Kill one of ours, and we destroy a village of yours. It made even zealots think.
The British were more polite and less savage, but they would by now assume their men were dead, and they would know who was responsible. At least they would know of Peel, and if they knew enough to find and follow him, they doubtless knew for whom he worked and where his employer lived. Peel would realize this, and he would have a plan in place by now, a way to escape being captured.
Huard, dressed in rain gear, walked a circuit around the back of the house, looking at Ruzhyo but not speaking as he moved from sight. Huard didn't like him, but Huard was a child.
So, in Peel's shoes, what would he do? Flight was the only real option; even Goswell could not protect him if he stayed here. And timing was critical. Peel would have to disappear before things grew too warm. Were he Peel, he would already be gone. Certainly before morning light offered his pursuers too much help in spotting him. And he would wish to depart without any telltales left behind. Peel had sent his men to the property's borders, leaving only Huard and Ruzhyo here. They, along with everybody inside the house, were expendable. That's how Ruzhyo would see it in Peel's place.
So, sometime during the night, Peel would call him inside. Or perhaps use the com to tell Huard to do it, to kill him? No. He wouldn't trust Huard. And if the boy failed, his master would know that Ruzhyo would have to come for him.
Ruzhyo could simply disappear into the rainy darkness in a few more minutes. None of Peel's men would find him or stop him if they did find him. He could trek away, catch a ride, steal a car, and be in France tomorrow. This game was nearly over, and what was the point in waiting around for the expected end?
He mentally shrugged. No point at all, actually. And perhaps that was the reason. There was nowhere he had to be. One place was as good as another. Did it matter where the sands of one's hourglass ran out? In the end, did anything matter at all?
Next to the parked lorry, Howard slipped his helmet on, and checked the LOSIR com. "Perimeter team, sound off, by the numbers."
The Strike Team obediently replied. All ahead functions there.
"Entry team, sound off."
"This is E1, Cooper."
"E2, Michaels.
"E3, Fiorella."
"E4, Fernandez."
And he was E5. Five of them should be enough, if everybody did what they were supposed to do. He and Fernandez would work the heavy shots, and while Michaels and Fiorella weren't trained assault troopers, he'd seen them in action enough to know they had balls. The only unknown was Cooper, and if she was a field agent for MI-6, she ought to have at least some basic moves. It was hurried, it was slapdash, it was hung together with string and bubble gum, but it was what he had to work with, and it was about to be a go. They all wore the light SIPEsuit configuration, mostly just armor, corns, and the tactical comp to run the helmet. They all carried the simple but reliable H&K 9mm subguns and tactical pistols, save for Howard and his.357 revolver. And as soon as he'd brought that out, Julio had howled.
"Why, Katie Mae, I must be going blind," he'd said. "My tired old eyes completely shot. What is that ugly lump on top of the colonel's antique good luck charm? Is that a dot scope? It can't be!"
"Julio…
"No, I must be on drugs, or maybe just out of my mind. The Colonel John Howard I know would never in a million years upgrade to hardware just because it was state-of-the-art and useful!" He started looking up at the rainy sky.
"What are you looking for, Sergeant?"
"I dunno, sir. Some sign or portent. A big meteor about to fall on us, a gathering of angels, a rain of fire, something to let us know the end is near."
"Never let it be said that your commander is a total Luddite," Howard said. He smiled.
Now, they were on their way. They would split into two groups a couple of miles from here, the perimeter team would hit the gate, and they would go over the fence. Howard took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
"All aboard," he said.
Peel glanced at his watch. Almost nine. Still raining, but not as hard as it had been, to judge from the sound on the slate roof. Bascomb-Coombs hadn't come out of the study; he was hunched over his computer, wearing a headset and finger bands, deep in some VR scenario. Well, fine. He could die never knowing what had hit him for all Peel cared, and good riddance.
Goswell had tottered off into the dining room for a late supper, and Peel had the sitting room to himself, working on his third scotch, a small one this time. He didn't want to drink too much. There was Ruzhyo to consider.
He'd have to get started soon, but he was stalling. Had to be done, of course, but there was a certain reluctance to get to it. Another page turning in the book of his life, and a big one. Ah, well. That's how it went. Win some, lose some, but the important thing was to live to fight another day.
He took another sip of his scotch.
The monster, which looked like a cross between Godzilla and a giant Spielbergian raptor, stomped out into the clearing that served as his toilet and let loose a bellow that shook fronds off the ferns. It was still pretty far away, a couple of hundred meters. Probably could cover that in maybe four or five seconds once he got moving good. One shot, maybe two.
"There he is," Jay said redundantly.
Saji looked up. "No shit."
Jay swallowed dryly, put the laser sight crosshair onto the monster's chest. The cross bounced around a little, but finally the holographic image blinked red, indicating that he had a lock. He jerked the trigger — and had a moment of panic as he feared he'd pulled it too hard.
The rocket streaked away, smacked into the monster's chest, and exploded.
When the fire and smoke cleared, the monster was knocked down.
"All right, Jay!" Saji yelled.
The triumph was short-lived. As they watched, the monster rolled, used its tail as a prop, and got back to its feet. It looked around for the source of the attack.
Ohhhh, shit!
Saji was already shoving another rocket into the bazooka-style launcher before Jay could speak. She slapped him on the shoulder. "Loaded!"
The rocket lanced into the beast again. Boom! Again, it knocked the thing asprawl.
Then it climbed back to its feet again, and roared loudly enough to wake everything that had died since the beginning of time. It leaned forward, stuck its big tail straight out behind it, and spotted Jay and Saji. It looked like a giant hunting dog on point at a covey of quail.
Man! At least it was having an effect. Thing was, they had one more rocket and then the party was over. They could bail from VR if it got too close, and they'd sure as hell have to do that. Given what the little tiger had done to Jay's brain, he had a feeling that if this beastie got its claws on them, VR image or not, they would be in real physical jeopardy. If they had to bail, the thing would win, and Jay did not want to let it do that. More than anything he had ever wanted in his life, he wanted to beat this thing. Not just beat it, but to kick its ass seven ways from Sunday, to stomp the crap out of it big time.
But it didn't look good for the home team, no sir.