The Siege Against Tolkeen

A gang of the HFA members had coalesced in the beer hall, gathered around a tiny television set, staring at the news reports. They didn't know whether to cheer or cry when the images of the twisted, mangled, D-Bee bodies came on screen. None of them bore any love for non-humans, but this seemed...wrong, somehow. A few of the terrorists had listened to the slaughtered band, and were in a state of mild mourning for their heroes.

The camera panned over the flaming wreckage once more. A female hand, adorned with numerous silver rings, shot out of a pile of ashes. It struggled for a few moments, trying to find something to grab onto, and then flopped over. A few of the bursters and fire warlocks who volunteered as firemen ran over to pull her out. They dug and struggled with the detritus, and finally managed to pull out a limp young woman dressed in black leather with too much makeup and lots of silver jewelry. One of the warlocks tried to take her pulse, then sadly shook his head.

Another of the sorcerors nodded, and then began to haul the body over to be put on the pile.

"Shit," said Perrin softly. He felt worse about this than he thought he would. It was just D-Bees and City Rats in that theater, the Dog Boys back at Chi-Town killed dozens of D-Bees and City Rats every day and Perrin had never given a damn. Of course, Perrin had never talked to or known a D-Bee or a City Rat before. The camera switched to the image of an older woman with horns and a small goatee crying over her dead son's corpse, and that was when Perrin, a Coalition veteran, had to walk away. He couldn't take the damn TV anymore.

"How's Possman doin'?" he asked Sonja. The Juicer was kneeling by the half-dead Ranger, who was sprawled out on an old couch.

"All right, I guess. His body really isn't in such bad condition. But I get the feeling that his mind got nearly fried by those bastards. He might not be the same ever again."

"Is there anything we can do about it?"

"Psychic surgery or something might do the trick. Until then, I don't think we can do anything but keep him comfortable and keep him on an IV"

"Do we have the supplies that you need?"

Sonja shook her head. "We've got just a couple days worth of nutrient fluid left. It won't kill him to be without the stuff for a day or two, but after that..." Her voice trailed off towards the end, as she looked up at the nearly empty IV bag.

"Okay. I'll try to get you some of the stuff. And I'll see what I can do about finding a healer." With that, he walked back into the room with the TV. Now, the security camera footage was playing. The murderer was right in the middle of hacking up the band, while in the background a woman's voice droned on about some hotline you were supposed to call if you saw this person. The murderer's face was hidden by darkness and his big floppy hat, but something seemed familiar about him...

Towards the back of the room, Nicholas Thompson stood, nearly paralyzed by disbelief, the crime scene footage reflected in his glasses. It couldn't be, he thought. The son of a bitch had sworn that he didn't do anything like that! He had sworn it! Thompson had only one real choice now, and he knew it. He gently reached into his jacket pocket, and gingerly touched the automatic pistol that lay hidden inside. There would have to be a confrontation.

Lucius Mallen pulled up to the bombed theater in his TW car, right by the bright yellow police tape. Lots of uniformed policemen were picking through the rubble, and even a few of the elite Inquisitors had gathered. Corpses in body bags were piled up like cordwood by the side, and puddles of blood or slivers of bone still lay on the ground. Lucius grimly walked under the tape, to where Fransisco and Uziel were standing. They were right where the stage had been. The seraph was close to the ground, seemingly sniffing at the air.

"What's the situation here?" the Wolfen detective asked. "What the hell happened?"

"Looks like it's our boy," said Fransisco. The mystic was in bad shape. He looked real shaken by this. It was obvious that he hadn't shaved, and his eyes were bloodshot. That was the problem with cosmic awareness. It opened one up to the tragedies of the world as well as the joys and the secrets. "The bastard hit hard this time. Sliced open a hell of a lot of people, and took out everyone else in the theater with a bomb. The bomb squad thinks it was a case of plasma cartridges, so far."

"Plasma cartridges? I thought only Naruni guns used those."

"Yeah, that's what the squad says. There's only one Naruni dealer in town. Unauthorized, to boot. We should have shut the guy down a long time ago. I'm going to pay the piece of shit a visit. Wanna come along?"

"Sure thing. What about you, Uziel?"

The seraph stood up. "I will come, too. I have the killer's psychic scent. It's very strange, very chaotic. If I visit the dealer, I will be able to tell if he's been there. So I will of course come."

Lucius looked at the spirit. She had the same sort of cosmic awareness that Fransisco had, and more of it. Being at this scene of slaughter must have affected her. She seemed angry and vengeful, even moreso than usual. That was good. Vengeance was exactly what the doctor had ordered here. The three piled into Lucius's car, and sped off into the depths of the city.

The NGR "Mosquito" jet slowly began its descent towards the Coalition base, flanked by a pair of brand new XM-280 fighter jets. Onboard the flying APC, Hans Reiser apprehensively stroked his whiskered chin, while gazing at the jet's precious cargo. He was in for a tough couple of months. This assignment was a killer.

Officially, Reiser had no rank within the NGR military, exceedingly few official documents or records bearing his name, and a civilian job as a cargo loader for a major exporting company. In truth (and truth is often far different from the official record), Reiser was a spy for the New German Republic. He was a good one, too. In just four short years, he'd racked up five assassinations, three intelligence drops, and six acts of sabotage. With luck, this particular job would turn out to be another feather in his cap.

The NGR had offered to make a foreign exchange program. The CS was clearly being stalemated at Tolkeen. They simply couldn't make any meaningful dents or wedges in the tight defenses of their magic-wielding enemy. With luck, the people of Tolkeen would fall from starvation and attrition. But luck was never something that the military high command liked to rely on. Skill was somewhat more of a bankable quality, In its great generosity, the NGR government had offered to loan several of their finest aces to the cause for a few months... along with the power armor units of those aces. An assortment of twenty four suits of high-tech power armor was certainly nothing to sneeze at, especially when they came with highly experienced pilots.

Mostly, the Germans had wanted to test their best against the best of the Americans. Right now everything was fine and dandy between the two nations, but you never know. A few years down the line, maybe knowing which side had the better pilots would be damn useful information. And part of why the CS had accepted was because they wanted to know, too.

But the pilots had nothing to do with Reiser's involvement. The NGR high command also wanted to know what the CS was up to. They wanted to know which tactics were popular with the Coalition generals, and what the Coalition troops thought of the war and their nation, and whether or not the Coalition's military was up to anything devious on the front. Reiser was to find these things and others out, while masquerading as a mechanic and laborer. It would be tough, no doubt about that. The CS was always paranoid, and was probably made even more edgy since foreigners were running around their camps. Still, if he did well, then he would be showered with honors back home. And if he did poorly, well, he had broken out of prisons before.

Suddenly, the plane shuddered, and a dull roar filled the cabin. The pilots, who had sitting around playing cards or sleeping, rushed over to the windows, along with Reiser. What the hell was going on? They looked outside, and saw both of the escort ships burst into flames. Gargoyles then flew down by the windows, tapping on them and laughing cruelly at the shocked expressions of their victims. The escort ships were replaced by techno-wizard fighter jets, straight from the runways of Tolkeen. A flash of bright blue light suddenly filled the cabin, and a gang of Tolkeen's finest special ops troops were suddenly in the cabin.

"No prisoners!" commanded a stocky dwarf who looked to be their leader, as he levelled his hellfire rifle at the aces. "The gargoyles would kill us if we took it easy on these sons of bitches!" As the volley rang out, Reiser ducked behind a Jager, realizing just how much of a pain this assingment would be. He silently drew his favorite laser pistol, and gently kissed it for luck.

Next Chapter

By David Haendler.

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