Everything Changed
Part 3
"The Black Helicopters," stated Harold, leaning against a table facing the group of men and women before him, "So… what do we know?"
"This is NOT going to be easy," said Thomas, shrugging, "We are… way under prepared."
"Their security systems are brand new and shiny," said Alan, smiling, "It's not going to be easy getting in there again, and impossible to do it without them knowing about it."
"Looking at a fight?" asked Harold.
"Quite possibly," Thomas sighed.
"Yo, man, we can't take that many hombres," Enrica said.
"Alan, what sort of security are we looking at?" Harold asked.
"Well, Lieutenant," said Alan, standing to his feet and pacing a table, "It doesn't look like much from the outside. However rest assured there are a variety of cameras that keep tabs on the outside. From what I can see…. Uhm… hey, Darling?"
A purple light filled the room; a large face appeared above the group.
"Dear, we need some photos and maps of the Black Helicopters' Building please."
"Request. Displaying."
Images showed up on the screens around them and a holographic model of the building formed above the group.
"As you can see," started Alan, taking out his glasses and putting them on, "You can spot the presence of micro HD Cameras here, here, and here, and accompanied by thermal as well as radar cameras here and here. They appear to have motion and sonar detectors located around the waters edge and the back areas of the building as well as what I can tell to be remote motion machine guns on the roof of the heli-pad. Any unauthorized personnel up there will be cut down real fast."
"So… video-cameras," said Henry, "That is… bad. What about inside?"
Thomas moved something on a remote and the holographic model of the building swiveled, coming apart and showing a mangled mess of numbers and pictures of armed guards.
"Umm… did the definition of 'model' change with the way in which it is presented?" asked Harold, leaning towards the model.
"That's just the thing, boy," said Alan, "We have nothing on the inside of that place. We can't make a model. Look, we have what you guys saw and that's it. We know that there is a small observation room overlooking a large warehouse-like estate. What you saw while you were inside. We know about the main entrance, and that branches off into a variety of conference rooms. Everything after that is a mystery or legend."
"We know that we can expect a training center for operatives somewhere on the premises," said Thomas, "B.H. Operatives need to be in perfect physical fitness. They also have a large armory stashed somewhere in the basement. They have state of the art weaponry and if we get into the complex odds are they already know about it and they will be ready."
"Let's not leave out that they have enough agents and connections to oppress most of the Atlantic seaboard," chimed in Shannon, "And many of those agents call this one Boston Location 'Home'."
"Yes, so I can't even get into the place to give us any more information," said Alan, leaning back in his chair, "Their security is way too thick. I can't hack in or anything. And they have more backups then I can believe. Hacking into that place… it's just not going to happen."
"We'll cut the power," said Harold.
"Uh, backups," said Shannon, "That place has its own generator."
"The moment the power is cut… they'll just turn it back on," said Alan, "And then they'll know something is up. They have a specialized power circuit, a private line. A direct line straight to the power plant."
"So… again… we are in for a fight," said Harold.
"Woah, wait a moment, dude," said Enrica, sitting more forward in his chair, "What if we could sneak in… or get in… would that help you out, Alan?"
"A direct feed into their systems would… aid in our efforts," said Alan, stroking his chin, "How on Earth would you get in there?"
"I am not on bad terms with the Helicopters," Enrica said, "In fact, I was considering going back into that lifestyle before my chica gave me a second chance at real work."
"Aw, baby," Shannon leaned over and hugged him.
"Shush, woman," said Enrica, leaning away, "Anyway, I could pose as finally coming around and wanting a job with them, hooking up with a gig and all that. Now I'm sure they'll be dicey and the like, Richard never really liked me, but I do know that we connected at the same level when it came to aliens and shit."
"Not helping your side," said Harold, a scowl shooting across his face.
"Listen, man, let's say you were told to come find me and after talking we couldn't leave the Torchwood life. What if we went together looking for more high-class work."
"Nah, he wouldn't buy that… would he?" asked Thomas.
"I did make myself clear about how I felt about him," said Harold.
"Isn't that just the thing?" asked Juliet, smiling, "You are not from around here and you are way out of your league. It's hard enough for us to return to normal life after this job… right?"
All around the room heads started to nod, urging Juliet to continue, "So… why wouldn't it make sense. You're out of touch with the times… so why not return to the only thing you feel comfortable doing. The… Torchwood-esque… lifestyle."
"I'd buy it," said Thomas, "And my two other jobs were how to mistrust as many people and their stories as possible."
"If you can get inside…" started Alan, who rustled around in nearby desk drawers before pulling out a small capsule, "And hook this up to their computer, any computer, then I can hook up to their power supply and use that to boost my signal… and I could have an exponential easier time getting into their systems."
"Where would you hook up to such a place?" asked Shannon.
"Darling, you mind showing us the exterior again," said Alan.
"Request. Displaying."
"Look over here," said Alan, leaving the model of the B.H. Building and going towards a nearby harbor, "This buoy, here, is a cover for a direct access into the harbor and underground… to where their main line is. There should be a terminal where I can hack in."
"Ok…" said Harold, "But we can't be sure that this won't go sour… What happens if he lures us in there then just shoots us."
"What? No… If anything he would be interested in hooking up with old… amigos and…," Enrica stopped, looking around at the group.
"Don't they teach history anymore?" said Harold, rolling his eyes, "Gangsters, Nazis, and Commies did this crap all the time. We once had to do a sit down with the Twos in Berlin. The Reds were bringing us our-"
"Uhm… Harold," said Thomas, "You mind? If I? Anyway, they invited them in, and whether by design or because of what happened they tried to kill them."
"Pretty much," said Harold.
"So… we fight back," said Shannon, "You boys were not thinking of going in there defenseless?"
"We can't be too strapped or they will never let us in the front door," said Enrica.
"Unless you pretend to be… ringing us dry."
Harold looked at Juliet, who crossed her arms and looked around her.
"There's not much here… and that could be your cover story," said Juliet.
"Harold tries to get into touch with old Torchwwood agents," said Thomas, "Captain Torchwood heads home, seeing a losing battle. Enrica hooks up with the American hero, here, so they decide to clean house and make some friends, getting back into the action pack lifestyle and flowing money."
"Could fly," said Juliet.
"It'll have to," said Harold, standing up and straightening his vest, "We're running out of runway."
"So, let's find some empty boxes and perhaps some guns and prepare to head out," said Juliet.
"Alright then. Alan, get to practicing that… hack… into thingy so that when the time comes you'll be good to go. Thomas, you'll be assisting Alan. Stay out of sight and be prepared to rush to our aid if plans go south," started Harold, "Juliet… I would like you to run communications from here. Make sure we all stay connected. Shannon, I need you on call with a backup vehicle in case people get hurt. And that leaves Enrica and myself heading into hell. Clear?"
There was a silence in the room. Each member looked at one another in confusion. Before long, Enrica and Thomas shared a chuckle, then Juliet and Shannon. Harold looked around, a puzzled expression filling his face.
"Slightly old fashioned, pops," said Juliet, walking up to Harold and patting his shoulder, "We haven't needed a coms manager since the sixties. I think the Alan-Thom combo works great. However Shannon and myself should provide secondary backup. Hanging tight and waiting for secondary extraction. We can keep tabs on… progress."
"Funny," said Harold, "But… I am out of date. You two think you're enough for backup?"
"Hell-no!" Exclaimed Shannon, "If you guys get fucked in there that's probably it, you're done. But… we are all you have, and if it was any other way… you may not be in better shape."
"Alright, then," said Harold, smiling, "Wouldn't have it any other way… Let's get to work. As soon as we can start this the better."
He sat there staring at the safe for what felt like an eternity. Harold held it in his hand. A key… a key that so long ago had meant so much. He just starred at the safe, the key running and re-running through his fingers.
A knocking at the door snapped him out of his trance, he looked up to see Juliet standing in the doorway.
"Deep thoughts?"
"Big decisions…" said Harold, leaning back in the chair, "I never really liked mysteries."
"So… you think you're ready for this?" she asked.
"Getting up to date is the biggest challenge," said Harold, "Well… that and suddenly being responsible for a ton of lives."
"A ton? Sounds like an overstatement."
"Understatement," said Harold, crossing his arms and leaning back, "Every time a life is placed in your hands you are responsible for at least three or four more. And each one is heavier then the one before it, and the one after it."
"Sounds impossible," said Juliet.
"I only slightly touched the feeling," said Harold, smiling.
"We found a good amount of armored crates," said Juliet, "We're getting ready to load them up with bogus supplies and a few weapons and possibly load them up in the jalopy."
"Jalopy?" asked Harold, clutching his chest, "Come on…now. That old car isn't even close to a jalopy. Baby's a Plymouth!"
"Yeah, what ever," said Juliet, turning around and heading out the door, "Just, if you're going to doze off… let's get to work on the up-to-date thing."
Juliet walked off and Harold leaned back, sighing and giving the key one last look. He looked around the office at the piled up paperwork and he sighed at the dust.
As Harold walked into the firing range, he saw that the shots he had heard was Thomas firing off some rounds. He held a pistol in his hands and fired at a target projected down the range. Alan sat in the corner, messing with some mechanical contraption in his hands.
Thomas turned around and smiled at Harold, gesturing Harold to the bench.
"Bother you with the noise?" asked Thomas, "Being behind a desk for so long… I kinda miss the kick."
"According to the files… you guys have been mostly archival for some time," said Harold, "When did archivists need guns?"
"You'd be surprised," smiled Thomas, who gestured to a few weapons on the bench, "Think you can still fire a shot?"
"I guarantee it," smiled Harold, who instead of picking up from the table he grabbed his revolver from his holster.
"That thing looks… old," said Thomas.
"Is that such a bad thing? Old?" said Harold, shaking his head, "We managed to kill each other just fine back in my day."
"Well… maybe so but we've perfected the art," smiled Thomas, "Look, semi-automatic. With a clip. More bullets."
"I'm from the forties, the nineteen-forties, not medieval times," said Harold, shaking his head, "I used a colt in the war. I just prefer the power of a revolver… and… I like it."
"Alright, alright," said Thomas, "Let's see you fire a shot."
Harold looked down the range. At the touch of a button, Thomas brought up another illuminative target. With a second click, the targets turned into alien creatures. The creatures stood up straight, and they opened there mouth in a roar. Harold jumped back and let out a gasp, throwing his revolver up and firing a shot.
"Jesus, Norman, chill!" yelled Thomas, grasping his ears.
Alan began to laugh, and almost dropped his tools, "Take a breathe, Lieutenant. It's a new way to train!"
"That's… that's…" stuttered Harold.
"A Hoix? Not quite," said Thomas, laughing, "It's a simulation. To help you gauge your shots at a real target. You know? To help with training everyone."
"Look closer, Thom, I think he's got you beat!" laughed Alan, standing up.
When Harold looked, a small blue area had lit up in one of the creature's heads. The board above it lit up red, reading "Critical". Thomas let out a nervous chuckle, picking up a small tablet on the bench and bringing up a picture of the creature on the tablet. A small blue dot was dead set in the creature's eye.
"Well… what do you know…" said Thomas.
"Lucky shot," said Harold, grasping his chest.
"Screw that, this is a damn good shot." Said Thomas, "That was instinct… that was skill."
"That's training," corrected Harold.
"Darling," said Alan, sitting straighter in his chair, "Crunch some numbers and cross reference records. How good of a shot was that and was it training?"
"Question. Calculating," came Tiffani's booming voice over the intercom, after a few minutes she continued, "Accuracy: Grade 'A'. Reaction Time: 1.97 Seconds. Weapon Accuracy… Recorded Eyesight Grade… Range Conditions. Target Type: Hoix. Final decision: shot fired by New User: Lieutenant Harold Norman rated in the top 2%."
"That's not training, son," laughed Alan.
"You still got that new user thing?" asked Thomas.
"They sure don't make them like they used to," said Alan, "Sure, that was one in a million shot… but you were… Let's just say if you were jumped for real… you would have shot and killed that Hoix and survived that encounter."
"So you can shoot," said Thomas, "And… shoot well."
"Stick around, I can teach you," smiled Harold, "If you would like."
"You expect us to?" said Alan, "You know… you never truly asked us to come back, Harold."
"I never want to force that on you," said Harold, "I just figured… if any of us survive this we'd figure that kind of stuff out."
"Well, it appears the Torchwood curse might still be in affect."
"What was that, Alan?" said Harold, turning around, "A curse?"
"The Torchwood Curse. You never heard of it? Nobody ever… leaves Torchwood. They get killed. That's the only way out. To be taken out."
"I might've only been with them a short time but I saw agents shot, stabbed, slashed, eaten… heard of people being burned, suffocated, transported elsewhere… presumed dead," said Thomas, "I will admit… I don't think there's a single case on file of retirement."
"On file? How about me?" laughed Alan, leaning back, "I think myself and… Director Wilhelm were the only ones who ever have that on record."
"Wait… Wilhelm?" said Harold, looking up, "He's… retired?"
"Sort of," said Alan, the smile leaving his face, "He… was supposed to. Stayed a little longer to aid the new Director, Director Rynom, with getting settled in. Next thing we know… there was a terrible… attack. A jail break from our small holding cells that turned into allowing six alien warlords to enter the inner base. It ended in one of the worst and only battles to ever happen inside of our headquarters. We lost many men that day… but some of their bodies were never seen again. Wilhelm one of them. They are presumed dead… specially Wilhelm. He was a little older then me by that time if my memory serves."
"Damn…" said Harold, sighing, "That's how… he went."
"The curse," said Thomas, nodding, before turning to Alan and smiling, putting on some sort of fake accent, "Once I get out… they just drag me right back in again!"
Alan and Thomas shared a chuckle, but it stifled after a second.
"If we survive this I don't see myself making the mistake of settling down again," said Alan, standing up and nodding at Harold, "If you'll have me, Lieutenant, I shall enjoy getting back into the swing of things."
Harold smiled and nodded, then turned to the range, "If we survive this."
He raised his revolver, aiming down the sights this time, and squeezed the trigger.
"Alright… it has been sent," said Juliet, approaching the group as they loaded the last of the bogus boxes.
"Sounds good," said Harold, turning to Thomas, "I guess it is time for you and Alan to head over and begin your work."
"Let's load up, first," said Thomas, walking over to where the armory door was.
Harold, Enrica, and Alan followed him inside, with Juliet rolling her eyes and stepping forward to finish the packing. Inside the Armory, Thomas flipped a switch and a row of florescent lights lit up the catwalk and displayed row after row of rifles and pistols. Harold let out a whistle and looked through all the black, plastic guns around him.
Thomas lifted one up and held it out to for Harold, "M4, one of the deadliest weapons in the world."
"What? This is a damn tinker toy," said Harold, playing around with the weight, "I feel like I'm going to break this damn thing."
"I felt the same way when they introduced the new designs," smiled Alan, "Trust me, they're a huge improvement to the M16. They kill people just fine."
"No offense, but you can kill them 'just fine'," Harold tossed the rifle back at Thomas, "I'll get something with some kick."
"How about a double kick," chimed Enrica, displaying two Belgium FN P90s.
"Again, grow up," said Harold, "We're attacking an organization in their home turf. Where they train, where they work, where they sleep."
"We're not going to reform an old hunter," said Alan, walking towards the back of the Armory and pulling on a lever, "We need to harness that… desire."
A portion of the weapon's rack rose into the ceiling, showing another gun rack underneath. After it cycled through a few racks, Alan stopped on one and motioned for Harold. As Harold approached, he smiled at the rack of weapons. Thompsons and M1 Garand's filled the rack. A few Colt pistols were also upon it. Harold smiled, before grasping a rifle towards the end.
"This," he said, holding out the large rifle, "Is what I mean. The Browning Automatic Rifle. This… this is a weapon. The choice of the great Clyde Barrow…"
"It's big," said Enrica, smiling, "It was pretty good in Call of Duty…"
"That gun hasn't been fired in years," said Thomas, smiling, "Clean it good and fire some shots… but otherwise be careful with it. I hope you won't mind if I roll with the tinker toy."
"Yeah, me too," said Enrica, smiling, "Tinker toys come with grenade launchers."
"No Grenades," said Thomas.
"But the launcher is fine," said Enrica, smiling.
"I'm getting too old for this," said Alan, grabbing a pistol off a nearby rack and holstering it, heading out of the room.
"You better head out," said Harold, grabbing a few massive ammunition magazines from the rack, "We'll need you guys in place well before we arrive. We won't have a lot of time once we're in."
"Best of luck, old man," said Thomas, smiling, "See you on the inside."
"Hopefully not," said Harold.
By the time Harold and Enrica returned to pack their choices in the most secure case, Thomas and Alan had left. After loading their selections into the crate, Juliet helped wheel the cart toward the motor pool. As they loaded the last of these crates into the back of the Plymouth Juliet pulled Harold aside.
"Look, once we start this there is no going back," she said.
"I know."
"However… this doesn't mean we have to die today."
"I know. We'll get out fine. We have surprise on our side."
"No… I mean…. If it goes bad we can always just run away!"
"I don't think-"
"They'll hunt us, and we'll have to run… but we can get away. Survive."
"I'm sure everything will be ok," said Harold, "Listen… I will do everything I can to insure no one gets hurt who doesn't have to. I will be dead before I let anyone else die. Ok?"
"I just feel like.." Juliet stopped, putting her hand to her mouth and looking around, "I feel like you might be giving up… on us… on yourself. You don't have to do this… you don't have to die."
"It's ok," Harold patted her shoulder, "Now buck-up, gal. Stop acting all sappy. We can't let them continue running like this. This is our best shot at… fixing this."
Harold helped Enrica load the last crate, their crate, into the back of the Plymouth and shut the trunk. Enrica rushed over to the passenger door and hopped inside, shutting the door.
"You girls stay on the com," said Harold, "When it goes bad, prepare to act. We'll figure it out when it happens. Once we start really moving, though, that place is going to become one hell of a hot spot."
"Don't worry," yelled Shannon, walking up to the group, "I got a great idea that'll help keep these guys off your back."
"Lay it on me."
"I got an anti-aircraft missile launcher all loaded up and ready to go, good for three shots," said Shannon, smiling, "We are guaranteed three helicopters will fall before landing on that building."
"Sounds… reassuring I guess," said Harold.
"That's not all," said Shannon, nodding to Juliet.
"I had Alan hook us up a few laser turrets to put up around the area," said Juliet, "They are old laser targeting from more SAM missile turrets. He hooked them up to sweep the skies and find Arial craft. If those helicopters come anywhere near, they'll THINK they are being locked onto. That should be enough to keep most of them away for quite some time."
"Good work," said Harold, smiling, "Nice thinking. Now you better get to a vehicle and start setting those up. We're on our way out."
Harold nodded to the two of them, then turned to get inside the Plymouth. He turned on the car and took a deep breath. It was now or never.
Thomas held out his rifle, scanning the docks once more before gesturing Alan to follow him. They crossed the short span from the harbormaster's checkpoint to the dock and he threw the instant raft into the dark murk of the harbor. After a few seconds, the bag popped and inflated, becoming a decent sized raft. Thomas and Alan leapt into the raft and Thomas activated a small, silent motor and steered it towards a distant red light in the harbor.
Upon reaching the buoy, Thomas did a sweep of the harbor with his rifle as Alan climbed aboard the buoy and picked a lock towards the top of it. After a few seconds Alan threw the lock aside and opened the top of the buoy.
Looking down, Allan could see a steel ladder leading down the buoy and then down a moving tube deep into the ocean.
"Claustrophobic?" asked Alan.
"Uhm… not really," said Thomas, "See the bottom?"
Alan cracked a glowstick and dropped it down the opening, "I see the glow… this is going to take some time."
"Well… I'm gonna go down with you," said Thomas, "I don't think we're spotted so we should be able to hide in here."
Alan already had climbed into the buoy and began climbing down, "Do what we must, I need to tap in."
"They'll be arriving soon," said Thomas, slinging his rifle over his shoulder and climbing up to follow Alan, then he tapped his ear mic, "Hey, Harry? We're almost in position. Heading down now. You ready?"
"We're getting there. You guys just be ready for your part."
"We're doing it," said Thomas.
"We're getting there. You guys just be ready for your part," said Harold, awkwardly speaking with his ear mic.
"We're doing it," came Thomas's voice through the earpiece.
"I hate these things," said Harold, turning onto the next street heading towards the harbor.
"Yeah, you've never talked on the phone and drived before, huh?" Enrica's nervous voice squeaked.
"No, believe it or not phones were stationary back then," said Henry.
"Uhh… boss," came Thomas's voice, "Hit the button on your ear. We don't need to hear this."
Harold touched the earpiece, hearing a tiny beep.
"Better?" asked Harold.
"You got it," said Enrica, "Look!"
The Plymouth pulled around a corner, and into sight of the Black Helicopters Building. In another minute Harold had pulled into the parking lot of the building and found a space slightly off from the main building. Harold shut off the car and sighed, looking around the parking lot. It was just as empty and untouched as it had been the last time he had been here.
"Alright," said Harold, and he touched his earpiece, "So… we're parked, and getting ready to head out."
"Alan's almost there… we'll be ready to set up in a second."
"Girls?"
"We beat you to position. Fingers crossed and paryin'" said Shannon over the radio.
"We're gonna need it," said Harold, nodding at Enrica.
"I love you, baby," said Enrica.
Harold opened the door and stepped out of the car, Enrica followed.
"Hooking up now, let's go, team," said Thomas.
Harold touched the Earpiece again and headed to the back of the car. Enrica was quick to reach the back of the car before Harold.
"Alright, so breathe deep," said Harold, "Stay calm, and you do most of the talking. Remember, I am reluctant but have no choice. You, on the other hand, are hopeful and have the connections."
"Sounds great, dude, I got this."
"Alright, in and out, I don't want any-"
Harold trailed off as he searched the sky for any helicopters. A white smoke trail caught his eye, and he focused in on a small object above them. His eyes focused. The object was falling down toward them. Wait, the object was jerking. It was some sort of rocket. It jerked again.
Harold's eyes widened. He grabbed Enrica and started bolting. Enrica let out a yelp of surprise. Harold yelled something. A small screech could be heard. A Heat engulfed Harold's back, throwing him forward through the Parking lot.
Harold lay still on the ground. Dirt and debris fell all around him, some of them landing on his back. Harold opened his eyes. He could see his hat sitting not too far away. Burning metal and broken glass seemed to stretch on in every direction. He rolled onto his back.
Enrica lifted himself onto his knees, and groaned loudly to himself, looking around. Rising to his feet, he walked over to Harold and picked him up.
"Lieutenant," he said, lifting Harold, "Yo, dude, wake up!"
"What… the hell," moaned Harold, "You alright?"
"Little bloody, but nothing big, man, you?"
"I'm… shaken up," Harold stumbled to the side and grabbed his hat from the ground, "What…"
"Dude, the God-Damned car!" yelled Enrica.
"What the hell was that?" asked Thomas over the headset.
"Shit, Rick," said Harold, "That was too close."
Harold looked at the smoldering wreck of the car. The Plymouth sat burning, most of its top portion completely missing. The cases from inside appeared to have been destroyed, blown open, or shot out of the car in a few directions. Harold looked to the damaged case close to himself and he walked towards it, opening it up.
"Well, there might be a God still yet," he said, before touching his ear, "Can you hear me?"
"Got you," said Juliet, "What the hell was that? Looked like a missile."
"DeGama fired the first shot," said Harold, opening the case and showing Enrica that it was the case holding their weapons, "We are still in business, though, and we are engaging now. Loading up and heading inside."
"You may still have the element of surprise," said Thomas, "But not for long. Get in there quick, I'm on my way to help out."
"I'm awaiting to tap in," came Alan's voice, "I can try cutting the power but I warn you it won't be too helpful."
"Cut it," said Harold, who had grabbed the BAR and a few clips and followed the now armed Enrica toward the front door where they had first entered.
"Oh my God… this is a mess," cried Juliet, before Harold tapped his ear and it went silent.
"We need to act fast," said Harold to Enrica, "Shoot first, ask questions later."
"Well… I don't know, man," said Enrica, "That's kind of an overdone and cheesy battle line, you know?"
"What?" asked Harold, pressing his back to the door before shaking his head, "Never mind, just get in there and shoot what moves. They are all enemies!"
"Doesn't sound professional," said Enrica.
"No, it's survival."
Harold opened the door and ducked inside, Enrica rolling his eyes and following him in. The small, trailer-esque room had not changed. The receptionist sat at the lone desk, typing away at something.
"Do you have-" she started, before looking up and her eyes widened.
Harold raised his rifle, leveling it towards he desk. She dived out of her chair and slammed into the wall. Harold pulled the trigger.
As the BAR kicked back on his shoulder Harold watched the desk shatter in front of him. The bullets blew apart the cheap wooden desk and soared passed into the walls. After waiting a few seconds, Harold turned his powerful onslaught towards the walls. The common colored plastered shattered under the onslaught, and slowly began to crumble away. Before long, the BAR stopped kicking, and the room went eerily silent.
The walls crumbled away, revealing them standing in a slightly bigger room. Several doors could be seen among the crumbling ruins. Among the debris from the broken walls were bodies of armed guards.
"Woah, man," Enrica mumbled, walking up behind Harold, "You were like Rambo for a second there."
"Just… just relapsed is all," said Harold, shaking his head, "Haven't fired a gun like that in… some time."
Harold took out the empty magazine and pocketed it, grabbing a fresh one from his satchel. He looked around, viewing his handy work.
"Trap doors," said Harold, "That's how they got us last time. Armed guards behind trap doors."
"Which way to DeGama?" asked Enrica, looking at the doors.
"Why don't you take the one marked Armory and keep them from their weapons, eh?" suggested Harold, walking up to the desk, "And I'll get GeGama. We'll wait for… backup."
Harold knelt down and removed some debris, revealing the secretary, her leg bleeding. She had some bruising and scrapes starting and she shivered where she lay.
"Hello, darling," said Harold, tipping his hat, "I have an appointment with Richard DeGama. You remember me from last time? It's really important I find him."
"If… if… you wait in the waiting room," she coughed, "I'll let him know you've arrived."
"I really must… know," said Harold, "Now… I won't ask again."
Her hand began moving across her waist. Harold already had his revolver out by the time her hand grasped the hilt of her gun.
"Last chance," Harold's head began to shake, "Please… don't"
She only tugged once on the pistol and Harold closed his eyes. He pulled the trigger and the gunshot made Enrica jump.
"Was that nessessary?" asked Enrica.
"Go, now," said Harold, getting up and holstering his pistol, "We don't have time."
Enrica turned around and headed towards the door, disappearing around it. Harold got up and walked straight towards the door, opening the door and checking the long corridor behind it.
Thomas leaned on the rails, and sighed. He was hanging a few rungs above the area. Alan knelt at the bottom on a large amount of wires and pipes, wrist deep in wires.
"Almost done," said Alan, "A few more wires… and I could… we are almost waiting on them."
"You think they'll make it in? Shouldn't be long," said Thomas.
A vibration shook the small enclosed area, and Thomas and Alan shared a glance.
"The hell," mumbled Alan.
"Can you hear me?" came Harold's voice over the radio.
"Got you," said Juliet, "What the hell was that? Looked like a missile."
"DeGama fired the first shot," said Harold, Thomas's eyes expanding with the news, "We are still in business, though, and we are engaging now. Loading up and heading inside."
"You may still have the element of surprise," said Thomas, "But not for long. Get in there quick, I'm on my way to help out."
"I'm awaiting to tap in," Alan's chimed in, "I can try cutting the power but I warn you it won't be too helpful."
"Cut it," said Harold.
"Oh my God… this is a mess," cried Juliet.
"We're cutting the power," said Thomas, "Then we'll have to head over."
Thomas touched his earpiece and then prepared to climb back up the ladder.
"Hey, Thomas," said Alan, "I cut the power… but with that generator it isn't making a difference… at all."
"We figured," said Thomas, "Not much to do now but go lend what hand we can in the fighting."
"Wait… I have an idea!" said Alan, quickly, "What else did Richard take when he left?"
"What do you mean?"
"I believe he took and has built upon the old Nylonic Reactor, remember that?" said Alan.
"That would… appear to be the case… makes sense with it being undetectable."
"Well… it has limits."
"Won't reach them soon enough."
"No, not by itself," said Alan, "But if we were to send a massive surge back through this line… they wouldn't have shut off the power. All that power would have to find an outlet. THAT REACTOR."
"So…"
"It would explode," said Alan, smiling, "And fry most of the major systems while it is at it. Not even a surge protector can stand up to it."
"Can you do this?"
"Need to be at the central power grid," said Alan, "But… I should… be able to."
"Let's go then," said Thomas, rushing up the ladder, "I'll bring you there. Let's hope this works."
Harold found himself in a mess of hallways. He only had a firefight with maybe two or three guys, but he could hear more moving. As he went what he assumed was deeper into the compound the clean walls and covered florescent lights became metallic coverings as well as exposed bulbs. Harold lined the hallway with his rifle sights and swept back and forth as he continued down it.
Hearing some activity in other rooms, Harold avoided them and headed further down the hallway. Opening a large door at the end of the second hallway, Harold found himself on a catwalk in the dark, leading through a mixture of overhangs and rafters. Ducking through them, Harold saw they branched off to several other doors with locks on the outside. Harold attempted to open some of them, but couldn't. As he continued down the catwalk, he noticed one of the doors left slightly ajar, and he slipped up to it and peered through the crack.
Inside the room he could see shadows and hear voices. He eased himself towards the crack and tried to get eyes on those inside. Looking around, Harold realized it was the same room they had been in before, and he could see the window that overlooked the warehouse. Harold lifted his BAR a little steadier, and lifted his foot. With one, strong kick he bashed in the door, and he sidestepped to use the frame as cover as he looked around inside. Before he could reach the safety of the frame he felt a force from behind knock the wind out of him and he was tossed into the room, rolling on the ground.
Harold got to his knees and tried to raise his rifle, but the other person in the room gave it a swift kick, knocking it out of his hands. Without breaking the fluid motion of the kick the person spun on one leg and rounded himself to kick Harold across the face, throwing his hat from his head. Harold tried to stand again but two firm sets of hands grabbed him and lifted him up.
Harold tried to reach for his revolver but before he could yank it from the holster a figure was already flying through the air and drop-kicked him right in his gut tossing him out of the two thugs grip and flying onto the floor. Harold gasped for breath, and as he did the two sets of hands lifted him up once more. Harold could not find his revolver, his holster was empty. Harold coughed, tasting iron and warmth in his mouth.
The figure stood and turned to Harold. Harold saw a gleam in his hand as the figure reeled back and threw a punch right at him. Harold could almost feel his jaw cracking as his vision blurred and he went limp in the thugs arms.
Thomas kicked in the door to the terminal, and raised his badge as well as his M4. The three electrical workers stood from their seats and raised their hands in fear.
"Over there, against the walls!" said Thomas, motioning with his rifle, "You guys, with the others!"
The two security gaurds as well as the one other worker they found on the way entered the room. Under Alan's pistol point they joined the three against the wall.
"Sorry, guys," said Thomas, "FBI business. Very important. No time for paperwork or arguments. Alan, go!"
Alan immediately crossed the span of the room and began fiddling with the controls.
"You guys are going to take down the whole system!" one of the workers said.
"No, only one," said Alan, smiling as lights flashed and the controls became more familiar to him, "Are you ready, boy? We got one shot at this and it needs to be all at once!"
"You think it'll work?"
"If it won't then they are surely dead… if they are not already," stated Alan, watching as the levels began to rise into the red levels.
"Do it, Alan."
"Not yet."
"Alan, it's in the red."
"Not… yet."
"Those are critical levels! If you don't stop…"
"Please be quiet."
"Not… yet… boy…"
"Alan… they might be dying! They could be dead!"
"NOW!" cried Alan, causing all in the room to jump. As he pressed some buttons and flipped a master switch, he watched as the lights in the room began to flicker, and all the levels on the screen dropped while one shot straight into the red.
"Did it work?" said Thomas.
"We'll know in a minute…" said Alan, "Just… wait…"
Harold awoke on the floor, his head bleeding. He tried to move his jaw, listening to it as it cracked and crinkled with the movement. Damaged, maybe, but not broken.
"I gave you a chance," came a voice, a bit foggy at first.
Harold brought up his hand to rub his forehead. He thought he could hear a slight humming. His eyes opened more and he could feel his left eye beginning to fight him with bruising.
Harold could see three thugs standing over him, guns at the ready and pointed at his head. DeGama stood slightly off, using a handkerchief to wipe blood off a pair of brass knuckles he clutched in his hand.
"Do you think I am stupid?" said Degama, slightly louder, "That it was… an act of kindness… no, friendship! NO! Trust… that I did not wipe your brain so clean that you don't remember how to ride a goddamn bike!"
"You… bastard," said Harold, as he struggled to get up.
"You… you thought I wouldn't know?" DeGama continued, "Like I wouldn't find out? What? You and your little band of cast-aways were just gonna come in here, armed, and… kill us all?"
"Don't need to," coughed DeGama, "Just… you."
"Oh, what a sad story," said DeGama, "How noble. How… heroic. Look, old man, you don't live in the forties anymore. Times have changed… for the better! It's all about the money… it's all about the power… it's all about the information!"
DeGama walked closer, and as he did Harold could've sworn a slight humming noise got louder too. DeGama stepped over Harold, using his foot to push Harold back to the floor and kneel over him.
"You have declared war, 'Lieutenant'," spat DeGama, "A war you led your team into… a war you cannot win. Because of the information! I see everything."
"You… don't deserve power," said Harold, "I will… end you."
"No you won't, Harold," said DeGama, leaning closer, "Because I… know you. I know who you are. Lieutenant Harold Norman. I know who you were… and I know why you were locked away."
"You don't know shit," said Harold.
"Oh… I know all about your search, your battle," said DeGama, almost beginning to whisper, "I know what happened… in secret… in the dead of night. During the war. I know what you saw… I know about… him."
Harold's eyes locked onto DeGama's and he said nothing.
"I know his suit," said DeGama, smiling, "I know he hunts… and I know he has been dormant… for a long time," DeGama smiled, before leaning slightly closer, "Well, as dormant as he can be. I know his current name… and the one he has liveed by for years."
"Der Ritter," whispered Harold.
"Yes…" said DeGama, placing a hand on Harold's shoulders, "Der Ritter… your ghost. The Anomalies that doesn't exist… even by Torchwood standards. The whole… kabob! The last hurrah!"
"What… do you know?"
"That you will never… know," whispered DeGama, looking into Harold's eyes, "That you will die here today knowing you lost… everything. Your team. Your chase. Your second chance."
"I'll kill you. You don't deserve…"
"Power…" answered DeGama, smiling, "Neither do you, Lieutenant. Isn't that how it goes? No one in power deserves it. What you do to get there takes that away. You are obsessive over a ghost… and I… I do what is necessary."
Harold closed his eyes, thinking of the image. The tall… the arms… the pale face. The silence… how quiet he was. The humming… the humming.
Harold opened his eyes, and looked around. He noticed that DeGama couldn't ignore it anymore either, a confused look spreading on his face.
"What is that?" asked DeGama.
"Sir, the lights."
Harold watched as many of the lights flicked, but got brighter and brighter. DeGama stood upright, watching as the fixtures began to vibrate.
"What is it?" he asked, "I want answers!"
"I don't-"
Started the guard, but by then the humming pitched in volume and exploded. The light bulbs exploded one by one, and the glass shattered. Somewhere in the compound and actual explosion shook the building, and fire leapt and started in the warehouse. As the room fell into darkness and the floors shaked, Harold took a deep breath and mustered all his strength.
He threw up his legs, mailing DeGama in the crotch and casting him aside with a yelp. DeGama crashed into one of the guards, who dropped his pistol in the confusion. It landed next to Harold, who rolled and grabbed it.
Harold threw himself upright, aiming the pistol and pulling the trigger. He sent one bullet right through a guards head, and turning the pistol to the next he did the same. Looking around, he saw the knocked over guard stand, and he put a few rounds in his chest. Before he could look around in the darkness DeGama had tackled him, causing him to lose grip on the pistol.
The emergency lights kicked on, and a distant siren began to call out. Harold ignored it and stood, looking around in the dim light for DeGama. DeGama stood not far away, and put up his fists for a fight, the brass knuckles still clutched in his hands.
Harold put his fists up, and lunged out for a punch. DeGama batted his punch aside, and lifted his leg up and kicked Harold right in the face. Harold recovered and lunged forward for another attack. Degama leapt, and kicked him again. After a few well timed punched and kicks, DeGama threw Harold back.
"Knock out that hopping and junk," slurred Harold, "Don't you people fight like men anymore!"
"Brawling's for the weak. Martial Arts is something you should pick up," said DeGama, "Let me, teach you!"
DeGama sent out a sharp kick. Harold sidestepped and it missed, but he grabbed DeGama's leg. With a swift jab with his elbow, Harold slammed DeGama's leg, and his heart fluttered at the sound of a crack. DeGama let out a groan. Harold used this time to land a punch in DeGama's face, sending him across the room.
DeGama landed on his back, struggling to stand up again. He clutched his leg, snarling at Harold and the bad luck. Harold looked around the room, then spotted his revolver on the ground. Walking over to it, DeGama tried harder to stand, the tried to crawl. Seeing neither was an option, he just glared and snarled at Harold.
"Killing me won't do anything," said DeGama, "There are no spoils to this battle. There are more Helicopters then myself. It shall survive, it shall thrive!"
"Not without you," said Harold, picking up his revolver and checking the bullets inside, "They will scatter, then they will gather and scheme. However, with your forces scattered, and you dead… and your base destroyed… well… you are a mighty battleship. You lose your captain, you lose sum of your crew. Your powder is wet and your ship is sinking. How long will they last in the ocean with the sharks? With the other ships?"
"They will see you dead," said DeGama, "You are… already dead!"
Harold walked to the window, and smiled, "Look at your empire now! The surge broke you. Your captives run free. The aliens fight amongst themselves and your troops. It appears they have more to worry about trying to retain the jail break."
"My teams will find your automated SAM sights soon," said DeGama, crawling towards the door, "They… will land. Reinforce…"
"There are no missiles, Richard," said Harold, smiling at the scene unfolding in the warehouse, "It's a rouse. Your men run out of fuel for nothing."
DeGama closed his eyes and cursed. Harold turned and walked towards DeGama.
"Any reason why I shouldn't kill you now?" asked Harold.
"You are not like that," said DeGama, smiling. He raised his hands, "I… I can be useful. Together… we can make the Black Helicopters so much greater. Or Torchwood, if you prefer! Thick of the money. Think of the… the wealth. We would do great together!"
"That's just it," said Harold, almost chuckling, "It's all about the money… Do you not understand? I don't care. Torchwood… is not the same as it was. And Under my leadership it'll change."
"Nothing ever changes!" spat DeGama, "You won't change by killing me…"
"Everything changes," said Harold, cocking back the hammer, "I should know… I live it."
"Please…" said DeGama, tears running down his face, he clutched his hurt leg and looked around him, "I won't hurt nobody… there's no reason anyone'll know. Please… have mercy!"
"Mercy," said Harold, sighing.
He raised the pistol and fired, the bullet going right through DeGama's forehead. He fell, dead. Harold sighed, and holstered his pistol. He closed his eyes and took a second to breathe.
When he opened his eyes Juliet was standing in the doorway. He rifle was slung over her back, and she starred coldly at Harold.
"You had to?" She asked, a strange uncertainty in her voice.
"DeGama built an empire off fear and abuse," said Harold, "There's no place in this new world for him."
"And who's call was that to make?"
"His," said Harold, raising his voice slightly, "I only pulled the trigger."
"You murdered a wounded man."
"I killed a murderer and a thief… before he could do the same to me… to us."
Enrica and Shannon rounded the corner, both with their rifles at the ready.
"Come on, man!" said Enrica, pulling the memory device from his satchel and waving it around, "We got it!"
"Good work," said Harold, looking around for his rifle.
"No, we really got to go," said Juliet, "That reactor is about to do some real exploding soon and Alan says we got to go, now!"
It was now Harold realized he did not have his earpiece, and he nodded and followed the crew out of the building.
Enrica explained on the way that he went unnoticed for the most part, and the release of the alien prisoners made it possible for him to openly move about the campus without the guards caring. He found the memory device on a dead man in one of the waiting rooms, and he took it.
As they ran, Shannon lead them to the roof and to one of the parked Helicopters. Enrica, in his many talents, knew how to fly it. Harold was uncertain, but he boarded as a great deal of helicopters circled the building preparing to land. Enrica took off just as the others landed, and an explosion erupted and damaged most of the roof, crashing a few helicopters. Enrica held her steady, and they flew off to the horizon.
"Kinda funny, ain't it?" said Enrica, "Now we have a black helicopter! Pretty cool?"
"Enrica," said Harold, who vomited out the side door, "Shuttup!"
As Harold looked up from vomiting, he noticed a suited figure in the distance. A flash… in the alleyway. His heart jumped, and he looked again, but it was gone.
"What is it?" asked Shannon, pointing to Harold's hand gripping his revolver.
"Nothing," said Harold… sighing, "An… old Ghost."
Harold wrote the last line on the paperwork in front of him and smiled. He hit a key on the computer keyboard and some sensor above him read the paper and updated information on the screen. Tiffani's voice came over the speaker.
"User Updated. New User: Lieutenant Harold Norman, is now: Lieutenant Norman. Welcome, Lieutenant."
"Thanks Tiffani," said Harold, "Wish all paperwork was this easy."
"Lieutenant, you have a call awaiting you. It is being sent from Cardiff, Whales. Do you wish to receive it?"
"Put him through," smiled Harold.
A giant holographic screen lit up in front of his desk, and he could clearly see a video showing another desk and office. Sitting at a chair was Captain Jack Harkness, who only wore suspenders and a blue shirt and pants. He smiled and waved, Harold waving back, feeling foolish.
"Well, look at you, soldier," said Jack, "All settled in and in charge. Sorry about dicing off like that. Big… things came up here. So much going on."
"That's quite alright," said Harold, smiling, "I think we needed… a chance to work things out."
"So… reports are in… and it appears you guys did a lot of work a few days ago," smiled Jack, "Looks like you did all right by yourself, didn't you?"
"The American way," said Harold, laughing, "With an explosion."
"Well… I'm glad it all worked out."
"No casualties," said Harold, "We got the memory majiger, and DeGama is dead."
Jack's face softened, and he nodded, "Had to be done."
"So… now we're just… settling in," said Harold.
"So I see," said Jack, moving around on the screen as if he was looking, "Looks like you've moved some things around. Going through the Director's vault, huh?"
"Yehp, need to get up to speed on more then a few things," said Harold.
"See you moved that old safe," said Jack, nodding at Harold, "Where too?"
"Vault," said Harold, leaning back, "Out of sight, out of mind."
Harold smiled. Remembering the hours he starred at that safe. He almost did it, a day after returning. He had almost opened it, and delved into the age old file. At the last second… he looked at his team. Eating pizza and recounting their tales of the night before. The battle…
He found the vault and moved it inside… far inside. Hid it away. With that, he pushed Der Ritter to the back of his mind just like the safe to the back of the vault. He sighed. Triumphant.
"Tea, sir," came a voice from the screen, and another figure who gave Jack a cup and leaned over, into the shot so Harold could see him, "So… that's Boston."
"Hiya," said Harold.
"Harold, Ianto Jones. Better agent? I find few."
"Agent… shucks," said Ianto.
"Nice to meet you," said Harold, "So, Jack. When you coming over to visit?"
"Most likely, not for a long time," said Jack, "Rift activity is all over the place… and we are… short staffed."
"I understand."
"Hey, Harold," said Jack, "You did good out there, kid. I think you're going to do quite well out there for yourself."
"I hope so too," said Harold.
"Remember," said Jack, "It's different now. Silent… in the shadows. Be a conspiracy… without the cult following. Huh?"
"I shall try," smiled Harold.
"Separate from the Government," said Jack, pointing at the screen, "Beyond the police."
"Hey Harold," yelled Juliet from the door, "We got something to show you!"
"Alright," said Harold, then turning back to the screen he said, "Duty calls, gentlemen. I bid you a good day. May we speak again."
"Go get them, tiger," said Jack, winking at the camera.
The screen went dead and the hologram faded away. Harold rose and stretched, walking around his desk and following Juliet. She brought him into the motorpool, where the rest of the team was waiting.
"So, the old ride was cool and all… but… It wasn't us," said Enrica.
"What he means is that we need something strong and modern," corrected Thomas, walking over to a large object hidden under a sheet, "And… can withstand a rocket."
"We already got a tank," stated Harold, smiling.
"This isn't a tank…. Exactly," said Thomas, yanking on the Sheet.
As it fell away, it displayed a brand new Humvee. Sheer black with glossy paint. Silver letting of the Torchwood T on the side. On the back it read "Torchwood" with the license plate "TORCHED". Green siren lights lined the tops and side mirrors. Large, reinforced tires were at every axel.
Harold had to take a step back and gasped, smiling from ear to ear.
"A… tank," said Harold.
"A Humvee," said Juliet, "Think it's torchwood enough?"
Harold smiled, putting his hands on his hips, "It'll certainly hold all of us better."
"All of us," said Thomas, smiling, "It needs too. We're all gonna need to go places."
Harold smiled, "I hope that includes you?"
"You betcha," said Alan, smiling, "Won't let him leave!"
"Good to hear," said Harold, smiling.
"So… Director," said Juliet, smiling, "What do we do now?"
"Well," Harold said, "First off, I'm not a Director yet. And Second… I hear rumors of a good amount of alien prisoners from a certain special forces troupe have gone missing. Maybe we should look into…"
"Already on it," said Thomas, "I'll check police records for the last few days and get a bug for future reports."
"I'll check local hospital records for strange injuries," smiled Shannon.
"I'll check the streets and my contacts," said Enrica.
"I'll take a nap and wish you luck," smiled Alan.
Everyone laughed and patted each other on the back. Harold waved them away, and they dispersed. He walked over to the Humvee and placed his hand on it. It wasn't Linda… but it would have to do. He nodded, and turned to head back to his office.