Return of the Phoenix - 01 (22 page)

He hit the sternum of the chest and sunk his blade as deeply as he could, then rode it down, but only a few inches. The beast’s skin was thick and tougher than saddle leather. Hank hung there a moment debating what to do. The beast had just plucked the parachute from its face when it realized that its ear was on fire. It had stopped stomping through the countryside and the squad was shooting up its lower legs…but as thick as its skin was, it was nothing more than a minor nuisance.

Suddenly the beast let out a roar and shook its huge head, trying to figure out what was biting its ear. It swung a slow, but mighty hand up and slapped the ear with a thundering clap that
had
to have ruptured an ear drum, and seemed to knock the beast silly. It also shook Hank and caused the blade to cut down and through another foot or so of flesh. Hank renewed his grip and began to bounce on the handle of the razor sharp sword. With each downward bounce, the blade cut downward a little more.

The beast slowly recovered from slapping itself silly and shoved a mighty finger as deep into its ear as it could in an a
ttempt to dig out whatever was stinging it. Its tiny eyes were squinted shut as it dug in earnest to dislodge the stinging nuisance from its ear.

Apollo directed his squad to spread out in a semi-circle around the front of the troll, concentrating their fire about the ankles and knees. Even the heavier M-4s with their heavier round were having no effect on the troll. The hide was just too damned thick. It was like shooting BBs at a bull. It might feel it, and it might make it mad, but you aren’t going to hunt down and kill anything with a Daisy air rifle.

“We have to keep this thing distracted or Hank is toast. Look for a tender spot and concentrate your fire!” Apollo barked.

Hank continued to bounce on his blade, and each bounce brought him closer to the ground, but he was still near the top of the beast’s great belly. Cutting through the chest was taking fo
rever, and Hank was beginning to think that soon the effects of the grenade would wear off on the monster and it would notice another pest stinging it on its chest and use a mighty paw to swat him like a fly. He continued to bounce, faster and faster, the cuts coming quicker, but with less length. Soon he found himself at the roundest part of its pot belly and Hank feared that he wouldn’t be able to make the underside of the cut. He continued to bounce, his hands and arms beginning to feel the burn of holding his weight on the thin handle.

He dared to break his grip on the blade and keyed the coms. “Team Leader, target the cut! Target the cut!” He grabbed the handle of his katana again and continued his bouncing in earnest.

“You heard him, redirect! Redirect! I want a line of fire on that incision!” Apollo ordered, instantly, all the weapons fire was redirected with precision. The cut was barely an inch wide at this point, but their training and superior eyesight and reflexes had the grand majority of the shots hitting the mark.

Almost immediately he heard bullets ricocheting off the beasts hide near him. He closed his eyes and continued his bouncing until he heard a great ripping sound and he was su
ddenly free-falling through the air. When he hit the ground, he rolled as fast and hard as he could and rolled against the troll’s foot. Hank scrambled like made to get over the foot and away from the spillage that he knew must be coming.

He ran and jumped behind a natural berm, trying to catch his breath. When he finally turned and looked back, the beast was simply standing there, its intestines hanging almost to the ground; but very little blood below it.

“Son of a...” he muttered.

Over the coms he heard Apollo order, “Switch to frags.”

The squad members began lobbing fragmentation grenades into the hanging innards of the troll. As each grenade exploded, pieces of troll innards blew out, and then the fluids came. Soon there was a puddle under the monster. The troll, in its simple-mindedness, had no idea what was going on. It kept looking below it, wondering what this stuff was coming from its belly. When it tried to take a step, it literally got hung up on its own intestines and tripped, slipping in the gore.

When the troll toppled to the ground, it shook and trembled from the impact. Dust blew out in all directions and many of the squad members almost lost their footing. The troll wasn’t dead, though, and tried to push itself up out of the gore. Tracy ran up with the M-4 and emptied two full magazines into the closest eye. He barely dodged a great hand that swatted at him, but he rolled out of the way in time. As the hand withdrew and settled back to try to push the troll back up, he ran back up to the troll’s face, pulled the pin on a fragmentation grenade and shoved it as far into the destroyed eye socket as he could, then was lifted off the ground as the troll rose. He dangled momentarily before fal
ling to the ground and rolling away. A moment later the grenade detonated and the troll staggered in mid-rise.

Smoke rose from the destroyed eye socket and the troll seemed badly disoriented. At first it tried to continue to lift itself, then one arm gave out and it tilted. Then the other arm gave out and it collapsed on its face, breaking a tooth and biting off a po
rtion of its thick and meaty tongue upon impact.

The squad surrounded it, barrels trained on its head, carefu
lly watching it. Looking to see if it was breathing still, but it appeared to be stopped. Donovan climbed up on its back and pulled a stethoscope out. He listened to the beast for a moment then shook his head.

“OpCom, Team Leader. Tango neutralized.”

“We see that, Apollo. Good job, son. Apaches are inbound and cleanup crews are en route.” He could almost hear the colonel smiling over the coms. “We’ll have transport ready for you boys inside the hour.”

“Copy that, sir.”

Apollo turned to his squad and gave them a thumbs-up. “Another Atta boy from the boss. Ride home is on the way. Smoke ‘em if you got ‘em!”

“Right. Smoking isn’t good for your health, Apollo,” Hank said, wiping the troll blood from his katana.

“Neither is riding a troll without an approved saddle, Padre, but that didn’t stop you.” He gave him a wink and a smile.

*****

“That has got to be a record, colonel.” Laura turned from her console.

“Makes you wish we kept records of response reactions, doesn’t it?” Matt smiled.

“We never got a chance to use the drones, sir,” she observed.

“True, but there will be other times,” Mitchell responded. Looking about the room and the numerous techs making their notes and doing their related tasks, he nodded, “There will be plenty more opportunities.”

“Ahem, colonel?” Evan had stuck his head in the door of the command center, “If the operation is concluded, sir, could I borrow you and Ms. Youngblood for a few moments?”

“Of course, Dr. Evans,” Mitchell stated almost too loudly. Even to Laura, it sounded ‘off’. She didn’t think they were foo
ling anybody who actually worked there, but if Matt insisted that they continue the charade, she would go along with it.

As they stepped into the hallway, Evan directed them back toward his lab. “I’ve found something that I think you might be interested in seeing.”

“Care to clue us in while we walk, doc? You know the whole science talk is over my head,” Matt admitted.

“Certainly, colonel,” Evan began, “as you know, we have numerous samples of blood from different…umm…’donors’ that have been collected over the years.”

“Correct. This is what you were working on before you…well, before?” Matt asked.

“Yes. It is.” Evan smiled slightly. He found it odd that the colonel found his incarceration more difficult to speak of than he did. “Anyway, sir, I may have found something that we can weaponize.”

Matt stopped in midstride. “A vamp-specific weapon?”

Evan smiled. “Not
just
a vampire specific weapon, colonel. A
natural born
specific weapon.”

Matt thought a moment. “So we’re talking one kind of va
mpire? That might not be so helpful, Evan—”

“No, sir. Not just vampires, but natural born vampire or na
tural born werewolf.” He sounded almost giddy. “And I’m not positive, sir, but it might also work on other creatures that can transfer their disease vectors, if there is a ‘natural born’ monotype, then there is a distinct possibility that the weaponization complex can work on the homogenous…”

“Okay, you’re losing me,” Matt said, shaking his head.

“Right. Okay. Like an eighth grader…gotcha.” Matt frowned at him as he continued. “If I’m right and we can get this developed into a working prototype and it actually works, then it should work for natural born ‘anything’…vampire or werewolf. And if there are other monsters out there that have the same…umm…’virus’ in them like the vamps and wolfs, then there is a good possibility that it will work on them as well.” Evan was practically jumping up and down.

Matt was nodding his head. “Okay, Evan, I can see you’re really excited about this. But I thought that the whole ‘natural born’ thing was really rare?”

“Yes, but if you go by the legends, and let’s face it, so far the legends have been pretty damned spot-on, if the natural born
creator
dies, then all of their progeny dies along with them.” Evan was nodding his head, waiting for Matt to catch on. Slowly the light flickered to life. Laura’s mouth stood agape.

“Do you
really
think it possible?” Matt asked, incredulous.

“Very,” he said, smiling from ear to ear.

“That’s great news, Evan. Keep us abreast of what you find, thank you,” Laura said quickly, then grabbed Matt’s arm and pulled him away, “What about the squads, Matt?”

“What about them?” he said.

“What do you mean, ‘what about them’? You can’t be that callous!”

Matt was honestly confused by her anger. “Explain you
rself.”

“Matt, let’s say this thing works and we go off killing all the natural borns?”

“Then fuckin’-A, let’s do it!”

“And if we happen to accidentally kill the natural born that we extracted the virus from for the ‘augmentation’ for our squads?” she asked.

“So?” he said. “Laura, they’ve never been allowed to transition. Technically, they aren’t ‘wolves’, therefore, no harm, no foul!”

“Bullshit!” she whispered. “That is complete bullshit and you know it. We prevented their shifting, but that doesn’t stop them from being what they
are
!”

“Remember your place, XO,” Matt warned. Laura stiffened and narrowed her gaze. “First off, if he’s right and this is all based on ‘legend’ then let’s just take a good goddamned look at these legends, shall we?”

“Fine, let’s do that.” She crossed her arms defensively over her chest.

“Where exactly did we learn about the wolf’s bane in the first place? The legends. And it worked. Do you remember the story? The woodsman that was attacked and took the wolf’s bane for two years to prevent the shift so that he could
hunt down
and
kill
the wolf that attacked him so he could break the curse?” Matt was red in the face. “Ringing any bells now?”

Laura considered his words. “But what if that one is just a story? What if it’s wrong?”

“What if Evan is wrong and all the legends are bullshit? Then all his weapon will do is kill a few natural borns and it’s still no harm, no foul,” he spat.

Laura calmed considerably. “I still don’t like gambling with the squad’s lives…”

“We aren’t.” Matt said. “For all we know, his drawing board idea won’t go anywhere.”

“It still scares me.”

“You’re tougher than this,” Matt said, turning away. “You need to start acting it.”

20

Damien pulled the black SUV into the underground parking garage and began the slow descent into the lower levels. Deeper and deeper he drove until he reached the lowest level. He slowly pulled the SUV to the furthest wall and turned off the lights. He checked his mirrors to ensure nobody had followed him then tapped his horn twice.

Rolling down the driver’s window, he looked up at the digital camera mounted in the corner and waved. Slowly the back wall of the parking garage parted and allowed him to pull the SUV into the hidden parking level on the other side. He drove another 50 yards and parked the truck. He stepped out into the cool air of the lower level and his eyes instantly adjusted the blackness. He saw three figures approaching him and he opened the back door of the SUV and pulled his father’s prone body out and tossed him over his shoulder.

“Why isn’t his head covered?” one of the guards asked.

“His mind is toast, man. He couldn’t tell you where he was if he had to,” Damien explained, turning slightly to show the blank expression on Franklin’s face. “Now, take me to Paul.”

The guards looked at each other as if debating whether or not to trust Damien. The larger of the two touched the earpiece in his ear then said, “Let them through. Foster’s orders.”

“See? I wouldn’t shit you guys.” Damien smirked.
You’re my favorite turds.

They led Damien with his package across the parking area and to a set of ornate double doors. The largest guard reached up and grabbed the oversized knocker and struck once, echoing through the room before opening the doors.

The room was lit entirely by candles. Large and small candelabras stood throughout the room. Heavy tapestries hung from the walls and rich Persian rugs lay upon the floor. Across from the doors stood a large four-post bed with colorful fabrics draped from it. Antique furniture was set about the room and a grand piano sat to one side. Large pillows were strewn about and women lay upon them or draped themselves from the furniture like decorations. Paul stood from the edge of the bed and slowly walked across the room toward Damien. Damien kneeled, his father still across his shoulder.

Paul walked slowly toward Damien and observed that he kept his head bowed, his eyes never left the floor. He knew that Damien not only feared him, but respected him, and he apprec
iated greatly the life that Paul had bestowed to him. As Paul approached, Damien realized that Paul wore no clothing. He must have been feeding, and he interrupted it. “Forgive me, father, I did not mean to interrupt your meal.”

“No need, my son. I was fucking, not eating.” Paul smiled and extended his ring hand for Damien to kiss. “I never mix the two pleasures.” Paul laughed slightly. “Aww, hell, who am I kidding? I mix them all the time.” He took Damien by the chin and pulled him to his feet so that he could look him in the eye. “So tell me, my child, how bad is it?”

“They did something to his mind. If I didn’t know better, I’d think a natural had gotten to him. Most likely chemical brainwashing,” Damien said.

“Why could it not be a natural born?” Foster inquired.

“Mitchell, sire. He detests our kind.”

“
Our
kind?” Foster turned to Damien, his inquiry clear. Did Damien dare to compare himself to his sire, a nearly three hundred-year-old natural born vampire?

“I meant only…our kind…in…that we are both vampire, sire.” Damien’s eyes were lowered.

“I know what you meant, my child,” Foster said softly, his voice like music to Damien’s ears. “You want so desperately to be like me. The power, the nobility, the money, the
abilities
.”

Damien was smart enough to hold his tongue. Nothing he could say at this point would be the right answer. If he dis
agreed, that would be telling his master that he was wrong. If he agreed, his master may well kill him for coveting what he had. Damien could only bow and scrape to him and hope that he would soon tire of toying with him. Luckily for Damien, Paul Foster simply enjoyed fucking with the minds of his minions.

He reached down and grasped a handful of Franklin’s hair and lifted his head so that he could look into his face. “What’s with the stupid look on his face?”

“He’s still highly suggestible. I told him to sit down and shut up and he did,” Damien responded.

“Very well.” Foster turned and retrieved a robe from a nea
rby chair. Wrapping the heavy garment around himself, he somehow looked smaller. Foster was barely six foot tall, but he seemed much larger to those who witnessed him. Damien assumed it was a trick of the mind from the power he exuded due to his age. He appeared to be maybe forty years old, but at nearly three hundred years old, Paul was in incredible physical shape. “Set him here so he doesn’t fall over,” he ordered.

Damien sat his father in one of the high back chairs and held his shoulders steady. Foster pulled another chair over and stared into his eyes. “Tell me.”

“Tell you what?” Franklin said drunkenly.

Foster smiled coldly. “Tell me what they did to you.”

“Who?” Franklin asked, his face a blank slate.

“Mitchell’s people…tell me what they did to you. From the beginning.”

“Mitchell?” Franklin struggled against Damien’s hands. “Mitchell? Mitchell needs…he needs…he needs..”

“What did Mitchell do to you?” Paul Foster’s stare intens
ified.

“Mitchell needs…” Franklin tried to break eye contact, but Damien held his face. “He needs…he needs…needs…”

“What did Mitchell
do to you
?!” Foster practically shouted.

“He needs…needs…needs…
needles
! Needles! They stuck a needle in me,” Franklin gasped. He was gulping air, like he was trying not to drown. He kept trying to pull his head up and away from Damien’s grasp but he held his head still, their gazes locked. “They stuck a needle in my arm, and I told them my plan.”

Foster never broke eye contact, but he contemplated ending Franklin’s life there and then. He needed to know how much Franklin told them. Their survival may depend on it and Fran
klin’s most certainly did. “What exactly did you tell them?”

“That I was trying to save Damien. I had to save Damien. He was all I had left.”

“Save him from what?”

“From Mitchell.” Franklin was sobbing. “From his damned Monster Squads.”

“What else did you tell them?”

“Nothing.”

“Did you tell them about me?”

“I don’t know who you are,” Franklin admitted. “Who are you?” he asked almost hypnotically.

Foster smiled. “Did you tell him of your plan to expose him and his squad?”

“Yes,” Franklin admitted.

“How did they catch you?”

Franklin’s brows knitted together. “I don’t know. I stuck the USB bug into the computer and all went well. I was leaving and a guard tackled me. Treated me like a common criminal. The twit.”

Foster smiled at the thought.

“And then?”

“Then they cuffed me,” Franklin said with apparent disbelief. “When I wouldn’t cooperate, they stuck me with a needle and everything got fuzzy. I felt woozy. And they made me talk to them,” Franklin pleaded. “I didn’t want to, but I
had
to,” he whined.

“Yes, of course you did,” Foster cooed. “What happened next?”

“I woke up next to the most beautiful redhead I’d ever seen. She sucked my dick and I really liked it,” Franklin smiled.

Foster’s face went blank. “You what?”

“I remember being in New Orleans and there was this beautiful redhead with the most enchanting green eyes…” Franklin was smiling. “She had the biggest penis I’d ever seen.”

Damien let go of his father’s head, “What the fuck?!” Foster hissed and Damien’s shocked eyes met his. He reluctantly reached back down and held his father’s head in place. Foster continued staring into his eyes.

“What then?”

“I went back to Washington. But I couldn’t stop thinking about her,” Franklin admitted.

“Let’s not discuss the transsexual for the moment. How did you get to New Orleans?”

“I don’t know. I can’t remember. I just woke up there. Ma
ybe she brought me there. She had the most beautiful green eyes.” Franklin smiled. “I think she put her penis in my butt because it was really sore…”

“Gah! Focus! What transpired between Oklahoma City and you waking up in New Orleans?” Foster asked.

Franklin’s brows knitted together in thought. “I can’t remember. There’s nothing there…”

Foster sighed. “He’s useless. There’s nothing of usefulness in there.” He waved him away with his hand.

Damien was torn. On one hand he was totally disgusted by his father’s admission of having bedded a transsexual, but at the same time, he still felt that his connections in Washington were their best shot at getting the Monster Squad shut down without either exposing themselves or losing any of their own numbers.

“Sire, I still think he can be of use to us,” Damien said. “If you can clear his mind of this…blockage, he will remember his rage toward Mitchell. He will have back his old desires of d
estroying them. He will stop at nothing. And he may still have usefulness in Washington.”

“We never needed a politician before, and the one time that we tried to use one, the attempt failed us,” Foster said, obviously ready to give up entirely on the idea.

“It never hurts to have friends in high places,” Damien whispered. “A United States Senator, whose only son is a vampire in
your
service?”

Foster debated on simply feeding on the old man. Still, the boy had a point.

“And I think that if you could clear his mind of what Mitchell did to him, give him back his true focus, he could be a powerful ally, and he could very well take up more of Mitchell’s time in battle than we ever could.” Damien pointed to the withered man in the chair. “If he were given back his direction, he may still be able to see this through.”

Foster weighed the options and decided that even if Damien was wrong and he still allowed Franklin to live, and somehow Franklin failed at every attempt at Mitchell perhaps the boy had a point. Franklin’s attempts to engage Mitchell and bring him down could keep his focus redirected…at least long enough that when they did structure a strike against the Monster Squad, they could coordinate it so that it did enough damage to truly cripple them.

“Very well,” Paul said. “I will give him another chance and hope that he proves useful. Hold his head and I will clear his mind of what Mitchell has done to him.” Foster smiled. “Then we shall see if your father has any real teeth and knows how to use them.”

*****

When morning rolled around, Jack found the bed empty next to him. He slipped some clothes on and grabbed the walking stick that Nadia had brought him and strolled down to the kitchen. He didn’t feel the need to use the walking stick, but it was a gift from his beloved and it felt good in his hand.

Jack entered the kitchen and Nadia wasn’t there. He found some coffee and filled a mug, added some sugar and cream into it and walked out into the garden. Nadia wasn’t there either. He went past the stone walls and climbed the ramparts. He checked the tree line, but couldn’t see any movement there either. Co
ming back into the dining hall, he ran into Natashia.

“It is done?”

“By ‘it’ I take it you mean my mating with Nadia?”

Natashia’s eyes narrowed but she said nothing.

“Yes, it is done,” he said. “And I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

“Stupid human!” she spat and spun around.

“Don’t you mean, ‘stupid
wolf
’?” he demanded.

Natashia spun on him, her eyes glowing amber, her voice a growl, “No. I meant what I said.
Human
. You are not worthy of my daughter.”

“It wasn’t just my choice,
mom
. It was your daughter’s as well.
And
the Fates,” he goaded.

“Insolent fool!” she yelled and advanced. Jack kicked his walking stick up into his hands and spun it like a bo stick. He assumed a defensive posture and prepared to knock out his mother-in-law’s teeth. She paused and laughed at him. “Seriou
sly? You think you could stand against
me
?”

“Any day, any time, mom,” Jack said.

She dropped her robe and although Jack’s impression was not ‘mom’, but ‘hot older sister’, she did nothing for him. It was probably the really high bitch-factor. Before he could think much more, she shifted and Jack faced her Halfling form. She nearly tripled in mass, standing close to seven foot tall and, if Jack’s assessment was right, close to four hundred pounds of rippling muscle, teeth, and claws, her reach would be unreal. Jack assessed the damage she could do and realized, even with his augmentation and nearly healed body, he was in deep shit.

He lowered his stance and took a half step back, assuming a forty-five degree angle, keeping the stick extended slightly to his front so that he could extend his reach. He knew it wouldn’t be enough.