IV
She showed nothing on the outside, but internally, she practically laughed with glee as she made a quick, efficient thrust with the tanto. Seeking to drive the blade between his ribs and into his heart and lungs, she barely registered that he had somehow sensed the attack. Only when his muscular left forearm, top out to protect the vital blood vessels under, came between the blade and his torso did she fully understand.
Blood sprayed from the arm, but his right palm lashed out and smashed her nose the same moment she cut his arm. She tried to bring her elbow up, but he slammed his forehead into her face and drove forward. His left arm, oozing blood, smacked into her groin and his pounded his right knee into her ribs. Her fingers slipped from the tanto, which clattered to the floor. Panic set in. The Davion was big, strong, explosively fast and extremely well-trained and experienced. If he managed to set the plum clinch, he would beat her to death. She had no doubt about that.
She locked her fingernails into the gash on his arm and twisted. He groaned but snaked his right fist around and punched her in the side of the neck. The shock of the blow stunned her, but she dipped her head and broke from his grasp easily, surprisingly easily.
Then his left elbow cut upwards and crushed her collarbone. She screamed, but his right palm smacked into her again. She felt a searing pain burn through her right eye, and she ducked again before he could gouge it out. She heard a crack and fell to the floor. Her right foot bent at a weird angle, but she felt no pain. That was a bad sign, but she at least knew the poison she laced her blade with would start to take effect before he could interrogate her.
The first punch landed the second she hit the floor. She saw red, blood, her blood, gushing from three holes in her chest. The barbarian had drawn his sidearm and shot her as she was falling. Enraged, she raised her head.
She saw the flash, the fire, and then she saw and felt nothing else.
Justin fell to his left knee. He placed his pistol on the table and sent a text. ALL PERSONNEL SHELTER IN PLACE. I HAVE BEEN ATTACKED. POISON BLADE.
It hurt to breathe, and his eyes gradually lost focus and darkness encroached. He felt the rest of his body fall forward. This is how I die? At least that bitch is dead.
He slipped into the warmth of sleep.
He felt pain, a sharp prick, in his right shoulder. His lungs suddenly felt as though they had burst into flame. Somehow, his back arched and he sucked air through his nose and mouth. The pain died, and someone rolled him to his side. He vomited hard, but his vision began to clear.
“You’re alright, J. I had antivenom.”
Justin laughed. Sera’s voice rang like an angel. “How,” he gasped. “Did you get here? How did you have an antidote?”
“I didn’t go out, and I’m Pararescue. That others may live. We always have the solution. In this case, it’s a universal antivenom developed in the 21st century.
He vomited again. It was continuous for almost two minutes, but when it stopped, the powerful, painful cramping in his abdomen and the feelings of paralysis and suffocation subsided. “You saved my life. You said antivenom?”
“And you saved mine before. It’s what we do. Yeah, antivenom, a universal antivenom developed for neurotoxins in the 21st century. The blade was probably coated in blue-ring octopus venom.”
A million questions flooded into Justin’s mind, but he held back. They wouldn’t help, and things were still dangerous. He needed to get a line on his people, immediately, but his head still swam. What is going on? Why try to kill us?
Another thought struck him. He assumed whoever attacked him wanted to kill everyone, but he didn’t know that. This could have been personal.
Yelling from the hallway caught his attention, and his room door opened suddenly. Ken, wearing a duffle over his shoulders, stumbled in, dragging the body of a much smaller Asian man behind him. The man’s arms bent at weird angles, but the pair of pruning shears jammed through his neck told Justin that the fight was vicious.
Sera moved to him. “Are you hurt? Did he cut or stab you with anything?”
He shook his head. “He tried to shoot me. If the cat hadn’t bit my toe at the last minute….”
“Yeah, well he pissed off the wrong guy. Damn, Ken; pruning shears?”
“It’s what I had.”
“And you what, just rushed him after he fired?”
Ken nodded. “Yeah. I have his piece, too.”
The frogman carefully placed the duffle on the floor and opened it. Justin handed gloves out. Sera took a seat facing the door, her M42B Carbine over her lap while the two pulled a sophisticated sniper rifle, another tanto, and a needle pistol from the bag.
Justin whistled. The rifle, sporting a free-floating long rail system and a custom, very expensive scope, appeared to boast a cold-forged, free-floating steel barrel with chrome internal lining and an attached suppressor. “This is aircraft grade aluminum. The upper and lower receivers are precision machined and matched in a way I can’t even explain. It’s in 6.5 Creedmoor. That scope is entirely custom.”
“This shit is seriously expensive,” Sera said, making a face. “Too expensive for ISF. The ****** Collective dotes on the Samurai MechWarriors, not ISF hit squads unless they’re DEST, who are MechWarriors to begin with.”
Ken nodded safely. “You know something,” Justin said. “What?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, boss.”
“Let me guess: some sort of Shinobi thing. Spirit Cats?”
“I know you doubt them, but if you pull open a pocket, you’ll probably find an origami cat.”
“I don’t doubt their existence. I doubt I’m important enough to send one after me.”
“Ziblers have killed a lot of Combine warriors throughout history.”
Justin slipped the gloves on and moved to the body of the woman he killed. He probed carefully, with a healthy respect for booby traps, until he found what he was looking for. The paper felt heavier than it should, but the cat it formed was unmistakable. He held it up for Ken to confirm.
“He’ll have one too,” the commando announced.
Justin nodded. “MPs will be released to come to us soon. DMI reports suggest they work in four or five man teams. I doubt they’ll come after us again, but the others…”
“Are grouped together, with a Rabid Fox Extraction Team as backup,” Sera replied. “This attempt failed. They won’t go for your sister, either. She’s just as operator as you are, and you absolutely destroyed that woman. You too, Ken.”
“Mine was a dude, but yeah.”
“Why? I mean, we’re good – I think we’re better than any ninja – but it seemed…easy,” Justin said.
Ken shrugged. “It’s just different. We trace our lineage directly to the U.S. Navy SEAL teams that landed on New Avalon with Terran Alliance Marines. The Foxes trace theirs to Delta Force and the British SAS. Nekakami traces theirs to Shinobi clans of feudal Japan. They’re Old World, not used to the skill and brutality that we can bring. They’re better at pure assassination of political leaders and corrupt DCMS MechWarriors than we are, but they’re…a tool of a more civilized age, and times have changed.”
“I wouldn’t call feudal Japan civilized, or any feudal society for that matter, but I take your point.”
Sirens grew louder, finally, and the communicator rang. Justin picked it up. “Zibler.”
“J, we’re getting the team back on base. There were two more attempts and both failed with no losses to us, just some minor injuries.”
“Thanks, Commander. We take any of them alive?”
“Not really. The one who survived immediately committed suicide with some sort of poison. There might be more out here, but we’ll do better against threats together. See you in 20.”
“Yes sir.”
He disconnected, but the phone immediately rang again. Justin glanced at it, then the others. “The door is locked?”
Ken nodded.
He answered. “I figured you’d call back now that your little friends are dead.”
