Chapter Fifty-seven: Nothing Ever Goes as Planned...
Monday, November 3, 1997: South Marion Drive Sunnydale Medical Complex, Sunnydale, Morning 6:05am –
"What a mess," Aura said, taking a sip of coffee and then biting into a cheese danish.
"About sums it up, yes," Michaela said.
"So... Cordy is in this mad doctor's hands, and she has a warrant and a bunch of goons, and a secret research compound? Under UCS Sunnydale? And you're one of the only survivors of a clandestine ops unit that fights things like Creed and the Terminator? And Cordy and Xander have so many charges against them, they're likely to get buried under a federal penitentiary?" Aura shook her head, scowling. "Geeze. This is like a C-grade movie on Sci-fi channel."
"Heh. And in short: yes, yes, 'bout sums it up, and not if I can fucking help it, and yeah, it kinda does," Michaela said.
Brockhurst grinned, shaking his head. "When you put it like that, it sounds insane and ridiculous, huh?"
"So. And so it does. No offense, Chief, but, ah... why do you care what happens to Cordy and Xan?" Aura said, looking at her intently.
"Good question. Lemme see if I have a good answer for you, hopefully one that makes better sense to you than it does me sometimes," Michaela said. She took another huge bite of her breakfast, aware of Brockhurst studying her and watching her curiously while he ate. Oh, right – she never had really had time or patience to explain to him, either. Which made him just awfully patient for a ranking officer in an unorthodox situation...
"All right," Michaela said, swallowing and nodding. "Because the Black Company doesn't make war on civilians. We protect civilians from things that most people cannot imagine really exist. Because, going by what was said that I was privy to via comm, what was implied, and what I know of the people I work with, and what went across the company freq before Major Buckley went offline, the Major thought that it was important enough to disrupt a major op and throw tactics and planning into the shitter for. Because Master Sergeant Cheng, one of the most cold blooded and deadly sons of bitches I know, thought it was important enough to put his life on the line for. Because according to what I heard over Cheng's comm freq before I went down and completely offline, Cordelia Chase saw through brevet Captain Finn's bullshit and apparently gunned him down like a cold pro, and I like that in a girl. Because Lieutenant Barkley got herself dead making sure that Maggie Walsh didn't stop Allred from getting the Major's last message out. And because, as Barkley so carefully pointed out during the briefing I was listening in on over comm – Walsh really needs to upgrade her electronic security – we don't like people like Maggie Walsh and her little black ops toy soldier project, and secret labs and bases pulling that black ops movie crap on American soil."
Michaela took another bite, chewed, and washed it down. "And because Chase, Harris, and Cheng, but mostly Chase at the end, from what I understand, managed to take down a bad guy that wiped out my entire unit, and way too many civilians in this town. That kind of balls to the wall determination, inventiveness, and sheer guts deserves my deepest respect. And it doesn't deserve Doctor Director Call-me-Maggie fucking Walsh. And because we are the Black fucking Company, and we take care of our own, and all of that makes them two of ours, whether they ever know it or not. Good enough?"
"You should quit suppressing your opinions, Chief Warrant Officer," Brockhurst said, "And tell us how you really feel."
"All due respect, Lieutenant Colonel, sir, sit on this," Michaela said, flipping him the bird. "It's a full bird for you."
"About time someone recognized my obvious talents and quality and promoted me," Brockhurst said, laughing. "Even if it was a low ranking Army Puke."
"Good enough, Chief Warrant Officer," Aura said, nodding. She grinned, and said, "And you guys are not what I expect from an officer and an, uh, enlisted?"
"Enlisted, kinda," Michaela said, nodding. "Warrant Officers are technically officers, but in reality, we're kind of in a no man's land between the highest ranks of NCO, and Commissioned Officers."
"Hell, I'm just finding the Leg here way too entertaining so far to throw her in the brig," Brockhurst said, grinning.
"I'm telling you, you'd fit right into our little gang of misfits, Colonel sir," Michaela said.
"Hey, I was AFSOC for awhile there," Brockhurst said, "Until I decided I liked flying better than sitting in the mud behind rifle sights. As I recall, we could be awfully informal, too, at times."
Nodding, Aura grinned back at him, and then said, thoughtfully, "So Cordelia just, uh, gunned this guy Finn down in cold blood? Cordelia?"
"I'm thinking she decided that Cheng and the Major offered better survival potential," Michaela said. "Also thinking she doesn't put up with a lot of bullshit when she's pushed. Didn't exactly have time to ask, seeing as how she was busy running a Terminator through a car crusher when we spoke to her."
"She should fit right in, too," Brockhurst said, his voice dry. Michaela grinned at him, finishing her coffee and signaling for another cup.
"What, hard headed, insubordinate, and homicidal?"
There was suddenly a green glowing, small blonde faerie with rapidly blurring wings hovering near Aura's chair. Michaela blinked at it, completely nonplussed.
"Lady Aura!" the little apparition piped up, throwing a snappy salute at the girl. "Private Pooka reporting!"
"Ummm... right," Aura said, nodding. She sighed and looked like she was contemplating banging her head against the table.
"Are you seeing what I'm seeing, Chief Warrant Officer?" Brockhurst said, slowly.
"Are you seeing a small glowing pixie? 'Cause if you're not, then I think I'm running so low on sleep, I'm hallucinating now."
"Hey! I'm not a halluci- halluci- whatever. I'm a Pooka Bell," the small, uh, being said, looking indignant.
"Uh huh, of course you are," Michaela said, nodding slowly. She started to smile broadly.
Sighing, Aura shook her head, rolled her eyes, and said, "Report, Pooka."
"Ma'am! Am reporting that the First Sergeant Major and the Colonel General are here, ma'am," Pooka, uh, Bell said. Michaela's interest sharpened abruptly.
"Oh... uh, Benjy? And wow, her Dad? Already?"
"Uh huh. Private First Scout 'Kat wants to know what to do, ma'am."
"Sigh. Hang on one, Pook," Aura said. She looked at Michaela and the Colonel, her expression suddenly serious. "Considering that the cat is apparently out of the bag here, now," she said, motioning at the pixie, "I'm going to have to trust you further, I guess. I think I can, based on everything. But I'm going to state flat out here: there are not going to be any brass, scientists, secret disappearances, or labs involved here."
Michaela whipped her head around and stared at the girl. "That's not even a good joke, miss."
"I'm not joking. I am deadly serious," Aura said, her eyes hard. "I have to know. Because these are, or were, children that you are about to meet. No matter what they look like now. At least they were regular kids before some idiot apparently named Ethan Rayne decided to play a magical practical joke on Sunnydale on Halloween night. And let me assure you: no one is going to let anything happen to any of them. Period, end discussion."
Michaela looked at her, thinking furiously. Nodded. "You have my word that I can be trusted, and so can Brockhurst. Ma'am, the Company occasionally has to kill nonhumans, when they're a hostile threat. We don't make war on innocents and victims, and we do not run secret concentration camps."
Brockhurst nodded. "While I'm aware that the U. S. Military has done and does do some iffy things, that goes for me as well."
"Lady Aura?" Pooka said. "'Kat says that she's Tech-comm Command, ma'am. She wouldn't."
"She is, huh?" Aura stared at her hard for a few more minutes, and then nodded abruptly. "All right. Pook, go bring 'em in. I think that Benjy and Lieutenant Colonel Sheridan are going to want to meet these people."
"Ma'am! Right away, ma'am." The diminutive being zipped away so fast she left a tiny, sparkling contrail. Michaela and Brockhurst watched her vanish with wide-eyed amazement.
The corners of Michaela's lips curled up further into a smile, her eyes dancing. "So," she said, looking at the suddenly hard eyed teenage girl, "I gather that we have rather serendipitously happened upon the command structure of the local Sunnydale Militia. All kind of by accident like."
"You have indeed, Chief Warrant Officer," Aura said, dryly. Slowly, her lips twitched and then curled up into a matching smile. "I'm kind of a late inductee, myself. But since I seem to have suddenly found myself a part of the local command structure, I fully intend to take care of my own, as well. Whatever that entails."
"Noted," Brockhurst said, his own eyes dancing merrily. "A commendable attitude, I must say."
Sighing again, Aura said, "Congratulations. You're about to meet the First Scouts and the upper Command Staff of the First Sunnydale Irregulars, Tech-Comm, North American Resistance Command. You've already met the lone available representative of the Scooby Gang." Smiling oddly, she shook her head and added, "And how I got to be an Irregulars officer, I'll never understand. I think I was drafted."
"Oh?" Brockhurst's eyebrows went up. "And just what are they, um, you resisting?"
"Oh, just about anything that's unlucky enough to get crossways of them, ah, us," Aura said. "Which in this town, covers some pretty broad and strange territories. Think army ants versus goblins and you'll have a pretty good idea."
"Uh, should we be meeting them here?" Brockhurst said, looking around the cafeteria.
"You'd be freaking amazed at what people in this town don't see, Colonel," Aura said. "I know I was."
Monday, November 3, 1997: Sunnydale Medical Complex cafeteria, Sunnydale, Morning 6:15am –
Damned good thing that they were sitting down in a booth now, having commandeered one of the big corner ones for their now about to be larger group. 'Cause if she'd been walking, the double take and stutter step on her bad knee would have made Chief Warrant Officer, now self promoted brevet Commander, Michaela Reeves stumble and fall.
And that would have just been all embarrassing and shit.
A quick sideways glance at her military, well, Chair Force anyway, companion showed that he was in about the same straits. Aura, on the other hand, was grinning from ear to ear at the expressions on both their faces. Bitch.
A quick glance was all she could manage to spare. Reeves was having way too hard a time deciding where and what to stare at first.
She did manage to close her mouth, though. No need to look like a slack jawed yokel.
Ho-kay. There was the little pixie girl, sitting on the left shoulder of a smallish girl of about eleven, standing next to another not so smallish elven year old, and another. And more for them, later.
There was a little devil girl. That was really all there was to say about it. Michaela felt all of her South Texas Baptist upbringing, that she'd managed to painfully and with great effort shed and discard over the years, standing up inside of her screaming. But... yeah. Dark red-gold skin, a mass of tumbling red gold hair, small horns, count 'em, two, merrily cheerful red eyes, and a spade tipped tail. Oh, and a grin with way too many pointed teeth in it.
Wearing a dark, dark green My Little Pony t-shirt, a pair of black leggings and calf high boots, and a long, past the knee, loose and flowing cream colored skirt. Michaela blinked. My Little Pony just wasn't computing.
Two, count 'em, two cat girls. Only word for it. One had short black fur that looked seal soft and about the length of that on a domestic Russian Blue. Looked like it would display a sheen like that too, when rubbed just right. Long black hair, currently in a mid-back length pony tail. One had gray, jaguar spotted fur with white on the hands, feet, face, throat, upper chest, and probably the chest and belly too for all Michaela knew or could tell. And a tumbling mane of dark gray and white streaked hair down her back from the head, with lynx fringe along the jaws, and long fetlocks type fringe along the forearms and shins. Cat's eyes too. Orange red on one, green yellow on the other, with slit pupils. Green-yellow changing to blue on occasion...
Both were wearing loose fitting sleeveless t-shirts over mid-sleeve jersey style tees. The black one had loose shorts on, and the gray one had a mid thigh length short skirt. Stretch material... well, Michaela guessed that she wouldn't want too much in the way of binding or tight clothes on if she had fur, either. Both were barefoot, and both looked like they could have impressive claws in the pad fingertips.
And Aura had been right, too, dammit. They were kids. Anywhere from four five to five two. And probably no more than nine to eleven years old, if she could even begin to judge.
And, dammit to hell. All four of them, including the pixie girl, were looking at one Michaela Reeves like she was a combination of the newly Risen Christ, the returned Elvis, President Sam Houston, and General Robert E. Lee back from the grave. The hell?
"Wow. An actual Tech-comm Commander," the little devil girl breathed out. "Two of 'em." The two cat girls and the pixie nodded solemnly, looking, well, awed.
Michaela had to bite down hard on an insane impulse to ask 'em if a cat had their tongues...
Damn, but she needed sleep.
"Tech-comm?" Brockhurst said quietly, his voice curious.
"Tech-comm, North American Resistance Command, North American Resistance," Michaela said, her voice on automatic pilot. "From Terminator 1 and T2."
"Ma'am, yes ma'am," the black cat girl said, apparently having found her voice. Her eyes were absolutely huge. "Private First Scout Kitty Kat, First Sunnydale Irregulars, reporting, ma'am."
"Uh... hi," Michaela said. Brockhurst began making quiet choking sounds, and Michaela elbowed him smartly in the side. Ow. Need to get that arm looked at, too.
"It really does make sense once you know the background, ma'am," one of the, uh, normal girls said. And, wow...
Ok. Take one regulation issue eleven year old girl, wash in hot, and run her through the dryer twice on extra-dry, thereby shrinking her into a four foot four inch package. Give her just to the collar length light brown hair. Give her a snub nose, and a dusting of freckles, and an extra ration of extra cute from the armory. Give her an olive drab jumper, kind of like a one piece, sleeveless and deep V-neck almost to the navel top mated to a pair of mid calf length OD capri pants, with a gathered waist and a built in belt. Dark green socks and high top black and camo Timberland Hikers. Give her an urban camo shirt and tee shirt, over a long sleeved dark olive green tee, with a regular OD half sleeved fitted Bolero jacket over that. Give her a leather bomber jacket slung casually over the shoulder by the fingers of the right hand. And give her a wicked looking double tube wrist rocket slung by the pouch from the left shoulder, and a woodland camo fanny pack.
And give her patches on the breast of the jumper that say U.S. Army on the right, and Rangers on the left, and a name tag that reads "Benjy Sheridan." Oh, and a pair of metal dog tags. And the partially visible legend: ANGE EAD THE WA on the urban camo tee in gold lettering.
And now give her a pair of large, almost anime large, clear, medium gray eyes to complete the image. Top it all off with a camouflage billed military style cap.
"Heya, and you would be?" At least Michaela hadn't lost the power of semi-coherent speech, that was all to the good.
"Ma'am. First Sergeant Benjy Sheridan, Tech-comm. First Sunnydale Irregulars, commanding," she said, nodding crisply and snapping her heels together smartly. "And this is my father, Lieutenant Colonel Michael Sheridan, 75th U.S. Rangers, Retired, currently Commander in Chief of the Irregulars, ma'am."
"Uh huh," Michaela said. She felt her spine snapping straight almost involuntarily, glancing at the taller, older man with renewed interest, before looking back at the improbable munchkin standing arrow straight before her, regarding her back gravely.
And any jokes about small soldiers that might have been even remotely dancing in the back of Michaela's mind suddenly died in her throat, unspoken.
Because there was absolutely fucking zero in that suddenly clear, hard, and icy cold even gray gaze from those big eyes, suddenly narrowing in critical appraisal, that invited ridicule in any form or fashion whatsoever. Not one single thing.
Large, dangerous people would move away from those eyes, if they had even an ounce of the good sense that God gave a jackrabbit.
As if she were reading Michaela's mind, Aura murmured, "Dangerous people have moved out of the Irregulars' way. Or been moved."
And hell, she might be, for all of that. Her thoughts were probably stamped all over her stupidly expressive face, Michaela thought. She glanced over at Aura, and saw that the girl was enjoying all this far too much. Couldn't blame her...
"Suggest you take us seriously, and don't laugh or snicker, ma'am," the other, taller girl said, quietly. "Because I can assure you: 'Kat, Chessie, Devila, and Pooka take all of this with lethal seriousness."
Oh-kay. Taller, 'bout four eleven to five foot, slender, long dark hair, and vaguely Asian in the same way that Michaela was. Exotic. Wearing a pair of khaki LL Bean cargo pocket slacks tucked into expensive looking hikers, a designer looking camo t-shirt, an LL Bean sage colored shirt over that, and an LL Bean bush/hunting jacket. And another, different brand of wrist rocket slung over a shoulder. Standing hipshot in comparison to Benjy's casual at attention.
And nothing whatsoever invited laughter or ridicule in those eyes, either. Far from it. Leaphorn had eyes like that looking through the scope of a precision rifle.
Michaela raised an eyebrow inquiringly, and the girl added, "Private Misty Pantine, Marksman, First Sunnydale Irregulars. And this is Private Sergeant Captain Stephanie Rogers, or Cap," she said, indicating the tall, blonde haired girl on Benjy's other side, next to 'Kat.
Nodding, the girl said, "Stephanie Rogers, yes. And, an honor to meet you, ma'am."
Ok. Tall, as noted. Maybe five five or five six, which would make her tall for an eleven year old. Gonna be a six footer some day. Blue jeans, blue shirt over a white tee, and a dark red leather jacket. And a shield on one arm... Red concentric stripes with a blue center with a star in it...
"Stephanie Rogers, Cap... Captain America?" Michaela said, blinking.
Stephanie nodded, smiling. "Ma'am."
She did not look like there was an ounce of joke in her on that.
She looked an inquiry at the tall, gray eyed man, and he said, "My daughter already made an introduction, but... as she said: Lieutenant Colonel Michael Sheridan, United States Army, 75th Rangers, 1st Ranger Battalion, currently retired. And this is my wife, Michelle Sheridan."
The woman next to him was slim, about ten years his junior, which put her at about her late thirties, and had dark red hair, medium length.
"Sir, ma'am," Michaela said, formally. "I'd rise, and either salute or shake hands, but my bum knee won't allow me to stand unaided at the moment. It's embarrassing, frankly." She took a deep breath, let it out, and added, "Chief Warrant Officer Michaela Reeves, currently On Site Commander Michaela Reeves, U.S. Army, currently of the Black Company. Pleased."
"Sir. Ma'am." Brockhurst did rise. "Lieutenant Colonel William Brockhurst, United States Air Force, currently attached to Vandenberg Air Force Base. Likewise, pleased to meet you."
"Likewise," Sheridan and his wife shook hands with Brockhurst, and leaned in to shake with Michaela. "And no need to rise, Captain, and definitely no need to salute. I'm retired."
"No such thing as a former Ranger, sir," Michaela said automatically.
"Have it your way, Commander," Sheridan said, his eyes crinkling. "Aura," he said, nodding to the girl.
"Colonel."
"Michael. Told you that," Sheridan said.
"Naw. You're Colonel to me, since Halloween and ever after," Aura said, grinning up at him. "Oh – and that is Jesse McNally."
"Don't mind me, I'll just stand here quietly in the background basking in the anonymity," McNally said, smiling. "Please to meet you, uh, Officer, Colonel. Or is it Lieutenant Colonel?"
"Colonel is fine, son," Brockhurst said, smiling. "Brockhurst or Brock are better. William or Will are adequate. Just not Bill, ever."
"Colonel," McNally said, nodding. Tall, slimly muscular and well built, dark hair and eyes. Something oddly familiar about that kid... something in the movement.
"Oh, sit down, goof," Aura said. "After we let the troops slide in, and the Colonel and Michelle sit, so that Michaela won't have to try to cripple her way up onto her feet."
"Huh. I knew a James Buckley, Ranger, in 'Nam in '68 and '69. But he was a fuzz chin Second Louie then, straight out of West Point and Rot-see and moving up on First," Sheridan said, frowning.
"Might be the same one, sir," Michaela said, nodding. "But you'll pardon me if I forget the fuzz chin comment. Wouldn't do for me to pull it out of my, uh, butt at the wrong moment."
"Gonna have to forgive the Leg here, Colonel," Brockhurst said. "Having all these kids around is putting a damper on her usual curse like a sailor on leave modus operandi and she's reeling from having to compensate."
Michaela resisted an impulse to stick her tongue out at him and elbow him again. Didn't do any good, and just hurt her elbow.
"Hah." Michelle Sheridan said, eying Michaela critically. "Forgive me for putting my mom hat on, Commander, but you look like you're reeling more from exhaustion and injury than from having to bite your tongue. Although," she grinned impishly, "That's probably not helping."
Michaela grinned back. Damn, but she liked these people. "Am, ma'am. But I'll just have to FIDO. Got too many people down or in enemy hands, and no one else can do what I have to do right now."
"I understand, Commander," Michelle said. "And it's Michelle, not ma'am. I was never in the military."
"Then it's Michaela, not Commander or Chief," Michaela said. Hrmm. Gray eyes also. Blue-gray. First Sergeant Benjy came by it honest, then. "And that's ok. I'm sure some of Call-me-Maggie's goons will give me a reason to let my inner longshoreman out before long."
"They have yet to fail, so far," Brockhurst said, nodding. "Have to say that I doubted you, Aura. But you are right: it is purely amazing what people seem to refuse to notice here."
"It is," Aura said.
He, or rather they, were right. Cap, Benjy, and Misty had taken chairs and pulled them up to the outside of the booth's table, letting the three, uh, non-humans sit in between Michaela and Michelle. But so far, while they had gotten a few glances, quickly averted, no one looked twice at them. Waitresses came and went, delivering coffee, water, milk and soda refills with nary a glance or a blink. Or even a raised eyebrow. Acquaintances of the Sheridan's stopped to wave or say hello, and moved on, looking straight past or through 'Kat, Devila, Chessie, and the small faerie without apparently registering them.
Downright weird.
Hell, Michaela's battle rifle and the two Griffin & Howe's got more and longer looks than the two cat girls.
"Occurs to me," Aura said, eying the two cat girls and Devila, "That Joyce is gonna be having a cow and kittens about you guys going off on your own like this." Devila squirmed in her seat, looking suddenly uncomfortable.
"We spoke with Joyce before we left home," Michelle said. "She is not happy, but since she knows where they are now, and we're here to supervise, she'll deal with it. For now. But be advised: all of you will probably get yelled at when you get home. And Dawn is grounded."
All four of them, including Stephanie, gulped audibly, and nodded.
"Joyce?" Brockhurst asked.
"Local mother," Michael said. "Since... there are some difficulties involved with this little troupe being able to go home again, she's taken all seven of them under her wing and into her home."
"Seven?" Michaela said, blinking and looking at the five at hand.
"Yes ma'am," Benjy said. "In addition to the trio, Pooka, and Cap here, Wicked and Saavik also didn't change back. Um... Wicked: tall, wicked faerie princess, very upright and proper. Saavik: half Romulan girl from 'Wrath of Kahn' and 'Search for Spock', only about ten or eleven. Wicked, Sav, and Dawn are a part of the Irregulars Special Operations and Parley Team."
"Oh-kay," Michaela said, resisting another urge to beat her head against something dense and solid. Like Brockhurst.
"Yeah, Joyce Summers, aka Buffy's mom," Aura said, "I think is adopting them because they really don't have anywhere to go. I'd do it, but my parents aren't that cool, and they are not 'in the know', as we say."
"Nice lady, it sounds like. And very open minded," Brockhurst said. "And no wonder you've been drafted as an officer."
Devila nodded enthusiastically. "Mom is great. So is Lady Aura."
"I'm thinking they've adopted her back," Michaela said, dryly. "I met a Joyce Summers last night. Buffy?"
"Summers. The Slayer." Jesse said. "If you saw the various news footages like you say, the girl on Altameeras Tower with the large gorilla? Long story, that one."
Brockhurst blinked again, and Michaela echoed him again, but probably for different reasons. "Why, yes, I did, matter of fact," she said. "A Slayer, here? I have got to meet this girl. And get autographs for the entire company."
"A fan girl, huh?" Brockhurst said, grinning.
"Oh, hay-ull yes," Michaela said, nodding. "I've heard of the One Girl, but have never met one or seen one in action. A few of ours have, and I'm jealous as all hell."
"You have, too," Jesse said. "Kendra, killing Spike on the FYI footage, and then getting shredded by Creed."
"Wait, time out. Two of them?" Michaela said, her jaw dropping slightly.
"I can't believe it," Brockhurst said, shaking his head and smiling. "Mighty Mite, Queen of Death and Destruction, actually in awe here and drooling like a tweenie at an N'Snych concert."
Michaela elbowed him scowling. Ow. Damned helo crash. "Am not. Well, I am in awe, yeah."
"It's a thing," Jesse said. "We're not exactly sure how it happened yet, but yeah. There are two 'One Girls' now."
"One Girl?" Brockhurst asked.
"One Girl in All the World," Michael Sheridan said, smiling oddly, "Chosen to stand against the forces of darkness, etc. And you'd best realize that a lot of trust has just been placed in you two. It was thoroughly impressed upon Michelle and I that the Slayer is a heavily guarded secret for her own protection."
"Well, except in Sunnydale, where it seems that every third person knows about Buffy," Aura said. "And not one of them told me." She folded her arms, huffing.
"Someone trying to harm a Slayer on my watch will eat the magazine of my battle rifle," Michaela said, her voice and expression gathering thunderclouds, "Projectiles first."
"And that pretty much answers that," Brockhurst said. "I suspect that one more secret isn't going to strain us all that much in the keeping."
"Does Call-me-Maggie fu- uh, freaking Walsh know about them?" Michaela said, her mind racing furiously.
"Don't know," Michael said, frowning. "That is worrisome." Aura and Jesse nodded, frowning and looking thoughtful.
"Hesitant to place them under protective guard," Michaela said, scowling, "As that would assuredly draw the attention of Walsh's goons."
"Our problems do seem to be multiplying like rabbits and cats in Oz," Brockhurst said.
Jesse nodded, exchanging uncomfortable looks with Aura. "Creed already paid a visit last night to drop off flowers. Chief Stein wants to put a police guard on them, for all the good it might do, but... "
"Sunnydale PD is a bit short of manpower lately," Aura said, nodding.
Shaking her head, Michaela suppressed a pained expression. Brockhurst's comparison to rabbits in Australia was apt. "That fella being on the loose is just a bit worrisome."
"Just a touch," Colonel Sheridan said, nodding.
An uncomfortable and pensive silence fell over the table for a short time...
"Can I go scout the Pizza Barn again, First Sergeant?" Pooka Bell piped up, getting a grin and a scowl from Benjy.
"No, Pook. Not now," Benjy said, smiling and shaking her head. Misty snickered, and Benjy shot her a look and added, "Don't encourage her."
"Pizza Barn?"
Benjy looked at her and grinned again. "We get a chance, we'll tell you about the Second Battle of the Pizza Barn, Halloween night. I understand it was something else... of course, I didn't know it was Pook's second raid at the time when I sent her out for provisions."
"According the news, there were people bailing out right and left screaming about giant radioactive glowing mutant bats," Misty said, nodding. "Not to mention the knock down drag out battle there between Pook and the Lost Boys two pixies."
"Pooka Bell won," Benjy said, dryly. "Three for three, or maybe four for four. I kinda lost count at one point."
"Five!" Pooka said, holding up four fingers.
"Figures."
Brockhurst chuckled, looking entranced, and Michael Sheridan said, "As I'm given to understand, it's called Sunnydale Syndrome by some of the, ah, in the know people. Natural human tendency to rationalize away things that conflict with their world views, and exacerbated by the presence of the Hellmouth."
"Hellmouth, costume transformations, vampires, demons... " Brockhurst shook his head. "Just what the hell is going on in your town here, Colonel?"
"Yeah. We are definitely going to need to get a full briefing at some point," Michaela said, nodding. "Walsh's was, ah, less than complete, as was her advance information packet. And I'm inclined to distrust a lot of the news reports on the basis of that rationalization thing, plus just normal media misinformation, and outright disinformation."
"What. You don't trust the people's information networks?" Aura said, her eyes widening.
Michaela grinned at her. "About as far as you could throw Brockhurst here, Miss Breckenridge."
"Smart lady," Jesse said. "But... I think you can put some trust in the FYI stuff. Kolchak and his partner, Perry, seemed to be pretty sharp and pretty honest."
"I'll make note of that," Michaela said. She stared at him, and snapped her fingers suddenly. "Damn, that's it. That smack on the noggin I got climbing out of my wrecked Apache must've rattled my brains more than I thought. I'm usually real good at recognizing kinesthetics and body language."
"Huh?" Jesse blinked at her.
"You're the kid that fought Sabretooth on the FYI vid. The one in the Iron Fist suit," Michaela said.
"Uh, guilty, kinda," McNally said, ducking his head and looking embarrassed. "Although that was actually the real Daniel Rand-kai before he left, both times."
"The first two times," Aura said. "It was pure Jesse McNally the third and last time."
"Oh, really? So, you kept the skill set?" Michaela said.
"Uh, kind of," Jesse said, shrugging. "As was pointed out to me," his voice went dry, "I need a lot of work before I measure up to the real thing."
"Yeah," Aura said, scowling. "Creed said he was going to drop in twice a year to see if Jesse was able to stop from being killed by him yet, before Creed gets serious about it."
"Ouch. Gonna have to do something about him, once I get backup," Michaela said.
"Victor Creed is kind of hard to stop, and especially hard to put down for good," Jesse said.
"True enough. And can't be helped. Gotta be done," Michaela said, shrugging.
Brockhurst nodded, and said, "Back to the issue of what the hell is going on here, Colonel?"
Michaela said, frowning, "Why don't we table the full, for the moment, and just give us the précis, please. While I would dearly love the full briefing, I am out on my feet so badly I'm having problems tracking, sorry to say. Let's get together and do the full after I've had eight, plus a look over on my battle fatigue and current condition."
"Agreed," Brockhurst said. "Précis even would be helpful."
"Hrmm." Aura said, looking thoughtful. "I know the Sheridan's place is crowded, the library is out for the moment, and mine is out of the question... " she snapped her fingers. "Got it. I'll call Tam. Her parents are in on the whole big secret, plus they're fully briefed on Halloween night. Really big house. And you may want and need to talk to her and Jonathan, too."
"Jonathan? Tam?" Michaela blinked at her.
"Levinson. He apparently dressed as some World War II guy, and helped Xander rescue Cordy from the Larry-bot, and a lot of other people as well," Aura said. "At the Bronze, when Larry-bot shot up the Cordettes and killed a couple of us."
"Uh huh. Audie Murphy, Tam said," Jesse said, looking thoughtful.
Brockhurst and Michaela both exchanged long looks, and then Michaela turned back, grinning from ear to ear. "You're shitting me! Uh, pardon my French." That got a round of giggles and snickers from the munchkin gallery, and she said, "I've got to meet this kid."
"Likewise," Brockhurst said, nodding.
Michael and Michelle Sheridan grinned at them, and Michael said, "All right. Précis. Here goes... "
After he was done, with a lot of input from Aura, Benjy, Misty, and the others, both Michaela and Brockhurst were left blinking and stunned.
"Oh-kay," Michaela said. "That's gonna take some absorbing. But I have a much better idea what I'm looking at now."
"You mean to tell me... " Brockhurst said, slowly, "That some idiot really did wave a magic wand and caused all of this- this, chaos, destruction, and sheer lunacy?"
"Well, it's a bit more involved than that," Michaela said, ignoring Brockhurst's glare at her and sailing on, "But in essence, yeah. Hey, magic works, Colonel Chair Force, get used to it, ASAP. I've seen it." She shook her head, "But on this kind of scale, it'd take a serious powerhouse of a mage, or at least the input of a lesser deity level entity to do it."
"Janus, as I'm given to understand," Michael said, and Jesse nodded.
"Ok, greater deity level entity," Michaela said, stunned.
"But... "
"Colonel?" Benjy looked at him, tilting her head, and said, "You've accepted and absorbed a killer robot from the future, and all of this," she gestured at 'Kat and the others, "So why is magic such a big stretch?"
Misty nodded. "What, you think Boris and Natasha hit us with the Terminatatron and a megaton of Transformaboom from orbit?"
Brockhurst glared at them, and then started to grin. "Guess I had that coming. But... I guess I haven't yet really absorbed and accepted so much as I've just been reeling along in shock trying to FIDO and deal with the effects so far."
Michelle Sheridan nodded. "I do know the feeling, Brock. It hit us like that on Halloween night. And you don't even have a daughter lost in the middle of it."
"Hey! We wasn't lost," Benjy said.
'Kat and the others nodded. "Knew right where we were all the time."
"It was getting from there to here that was the problem," Misty said, grinning.
"Girls... " Michelle said, her voice full of warning.
"Yes'm."
"I stand corrected and abashed," Brockhurst said.
"Well, actually, you're sitting," Aura pointed out.
"Figure of speech."
Michaela grinned, nodding. "The company dealt with a similar outbreak of insanity and chaos in Detroit a few years back, on Devil's Night. Wonder if it was this Rayne character there, too? We never did learn."
Her cell buzzed in her pocket, and she pulled it out, glanced at it curiously, and then answered it. "Reeves." After listening for a few minutes, she said, "Be right there," and closed and put it away.
"Problem?"
"Yeah, might say that," Michaela said. "Colonel, slide out and help me up. Harris is awake and being moved to ICU recovery, and one of our fake DIA goons is raising a stink with my MPs. I'll be right back after I kill him."
"Backup?" Brockhurst said, standing and giving her a hand getting up. She tested her leg gingerly, and nodded. Have to do.
"Naw," Michaela said. "Have a battle rifle and a short squad of MPs and a couple of sympathetic SPD officers. I'll do jest fine."
"I'll listen for gunfire and watch for the mushroom cloud," Brockhurst said, and Michaela grinned up at him.
"Lemme out, Jess," Aura said. "I'm going too."
"No. You are not," Michaela said. "Sit back down." Aura glared at her, half risen, and Michaela added, "I do not need an additional civilian in the line of fire. This probably won't, but it could get ugly."
"I want to find out about Xander," Aura said, her voice low and dangerous sounding. The seven heads of the Irregulars went back and forth like spectators at a tennis match.
"I can tell you that he is out of surgery, and going to recover after having broken bones, contusions, and shrapnel injuries dealt with," Michaela said. "I'll know more after I get there, and I will pass it back on to you. He will be all right, but not if I stand here arguing and don't get there in time to shoot a goon or two if needed."
"Aura," Michael Sheridan said, quietly. "Let the lady do her job." He looked at his daughter, and added, "And Beverly, you are not going to order Chessie, 'Kat, and Devila to go watch. End of subject." He aimed an index finger and added, pointedly, "This means you, Devila."
The devil girl shrank back, her ears flattened against the sides of her skull and her eyes wide and innocent looking.
Benjy closed her mouth, and sighed. Aura sighed, too, and waved. "Go."
Michaela went.
Frigging civilians.
Her cell phone buzzed again as she was limping her way quickly up to the ER desk from the cafeteria. Michaela glanced at it, nodded once to herself, and put it away again. Important, but it'd have to wait. No. On second thought...
She flipped the phone open and said, "Reeves. All due respect and sorry to be abrupt, ma'am, but make it short. Have a crisis and I am inbound. Whattya got for me, Colonel ma'am?"
«Captain Reeves.» Colonel Danvers said, and Michaela stutter-stepped briefly, before recovering and driving on. «Condolences on your crisis, and best wishes for a successful and happy resolution.»
"Heya, at this point, I get to make 'em dead, I'll be happy at least. Again, whattaya got, ma'am?"
«I won't delay you by asking for your report. Call me back and give it later. Be advised. The salutation was not, repeat, not a misapprehension on my part, nor a sign of approaching Alzheimer disease. You are now and of this moment, brevet Captain Michaela Reeves of the Black Company. Your orders and insignia are inbound via courier.» Pause. «It would be brevet Major, however, I was unable to slide that past the Joint Chief.»
Yikes! Man oh man. This shit done got serious.
"Ma'am. In brief: am reporting that our main hostile was neutralized by subject Chase. Query: Is my Heavy Response Team inbound with 'em?"
«Excellent. And, negative, Captain. Be advised that we currently have an unexpected shortfall of field ready teams that are not currently assigned to crisis areas. Be advised further that Director Walsh of the Defense Research Initiative project has very low friends in very high places who are not, repeat not, happy with the reports she is sending them. Further, they are not happy with the interference and lack of cooperation she reports receiving from the HCT sent to assist her.»
Well shit fire and check to the newly promoted Eurasian-American warrant who just got a sudden kick to the solar plexus.
"Well, I'd apologize, ma'am, except that currently I'm only sorry that I didn't cap the bitch between the eyes when I had the opportunity. Even if it would have set off the battle of the Bulge on the diorama scale."
«Understood. My understanding is that she badly needs shooting. However, be advised that that is not, repeat not, an option on your table. It has been removed from play.»
Well... crap.
"Ma'am, yes ma'am. The bitch is not to be shot. Implication being that stabbing, blowing up, or nailing her with a Hellfire may be also ill advised. Received loud and clear, ma'am. May I shoot her toy soldiers if they get in my way? Being advised and all that I intend to regardless of the answer, ma'am."
«Oddly enough, Dr. Walsh's military contingent was not mentioned in the hands off order. Do be advised, however, that the bitch is importing replacements for her down and combat lossed units.»
"Check. Enemy reinforcements inbound. Orders, ma'am? And what are you sending me, if anything?"
Michaela couldn't help the edge of frustration that crept into her voice on that last. And, hell with it. The Colonel would understand, or she would not.
«Captain Reeves. Your orders are as follows: You are hereby placed in command and control of the local situation with full backing and authority invested in you by Command. Said command to persist for the duration or until such a time as you are properly relieved of command by your direct commanders only. Person of interest Alexander Harris is not, repeat not, to be released to Director Walsh, nor to her men, under any circumstances. Use whatever means are necessary, and whatever means are at your disposal to achieve that objective, subject to previous limitation. Further orders: you are to secure the local situation by whatever means come to hand. You have extended latitude. Your written orders are inbound with your brevet. Understood?»
"Loud and clear, ma'am. And Miss Chase?"
«Be advised, Captain, that Director Walsh has staked territorial claim to one Cordelia D. Chase, and has fullest backing of her superiors. Do not, repeat do not, attempt to implement standard 'subject in enemy hands' protocols. Do, repeat, do use whatever means are at your disposal to ensure Cordelia D. Chase's health and well being within the confines of that limitation. Director Walsh's superiors are extremely sympathetic to the director's request that she be allowed to retain control of subject for purposes of intelligence retrieval. Understood?»
Well, fuck. And it gets worse and worse.
"Understood, ma'am. Will attempt as my next trick walking on water. Film at eleven."
«Sarcasm received and accepted in the spirit in which it was intended, Captain. Now: I am sending you a legal advisor and an investigator to assist you in your endeavors, along with all requisite paperwork. Further, you are receiving two troubleshooters from Zulu. Expect Moseby and Merrill, inbound with your brevet insignia and orders. They are at your complete disposal, along with the legal and investigative advisors, subject to aforementioned limitations. Understood?»
"Loud and clear, ma'am. Anything further?"
Meaning, should I continue to bend over and grab my ankles, ma'am? Or may I pull my pants up yet?
«Negative. Good fortune and good hunting, Captain. And, Michaela... you are now an officer representing the Black Company. Do us proud.»
"Will do, ma'am. Oh. Be advised. We have Slayers in the mix, plural. No way of knowing if Bitch Maggie knows of their presence or existence."
There was a brief silence on the other end, and then, «Ah. That is worrisome. And unexpected. Any indication of Watcher's Council presence as well?»
"Some, ma'am. I have a possible. Will make cautious contact with him. Note ma'am: I will go off the rez if I discover that Walsh is in the know on this, and will cap her with extreme prejudice and enjoyment. My responsibility and initiative. May I delay my full report until I have had eight of forty, and my injuries tended?"
«That will be acceptable, Captain, on all counts. Are you functional?»
"Ma'am, no ma'am. Am NFG, actually. But am ambulatory and prepared to FIDO, as there is no other recourse or option."
«Understood, Captain. Danvers out.»
"Michaela out."
Sighing, Michaela closed the phone and put it away. Well, hell.
Sigh. Well, fuck me running sideways. Damned good thing she'd never bothered to reexamine that whole God thing to see if it was worth reacquiring, 'cause if she had, then right now the Big Guy would be getting a piece of her mind she really couldn't spare.
And, huh. An awful lot in that conversation, both unstated and implied, and between the lines. It was going to have to be examined carefully later.
Meanwhile...
Alone, wounded, outnumbered, and outgunned. Behind enemy lines with one commandeered Chair Force officer, a few locals, couple a civilian allies, and suddenly, more orders and authority than she knew what to do with. Do us proud.
Damned straight.
Brevet Captain Michaela Reeves of the Black Company squared her shoulders, raised her head, and prepared to fuck it and drive on. Hell, got 'em right where they want me.
And that's always the most dangerous place to have one of the Company. Just ask the people that faced down Lieutenants Barkley and Allred on their last run.
Michaela never noticed the small, very dimly glowing figure trailing along behind her, high up near the ceiling tiles...
Umbridge of the fake DIA was having a heated discussion with the four MPs and the two SPD officers when she slowed and started ambling up. The two CHP guys and the Deputies were staying out of it for the moment.
She swallowed a grin when she saw one of the Deputies murmuring to the others and money being passed and collected...
"I have a warrant now that says otherwise," Umbridge said, waving a folded piece of fax paper.
"Really? Let me see that," Michaela said, walking up with her hand caressing the grip of her AR-10. The two SPD officers backed away, nodding to her.
Umbridge glared down at her, but extended the warrant without comment, and replaced the glare with a smirk. Accepting the warrant, she scanned over it, her eyes flickering across the print. Uh huh. Uh huh. And signed, too.
"Cool. Goody for you." Smiling, she calmly ripped the warrant in half, half again, crumpled it into a small ball, and handed it back to him.
With his mouth open, Umbridge accepted it back, briefly, and then he let it drop and glared at her. Michaela looked back at him, calmly, her palm caressing the pistol grip of her battle rifle, with four Fort Halleck MPs flanking her to either side, M4s and shotguns held at low ready.
"You... " Umbridge swallowed and managed to get himself under a semblance of control. "You can't just tear up a Federal Warrant and ignore it, Chief Warrant Officer."
"Boy, the way people keep feeding me straight lines around here, I should go into stand up," Michaela said, calmly. "I just did that thing. Now, let me reiterate and emphasize for the short bus students in the viewing audience. No one, not nobody, is taking control of my person of interest. Period, end of discussion. Get another warrant. Get all you want. I don't care if they're signed by the Chief Justice of the United States, and the U.S. Attorney General, they won't get you Alexander Harris. Why? Because no one outranks Mr. Winchester Short Magnum here, and you are not capable of enforcing your nonexistent authority. If you believe you have someone who does outrank Mr. Winchester Short Magnum in my hands, then he or she had best bring a regimental combat team with them, because that will be the only way that they are going past, through, over, under, or around me. Dig?"
"We'll just see about that," Umbridge said, practically snarling it. "And believe me, I am looking forward to that little pissing match. Come on," he said over his shoulder as he turned on his heel and stalked off. His other agents followed him, glaring at Michaela as they went.
Nobody noticed the small, very dimly glowing figure high up against the ceiling that streaked out after Umbridge and his men through the automatic doors.
Michaela shook her head and yawned, suddenly feeling grimy, exhausted, and about two hundred and twenty-six years old rather than just twenty-six. She swallowed another grin when she saw money exchanging hands between grinning or scowling cops and bets being paid off.
"Hah." Sergeant Gabriel said. "Not that I'm not finding this more entertaining than one man should be blessed to see, but... are you sure you know what you are doing, Chief Warrant Officer, ma'am?"
"Nope. Making it up as I go along, Sergeant," Michaela said. "Feel free to bail out at any time. Parachutes are on the overhead rack just to your left."
"No, ma'am," Sergeant Gabriel said, shaking his head and smiling. "Just checking to see how deep in we are."
"Oh, 'bout yea high on a giraffe, I think," Michaela said. "And getting deeper by the minute. If it helps any, I have been informed by my command here very recently that I do not have a heavy combat team enroute any more, nor any higher ranks inbound, and that I am in command with our Colonel's full backing. For what that's worth. Basically, I've been told: Fuck it, drive on, you're doing fine, Chief. We're behind you all the way."
"Yeah," another MP said, grinning. "Way, way behind. And making bets on whether you can dog paddle or not, now that they tossed you in the deep end and took away your water wings."
"And my rubber duckie, yup," Michaela said. "However, I have been given temporary authority to do whatever I need to until Major Buckley is able to voice an opinion and stand up to yell it out. You are now looking at Brevet Captain Michaela Reeves of the Black fucking Company. You may kiss my ring now."
"Wow." Sergeant Gabriel shook his head. "I would, but my knees are too weak to hold me up if I kneel. I really like how your new rank is carefully and successfully hidden by the Warrant Officer tabs."
"I'm incog-fucking-nito, yup." Michaela said, smiling at him. "My tabs and brevet orders are enroute by courier along with my two – count 'em – two backup people."
"Wow. They really are sparing no expense," another MP said. "Either that, or they do have utmost confidence, ma'am."
"I'm afraid to ask which it is."
"The traditional reward for a job well done. Another fucking job," Gabriel said. "Speaking of, Captain ma'am. All due respect, but you are out on your damned feet, ma'am. You really need to catch about eight hours of forty winks, and get that damned arm and leg looked at. And that awful looking fucking bruise on your head."
"I know. I will, and I am," Michaela said, nodding. "Just as soon as Harris is stable enough to be moved to a private room, I'm parking my narrow butt in the bed next to him with my new snuggly toy cradled in my arms, and I'm gone for about eight to twelve, or the world ends, which ever comes first. With you guys parked right outside the door under orders to shoot anyone who wants to wake me."
"Well, I'm sure we can manage that," Gabriel said. "And if Mr. Agent and his buddies come back with a new and improved warrant or whatever?"
"We are gonna fob him off with whatever we come up with, up to and including having a sudden, inexplicable loss of English comprehension and speaking ability," Michaela said. "And as soon as Harris is stable to move, I am parking his ass out at Vandenberg under high security. Gonna talk to your commander: you four and your additionals en route are with me for the duration, if you want to be."
"Hell, why not, Captain ma'am," Gabriel said. "Like I said, more entertainment than any one man should be blessed to witness."
"Groovy. Now, I'm gonna go and finish my briefing and then have myself checked over," Michaela said, nodding. "Can you send one of your men out to see if they can hunt me up some 400 grain .416 Rigby soft point and solid? And a box or two of .454 Cashull? Maybe some .505 Gibbs if there is such an animal in this area, and we don't have to see if Kynoch does take out."
"Shee-it, ma'am," one of the MPs said. "You going hunting down in the Carpinteria Tar Pits for Mastodon?"
"Naw. Figured I'd plink me some Initiative Hum-vees if the occasion should arise. And maybe a Sabretooth."
.