“Interesting weapons system.” The driver indicated a smaller readout. “Hydraulic powered, which is why our e-smother didn’t shut them down.” He looked to his superior. “Response, sir?”
Bevridge considered, then nodded toward one of two storage buildings visible on the property. In addition to these, there were two main structures that appeared to be the living quarters. One had a particularly broad roof. They were heavily shuttered.
“There’s a barn over there, old man. The one with the long peaked roof. Instruct one-four and one-five say hello.”
“Yes, sir.” The driver relayed the command.
Pop-up launchers emerged from the roofs of the fourth and fifth trucks in the column and swiveled to face the building in question. The missiles they launched were small but powerful. In quick succession both struck the sides of the structure that Bevridge had singled out.
The explosions were impressive. Lopé and Rosenthal felt the concussions inside the car. Large pieces of stone mixed with splintered matrix were thrown high into the air as the antique rock walls were shattered.
The building itself, however, remained standing, doubtless due to the metaloceramic armor walls that were now clearly visible where the stone had been blasted away.
Leaning forward, Bevridge pursed his lips as he studied the result.
“Interesting architectural detail there. The owners’ cows must be particularly valuable.” Shifting in his seat he picked up a hand unit.
“Attention inside the buildings!” he said. “This is Kyuka Bevridge speaking.” His magnified voice echoed loudly outside the sealed vehicle. “Your property has been subjected to a comprehensive electronic smother. You cannot fire any electronically controlled weapons. You cannot call out for reinforcements or to involve the local authorities. If you possess small arms, please note that you are vastly outgunned. This entire property is now subject to high-density drone surveillance. We do not want to hurt anyone, but you will be taken into custody and turned over to the Greater London municipal police for processing.” He paused to let what he had broadcast sink in before resuming.
“In the interest of avoiding bloodshed I ask that you come out with hands raised and no weapons. Should you be considering another option, be aware that we have with us long-range detection equipment that can not only pinpoint the existence and location of suicide explosives, but set them off at a distance. Any misguided efforts at sacrifice will be useless. Please come out. Now.”
Satisfied, he sat back to wait. Minutes passed with no indication of activity. Suddenly there was motion, and a line of goats appeared from behind one of the barns. Bevridge’s people were well-trained, however. The animals’ appearance didn’t inspire any unprovoked firing.
The security chief turned to look back at Lopé. “What’s your opinion, old chap? Do we press on, or give them a bit more time to come to a decision?”
“This is your show, Bevridge.”
His superior nodded once. “So it is, but I value your experience.”
The sergeant glanced at Rosenthal before responding. “My experience tells me that you can’t negotiate with fanatics. You’ve shut down their electronics. That’s good. They know we’re aware of their hydraulics, but that doesn’t mean they don’t have something equally nasty lying around waiting for unwanted visitors.” He looked over at Rosenthal. “Your opinion, Private?”
Startled at being asked to comment, but looking pleased by the confidence the sergeant was showing in her, Rosenthal hesitated for a moment, then spoke up.
“You warned them about using small arms,” she told Bevridge. “That doesn’t mean they’ll listen. They may dig in and try to defend themselves. There’s a wide range of weapons that don’t rely on electronic triggering. They might have pistols, they might have M90s. One crazy person can do a lot of damage with an M90.”
Lopé looked on approvingly. “One crazy person can do damage with a blunderbuss, if they know how to load, aim, and fire it. The point is that it’s still not safe to enter.”
“I’m afraid I have to concur.” Reluctantly, Bevridge gave orders to specialist members of the team waiting in the trucks.
Figures began to emerge from behind the car, rushing forward. While some of them carried weapons, others were laden with gear that Lopé thought he recognized, but he couldn’t be sure.
They looked on with interest as the assault team worked its way toward the two main structures, avoiding for now the barns. Anticipating armed resistance, the members of the Weyland-Yutani assault squad were arraigned in full military-grade armor and similar battle gear.
Still no sign of retaliation.
While sharpshooters watched over them, chemical specialists proceeded to slap charged packets over anything that resembled an opening. Scaling the roofs of both buildings, they didn’t overlook filtered vents. When their respective team leaders had finished, both assault teams drew back until they were under cover. Given the go-ahead by Bevridge, they activated the packets.
A succession of muted explosions filled the air on the property. Each packet contained a concentrated anti-riot irritant that the integrated explosives blew inward through cracks, openings, and vents. It was powerful, long-lasting, and dispersed widely.
Bevridge looked on with satisfaction.
“Now we wait. Our ill-advised friends should be coming out soon enough. They’re going to need clean air, and they’re not going to find it inside.”
“Unless,” Lopé pointed out, “they have filter masks.”
Bevridge was ready for the argument. “If that proves to be the case, then we’ll have to employ something less civil to winkle them out. I’d prefer to take all of them alive, however. The dead are notoriously resistant to questioning.”
A moment later the first goat blew up.
Several members of the intercession team had taken cover behind a long plastic watering trough. Approaching them unnoticed, the herd detonated in programmed succession. Several of the team members went flying, and some landed with limbs at unnatural angles. It was difficult to gauge the extent of their injuries. In some instances their body armor seemed to have done its job, but two members of the team lay unmoving, their faces bloodied.
“Medic!” one of the survivors yelled. As soon as a response team started forward from one of the vans, gunfire erupted from half a dozen locations, including the main building and the lower levels of the two barns.
“Return fire, return fire!” Bevridge was yelling into his communicator as he half charged, half fell out of the command truck. Slugs chewed up the ground all around the vehicles as men and women rushed for better cover.
As the intruders spread out to create a wider arc of fire, shots continued to come from within the compound. One guided heavy shell struck the middle truck in line. Empty except for the driver, it leaped skyward in a rapidly expanding ball of smoke and flame and flipped over twice before smashing into the ground.
Continuing to take casualties, Bevridge’s team began to unleash heavier weapons of their own. One shell sent metal, concrete, and body parts vomiting skyward as it slammed into the middle of the main building. Another blew a chunk of the barn to fragments, wood mixing with blood and bone as the armed men behind it were all but disintegrated by the force of the explosion.
In the midst of the exchange of firepower, a wild musical blaring and metallic clanging unexpectedly filled the air. As the noise blasted from concealed speakers, the doors to both barns on the property were flung wide and a horde of panicked farm animals was let loose on the startled visitors.