there a second ago. Something--

A splattering noise drew the Skeemdian's attention to its abdomen, its eyes were about to identify the organ that was stuck fast to its skin, but the last thing to go through its mind was an explosive .50 caliber bullet.

"Yippie ki-yi ya, you ugly sack of meat." James eloquently mis-quoted as he disappeared into the shadows.

The Assassin was back.

----------

Ed ran through and around the plants, feeling like a rat stuck in a rain forest. Everything organic was ridiculously large, yet thankfully absent of insects. There was only the distant hum of the Sky-Cows and the wet crunching sounds of his own footfalls through the plants to keep him company.

Each hand held one of his 35-AK handguns. Each was a semi-automatic "super handgun" with customized .35-caliber ammunition. He was down to these, the 'Hurtalot' rocket launcher and his MB-666 machine gun, with only seven hundred rounds left.

There was, of course, the backup thermonuclear warhead and about twenty knives of varying sizes, but Ed wasn't in the mood to commit suicide just yet.

The gun in his right hand was loaded with the duct tape clips--each fired a fragmentary round that would briefly stun a normal Skeemdian. The right hand had the yellow tape clips--high velocity bullets that were one-shot kills if you knew how to use them. Ed knew that in this cover there wouldn't be enough space for long-range firefights, so his tactics would be simple. Shoot first, shoot again (many, many times), and pray that there was nothing left to interrogate afterwards.

The only problem was his painful lack of ammunition: a mere five clips of each type--which translated into a meager 200 rounds.

He crested the ridge at full run. The foliage unexpectedly fell away, revealing the rocky ground around him like morning mist parted by beams of sunlight. Trees towered over him like a miniature metropolis.

And a dozen Skeemdians in camouflage suits stood in wait.

Ed was shooting before he realized what he was up against. He dove to the left, praying (as he flew through the air with both guns firing) that he wouldn't run head-first into the nearest tree. Bullets and energy beams lanced through the clearing, cutting apart trees, trimming plants, and generally making an epic mess of the ridge-top clearing all in the blink of an eye. Ed's guns ran dry just before he hit the ground and used his momentum to roll behind one of the massive tree trunks.

He remembered Skeemdians. Skeemdians shooting at him. One had taken a hit in the leg and didn't even flinch. Ed's hands were reloading at a blinding pace even as his brain raced to catch up with his heartbeat. The twin actions slammed closed as he rolled out from behind the tree. A portion of his mind noted that it was rapidly being cut apart by the Skeemdian's weapons.

He side-stepped rapidly to his left, his mind finally synched with the rest of his body. Each of the five Skeemdian went down in turn; two to the chest from one gun, two the brain with the other. He noted with satisfaction that the yellow tape rounds where leaving exit wounds the size of grapefruit in the Skeemdians. Wait, wasn't there six?!

Out of bullets. He backpedaled, throwing one gun into the air and fishing a missile out of his coat. The explosive dropped to the ground harmlessly, Ed caught his free gun, then deftly flattened himself against the backside of yet another tree. His hands reloaded on automatic again. He barely heard the clips bouncing amongst the rocky ground.

He did notice the sudden silence.

There was only five that time. There was six when I hit the top. Six, then five. I didn't put one down. He's still out there. He's--

He was to Ed's right. Ed turned, firing sight unseen, as a veritable whip of energy chorused through the tree six inches from his head. Hairs on the back of his neck jumped to attention and did a Chinese fire drill on the spot. His vision blurred and a buzzing noise--not unlike a jar full of homicidal wasps implanted into his brain--beat mercilessly on his eardrums.

The stream of plasma died abruptly at the same time Ed's gun ran dry.

"That was too close." He said slowly.

"You're right about that." James said, glaring his friend from behind the Skeemdian's corpse. "C'mon, drop those hunks of junk. We're too close for that kind of cowboy shit."

Before Ed could reply, the air was rent with a yell of rage, followed shortly by the sound of a ship exploding. The concussion echoed off the hill, rocking James and Ed on their feet.

"Go?" James pointed towards the Skeemdian base.

Ed nodded and the two took off. Directly behind them, two squads of Skeemdians rushed into the clearing, looking around in shock. James... just disappeared, Ed noted sourly. He jumped, spun 180 degrees, and fired into the crowd with the duct tape rounds. As he had hoped, one clipped the rocket he left in the rocks earlier. He continued his spin for another 180 degrees before he hit the ground and dashed around cover.

The mess the rocket had turned the Skeemdian troops into did not invite description.

"Now what was that about useless?" Ed asked the wind. With a grunt, he noted that he was alone. Now where did James get to?

----------

James found trouble. Lots of trouble. Lots of short, six-limbed, two hundred kilograms a piece trouble. Trouble his skills were well suited to eliminating.

He broke their ranks with a classic two-for-one. Dashing from shadow to shadow, he cut down one Skeemdian with his sword, neatly bisecting the alien before he knew what hit him. During that same dash, he threw a sticky bomb at another Skeemdian, one a dozen feet away. The bomb went off after a one second delay, taking out that soldier and wounding the one next to him. The two remaining Skeemdians were looking in the direction of the explosion, and not at their violently dissected comrade. James took each from behind using his large .50-caliber handgun.

He had become stronger, faster, and more eager to use these newfound abilities over the last few days. He was enjoying himself immensely, and marveled at the power he'd gained simply by witnessing another call it forth. To James, ki had been something useful, but mundane. Ki, put simply, was concentration. Focus.

He had one technique that was particularly well suited to this focus. If performed incorrectly, it could result in severe injury, but with the proper focus, it was incredibly powerful, able to shatter stone with ease.

But ki as a real source of energy, energy his body could use and his mind could form as easily as soft clay... now that was something new. He had quickly figured out how to extend his old technique--the Stonecrusher Fist he called it--to greatly enhance both his strength and speed. Coupled with his formidable experience and skills in killing people quickly and simply, he was nearly unstoppable against any human opponent. The Skeemdians could be handled easily now that the playing field was level.

He leapt into the shadows once again, moving like a wraith. This kind of trouble he could handle all day.

----------

Explosions thundered across the countryside. Beams of pure light criss-crossed the sky in patterns of pure insanity.

Skeemdian air forces: 0 Airborne Saiyajin warriors: 26

Vegeta tumbled under a series of shots that formed a series of lazy X's in the clear morning sky, drawing a bead on the most distant ship. A ball of ki flew from his fingertips easily a second later, nailing the ship before it could dodge and ending his airborne dance. He leveled himself in the air, then dodge to one side as his dairokan tipped him off to an attack from the ground. Out of the corner of his eye, he traced the beam back to where it exited the trees and fired a blast in that general direction, clearing land and adding yet another smoking crater to the landscape.

"Nappa! Are we getting any closer?!" He yelled to the winds.

His servant's voice floated back from the other side of the ridge. "Much, much closer. I think they're beginning to pull back as well."

Vegeta snarled in agitation. Flying was not a way to conserve energy, it actually expended a fair amount, and he felt very exposed at this altitude. He and Nappa had dropped low on opposite sides of the ridge, moving forward in time with the two Humans.

Teamwork was key, and playing out his part of the plan was boring, yet dangerous. The tedium was maddening, and being shot at was very annoying.

He grit his teeth together until his jaw began to ache. The plan was working brilliantly. Simple, decisive, direct. The only problem was that they had to work at the same pace as the Humans below. Vegeta planned to kill them once this foolish battle was over, but something about the pair bothered him.

He dodged three sets of successive blasts from the ground. Two from below, one from above. Amateurs. He let fly two more blasts, catching all three fire teams in a miniature inferno, then returned to musing over his new 'comrades.'

There's something wrong with those two. They're very similar to Saiyajins, but ridiculously weak. What I don't understand is how they doubled their power in just two days! What kind of race has that ability?

There was an alternative answer to this, of course. The Humans were able to 'power down' when they weren't using their ki, returning to a resting power level. It struck Vegeta as a simple but dangerous trick. If they were caught with their guard down...

And when they talked about the Skeemdians destroying their home world... such anger. Rage. All it turned into raw power. I thought there were going to explode! Why, that James fellow was glowing red. Glowing! His power level spiked enormously. I could feel it...

Emotion. That was the trigger for the Humans. When they got angry, they fought with a ferocity that defied explanation. Perhaps anger was a special kind of insanity.

Vegeta flipped aside of yet another energy blast. Whatever the case, these two bore watching. Perhaps he wouldn't kill them after all.

----------

James wondered if he was stuck in a bad samurai movie. Guns exhausted, he was down to a sword, his wits, and seventy-five thousand Skeemdians out for his blood.

Akira Kurosawa would be proud.

He rushed the next squad with a vicious smile holding onto his lips and fire burning in his eyes.

Vegeta and Nappa had dropped dozens of the Sky-Cows so far; the explosion of yet another fireball in the sky was becoming a constant thunder in the distance. One carrier had managed to close in on Ed and James' position, dropping a crew of ground-clearing Skeemdians in their path.

Excellent. They looked like some high-ranking types, with heavy duty radio transceivers mounted atop their bodies.

James cut from one end of the clearing to the other in a single blurry line. At the end of the clearing, he ran straight up one tree, kicked in his ki, and rocketed away like a missile. Spinning slowly in the air, he let fly a spare hand grenade in one direction, and a knife in the other.

Too easy. With another push from his ki, he dropped from the air faster than gravity permitted, dodging twin plasma beams, and grabbed the dying Skeemdian with a knife sticking from his chest, using him as a shield.

The grenade went off, taking out the rest of the pack.

Too easy.

He gathered his energy for a second, letting it rush through his veins like liquid lightning, and leapt skyward. He cleared the treetops in a single leap, and quickly sighted Vegeta.

"Move on! Fast!" James yelled to the Saiyajin.

"Understood!" Vegeta yelled back.

James dropped to the ground, thumbing the microphone in his coat. "Ed, we're moving two kilometers down as fast as we can. The valley turns there and I smell an ambush. Tell Nappa."

"Understood." Ed tersely replied, the sound of explosions coming over the communications link a split-second before their echos could be heard over the ridge.

James blinked. He... Vegeta... aw, screw it.

- TbC