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"Look at Behemoth, which I made along with you and which feeds on grass like an ox. What strength it has in its loins, what power in the muscles of its belly! Its tail sways like a cedar, the sinews of its thighs are close-knit. Its bones are tubes of bronze, its limbs like rods of iron."

~Job 40: 15-18

Chapter Thirty-three: Behemoth

"With...with all the creatures out there these days..." Bradford stared at the holodisplay in stupefied incomprehension. "Vahlen just had to modify a berserker, didn't she?"

"I'm sure she had a good reason." Gallant winced when the hologram bellowed and banged its fists together again. The whole team burst into a mix of screaming and shouting over his com. "I'm sure it was a very compelling reason."

"Her curiosity was not unfounded," Tygan allowed, lips pursed very tightly and the words coming out slow, like he had to taste-test each one for its diplomatic value. "But I agree that it was perhaps not the most...prudent...of choices."

"Light it up," Gallant ordered. "Focus all fire on the berserker!" He turned to glare alternately at another spot on the display and at the balding man on his bridge. "Tell me something, Hiroshi."

"She's...sustaining herself." There was a look of wonder in the psi-director's eyes. "Somehow, Julie's using her power to create a protective cocoon around her body, while she digs into her chest to pull the bullet out. She's performing psionic surgery on herself in the field!"

"Will she live, Director?" Gallant clutched the rail, listening to the soldiers hue and cry, unloading streams of hot mag-fire. "I think they're going to need her."

"I can't be sure just yet, but I would imagine so." Hiroshi paused. "Sylvie doesn't know what just happened."

"Good. Leave things that way." Gallant didn't fancy explaining that decision to an irate Frenchwoman after the fact, but he was the Commander and that would probably get him through the conversation alive...if Julie was there for the talk too. If she didn't make it back...

"What about the Hunter, sir?" Bradford demanded. Gallant ground his teeth.

"One problem at a time." He was well aware it was a less-than-spectacular answer. "It's up to Mox and his team now."

The Advent soldier had found a nice position: nestled behind a thick tree standing on a rise just above the convoy. It had probably been a Resistance fire position during the initial ambush, and it offered an excellent field of fire over the whole display. The soldier clearly intended to use that to best effect, and he very carefully took aim at Cameron Rogers, down on the road line with pistol in hand as he changed positions.

Elena Dragunova thought her prey might have detected her an instant too late. He definitely twitched, though whether he'd been about to turn or simply reaching for a grenade instead of his gun was more than she could be certain of. What she could be certain of was that his helmet wasn't all it should have been, because the butt of her temnotic rifle caved it in and his skull with it.

She hit him a few more times as he croaked and tumbled, just on general principles. When his head looked like a bowl of yellow salsa, Elena moved on, not even bothering to wipe her gun clean before she seized the firing position and studied the fight.

She hadn't seen what had happened to Julie, but she had several guesses about what the screaming over her com had been about. She did see Cameron doing his best to shoot that...Queen Berserker's equipment off her back, and Elena admired his guts if not his accuracy. She watched Mox' grapple go off and the Skirmisher fly atop a truck's cab. His bullpup roared a moment later.

So did the alien. The howling cry was earth-shaking and bone-chilling, and it made Elena - by no means a fresh-faced recruit - jump. When the beast lunged forward, its footsteps sounded as heavy as Julian's sectopod's, and almost as metallic.

"This Doctor Vahlen did good work," Elena mused, keeping her com off. She lined up her shot, putting on her best veneer of false phlegmatic stoicisim. "I'll shoot her myself."

Bang! The rifle's kick was different than it had been before its upgrade. That would have bothered Elena a lot more if it hadn't had a lot more kick to it in other ways, too.

"Target angry!" Rogers cried, and Elena hissed as the Queen bore down on him. The sharpshooter couldn't help backing away, but that wasn't enough to keep him from taking a big, meaty fist in the chest. It was at least a backhanded blow, but the solder still flew with a wail, hitting the nearest escort car so hard the entire vehicle rocked. Elena didn't like the way the Canadian slumped, but she thought he was still breathing.

"Keep up the pressure!" Mox ordered. He unleashed another burst from his high perch - and then threw himself flat, rolling off the cab for the truck's bed. Since that put him closer to the Queen, Elena thought he'd lost his mind.

Until the red shot ripped through the air where he'd stood only an instant before.

"I'll get you on the next one," the Hunter promised, his voice echoing in Elena's head. She worked the bolt on her rifle, taking careful aim at the Queen's bleeding wounds.

Bang!

The good news was that the creature roared in pain from the hit. The bad news was that its head swung around when it did, and Elena's heart probably skipped a beat when the beast let out another earth-shaking cry of challenge.

"Get out of there!" Bradford cried, as the Berserker Queen seized a small truck. Elena made a wordless noise in the back of her throat as the alien hefted it overhead.

Elena dove for lower ground as the Queen hurled the truck. She watched it spin through the air, and she saw the contents of its bed spill out like a comet's tail. Crying out, the Reaper lunged, throwing herself flat at the last second, hoping gravity and momentum would carry her out of the danger zone.

She almost made it.

Crash!

"Outrider!" Mox called, voice thick with pain. Aidan MacLeod swore.

"Never mind her!" he shouted, hardly polite but very practical. The dust hadn't even finished settling around what was undoubtedly a Reaper pancake before the Scotsman put a burst into the Berserker's back. "Kill the beast!"

He reached for his grenade, thankful that Mox was again opening fire. Whatever the Skirmisher's attachment to Outrider, he could worry about it when they weren't in imminent mortal danger. Speaking of that-

"Eat this, bitch!" MacLeod threw his pineapple, and the Queen, showing great dexterity and little brains, caught it. MacLeod whooped when it blew up in her hand a moment later, spewing yellow over the ground. Oh, it didn't look like it had blown her hand off, but riddled with all those puncture wounds from the flying shrapnel...

"Watch out!" Mox warned, as the Queen charged. MacLeod threw himself sideways, yelping as the Queen's fist hit the road. Pavement cracked and MacLeod nearly lost his footing.

"Not today!" he howled, before pouring the rest of his magazine into her. "No retreat!"

That was when her other arm flashed, and MacLeod took a fist the size of a pony right in the chest.

"Fuck!" It was the only word he could come out with. Half his ribs must have broken, judging by the sudden conflagration lighting him up below the shoulders. He tasted blood when his teeth came down on his tongue. He dropped his rifle.

Then the Queen seized MacLeod by the waist, and he had a brief moment to scream as she squeezed his savaged ribs before she hurled him down the convoy.

MacLeod's vision went red even before impact. When he slammed spine-first into the next truck, he made a noise that could have been heard in Tokyo. He felt the truck's metal shell buckle under him, and something snapped in a deep, personal, and extremely painful way.

He crashed on his face, hitting the road and skinning his elbows and his cheek both. Literally the only part of him that didn't hurt was his legs - they very conspicuously didn't hurt. MacLeod wondered about that, struggling to keep his raw throat from letting out another scream as he made his way to his feet.

Tried to make his way to his feet.

"Oh, fuck..." For a moment, curious satisfaction at having figured out his problem eclipsed the surge of existential terror that rushed up through his bloodstream. "They don't hurt because I can't feel them. My back broke."

Mox's bullpup roared. Mariah's shard gun was doing a hell of a lot of shooting somewhere over on the right, but MacLeod wasn't entirely certain what she was shooting at. He swore, stuffing his wrist into his mouth and biting down hard on it to keep from screaming again as he pulled himself forward along the road. Sure, now his wrist hurt too, but everything hurt. What was a bit more?

He reached out, grabbing for purchase on the pavement. His com must have gotten dislodged in the throw, because he couldn't hear Bradford or Gallant in his ear screaming about whatnot. Maybe that was good, maybe it was bad. MacLeod couldn't be arsed to figure it out: his world consisted of the next handhold on the road, and then the struggle to not shriek and draw Advent's attention when he hauled himself bodily another arm-length. Where he was going, he didn't know, but it seemed very important to get away from where he was.

"I have to admit, I didn't think you'd live through that." A foot landed on MacLeod's back, and he screamed. He screamed so loud, he lost whatever it was the Hunter said next.

Then a pistol roared just over his head, and on came merciful stillness.

"Oh...ow..." Cameron Rogers came back to his wits slowly and with a great deal of moaning. He got his arms under him, grudgingly pushing up until he was on his hands and knees. His head hurt, and his back, and his legs, and...and a lot of things, actually, but he didn't want to dwell on that. He looked around, hearing gunfire and shouting but not really processing most of it. Without particular thought, he swept up his pistol, his sniper rifle having vanished somewhere in the remains of the convoy.

"Where is everyone?" he wondered. "Mox? Mox?"

He didn't see him, and the Skirmisher must not have heard him. The Canadian stumbled to his feet, testing to make sure everything still worked. All his damage seemed superficial. Even without knowing how much worse things had been for MacLeod, Cameron thanked his lucky stars and promised to hit the Avenger's chapel a little more often.

He might not have seen Mox, but he did hear someone else. Someone faint, but nearby.

"What?" Cameron stumbled off the road, following his ears and gradually regaining his legs as he hurried toward the slopes. He paused when he saw the upturned truck. "How the hell-"

"Under here!" That was a breathless, strained voice. Cameron jumped, eyes flicking down until he saw the helmeted head sticking out from below the truck.

"Outrider!" Cameron hurried over, dropping to his knees beside her. "How did you-"

"My leg is broken." She was very clinical about that. Apart from a little shortness in her breath, Cameron wouldn't have noticed she was in pain. "My arms are trapped."

"Okay. Okay." Cameron looked around. "Uh...okay!" He found a long, thick I-beam of alien alloy. It weighed a lot, but he was high on adrenaline and barely noticed it. With a grunt, the Canadian jammed the end in beside Dragunova. "On the count of three, all right? I'll lever and you push. You get enough room, get out."

"Copy that."

"One...two..." Cameron sucked in breath. "Three!' He shoved, and he heard Dragunova grunt with effort. He more nearly screamed as he pushed. "Come on! Budge, damn you!"

Somewhere out there, Mariah fired on something. Cameron wondered if the dearth of firing and screaming meant the Hunter and the Queen had been killed. Then he remembered he was standing in the open, and he wished he hadn't thought of the Hunter. The hairs on the back of his neck tried to stand on end, and he imagined he could feel the Chosen taking careful aim to blow his head off his shoulders. At least it would be painless...

"Come on," he snarled, sweat pouring down his forehead as he shoved harder. "Come on, you son of a-"

The truck twitched. It wasn't much, and it took all Cameron had to hold it, but maybe it was enough. Just barely...

"Coming!" Dragunova screamed, and Cameron supposed she'd banged her broken leg into something on the way out. He screamed too, as his arms tried to drop the truck back on top of her. He didn't know how he managed to hold it, but he did, and slowly, Dragunova clawed her way out, hand over hand. Sure enough, her left leg was bent at an angle that made Cameron wince, but that one howl was the only sound she made except for grunts of exertion. She even made sure to bring her rifle out with her.

Then she was clear, and Cameron released the lever with a grateful cry. He tumbled to his knees, rubbing his red hands together and muttering curses.

"Come on," he gasped after a minute. Cameron leaned down and took Dragunova's hand in his. Gently, he eased her arm up over his shoulders. "I'll call Firebrand. You need medical attention."

She reached up and threw her tattered hood back. Cameron waited as the Reaper pulled off her helmet, throwing it away like trash. The wind rushed over her sweat-soaked face, now stained by a steady beat of blood from a set of small cuts at the base of her short hair. Her cheeks were sheet-white and she clenched her jaw very tightly.

"Wait," she grunted anyway. "The aliens?"

"I don't know. I don't know anything." Cameron used his free hand to steady Elena as he pulled her to her feet. He winced when she hissed. "I'm sorry, but we have to get you out of here." Dazedly, he remembered his com and keyed it. "Central? Avenger? I've got-"

He screamed when a red shape barreled from inside the convoy. Cameron swore as it set its eyes on the pair of them, and the Berserker Queen screamed another challenge. He grabbed for his pistol as it charged.

A tendril of violet light snapped into the creature's head. The angry roar and vicious charge both aborted abruptly, and the Queen let out a piteous wail. Cameron's eyes flicked past it, and he let out a short breath of wonder when he saw Julie Richardson, amp in hand as she leaned on anything that would support her. Hate blazed in the psi-op's eyes, hate without an ounce of quit regardless of the fact that someone had painted her scarlet from head to toe.

Cameron's pistol finally came out, and it barked as he put whatever fire he could into the Queen. She probably didn't even really feel it under all her armor, not compared to the psionic attack.

Or, maybe she did, because she let out another roar that sounded much different from the others. Cameron kept hitting the trigger even after his clip ran out, because his eyes fixed on a glowing portal vortex of whirling energy that sprang up twenty feet shy of the Queen.

"It's trying to get away," Dragunova breathed. Cameron nodded as the beast tore for the door.

"Good fucking riddance," he snapped, as it very well did get away. The light spun and condensed, and then it - and the Queen - popped out of existence at the same time.

"Jesus Christ," Julie whispered, stumbling from her current perch to a stack of crates. One shifted under her weight and tumbled, but she didn't seem to notice it. "What the hell..."

"You don't look well." Cameron guided Dragunova down off the slope and into the trucks. He reached for his earpiece again. "Firebrand? Are you there?"

"I'm certainly not in Tahiti with a mimosa and a hot masseuse." She seemed to chew on the thought. "Maybe I should take a day trip."

"Outrider and Richardson are in bad shape. We need extraction for medical detail." Cameron didn't release Dragunova, but he did reach to his belt for his blue flare. "I'm lighting the beacon."

"If the beacons are lit, then Firebrand will answer!" It sounded like a quotation, but Cameron couldn't for the life of him place it even though he felt certain he should have. Life was a haze at the moment.

"It's down." He dropped the flare. "Julie, you first."

"I'm not...I'm not hurt." She sank to her knees. "I'm just fine."

"You look like you bathed in blood." Cameron shook his head. "Your armor is supposed to be purple, not red. You go up the rope first, and we'll follow."

"What about the mission?" Outrider demanded. "What about Mox?"

Bang-bang-bang!

"And good riddance," Pratal Mox muttered, hurrying past the writhing corpse of what had been a viper. He paused to slide a new magazine into his bullpup, wishing he could put more shots into each clip. Perhaps he could talk to the engineering team about that? They were sure to recover all sorts of modification parts from this convoy. An expanded magazine or even a laser sight wouldn't be too unlikely.

Perhaps there will be a repeater, Mox thought, and that was a cheery idea. Repeaters could make mincemeat of even the strongest of Advent's servants - whenever they deigned to work, at least. If he could fix one to his gun-

All thoughts abruptly ceased, because when Mox rounded the last corner, he discovered he wasn't alone.

"Oh, hello there." The Hunter grinned. "The Elders aren't going to be happy to see you, you know."

Mox didn't bother rejoining. Instead, he snapped his gun up and cut loose on something close to full auto, spraying the Hunter with fire. Yellow blood sprayed.

"Oh, not bad." But then a red shot lanced out, and Mox yelped as it took him in the side. He swore in his own tongue, clutching the wound. His hand came away yellow.

"Shall we talk things over somewhere else?" The Hunter bounded forward, and Mox saw purple shining on his hand. He thought of Sylvie, and what the Warlock had done to her.

He threw his bullpup, and it caught the Chosen in the face. The creature made an aggrieved noise, stumbling...and then Mox lunged, swinging more wildly than he would in the ring with Kelly or Liang. The Hunter had no trouble knocking his fist away.

It missed his other hand, and Mox's upgraded ripjack drove twin blades into the Hunter's flank. It howled.

"Double or nothing!" Then he lunged, and Mox was on the defensive. He wove back and forth, ducking swings and strikes that could probably have knocked Central out cold. They whizzed through the air like rockets, too close for comfort.

"Vox Tala for Ten!" Mox cried, before scoring the Hunter's other side. He fired his grapple in the same instant, and he flew away from the creature, seizing his gun in passing. He landed on the bed of a truck stacked high with ammunition and fuel crates, and he'd already snapped a new clip in place by the time the Hunter's head finished turning to track him.

Bang-bang-bang! Mox was a lot more disciplined with his fire this time, but still the Hunter ducked behind a truck before he could take a mortal wound. He took a few glancing hits, but Mox had to dive before a rifle shot punched his heart out the other side of his chest. It cracked within inches of him as he went flat behind the fuel drums, and Mox popped back up without hesitation. Again he fired, pinning the Hunter in place.

"Who came up with the name Skirmishers, anyway?" the Chosen asked, while Mox dropped flat again to reload. "What's the matter? Did you not like the way 'Deserters' sounds?"

Mox took aim at the truck and waited. He sighted very carefully, looking for even the slightest trace of his opponent. But the Hunter was patient, and far too careful to stick anything out where Mox could shoot it. A tense stand-off developed, with the Skirmisher not trusting himself to speak.

Then he heard the footsteps, and abruptly, he realized he was aiming at nothing.

The Hunter must have had a grapple. He must have used it while Mox was firing the second time - Mox's own gunfire masking the sound - and run across the convoy trucks, literally springing over the Skirmisher's head in the process. That left him over Mox and behind him, and the former Advent soldier barely had time to turn and duck before a rifle butt went for his face.

"Ah!" Mox flew backward, but not far. He snapped his gun up, but a hand knocked it from his grip before he could fire. Out came the ripjack, and Mox fired his grapple past the Hunter at the same time as he lunged forward. The momentum of the motor hauled him right up into the Hunter's face, and all that energy bore down behind his ripjack as he drove it into the Chosen's chest.

"Oh, you're good!" The Hunter caught Mox's line, and he ripped it free of the truck with one yank. Mox tumbled, then came up to his feet, ripjack at the ready-

Bang!

It hurt. Mox crashed on his side, clutching his thigh with both hands. Yellow blood poured between his fingers and dripped down onto the truck, and the Hunter gently stepped back to avoid getting it on his shoes.

"Now, let's have that little talk about the Commander, shall we?" The Chosen leaned down and grabbed Mox by the collar. "I think there's a prison that's been missing you for a while."

"Hey, ugly!"

"Mariah!" Mox cried, as the brunette appeared almost from nowhere. She perched atop a truck, shard gun leveled, and she had the kind of shot soldiers dreamed about: straight down at the Hunter's back from point-blank range. Glee lit up her eyes.

And Mox watched as her gun twitched sideways

"Wait!" Gallant called in both of their ears. "Don't-"

Mariah fired...and her shot went right into the nearest fuel barrel. Mox heard tremendous sound and felt searing heat...

And then nothing.

Author's Note 33: She-Hulk

The Berserker Queen is an odd Ruler. She's, in some ways, the least dangerous of the three - she can't freeze your men and isn't a good dodger, not to mention lacks the bind capability, so the Viper King has a leg(trunk?) up there. She, on the other hand, lacks the Emperor Archon's agility, mobility, and AoE coverbuster attack and command grab. In other ways, though, the Queen is quite nasty: that AoE melee strike is a big pain in the ass, and her habit of knocking any soldier she hits into instant unconsciousness is a big black mark. In my most recent playthrough, though, I actually had a Ranger kill her in melee combat. And I don't mean "land the final hit". I mean "landed 75% of the damage she took." It was our first time meeting her in the game, too. It helped that Agnete had the Serpent Suit, the Fusion Axe, and Bladestorm/Blademaster. Yes, I name my soldiers after my serial characters. I'm a writer, bite me.

As far as weapon customization goes, I almost always give my Skirmishers expanded mags and repeaters, plus hair triggers most of the time, but that one's more open to debate. Skirmishers have so many attacks per turn that repeaters for the instant kill chance - and expanded mags to do more in any given turn - are just no brainers. The hair trigger has a good shot of giving you another action to play with, but an auto-loader or laser sight aren't bad. Though I wonder at the wisdom of laser sight AND repeater on the same weapon: their functionality seems to overlap a little too much.

Reapers are a bit of a debate with me. I give them repeaters and expanded mags too, but for different reasons: the Banish/Annihilate abilities are simply too good for me not to try and buff them as I can. More shots for the shooting spree is kickass, especially if you get in behind the enemy before firing, and adding a Superior Repeater can make Annihilate cover even more ground than it already does. At that point, I debate between an auto-loader or a scope. It's a more pronounced debate than the Skirmisher one, but it follows more or less the same lines. What are your weapon customization preferences?

Until next time, Vigilo Confido.