UFO FanFic - Chapter 2

[The Veteran]

It had been days since the third UFO was successfully downed over Italy but they'd been such hectic days that life only seemed to be returning to normal now that they were over.

 

After the Commander's recent meeting with the Squadron Leaders Rick had surrendered himself to take one of the positions from the training corporals. He still hadn't decided whether it was the right decision or not but after all the talking he'd done on the subject it seemed like his thinking time was up.

 

Trigger had spent a lot of time with Gia since her last flight, just like he'd wanted to. The two pilots had been neglecting their training and all but ignoring their instructors for over 24 hours now, a task made all the easier by a few words from a certain male roommate.

 

With another day of boredom rearing it's ugly head, the now near inseperable duo decided to go one step further and vacate the base completely. In the years that Trigger had been stationed down under he'd seen his fair share of the local sites. He thought it was about time he shared the wealth so today he'd decided would not be the apocalypse. Or at least if it was Davies would be up for a medal or two for fighting it alone.

 

Today's choice for some alien free quality time was a stolen favourite of Rick's in fact, a lake just north of the base which for some reason noone knew existed. Despite the fact that noone acknowledged it however an apparently well used track leads willing adventurers almost directly to the waterside.

 

Abandonning the hijacked landrover at the roads end, the two pilots had walked the final distance not covered by frequented tracks and had been sitting now for some hours by the waters edge.

 

After quite some time simly ejoying the view and the company Gia was the first to speak, nuzzling up to a shoulder in the process.

 

"Tim," she said inquisitively having long dispensed of any other name for Trigger, or TJ as most called him.

 

Caught slightly offguard and thinking of random nothings he half grunted half sighed a response ot moving in response to Gia's shift.

 

"Do you have a problem with me flying?"

 

"What?" replied Trigger now very much aware of the conversation at hand. "What makes you ask that? You know I don't."

 

"I know, it's nothing you said or anything, it's just..." Gia moved her head again to look up at Trigger who had already moved to meet her gaze. "I don't know, you just are always talking about Davies flying but it's almost like you avoid mentioning my air time completely."

 

Trigger faltered a reply and sat for a second looking out to the lake again before turning back to Gia. "I didn't even realise I did it but you know it's just about pride. There's no reason for me to have a problem with you flying, I know you can handle it just as well as I can. Where's this come from all of a sudden anyway?"

 

"I don't know," said Gia looking back to the water and resting her head again. "I guess I just feel a bit left out of the games you know? With you and Davies you're always competing for something. I just want a bit of recognition and I feel like I'm not getting it."

 

Still looking down at her Trigger held Gia a little tighter and lay his head down on hers. "Why don't you tell me stuff like that when we're talking about complete rubbish? Honey you know you're doing a great job and you should know that I think that without me having to tell you too! You're the only woman in the world who's been able to fly one of these prototypes let alone the factory spec Hurricane! How can you possibly be expected to prove yourself any more than that?"

 

"Yeah I guess... I mean, I know you're proud of me at least, you're always saying it without even noticing. You do that a lot by the way, you're going to get yourself into trouble like that one day."

 

Taken aback by such a random change of topic Trigger lifted his head and almost laughed out loud. Gia looked up to see the smile on his face and appeared to be geniuinely oblivious to hat had triggered the Brits humour. "What's that meant to mean?" he asked finally.

 

Gia smiled up at him cheekily. "It's like you keep talking after you're brains stopped working sometimes. Sometimes it's hard to tell when you're concentrating at all"

 

"How dare you suggest such a thing" said Trigger smiling back down at Gia. You know when we're together you have my undivided attention"

 

"Is that so?" said Gia sitting up next to Trigger.

 

"Absolutely"

 

"So I guess you cn tell me exactly what we were talking about after lunch yesterday?" she shifted on the grass and barely kept a laugh at a smile. "I'll give you a clue. You were being very sweet... That's how I know you're not going to remember"

 

Trigger sat for a second trying to muster a defense but couldn't help but smile at the Gia sat in front of him now. It wasn't often she dropped her defenses but when she did she seemed to change drastically and he loved it.

 

"Well?" she said biting her lip to keep in the laughter. "I told you you wouldn't remember! How do I know you haven't just been ignoring me all this time?"

 

"Actually I do remember what we were talking about yesterday" said Trigger in a desperate attempt. "We'd just got back in from eating," that was the easy bit done with... "and I said I wish you could keep my room as tidy as yours." Trigger gave up and burst out laughing as a now very playful Gia pushed him down.

 

"I told you you wouldn't remember" she said again tickling him feverishly.

 

"Ok you were right but you know I listen most of the time"

 

"Yeah I know," replied Gia letting her assault pause for a second. "It's just fun teasing you. Besides it's true, you do go off from time to time. It's funny." she laughed again and settled in the grass again resting her head on her hand.

 

Trigger lay in the grass alongside her. "You know what." he said seriously.

 

"What?" asked Gia.

 

"I love you."

 

Gia looked back at Trigger as his eyes lit up and both burst into laughter just as she pounced him again. "I love you too," she replied wrestling him to his back. "But you're way too soft"

[FullAuto]

“Pistol averages are up, rifle averages are up, running times are down, shooting times are down….” Wales trailed off.

“Got them in top shape, sir.” Fitzwilliam couldn’t have stood straighter, almost vibrating at attention.

“You have.” Charlie Wales looked oer the squad’s sheet, then at the league table. “We keep going like this we’ll be the top squad.”

“Already are, sir. In my opinion, sir.” Fitzwilliam saluted so sharply Wales flinched. “Got to go sir, can’t let up or they’ll think it’s a holiday.”

 

“What time’s it?” Rubenstein fell out of bed.

“Wuh?” DiNapoli poked his head out from under the covers.

“Time to get up, man.” Rubenstein glared at the luminous face of his alarm clock. “I thought we were the duty squad.”

“We are.” DiNapoli sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes.

“I thought we got a lie in.” Rubenstein kicked the blanket from round his ankles and switched the bedside light on.

“This is a lie in. It’s five a.m. Fitzwilliam is going to be here in a minute, banging on doors.” DiNapoli stood. “Come on. Hit the showers, grab some breakfast. Every meal’s a banquet, every paycheck a fortune.”

“What? Was that a joke?” Rubenstein collected his shaving kit and looped his necklace round his fist.

“No. Something my old sergeant used to say.”

 

“Wonder if Fitzwilliam has calmed down.” Bruheme asked, spitting toothpaste into the sink.

“Only if the rabies magically cured itself.” Jasper called from the nearby stall.

“He is like the old regime in my country.” Zhandovich muttered. “If you do not do as he says, he will crush you.”

Bruheme grinned. “DiNapoli is going to be upset that he missed you saying that.”

Zhandovich shrugged. “Then I will crush him.”

Bruheme laughed. “You have to record that stuff, man. Then you can give the tape to DiNapoli.”

Zhandovich’s dour face broke into a grin. “These I would not mind crushing.”

Dietrich and Goldstein pushed into the room from the showers, wrapped in towels. Jasper came out of the stall, wincing. “Jesus, I don’t know what I ate last night, but it went through me like-” He noticed the women and grinned. “Something I can help you with?”

They ignored him, picking up their toiletries from the sinks and rubbing their hair dry.

“Shame they don’t have unisex showers as well as bathrooms, eh?” Jasper moved up to the sink beside Goldstein, wiggling his eyebrows.

“I don’t bring my microscope to the showers.” Goldstein packed her toothbrush away. “So you’d have nothing to show me.”

The other men winced in sympathy.

 

“Who knew a towel could look so good.” Hankosha sighed as he watched Dietrich and Goldstein form up with the rest of the squad.

“TENSHUN!” Fitzwilliam shrieked.

Hankosha pinched the bridge of his nose. It wasn’t even six o’clock yet.

“Weapon drill. Full team. Live fire.”

Squad Three groaned.

“Behave, you pack of tarts!” Fitzwilliam stormed in close. “We’re going to proceed right through the centre of the complex, then do a building assault. Who has a problem with that?”

Squad Three felt their hands twitching to be raised.

“Good. Go and get your kit.” Fitzwilliam turned away, then spun on his heel. Are you eyeballing me, abu Rahman?”

“No, sir.” abu Rahman couldn’t, despite his best attempt, keep the smile off his face.

“Is there something funny? Perhaps you’d like to share?”

“No, sir.” The smile was now a grin and was verging on becoming a laugh.

“I see we have a comedian in the squad.”

“Yessir.” DiNapoli piped up. “That’s me, sir.”

“Shut up, DiNapoli.”

“Yessir.”

abu Rahamn’s lips were trembling with the effort of keeping them together.

“Get a move on, you lazy sods.” Fitzwilliam stalked off.

 

“This is quite possibly the most retarded exercise we’ve done so far.” Jasper sighed.

“Explain.” DiNapoli checked his kit, loaded his gun and re-tied his boots.

“Why would we take the approach right down the middle of the street? Why live fire? Wouldn’t paintballs be just as well?”

“We won’t be shooting the aliens with paintballs.” Bruheme reminded him.

“It’s still utterly retarded.” Jasper slung his rifle.

“Once more into the breach, dear friends.” abu Rahman murmured, standing.

“Once? He’ll have us out here all day. In full kit.” Rubenstein made sure he had all his kit and picked up his rifle.

“That’s what I like to hear!” Fitzwilliam boomed and the squad jumped. “Whingeing like proper soldiers!”

The squad filed out past him, into the hot morning sun.

“This is live fire, so get it right! We’re using real firing guns and actual bullets and grenades that go bang, so wake up! Don’t shoot each other in the arse!” Fitzwilliam trailed them, shouting. “Scouts and heavies, you’ve got the front. Dietrich and Hank, the left flank, Jasper and Rubenstein the right. Me and abu Rahman will watch our arses. Go!”

The first hundred metres were simple. Two targets in the centre of the street popped up and were hacked to pieces by fire from the entire squad. One appeared in a window, sliding into view and Dietrich shot it point-blank.

“Watch it.” Bruheme murmured as they reached an intersection. “Watch-”

A target popped up in front of him, flinging dirt into his eyes.

“Shit!” He fell, firing.

The slugs from his cannon missed and dug chunks out of a building as Goldstein and DiNapoli hammered the target at close range. Another appeared to be sawn in half with rifle fire.

One lunged out of the dirt by abu Rahman. He knocked it flat with the butt of his rifle and fired at another peeking from a window.

Two sprung out of an alley and DiNapoli got the first and tripped over the second. Jasper put his foot through it and shot another on a nearby rooftop.

Zhandovich laid down some fire, putting rounds through windows as he advanced behind the scouts, only to have his weapon slapped up by a rising target.

“Ambushed by bloody cardboard!” Jasper snarled, kneeling on yet another target and loosing off rounds.

Targets were everywhere, and soon the squad was surrounded.

“STOP!” Fitzwilliam called.

The firing died off immediately, folowed by swearing.

“What’s the moral of the story, boys and girls?” Fitzwilliam asked.

“Never go to war against a cardboard army?” DiNapoli suggested as he got up.

“You knew coming down the main street was suicide. So why did you do it?”

They stared at him.

“You think I’m stupid? Ok, that’s fine. But it’s no excuse for you to be stupid.”

He slung his rifle and walked off.

“That man is mad.” Jasper got up. “Totally cracked.”

 

“This, ladies and gents, is a simunition round.” Fitzwilliam held up a bullet. “Note the yellow and black bands around the tip. This is basically a normal round with the bullet taken out and a plastic paint squib in its place. This is what we’ll be using in future training exercises. It’s safe to use at extremely close range and its aerodynamic profile is a lot closer to a bullet than a paintball.”

He loaded the round into a mag and pushed it into his pistol. He cocked it and offered it to abu Rahman. “Here. Shoot me.”

abu Rahman looked at the gun.

“Take it. It’s safe. I already tried it.”

abu Rahman took the pistol and fired.

For a moment, the squad thought Fitzwilliam had actually been shot. It sounded just like a regular pistol shot and the muzzle flash was the same. Fitzwilliam, wincing, straightened up and they all saw the splash of yellow on his chest.

“Good shot. Right in the heart.” He took the pistol from abu Rahman. “Anyway, get some paintball goggles and bring your guns.”

 

“Anyone fancy making a ‘mistake’ and loading a few live rounds to shoot Fitzwilliam with?” Jasper asked, pushing simunition rounds into a magazine.

Everyone murmured their assent.

“Reckon it hurts?” Dietrich asked, holding up one of the bullets.

“I’ll shoot you, if you like.” DiNapoli offered, cocking his pistol.

“I’ll pass, thanks.”

Bruheme and Zhandovich were inspecting their simunition rounds. “I got to admit, it still looks pretty lethal.” Bruheme said, holding up the 40mm shell.

“Hmm.” Zhandovich flipped a 20mm round at him. “Check the tip.”

Bruheme tapped the tip of the shell with his finger and it dented.

“A thick layer of foil over a paint-impregnated sponge.” Zhandovich read from the manual.

Bruheme dug his fingers in and tore. The foil stripped away easily, revealing a cone of thick foam dripping yellow paint. “Oh.”

“You could shoot someone in the head all day with these.” Zhandovich began loading his autocannon.

Bruheme rolled his 40mm shell around in his palm. It still looked deadly.

 

“We’ll be stalking each other today.” Fitzwilliam cocked his rifle. “One on one. Anywhere around the complex, but not inside any of the buildings. You’ll know your opponent’s starting position, and after that you’re on your own. You’ll be rated on how fast you do it and how well you do it.”

They drew straws to determine who would go first.

 

Rubenstein crawled to the edge of the roof and looked down. abu Rahman crept below him, moving slowly and silently.

Rubenstein grinned. When abu Rahman had drawn the other short straw, Rubenstein had quailed inside. Their eyes had met and though the Arab’s expression hadn’t changed, those dark eyes held a confidence that Rubenstein couldn’t match.

abu Rahman was always at the forefront, always ranking in the top three no matter what the exercise. He had half a foot and considerable muscle on Rubenstein….

-Admit it-

Rubenstein bit his lip. Yes, alright, the religion issue did matter. abu Rahman had never even been impolite to him, but there was something….

Rubenstein closed his eyes.

-Here I am, hating a man I’m fighting alongside-

Rubenstein put it aside and rose to a crouch, bringing his rifle up. Something clinked against the edge of the roof and he winced.

abu Rahman spun.

Rubenstein squeezed the trigger, still moving, off-balance.

Rounds splattered the wall above abu Rahman’s head. He ducked, firing a single snap shot.

It hit Rubenstein in the face.

He dropped the rifle, clawing at the paint smearing over his goggles and over balanced.

abu Rahman was already moving, but was nowhere near close enough.

Rubenstein landed on his head.

 

“Jesus, Phil, you weren’t supposed to actually kill him.” DiNapoli muttered as they drove Rubenstein back to base, strapped down in a neck brace.

abu Rahman lunged, but Bruheme and Zhandovich grabbed him and managed to hold onto an arm each as DiNapoli flinched back.

“It was an accident.” Abu Rahamn snarled, lips drawn back over his shining white teeth.

Zhandovich and Bruheme had trouble holding on. Fitzwilliam and Jasper shoved him back into his seat.

“DiNapoli, shut up! It's just a concussion! And you, calm down" Fitzwilliam pinned abu Raman’s shoulders to the wall of the truck. “Calm. Down.”

abu Rahman tried one last time to throw them off, then went limp. “It was an accident.” He said.

The squad wondered who he was trying to convince.

[Bomb Bloke]

The truck arrived back at base, and Howitz came out to meet it. He was beginning to think he'd been taken off the soldier duty roster and relegated to base staff, what with all the time he'd ended up spending in the infirmary. And here was the latest addition to the ward.

 

He helped Bruheme and Fitzwilliams lower Rubenstein out of the vehicle, onto a wheeled trolley.

 

"So what happened to this guy? Fell off a roof?" he asked Fitzwilliams.

 

"Yeah, took a simunition round to the face and lost his balance."

 

Howitz nodded, feeling Rubenstein's neck and skull for injuries. "I can't find anything serious, but I'll take a better look down in the infirmary."

 

The squad gathered into the elevator, along with the medic and the stricken Rubenstein. They were all silent as it descended, but there were some sympathetic glances - and some glares - in the direction of abu Rahman. He stood with his hands in his pockets, ignoring everyone else. Occasionaly he glanced at his fallen team mate.

 

When the doors opened, Howtiz wheeled the trolley towards the med bay, with Fitzwilliams in tow.

 

"Our squad's on duty, we'll be on call for the next mission. If he's going to need some time off duty, we may have to recruit another soldier from squad one."

 

"That remains to be seen, sir, but I'd be surprised if he can shrug this one off. He doesn't seem to be critical, but falling a story and using your head to land isn't a light deal."

 

They arrived in med, and the two men shifted Rubenstein onto a bed. Howitz started to check the unconcious man over, while Fitzwilliams tapped the end of the bunk impatiently.

 

"Well? What's his condition?"

 

A look of irritation from Howitz. "Well, I'd say he'll live, but I don't want him out and about for at least the next week. It seems he's been very lucky, as in he hasn't broken his neek, but his skull took a decent blow. He'll be awake in the next few hours, but not for long - the painkillers will put him under again, and he'll need

those painkillers."

 

The squad leader snorted with annoyance. "Well, in that case, I'll need to see Rick about transferring a soldier from his squad for the time being. His men have been off duty the longest."

 

"I think he's running some training of his own today. You can probably find him on one of the urban ranges. Word is he's on live fire guerrila tactics so you'd best wear a helmet or something."

 

Fitzwilliams mood did not seem to improve. "Hmph. Well, I'll do that, then. Rubenstein is our explosives expert, so if you're in squad one, can you tell me which man I'm looking for?"

 

Howitz turned to hide the small grin which had been starting to crawl onto his features. "Well, sir, I guess that would be me. I'm squad one's demolition man as well as one of the medics."

 

He turned around again, after pretending to re-arrange some jars on the shelf. "Thing is, you may be out of luck there, too. I'm scheduled to look after this bay for the next couple of weeks, so I won't be up for regular training. Sure, you can ask, but I would prefer to finish my training in here before I go into the field."

 

The look Fitzwilliams gave him was priceless, but Howitz managed to retain his expression - the one he used on difficult officers, helpful politeness. A very useful look, you could get away with just about anything if you were polite about it.

 

Finally Fitzwilliams slowly straightened to leave, staring daggers at Howitz. "Well, I guess I'll get someone from squad two, then." He stormed out.

 

Howitz grinned at the unconcious soldier in front of him. "You wouldn't do this on purpose, would you? Not with a great squad leader like that. Hah."

 

He sighed. He hadn't actually spoken with Fitzwilliams before, but rumours had spread... He generally liked to judge people for himself, but it seemed that the squad leader was having a bad day. No matter, it wasn't like he'd done anything wrong, but he got the feeling the man might hold a grudge. Not his problem, next issue...

 

He finished setting up a new neck brace, jotted down some notes, and stuck the med report into the front of the bed before leaving. Lessee, who was the man who'd end up taking Rubenstein's place? Gaston something. Howitz remembered him from the mess hall, a blond guy who he figured was from france. He wondered how the man would react to his new assignment.

[The Veteran]

Howitz had been right about squad one, nearly at least. Fitzwilliams found Rick in one of the bases industrial training sectors, a mock up of a factory which seemed to consist entirely of long corridors and small rooms. Only error in the gossip of the med-bay was the fact that several of the troops were currently busy shooting each other. Something which would be very much less enjoyable with live rounds.

 

"Chez," bellowed Fitzwilliam as he stood watching the chaos below. "Come out here where I can talk to you"

 

"SQUAD ONE HOLD YOUR FIRE" Immediately all firing stopped and several items of office furniture rose to their feet. Rick appeared from the center of the simulation, the target for the other troops. With him emerged Warlord who despite his preference to assault had been roped into a tactical defence role.

 

"Hey if it isn't everyone's favourite self-proclaimed Squaddie! What can I do you for Fitz?" Rick and Warlord appeared before Fitzwilliams with helmets in one hand, rifles in the other. The only wound between the pair was a purple stain on Rick's left shin. Fitzwilliam was drawn directly to it. "Hey it was a lucky shot, now stop eyeing me up and talk."

 

"I don't see this guy with anything on him," said Fitzwilliams gesturing to Warlord. "How come he holds no rank?"

 

"The only person who could hit me is standing right there," said Warlord suddenly occupying a large amount of the room. "I scored the shot on him in a previous exercise and I would remind you that you don't hold rank either so watch how you speak to your superiors."

 

Fitzwilliams stood for a second seething before Rick spoke again. "Hello? Is there a person behind that tomato? I'm in the middle of training here, something which I might add I get extra pay for. Now how can I help you?"

 

"We've taken a casualty on squad three, I need one of your men to fill the hole in the event of tactical action."

 

"Ok what did you have in mind exactly, should I have the guys line up for you to pick from?"

 

"I need a bomber for the next week at least."

 

"Demolitions?... Looks like it's your lucky day and everyone's happy. That would be one Mr Duchante..."

 

Following a bellowed summons the troop in question soon appeared. "Gaston, how do you fancy a temporary weeks transfer? It'll boost your next paycheck if it helps you decide. It is however, entirely up to you..."

 

"Actually," interrupted Fitzwilliams, "in the event that an extra troop is required it is done so at the Squad Leaders discretion."

 

"Ok I stand correctly, it's completely up to, me! What do you say Gaston? What ever you want is the answer I'll give."

 

"I think, oui. I think it would be well worthwhile to train and fight in another squads company. I would be happy to transfer sir."

 

"You got yourself a bomber 'Williams. Take care of him ok? If he wants back into my squad at any point in the next week I'll take him without question."

 

"Fine, I think he'll enjoy the change of scenery. And company..."

 

"Indeed, I hear your squad is shaping up quite admirably. Just try not to get too cocky. You've already lost one of your own men. If you lose one of mine, you'll be in for more than disciplinary action..."

 

Fitzwilliams left without another word, closely followed by Rick's whole problem with the French, Gaston.

 

"So can we expect you to smile a bit more now? And shoot people from more than one continent?" Warlord turned to Rick.

 

"I think I can safely say yes. It'll be nice to have no fake accents around for a while."

 

"Rick I know you don't like him but when he comes back I'm going to watch you. Be nice, it's not hard."

 

The two men laughed as they turned back to the battlefield. If Fitzwilliams was still in the building he would have smiled at the colourful state of the soldiers rears. Multicoloured paintballs decorated both men's jackets but they both knew they'd come from each others guns!

[FullAuto]

“I know you lot think I’m a frigging arsehole-” Fitzwilliam began.

“This should be good.” Jasper said, grinning.

“-but I’d just like to say you’re a good squad of lads-”

Goldstein cleared her throat.

“-and lasses. You work hard. I appreciate that. You’re the best squad. You’re the fastest and the hardest. Even you.” He kicked Jasper’s chair.

“Soppy bugger.” Jasper muttered.

“I hope we get a mission. Because we deserve the opportunity to show how good we are.” Fitzwilliam paused. “But I hope we don’t get one tonight, because we’re going to have a piss-up.”

He dropped a six pack in Jasper’s lap.

 

“We….derve this.” Jasper mumbled.

Bruheme blinked slowly. “What?”

Jasper lifted his face off the table. Beer dripped from his nose and chin. “We desherve this.”

“Desherve?” Bruheme’s brow furrowed. “What?”

“I think he means deserve.” abu Rahman commented.

“Ah.” Bruheme nodded knowingly.”Listen, did you do that to Rubenstein on purpose?”

abu Rahman fought the urge to lunge. “No.”

Bruheme threw an arm over his shoulders. “You’re alright, buddy.”

 

Fitzwilliam sat on a chair he’d brought up from the barracks and popped open another lager. Aussie beer tasted horrible, but it was strong.

-Gets the job done-

“What are you fighting for?” Goldstein asked.

Fitzwilliam looked over his shoulder at her as she sauntered out of the shadowed doorway, his eyes clocking the sway of her hips. He had to take a drink and cough before he could speak. “What?”

“What are you fighting for?” She stood beside him, a beer in one hand, a six pack in the other.

“What we’re all fighting for. The human-”

“Please.” She rolled her eyes. “Come on, not even you’re that stupid. You’ve got to be some sort of saint to fight for ideals. Or a hero.”

Mention the word ‘hero’ and soldiers wince. Fitzwilliam was no different. He shook his head. “Not me.”

“So what is it? The pay? Because it’s damn good.”

“No.” Fitzwilliam took a deep draught from the can and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. “A girl.”

Goldstein smiled. “Ohhhh.” She took a drink and tried to keep a smile in place. “Waiting for you back home is she?”

Fitzwilliam shook his head, his turn to smile, sadly. “Nah. She, er, married some other bloke. A while ago. Got kids and a house and stuff now.”

“Ah.” Goldstein nodded wisely.

“You?”

“Family. Mother, father, sisters.” She sat, crossing her legs. “Real white picket fence stuff. Make you puke.”

Fitzwilliam grinned. “Listen, I know I’ve been a right prat. I’m sorry.”

“If Genega finds out you let us drink on duty, you will be.”

Fitzwilliam shrugged. “I worked you lot hard enough. You deserve one good night.”

Goldstein laughed. “What would you do if we got a call, right now?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Panic?” He smiled down at her. “So, how’s it been for you?”

“Pretty good.” She got to her feet, dusting off her legs and retrieving her beers.

Fitzwilliam watcher her walk away, mesmerised by the swing of her hips.

She turned after ten metres. “Are you coming?”

“Oh. Right.” Blushing, he got up and trotted after her.

 

Pickering came for him at seven.

“Genega wants to see you.”

Fitzwilliam nodded and got dressed.

Pickering escorted him to Genega’s office in silence, then waited outside for half an hour before Fitzwilliam emerged, looking much the worse for wear.

“He wants to see you.” Fitzwilliam muttered, slumping into a chair.

Pickering went into Genega’s office. “Sir?”

“Shut the door.”

Pickering turned and swung it closed.

Genega took a deep breath and his flushed face paled a little. “What am I supposed to do with him?”

“Sir?”

“The man got his whole squad drunk! He got drunk! While on duty!”

“We Brits like our beer, sir.” Was all Pickering could think to say.

“We’re supposed to be saving the world.” Genega massaged his forehead.

“We like our beer a lot, sir.” Pickering winced.

“It was unprofessional. And stupid.”

“I’m not arguing, sir.”

“There’s a time and a place for drinking. And it is most definitely not on duty.”

“No, sir. But with respect-”

Genega’s expression grew thunderous. “Go on.”

“It’s part of being British, sir. It’s finishing your game of bowls before going out to sink the Spanish Armada. It’s downing a whisky and soda before getting into your Spitfire and shooting down a few Messerchmitts. It’s panache and daring. A bit of derring-do.”

“That’s some excuse.” Genega said softly.

“It’s not an excuse. It’s a reason.” Pickering met the commander’s gaze with his own. “It’s our heritage, sir. We kick arse, against anyone. And we do it in style.”

Genega sighed.

“And to be honest, sir, anyone who fights Fitzwilliam while he’s drunk or hungover deserves to die for being so stupid, sir.” Pickering straightened. “He’s one hundred per cent soldier. He is the sort of man every army is founded upon. He has worked squad three to breaking point, and they are now, to Corporal Rheinhauser’s displeasure, the number one squad in terms of training scores.”

Genega sat back. “Really?”

“Yes, sir.” Pickering tried not to feel proud. “He just did something stupid while on duty. Every soldier has.”

Genega pondered that.

“The stockade, sir?”

Genega nodded. “Four weeks.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Make sure he knows that we don’t need him enough to have something like that happen again.”

“It wont.” Pickering assured the commander, turning to leave.

“It had better not.”

Pickering hid a twitch of irritation and left. “Come on, Fitzwilliam.”

“The stockade?” He got up, sighing.

“Four weeks.” They started down the corridor.

“Tell me one thing.”

Pickering glanced at him. “Alright.”

“What gave us away?”

“DiNapoli and Dietrich dancing in the corridor. Jacobson teaching Zhandovich martial arts while stood on the tables in the rec room. We were going to leave it but DiNapoli started stripping and Jasper would have joined in but he couldn’t walk.”

[Hankosha]

~ A few nights ago ~ ...

 

Hankosha sat on his bed, half-asleep. He had bypassed the security system, and was watching the security feed from his computer.

 

He had set the computer to switch the feed cameras every few minutes, and he was typing away when something caught his eye. Someone wearing a ski mask was exiting the lab.

 

Hankosha looked at the screen, trying to figure out who it would be, when the imaged changed, giving him a view of the Cafeteria.

 

Hankosha blinked twice. there was a traitor in their midst. He gently lifted Icarus from his resting place, and placed him in his cage. Hankosha pulled a black ski mask out from inside one of his drawers, and pulled it down over his eyes. He also grabbed a gun, and not realizing it was a painball gun, turned off the safety and headed out into the hall, towards the stairwell.

 

Hankosha fired off a shot, hitting the man in the leg. the man stumbled, and ended up colliding with Hankosha, sending what he had been holding in his hand skittering down the hallway. The collision knocked Hankosha back, causing him to hit his head on the floor.

 

Hankosha was on his feet several minutes later. the man had dissapeared, but that would be no problem. Hankosha himself stood up, and limped back to his room. The person he was looking for was male, and would likely have a welt on his leg. unfortunately, Hankosha did not remember this information until he was half asleep, and by then it was just a passing memory....

[Bomb Bloke]

Squad 1 was at the grenade pits, practising their throwing arms.

 

The pits, as they were called, were mostly neglected. The area contained some large craters in the ground, tens of feet deep. Burnt sand and dirt was the main feature of these depressions, with the odd scattering of shrapnel.

 

Most of the training was performed on level ground, with the aid of blast walls. The pits themselves were not the standard terrain that the soldiers would see out in the field, but they were not entirely unused.

 

Terrick stood near the edge of one of them, hurling grenades down into the center. Mostly he was concentrating on his own thoughts.

 

He was in trouble. He knew that. The company had wanted results weeks ago, and thus far he'd only been able to supply the breifest scraps of information, nothing useful. He'd had to take out the commander a few nights before - he'd snuck into the Tactical room to get some more notes on the security system, and in the dark he hadn't seen the man sitting in the center of the room until he'd stood up. He hadn't been seen, but he was worried he might have hit the man too hard in his panic. He'd spotted the man on his feet since then, but this was not the way he'd wanted things to go.

 

The raid into the science sector had been overly dangerous. He'd nearly been caught three times in all, once collecting the keycard, again in the lab, and finally back in the barracks by some paintball gun weilding psycho. In the final incedent, he'd taken a shot to the leg, providing him with a weak limp - which he could disguise - and making him lose his camera. Fortunately, his attacker hadn't stuck around, and he'd been able to retrieve the thing.

 

Which hadn't done him any good. He'd transmitted the contents back to his 'employers', who had informed him that what he had found was useless - theoretical plans for a motion scanner.

 

He still hadn't produced anything solid. He was lucky his family was still alive. That wouldn't be the case, he was informed, if he did not produce results quickly.

 

Terrick was not in a good mood. He was feeling pushed, and his leg hurt still hurt. The man who'd attacked him bothered him. Was it an op from the company, trying to scare him into action? A security guard of X-Com with more wit then the rest? But with a paintball gun?

 

He remembered the masked figure's limp. The stance and build reminded him of... Hankosha?!

 

No, that couldn't be right. He'd seen the man tracked by security before, but he didn't act like a spy. He attracted the wrong sort of attention for that. Still a good scapegoat, but nothing more.

 

He continued to throw grenades down into the pit, annoyance adding strength to his throws. Suddenly, as if awaking from his thoughts, he realised how odd he must look. He lifted the crate of explosives and moved over to where the rest of the squad was, near the blast walls.

 

-----------------------------------

 

"So", said Conner, "you can't shoot. You're obviously to weak for a heavy load, and you're a barely trained medic. You expect us to believe you're an explosives expert."

 

Howitz looked at him with an expression bordering on annoyance, then switched to his ironic grin.

 

"I like to think I'm fairly proficient at blowing things up."

 

It was Howitz's first day of standard training, having just escaped from the med bay. He'd dragged Jennings out with him - convinced the man was trying to get as much time off duty as possible.

 

Various squad members sniggered in his direction. Thus far, he'd only been on the firing range, and he was the first to admit that the only thing he could fire with any degree of accuracy - at all - was a light pistol. At last he was back in explosives training, his element, and this was his chance to prove himself. There was also the obsticle courses later, but while he figured he was fast, that wasn't what he'd been looking forward to.

 

"What? I know how to use grenades."

 

He held one up and squinted at it as he held it in his hand. He appeared confused, but then realisation seemed to dawn. He twisted the fuse dial by a millimeter, a half second, and moved to pull the pin.

 

The grenade suddenly bounced skywards as Jack Thomas smacked the thing from his hand. As it came down, he caught it. Howitz cut off his angry barrage before it could begin -

 

"Five years service with grenades. I was joking."

 

It wasn't enough. "I don't care if you've been juggling them since you were born. If I ever see you even hint at a stunt like that again, your next grenade will detonate from the confines of your own rear."

 

Howitz looked apoligetic as Warlord stalked away, setting the fuse back to it's safety mark. He turned and grinned at Conner - who'd seen his life flash in front of his eyes - and moved over to a blast wall.

 

---------------------------

 

Rheinhauser moved along the row of soldiers, commenting on the style of each, as they either hit or missed their targets. He stopped by the untested Howitz, and watched as the man threw a grenade, seemingly without priming it. Just as he started to point out the error, the explosive landed dead on target, bounced a half foot, then exploded.

 

"I didn't see you prime that grenade, Howitz." he said, confused.

 

The grenadiar turned, surprised that he was been watched. "Oh, I primed it, sir."

 

He grabbed another grenade, and simply lobbed it over the see-through blast wall. This one did not bounce, but rather simply exploded on impact at the center of the target.

 

Rheinhauser looked confused. Howitz turned to him with a grin.

 

"Are you using some sort of proximity grenade, soldier?" started the training corporal, moving towards the crate of grenades.

 

"No sir."

 

Howitz motioned for him to stop, then held up a third grenade. He held his hand towards the training officer, so he could see. He quickly twisted the fuse dial a few degrees, jammed his index finger in the pin loop, and pulled it free. Still looking at the other man, he threw the grenade over the wall. It landed on the edge of the small quarter-foot center circle of the scorched target, bounced to the other side, then detonated.

 

Rheinhauser looked amazed. "I think I can guess your callsign."

 

"That's right, sir." replied the grinning Howitz. "It's Bomber."

[The Veteran]

"I'm so bored I miss my old job..."

"Yeah I know what you mean, things have been so quiet lately I'm kind of starting to miss the MoD..."

The lack of UFO incursions in Australian space was a relief for some but by no means all of Pine Gp's personnel. The three pilots on the base had been moping around for days now. Even Trigger and Gia had run out of quiet places to slink off to in the days. Now the two of them were half dead in Gia's room, Trigger slumped on a chair in the corner and Gia virtually unconscious on her bed.

 

"I never thought I'd say this but I kind of miss contact with the outside world." said Trigger swinging his arms idly by his side, almost sliding off the chair through laziness.

"What's wrong with contact with the inside world," said Gia with her head firmly routed to her pillow.

Trigger grunted ameaningless response and half shrugged.

Gia responded similarly but moved her head very slightly to see an almost horizontal pilot in the corner. "Come on, there must be something we can do. You're meant to be the imaginaive one."

"Hey I have a load of great ideas but we can't just keep disappearing like we have been..."

"By which you mean you're out of ideas." said Gia grinning.

"No, by which I mean I can't be bothered using my brainat the moment..."

"You know if I was moving I would so slap you right now"

"You wouldn't and you know it" said Trigger grinning back at Gia.

"Oh come on! We have to get out of here and do something"

"Fine," said Trigger sliding off the edge of his chair. "Ow... Ok I'm fine... Now what exactly do you want to do?" he said standing up.

"I don't know, I didnt think you would actually move..."

"Ye of little faith, you know I live but to serve you. Now what do you want to do?" Trigger moved two feet to the bed and sat down by Gia.

"I told you, thinking is your job... I don't know."

Trigger put his hand on Gia's head and started playing with her hair. "You know we could always go and shoot down some Migs... Those pesky Russians deserve to die"

Gia laughed and rolled over, playfully hitting Trigger in the chest. "You're such a xenophobe, what are you doing with an American girl? I bet I'm just part of an intricate plan for global supremacy aren't I?"

"Of course not, you know I like Italy and Greece just how they are! Besides you know what you're good at and that's not one of them"

"And what am I good at exactly?" Said Gia sitting up slightly and grinning back at Trigger.

"Oh I don't think I have to tell you that do I..."

"I thought you couldn't be bothered doing anything today." said Gia leaning back slightly.

"You know I always have time for you" The two pilots embraced as he spoke and just as they were beginning to wake up the room filled with red light...

 

"Well we did want something to do," said Gia as she and Trigger headed for the hangar.

"Yeah but I'd just thought of something pretty cool," relied Trigger grinning.

"Well I guess we'll have to do whatever it was some other time huh?" replied Gia throwing Trigger a wink.

"Yeah I guess so! Let's go kill something shall we? That always makes me feel better."

"I know it does, you worry me sometimes you know" Gia laughed.

 

"Ok chief, what's the lowdown?" called Trigger as he reached his hangar and Gia headed for hers."

"We got a bogey up in the oriental sector." replied Trigger's loadmaster. "It's been patrolling the countryside for a few hours now and tactical command is getting edgy. It's a pretty big one so needless to say we want to stamp it out before it makes the next move."

"So why wait so long to give the order to engage?" asked Trigger hauling himself into his Hurricane.

"I honestly have no idea but you know what these guys are like!... You're clear to go as soon as Raven's ready so buckle up and fly safe you hear"

"Cheers ma, see you after." Trigger shut the cockpit and gave a thumbs up out of the window. His loadmaster returned the signal and called to clear the hangar. The red warning lights came on instantly and various techies began to clear the floor. Within minutes everything was green for go.

"You ready in there? I'm spoiling for a fight." called Gia over the radio after a few minuts waiting.

"Just waiting for you honey, let's get going. We're off to India you know, or China or something..."

"It's already set into the ship computers it'll fly us straight here as soon as we engage the autopilot."

"You and that A/P are getting way to friendly for my liking... It takes all the joy out of flying."

"Well it's easier than manual flying. I guess I'm just lazy! Now le's get going, radio silence in five."

"See you when we get there," replied Trigger switching to radio silence. "Why now? Why could they not let it patrol for a little longer... These guys must really hate me..."

 

*Interceptor One this is Tactical Command breaking radio silence, what is your ETA at the target?*

"TC this is Interceptor one, time of arrival is 5 minutes and closing."

*That's good. Ok, now listen carefully... When you get visual on the target do NOT engage, do you understand. Stay back, act defensive. Your scanners are showing multiple lifeforms onboard, lot's of them.*

"Right... So why are we not going to blow it up?"

"Have yougot any idea how many civilians are living in the city below you pilot? If this thing goes down we're going to have hysteria on our hands. Just track it out of the city limits then take it down, understood?*

"Copy that TC, disarming weapons systems. Defensive flight computer online."

*Tactical Command, this is Interceptor Two. I don't know if you guys have seen this but we have a major problem on our hands!*

*This is Tactical Command, what are you reading? All our scans are normal.*

*Check speed and altitude. This bitch is landing in the city limits. It looks like it's targetted a park for touchdown.*

*Holy shit we're getting he scans through now. What's the civilian presence like down there?*

"Massive TC, patching through Interceptor One camera feed. They've all seen it. They're leeing the city like headless chickens down here. The park is already emptying but it's surrounded by appartments. People are climbing out of windows. They're not even bothering to loot, they're just running for their lives." Trigger's voice was not the least bit amsing. He'd seen occupations before, there was always looting, even with armed guards present. This was the worst he'd ever seen...

 

*Interceptors One and Two, patrol the area and watch for dust off, keep us informed! Skyranger one prep for immediate departure! Squad Three suit up for urban combat, rifles all round. Armoury, load light weapons first, heavies in reserve. Everyone needs a rifle and a sidearm. Grenades for everyone, frag and stun only. Load the Platform last if it's operational. Let's move out everyone now!*

[FullAuto]

They sat in the strange hissing almost-silence of the Skranger's supercruise, uniformly quiet.

Fitz sat stock-still, rifle couched between his legs, pistol in a thigh holster. A hot landing zone in urban territory. The very worst sort of combat situation. He went over and over the dispersal plan in his mind, accompnaing each replay with "You're not going to bugger this up."

Phil read his Qur'an diligently, his free hand flicking a string of prayer beads to a quick steady rhythm that unconsciously matched the beating of his heart.

Brute checked and re-checked his heavy cannon, chamber, trigger, safety and ammunition. Urban territory, so armour piercing rounds only unless the situation was dire.

Hankosha meditated, biting down on the adrenaline seeping into his bloodstream. He did his best to keep the tension out of his body, breathing deeply, oxygenating his blood, trying to slow his heartbeat.

Deet had shoved her weapons aside, and was busy checking the medi-kit. She tested the display, then made sure the valves were workng properly, shutting them only when fluid came out. Stimulant, painkiller and coagulant reserves were all full, enough to treat the entire squad.

Goldie was busy tucking grenades into her belt pouches. Only idiots wore grenades on their chests. Easy way to get yourself killed.

Sandy tapped out a quick beat on his thighs, nodding along. It was the only way he could ease tension or he'd end up puking. He grinned as he thought back to his very first mission. Afghanistan, the pilot staying low to avoid Stinger missiles. He'd been repeatedly sick and the squad, all old hands, had laughed. Except for the sergeant, who had given him a thick chunk of dry bread and a single nod

Jasper fiddled constantly with his rifle sights. They'd been knocked. He knew they'd been knocked. They just didn't look right, no matter how much he adjusted them. Frowning, he raked his fingers through his stubble and sat back. Urban setting anyway. It'd all be close up.

Frankie checked chamber on his pistol for the nth time and patted his mag carriers carefully, making sure each magazine was firmly in place. Grenades packed away, he sat back and shut his eyes, pointedly ignoring Duchante's gestures.

Duchante gave up on trying to get a conversation going and tried to settle in his seat. Like everything military, functionality was prime, not comfort. He stretched his legs out in front of him and grunted. Getting out of the seat and into a firefight would be a relief.

"TEN 'TIL LZ." The pilot's voice blared over the intercom. "TEN 'TIL LZ."

Fitz jumped up from his seat and walked up and down, checking kit, swapping a joke, checking each member of the squad over one last time before they hit the ground.

"Stockade any good?" Jasper asked as Fitz eased past him.

"Food's good but the service is shit." Fitz retorted, moving on.

He stood at the back of the plane for a moment, then folded his arms. "One last time! Phil?"

He didn't even look up from his Qur'an, still flicking beads with metronomic precision. "Scouts first out, assess and identify, then the heavies, then the rifles. Secure LZ. Then form up, two teams. Alpha and Bravo."

"Excellent. Frankie?"

"Alpha team is me, Jasper, Deet, Phil and Sandy. Bravo team is you, Brute, Duchante, Goldie and Hank. Open ground, scout leads, riflemen take flanks and centre, heavy at the back. Urban, we close up, stick tight to each other, check corners and apertures."

"FIVE 'TIL LZ."

"We're going to kick some bloody arse today" Fitz seethed. "What are the Three Rules?"

"Don't die" Brute bellowed.

"Kick arse" Jasper yelled.

"Follow orders." Deet stuffed her medi-kit into a puch and slung it over her hip.

Fitz grinned down at Duchante. "Think you can remember that?"

Duchante closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose between forefinger and thumb. "I shall try."

"Good" Fitz unslung his rifle and moved back to the front of the troop compartment.

He left them in thick silence until the pilot spoke again.

"ONE 'TIL LZ."

"On your feet! Make sure you have your kit! Make sure your mates have their kit" He grabbed a handhold and bent his knees a little.

Landings in hot LZ's were usually more than a little rough.

This was it. Adrenaline flushed into the blood, cool chemical urgency that made muscles thrum and mouths go dry.

"I'm dying for a piss." Jasper said, scratching his chin.

They all grinned, enjoying the tension now as it eased back a notch, readying weapons and finishing prayers, putting thoughts of friends, lovers and family aside.

The Skyranger hit with a jarring thud and the ramp clanged down onto the ground as Fitz hit the emergency release.

"Go go go"

[Snikers]

The vibrations hummed through the Skyranger and up the boots of the soldiers as six tonnes of death exited on twin treads. The heavy weapons platform rolled down the ramp and away from the Skyranger, leaving any hope of safety as it crossed into a grassy lawn. Its camera took a 360 degree look about, seeing no enemies. To the front was a large warehouse, easily three stories tall, and a park sat to their left. A road crossed to the right. Behind it, past the Skyanger, was hard to see, but it appeared to be some sort of a parking lot.

There were sounds of far off voices, and a few sounds that seemed to correspond with the gunshots of the alien weapons they had heard about, but the ground they were on was unmarked.

Alpha and Bravo teams filed out of the Skyranger once the HWP had relayed the information on the LZ. Frankie's eyes darted about, brow furrowed. Fitz held his weapon at the ready, fingers subconscously feeling along the trigger. Sandy's grip on the cannon was rock hard. Hankosha stared about serenely, keeping an almost eerie calm.

Alpha team had just taken their first steps first, when a huge green lightning bolt lanced down and stabbed into the side of the tank. All the humans jumped backwards and dived for cover, and the tank's camera whirled crazily. Phil's vision darted from one hiding spot to another, but there was no palce an alien could be hiding.

Only Hankosha seemed to respond to the situation mental rather than physical reflex. He stared at the impact mark on the HWP, and the direction of the attack. After a second he blinked, and his head tilted upwards.

I can't deal with this kind of thing without my trinket, he thought.

Fitz was the first to notice Hankosha's stare and followed his gaze. "Damn," he muttered.

This alien could fly. He supposed it should have been obvious, given as they had UFOs and the like, but it was still something he hadn't been prepared for. It was high up in the sky, an off-white disc, with some blue light spraying out its bottom. He saw as it tilted onto its side, and a weapon lifted out of its top. It was built for fighting opponents on the same level, he saw...a bolt of green light shot out, but Fitz knew it was out of its area of expertise.

Hankosha took a half-step to the side, and the green bolt shot into the area he had been.

Maybe not that far out of its area of expertise.

[Alitorious]

It only took a heartbeat for the squad leader to start bellowing out orders.

"El-zee is hot! Move it! Tank guy, keep it distracted but get into cover" Even this early in the war, Fitzwilliams understood that, no matter how expensive it was, a robot tank was more expendable than any of his men. Or women.

He heard a pop from a detonating smoke grenade. Good thinking, he thought.

 

Chuck Bruheme, aka Brute, jumped off the ramp just behind the thrower of the smoke grenade, Goldstein, and into the spreading smoke cloud. Although it was concentrated around the ranger's ramp, the smoke could very well be saving their lives. This did assume that the aliens see light in the same wavelengths as humans. If they could see in infrared, then the smoke wouldn't help quite as much.

Brute watched the scout's sillhouette fade from the grey curtain. The smoke was asphyxiating, but it was better than being shot at. Still, the sound of the tank's cannon firing and the unearthly sound of plasma blast penetrated what light could not and made him feel blind.

Brute's radio crackled. "It's distracted by the tank. Alpha team, move left! Bravo team, move right!

Brute, being the brute force component of Bravo team, followed Goldie out of the smoke. The side of a building - a restaurant - faded in before him, with a moat of a drive-through road passing between. Goldstein had already opened the side door and Bruheme, Dietrich, and Duchante followed.

He surveyed the inside of the restaurant. It was deserted. Obviously the occupants had left in a hurry, as food was left on the tables and chairs were left everywhere. A faint odor of burnt meat could be smelled. Brute hoped that it was from some hamburgers left on the burner.

There! Behind the counter, there was a single figure. It was short, but had pale-grey skin and large, bulbous eyes. Dark eyes. Eyes that seemed to be fixed directly on him.

It was close enough that Brute didn't even need to aim - he fired his heavy cannon from the hip. What sounded like an explosion signalled the ejection of a forty millimeter armour-piercing shell. Everyone jumped in surprise.

"Merde" Exclaimed Gaston. His agitation mixed up his french and english. "Que dans le hell is it that tu fait?"

"The alie-" Brute started. Then stopped. The body wasn't there anymore. It should have been pulverized by the shell, but the only thing behind the counter was a cash register that looked like it had been pulverized by a jackhammer. The sectoid, which would have been crushed, never existed.

What the hell?

"Snap out of it" Deet ordered. From outside came the retorts of rifle fire.

"It's got too much armour for rifles" Somebody exclaimed through the radio. Brute knew what to do.

But Sandy got it first. From across the smoke cloud came a whir, then a split second later the sequence of thunderclaps known as an autocannon. Sparks richoceted off the alien saucer, but they didn't seem to do all that much damage. Brute opened up with his heavy cannon and fired straight through the window, deafening the ears of Bravo team. The tinkling of glass shards couldn't be heard.

Deet and Goldie decided to clear out the rest of the building.

The saucer stayed floating in the air. Perhaps it was finally being hurt? Perhaps it was just calculating its next target?

It was the latter. Green plasma fire started raining down on Alpha team's position.

"Perhaps," Duchante commented, "I should drop some C4 on it?"

"No need. I've got my own," Bruheme replied. He fired off the last shot of his 6-round AP clip, then ejected the empty casing. Not bothering with picking it up, he reached for one of his few clips of high explosive rounds.

This should get its attention, he thought. He aimed again, and fired.

The effective noise was nearly doubled as actual explosions burst on the side of the saucer. It registered the damage, and tried to find the source of the threat. Unfortunately its damaged sensors couldn't see through the smoke, but it fired in the general direction of the restaurant.

Brute ignored the plasma rain and just kept firing.

Two. Three. The saucer was starting to wobble in the air.

Four. The fourth shot was the coup de grace. The saucer pitched over as if it were a plate resting on the edge of an invisible ledge. It fell in slow motion onto the grass. For a split second, he could see cracks and scorch marks all over its armour, and there was a single hole. Sparks were flying inside and out of the hole.

Perhaps because explosives was his forte, Gaston realized what came next. "Down!" he yelled, but not over the radio, and shoved Brute out of the way.

Bruheme's ears were ringing so loudly he couldn't hear, but Duchante knocked him flat just as the cyberdisc exploded. The force of it was surprising for the size of the thing. The glass windows almost melted as they were blasted inward, and the fireball followed them inside. Both passed overhead of the two men.

After the explosion and noise abated, the radio screamed with voices. Brute still couldn't hear them.

He moved to eject the HE clip from the heavy cannon, but something told him not to. He didn't need to empty the clip. There was already a full AP clip inside. Not noticing what he was doing, Brute accepted the voice and left two HE shells inside the cannon.

[Hankosha]

The door opened, and Hankosha dived through.

He was the first to notice the Disc, as he called it, and barely had time to dodge out of the way of the bolt.

He turned his stare back at the ship. purple smoke was blocing his view.

"Good Idea, the aliens seem to see in our colour range," he thought to himself

Hanksoah headed towards the nearest building, turned the corner and dropped into a half crouch.

Hanksoha stood back up from the half crouch he had been in.

He sensed a presence, trying to get into his head, and was barely pushing it out;

He was concentrating on the target. He looked again. the alien was still there - an alien seeming staring past him, a distant point.

Hankosha lifted his gun and fired off a shot.

Fitz chose this moment to yellat him to get ack with his partner.

Luckily, he shot was good. It nailed the alien in the leg, causing it to lose concentration and fall to the ground.

Elsewhere, Brute realised what he was doing, shooting up the nonexistant 'alien'.

Hankosha walked up to the alien, primed a smoke grenade, dropped it, and walked away.

The grenade exploded when he was about 100 paces away from the alien.

The already dazed alien was now mostly unconcious. Hankosha kept walking.

He felt the presence in his head, and reached for his charm.

"Dammit. I forgot."

Hankosha turned, saw Fitz and spoke into his headphones, "I got one, oh, and Frankie..."

"Yes?"

"Don't call me Hank."

Hankosha headed for a nearby house to use as cover.

The door was open, so Hankosha charged in.

A woman was huddling in the corner of the living room, holding her children to her chest. Hankosha ran by them, looking for stairs.

He headed up the stairs and entered a beedroom.

The bedroom was a mess. Bloodstains covered the floor, and a large grey spot coated one of the walls.

Looking around, Hankosha found the source of the blood.

A man, at least he looked like a man, had had his head blasted off. Looking to his right, Hankosha noticed a gaping hole in the wall.

Hankosha looked through and saw the remains of the Disc.

"So that's what made the hole..."

Hankosha turned around and walked out of the house, reloading his pistols as he went.

[Zager]

Useless

 

Gaston slowly moved to his feet after the explosion.

 

Overmatched

 

He shook his head to clear it. "Merde. Fine time to get battle shock," he muttered to himself, as he swept the area with his rifle.

 

There is nothing you can do

 

Plasma bolts homed in on the front of the restauraunt, the aliens having been attracted by the blast.

 

You

 

"Every time it has to be a charlie foxtrot," Gaston muttered, using a popular military euphamism for a situation that had gotten had screwed up (though most soldiers didn't use such polite words when defining charlie foxtrot) as a plasma bolt passed through a window and over his head.

 

Your squad

 

A second plasma bolt hit the wall below the window, blowing a huge hole in the wall. Gaston stared at in in amazement for a second, before diving away from the hole as two more plasma bolts passed through the enlarged opening.

 

And your entire species

 

"Mon Dieu! We could really use some backup here" Gaston shouted into his radio, his resolve cracking.

 

Are doomed

 

"GET OUT OF MY HEAD" Gaston screamed, finally cracking under the psionic assault. He dropped his rifle, charged out the shattered remains of the restauraunts door, and fired with his pistol on full automatic, sweeping the positions where the plasma fire was coming from while screaming incoherently.

 

The nine milimeter glaser rounds blew fist sized holes in the walls, doors and any sectoids they hit. After several seconds, the huge clip finally ran dry.

 

There was silence on the battle field for a second broken only by the tinkling of brass on the concrete sidewalk, and then a plasma bolt hit Gaston in the chest, and threw him back into the building while burning away most of his armor and skin.

[Snikers]

"Where is Hankosha! Hankosha, if you're playing hero agai-" Fitz spotted Hankosha out of the corner of his eye, extremely dim though the artificial smoke - although Fitz could see that he was not only alone but shooting at something. "Stop playing hero, Hank! Get back with your partner"

Fitz saw Hankosha got to his feet and duck down the alleyway. "Jesus eating cheese toasties," hissed Fitz, babbling what was to him an obcenitiy. He threw himself against the ramp of the Skyranger and pointed his rifle up at the hovering disc. He fired off a burst that went surprisingly well for a 90 degree angle, but to no effect. He saw bullets ping off the saucer's belly the way he had seen rounds bounce off tanks.

"It's got too much armour for rifles" Fitz shouted into his radio, but he didn't know how many heard him. Half the team were shouting into the radios, and the other half were probably only silent because they were in the middle of firefights.

His radio spackled back, clearly Hankosha. "I got one. Oh, and Frankie?"

This had better be good, thought Fitz as he dashed for the warehouse, hoping to meet up with someone still sane. " Yeah?"

"Don't call me Hank." Nothing more. Suddenly cannon shots flew out from somewhere, and the saucer began to wobble.

Fitz was ready to just say give up on Hank, but reconsidered. Hank seemed lucid, at least, unlike most everyone else. He started to move when the saucer hit the ground several metres behind him. He turned, going to check it, when he suddenly was inexplicably was flying through the air without any sound.

Something got exploded

Fitz was thrown several feet, hit the ground, and slid for several more. He traveled right over the curb, landed in the street, and seemed to stop on what felt like broken glass.

Idiots! I'm surrounded by idiots! Jesus lord, if the aliens don't kill them I will - Fitz clamped down on his thoughts. Don't get frustrtated. You're freaking out. It must have been the concussion.

Right?

Suddenly, loud and clear in Fitz's ears over the extremely quiet pops that were gunfire, there was loud, panicked screaming. It was the sort Fitz had hardly heard from civilians, almost never from his own soldiers - certainly not soldiers that were supposed to be this good. It was more than just fear in the voice. Whoever was going off sounded like everything in the world had just become hellish to him. That was when Fitz saw Gaston all but flying out of the nearby restaurant, his prized hypertrophied machine pistol spraying lead everywhere and anywhere.

Fitz got to his feet, only dimly aware that more of the grays and at least one more saucer had shown up, and the tank was pockmarked with burn marks. He was about to shout when a 9mm slug skimmed by his head. It didn't actually hit him in the skull, which saved his life, but it tore off the top half of his ear and kept on going. It wasn't something that would kill or disable him but godDAMN did it hurt like a bitch.

"AAAARRGHGHHH IDIOT" Fitz screamed in pain and fury, taking one hand to clamp over his bloody half-ear, but stopped when he saw one of his men get hit by a green bolt. The force of the shot blew Gaston through a doorway.

[Bomb Bloke]

Dietrich panted, dispite her unmoving position behind the counter of the restaraunt. Things were getting hectic quickly.

 

She risked a look over the bench, and watched Gaston's attempted rampage. Her face visibely whitened as she saw him get blasted through the air.

 

Pulling herself together, she ran at a crouch through the chairs and tables, kicking open the side door as she raced to his position. At least in the alley she was covered from the majority of fire from the street.

 

She found a door leading into the side of the building. It was locked, but the front side was too hot; bracing herself, she took a running leap at the door, and the latch gave in. She pushed past the stricken door, and ran through the building - a wharehouse, with no corridors - to Gaston. Making a quick decision, whe gathered his shoulders in his arms and dragged him off the stricken door, and out of sight.

 

... For all the good it would do, she thought, should they decide to fire this way anyway... The walls wouldn't stand up to the green blasts.

 

A quick check over Gaston revealed the blast had caught him under his right shoulder. Melted armour and roasted flesh made for a terrible smell, but she started to use her scissors to clear the wound. Gaston, still concious, muttered incomprehensible french at her, his eyes glazed.

 

---------------------------------------

 

Frankie vaulted over a hedge, rifle held in his right fist. Crouching to one knee, he frantically changed his grip to both hands on the gun, sweeping it wildly in front of him, looking for something - anything....

 

We can see you...

 

Letting out what was more of a squeek then a cry, he leapt ahead, into a full run. Where was his partner? Where was his squad? Where where the voices??

 

We're right here.

 

His abrupt halt nearly sent him to the ground. His gun arced wildly in front of him, searching for the source...

 

We're coming closer...

 

Another yelp, and yet another door was splintered as he smashed his way through it, now running blindly...

 

We're closer still.

 

Through a kitchen, into a living room... Where were they?

 

Boo!

 

Whirling in a 360 degree spin, gun leading, he finally found what he thought he was looking for. The surprised resident, following him, only just managed to duck behind a wall before his aim came to bear and the bullets flowed...

[FullAuto]

"LZ is scorching! Taking off" That was all the warning Fitz got.

The Skyranger's jets howled, blowing away the last wisps from the smoke grenade Hot air blasted down, rippling the grass in great concentric waves as he ran for cover, rifle up at his shoulder, trying to ignore the stinging pain from his missing chunk of ear.

-Never seen something go to shit so quickly-

Jasper, Phil and Sandy were the only ones in any sort of order, grouped tight against the wall of a nearby warehouse.

Gaston, out of the fight, Deet knelt over him slicing away his body armour.

Hank, off somewhere being a hero.

Goldie and Brute, probably still in the restaurant.

Frankie, gone somewhere.

Charming.

The Skyranger tilted, then swept out and soared up. "Holding pattern 'til you say otherwise."

He reached the three men. "Get to the restaurant, get Duchante inside. Sandy, Jasper, covering fire. With me, Phil."

They ran across the open ground. No green fire came from anywhere.

Deet saw them coming. "Don't-"

Fitz pushed her aside and slung his rifle, grabbing Duchante under one arm and drawing his pistol, Phil mirroring his actions.

They hauled Duchante into the restaurant. Deet slammed the door behind them. They dragged him back, away from the big windows, behind the shelter of some overturned tables.

"Goddamn it, Fitz-"

"Shut up and fix him up." Fitz moved past her, holstering his pistol and unslinging his rifle. "Right, pair up, move out. Try and act like soldiers."

Goldie and Brute were first out of the door, weapons raised. Goldie went left, pistol up in a solid two-handed grip. She reached the corner of the building and looked round it.

An alley between the restaurant and a wooden fence, bags of refuse stacked high.

Shadows flickered. Her finger tightened on the trigger and she squeezed a round off, even as she remembered about civilians.

The bullet punched through the fence, leaving a splintered hole.

Something moved on the other side.

"Get down" She shouted.

The green blast set the fence on fire and melted the concrete next to her head.

Goldie cracked off the rest of the mag at waist height, staggering them about a foot apart.

-nineteneleven-

She ejected the clip with a round in the chamber and knelt.

-less vulnerable on the reload-

Brute moved up beside her. She saw his heavy cannon from the corner of her eye and grinned. Alien was in for a surprise.

The 40mm shell destroyed her.

The backblast wrecked the heavy cannon and flung Brute, the hot hand of the explosion picking him up and tossing him away like a doll.

He landed hard, skidding and then rolling over concrete, leaving a wide smear of blood behind.

Phil and Sandy had seen it happen and ran forward to help, only to realise they were standing in what was left of her.

A chunk of fence was missing, knocked down by the explosion, and Sandy saw a childlike form scamper away. He swung his autocannon into play and let rip, shooting slightly ahead of the movement.

Green blood splashed against the wall in a high spurt.

Phil stepped through the gap in the fence.

A bolt destroyed another piece of fence.

Phil stepped back into the alley. "Give it some more."

Sandy was only too glad to oblige.

He hosed it down, the barrage of 20mm shells eventually collapsing the fence altogether. It toppled, still aflame, and the alien rolled away from the fire.

Phil stitched bullets across it, firing short controlled bursts.

It's limbs flailed.

Sandy tore it in half with a blast from his autocannon.

Fitz and Jasper hit the corner. "Well?"

"One down." Phil advanced, crouching behind a small pile of rubbish.

Sandy jumped the burning remains of the fence and took shelter in an open doorway.

Phil and Jasper advanced slowly, rifles ready.

A pale disc floated into view at the end of the alley, and revolved a few times.

They dropped flat.

Phil, Jasper and Fitz readied grenades. Sandy loaded a fresh clip.

"NOW"

[Snikers]

"Die! DIE" Frankie's scream was barely audible over the chatter of his rifle as he fired at where the target had been. Bullets tore up the hardwood through the doorway, and Frankie could see a blur dart behind the wall.

"Drywall 'gainst lead! Great idea" Frankie's reaction to fear was usually jokes, relieving the tension by refusing to appreciate the solemnity of the situation. It wasn't helping. "Eh? How about that? Not so fun when the humans have guns, huh?" Holes appeared in the wall and exited the other side, dust flying from the impacts.

The civilian had thrown himself to the floor, something that had saved his life. The man pushed himself along the floor and hit his stairs. He leapt up them, dodging bullets as he went, but the XCOM agent caught a glimpse of him as he ascended to the second floor.

It registered somewhere in Frankie's mind that he was shooting at a human shape, but the significance didn't occur to him. Not only had he spent most of his career fighting human opponents, he wasn't thinking rationally anymore. He chased the target, hitting the foot of the stairs just in time to see his quarry jump out of his sight. By the sounds of the thumps, he had taken another stairway up to the third storey.

"C'mon! Don't go now, I was just getting to the best part" Spittle flew from Frankie's mouth as his voice hit the treble clef, screeching. He thundered up the stairs, spraying bullets as he went. By the time he hit the second floor his magazine had gone empty, and Frankie clumsily replaced it as he climbed to the third. Outside, the thumps of Sandy's autocannon resounded throughout the air, but Frankie didn't notice.

The civilian hit the top floor and dashed into his bedroom, where he had left his roommate. He kicked open the door.

"We gotta get out of - " he began, but stopped dead. The entire room was charred, smoke rising, most of the outward wall destroyed. Of his roommate there was no sign, unless he had transformed into that hovering disc just outside -

Frankie hit the top steps. His magazine was almost loaded when he saw a human shape coming for him. He raised his rifle and fired - but reloading while running doesn't work so well, and the magazine fell onto the stiars and bounced down to its feet. The gun made a click as he pulled the trigger and thought began to once again enter his mind.

Civilian I'm shooting at a civilian

Suddenly the man was engulfed in green flame and his charred corpse was thrown to the floor. Frankie took a step backwards as, through an open doorway to what had once been a room, he saw a hovering disc like that had attacked their LZ.

It was nearly invincible, he remembered. Green fire flew from the disc - but it blasted against the doorframe, opening a much bigger door but preserving his life for the moment. Frankie dived to the floor and more green death soared over his head, exploding the wall behind him.

[Bomb Bloke]

The four men rose from their positions. Three grenades went through the air, two bouncing off the disc itself, Fitzwilliam's flying past.

 

The extra movement may have saved lives. The miniture saucer pivoted, going on a slight angle, attempting to aim at the incoming explosives. And then, it didn't know where to aim as they exploded, and the autocannon's shells visibley pushed it backwards, the three other rifles having less of an effect but being fired anyway. It didn't even hit the ground before it detonated.

 

Phil stared at the mess. The fence was no longer visible. There was no signs of the sectoid corpse; just a few burnt trashbags on the outskirts of an area of black scorching.

 

"I think my eyebrows just got burnt off." commented Sandy, and then their coms crackled into life.

 

"DIE! DIE!"

 

Frankie's scream and gun fire came down the line. Fitz snarled, and barked into his shoulder reciever.

 

"Under control, soldier"

 

The gun fire continued, the order ignored. The squad leader snorted. He'd released the grip on his ear, which had stopped flowing freely, reduced to a trickle. Blood mixed with sweat was smeared all over his head. He motioned for the others to follow, and they slowly advanced out of the alley, while he continued to mutter into his com.

 

"Deet? What's the frenchie's condition?"

 

Silence.

 

"Deet?... Dammit"

 

With any luck, she was simply to busy to use her com. As opposed to dead. Luck didn't seem to be on their side today, but still... having the only team medic go down would really bite.

 

"Hankosha"

 

There was a pause, and then -

 

"Yes?"

 

"Did you see where Duchante took a hit?"

 

"Yeah."

 

"Get to that building now. Deets' in there looking after him, but she's uncovered. Tell her when she's done to check out the alley we ducked into, Brute's pretty badly wounded."

 

He turned his head to check behind him. The previously motionless figure was gone, a trail a blood scraped towards the other end of the alley.

 

He swore under his breath, and then continued the roll call.

 

"Brute"

 

Nothing.

 

"Gah! Dammit! Frankie"

 

Frankie, still lying on the second floor of the house, reached for his com. His voice was shaky, and plasma fire could be heard, destroying the structure of the building.

 

"Yeah?"

 

"What's your position?"

 

"I don't know. Second floor of some house. Under fire..."

 

"Get out of there! Do you know Duchante's position?"

 

"No." The plasma fire sounded closer.

 

"Dammit, just get out of there and -"

 

He was cut off as one final bolt of plasma destroyed the scout's radio, and most of his head. All Fitz heard was a sudden burst of static, then nothing.

 

"Dammit."

[Hankosha]

Hankosha was on the fourth floor of a building overlooking a part of the city.

His heart wept at the devistation, but his mind was clear and calm.

"Hankosha"

Hankosha's com crackled to life.

He was slightly startled but settled down and responded quickly.

"Yes?"

"Did you see where Duchante took a hit?"

"Yeah."

"Get to that building now. Deets' in there looking after him, but she's uncovered. Tell her when she's done to check out the alley we ducked into, Brute's pretty badly wounded."

Hankosha ran from building to wrecked building, holding his pistols lightly in his hands.

After the earlier shootouts, it seemed eerily calm.

He checked looked up, and saw another disc.

It wasn't firing at him, so he ignored it and dug through his pack as he ran.

Grenades - no good against a floating opponent... extra clips, no good... rifle... maybe

Hankosha looked at the rifle.

Though he had scored low with rifle accuracy, he figured he might need one and had brought it along.

Hankosha pocketed the pistols and took aim at the Disc.

He held his breath, took aim and carefully pulled the trigger.

Two of the three shots missed, but the last one made a nice dint in the Disc.

The disc turned towards Hankosha with what seemed like agonizing slowness.

Hankosha shoved the rifle into his pack, pulling out his pistols as he ran.

Green bolts passed over his head, and he glanced back at the disc.

The disc was no longer attacking the building, but was focused on him.

"Well, I think I might have saved someone's life, but I may not be around for long enough for them to repay my favour."

Hankosha dodged into a building, and found himself exactly where he wanted to be.

Deet turned towards him, then went back to helping Dutch.

"I'm sorry, but we're going to have to either leave him or carry him as we run."

Deet turned and asked a single simple question.

"Why?"

Before he could answer, a hole appeared in the wall behind him.

Hankosha couldn't think of a witty reply.

[Snikers]

God, I'm hurt. Blood everywhere. My left hand hurts so much! - even if I still had that cannon, I couldn't handle it, left hand has to be broken - just my pistol.

Thank god the aliens seem scared of it - there must be dozens of them, I don't even have enough ammo to kill them all - but if they see it they take off running.

They aren't carrying guns - the ones I've seen - they seem like they're hiding. Odd.

Well, they're aliens. I guess I just don't get it.

God, the pain. I'm bleeding everywhere.

But I have to keep going. Too many aliens for me to duck out. Such a pressure in my head...I have to do what I can.

Keep going. Keep going, Brute.

 

"Dammit." Fitz stood there in the alleyway, staring at his radio, eye twitching. His breath came in short, furious snorts.

"Dammit." He droned again, jaw squeezed shut. "Dammit, dammit, dammit, goddammit all to goddamn bloody hell! IDIOTIC SACK OF CRAP" The captian ended this speech with a bang as he slung his radio against the side of the nearby building. The sturdily manufactured device bounced off the wall and slid in the grass.

Phil and Jasper shot each other a look. Sandy's weapon dropepd to his side and took a step forward, hand outstretched. Before he could say anything, though, Fitz started to go off again.

"Idiots! Idiots! ALL BLOODY MORONS! Completely and utterly incompetent! Useless! STUPID" Fitz slammed a fist into his skull and held it there, as if his head was throbbing and he hoped to nurse it with pressure.

"Captain - " Sandy began.

There were two quick bangs from the far end of the alleyway, but the squad leader's shout swallowed it up. "WHAT" screamed Fitz as he turned on the Russian, face crimson.

Sandy didn't say anything, but his face had gone from concern to surprise. It took a second before he looked down, at his own uniform. Its entirety was spattered with red, green and black, but much more prominent than any others were two spots of blood; this was mainly because they were both currently weeping crimson tears.

There were two more barks from the end of the alleyway, and sparks burst at the ground about Phil's feet. Fitz whirled and spotted a very bloody Brute with a pistol in his hand, staring at them with glittering eyes.

"TRAITOROUS SON OF A BITCH" Fitz howled, swinging a chattering rifle to bear. Empty casings shot to the side, but Brute was unharmed; propelling himself behind the corner of a huge three-storey warehouse. Fitz followed him at a dead run, swinging his rifle about dangerously. "I'LL KILL YOU"

Phil shot a look at Jasper and pointed at Sandy. "Get him out of here! I've gotta stop the captain" He took off running.

The heavy weapons specialist was on the knees. The body armour had slowed the Armour Piercing handgun rounds, but not stopped them. "You go - I'm fine."

"No you're not."

Fitz rounded the corner, but Brute was going way too fast than anyone in his condition had the right to. He barely managed to spot him, sprinting, open a sliding green door on the side of the warehouse and duck inside. Fitz kept running, but failed to take one factor into account. On his right was the warehouse, but to his left it was simply a number of steps before the building opened up into a large parking lot. Green death flashed his way as he left cover, and Fitz took several more steps before he could turn to face the enemy.

Fitz managed to catch a look - three that he could see, two shooting at him and one staring intently at the warehouse behind him, plus probably more he couldn't see.

One alien, holding a huge white cannon of a weapon, pointed directly at the captain and fired.

For one split second, the world seemed to stop.

In one way of thinking, Fitz was lucky. The green bolt flew straight at his midsection; in one way of thinking, the alien's shot was perfect. But as he had turned his rifle had dropped, and the green bolt blasted into its side.

The rifle was toast. The metal was melted immediately at its midsection, splashing backwards at the squad leader. At the same time all the ammo in the weapon cooked off, the few bullets remaining ripping through the disintigrating metal. The entire weapon flew apart, molten steel splashing back against the chest, gut, neck and face of Fitzwilliams.

It was lucky metal didn't stick well to most objects and the liquid steel dropped off of Fitz's skin. All the same he howled in pain, staggering back and flailing his arms.

The alien pointed the weapon again, though Fitz didn't see, pointing its white cannon at him again. It squeezed the trigger -

And Phil came around the corner, bullets spurting from his rifle. One bullet ripped through the alien's head, dropping it instantly. The other alien turned its attention to the new threat, purple rifle spurting green death.

The adrenaline flowing through Fitz's veins pushed the pain aside and Fitz took his hands away from his face. Both eyes clear of the metal, he looked over, seeing red. He yanked his pistol out of his leg holster and started going berserk; shooting wildly in the general direction of the hostiles.

That was when the remaining fighting alien pulled out a small, brown object. It primed it and threw it upward, the object soaring through the air. Phil spotted it.

"Fitz! FITZ" he shouted, but Fitz was of all things walking forward as he fired. Looking about - he had heard of the alien grenades from the reports of the first missions - he saw the warehouse door, unlocked. He looked at the squad leader and knew he was beyond rational thought. He jumped forward and wrapped his forearm around Fitzwilliam's neck as the grenade bounced on the ground in front of them.

"LET ME GO! LET ME GO" Phil didn't listen as he dragged the psychotic backwards, grabbing the handle of the sliding green door. "THAT'S AN ORDER LET ME GO NOW"

The door was open. "Captain, MOVE" Phil new they didn't have much time before the grenade went off. Heroically, he slung Fitz about so that he was in front of him, first into the warehouse. Phil was pushing him forward when a blast of heat jabbed into his back like a burning knife. A second shot hit him in the back of his head, mercifully ending his pain.

As Phil slumped away, Fitz threw off the arms, ignoring his soldier's noble sacrifice. That was when the grenade detonated.

The shockwave threw the man several feet before he hit a row of boxes with a loud crash. He hit the floor and slid until he slammed against the wall, while his pistol skittered across the floor to locations unknown.

Fitz was doing well with explosions today. He threw himself upward, got an intense feeling of vertigo, and vomited all over the floor. Once that was done he looked around the darkened warehouse wildly, a trickle of bile running from the corner of his mouth. Blood covered his face and one arm, running over the burns, and his head seemed to be filled with a loud buzz, but his mind only repeated one word.

"Brute."

[Bomb Bloke]

Deet didn't bother to think. If she had, she may have thought that she couldn't carry Gaston at all; as it was, she simply grabbed him by his shoulders and lifted...

 

Hankosha dutifully grabbed his legs to lighten the load, and the two half staggered, half ran to the rear exit of the wharehouse. Plasma fire continued to destroy the wall near Hankosha's entry point, but it seemed random enough to indicate that the disc didn't know their location in the building.

 

They made it out, barely. Deet collapsed onto the ground under the frenchman. Hank lowered the second half, and went for his radio.

 

"SkyRanger! We need you down here. We have an injured soldier in need of immediate evac"

 

"Negative. Orders are to stay aerial until the ground zone is clear."

 

Doc was maintaining a position a few hundered feet above the area. After the initial takeoff, he'd decided to reland the carrier; however, orders from base had indicated that he was to keep the craft clear of danger.

 

Hankosha paused and thought, but his ponders were interupted by Jasper breaking his silence.

 

"We need that transport. There is another injured with me. At this rate, there will be no squad 3. Get down here! Now"

 

Jasper's first thoughts had been to move Sandy to cover, but it was obvious that on the ground there was no cover from the aliens.

 

"We have another problem. There is a traiter unit on the ground. Brute, that is, Charles Bruheme, has shot Sandy. Repeat, Brute has made a concious attack on X-Com forces. Furthermore, our squad leader has... lost... his radio."

 

Doc tapped his fingers on the control lever, then made his decision. "I'm going to bring the 'Ranger down on top of the building in the center of your area. All aboard who's coming aboard."

 

Hankosha reached into the sidepocket of his pack, withdrawing the small tablet that detailed the squad positions on the map. Some dead units showed, others injured. Goldie's position wasn't on the map at all.

 

He looked in the direction that seemed to be between all the units. A large wharehouse, even bigger then the one he and Deet had just vacated, seemed to be the target zone.

 

Jasper replaced his own tablet, and then gritted his teeth as he strained to lift the heavy around his shoulders, wearing him as a cape. He started to stagger in the new direction.

 

Fitz glowered about the area, his face contorted with animal rage.

 

He'd get that son of a -

 

Get a grip, Fitz.

 

He suddenly remembered the need for tactics, a knowledge he had drummed into himself throughout his years of training. His expression did not change, but his reason started to return. He no longer had his radio... How could he...?

 

The rage returned as he remembered the tablet device. He nearly removed the pocket with it as he removed it from the pack. It showed Brute's position clearly... and the position of the other soldiers. Every one of them was converging on the same point.

 

What sort of trick was this?

 

With a snarl that escalated to a roar, he leapt out of cover, and sprinted to the location. No plasma fire greeted his appearance once more on the street, but he didn't even notice as he raced down the sidewalk.

[Alitorious]

What am I doing? Brute asked himself. What's going on? Where am I?

Don't question. Relax. Accept.

What was going on? Until now, Brute thought that those thoughts were his own. They felt so natural. After all, why wouldn't his thoughts be his own?

But... it wasn't. It couldn't be.

His memories were hazy. Just like a dream. He watched himself aim his heavy cannon at Goldie. But he'd passed out from loss of blood. That was a dream, he told himself.This is a dream. You'll wake up and the mission will be over.

But it couldn't be.

What the hell is going on? Am I going insane? WHAT THE F***ING HELL IS GOING ON?

Nothing is. It's just a dream. Relax. Accept.

No! What's going on! What is - it's you! You f***ers! Get the f*** out of my head! GET OUT OF MY HEAD!

No.

GET OUT OF MY HEAD!

Brute screamed. The primal urge to yell punctured the warm cocoon of the alien's mind control. It was almost inhuman. Almost. But it was a desperate expression of the human in him - the human trying to get out, to regain control of itself from the alien presence.

Chuck blinked. It was gone. Whatever it was, it was gone. Did he drive it off? Or did it merely relax again? It must be like a cat playing with a mouse.

He was the mouse. And the cat's paws were invisible.

Then the pain hit him. He should be dead right now, but he wasn't. It seemed took every ounce of strength he had to not fall over, but he was a trained soldier. Even without the adrenaline rush to stem the pain, he could bear it. The pain was real. Physical. It meant he was alive. It meant he was himself. For now.

Brute tried his best to look around. Where was he? It was dark. Boxes were stacked all around. And the room was huge. It was a warehouse.

It's dark. Their eyes are dark. Their eyes are dark and empty and vast like this room. If you fall in those eyes then you keep falling and falling and-

Snap out of it!

But the pain.

Focus!

He shook his head to try to clear it. Bad idea. The pain of a headache flooded over him like a tsunami.

Then he saw it. It didn't matter that his eyes were closed. He still saw it, peering at him through the dark. That large grey head. That tiny grey body. And those huge, dark, eyes. And he was going to kill it.

He swung up his pistol and fired. And fired. And he kept firing. Then-

There! To your left! It was another one. He turned and fired. And another!

His pistol clicked empty. Some working part of his brain registered this and reloaded another clip. To Brute he didn't notice it. He just kept firing. They were all over. Kill them all.

They're everywhere! Everywhere!

The constant pistol shots echoed and magnified in the warehouse. Brute roared in fury and continued his slaughter of the boxes. But they weren't boxes. They were aliens. All of them.

His body reloaded his last clip.

They were everywhere. Kill them.

Everywhere.

The last shot rang out, and then no more shots would come. His body reloaded a non-existant clip, and he kept pulling the trigger.

He may have continued this cycle for hours if it weren't for an explosion of an alien grenade nearby. But how could they still be alive? Eternity had passed. It had been thousands of years since the mission began.

His brain began to process things properly again. That aliens were everywhere dropped from his mind. Instead, he remembered. The presence came again, and he remembered.

He shot Goldstein. High-Explosive round to the head. Point blank range. No remorse.

In the alley. His teammates. He tried to gun them down with his pistol.

Charles looked down at his jumpsuit. It was smeared with red blood, and it wasn't just his own.

He killed her. He may have killed them. He killed her. He did kill them. He killed her. He killed them.

He killed his friends!

"Oh, god" he screamed. "Make it end! Take it away"

And so it did, and Brute welcomed the numbness. It took away the pain and the guilt. And his mind.

Brute was gone, but his body remained. And the alien telepath now owned it completely.

[Hankosha]

Hankosha stayed with Deet, helping carry Duchante back to the Skyranger.

He thought he had forgotten something, then remembered.

"Shit"

The obsenity was spoken out loud.

Deet turned and faced him.

"What?"

"I left an unconcious alien back there. I'm going to see if i can go and grab it."

Hankosha reached into his holsters, and pulled out his pistols.

"I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to get that alien out of there. I'll draw fire from you, and hopefully draw the disc's attention."

Hankosha turned around, running with all his might.

The Disc spotted him, and poured a rain of fire all around him, but Hankosha kept running.

The disc shot a lot, but its aim wasn't that great, it also had to pause to fire, allowing Hankosha to outdistance it.

Hankosha soon reached his destination.

The Alien was no longer unconcious.

It pointed a wobbly finger towards him and Hankosha felt a presence trying to push into his mind.

Hankosha let it in, then with all his mental might forced it out.

The alien feel over, the mental backlash causing him to hold his head in pain.

"This one is different," the alien tought to himself.

It reached for the pistol it had dropped when it had fallen unconcious.

Hankosha pointed his guns at the alien's head and fired from point-blank range.

"That was for O'Malley."

Hankosha picked up the pistol, and a strange looking potato sort of gadget.

He popped the two objects into his backpack.

Consulting his map, Hankosha headed for Deet's location.

[Snikers]

Where in God's name is Hank? Deet had just about had it. She couldn't go out alone - not when she had someone to protect. Maybe if it were just her at stake, but she had a responsibility as a medic - she couldn't take the risk. Angrily, she yanked out her tablet device and checked it.

Her and Gaston, Gaston wounded - centre point.

A ways off, Sandy and Jasper, Sandy wounded (though not as bad as Gaston).

Hankosha - moving in a wide looping circle -

He's not coming back, he's not coming back, scumbag left us here!

She grabbed her radio. "This is Deet! Hank is gone, I'm taking Gaston to evac alone. Doc, you damn well better have that plane ready, do you hear me"

"I'm ready when you are," said the civilian pilot, low and hesitantly.

Deet grabbed Gaston by hs uniform and dragged, pulling with her legs. He slid along the ground.

She came to one street and peeked up and down. Far off there were two aliens, both with backs to her. She took a deep breath and made her way across as quick as possible, dragging him with a scraping sound.

One turned and she went faster, making her way across the street and behind a building as green went wide. A second later she leaned around her corner with rifle ready, looking down the sight. She fired short bursts, bullets flying down towards the bogies. She switched off the autofire and aimed.

One shot went into the gut of the one on the left, causing it to collapse and its gun to go off into the air. Deet decided that was enough, dropping back around the corner and grapping Gaston again. If the survivor came after her, she'd give them a little more.

The survivor did not and they made the warehouse. She kicked the door open and they got inside, the dark opressive gloom hanging over. She once again checked her tablet. Hero making a winding trail towards the warehouse, Jasper and Sandy closer, Brute off the map (obvious, even if he's alive he'd turn it off to escape detection) -

Wait.

She checked again.

Fitz was gone. No vital signs, he had been in the same place for several minutes.

Christ.

She held her firearm in one hand and used the other to take out her radio. Maybe hers was wrong, she had to check with the others. "This-"

That was all she managed to say. Suddenly she was spun around, both gun and comm flying out her hands as two iron hands wrapped around her neck and slammed her against the wall. They were attached to two bloody pillars of arms which led to a barrel-chested body; uniform scraped, burnt and reddened.

Deet's gaze, however, was turned upon the face - Brute's, eyes flat like one sleepwalking.

She couldn't breathe.

 

* * *

 

The electronic device still worked, but it lay on the ground. Taken off when its owner flew across the floor, registering what wasn't there.

 

* * *

 

"Ggglkkk - asshole" Deet spat, hands clawing at Brute's wrists. It had no effect, and with a rush of fury the medic slammed an uppercut into his chin. His head snapped back but did nothing further.

"Bas - tard! Little - shit - " She raised both feet and drove them into his shoulders. Muscle stress yanked the hands away from her throat and she dropped to the ground, gasping. She spotted her rifle on the ground, fifteen feet away.

She got to a crouch, ready to jump, but a foot slammed down in front of her. She looked up and saw Brute bringing back a foot to kick. She jumped backwards as the toe swung past her nose.

She was on her feet. "What is it, Brute? Why? I gotta know - " He swung a fist at her and she darted to the side, seeing an opening. " - what makes you think - what makes you want to betray the entire human race? Hmm? What - ow" A fist slammed into her back as she darted by, throwing her to the ground. He was strong.

Her hit the floor and reached, her fingertips just brushing the butt of the rifle when Brute dived after her and grabbed her around the midsection. She squirmed and managed to get turned around in his grasp, raining down blows on the back of his head. Nothing.

Must be on something - wait. Brute hadn't grabbed her medikit, probably didn't think it was a weapon, maybe -

She grabbed her medikit off her gear and held it above her head. Brute didn't even seem to notice; all he knew was that Deet had stopped pushing him downwards and he was able to clamp onto her throat. The kit snapped open and the medic grabbed a number of random needles, stabbing them into his face.

The ends broke off and fragile flesh tore, but nothing seemed to come of it. Brute's attention didn't waver. He leaned up, kneeling on her now, as he clasped onto her neck, and she saw an opening. She was tempted to bring a knee up into his groin, but based on what she had seen it wouldn't have much of an effect. Instead she hefted her hips, bringing her lower back off the ground, and wrapped her ankles around Brute's neck and yanked backwards.

Brute was strong, but he could still be thrown off his centre of balance and rolled onto the floor. Deet jumped up and ran for the cover of a nearby stack of large, heavy boxes (the likes of which covered the entire warehouse), one hand still gripping the open medikit.

Brute looked up from the floor, did not see Deet, saw the rifle. He jumped - still in a zone of potential enemies - and grabbed it. He thoughtlessly turned it towards Gaston and was about to pull the trigger.

"ASSHOLE" Deet saw this and slung the medikit at his head. The heavy object slammed into the side of the skull and threw him off, staggering.

No one tries to shoot my casualty you son of a bitch, flashed through the medic's mind as she charged, feet pounding against the floor, and barely four metres from Brute's throat when he turned the rifle on her and fired. The hail of bullets rained at her abdomen and led up her body until it entered her forehead, but Brute didn't stop. He continued to fire at her body until the clip ran empty and somewhere in Brute's unconscious combat reflexes realized she was dead.

He turned his gaze back to Gaston. He now had a much more effective killing device, and all he needed was ammunition. He strolled - no longer in a combat zone - over to Gaston and felt about his vest. He opened one pocket and withdrew a magazine of ammuntion. He lifted it and slapped it into the gun before pointing it down towards the man's head -

"TRAITOROUS MOTHERF**KING SACK OF CRAP NOW YOU DIE!" Brute's gaze just had time to dart upwards, and the rifle just began to rise, when he was body slammed by a bloody, screaming, psychotic 90-mile-an-hour Fitz. The blow brought them both to the ground and threw the rifle out of Brute's hands.

[Bomb Bloke]

Fitz didn't quite have Brute's huge size, nor did he have the mindless stamina that the aliens gave him. But what he did have was rage, and despite his own injuries, Brute was in worse condition.

 

The initial ramming attack threw both men off balance. Brute staggered, but then the rifle came back up - only to be sent off into the shadows by a kick from the squad leader, followed by another charge. The two men went down to the ground, Fitz on top, laying punch after punch into the larger man's passive face.

 

"You! Do! NOT! Betray! Your! SQUAD"

 

The final blow involved both fists coming down at once in an overhead swing. Brute's head slammed back into the concrete, expression unchanging. Fitz sat on his chest, his pants coming out as snarls from his contorted face.

 

Then Brute stood up.

 

He didn't even bother to shove the other man off, but rather just lifted himself from the ground to his feet. He did it so quickly that Fitz didn't even have time to react before he found himself face to sole with his boots, which immediatly made a closer connection still.

 

Brute strode in the direction of the rifle, while Fitz spat blood, straining to get up on his own feet. He gave up and simply crawled after the alien controlled one, tackling around the legs, standing at last, then delivering his own set of kicks.

 

Brute stood again, stared at his squad leader with a sneer, then started to run into an office, then up the stairs within. Fitz followed. A large trail of blood followed both men.

 

-----------------------------

 

Hankosha made it back to the bottom floor of the wharehouse, and checked the scene. Blood covered most of the large area of the floor. It was obvious that there had been a fight. His gaze swept till he saw the bullet-ridden corpse of Deet.

 

He heard a movement outside the door, and instantly dropped to a crouch, pistol drawn and aimed. The small figure of the ASIO agent slowly came into view around the doorway, mostly obscured by the large man he was trying to carry.

 

His eyes widened as he took in the scene. He lowered Sandy to the ground, and collapsed against a wall to rest.

 

"What happened?"

 

"I don't know. I left them for a minute or two, then I came back..."

 

Jasper examined Deet from his seated position.

 

"Those are bullet holes. This wasn't done by the aliens."

 

"Brute."

 

"We need to keep moving. I saw the SkyRanger on the roof."

 

As if they couldn't hear the thing humming away. A faint vibration ran through the enitre building.

 

Hankosha moved towards Gaston. "We'll take them up one at a time."

 

Jasper rose, and between them they lifted the frenchman, and moved towards the nearest set of stairs. They both noticed the trail of blood leading off in another direction, but decided to leave it alone.