The Hell-er-Nator: Book III –
Tin Man's Alley
Part I: In Durance Vile.
"I am not a citizen of Texas, and those other, forty-nine lesser states."– 213 Things Skippy is no longer allowed to do in the United States Army
Chapter Fifty-six: Somebody Once Told Me the World is Gonna Roll Me
Monday, November 3, 1997: Sunnydale Parts and Salvage, Sunnydale, Early Morning 5:00am –
"Wow. I like her," Chessie said, her ears pricked all the way forward, the better to listen to Chief Warrant Officer Michaela Reeve's no-crap read off of the two civilian patrol officers. The others nodded.
"See? I told you guys there was a Tech-comm Command," 'Kat said, her eyes wide and her pupils all the way dilated in the darkness of their hide.
Devila nodded, and grinned, showing all her teeth. "So you did. What should we do, First Scout?"
"Well... crud," 'Kat said, thinking furiously. "She says Tech-Sergeant Hicks-Harris is badly wounded and gone hospital, right?"
There were nods. Pooka piped up, "Wounded bad, First Scout, ma'am. But I fixed 'im good." She paused for a moment, and added, "Good as I could, anyway."
"Good girl, Pook," 'Kat said, grinning. "And you fixed the other 'un too. Hrmm. Lemme think?"
So... just where the heck did a Chief Warrant Officer fit into Command? Was that higher up than a Private Admiral, or a First Sergeant? Waugh. It was definitely higher up than a First Scout of the Irregulars, that's for sure. And, she was an adult, too, and one who made other, even dangerous adults snap to and back off. Heh.
Ok, so she was definitely high enough up. And heya, she even stated flat out that she was in charge on the ground until she was relieved by Command, and nobody contra- contra, uh, disagreed with her.
Sigh. 'Kat vaguely remembered that once, she'd been just a bit smarter, and had had a larger vocabulary. Kind of like the vague memory dreams she had asleep of something that might have been another life...
All gone now.
She was 'Kat, and that was all there was to it. And she was First Scout of the First Sunnydale Irregulars, Tech-Comm, North American Resistance Command, and that was something. Something important.
Tech-Sergeant Xander Hicks-Harris had said so. First Sergeant Benjy had said so.
Still... this called for a smarter head, and someone higher up the chain of command. Because they now had Tech-Sergeant Xander Hicks-Harris down, and his apparent mate in enemy hands – the Chief Warrant Officer said so, and things were a bit over First Scout Kitty Kat's pay grade now.
Case in point. She should have had Pook follow the Bad Doctor, and Xander's Mate Lady Cordelia to see where they took her, but she hadn't thought of it 'til later. Darn it. And no help for it now.
Oh well. 'Kat did know one thing, way down deep in her blood and bones by now.
The Irregulars did not leave their people behind. Not ever.
"Ok. We need an officer," 'Kat said, finally. "We need Lady Aura."
"We need First Sergeant Benjy," Private Scout Devila said, watching the whirling machine go up with the Chief in it.
"First Sergeant Benjy isn't an officer," Pooka Bell pointed out, scornfully.
"Lady Aura isn't either," Chessie said.
"Closest we gots," 'Kat said. Hrmm. But that was an idea... they had someone else who was, and in command, too. "Good idea, though, Private Devi. Pook – go and get us a Lady Aura, and have her go hospital, m'kay? And then get us a Benjy, and a Colonel Benjy, huh?"
"Ma'am, yes ma'am, First Scout ma'am!" Pooka said, snapping off a salute. "Now?"
'Kat nodded. "Go."
Pooka Bell went, low to the ground to hide her glow.
"What about us?" Devila said.
"Heh." 'Kat grinned at the other two. "We're gone hospital, too. Let's go." She paused, thinking for a moment, and added, "'Cept for you, Devila. You go report home. Then go hospital."
Devila nodded, grinned again, and vanished.
Private First Scout Kitty Kat and Private Scout Chessie of the First Sunnydale Irregulars turned, after one last look toward the people at the front of the salvage place, and then vanished into the surrounding darkness. They would have to skirt around and avoid the dangerous ones, the ones left from the group that had helped the Bad Doctor take the Lady Cordelia away, but hey –
– They were the Scout Corps of the First Sunnydale Irregulars. Not a problem.
Like Private Dawn had said to Mom: there just flat were no better scouts. Not in Sunnydale, and not anywhere.
Monday, November 3, 1997: Sunnydale Parts and Salvage, Sunnydale, Early Morning 5:05am –
Sighing, Giles rubbed at his eyes tiredly, and then turned to Detective, no, Chief Stein, and said, "Well, I do thank you for your efforts, at least, Chief Stein."
"Paul," Stein said. "And don't thank me yet. Seems to me that we have a decidedly mixed outcome here so far."
"Well, at least both of them aren't in the hands of that... " Jenny Calendar looked as if she was having serious problems finding an epithet foul enough.
"Woman?" Stein suggested.
"Please. Don't insult my entire gender, Paul," Jenny said, smiling. "I'd say bitch, but that would be an insult to perfectly wonderful female dogs all over the world."
"Heh. You will never ever know just how badly I wanted to see CWO Michaela spread Call-me-Maggie's brains all over that rubble pile," Stein said.
Giles snorted. "Oh, believe me, I fear I can quite imagine," he said. "Speaking of, Chief Warrant Officer Reeves seems to be a very, um, interesting young woman."
Jenny snickered and raised her eyebrows. "What was it that Sam was saying about your gift for understatement, Rupert?"
"Hah. Yes, quite."
The three of them wandered idly toward where Giles and Jenny had parked the classic black convertible at the northwest end of the front lot, out of the way of the Ranger, the CBI Investigator, a couple of just arriving CHP investigators and uniforms, and a small handful of deputies and SPD people. All four of those... not all Stein had left, but definitely all he could spare.
All of whom were, quite frankly, walking around the blown up office trailer with the CHP forensics team doing make work and enjoying the feel of the thumbs up their butts right now, as Stein had put it. Primarily because the uniformed DIA crew that was going over the rest of the grounds had grabbed jurisdiction on the ground and technically out ranked all of the California cops.
"That she is," Stein said. "Don't know if I mentioned it, but my first meeting with her was over the phone right after she had apparently had an altercation with our Terminator that very nearly left Mrs. Summers dead, and did leave Reeves' associate deceased along with two detonated vehicles."
"No. Well, yes, however Joyce didn't precisely have time to go into great details on that," Giles said, shaking his head. "As you recall, things were a bit... "
"Tumultuous when you guys first arrived," Jenny said.
"Ah. Right. Sorry, been such a long night it's starting to blur together in places," Stein said. "Well, anyway, when I first got onto the scene, Michaela was standing between Mrs. Summers along with a couple of reporters of my acquaintance – Perry and Kolchak, whom you just met – and a couple of SPD uniforms, and a nice little clusterfuck, pardon my fucking French, of County Deputies and CHP officers, refusing to be disarmed, and visibly daring anyone to try and get past her."
"Hah! Somehow, I'm having no difficulties imagining this," Giles said, laughing.
"Yeah. Gee, I can't imagine why that is," Stein said, dryly. "Anyway, once I arrived, introduced myself, and managed to get things defused a bit, she and I hit it off, apparently. Up until the point where the Apache helo landed in the middle of the intersection on Revello and took her away."
"Oh my," Jenny said, laughing.
"Ah, speaking of, what exactly has been going on, Paul?" Giles said. "Judging by Miss Reeves comments to the CBI Inspector, it seems to have been a great deal more eventful than we were aware of."
Sighing, Stein rubbed the back of his neck, tiredly. "Gotta warn you, you're not going to like a lot of this."
"Gee, Paul. We haven't been liking very much of any of this since Halloween night began," Jenny said. "Hit us."
"Yes, quite," Giles said. "It has been enough to make me wish that I had strangled my old acquaintance Ethan back during one of our past disagreements."
Nodding, Stein said, "And that's another thing for the list for our long talk. I'm taking it that this might be Ethan Rayne, of Ethan's Costume Emporium? Whom we found deceased the day after in his shop?"
"Ah, um, well, yes," Giles said. "Sorry, I had forgotten that you had not been apprised of that."
"No. I'm afraid that you and Cordelia were rather close mouthed about that part during your conversation at our interview suite," Stein said. "And it somehow never came up afterward. Oh, by the way. Nice trick with the water writing. Took me a bit to figure that one out."
"Oh. Ah... " Giles reddened a bit. "My apologies, however, we weren't even remotely certain of you at that point. And I can't help but believe that Cordelia was already mistrustful of Dr. Walsh, even then. She is, I'm starting to realize, a great deal more perceptive than I had been giving her credit for, previously."
"Yeah, that vapid fashion maven thing fools a lot of people," Stein said. "Sometimes even Cordelia, I think, and it's her personae."
"She's convincing at it," Jenny said, smiling. "I think you're right: she convinces herself more often than not."
"Regardless... " Giles began.
"Ah." Stein waved it off, tiredly. "Believe me. I understand that the Sunnydale Police Department hasn't given any of you any reason to be anything except wary of us up until now."
"Ah... Quite."
"I plan to attempt to fix that, as much as possible," Stein said. "No promises, mind you. A lot depends on just what I'm allowed to do by the Mayor's office and City Council regarding hiring, training, and policy revision. I have seriously broad emergency powers at the moment, under the city and county charters, but those will go away once the current crisis does."
Jenny nodded. "Understood. And, you were saying?"
"Ah, yeah. Well, apparently, our perp – your Terminator – showed up at the Harris residence while Michaela's people had it under surveillance. And entered and killed Mr. and Mr. Harris before the trooper outside even had a chance to do anything."
"Oh, no... " Jenny said.
"Yeah. Looking for information, apparently. Then he proceeded to the Summers residence, whereupon Michaela and her partner engaged him, preventing him from gaining entry and causing the death of the first trooper. Then he proceeded north-northeast to the property of Rory Harris, up above Ojai and Wheeler Springs, and proceeded to engage the rest of Michaela's crew, along with a number of Walsh's people – going by reports – and killing everyone except for three of them. The survivors including Michaela, and Rory Harris."
"Oh, goddess," Jenny said. "This really is a nightmare."
"It gets worse," Stein said, leaning against Angel's convertible with his arms folded. "Apparently, Cordelia, Harris, and one of Michaela's people escaped during the firefight, and proceeded to head across country to the highway, and then down 23 at speed in a hot Land Rover, with the Terminator and about half the Sunnydale Sheriff's Department, to hear them tell it, and a number of CHP cars in hot pursuit. Engaging all and sundry in a running firefight with three heavy rifles, up until the final County car lost them. Leaving a number of Deputies and CHP officers, err, hors de combat or deceased."
"Oh, dear," Giles said. "So it is unlikely that Xander and Cordelia's legal difficulties are going to be easily resolved, then."
"Masterfully understated," Stein said, smiling mirthlessly at him. "Then, they popped up on UCS Drive, which is where I exited your home stage left, and proceeded to get into a knock down drag out gunfight with the Terminator, in full view of a number of students who believed it was a movie shoot. Shot the damned thing up pretty good with everything up to and including heavy small arms. I understand that that .505 Gibbs packs a serious punch."
"Ah. It does," Giles said, nodding. "It's one of the upper end of cartridges that even British Professional Hunters occasionally consider a bit too heavy for regular use."
"I'll have to remember to ask you how you know that, Dr. Giles," Stein said, "Considering that you exhibited an ability to handle that big rifle like a pro hunter yourself during our last little discussion with Walsh's people."
"I, ah... " Giles shrugged. "I've, ah, had occasion to use an express rifle one or twice. And it's Rupert, Paul."
"In serious social intercourse, no doubt," Stein said, his voice dry. "Also apparently, Cordelia exhibited an ability to handle that .416 like an expert professional, as well, which is a talent I hadn't realized she'd possessed. After the Battle of UCS Drive, they proceeded onward with the Terminator following, until they dumped it in a swimming pool and headed to the Salvage Yards, at which point you and Jenny enter the picture again, along with a cast of dozens."
"Uh huh," Jenny said, nodding. "You do realize how this is going to sound to a judge and jury, right?"
"Completely fucking insane? Why yes, I am aware," Stein said, nodding. "Which, I'm pretty sure, our Mad Doctor is counting on so that she never ever needs to let Cordelia out of her clutches."
"Oh, dear... " Giles began polishing his glasses again, scowling.
"Yeah." Stein watched as a small group of Walsh's uniformed 'DIA agents' came out with a big forklift carrying a bright metallic cube and began loading it onto the six by six.
"Damn it," Jenny said, shaking her head. "Can anything be done?"
Stein shrugged. "I'm hoping that Michaela can do something, since she seems to adamantly have taken an interest in the two of them. And I'm hoping that Cordelia's grandfather can do something, along with his battery of attorneys."
"Ah, Cordelia's grandfather?" Jenny said, her eyebrows going up.
"Oh? William Randolph Chase the Second? You didn't know that, I take it," Stein said.
"Ah, no," Giles said, staring at him. "You mean to say that Cordelia Chase's grandfather is one of the ten wealthiest men in California?"
"Once, one of the ten wealthiest in the Western half of the U.S.," Stein said, "Until the IRS, and the Feds broke up his land baron empire. He once owned all of the land that is now Lake Cachuma, the San Rafael Wilderness Area, and about half of the Santa Ynez Valley. And a couple of movie studios in L.A., as well. Still owns a good sized chunk of Santa Barbara and Los Angeles. And William Randolph the First more or less built the Santa Ynez valley and Sunnydale County."
"Yikes!" Jenny said. "Then why... "
"Is Cordelia going to public school and living in Sunnydale?"
"Yes, instead of expensive private schools and an estate in Beverly Hills?" Jenny said, nodding.
Stein smiled thinly, returning the nod. "Because her dad, Randall Chase, determined to make his own fortune after a massive fight with old William Randolph, and moved here with his then wife, Cordelia's mother. And decided to make sure his little princess was a bit more in touch with the common life than he was raised to be."
"Ah." Giles said, nodding.
"Yeah. Bitterly estranged – I understand that old William Randolph effectively disowned Randall when he joined the Marine Corps," Stein said. "I'm not sure if they ever reconciled."
"Heh. Mr. Chase apparently failed on the common touch thing," Jenny said, "Considering Cordelia's determination to cement herself as ruler of the school's elite."
"Blame Cordelia's step mother the Professional Stage Mom," Stein said. "And, I wouldn't be so sure. Cordelia is a mass of contradictions."
"I am beginning to realize this, yes," Giles said. "She's displayed a number of hidden depths during the three days of this crisis."
"She's always been a very determined, opinionated, and stubborn girl who doesn't suffer fools gladly," Stein said. "Those traits tend to come out when it hits the fan, and then submerge again into Princess Clothes Horse after."
"Hah. And you really are an old friend of the family, aren't you?" Jenny said.
"Could say that," Stein said. "I was a marine with Randall Chase and Tony Harris, way back in the day. And then I moved here after I left the CHP."
"Oh!" Giles removed his glasses again, sighing. "So you've lost several old friends this weekend. I really am dreadfully sorry."
"Yeah, well," Stein said, shrugging and looking away. Hearing Jenny stifle another yawn, he turned back. "You two really should be moving along and getting some sleep. Where's your, uh, unusual guests?"
"Right here," a small voice said from the back bumper of the convertible.
"Yipe!" Jenny said, jumping slightly.
A small, red skinned figure grinned a lot of sharp teeth at her. Stein turned, shaking his head and smiling. "This is going to take a bit of getting used to."
"Quite," Giles said. "Ah, Devila is it? Where are the, um, rest of you?"
"I'm all of me there is, duh," Devila said. "The others have gone hospital. Pook is gone for Aura and Benjy. I'm reporting. Laters."
She vanished. "Yipe!" Jenny said, again.
"Most disconcerting," Giles said.
"Gone hospital?" Stein said, frowning. "What do you think she meant?"
"I'm not certain... perhaps Joyce or one of the others will know," Giles said, shrugging. "They were certainly most helpful in locating Xander, Cordelia, and Sergeant Cheng, and ah, Pooka in healing Xander and Cheng and stabilizing them."
"Huh." Stein said. "Wonder how long she was there? And if she was listening in?"
"No telling. Well, Dawn did say that they were possibly the best scouts anywhere," Jenny said, stifling another yawn. "I'm starting to believe it."
"Me too," Stein said, nodding. "Gonna have to look into steps to keep CPS and Social Services off of Joyce Summers' back."
"Well, at least you're not freaking out and calling Child Protection," Jenny said.
"Oh, please. That wouldn't be beneficial to anyone involved, especially not CPS and the Social Workers," Stein said, grinning. "Can you just see them trying to find a space on their forms for Pooka and 'Kat?"
"Hah! No, I'm afraid not," Giles said.
Jenny shook her head. "Well, on short acquaintance, they're all of them entertaining, extremely loyal, freaking adorable, and sometimes absolutely terrifying. Including Dawn, sometimes, which I'm pretty sure is driving Joyce Summers to distraction. All of Benjy's little Irregulars are, I'm told, but especially the Scouts."
"Not doubting it a bit," Stein said. "Benjy is a bit disconcerting, herself."
Jenny yawned again, and Giles smiled and put his arm around her. "Well, we should be off, then," he said.
"Uh huh," Stein said. "Be careful driving that truck, Jenny. I'm given to understand that it's not your daddy's standard Land Rover. CHP says it's like chasing a rocket sled on wheels."
Monday, November 3, 1997: Carswell Street, Breckenridge Home, Sunnydale, Early Morning 5:15am –
Tap tap tap... tap tap tap...
"Umm... go away... said there's no school today, m'kay?"
Aura Breckenridge rolled over and pulled a pillow over her head, burying herself between the other two.
Tap tap tap... tap tap tap... Tap tap tap... tap tap tap... Tap tap tap... tap tap tap...
"Aw... crap, whattaya freaking want and it better be freaking good," Aura said. Sitting up and yawning, she stretched and finally opened her eyes. "Jeezus Crud, it's barely daylight yet for crying out loud."
Tap tap tap... tap tap tap...
Wait, that wasn't at her door, that was at her...
Startled, Aura turned to look at the French doors leading out onto her balcony. "Oh, freaking crap." Throwing off the covers, she headed for the doors, opening one of them a crack. "Pooka? What do you want?"
Pooka Bell zipped in through the gap, hovering about four feet in front of her at head level. "Lady Aura!" she said, popping a salute. "Come quick, come on!"
"Hey, huh what?" Aura shook her head and yawned again, rubbing at her eyes. "Wait a minnit."
She went back and sat on the edge of her bed, stretching and yawning again. "Jeeze. It's barely five AM. What is it, Pook?"
"Gotta go hospital, now!" Pooka said, droning around her in looping circles. "Come quick! Irregulars need you!"
"Pooka! Stop that," Aura said, shaking her head. She pointed at her clock radio and said, "Stop. Sit! Right there, Pook. I am not a candle, and you are not gonna buzz me like a bright green moth, y'hear? Sit."
Obediently, but not without rolling her eyes, Pooka Bell flew over and sat down on the edge of Aura's clock radio alarm. "You gotta go hospital, Aura! Private 'Kat wants you."
"Huh? 'Kat? Kitty Kat? What, is she hurt, or, uh, who... " Aura said, blinking at her diminutive guest.
"Private First Scout Kitty Kat requests your presence at hospital, duh," Pooka Bell said, carefully and distinctly. "She is not hurt. Tech-sergeant Xander is hurt. Bad. Lady Cordelia is captured by the bad guys. 'Kat wants an officer, so you go now!"
Pooka zipped of the radio again, and grabbed a lock of Aura's hair and started pulling. "Go now! Hospital!"
"Ow! Stop that," Aura said. "I'm going – I'm going, jeeze. Wait, Xander is hurt? And Cordelia? Why didn't you say so?"
"Did. Duh."
Aura jumped off the bed again and headed for her walk in closet. Ok, jeeze. Xander? Cordelia captured? Fuck. What to wear... what to wear... choosing an armful of blouses and jeans, she returned to the bed to find Pooka buzzing irritably at the French Doors.
"Out!" Pooka demanded, imperiously. "Gotta go."
"All right, hang on," Aura said, shaking her head. Crossing to the doors, she said, "Where you going now?"
"Get Benjy. Get Colonel Benjy," Pooka said, and shot out the doors and off into the distance as soon as they opened.
"Yikes, she's fast when she wants to be," Aura said, staring after her. "Benjy? And Colonel Benjy, uh... Benjy's dad? The hell?"
Jesus Christ. If they were sending for not only the First Sergeant, but Lieutenant Colonel Michael Sheridan, retired, then this must be a full freaking Irregulars emergency. Oh. Well... duh. Gee, Aura. Xander is badly hurt, and Cordelia's captured by bad guys, weren't you listening?
Well, fuck. Time to get dressed and go then.
"Hey!" Aura stopped, halfway back to the bed. "When the hell did I become an Irregulars freaking officer?"
Monday, November 3, 1997: #4616, Apt. B on Windsor St., Sunnydale, Early Morning 5:15am –
"Ok, now I'm really starting to get worried," Joyce said, checking her watch and the clock over Giles' mantle for about the fifteenth time.
"Mom, relax," Dawn said, doing her level best not to roll her eyes. Judging by the glare that drew, her best wasn't all that great, huh? "The First Scouts know what they're doing, honest."
"Don't 'relax' me, Dawn Marie Summers," Joyce said. "Little girls shouldn't know what they're doing in situations like this. I don't care if they do have fur, teeth, and uh, claws... " Sighing, she sat down on the arm of the sofa. "And, boy, that really didn't make much sense, did it?"
"Mrs. Summers? Honestly," Wicked said. "They're all right. If they weren't Pooka would have come back to report and ask for backup and help."
"That's not helping, Ephasia," Joyce said, smiling a bit wanly at her. "What if something happened to Pooka as well?"
"Illogical, Mrs. Summers," Saavik said, ignoring or oblivious to Dawn frantically shaking her head 'No!' at her. "The odds against Scout Pooka Bell encountering something first capable of catching her and then harming her are... " she finally registered the head shake and Dawn's expression and trailed off, "At a decimal percentage that you probably would not find reassuring, I'm afraid."
"Mrs. Summers?" Willow said, a bit hesitantly.
"Et tu, Willow?" Joyce said. "And I've told you: call me Joyce. You're certainly old enough by now."
"Ah, uh, yes Joyce," Willow said. "It's probably a good thing that they're independent and good at what they do, uh, don't you think? Considering what they had to deal with on Halloween night, and... " she glanced sidelong at Dawn.
"And if they weren't, I wouldn't have my daughter back here with me now?" Joyce said, frowning at her.
"Uh, eep?" Willow shrank back.
"That's all well and good, Willow, and I understand and appreciate that, believe me," Joyce said. "Just... these are real bad guys, adults, with real guns, not... a bunch of transformed kids like you all were."
"And Spike was a real adult monster, Mom," Dawn said. "And those pirates had real guns. We sent them packing. And those transformed kids were trying to kill or capture us, and they were serious about it."
Her mom looked at her, frowning, and Dawn knew she wasn't getting through. Gee, it was like Benjy said, explaining one of her plans: below the age of fifteen, maybe eighteen, adults didn't see people. They didn't really see you. They saw something helpless and incompetent and unnoticeable unless you were being annoying or doing something stupid. Except for maybe Benjy's parents.
"Mrs. Summers?" Stephanie said, apparently deciding to throw her shield in the ring. " – !"
"Yipe!" Willow said, jumping a bit on the couch.
"Devila!" Dawn said, looking over at the young devil girl now standing at the end of the couch. "Report, Scout."
"Am here for that, duh," Devila said, giving her a lazily amused look from a pair of red gold eyes. "Private Dawn, ma'am. First Scout 'Kat reports: Tech-sergeant Xander captured, wounded, and at hospital, under guard. Lady Cordelia captured and in hands of bad guys. Scouts gone hospital, Pooka gone for Lady Aura and First Sergeant Benjy and Colonel Benjy."
"Wait, what?" Joyce stared at her, blinking.
Devila shrugged. "As said. And don't worry, Mom. Tech-comm Commander on scene. Everything A-ok now."
"Wait, what?" Dawn said, feeling like her mom now: staring at Private Devila and blinking stupidly in shock. "A Tech-comm Commander? But- but... "
Devila nodded enthusiastically, and said, "Tech-comm Commander Chief Warrant Officer Michaela Reeves, Black Company. And, boy, shoulda seen her, Private Dawn. Stood down entire bad guys and everyone. And told 'em off, too!"
That grin was infectious, and way too full of teeth. And that just didn't compute. There was no Tech-comm. Xander stole it from a movie and made it up. And- and, crap. They were under standing orders not to say that around these six. No one really wanted to crush 'Kat's morale... Dawn and Stephanie exchanged helpless looks, shrugging.
Ah well, at least Cap knew the score and had adjusted.
Oops. No one gave Willow any standing orders... "But... but... but... There's no such thing as Tech-comm! No Resistance Command! She- she, she can't be!"
Devila looked at her and made that sneezing sound that 'Kat used for a combination laugh and 'bullshit!', her tail coiling and uncoiling lazily. "What you think, civilian."
Dawn wanted to say something, but she was too busy strangling laughter at the sight of the expression on Willow's face, gods.
"Don't you- you 'civilian' me, you, you... little demon you," Willow said, folding her arms over her chest and glaring. "Hrmph!"
"There weren't any Terminators either," Stephanie said, reasonably. "Or superheroes. And now there are."
"Ah, oh." Willow said, deflating. "Oh! Right."
"What about the Terminator, Devi?" Dawn said, both honestly curious about that and desperately trying to forestall what she knew came next, and the explosion after. Jeeze. How did Benjy do this and make it look effortless?
"Terminator terminated," Devila said, grinning and practically bouncing on her toes. "Lady Cordelia killed it. Heard say."
"Really? You're kidding me!" Willow said, her eyes going wide.
"No kid," Devila said, shooting Willow a scornful look. She had apparently determined that Private Devila wasn't impressed with Willow much, and that was that. "Heard Chief Stein say, heard Commander say, heard Colonel Commander say. Done deal. Lady Cordelia killed it."
"Wow," Dawn said. Cordelia? Bitchy, fashion obsessed, mean girl Cordelia? What'd she do, snark it to death?
"Astounding," Mr. Zabuto said, and Dawn suddenly realized that while he'd been watching and listening to everything with great interest, he'd been quietly staying out of it until now. Lucky him. Smart, too.
"Wait, did you say Michaela Reeves?" Joyce said. "Chief Warrant Officer Michaela Reeves?" Devila nodded enthusiastically.
"Why, you know her, mom?" Dawn said.
"She... she was the woman who saved me from that... that thing," her mom said, nodding uncertainly. "And stood down that mob of police officers after that wanted to swarm over shouting questions at me, until Chief Stein got there." Joyce looked at Devila sharply, and said, "Asian looking young woman a couple of inches shorter than me, with a big rifle and a dark brown jacket?"
"Yes ma'am," Devila said. "Took big rifle, nearly kill Evil Scientist Doctor and man who hit Lady Cordelia. Police Stein and Tech-comm Colonel had to hold her down." Devi and the other scouts had a tendency to drop words when they were excited...
"Ah. Yes... that would be her," Joyce said, nodding slowly. "Someone hit Cordelia?"
"Yup." Devila's eyes narrowed. "Not do twice."
"I'll bet... "
"Ho-kay now. Report done," Devila said, starting to grin again.
"Ap! What are you doing, Private?" Dawn said.
"Orders. Gone hospital now, rejoin Scouts," Devila said, twitching her tail lazily.
"No!" Joyce said, standing. She put her hands on her hips, and looked down. "Devila you are not going anywhere else tonight. Uh... this morning. Whatever. Do you understand me?"
Devila's ears flattened against her head. "Understand. Have orders."
"Dev?" Dawn said. "You say First Sergeant Benjy and the Lieutenant Colonel are on their way?"
Devila nodded, looking solemn and a little bit nervous of Joyce. And resolute, which meant that the nervousness meant that she knew she was about to piss mom off something fierce.
Sigh. "All right, go."
"Dawn! Devila, don't you – "
Too late. Devila gone. Darn, but teleporting was a handy talent. Dawn wished that she could do it right about now. Gulp. "Mom! Don't. Mom, we know what we're doing," Dawn said, carefully. Taking a deep breath and ignoring the Mom Glare of Death, she added, "And in this? You don't."
Yikes. Did that actually come out of her mouth? Oh, she was so very dead. And grounded for months. Ah well, what were noncoms for, if not for diverting the fire from the Brass?
Stephanie proved she could draw fire too by standing and picking up her shield. "They're going to need a good noncom to keep them in line."
"Good idea," Dawn said, nodding. "Go. Uh, want a ride?"
"Hey," Stephanie said, grinning. "Not that far a run from here. Only one major hospital they could go to, right?"
"Right." Their eyes locked, and they nodded to each other. Both were aware that mom was saying something, lots of somethings, and Willow too, kinda in the background. Didn't matter.
Irregulars business.
"Willow." Dawn's voice cut across and drew Willow's attention like a magnet. "You, Jesse, and Aura said that Cordelia and Xander are together now?"
Willow blinked at her, nodding a bit vaguely, and then more firmly, looking like it was being dragged out of her. "Well, yeah. Not that that can be. Well, except maybe it is. Even if it is against all the laws of God and Man and – "
Right then. Time to let go of that little crush forever, then. Sigh. Boy this growing up fast stuff sucks. Suck it up, Willow. Time for you to do so, too. And that made Cordelia Irregulars business, also. 'Cause we take care of our own, and we don't leave people behind...
"Ma'am," Stephanie was saying, "Like Dawn said. We really do know what we're doing. And we have adults on the way who know what they're doing."
"That... man," Joyce said, shaking her head. "Stephanie... "
"Ma'am?" Stephanie Rogers slipped her arm into the loops of her shield. "I think you'd better call me Cap now. I think it's time for me to put on my other hat."
"What about us?" Wicked said, looking curiously between her and Dawn and Mom.
"Stay," Dawn said, thinking furiously. "Benjy wants us, she'll send Pook."
"You and Saavik and Dawn are not going anywhere, young lady," Joyce said. Dawn carefully hit a grin. That one statement was adult speak indicating that whether she knew it or not consciously, Mom had already accepted that she'd lost the battle with Cap and Devila...
No telling where this might have gone, had Giles and Ms. Calendar not came in right about then.
By the time Mom got through explaining, arguing with, and remonstrating with Giles, Jenny, and Mr. Zabuto, Cap had slipped out the door and was nowhere to be seen.
Monday, November 3, 1997: 3743 Midland Court, Sheridan home, Sunnydale; Morning 5:30am –
Tap tap tap... tap tap tap... Tap tap tap... tap tap tap... Tap tap tap... tap tap tap...
Beverly Sheridan's eyes snapped open, and she half sat up, leaning on her elbows and glancing around wildly. "Ah'm up, up.. what's the problem... huh?"
Tap tap tap... tap tap tap...
Aw, crap. The tapping was coming from the window. Sheesh. And it was... Bev peered across the room at her alarm clock. Double sheesh.
Throwing the covers aside, Beverly yawned, stretched, and sat up fully. Oh well, at least whatever it was had woken her up from a nightmarish dream about being trapped down in the tunnels under Castle Badon, surrounded by dead Irregulars, with that... thing slowly moving up on the rest of them. And her.
Yeesh.
Climbing down from the top bunk, Bev ignored Misty groaning and pulling a pillow over her head in the bottom one. She padded over to the window and looked out cautiously. Jeeze, sunrise. And...
"Pook?" Bev shook her head, and opened the window, stepping back as her pixie zipped in.
"First Sergeant Major General ma'am!" Pooka said, snapping to attention and saluting. "Gotta come quick! 'Kat said come hospital now. Come on come on... "
"Whoa!" Beverly said, holding her hands up. "At ease, Private. And slow down. Stop."
Yikes. Something had Pooka Bell seriously wound up. Bev couldn't ever remember seeing the diminutive faerie this agitated. Not even when she'd been freaking out over that thing in the tunnels...
"Huh? Bev, whassup? Issat... "
"Yup, it's Pooka, and something major is wrong, Misty," Beverly said.
"Gotta come hospital, First Sergeant. Now," Pooka said. "'Kat said."
"Slow down, Pooka. Report, Private," Beverly said.
Heh. That got the job done. Pooka Bell calmed almost immediately and became business like. She began to more or less precisely explain what was going on, at least as seen and heard through the eyes of an eight inch tall pixie who had started out as an eight year old girl...
"Holy crap." Misty had gotten out of bed by now, and joined Beverly by the window. About part way through the report, she'd snapped as fully awake as Bev, and now she looked at Beverly wide eyed. "Holy crap," she said, again.
"Ah... yeah. 'Bout sums it up, huh?" Beverly nodded. "Bide a moment, Pook. I need to think."
"Think fast, Sergeant Benjy ma'am," Pooka said, flying over to land on Beverly's left shoulder.
"Am gonna, Pook," Bev said, nodding.
And, ok... not really all that much to think about, huh? So much for becoming – and staying – plain old Beverly Sheridan again and from now on.
Oh well. Was a nice daydream, but this is reality. And reality was, Beverly Sheridan commanded a rag tag troop of kids who'd been changed by some kinda black magic spell, and who had then been scared, beaten, scarred, and forged into something other, something not quite kids any more by a night spent fighting their way desperately across lower Sunnydale.
And some of 'em weren't ever gonna be kids any more, and a few of them were never, ever gonna change back. Case in point...
Sighing, Beverly Sheridan shook her head and put Beverly Sheridan away forever, and locked her down.
First Sergeant Benjy of the First Sunnydale Irregulars, Tech-comm, North American Resistance Command, looked out of a pair of cold, clear gray eyes and said, "Pook. Go rejoin the Scouts. Tell 'Kat and Aura we're on our way as soon as we can. Got some stuff to do first, though, so it may be a bit. Go!"
"Ma'am, yes ma'am!" Pooka hesitated a moment, and said, "Want me to get Cap and the rest?"
"No. Not yet," Benjy said. "Wanna find out what's up first, then make plans. Go."
Pook went, a bright green glowing blur out through the upstairs window and into the dim Sunnydale dawn.
"Orders, First Sergeant?" Misty said, smiling oddly at her. Bitch.
"Damn. And I kinda was looking forward to being plain old Beverly again," Benjy said, sighing.
"Not in the cards, Bev," Private Misty said. "Suggest you suck it up and deal, Sarge."
"Yup." Benjy nodded. "Go wake up my dad the Colonel, and give him the report, Private. I'm stuck with this, you are, too."
"Got it," Misty said. "And you?"
"I'm getting dressed and equipped."
As Misty ran out of the bedroom, still in pajamas, Benjy climbed back up and got her wrist rocket and her fanny pack off of the shelf behind the head of her bunk. And a brand new five hundred round bag of glass marbles.
Climbing down, she began rummaging around in her drawer for her uniform jumper.
And her hat.
Monday, November 3, 1997: South Marion Drive Sunnydale Medical Complex, Sunnydale, Morning 5:35am –
"Umm. Crap," Chief Warrant Officer Michaela Reeves said. And, damn, but these chairs were not comfortable.
At some point, she apparently had tried to curl up and doze in one, like a kid with a stuffed animal. Of course, most kids didn't use a Griffin & Howe .416 Rigby as a plushie toy, but, wah. Most kids weren't Warrant Officers in the Outfit.
The bigger the kids, the better, cooler, and more expensive the toys.
Sighing and trying unsuccessfully to stifle a yawn, she looked up wryly at her Zoomie Colonel, who was standing there safely back a good distance holding a pair of steaming to go cups.
"But, I doan' wanna go to school, dad," Michaela said, a small grin twitching at the corners of her lips.
"Hah. Not quite that old yet, young lady," Brockhurst said. "And I have to admit, I am surprised. Kind of expected you to boil up out of a snooze like a rabid wolverine."
"Not sleeping, just resting my eyes, dammit," Michaela said, reflexively. She sat up stiffly, shifting the express rifle to a spot beside her chair rather than across her lap and arm. "And I don't generally do that when it's someone I know waking me. The subconscious knows. Gimme... "
She took the large coffee cup from him greedily, draining a gulp despite the near burning hot of it.
"It's not even vending machine coffee, either," Brockhurst said, sipping at his. "Cafeteria sells to go. So does the fast food place here."
"Groovy."
Yawning, Michaela sat up straighter and looked around. Ho-kay. No one medical had come out, so apparently Cheng and Harris were still in the OR. Not that she'd expected much different: the docs would probably be picking bits of shrapnel out of them from here to doomsday. Plus the concussive damage, compound fractures, and whatever other assorted and associated injuries...
Goddamn Cheng was lucky to be alive. So was Harris.
Michaela would really love to have gotten the rest of the story of that fight at the salvage yards from Chase before Walsh's goons grabbed her. Oh well. Fuck it, drive on.
Yup. ER was still loaded with civilian cops. And a couple of others... Brockhurst had pulled in a local favor, and had gotten a quartet of MP's from Halleck down here to add to the cluster fuck, just for shits and giggles. Four more on the way for shift changes later.
So, seeing as how neither SPD, Sunnydale County, nor CHP could decide on jurisdiction on Harris, they had a pair of each standing around glaring and sneering at each other, ready to take up guard duty and protective custody once the docs got done and wheeled the kid out to recovery. And four MP's convinced that their jurisdiction out ranked everyone else's, cause hey, Brockhurst and Reeves had told 'em it did in no uncertain terms. Who were glaring and sneering at all of the civvie cops, who were glaring and sneering back. And a couple of Walsh's fake DIA playmates who were convinced they had jurisdiction, and were glaring and sneering at everyone involved.
Fuck it. The Army cops had more firepower. They won the pissing contest on that basis alone. Even if the 'more firepower' was fucking M4 carbine pest rifles...
If Michaela had had a package of Black Cats, she'd be sorely tempted to light 'em and toss 'em into the middle of the ER waiting area just to see the balloon go up. Bound to be just purely made of awesome.
One of the DIA guys and one of the CHP guys glanced over at Michaela and Brockhurst and sneered at them, too, just to let them feel included in the overall camaraderie. Michaela cordially sneered back, and sipped her coffee some more.
"Just feel the love around here," Brockhurst said, smiling. He sat down and moved the big .505 Gibbs over a bit to make room. Michaela had given him custody of it for the moment.
Have to get some more cartridges for these, at some point. Might come in handy.
"Kinda makes you feel all warm all over, doesn't it, sir?" Michaela said. "Kinda like peeing in the pool."
Brockhurst laughed, nodding. "Precisely. All right, so. I made contact with Vandenberg. They're sending a Warrant and an airman over to ferry the Comanche home and get the tanks topped off and the oil changed."
"And its fifty thousand mile tune up and spark plug change, yup," Michaela said. "They bringing it back?"
"Oh, hell yes, Chief Warrant Officer," Brockhurst said. "I signed it out and that bird is mine for the duration."
"Good," Michaela said, nodding. "Might yet come in handy. I still wanna walk that GAU-12 across something breakable before we're done."
"Blood thirsty, aren't we?"
"Hell, I haven't gotten to blow anything up yet," Michaela said. "So far, Cheng, Chase, and Harris have, and even the freaking Major, but I haven't. Makes me cranky when I don't get my minimum daily allotment of high explosives in my diet."
"Ah, so that's the problem," Brockhurst said. "I suspect they put too much gunpowder in your raw meat wherever you guys are based."
"Heh. You could be right," Michaela said, grinning at him. "I did warn you about the food."
"That you did," Brockhurst said, nodding. "Huh. Hello, what's this?"
This was a slim, five foot six or so, light complected, well and very expensively dressed young black girl of about sixteen, maybe seventeen. Who was currently being blockaded from approaching the emergency room desk by the two DIA goons, who were being argued with by a pair of MPs, who were being supplemented by two of the SPD uniforms who were apparently just trying to find out who the girl was.
Yup. Clusterfuck city.
Michaela slung the express rifle over her left shoulder – ow, but you didn't leave loaded firearms lying around loose – and ambled up to see what was going on, drinking her coffee, with Brockhurst ambling along behind her.
"Stand down, Sergeant, Corporal," she said, nodding to the two MPs. "Now, what seems to be the problem here?"
"We're attempting to – " one of the uniformed DIA people began...
"Asked him, not you," Michaela said, cutting acrost him. "Carry on, Sergeant." The fake – Michaela was sure of that by now – DIA goon bristled, but subsided, looking angry. Fuck 'im.
"Ma'am," the MP Sergeant said, "This young lady comes barreling up to the ER duty nurse demanding to know about Harris and Chase, and these two mo-, um, gentlemen started trying to hustle her away from the counter and interrogate her." His partner nodded confirmation.
"And then we stepped in to try and make a bit of sense out of the situation," the female SPD officer said. Her name tag read: Kagan, and her black male partner's read: Douglas. Cool, and a couple of SPD that didn't seem like raging assholes or complete incompetents. Then again, Kagan's immediate superior was a lone SPD Sergeant who had been told in no uncertain terms that Stein, and by extension, SPD had joint ownership of Harris with Reeves...
It made Kagan and Douglas and Michaela's four MPs natural allies in a sea of hostile badges. The two SPD officers were slightly outnumbered and outgunned, otherwise.
"Appreciated," Michaela said, nodding. "Carry on, Sergeant. I've got this. Miss?" she said, turning to the young civilian, "May I ask whom you are, and what your interest is?"
The young girl, teen, looked at Michaela with sharp interest, and nodded. "As long as I get to reciprocate?"
"Well, sure, ma'am," Michaela said. "I'm Chief Warrant Officer Michaela Reeves, United States Army, and Colonel Stretch here is Lieutenant Colonel William Brockhurst, USAF. And I'm currently in command of this clus-, um, mess, for the duration."
DIA goon numbah one glared at her, still bristling. "You know, all due respect, Chief, but you seem to be trying throw an awful lot of weight around for a slip of a girl with a big assault rifle. Ma'am."
Michaela grinned like a wolf at him, sizing him up, as Colonel Brockhurst said, mildly, "That's because she has it to throw, son."
Brockhurst was smiling slightly and holding the big .505 Gibbs dangling from his right hand by the pistol grip like a swagger stick. Ok, serious wrist strength there. That Griffin and Howe just had to weigh at least fifteen pounds with the scope, not counting the ammo load.
"It's a battle rifle, kid. Assault rifle is a media term used by amateurs. AR-10s, FN-FAls, and M1As are battle rifles. M16s and HK-33s are automatic rifles. Only the old Sturmgewehr 44 and 45(M) and the Pederson mod for the Springfield are assault rifles." Michaela was peripherally aware of the girl examining both her and the tall, slightly older Colonel with increased interest. Glancing with mild disinterest at the DIA goon, she nodded to the girl. "I am in command of this Charlie Foxtrot. That would be regardless of what the faux Defense Intelligence Agency pukes here have to say about it, ma'am."
"I beg your pardon, Chief," the DIA goon said, bristling worse. "But what in the world makes you assume that we're not real Defense Intelligence agents?"
Sighing, Michaela returned her attention to him. "Well... " she looked in vain at his uniform blouse for a name tag, "Mr... "
"Umbridge. Wa- Agent Umbridge," he said. He was reasonably tall, about twenty five, probably, and fairly husky with dark blonde hair and brown eyes.
"Wa- Agent?" Michaela grinned at him. "Warrant Officer Agent? Gee, that's a rank I've never heard before," she said. He flushed, and she added, "Well now, let me count the ways. For one, there's not a single one of you I've seen that's past his mid twenties, which would make you all rookie agents. For two, there's no grizzled looking and rumpled forty to fifty-ish senior agent overseeing your, ah, 'investigation' here and interfacing with people like me. For three, the Defense Intelligence Agency still issues the M11 aka SIG P228 in nine mike mike, not the M9 in forty Ess and Dubyah. Which means that your ID may be authentic, but you and your buddies are as phony as a grackle imitating a rusty hinge. Now, until you actually get command of my person of interest, which is gonna happen right about when they start ice skating on the Utah Salt Flats, kindly back the fuck off before I back you the fuck off with an X-bullet between the fucking eyes, son."
Practically growling down at her, Umbridge nodded stiffly and said, "We'll see about that. And, this isn't over between us."
"Any time, Toy Soldier," Michaela said. "Any place. Now, ma'am?"
She ignored the MPs having coughing fits and the two SPD officers and the CHPs grinning like maniacs, and turned back to the girl once more. She also ignored the SPD and the CHP guys exchanging money, apparently collecting and paying off bets.
The girl was studying both of them intensely now. Michaela knew what she was seeing: a grimy looking five foot eight Japanese-Irish-Chinese woman in her mid twenties, with a rumpled, torn, bloody, and unorthodox looking uniform and flight jacket, carrying a big automatic rifle, and a bigger bolt action, with one arm that should be in the sling hanging loosely around her neck. And a six foot plus late late thirties to early mid-forties wiry and graying dark blonde haired man in a nearly equally rumpled USAF flight suit with a huge bolt action dangling from one hand and a Light Colonel's insignia.
"As a grackle imitating a rusty hinge?" the girl said, finally, grinning and shaking her head.
"Sorry. My inner South Texican comes out when I'm both tired and on the prod, ma'am," Michaela said. "Male grackles make the damnedest noises when they're challenging others and displaying plumage in mating season."
"I see. I'll remember that," she said. "Well, my name is Aura Breckenridge. I'm a... old friend of Xander Harris, from like, when we were kids, and Cordelia Chase is my best friend. I wanna know what's going on here."
"An a... old friend?" Michaela said, her eyebrows going up.
"Um... " Aura flushed slightly. "Since about kindergarten, but it's been a rough bunch of years. We've had our bumpy spots on that. And never mind that. Is Xander going to be ok? Is Cordy ok? Where is Cordy? Is that Larry Blaisdell freaking Terminator still after them?"
"Whoa, whoa, ma'am," Michaela said, holding her hands out palms up and gesturing for the girl to slow down, please. "Why don't you follow me and the Zoomie Colonel here to the cafeteria, cause I need more coffee and some food, and I'll answer what I can, all right? They won't tell you anything here anyway, seeing as how you're not family."
"All right, lead on," the girl said, smiling at her. "Won't be the first early morning debriefing I've held in this cafeteria."
Michaela's eyebrows went up again on that, but she just turned to the MP quartet and said, "All yours, Sarge. Do not let anyone in to Harris. And do call me immediately if anything develops. That is an order."
"Ma'am, yes ma'am, Chief Warrant Officer," Sergeant Gabriel said, nodding. "What level of, ah, deterrence are we authorized to use?"
"Well, let's see. If it's the estimable Dr. Walsh and any of her toy soldiers and fake DIA, just go ahead and shoot the bitch and anyone with her. Anyone else... minimum force required until I am apprised, all right?"
She heard Brockhurst choking back laughter on that one, and ignored him.
Michaela nodded crisply to the two SPD officers and said, as graciously as she could, "No jurisdictional offense intended to you guys or Chief Stein. But I must speak with Harris before anyone else does, and my standing orders read that I must maintain chain of access here in this situation."
Officer Kagan shook her head, smiling. "None taken, Chief," she said, her partner nodding agreement. "And not to say that you don't trust the SPD, but... you don't have any real reason to trust the SPD."
Brockhurst smiled genially, and said, "I'm certain that the good Chief Warrant here wouldn't have stated it precisely like that, but since you did?" He shrugged.
"All right, come on, Miss Breckenridge," Michaela said. "Me starving."
"I could eat," Aura said. "Got woke up way too early today. Oh, hey. Is that true about," she motioned at Michaela's rifle, "The 'assault rifle' thing?"
"It is. Ain't no such animal as an 'assault rifle'," Michaela said, nodding. "If it fires multiple shots when you pull the trigger, then it is an automatic weapon. If your automatic weapon fires pistol cartridges, it is a sub-machinegun. Intermediate and small bore rifle cartridges, like the 5.56 -slash- .223 Remington or 7.62x39, then it is an automatic rifle. If it takes a full caliber rifle cartridge like the 7.62x51 and up – .308 Winchester to you civilians – it is a battle rifle. If it takes a full size cartridge or heavier, is capable of sustained automatic fire, and uses a bipod or a tripod, it is a machinegun. If it will only fire one shot per trigger pull, it is a semi-automatic rifle, I don't care how 'evil' and black plastic looking it is. If your semi-auto is very accurate and heavy barreled, it is a precision rifle, also euphemistically known as a sniper's rifle."
Aura nodded, looking to Colonel Brockhurst who nodded back. "I'm going to go out on a limb here and suggest that the Chief Warrant here knows her stuff and is a qualified weapons expert. Check a Jane's Infantry Small Arms if you don't believe her: nowhere in it will you find the term 'assault rifle' except in describing a very limited number of specific weapons. The British like precision in their technical language."
"Uh huh," Michaela said, nodding. "The media loves the term assault rifle and assault weapon because most of them hate firearms and like whipping up hysteria against them. Gun writers like it because it makes 'em sound knowledgeable, they think. Novelists and fiction writers like it because it sounds cool and bad ass. Average joes use it because, no offense, ma'am, but most of y'all get your info from media sources. Us folks who actually work with the things for a living find it a nifty way to separate the wanna bees from the actual professionals."
"Cool and gotcha. I will remember this. And, uh, 'Zoomie Colonel'?" Aura said, falling in alongside of them.
"Air Force puke, ma'am," Michaela said. "But this one is A-OK."
"I'm going to take that as high praise, coming from you, Chief Warrant Officer Leg Ape," Brockhurst said, "Mostly because I don't want you shooting me."
"Smart man, for a Fast Mover jockey." Michaela grinning up at him and said, "And they say Air Force isn't teachable. Pshaw."
.