Chapter 134

THE NURSES' HOME

Several agents were standing in the back yard of the nurses' home waiting to use the hose to wash the blood and gore off their hands and raincoats after the gruesome job of removing the bodies. "Jackson, you okay?" Belcher asked as the other agent bent over and dry heaved yet again.

"I may give up eating," Jackson said, wiping his mouth as he managed to stand back up. Sighing, "Plus, I've made a fool out of myself puking my guts out over and over."

"Ah, you aren't the only one who threw up; I thought I was going to several times. I know you've seen dead bodies before, so what was it that set you off?"

"Bodies, yeah, I've seen dead bodies, but those two under that tree over there," he said pointing, "were ... different. There were pieces of them scattered all around. One of them had a big chunk of wood from the tree buried in what used to be a chest. They must have really pissed off those guys..."

"And gals," Belcher supplied. "Some of them are women."

Jackson shrugged. "Yeah, you're right." He partially turned and waved in the general direction of the Ship. "What about that ramp to nowhere? I started to step up on it to help unload the wheelbarrow we had filled with body parts, but one of those troopers grabbed my arm and told me to just put ... everything down on the ramp, but to stay off it. I looked back after we had walked away a few steps. The body parts we had piled there were ... gone. The ramp just goes up there and ends. Somehow, what we piled on it just ... disappeared."

"Yeah, I know, same thing with the bodies we unloaded from the stretcher. I tried to ask Grigsby what was going on, but if he knows anything, he wouldn't say. He just told me again to do what these people asked, and if one of them said jump, to not even bother asking how high, but to just jump as fucking high as I could."

"Well, they did save our bacon. One RPG into that house and we would have all been dead." The two stood for a moment without speaking, then, "How do they see out here? They obviously can, so their night vision apparatus has to be inside those helmets they're wearing, but you can't see past the faceplates to really tell. I doubt if I've heard them say ten words while we were cleaning up."

Another agent finished with the hose and handed it to Belcher. "Thanks," he said, then turning to Jackson, "Hold out your hands. I'll get them first then work on your raincoat." He rattled on trying to divert his own mind from his friend's blood and gore-splattered coat. "Yeah, they're obviously talking to each other, but they must have some type of throat mike or something. Did you see those two big guys? They were taking two bodies at a time on that stretcher, and jogging with it."

When Belcher turned the hose on Jackson's chest, a chunk of something fell off with the spray of water. Belcher's stomach rolled as he realized it was a fragment of brain tissue.

Jackson, not noticing, answered, "Yeah, I saw them. We were lucky to find that wheelbarrow to use for the pieces of the two guys they must have shot out of that tree. That was just fucking ... gross."

Belcher suddenly spun away and threw up.

"Hey, Guy, what's wrong?" Jackson said. "You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," Belcher finally got out. After a minute he stood back up and concentrated on taking deep breaths.

Grigsby walked up and put his hand on Belcher's arm. "Get to you?"

"Yeah. It did," he said with a shaking voice, "but I'm okay now."

"Good," Grigsby said, handing Belcher a waste can. The rain suddenly went from hard to downpour again. Grigsby pulled the collar of his raincoat tight about his neck, wishing he had brought a rain suit with a hood. The two agents seemed unconcerned, since they couldn't get much wetter, raincoats or not. "Start here in the back and get all the shell casings picked up," the ASAC said. "And I do mean all. The SAC is feeding all the misinformation he can to the news media, but I suspect we'll be seeing some of them as soon as the streets are cleared out enough for them to get into the area. He is adamant about no one knowing what happened here, and he's absolutely right. I for one don't want to be ridiculed for the rest of my life about invisible men having a battle, so you guys think hard when the temptation comes to tell anybody about what happened tonight, your families included. And ... it goes without saying that it would not be conducive to your careers. Capiche?"

"Crap, Sir, we're not going to tell anybody, but the neighbors down the street are bound to have heard something with all that shooting going on, thunder or not."

Grigsby shook his head, then with a sly grin, "I'm told some government agency had an anti-terrorist training exercise out here. That's all we 'know, ' and that's all we're going to say. Alright, Gentlemen, No brass, no weapons, no blood by morning. I think all this rain will take care of the blood, so we just need to get the brass and weapons. The news media can speculate all they want. Without evidence they'll look like idiots. And about the empty casings, any time you get fed up with crawling around looking for brass, just remember, had it not been for these people, whoever they are, we would be the ones who would be headed for the morgue — all of us."

"Yes, Sir," both agents said. Even with them having to search in the dark with night vision gear or flashlights, they knew that Grigsby would not be pleased if someone later found evidence of what had happened here. He was a good ASAC, but he was not someone you wanted to piss off.

"You won't be by yourself," Grigsby continued, "Everybody will be helping — including the technicians, who incidentally, didn't bother to bring rain gear. They won't forget it next time. They're just lucky it's seventy-five degrees. Finding that brass would really be a bitch if it were 35 degrees and raining this hard," he finished, grimly. "As soon as these troopers, as they call themselves, leave, I'll be out here to help, too."

The nurses' travel bags, computers, and other belongings were stacked on the table and floor of the kitchen. Everything was protected from the rain by garbage bags held in place with duct tape.

Two troopers stood ready with a freshly-cleaned stretcher.

Hanes sat at the table, while the two nurses stood next to him, still worried that they would be left behind, despite the fact that all their belongings were ready to leave with them.

"I hate to see you go," Grigsby said, addressing Hanes and the nurses.

"You'll see them again," Jeff said, "one way or another."

Grigsby put out a hand to shake with Hanes. "Take care."

"You, too," Hanes replied, squeezing Grigsby's hand. "I appreciate all that you've done for me."

"My job," Grigsby said. Turning to the nurses, "We'll take care of your house. The SAC will probably be in touch about buying it for a safe house." He put out his hand to Bobby.

Ignoring the hand, she stepped into his arms and hugged him tight, then kissed him on the cheek. "We'll never forget you."

"Same here," Grigsby returned.

Bobby stepped back and Sandra took her place, tears now streaming down both nurses' faces.

"Your chariot awaits," Jeff said as he reached to help Hanes to stand, but Bobby and Sandra beat him to it.

"We suspect they used satellites to track our vehicles here. Considering everything that has happen tonight, they might very well observe your leaving with Agent Hanes on the stretcher," Grigsby worried.

"They very easily could see us as we walk across the yard and field," Jeff agreed, "but they'll find it a little more difficult to track us when we leave."

Grigsby let out a nervous chuckle, "Well, with that ramp to nowhere sitting out there, you might very well be right."

With a subvocalized word from Jeff, the team filed through to take the nurses' belongings to the ship. The trooper with the slight wound and the other with the sprained ankle were already back with the group. The agents all stood on the back porch to thank the team yet again.

Grigsby held out his raincoat for Hanes. "I'll get another when I get back to the office," Grigsby said before Hanes could object.

When Hanes had donned the raincoat, Bobby and Sandra helped him onto the stretcher. On the porch, all the agents came by to quickly shake hands with Hanes and wish him well. As the stretcher bearers stepped off the porch with their burden, Sandra held her umbrella over Art to protect his face from the downpour, while Bobby walked on the other side holding his hand.

It was a good thing that neither of the three could hear the subvocalized chatter on the troop channel. None of it was derogatory toward the nurses or Hanes, but it was ... suggestive. Kayla, listening in, could feel her face flush, but realized that the troopers were men and women letting down after a combat mission. And ... their comments about the three were doubtlessly true. It was obvious that the nurses did have plans for the young agent.

Inside the Ship, Jeff's team retracted their faceplates. Art sat up on the stretcher, turned and put his feet on the deck. The nurses helped him to stand and walk the couple of steps to a long bench-like seat, Bobby and Sandra settling beside him.

Most of the team, with the exception of Jeff, Kayla, Lieutenant Richardson, Sergeant Gomez and the two medics, found seats around the big room and relaxed.

"Where are we?" Bobby said, looking around.

Jeff caught her eye. "Roughly nineteen miles above your home."

Bobby and Sandra looked at each other frowning, but before they could decide if the Colonel were joking or not, a wall seemed to become a window looking down into the darkness. There were thick clouds well below them, and lightning flashes in the distance far to the south where the main part of the storm now raged. The world below gradually lightened as their viewpoint seemed to hurtle downward, the scene transitioning from dark to day as the ship compensated. Plunging through the clouds, they seemed to hover a hundred yards above the nurses' home.

The people they had just left were in the field where the mercenaries had fought. At Jeff's mental command the viewpoint zoomed in on one individual, who without a raincoat, knelt in the mud and water searching for expended bullet casings. As he raised his face for a moment to say something to another of the agents, they realized that the person was Grigsby.

"Where are we?" Sandra said in a shaky voice. "Surely we can't be as high up as you say. We just stepped in here."

"You're..." Kayla got out, but before she could mention the Ship, the block stopped her. Sinking onto one of the padded seats that had seemed to grow from the floor as the group came in, she looked stunned.

"We have a lot to tell you," Jeff quietly said, "An awful lot. For now, suffice it to say that you are aboard a starship, a self-aware starship."

"Those weapons," Sandra said, her eyes focusing on Jeff's pulse rifle. "Surely you're not..." Sandra started, but wound down.

"No," Jeff chuckled, "we're human."

"But ... how could we be so high up?" Art asked, nodding to the viewscreen. "Or is that a satellite shot? I certainly haven't felt us move. We couldn't be as high as that seemed to indicate before it zoomed downward."

"Do you think that scene is faked?" Jeff asked, motioning to Grigsby's image.

As Jeff spoke, the scene began to change, the viewpoint gaining altitude until the nurses' home and yard now filled the screen, the scene showing all the agents still scrambling around picking up the expended casings the dead mercenaries had left.

After a moment, Hanes sighed and said, "No. No, it's obvious that we're looking at my people picking up the mercenaries' brass."

Jeff suddenly turned toward one of the healing chambers, walking over as the fog inside the chamber dissipated, the hood disappeared and the trooper sat up. "Welcome back," the Prime said with a grin.

"What happened?" Donaldson asked, a look of puzzlement on his face. "Did I get hit?"

One of the medics responded, "A direct hit to your faceplate probably caused your head to slap back, which in turn caused a concussion that made you black out. You had a torn femoral artery and another slight wound as well. The Healer stopped the bleeding and we got you to the chamber for the rest of your healing. How do you feel?"

"Great," the trooper said, then flinched as he realized that Little One was climbing up his uniform to sit on his shoulder.

Jeff reached over, picked her up and put her on his shoulder. Thank you, Jeff thought to her.

He took a second to unscramble the information she sent back to him. {{{ I could have healed him completely. There was no real reason to put him in the chamber. }}}

Jeff decided there had been a distinct tone of ... hurt pride, and perhaps indignation as well.

We know, Baby, he projected.

"Might want to pull your pants up before you stand," one of the medics said with a grin.