Chapter 132

EARLY TUESDAY MORNING NEAR ATLANTA, GEORGIA

Grigsby stood in the living room talking to his SAC as several techs manned the various screens tied to cameras set up around the property. " ... My sources say there are thirty of them, all highly trained mercenaries," Whatley said. "They suckered us with that compound we've been watching in Wyoming. It was just a fluke that we noticed this group moving in barely before they got to your location."

Grigsby sighed. "We're ready as we can be, but I need to get off this phone. The helicopters are leaving, so this bunch is already on the ground and they're only a couple of hundred yards away." There was a hesitation, then, "My people now have them on camera. We can't see exactly how many there are yet, but from the looks of them, there are bound to be at least twenty — probably more."

"Get your people inside."

"What? We can't do that. We would be bottled up in here like..."

"You're not alone. I have help on the way, and they should be there momentarily."

Grigsby, thinking that Whatley was sending a few more agents, unconsciously waved his hands around in his frustration. "Bullshit, what are a few more agents? They'll just be dead like us. We'll take some of these bastards with us, though. We have cameras all over and we see them coming. I've told my people to wait until they can't miss. I need to go..."

"Bring your people inside, dammit. They'll be killed out there."

Grigsby, more frustrated, continued, "You're not making sense. I have people outside who will..."

" ... Be dead in a few minutes if they engage those mercenaries. Listen to me, Matt. You saved my life at the hospital, now I'm returning the favor. Please, please take my word on this. Bring your people inside and don't engage the mercenaries unless there is no other choice."

In the blacked-out living room, Grigsby stood looking at a screen when the operator zoomed in on one of the mercenaries. "Shit, they have fucking RPGs. One of those grenades in this house and we're all dead."

"Matt, listen to me. I swear to you on my honor that help is on the way. Pull your people inside right now. Matt, have I ever lied to you? Get everyone in the house — now."

Grigsby knew they were as good as dead. No way could his people go up against trained mercenaries, particularly as badly outnumbered as the agents were. It would just be a matter of time before his agents would all be killed, anyway. Making up his mind, he put his hand on the shoulder of the man sitting in front of him, "Evans, recall all our people who are outside."

"What? We can..."

"Do it!"

The agent issued the order, but Grigsby saw several of his outside people struggling with cases of loaded rifle magazines. He reached over and grabbed the mike from Evans.

"Drop the extra ammo. Get inside now!"

The agents dropped their burdens and ran.

Lightning picked that moment to strike a power substation a couple of blocks away. The lights went out instantly. Three seconds later, they flickered pale, flickered again and came to a steady, full brightness. Bless those nurses for that backup generator, Grigsby thought.

Art Hanes walked slowly into the living room, a nurse on either side, helping him. "I thought I told you to take him to the basement," Grigsby snarled at the nurses, then to Haynes, "This is no place for you right now. Arthur," he continued, waving to one of the agents who had just come in from outside, "Get agent Hanes and the nurses to the basement. Get a vest on all three of them," Grigsby snapped out to another of the agents.

Both nurses were wearing the belts and holsters that they used in their pistol matches. Hanes, still in his pajamas since he didn't have any other clothes, had his Glock in his hand and several extra magazines stuffed in the top of his pajama pants.

The nurses were terrified, but they were quiet and continued to help support their patient between them. Arthur motioned for Hanes and the nurses to start down the hall in front of him. "It isn't going to happen," Hanes said to him, refusing to move. Then to Grigsby, "Sandra and Bobby are going to the basement; I'll be helping out at the back door."

"You're going..." Grigsby started.

"We'll all be dead in a few minutes, anyway, and you know it," Hanes interrupted, motioning to the screens where the night vision cameras showed a number of uniformed men heading toward the house. "Those are soldiers, mercenaries, or whatever you want to call them. They're wearing some kind of uniform and carrying military weapons. I'm not going to cower in a corner and wait for one of those guys to come in and finish me off."

Sandra, her face drawn, said, "Bobby and I are going to be with him, and don't bother to try and talk us out of it. We'll make coming through that back door expensive for those ... people."

"Ah, fuck," Grigsby snarled, turning back to the screens.

Art, walking slowly with a very pronounced limp, made it to the kitchen with the nurses' help. Two agents were standing at the back door. Extra M4 magazines were stacked on chairs close to hand. Faces expressionless, the agents nodded at Hanes and the nurses.

Two agents brought in flack vests and the three struggled into them, the agents helping. Hanes nodded his thanks as one of the agents said, "I heard somebody say that whoever is out there has RPGs. If that's true, we might not even get a round off before they blow this house away, and us in it."

"You ladies need to be in the basement," one of the agents by the door said.

"You're wasting your breath," Bobby responded. "We're staying with Art. Besides, who needs a burning house falling on them? We had rather die with a bullet through us or from an RPG explosion instead of cowering in the basement waiting to be cooked."

"We're going to stay with our man," Sandra affirmed.

From the living room, "Sir," one of the technicians called out, "something odd is happening out there."

They all heard the chatter of automatic weapons, first, one firing short bursts, then more weapons began firing until the noise level increased dramatically, but there didn't appear to be any bullets striking the house.

"What the hell are they shooting at?" Grigsby said, a lot louder than he intended. "They're all firing toward the other end of the field."

"I don't know," one of the technicians said, "but I saw a number of the mercs fall. Someone out there is mowing them down like wheat."

Something went up a couple hundred feet and hovered, producing an intense, strobing light. All the night vision cameras on that side of the house overloaded and went out.

"They'll reset in a second," one of the technicians said. The scene from the outside cameras returned for a couple of seconds, then went out again.

"Whoever is attacking the mercenaries is doing that," Grigsby said, thinking aloud.

The storm hit with a vengeance, winds howling around the house. The old house shuddered, but stood. Rain came down, a wall of water. Lightning hit a tree a block away, setting the remains afire for a moment until the torrent put it out. Another bolt hit, close, the deafening sound and bright flash, simultaneous. Limbs and debris flew through the air. Something heavy struck the front porch, rattling the door. One of the windows in a bedroom broke with a crash, either from flying debris or from the wind. Near-constant lightning strikes rained down over the area, the thunder virtually continuous, adding to the bedlam of the automatic weapons firing. Golf ball sized hail started falling intermittently, then picked up the pace, its clatter on the roof adding to the pandemonium.

"Look," one of the technicians said, pointing to a rain-and-hail-blurred picture. "You can see the laser targeting from the rifles of whoever is shooting at the mercenaries. There's so much moisture in the air that the beams show up to some extent. Whoever is attacking the mercs have red targeting lasers. The mercs have green."

"I can see the beams," Grigsby said, "but I still can't see who is giving the mercenaries hell."

"Look carefully, Sir, the next time the cameras cycle back on. There is another pulse of light coming from this new group, well actually, many pulses. They're much paler, but the rain and hail coming down is letting us see the beams in the air. Looks like they're emanating from the other end of the field behind the mercenaries where the red targeting lasers are apparently originating. But what are those other beams?"

"Dammed if I know, but whatever they are, something is taking its toll on the mercs," Grigsby said, leaning over the tech's shoulder to better see the screen as he tried to process what was happening before the night vision cameras overloaded and went out again.

When the hatch had opened, Kayla had run down the ramp a step behind Jeff, the Ship invisible behind them. They made their way a hundred feet from the Ship, then hit the ground as members of Jeff's team began firing. Kayla, no longer feeling the Ship's mind, knew the ship had left to go after the helicopters.

The mercenaries were being hit, although they didn't hear any weapons firing, just odd pulses of humming, but whatever it was, it was totally destructive to anyone hit with one of those odd beams that were now starting to show up in the rain and hail laden air.

Kayla started to raise her head trying to see better, but Jeff slapped her flat an instant before a burst of what sounded like angry bees tore through the weeds just above her. Jeff snapped his weapon up, fired, and was rewarded by a scream.

I can't see a bloody thing, Kayla snarled to herself as hail began to rattle against her faceplate. She tried to settle her nerves. Her heartbeat, not that she noticed, was well over a hundred and fifty beats per minute. Her nerves rang with another adrenaline surge as more rounds tore through the weeds near her. Not far away, a tornado alert siren was also adding its loud, warbling wail to the cacophony of automatic weapons and the deafening thunder.

One of Jeff's team sent up a smart strobe to counteract and confuse the mercenary's night vision gear, not that Jeff's team could be seen, but their laser targeting beams were showing up, so it was simple enough to figure out where the killing force was generally originating. Kayla's helmet reset at a frequency the strobe didn't interfere with.

Jeff fired, came to a crouch and dashed ahead, diving to slide on the coating of hail, Kayla right on his heels. When he went to ground again, she crawled up beside him. Her helmet AI was showing her things she had difficulty understanding. Oh fuck, oh fuck, she thought as she tried to bring back her training on the battle helmet. She fired short bursts, keeping her pulses close to the ground.

A mercenary rose up a little to shoot the strobe out, and paid for it with his life a half second later. One of Jeff's team launched another strobe. Worried now, the mercenaries blew through ammunition, laying down a near-constant barrage of automatic fire toward their unseen attackers.

Kayla's helmet was showing her the enemy, but every time she tried to raise her head a little bit, Jeff slapped her flat a second before a hail of bullets whined past. Finally, she got the angles right, pointed her weapon in the direction the AI said, and fired a long burst. The AI superimposed an X over the enemy icon. Well, damn. I finally hit one, she thought as she changed power packs just before a hail of bullets made her want to dig a very deep hole and crawl into it. She answered with a long burst from her weapon.

Kayla kept firing where the AI indicated — changed power packs when needed, moved when Jeff told her. Time drifted onward unnoticed by her as she fought by her Prime's side.

Kayla could hear abbreviated code chatter between the team members. She had memorized the combat codes when she trained at the base, but Jeff's team had a more abbreviated code than she was first taught. It was almost as if each knew what the others were thinking. She had memorized their more abbreviated version, too, but now she began to wonder. Jeff, Sergeant Gomez and Lieutenant Richardson seemed to almost casually converse as they fought, of course they conversed in their abbreviated code. There was no apparent excitement in their voices. She was afraid to say anything for fear of sounding like a fool — not that she could think of anything of import to say, anyway. She understood that six of the team were flanking to the left and other members were filling out their positions in the line, more scattered now, but making it appear that the six were still there firing.

She heard one of the team curse and call for a medic, the trooper obviously having been hit. He said it was only a graze, but snarled that it was bleeding like hell. That much was in the clear. A few moments later, due to her AI, she could tell he was still firing, even as the medic worked on him. Jeff moved again, with Kayla scrambling after him. She realized that the barrel of her weapon was smoking in the downpour. She could feel the heat through the rifle stock and her muddy gloves. Oh, well, the pulse rifle was designed to function under adverse conditions, and she had six more power packs left on her belt. There was a stash of power packs behind her where they had dropped the extra cases of them when they left the Ship, but she realized the fight would be over, one way or the other, before she would need more packs. She rammed in a new power pack as the rain poured down, the hail thankfully slacking up for now, then looked for another target. Her helmet provided her with icons to locate the enemy, but the uneven ground and the hail of bullets the mercenaries were putting out, kept her from hitting any of them. She lined up her weapon as best she could and held the trigger back for a burst.

The Ship, frustrated, lazed along behind the three helicopters. She had scanned ahead and found a wooded area with no signs of life above that of animals. She would destroy the helicopters there. They had been headed generally in that direction, but suddenly they veered off to the north. She jammed their radio frequencies and nudged them back on course with her beams.

The helicopter swerved back to their original heading as the pilot stared at the compass. It felt as if the craft had been pushed to the right. Must be wind, he thought, his hand automatically gentling the cyclic to the left. Nothing happened. What the fuck? he thought as he moved his controls farther. The helicopter shook, the superstructure seemed to groan.