Holes to Heaven, Contracts to Hell

[Jan Claasen du Toit]

Traffic gummed up in an epic fashion, and Jan kicked Peanut's leg out of the way as he jammed the brake, causing a lurching skid as the SUV knocked a Kia compact out of the lane, sending it into the divider.

"Back them up!"

Jan yelled at the rear passenger gunner, his Afrikaans slurring his voice a bit as the man behind him finally cut the driver out of his seatbelt and lurched him into the back. Jan quickly slid into the driver's seat, which was sticky with blood, just as the rear passenger gunner magdumped his HK 416 into the air above oncoming traffic, making them forcefully take the hint to back off.

"Squad on me, we take next exit. Changing ROE to disable civilian vehicles that do not deviate from sector."

The tires screamed as the Suburban rocked ahead, punching another car out of the emergency lane as it plowed for the ramp.

[Veronica]

Veronica felt as if someone had thrown water over her. She could suddenly see again, and sucked in breath at the sudden change in sensation. Now clear of obstacles, Spectre opted to put as much distance as possible between the Mustang and the SUVs. Both women sat low in the car. Bugs at 100 miles per hour hurt quite a bit. Cars moved aside like Moses parting the Red Sea.

“Haha, oh man.” Veronica ducked as low as possible, lit a cigarette and laughed. She set about checking her weaponry, fully aware that the cars continued to move aside for Spectre. She reloaded both the rifle and her emptied pistol.

“You want one?” She yelled to her straw-haired companion, and took a heavy drag. Spectre shook her head as her hair whipped around the headrest. Veronica's head checked back every five seconds. Where was the Highway Patrol? That bugged her. It was possible that they were tied up in probably the biggest accident in little US15's history. And, unfortunately, a car with shot out windows was rather damned conspicuous. Nothing turned up for several minutes. Veronica lit another cigarette.

In the distance, over the roar of the wind, she could make out the rhythmic chunk of helicopter rotors slicing through the air. Well then. The noise slowly grew louder as the Bell 407 helicopter closed distance with the car, and took up a position behind them, 300 meters back. The pilot whistled appreciatively at the state of the car below.

“This is Heli-One confirming suspect in late model Ford Mustang, color black with gold stripes, copy?” The comm officer reported.
“Copy that Heli-One. Confirm gold stripes on Mustang and plate number, over?” Division Seven HQ's head dispatcher replied. Given the body count and report of small arms in the car, the Captain of the Division was taking no chances.
“Late model Ford Mustang, black with gold stripes, confirmed, and uhh... plate's illegible.” The chopper comm replied, very certain.

“Someone get the head of Hertz's operations on the phone. I want a list of every renter of every rented Shelby GT-H east of the Mississippi.” The Captain ordered at one of the dispatchers.

“How are we doing with that accident?” He asked.

“We got really lucky, sir. Only one fatality so far.”

Veronica was lazily staring at the helicopter. It was a rather nice helicopter, she decided. It would be rather nicer with a hole in the windscreen. She tipped the seat fully back, lay prone, and took aim. She steadied her breathing, delighted at how smooth the Mustang was at high speeds. Veronica squeezed the trigger as the car hit a small ripple in the road. Instead of spreading the pilot's brain through the helicopter, the bullet entered the windscreen three inches above the Com Officer, and exited mostly harmlessly though the top.

“We are under fire, repeat, under fire!” The Comm said almost frantically. The pilot pulled the helicopter away from the Interstate.

“You ok, Tony?” The pilot asked his Comm.

“Uhhh yeah we're ok.”

“Heli-One abandon pursuit and clear airspace.” Dispatch instructed. The Captain swore.

“I want all lanes blocked off before exit 18. I want strips down a quarter mile in advance. Do we have Hertz on the line?”

[Spectre]

Traffic was beginning to become quite thin. It didn't take a mastermind to put together the pieces. Ahead of them they would meet with more opposition. Which meant they were running out of options and she would have to act. The information she carried had to make it to Saladin, that was her priority. The road block was ahead of them, in sight now and they were coming up on it - fast.

"I hate to have to do this, darling.. but you are going to have to drive."

Before the road block were layers of spike strips which would rip the rubber out from beneath them rendering their, very sweet, ride quite useless. Spectre pushed open the door and started to rise, while Veronica slid low into the drivers seat. She stood, on the side of the car, holding onto the roof with one hand, making a visual display of tightening the strap around her shoulder, the case carrying the stolen files. Without a further word to her companion, she jumped and disappeared in mid-air..

The rental car's tires were, as foreseen, shredded clean off and the Mustang limped on, metal to pavement grinding it's way closer toward the waiting road block of some fifteen to twenty waiting patrol cars.

[Veronica]

Veronica let the car go about it's way and stayed hidden below the dashboard. At sixty miles per hour, the tires quickly shredded themselves into oblivion. The car came to a screaming, scraping halt a hundred feet before the blockade. She could hear the racking of shotguns and the screech of an amplified bullhorn.

"We have you surrounded! Come out with your hands up!" The voice boomed. A grin began to form on Veronica's face. She knew where each and every person was. She could see them scurrying behind the patrol cars from the other half of the highway. Two began to move up, covered in body armor, armed with Remington 870 shotguns and M4 carbines.

Veronica's head popped over the dash. Two Beretta's appeared in a blink later, each firing twice, and dissapeared back behind the dash. The Mustang's front end filled with return fire while Veronica slid into the back seat.

Spectre struck suddenly. One of the officers fired into his comrades, killing one and injuring another. He looked incredibly surprised as he was tackled to the floor by a pair of his comrades. Veronica used the opportunity to leap out of the rear window. Bullets filled the air, peppering the Mustang once more. She could smell fuel leaking. Fortunately, real life was not the movies. Cars almost never exploded, no matter how badly damaged the fuel tank. The rifle barrel snuck onto the rear decklid. She lined up the first head and pulled the trigger. The .300 Winchester Magnum slug made short work of the kevlar body armor, punching into the officer's heart. The rifle was pulled back down, and the clink of a shell casing could not be heard over the answer fire. Four officers attempted to flank her. They tried to move up quickly on either side of the car. She immediately shot one with the rifle, clean through the throat. Veronica left the rifle on the pavement, and drew her pistols. She popped up.



She pulled the triggers, perforating two hands. The patrolmen screamed and dropped their weapons. The last was not as lucky. Veronica shot him in each arm, and ducked back behind the car. Ten left. She holstered her pistols, and took the rifle back up. They'd only been at this a minute, and Veronica wanted more, but would need more ammunition. She shot the lock on the trunk, letting it pop up, and pulled out a backpack. She cranked the bolt on the rifle. It spat the empty casing out, and let a new round in. She dropped the mostly empty magazines from the pistols and reloaded those. Spectre struck again. This time, a shotgun, point blank, to the face. Veronica wasted no time. She put the rifle over her shoulder and drew her pistols. She ran at the patrol cars. There was no tackling, just rapid return fire into their traitorous co-worker, followed by screaming and cursing.

Veronica kept her head low as she ran at the patrol cars while the eight remaining officers yelled at each other. Only two had been involved in any kind of serious firefight. The paranoia of having their own turn with no warning had their nerves frayed. Veronica jumped and pushed off the hood of one of the cars, her head now twelve feet into the air. Death spat from her pistols, killing four of the eight remaining in rapid succession. She hit the ground, her leg kicked a shotgun away as she let her body fall in the panicked crossfire.

It was just cleanup.

[Jack Brocius]

The little bird cut the air as it approached the junction. They were a few miles off and the police band was thick in their ears.

"This is getting nasty. We need to filter some intel down through DHS to those guys and keep them clear. Get some static barricades and pull back!"

The chopper pilot tapped Jack on the shoulder, gesturing down. The backed up traffic was leading to a snarling roadblock that had just been the epicenter of a rather one-sided shootout.

"Okay, keep distance to half a click. The inhibitor will keep things running thirty-three, but I don't want to deal with any lucky strays."

The skid gunner nodded gravely as he inspected his SAW. Thirty Three was one of those slang terms used in the contractor fraternity to denote things being about as good as they got. Thirty rounds in a topped-off mag, plus two balls and one swinging rod. That's about as good as you could ask for in a combat zone.

The Little Bird began to circle a perimeter around the combat zone, eager for a target of opportunity.

"That Mustang is slagged. I don't see any bad guys on the deck, so keep your eyes open. Give Timberwolf our vector and have them regroup."

[Spectre]

Shimmering back into appearance in the drivers seat of the commandeered patrol car, Spectre blew out a long breath and pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Yeah.. bitch of a headache incoming.."

They'd put miles between them and the scene of the highway massacre. From all vantage points it seemed they lost the heat, for now at least. She adjusted the mirrors and stole a peek over at Veronica who was going for a slightly more official look, having donned one of the wide-brimmed sheriff's hats.

"That's sure to throw them off..." Spectre quipped, removing her cell phone from her pocket and speed dialing the only person who wouldn't be on the receiving end of her bad mood..

"Saladin.. Be there in five with the document. Expect a party."

Not really much else needed to be said.. Well maybe one thing...

"If Arsenal is with you, do tell him that I've relieved the police of another ride and not to bash the window in at us this time.. Veronica might take offense, you know how unstable she is..."

That was as close to humor as Spectre was getting.. She grinned over at her passenger, and continued on toward their rendezvous point..

[Veronica]

She decided that Spectre didn't have a future as a comedian. Veronica straightend her new hat and put a foot on the dash.

"I'm keeping it." She declared with a predatory grin. They were now northbound on I81. She resisted the cigarette that she wanted to suck down as her adrenaline thinned. She drew one of her pistols and inspected it carefully. The cruiser loped along at five over whatever traffic was doing (the speed limit, roughly.) It would take some time before Virginia's Finest realized everyone at that road block was down, and longer still to figure out what car number was missing. They had at least a fifteen minute head start.

"So what's the deal with Shooty and cop cars?" She asked Spectre while she ran a finger across her rifle.

"He broke the window on the last one in his zeal to defend the Brotherhood. I drove the car to a back entrance." Spectre explained.

"Oh." Veronica said, dissapointed it wasn't something more exciting. When Saladin had first hired her, one of his rodent-like lackeys was decidedly too uppity and questioned the value of a mercenary (and her loyalty)
until she picked up the smaller mutant. Veronica had shoved her gun into his oversized ears. Spectre tried to disarm her, but was rather surprised when the gun was under her chin, in a blink.

After Saladin diffused the situation a little further, no one bothered her again. Saladin gave her interesting things that got her pulse moving, so she stuck around. The way things were going, Veronica didn't see it changing any time soon.

[Jan Claasen du Toit]

"Dammit!"

Jan pounded on the steering wheel as he wheeled about. The tires screamed on the Suburban, as he tried to drown out the sound of Peanut gurgling on his blood. The guys in the back had applied pressure, but that was an awful hit to take, and it wasn't guaranteeing anything.

The chatter came in from Little Bird, VHP, and about everybody else on the grid. Jango, the trunk monkey, was tuning through the bands, occasionally stopping on something relevant.

"Bird spotted our Mustang. It's cooked. No sign of enemy contact yet. They're wanting us to pull up to grid 417."

Jan said nothing, tugging at his beard absent-mindedly.

"They're in another vehicle."

It was a gut call, but one that had plenty of logic.

"The roadblock was all VHP guys?"

Jango shouted to the affirmative.

"Radio back and get a head count. Dispatch should have each vehicle on a GPS grid. Follow my hunch."

[Saladin]

"We're ready for you, Spectre. We'll put the dogs off your trail."

The interstate unfolded like a lazy, gray river along the rolling hills of northern Virginia. Saladin surveyed that river through a pair of high-powered binoculars and zeroed in on a lone patrol car floating downstream with the rest of the southbound traffic.

"It's them," he shouted over his shoulder. "A lone cruiser about three miles back. Take us down, Gyro. I'll keep scanning for their pursuit."

The mutant in the pilot's seat gave a terse nod and eased the black Bell 407 down to an altitude around six hundred feet. As the unmarked helicopter descended, Saladin could see the what was left of the highway patrol trying to extract itself from the remains of the roadblock.

The 407 had seen some extensive modification by Brotherhood mechanics like Gyro, including retractable wall panels and military-grade armor plating. It wasn't armed in the conventional sense. But with Saladin aboard, it didn't need to be.

He stood in the yawning hatchway, one hand gripping the overhead railing, the other flexing and unflexing fitfully at his side as he awaited his Praetorian adversaries.

[Veronica]

The black Bell buzzed the highway, close enough for Veronica to "see" inside.

"That's our ride out." Veronica announced. Spectre seemed to light up a little. Up ahead, the helicopter settled in a field about a hundred yards from the interstate, roughly a quarter mile down the road. Veronica popped the switch labeled "EMRG LIT" and the top of the car christmas-treed into a red and blue splash of color. Spectre wove them through traffic. The pair abandonded the car next to the road. They left the lights running, but the car off. It would kill the battery in short order.

Veronica tossed her bags over and vaulted the fence, clearing the barbed wire with ease. Spectre somehow wove her hands between the barbs and smoothly swung herself over. She held onto her new hat as they ducked beneath the still moving rotors.

Spectre hefted the small bag of DVDs. Saladin gave them a self-satisfied grin and tapped Gyro to get the helicopter going again. Veronica had unslung her Remington rifle, in case she needed to use it. Satisfied with her weapon's condition, she put a cigarette in her mouth and began to chew the butt. Saladin handed each a well-insulated headset. The helicopter floated upwards.

[Jack Brocius]

Jack leaned forward and slapped the skid gunner hard on the shoulder, and gestured at 3 o'clock.

"That bird isn't on the DHS grid. Put it down."

The skid gunner charged the handle on his SAW, loading the disintegrating belt from its box feeder. The machine gun came alive in an angry spray of green tracer fire. Jack closed his eyes momentarily, sliding the bolt of his .338 Lapua rifle closed. Even with his genetically augmented senses, he'd need nerves of steel for an accurate shot with this much maneuverability at hand.

[Saladin]

Gyro swore from the cockpit. "We're taking fire!"

Saladin heaved up from his seat and stood framed by the open wall panel. The little bird arced above them like a sparrow marking a hawk - with their superior maneuverability, they could pin the Bel down and keep it from gaining any altitude.

"Swing us around, three o'clock!" Saladin shouted.

He gripped an overhead rail as the chopper spun to put the little bird back in his sights. A beam of crackling green energy lanced from his free hand down, down, all the way to the highway, and seized the squad car Spectre and Veronica had abandoned.

The car hurtled upward like an iron ball at the end of a chain directly toward the Praetorian helicopter.

[Jan Claasen du Toit]

The helicopter swooping onto the roadblock told Jan all he needed to hear.

"That ain't ours!" Jango shouted, holding a receiver to his ear.

Jan already was leaning halfway out the door, training his ACOG weaponsight down the overpass at the scene ahead.

"They're doing a pickup....hang on, we have air cover."

Panning the weapon to the left, Jan watched the Little Bird swoop in, and saw the steady puff of white cordite from the skid gunner's weapon.

He swung around, pointing at the man behind and to his right.

"Gaz, Gustav, pronto!"

Gaz intermingled with Jango, negotiating the heavy man-portable Carl Gustav 84 mm recoilless rifle. Finally extricating it, Gaz eased it out of the side window first, then sat himself with his bottom on the window's edge, so that his torso and the Carl Gustav were free from the vehicle. The wash from the rocket launcher would dissipate harmlessly away.

Jan turned his attention back to the showdown, in time to see a squad car being sent aloft, held fast by a green beam of some kind from the enemy helicopter.

"It's Saladin, the leader!"

[Veronica]

Veronica was across from Saladin, rifle in hand. While the green energy dangled the patrol car, the opposite side of the modified Bell was taking a pounding. She was about to move when she saw a glimpse of the same Suburbans from earlier, and a rather rough looking fellow hanging out the window.

"RPG!" She yelled as flame spat out of the tube. Reflexively, she pulled the trigger of her rifle. The bullet cored a hole through the 84 milimeter rocket propelled grenade, but it few on anyway. Veronica only had enough time to dive into Saladin. The grenade exploded. The patrol car arched across the interstate. It tumbled end-over end through a barbed wire fence, finally coming to rest against a maple. The car stood on it's smashed front bumper, lights destroyed, but some still flashing.

Shrapnel peppered itself against the improved armor of the helicopter, but the open door was an avenue that the flood of deadly metal found. Veronica screamed. She could feel metal in her back and right leg. Her rifle had bounced off the rear of the cabin, and wedged itself behind Saladin and Spectre's seats.

[Spectre]

More lovely unlady-like language spilled forth from Spectre as her white-clad form was dusted with Veronica's blood. Unhooking her seat restraints, she scrambled outof her seat to assess the damage done to their mercenary.

Saladin could handle the homosapiens...

"Hold still, Pumpkin!", Spectre commanded. She didn't want to do it, but if she had to she would force the other mutant's compliance, until her wounds were treated.

It might be the more merciful choice given the situation..

Two large pieces if shrapnel were wedged into Veronica, the bleeding was profuse. Spectre probed a bit to see how deep they were, they bled more.

She needed medical attention..

[Jack Brocius]

"Steady! Steady!"

The wash of the Carl Gustav rocket displaced just enough air to cause the Little Bird to sway, and the pilot pivoted ever so slightly at the blast.

Jack closed his eyes for a second, and exhaled slowly, letting the sounds of rotor blades, of explosions, and of the skid gunner's still-chattering SAW fall out of his mind. He opened his eyes, and squared up a shot through his optics.

KA-TOW!

Hardly dramatic considering the fusilade of rockets and machine gun fire, but Jack's .338 Lapua blended metal boattail found what he wanted to hit. A relatively clean hole punched through the plexiglass cockpit bubble of the Bell, leaving blistering and a few hairline cracks in the immediate periphery of the plexiglass.

Perhaps the same shot did worse to the helicopter pilot, Jack's intended target.

[Saladin]

"Damn..."

Veronica was down, and not in a condition to provide suppressive fire. And now Gyro had been hit, a bullet to the left side of his chest, probably puncturing a lung. The pilot choked and just managed to keep a grip on the flight yoke to keep the helicopter from dipping. But they were, more less, dead in the air.

Saladin gained his feet again, seemingly mindless of the enemy firepower turned in his direction.

"Gyro, keep us steady if you can! Spectre, see if you can do anything about that skid gunner!"

The little bird was moving fast across his field of view, difficult to get a lock on. The convoy, on the other hand...

There was a flash of green, and the interstate immediately in front of the Suburbans breached upward, turning into an immobile asphalt wall twenty feet high.

Then it crashed down, hundreds of tons' worth, down onto the Praetorian convoy.

[Veronica]

Her senses sharpened again. The world took on a keeness not previously present. With Spectre distracted, she could move freely.

Veronica yelled. She compelled her body forward, despite the shrapnel lodged god knew what against in her back. Blood oozed into her undergarments, but the pain had become distant. Maybe her spinal column was damaged, despite her working legs. Her hands wrapped around her rifle. She pulled it free with a grunt. Her left hand ran up and down the weapon. The tactile sensation was otherworldly, and so intense it nearly hurt.

She bit her lower lip and slid the rifle out from behind the armored door. She could see the bullet trajectories from the skid gunner. All she needed was a glance at the top of his head through the scope. It came easily.

The report of the weapon wouldn't be heard by it's victim. The super-sonic bullet cored it's way through the skid gunner's skull, killing him instantly.