Chapter 11
There’s A Dark Cloud For Every Silver Lining
“It’s nice to see that you managed to almost get yourself killed,” the Guildmaster growled as I walked into his office. I had been rushed into emergency surgery as soon as Nick had returned us to the Guild. A lot of that had been hunters scrubbing out the remains of silver that contaminated my wounds and then letting my body take over before it shut down. From what Nick had told me when I woke up, it had been a close thing. I could feel that my body was still putting itself back together, but I was more or less operational. The Guildmaster’s expression told me he wasn’t happy that I had gone out with Nick, and even less pleased that I had managed to almost get myself killed. I kept my face neutral and sat down in my normal chair.
“What the hell were the witch-hunters doing in West Tampa?” I asked, completely ignoring the Guildmaster’s chiding remark. He growled a bit, but picked up a manila folder off of his increasingly crowded desk. The anger drained from his face to be replaced by an almost worried expression. The expression disturbed me. I knew that as the Guildmaster’s personal hitter, I was one of the few hunters that the Guildmaster could be totally honest and open with. It was one of the reasons that the personal hitter was usually a close friend of the Guildmaster. Still, it was disconcerting to see my leader look like he didn’t know what to do.
“I don’t know,” the Guildmaster exhaled, “Neither does our intel section or the lord’s intel section. Ronin told me a few weeks ago that he was getting information from the feral dogs in the county that there were more witch-hunters than normal. I dismissed it at the time. Half of the time – well, you know how I feel about it.” I nodded in silent agreement. Ronin, the deputy commander of the hit packs, knew many of the packs of feral and stray dogs that roamed the streets of Tampa and the back areas of the county. They were useful sometimes, but most of the information that they managed to give us was so vague as to be useless. Ronin still put his faith in his animal informants. In my experience, the strays were about as useful as retarded two-year-olds.
“You want me to investigate?” I asked, trying to shake my boss out of his momentarily melancholy. I knew that the Guildmaster tended to internally beat himself up when he made a mistake. Sometimes that was good, and sometimes it was just useless.
“No,” the Guildmaster answered, visibly shaking himself out of internal reflections, “You’re good at a lot of things Marcus, but this kind of investigation is not one of those. I’ll have Baser send one of the intel boys out to see what is going on. I need some hard data. Matric informed me before you came in that the lord’s intelligence section considered the presence of the Sword to be an anomaly rather than a trend indicator.”
“What the fuck? They’re ignoring it? Maybe I should go down there and talk to them myself,” I said, my anger leaking into my voice. The Guildmaster gave a brief chuckle, but shook his head.
“There’s something going on over at the Manor,” the Guildmaster told me, “Something that they haven’t told me. I have a nasty suspicion that the lord is planning something to take advantage of the aftermath of the Sun City battle.” He turned his attention to another folder on his desk. “At any rate, I have another job for you. It’s something simple and easy.” His eye held a mischievous glint that I knew didn’t bode well for me.
“CEASE FIRE, GODDAMNIT!” I yelled at the lycanthropes on the firing line. I grabbed the closest lycanthrope, and snatched the assault rifle out of his hands, “What part of cease fire did you not fucking understand?” The warrior’s face was a mixture of anger and fear. I shoved him away as our altercation finally drew enough attention from the others that they ceased firing. I took a few deep breaths before beginning again. It also took me a moment to get all of my plans to kill my boss out of my head.
I will be the first to admit that my boss has a nasty sense of humor. Moreover, he has an even nastier sense of punishment. Hence, my current job. The Guildmaster still didn’t know what was being planned in the Manor, but he was fairly sure that the warriors of the packs would need to be prepared for some heavy fighting. So I had been sent to work with several warriors on the basics of marksmanship and fire discipline. Too many of the warriors did little more than spray and pray with fully automatic weapons, which wasted valuable silver ammunition. The idea was to get them used to properly using the weapons before giving them the silver ammunition that the Guild controlled. Good idea – until I actually saw the pack warriors using the few assault rifles and submachine guns on the shooting range the Guild had erected near County Line Road in the eastern part of the county.
“All of you, carefully place your weapons on the firing bench in front of you and take a step back,” I ordered. As the eight warriors followed my instructions, I walked out to the targets. As I suspected, most of them had a few holes that invariably rose to the right or left depending on what weapon the warrior was shooting. I just shook my head in annoyance. I warned each of them about the tendency of the weapon to rise in full auto fire. I reminded them to attempt to counteract the muzzle by leaning in to the weapon, and they had reliably completely forgotten that tidbit of information. I knew that I was beginning to really lose what little patience I had. A lack of patience was one of my character flaws that the Guildmaster had made me painfully aware of over the years I had worked with him. Sometimes, he liked to put me in positions where that flaw had to be overcome – or used as punishment, like now.
“All of you are here because you are supposed to be the best marksman of your packs,” I began with my teeth clenched and my normal rage held firmly in check, “I know that some of you have impressive war records, but this is fucking ridiculous.” The warriors had the decency to look ashamed at my comment. I walked the firing line, looking back between the atrocious firing cards and the warriors standing with slightly nervous looks on their faces. I needed to come up with a better way to train these warriors before the lord announced his plans. The biggest problem was me, and I knew it. I was not a trainer by temperament. I got easily annoyed when those under my tutelage didn’t progress as quickly as I thought that they should. Especially on things that I had already explained in detail – several times.
“Okay, let’s go over this again,” I told them, “Some of you are using various submachine guns. These things are called bullet hoses for a reason. They have an extremely high rate of fire. Even with a nine millimeter cartridge, these weapons produce an impressive amount of recoil, which causes the barrel to rise, which means that YOU MISS THE FUCKING TARGET! You will compensate for this by doing one of two things. You will either use short bursts of three to five rounds or you will learn to lean into the weapon to use your mass to help control the weapon. Preferably you will do both, but I’d be just as happy if you could do just one. This is even more important for you with rifles because they have a stronger recoil.”
“Most of these things have selections for burst fire,” one of the warriors said with an almost snide manner. I really wanted to hit him. “Why aren’t we just putting them on burst fire and training with that?” The warriors around him nodded with an enthusiasm that I chalked up to not wanting to be further embarrassed by their poor performance.
“Oh, I’m making you do this the hard way for my own entertainment, am I?” I replied with a sarcastic tone, “I have no ulterior objective, such as making sure that you will survive with one of these things. I’m not making sure that you can hit when you need to spray a large group or just attack a single subject.” I would have continued berating them, but they were saved by the ringing of my cell phone. I looked at the phone number flashing on the display. The Guildmaster. It was a simple text message. RTB. Return to base. The lord had announced his plan.
When I returned to the Guild, it looked deserted. Usually there were about twenty or so hunters at the Guild at all times. Mainly these were our intel, medical, communications, and armorers, along with some hunters waiting for targets of opportunity or for rapid rescue of warriors or shaman that had managed to get themselves into a nasty position. As I entered, I only saw Baser and another hunter in the intelligence area. I walked over to Baser. He looked up with a start as I came up to his desk.
“Shit, I didn’t see you come in Ranger,” he said with surprise in his voice.
“How the fuck could you miss me?” I asked in reply, “Where the hell is everyone?”
“Oh, that,” Baser said, and he took a moment to look around, “Well, Sneller and Deadeye have been sending everyone out to their advance points. I’m getting swamped with intel requests on a whole bunch of sites.” He turned to his computer and suddenly stopped in mid-motion. “Oh yeah, the Guildmaster said he wanted to see you as soon as you came in.” Without further ado, Baser went back to his work. I walked to the Guildmaster’s office without another word. The advance points were positions around the county where hunters could group before launching a major job. With almost all of the hunters at their advance points, the Guild was about to conduct a series of simultaneous jobs. The lord was planning something massive. Massive usually meant complex, and that meant that something was bound to get fucked up, which meant that someone, probably a hunter, would end up dead. Hunters were firm believers in keeping jobs as simple as possible. Less chance of something fucking up and one of us dead.
I walked into the Guildmaster’s inner office. I was surprised to see his wife standing next to him. She was dressed in tactical gear with a worried expression on her face. Something was very wrong if she had decided to get back into the hunting game. She acknowledged me with a quick nod and then looked back to her husband. He didn’t look up at me, but held his hand in a silent command to wait quietly until he was done.
“Make sure that all of the packs are clear about their jobs,” the Guildmaster said to whomever he was conferencing on his computer, “This operation is so complex that a minor mistake could unfurl the whole thing. I’ll have Dennis coordinate with the Spiritmaster, but you need to hold things down until I get there.” Finally he looked up at me.
“The lord wants a quick finish to this war,” the Guildmaster said as I approached, “I think the Spiritmaster, or one of his Red Knights got it into his head that he can attack the TCV Hall and eliminate the entire council. I pleaded with him to reconsider, but he’s young, stubborn, and has had victories under his belt. The operation will commence in under twenty-four hours. It will be a nighttime - nighttime – raid on the TCV Hall. The Knights and pack warriors will lead a straight siege, with the lord leading them in. I’m sure that the Knights tried to keep him from doing that, but, like I said earlier, he’s a stubborn one. The hunters and shaman will provide surgical support. You will go in with the main siege and try to keep the lord alive. Take whatever you need. There will be a few hunters also going in on the siege, as well as a few shaman, but the plan that the lord has formulated has the bulk of the Guild acting in diversionary operations, preparing for mop-up operations and to strike any targets of opportunity. I’ve been ordered to oversee those operations. Since I can’t go with Lord Vollen, I need to send my personal hitter. Your primary objective is to protect the lord, although I suspect that the Knights will have a good deal of their own people around him. Your secondary is to locate whoever is the new Bleeder leader and kill him. I may not approve of this plan, but I will be damned if I don’t do my best to try and make it a success.”
I nodded to all of it. Sometimes even I knew better than to just make a flippant comment. This was going to be a brutal battle, and I was going to need all the time I could get to prepare for it. Lord Vollen was acting rashly. It was going to take a small miracle to keep most of the siege force alive. I smoldered over the apparent lack of concern that the lord had for his warriors. I was tempted to go over to the Manor and beat the hell out of him, but that idea passed as the practical concerns of the job came up. I needed to gather equipment, memorize all the available information the Guild had on the Council House and the Inner Councilmembers, and somehow try to grab a few hours sleep.
I returned to my room, sighing as I flipped on the light switch. I looked longingly at the bed, but I knew that if I was going to survive the assault on the Hall, I had a great deal of work to do. I stripped out of my clothing, letting it scatter across the floor. I sat down in the chair facing my computer. After booting up, I researched the files concerning the TCV Hall. The building plans were sparse on useful information, and even that little bit was outdated. The TCV Hall was actually built by a Northerner human that had come to Tampa in the late 1890’s. He liked the warm climate and built an expansive mansion next to the bay. When the vampire infestation became virulent in the 1920’s, the elder members went along with the organization of a new council rather than the older coven system that the vampires used throughout their history. The original council chair found the TCV Hall “quaint” and had his ghouls take the place over. It wasn’t hard, because the current owner of the house had overspent himself on illegal booze, and was willing to trade the house for getting the gangsters off his back. It was also about this time that the vampires in Florida began their long association with the criminal element of the state. There had been several renovations to make the building more secure for the vampires that resided within its walls, but the external structure had changed very little. The building was split into three wings. The right wing held offices for the council members and their ghouls. Actual plans were not available and the composite sketches from a few hunters and other lycanthropes that had gotten in and out of the TCV Hall were skimpy at best. The central part of the building, however, was well-known. This was where the vampires hosted official events – such as entertaining a Turaki peacekeeper – and also where the Inner Council met. The large double front doors opened into a central foyer dominated by a horseshoe shaped staircase that led up to the second floor. On the first floor, behind the foyer, was a ballroom that held most of the leeches’ social events, including the one or two that lycanthropes were invited. Connected to the ballroom was a kitchen with a walk-in cooler and freezer. It was assumed by most the Guild’s leadership that at least five to twenty humans were stored in the cooler for feasts. The second floor of the central part was the Council Room. It had no known specifications. It could be set up any way they desired, from modern to Gothic. From what Bradon told me about meetings of Inner Council, the décor changed almost from month to month depending on what was in fashion at the time. This worried me, as I hate hitting a place with no knowledge of where anything was. It was a good way to give the leeches your pelt. So far, this seemed to be the main objective of this job.
What really concerned me was the left wing. There was almost no information on that side of the building at all. Rumor was that the Inner Council had their quarters in that part of the building, but other information also had the left wing as the headquarters for the alchemists. The Guild had never been able to insert any of its hunters into the Hall to gather the proper intelligence. Anytime a hunter went to the Hall, they were closely escorted by a number of vampires, with at least one Bleeder in the contingent. My own personal suspicions were that the left wing could possibly be the headquarters of the Bleeders. The Bleeders pretty much vanished from the face of Tampa except to come out and cause a bit of mayhem. There were very few places in the county where a vampire could just disappear, and the Hall was on the top of the list. If I was going to sanction the new Bleeder leader, the left wing was where I would have to look. I concluded in my mind to make sure my weapon and gear loadout could help compensate for the lack of information. There was no weapon that could match good intelligence, but some of the better ones made life a little easier if a surprise popped up.
Technically, all of the vampires within the territory claimed by the TCV belonged to the Council. The ruling body of the TCV was called the Inner Council, but was often just called the Council. The Council was made up of five elder vampires, which made it a dangerous target all by itself. To make matters more fun, each member also had one to five ghouls with them at all times. Intelligence said that most of the ghouls had enough training to be dangerous. The political make-up of the Inner Council was evenly spread, with two activist Councilmembers, two conservative Councilmembers and a Council Chair that was usually a moderate, but tended to lean one way or the other as issues arose. The heads of the Bleeders and the alchemists usually participated in Council meetings and affairs, but were not considered as members of the Council. Each Councilmember selected his or her own replacement, almost guaranteeing that the political make-up never changed. The Council usually favored stability and consensus over all else.
The activist side was led by Councilmember Mario Silanti, a vampire of forty years. He despised the Peace and often took actions to weaken it. He hated lycanthropes with a passion and was considered a major threat by both the Hunters Guild and the Bleeders. That bit of information had come from Bradon. It was an open secret before the war erupted that if the hunters managed to assassinate Silanti, the Bleeders would work to ensure there were no repercussions. I made sure I knew his face, because I had decided early on, that if Silanti came within effective range of my weapons, he would become the primary target. All of our current intelligence on the Inner Council said that Silanti’s power was growing by leaps and bounds as long as the war raged in Hillsborough County – and I could see how the younger vampires of the council would support Silanti. If Silanti managed to gain de facto control of the Inner Council, the war would turn genocidal – and very likely bring in forces everyone wanted to keep far, far away from us. Silanti had two ghouls. One was a female that acted as his secretary and had no known combat training, but I suspected that she knew some tricks. The other was a male that kept Silanti tied to the human underworld. The ghoul had survived several years in the brutal drug trade before being “recruited” by Silanti. That made him dangerous, and definitely someone to watch.
The other activist was a vampire of eighty years by the name of Richard Crawford. Crawford was a known supporter of a faction in vampire society called “the Naturalists.” They advocated that there was room on the planet for only one predator of humans, and that the two races must fight until one – the lycanthropes according to Crawford and his supporters – was exterminated. The Peace prevented that natural competition and therefore, it must be struck down. However, unlike Silanti, Crawford only acted politically and never took the initiative in any ploy. Bradon told me that Crawford was more of a shadow player in the twisted politics of the TCV. He didn’t actually get involved in any of the ploys and plots, but Crawford pulled enough strings to get the ball rolling. Bradon called him a “useful danger.” Crawford had four ghouls – one to act as his personal assistant, one bodyguard, and two errand boys. All of them were known to be dangerous in both hand to hand combat and firearms.
The conservative side of the Inner Council was headed by the elder vampire Samuel Davis. He had over a hundred and thirty years experience as a vampire, more than forty years as a Councilmember. According to various reports, including Bradon’s own observations, Davis was thoroughly convinced that the lycanthrope were an enemy to be destroyed. However, Davis knew better than to let an unrestricted war erupt between the two races, lest it become like the War Between the States that he had fought in as a Confederate. So, he supported the Peace and nurtured the Bleeders, under his pupil, Philip Bradon. His ghouls, all three, came from military backgrounds. One acted as his bodyguard and assistant, while the other two often acted as his personal hit team. All of them had either been trained or actually had trained Bleeders. Nick had run afoul of them a couple of years previously, and he had told me that they were damned good for a pair of ghouls. I committed their faces to memory in case I ran into them. I was looking at enough surprises in this job to let the two ghouls get the drop on me.
Davis’s much younger ally was Harris Montgomery. A vampire of only twenty years (relatively young in vampire politics), Harris was an outstanding young politician. He had managed to secure his seat through posturing himself as an almost clone of his predecessor. As soon as Montgomery assumed his seat from the “retired” elder vampire, Montgomery showed his true colors. Montgomery was of a new political philosophy that decided that the war between the vampire and the lycanthrope was a futile effort, and that the two races must coexist. He was annoying and embarrassing to the Inner Council, but he represented the views of many of the younger vampires who grew up listening to the ramblings of humans from the counter-culture movement. As Bradon put it, it was an unfortunate case of the rare times that humanity affected our part of reality. Although his credibility had dropped with the war, Montgomery was still an able caudillo, or boss. He was actually one vampire I would work not to kill on this job. His two ghouls were unknowns. According to reports, they often acted as retro-hippie girls, dressing in the costumes and using the dialect of the culture.
The Council Chair was held by Josephine Razor, a vampire that seemed to have exploded onto the Tampa political scene. The Guild first took notice of her only about four years ago, but she used her political abilities and seductress demeanor to not only gain her place as a Councilmember, but to ascend to the Chair. She was known to be deadly, cunning, and beautiful. Her true politics were unknown, as she tended to bounce between the two factions, often playing one against the other to get what she wanted, but I had a nasty feeling about her agenda. She didn’t have any known ghouls, and that worried me even more. I doubted that she neglected to make herself a servant or four, so it was more than likely she kept her ghoul or ghouls out of sight, until they could help her. Unfortunately, there was no time to reconnaissance and try to find these shadow ghouls. Another matter of hoping equipment and luck overcome lack of intelligence.
I leaned back in my chair and yawned; I was exhausted from all this computer research. As I did, I saw the clock behind me and read the numbers upside-down. The translation slid slowly between my eyes and my brain. Then I noticed why I was tired, I had been doing this for the past six hours. I didn’t have time to be wasting sitting around a computer with little information that could help me. I exited out of the database and shut the computer down. As the cooling fan whined down, I picked up the phone and dialed the armory.
“Yeah, whadda ya want?” came Boomer’s voice over the line. I had expected Gunny, but I figured he was busier than hell trying to prep enough gear for the hunters.
“Ranger here, Boomer,” I answered in a business tone, “I’m going to be up there in a few minutes to grab weapons and gear. I hope the Guildmaster told you.”
“Yeah, he told us that you and the others on the raid had priority. But we were expecting you a couple of hours ago. Gunny kept some of your favorites, but I don’t know if we still have much to give you.”
“Where is Gunny?” I asked. It wasn’t like him to leave Boomer alone too long with a pile of weapons at his disposal. Odd things tended to happen to weapons left in Boomer’s care. Like accessories that no one had thought of adding suddenly appearing.
“He’s outfitting a couple of the hit packs before they run out of here. I’ll be here when you get your ass up here. What are you planning on?” he asked, casually.
“Tactical nukes would be nice, for all the surprises I suspect on this raid.” I heard Boomer politely chuckle at that comment. “I’ll see what you’ve got left when I get up there. Is ammo good?”
“Not as good as I would like. I can get your supply, but the Silver Shoks are getting shot up pretty damn fast. We were supposed to get a shipment of them today, but they didn’t come in. In a couple of days, we might have to switch to slug bullets, which I know you enjoy.” I grimaced at that. Modern silver bullets, like Silver Shoks, were designed and tested through the latest technology, making them more accurate and reliable. Silver Shoks were the best of that line, although there were a few other lines with comparable performance abilities. Those lines mostly catered to the mainstream lycanthrope, not to the Hunters Guild, and as such, were not as reliable. Silver slug bullets, on the other hand, were standard bullets cast from silver. While much easier to produce, they suffered from the discrepancy of weight between lead and silver and the fact that silver didn’t squish out well enough to take the rifling of the barrel. This led to bullets that had a nasty tendency to do what you didn’t want, such as drop or curve, depending on the weapon. The only exception was for shotguns where rifling didn’t mean a damn.
“Thanks, I’ll be finished here in about five minutes, and then I’ll be up. Hold everything until I get there.” I hung up the phone and put on a pair of jeans and a button-down shirt that was in my closet. As I walked to the door, I grabbed my USP in its holster and placed it in the small of my back. I clicked out the light and walked to the elevator. The hallway was empty, and so was the elevator. It worried me because the only reason for my having the elevator all to myself was that the Guild was emptying in preparation for the upcoming raid.
The elevator toned as I reached the second floor. It opened up and I felt better as I walked into the intelligence’s crazy sprinting around their section. At least I wasn’t the only one driven insane by this raid. I made my way through the lunging bodies of the intelligence section to the corridor that led to the armory. At the end of the corridor was a pair of twelve foot tall reinforced doors. As I approached, they silently slid open, ushering me into the armory.
The Guild armory was actually one large room. Sections of chain-linked fencing separated the different weapon types. I was shocked at how empty it actually was. Racks normally full of assault rifles and sub- machine guns lay naked across the floor. Boomer sat at one of the few tables in the room in human form, examining an assault rifle’s trigger assembly. He didn’t look up as I walked across the naked concrete floor towards him. I stopped five feet from him and waited for about half a minute for him to be finished with what he was doing. It passed and he continued to fiddle with the trigger assembly. As I was about to speak, Boomer said, “Hi, Ranger. Your favorites are over in Pad A-1.” Rather than bother him, I walked over to the pad.
The pads were sections of the armory fenced off and usually locked. They were mission specific loadouts, and were kept separate from the rest of the weaponry. I walked over to the pad and opened the gate door. The two benches were sparsely littered with rifles, sub-machine guns, pistols, and grenades. I picked up the first rifle, a Barret M1982A1 “Lite Fifty,” considering it briefly. With a .50 caliber (half-inch diameter) bullet, there was very little that I couldn’t punch big holes through. However, it was not the type of weapon I could bring to this kind of raid. It was too long and heavy, although my strength in true form would have negated the weight problem completely. At five feet long, though, it was just too much long gun for inside work, and those big rounds tended to over-penetrate in the close confines of a building.
I picked up the next weapon and grinned. The Bowmasters had thoughtfully left me a “Master-Key” weapon combination. The main weapon was the tried and true Colt M4 carbine, but the wonderful folks over at KAC had added something extra. It had started out as a Remington 870, but KAC had removed the stock, shortened the barrel, and added a Picatinny-rail on the top so that the shotgun quickly attached to the M4’s rail-interface. Just for fun, Boomer had mounted a rigid side saddle to the left side of the shotgun’s receiver for carrying an additional five shotgun shells. It was a bit muzzle heavy, but being able to use either 5.56 mm rounds or specialty shotgun loads without changing weapons was a big advantage. There was one modification that I had to do myself though. I quickly undid the screws on the side and took off the carrying handle from the top of the weapon. A nice reflex sight was quickly attached to the rail. The red dot sight was much better for close quarters than the standard iron sights, or even the ACOG combat scope.
After checking the actions the Master-Key, I put it aside and began selecting the rest of arsenal. I began rummaging through the submachine guns for something to add another punch to my routine. Although I normally prefer Heckler & Koch’s line of MP5 SMG’s to anything else, sometimes there are situations that they are just not suited for; namely, any time where they are not the primary weapon. I have found that small machine pistols and compact sub-machine guns much more suited for the secondary or back-up weapon. I settled on the Glock 18 machine pistol, mostly because it had a high rate of fire and it accepted the 17-round magazines from a Glock 17. When planning for the unexpected, I try not to give Murphy any chances, such as running out of one type of ammunition or magazine. For the same reason, I selected the tiny Glock 26 for my back-up pistol for the night. It would rest in my boot holster with its ten-round magazine. If I needed to reload it, the 26 would accept either the 17-round magazine from the Glock 17 or the giant 33-round magazine from the machine pistol. I wanted to bring my USP, but decided against it. In our style of combat, the usual argument of small bullet versus big bullet didn’t usually apply – the amount of silver thrown out did.
Custom-built silver throwing knives for quiet kills would be on my shoulders and my Emerson CQC-7 for cutting things other than vampires. The machine pistol would go into a thigh holster on my right leg with a conformal 17-round magazine loaded into it. Five of the big 33-round magazines would be strapped around the leg on the holster band for easy access. The Glock 17 auto pistol would be placed in the small of the back with four spare magazines next to it. The magazines for my M4 would hang on the front of my vest and in a couple of spare pouches on my right hip. Two speed loading tubes for the Master-Key would be placed in special holders on my back, so that I could grab them like swords. One was loaded with straight double-ought silver buckshot, while the other was loaded with a particularly nasty load of silver flechettes. Flechettes were tiny darts that did major damage to the target by perforating everything in its firing radius. They also had a nasty habit of being able to perforate bullet-proof vests. The side-saddle on the shotgun was loaded with Dragonsbreath rounds that launched a six foot flame from the gun. Great tool against creatures that was as flammable as dry kindling, but not so great on the gun. Gunny hated issuing them, but they had come in handy before. Flash-bangs were hung on my belt, as well as a small roll of duct tape. My final addition to my rig was electronics. Namely a Motorola walkie-talkie with throat-mike and earpiece.
With all of my equipment chosen, I went back to my quarters to rack out for a few hours. The sleep came and went way too fast. I was running too close, but I needed to run a few exercises before I joined up with the lord’s assault force. I spent the morning running through close-quarters drills with my loadout. I needed to be able to grab what I needed without looking, and I had too many unusual things in my loadout to do that without practicing. Another half-hour nap, and I geared up. For the record, carrying four guns, several knives, some flash-bangs, and a bunch of ammo was heavy. As I walked into the garage, I found Nick waiting on his motorcycle with a sly grin on his face.
“Alright, I give,” I said as I approached him, “What’s so fucking funny?”
“You, going to protect the lord. With that much gear, you could defend him from an army. At least, knowing the way you fight.” His grin slipped as I straddled my motorcycle. “Ranger, please be careful. I know that sounds strange, but I don’t like this.”
“You think I do?” I asked, as I placed the carbine into its saddle holster. I threw on a long duster to hide the rest of the hardware from casual view. Situated, I turned to Nick. “Thanks for the thought, Nicky. I’ll watch my ass.”
“Good. I don’t have many allies in this town. I don’t want one of my close ones dying foolishly. Ranger, one more thing,” he said, his tone so serious that it almost worried me, “My name is Nicholas.” Laughing, I kicked the bike to life and tore into the emerging night.
As I rode up to the meeting point, I noticed the sky. Perhaps I should have looked up earlier, but that was my own mistake. It was also mine for not reading the local newspapers for the past few days. The stars were dimmed by the Blood Moon. Although the lycanthropes know that it is called a lunar eclipse, as well as the scientific reasons for its occurrence, that does little to diminish the boost of morale and surge of energy we feel from it. This was the reason the lord decided to raid the Hall at night. Although that assured me that the lord was not a complete fool, the lack of intelligence on the Hall still gnawed at me. There were few weapons, short of thermo-baric bombs and nuclear devices, that overcame a lack of good intelligence, and even they occasionally suffered from it.
The meeting point was a commercial conversion van, in front of the massive Hall, with only its fifty yard lawn separating us from the front porch. The raised porch was antebellum fashioned with four white columns and guarded by at least five vampires. I was instructed to leave my motorcycle several blocks away, using the darkness to travel the rest of the distance. I reached the far side of the van, emblazoned with TECO’s logo on the side. Behind the van waited the lord and a group of Red Knights, including Smythe. I grimaced at him and made the proper gesture of respect to the lord. He allowed me to crowd into the back of the van, which was crammed with surveillance and communication gear. This should have been used days before to conduct reconnaissance, but instead, Lord Vollen rushed things.
I scanned the lawn and the front of the Hall through the low-light cameras that were installed into the side of the van. A pair of kin were standing outside, mimicking work for the power company. The lawn looked normal, and according to the van’s electromagnetic sensors, there were no land mines or other such devices placed. The stately white facade was normal, although I knew that surveillance gear was placed and being used. The front porch, raised off the ground by about three or four feet was guarded by five vampires that I could see. My instincts, however, said that there were more around. I mentally doubled the number of guards around the front perimeter. I really didn’t like this approach, Blood Moon or no. First off, there was no current information on the number or displacement of opposition on the grounds and in the Hall. Second, the environment was bad. The bay air, with its heavy marsh odor, muted our naturally keen sense of smell. The street lighting and the sparse lighting around the Hall made for strange shadows that would draw the untrained eye, like any pack warriors that were assigned to this job. Third, we were too exposed. I was sure that the leeches on the front porch knew who we were, and why we were there. If they didn’t than they were bait in an inviting trap.
“Is there a problem hunter?” said a voice behind me. I expected a Red Knight, but turned to find Lord Vollen facing me. I had always made it a point never to be intimidated by one’s station if something important needed to be said or done. Respectful maybe, but never intimidated. With this many Red Knights, several of whom partly blamed me for the previous lord’s death, I decided that respectful was the best course.
“May I speak candidly, milord?” I asked cautiously. He nodded slightly, so I continued, but firmly keeping my voice respectful and my speech devoid of its normal expletetives. “Sir, this is a bad idea. There is no current data on what our forces can expect upon entering the Hall. Our natural senses are being beaten back by the environment. We don’t even have a full floorplans for the Hall.” His face darkened slightly, but I decided to press on, hoping to avoid what could be a bloody fight that we could very well lose. “Milord, I suggest we postpone this attack until more information is available, or maybe if we cripple more of the TCV’s forces.”
Smythe looked about ready to read me the riot act, but the lord silenced him with a wave of his hand. “I am glad that I was right in asking for your services. You are probably correct from your standpoint. However, there are a few things you do not know. One, that all the hunters and shaman that have been left out of this raid are now conducting an extensive series of attacks on known leech strongholds and covens. This should provide the Council with enough distraction to cover our initial attack. Second, the power to the Hall will be cut fifteen seconds into the attack. I realize that the Hall more than likely has secondary generators, but the switch will give us a few seconds time to advance further. Third, our mission is simply to get in and plant these.” He handed me a thermite block demolition charge. It was similar to the one that I had carried on the night that Skiff had been killed, but it was larger and could affect a larger area. They were also tamper-proof, meaning that once they were set, any attempt to disarm or reset them caused the charge to detonate. Some of the doubts about the raid were being alleviated. So, the purpose of the raid wasn’t to go in and personally kill every member of the Council, but rather set the Hall on fire and make sure none escaped. There was still the problem of getting in, and I mentioned this to Lord Vollen.
“Upon the signal from the Guildmaster that all diversionary objectives have been engaged, snipers from our position and the other positions will take out the sentries. The doors will be taken care of by our anti-armor rifle.” The Red Knight that had been speaking motioned to a kin assembling a Barrett Lite Fifty, just like one that I had been looking at back at the armory. I would have preferred a hunter doing all the sniper work, but as Deadeye once told me, “You can’t have everything, and sometimes, anything.” The Red Knight continued to explain the plan. Once the door had been taken care of, the first group of our position would secure the foyer. They would place their charges, but not setting them. From there, the second group would leapfrog them onto the second floor, while the third group would hit the first floor. Essentially it continued along the same idea. First ones in would plant their charges, and then cover the next group. It sounded good, but I didn’t like it. One, it spread our forces awfully thin as we drove deeper into the building. It also didn’t allow for a reserve force, unless you counted the snipers, who wouldn’t be able to hit anything that wasn’t standing next to a window. I was to be part of the second group, along with the lord, Smythe and about another half-dozen Red Knights.
The other lycanthropes at the meeting point began going over their gear one last time as the Red Knight finished explaining the plan to me. I did the same, but my feeling of dread was deepening. This plan was coming dangerously close to drawing in the Pathwalkers. I could see why the Guildmaster hadn’t been happy with what was happening. He probably had told Lord Vollen about the risk, and from what I had seen of the lord earlier, Lord Vollen had probably dismissed his Guildmaster’s concerns out of hand. My weapons were loaded and chambered. I scanned the target area. My instincts were roaring with warnings, enough to make me want to just leave the area. With some difficulty, I shoved all of it to the back of my mind and focused on the job. My instincts have always been inordinately strong, with the downside being that sometimes they threatened to take over. Part of my hunter training had been to hone them so that they were useful while being able to shut them out when they threatened the job. Now was the hardest part of my job, waiting for the initiation. Finally, the Guildmaster came on.
“Gaspirilla,” was all he said, but it launched the primary group into action. Five muffled shots sounded from the roof of the van, and the vampires guarding the front porch slumped down almost simultaneously. As the vampires fell, the first group ran across the lawn. The first group was made up of warriors with only a couple of Red Knights to give them any kind of sound tactical support. As the group galloped across the lawn, I saw the lights of their weapons searching for targets. I winced as I watched their tactical formation. It was too loose, too uncoordinated. The warriors had no clue how to scan for targets and were mimicking what they had seen on television or on movies. It may have looked cool, but it would be trouble if they ran into any real targets.
The first group ran under a pair of large trees, making it halfway across the lawn with no complications. I was kind of surprised, but tried not to show it to the other lycanthropes waiting for their turn to enter the job. Under the shadows of the trees, the first group paused and scanned the front before making the final stretch. Without warning, about ten vampires fell out of the trees, shedding their bat form for their hideous true form. Damn, the marsh air hadn’t let me smell the bastards out. I didn’t wait for the Knights to say anything. I brought my rifle to my shoulder, watching as the red dot crossed the chest of the largest vampire. A gentle squeeze sent a short burst of three rounds into the leech. He jerked back as the rounds slammed into his chest, then crumpled to the grass. A couple of Knights next to me also fired, bringing down another two leeches. The ambushed group rallied and let short bursts of automatic fire loose. The whole encounter lasted less than thirty seconds, but it resulted in one of the Red Knights and a pack warrior dead. However, there was no time for grieving or even sympathy. The bodies were left with those of the vampires. We could always retrieve them with after the raid.
As the first group reached the door, three distinctive rifle shots rang out. The hinges on the large front door exploded as the big half-inch heavy bullets from the Barrett slammed through the reinforced oak door. The door-kicker for the first group, a largish Knight, shouldered the door, using his momentum to carry him all the way inside. I couldn’t make out what was going on inside, but the sound of the firefight explained it. A half-minute later, the second group – including me – was sent into the fray. As we crossed the lawn, I kept my weapon ready in case of another ambush. We crossed the lawn and made it up the porch without trouble. The gunfire from inside the foyer had slackened considerably, which meant either the first group had been successful, or they had been wiped out. I looked over at Smythe. From the look on his face, he had already reached the same conclusion that I had, and he wasn’t happy about it. He pointed to two Knights and motioned them inside while the rest of us waited outside. A double-click on the radio told us that it was clear and we entered the TCV Hall.
When my group entered, the first group had already cleared the foyer and set their charges. Vampire bodies, some still shifting to true form in their death, littered the floor. Gunfire from the other teams that had entered the other places in the Hall could be clearly heard over our own muted firefight. There was no time to sort everything out, so Smythe and another Red Knight began running up the left-hand staircase to the second floor. A pair of vampires emerged from the Council Room onto the landing. I brought them both down with a couple shots of the Master-Key. I may not have liked Smythe, but I was still a professional, which meant I covered his ass when he needed it.
The rest of the group advanced at a breakneck pace as soon as Smythe and his partner cleared the landing at the top of the stairs. The door into the Council Room stood about ten feet high and seemed solid enough. One of the Knights produced a shotgun from his web gear, which I assumed was loaded with door breakers. I grasped him by the arm and quickly sketched out an idea. He would break the door down, then fall to the floor. I would then fire a Dragonsbreath round over him as the door fell in, hopefully catching any leech laying in ambush for him. He nodded.
His shotgun boomed three times, destroying the door hinges and the lock, as I pumped the action on my shotgun, releasing the chambered shell. The door fell in as I loaded one of the Dragonsbreath rounds and chambered it. A quick squeeze on the trigger sent a jet of flame out of the shotgun barrel, catching two leeches standing behind the door in its blast. The two leeches brilliantly ignited, screaming as their burning forms consumed themselves. Smythe didn’t pause to enjoy the view, charging in with his assault rifle chattering. His Knights and the lord followed his lead and charged into the Council Room. I grimaced and then moved into the room like I had been trained, in a running crouch.
I found some cover and then rose to a crouch and surveyed the layout. The gallery of the Council Room was two rows of long wooden pews, one of which I was crouched behind. At the end of the gallery, toward the front of the room was a low wooden barricade with a thin gate. Five feet beyond that was a podium and an adjoining table. Then the Council’s platform was about fifteen feet behind that, a long raised barricade that the councilmembers stood behind for their meetings. The Red Knights were sprawled along the pews, several of them dead or dying from hits from the leeches hiding behind the podium, the tables, or the platform. I placed a few bursts at white faces that peeked out from their positions.
I looked for Lord Vollen. He was crouched behind a pew several yards in front of me, another Knight beside him. I could see several of the Council’s ghouls approaching them, so I fired several blasts of double-ought buck at them. The ghouls were thrown back by the volley of silver balls that laced the air. The vampires behind the platform responded by firing several bursts at me, which threw me back down behind cover. I hadn’t seen Smythe, so I tried to call for him over the radio. I hoped that he would put any of our hatreds aside long enough for us to get out of this alive. Two attempts netted no response. I figured he was either dead, or too busy to answer me.
I cautiously raised my head over the pew and looked over to the lord. He was replacing the magazine in his rifle, the Knight at his side slumped over dead. We were pinned down and being slaughtered. I heard some of the Knights firing at the vampires, some actually catching them. Radio reports came over that reported the deaths of Davis, Crawford, and Montgomery. That left Razor and Silanti. As I scanned the platform, I saw Silanti firing a small machine pistol at the lord’s position.
A lycanthrope crashed down next to me. A quick glance revealed that it was Smythe. His rifle was gone, and he had his pistol drawn. “Smythe, cover me. I’m going to take out Silanti,” I said to him, loud enough to be heard over the crashing gunfire. I rose from my crouch, flipping the M4’s selector switch from AUTO to SEMI. I lined the red dot up on Silanti’s face. He was exchanging gunfire with the lord, and never noticed me aiming at him. Beside me, I heard Smythe firing away with his pistol. I began to squeeze the trigger as a sharp pain came into my side. The pain forced me to jerk upward, sending the bullet into the ceiling. I fell to the floor as Smythe knocked me down. My rifle clattered to the floor and then was pushed out of my reach.
“Now you die,” he growled, holding a bloody silver knife over me. I was fully confused as hell. What was Smythe doing? I looked for the glint of madness in his eyes, but only saw the coldness of contemplated murder. I began to realize why I had been requested for this job. Smythe wanted to kill me in the chaos of the raid, but I didn’t know why.
A yell of pain from the lord’s position, however, made him jump off of me. Smythe looked over to where the lord was, his face a mixture of shock, fear, and pain. I pulled my pistol out and placed five rounds into Smythe’s chest. The bullets slammed into him and threw him back from me. I staggered up, and looked over to where I had seen Silanti. I saw him running for a small door behind the platform. I fired several times at him with my pistol, but he disappeared through the door. I looked down to my bloody side and cursed the pain for screwing up my aim. I looked over to where the lord was. His head was a mess of blood, bone, and gore, hit full force by a burst of silver rounds.
A force slammed into my face, throwing me a good five feet before crashing into the pew across from the one I had been crouching behind. I tried to shake off the daze, but the force hit again, this time deep into my stomach. Smythe continued to hit me, striking all my vital parts. My pistol had been knocked from my hand, and none of my other weapons were within reach. He hit me several more times and I crumpled to the ground. My side burned and the rest of my body ached from the hits that Smythe had landed. I knew that I couldn’t withstand Smythe’s hits much longer, and there was little chance of me gaining enough time and strength to fight back.
He stopped once I fell to the ground. Out of my slitted eyes, I saw him motion to a pair of his subordinates, who then picked me up off the ground by my shoulders. I played unconscious as they dragged my body out of the council room onto the landing. I could smell the blood, burnt flesh, and death of a harsh battle. I felt the two begin to drag me down one of the staircases. I summoned all the strength I had left in me and pushed off one of the stairs. The two Knights were caught off guard and forgot to hold on; they had been expecting a unconscious subject, not a real threat. I managed to land on the ground below without losing my balance. A quick scan of the area showed that I was badly outnumbered, at least a dozen Knights plus another dozen or so pack warriors that would believe anything Smythe and his cronies said because they were Red Knights. I ran for the door, pulling my tiny Glock 26 from its holster on the inside of my ankle. The fools hadn’t even taken it away from me.
Two Knights braced for close-quarters combat as I ran towards them. One drew a knife, as the other stepped back, trying to pull a pistol out of its holster. They looked nervous, and I could smell the fear emanating from them. I placed a few rounds just over their heads, sending them crashing to the floor to avoid it. I leapt over them, bullets from the pack warriors following me outside the Hall. As I rolled on the grass, I grabbed my radio from its holding place on my back. I finished my roll into a crouch behind one of the trees in the front lawn and switched it to the Guild’s frequency. “Ranger, Knightfall. Repeat – Ranger, Knightfall.” I could see several Knights coming out of the Hall, led by Smythe. There were all angry and armed. I had my back-up pistol and several magazines worth of ammunition. However, I didn’t feel like killing my own people, even if they had tried to kill me. If it was just Smythe, then maybe, but not with the other Knights around.
I stepped out into the lighted area, dropping my machine pistol on the ground. I slowly raised my arms up as a dozen weapons were aimed at me. “I call for rhiazen. I demand trial by the lord and his court.” I could see Smythe glaring at me. However, there was nothing he could do. Once a lycanthrope demands rhiazen, no one is allowed to hurt or kill him. However, if the lord disagrees with him, and finds him guilty, the sentence is automatically death, even if the original offense wouldn’t call for a death penalty.
I needed to buy time to bring information to the Guild. They needed to know that Smythe had tried to kill me. They needed to know that Silanti escaped. They needed to know how the lord had died. Then, they could do something about it. I was sure that the new lord – lady, actually, since the next Vollen with claim was his eldest daughter – was going to find me guilty. Better, however, to delay my inevitable demise long enough to get all the pertinent information to the Guild, and prepare them for what was to come. Perhaps Nicky or Hangman might even avenge me. These thoughts comforted me as the Knights came over to me and stripped my down to my bare pelt. I didn’t resist. I had called for rhiazen, so I was obligated by honor and law to not resist arrest and confinement, as my captors were obligated to assure that I was unharmed. They led me to my motorcycle. Two Knights in a sedan drove up next to me. They watched as I started my engine. The two Knights were keeping confident looks on their faces, but I could tell by the way they were holding their weapons on me belied their worry. I just shook my head. The Guildmaster called me twice on the radio in my helmet, but I ignored him. The Knights pulled in front of me and led me to the Manor, carefully navigating the streets of Tampa to avoid any chance of me meeting with one of the hunter groups that was out. I was to be held at the Manor, deep in its holding area, which would have been called a dungeon in ancient times.
The three of us drove up to the Manor’s gate. There, three warriors dressed in black robes with silver runes met us. These were serving as the lord’s marshals, his personal police. They were only deputized when the need arose, primarily when a lycanthrope called for rhiazen. I quietly stepped off my motorcycle and walked slowly towards them. I stopped the required distance, about two yards, and waited for their instructions.
“Hold your arms in front of you,” the taller one demanded, his voice as calm as a lake on a windless day. I felt a measure of relief. Whoever these three were, the leader was acting professionally and by the laws of the lycanthrope. I slowly put my arms out in front of me. The one next to him applied wolfsbane to the slash on my side as the youngest one came towards me. He placed a restraining device on my wrists. It was made of silver, and encompassed both wrists completely. They were joined by a thick metal bar that kept my hands separated by about a foot. I had been taught how to pick them, and had escaped from them before, but I was under obligation not to. If I escaped – and there was no way that the five lycanthropes around me could have stopped me if I was determined – I would be declared outlaw and subject to death on sight. That also went for any lycanthrope that gave me sanctuary – I could not return to the Guild without endangering the rest of the hunters. It would defeat the whole reason I had called for rhiazen. So, I meekly accepted the restrainers and followed three marshals as they led me across the Manor’s grounds into the Manor itself.
Just inside the door, we were met by another pair of lycanthropes in the same black robes that the other marshals wore. However, they were carrying M16’s and seemed ready to use them. Obviously, they didn’t trust me to carry out my part of the law. I wasn’t going to do anything, but I kept a wary eye on them as the marshals led me to a concealed door in the foyer. I had a nasty suspicion that one surprise move and the two would hose me with silver bullets. The unlit staircase winded down deep into the ground. It opened into a large room, with several empty holding cells constructed of iron bars, lined with silver barbs. I was led to the first one. The door slid open and I walked in. The marshal who had put the restrainers on me removed them. He stepped out of the cell and the door slid shut behind him. The group of marshals walked to the door. The two that had met me at the gate went up, while the two with the M16s took positions by the entranceway to the staircase. I grimaced at the company, but then studied my furnishings. I had a mat on the floor to serve as my bed. A small stand with a large basin for both my washing and to serve as my water reservoir. The bathroom was a hole in the ground. I stood there for a moment, then laid down on the mat. The cut on my side made it uncomfortable, but I was going to need all the energy I could get. I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the floor.