The Siege Against Tolkeen

The seraph sniffed the air in the library. It was full of blood and death and antiquity. The place made her nauseous, but she could not leave yet. Not until her mission here had been fulfilled. She looked down upon the corpse of the dead librarian, which was being photographed by a bunch of gawking forensics specialists. Her two partners, the mystic and the Wolfen, were involved in the nearby bookshelves, trying to take an inventory of what had been stolen.

She walked over to the body, leaned over the face, and inhaled deeply. The angel got a nose full of insanity, sweat, and evil. This would be hard, she thought. It was always harder to use her senses when tracking such madmen. But for the good of Tolkeen, it would have to be done. Leaning over further, she touched the corpse's face, and opened her mind.

A swarm of panicked thoughts and emotions washed over the seraph. Uziel gasped in horror, feeling the man's last moments. The face of a man began to take shape in her mind, but it was fuzzy and faded. She heard the man talking, but could not make out his babbling. Still, she was shocked to find that it had worked so well; the crime had been committed two days ago, and that much time typically blurred this psychic residue into nothingness. The killer must have been a powerful psychic in his own right to have left such a shadow.

She began to gingerly probe the fatal wound, oblivious to the cries of the forensic staff, and her mental image grew clearer. The pain of the dying man shot through her, and she convulsed ever so slightly. The murder began to replay itself, although slowly and blurrily , as if viewed through a dark glass. The garbled last words of the victim and the murderer shot through her mind like a red hot poker slicing through fat. And then, she cut the connection, and her mind was clear once more.

"The killer is a religious fanatic," she pronounced. "He believes that God wants him to kill D-Bees and magicians, because in his mind they are minions of evil. Yet I sense that he is not entirely in control of these thoughts, there is some outside force manipulating his mind."

"You mean there's a demon or something controlling him?" asked Fransisco. "We get that from time to time."

"I'm not sure," said the seraph coldly. "He left such a strong psychic residue that the supernatural seems possible, but I'm not getting a sense of supernatural evil, just unbelievably strong mortal delusions."

"Maybe I should take a look," said Fransisco, walking over to the corpse.

"Don't bother," said Uziel. "Your mortal senses are not strong enough. Mallen, what books were taken?"

"I still don't have a complete list, but it's mostly Christian books of religion. Really ancient stuff. It was all old at the time of the rifts. There's...lessee, Platonist and Puritan, Saint Ignatius's Spiritual Exercises, an English translation of Compendium Maleficarium, and a translation of De Arrha Animae. Pretty obscure stuff. Not real valuable, either, since they only have worth to a few religious scholars."

"He wouldn't sell them," said the seraph. "He wants those books badly, and I think he might even die to protect them. They validate his mission." The seraph then abruptly left, much to the chagrin of Fransisco, who still had questions for her.

"Mortal senses not strong enough, my ass," he growled. "Snooty bitch needs a good..." His voice suddenly trailed off, as the seraph reentered, her face a mask of rage.

"What do I need, mortal?" she hissed, her voice more feral and violent than that of any hellspawn.

"Nothing," Fransisco said, rather bitterly.

"You would do well to remember that as an Inquisitor and a seraph, my senses are quite sharp," she said, leaving once more. "Almost as sharp as my vengeance."

The Coalition ranger passed out discs labeled, "Operation: Vengeance" to the members of the Black Dog Attack Squadron. Donald Hartman reluctantly slid the audio-visual CD into the viewing slot of his Super SAMAS, and then hit the play button. In the upper right corner of his screen, he could see the face of Emperor Prosek. This somewhat alarmed the soldier. This mission had to be quite important if the Emperor of Humanity personally gave the orders.

"Members of the Black Dog Assault Team," the emperor began, in his usual oration voice. "I am afraid that I bear grim news. The so-called "super-weapon" of Tolkeen, long believed to be a myth, has been proven to be true. A destructive artifact of immense supernatural power has been constructed in Grand Alamar, the capitol city of Tolkeen. While it's exact capabilities are unknown, it is clear that this blasphemous machine must be destroyed before it can strike down our valiant soldiers."

"We are assembling a team of the greatest pilots in the Coalition military and the private sector, to attack and destroy this terrible thing. The Black Dog Assault Squad has been hand-selected for this mission. On November 25 at 0100 hours, you will escort the bombers in, flying at low altitudes. Once the super-weapon has been destroyed, all of you save the squadron leader will escort the bombers back to the nearest CS air base."

"The leader, Mr. Donald Hartman, will land at coordinates 2:04:Bravo, along with two Sky Cycles. Here, he will meet with two CS troops trapped behind enemy lines, and will escort them out. However, if they fail to show up, do not jeopardize your safety by staying too long."

"This attack is the last remaining hope of humanity. If we are to win this war and defeat the inhuman enemies of all that is good, then the super-weapon must be annihilated. A decisive surgical strike at the heart of their corrupt empire will show those monsters that humanity will not be pushed aside. All of our hopes are prayers go with you." With that, the CD ended.

Donald removed the disc. Looking around, he saw that his men were doing the same. "Let's burn-bag 'em," he said, pulling out the small plastic bag which the ranger had provided him. One by one, the power armor troopers dropped their discs inside. Then, Hartman hurled the bag up into the air, and vaporized it with a quick blast from his plasma cannon. "I guess we'll be on our way, then," he said. "You think you can handle this place while we're gone?"

The ranger who had delivered their CDs nodded. "Sure thing," he said flippantly. "Some Skelebots will be up here in about fifteen minutes or so to help me keep order. You just go and have fun on your mission."

"To the base then," said Hartman, flying off away from the clearing which had been his home for the past few weeks. His remaining men followed, anxious about the gargantuan task which lay ahead of them.

Jack Perrin took careful aim at the man-shaped target ahead of him, steadied the massive rifle, and fired. The recoil and noise were immense, nearly throwing him backwards. However, the effect was just as impressive. The target, which was made of the same micro-ceramics used in military armor, simultaneously melted and exploded, as a beam of pure energy slammed into the head region and tore the metal target apart.

"This is the NE-50 Particle Beam Rifle," he said to the HFA onlookers. "I've seen these babies in action before, and they are powerful. It's got damage capabilities equal to some of the power armor weapons used in the CS. However, I don't want anybody getting too cocky with these things. Don't try any superman stunts or one-man stands just because you've got the firepower. As good as these rifles are, I need you all to remember that they're heavy as hell, loud as a friggin' tank, and have a limited payload. So don't anyone start playing Dirty Harry, okay?"

The terrorists gathered at the shooting range began scratching their heads and looking at Perrin quizzically. "What's Dirty Harry, sir?" asked one wanna-be headhunter. "Was he a mercenary or something?"

"Forget it," said Perrin. "Just an old movie they showed us in basic training. They show it as a supplement to the course 'Urban Peacekeeping Operations.' I'll see if I can find a library or something that has a copy."

The young gunsel shrugged. He didn't seem very interested.

"Well, good shooting, everybody," Perrin said, opening up the crate of rifles. "Remember, get in a lot of practice, since I only had enough cash to rent this place for an hour. I want you all to be real good with those things real fast."

"Those are contraband, you know," said a voice from the doorway behind him. Perrin spun around, and saw a man standing there, dressed in the armor of a Tolkeen sniper.

"Hold it right there, you shithead!" Perrin yelled, leveling his particle beam rifle at the intruder. "You just made the last mistake of your life!"

"No, wait!" yelled the man. "I'm with the Coalition! I'm here to get you out of Tolkeen!"

"How do we know that?" sneered Perrin. Behind him, the other members of the HFA were hurriedly loading their energy rifles. "Better make it fast," he remarked. "I don't think I can restrain these guys trigger fingers for long."

The sniper pulled off his helmet, revealing the dirty face of a young human. "She'll vouch for me!" he said, pointing to Sonja, who was pulling her gun's safety off at the moment. "We met in the forest."

"Yeah, he's with the CS," said the Juicer, suddenly relaxing. "Don't know why he's dressed like that, though."

"It's a lot easier to sneak in between shifts when you look like a soldier," explained the man. "Just strolled in with a few off-duty guards, and spent a few hours tracking you down. The CS has pretty good files on the usual haunts of these guys."

"What's your name, buddy?" asked Perrin.

"My name's Hubert Possman," said the man. "And we need to talk."

Next Chapter

By David Haendler.

Copyright © 1996, 1997, 1998 David Haendler. All Rights Reserved.

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