Brose at The Center

by Jennifer Sue

Part 3

“One of our pre-cogs has alerted us to a messy emergence,” Max began as soon as the last member of the SOS Squad arrived. “It’s in a high school three hundred forty miles from here. We don’t know exactly when it happens, but do know it goes down during their lunch sometime between 11:00 and 12:30. There is only one way we can get you there in time. That’s to air drop you in. The vision didn’t reveal any opposition intrusion but that doesn’t rule it out. Suit up, small arms, M4A1s and grenades only. We’ll get the school’s floor plans and any further information we can dig up while you’re en route.”

Fifteen minutes later they were in the air checking their gear. This would be a standard daylight skydiving jump. The Military style C-41 CASA C-212 Aviocar 400 was at it’s maximum cruising speed of one hundred eighty six MPH. The flight would take them one hour and fifty minutes.

Brose carried her standard weapons, the quads each had a pair of nine millimeter pistols strapped safely to their thighs with additional clips in easily accessible pouches on the holster belt. Smoke, flash bang, and frag grenades were attached to their belts. Each of them had the wicked K-bar fighting knife in wrist sheaths. The soldiers carried short barreled very accurate M4A1.

About half way to their target the floor plans of the school and other info came in. Apparently the first emergence of a pyrokinetic took out nearly a quarter of the school. DHS was notifying the local authorities of a suspected terrorist bombing in the school. They informed them an emergency tactical unit was en route and would be parachuting onto the school grounds. Ground units were also on the way. The local authorities were also informed the Staff Sergeant Shamrock would be in overall tactical command until senior DHS officers could arrive.

The Squad reviewed the information. They knew the event occurred in a boys lavatory but not which one. The fireball blew the small room apart and severely damaged everything within a hundred meters causing a conflagration. The school floor plans were memorized. As they had requested, fifteen minutes from the site the team was alerted. They packed up their gear and climbed into their jump harnesses. By the time they reached the drop zone, they were ready with their static chutes hooked to the static jump line for immediate chute deployment. They were flying at six thousand feet.

A crewman opened the rear door and Brose readied herself. It was 11:23am when the signal to jump came. Brose was out first followed by the rest of the squad. In moments the squad was para-sailing to their landing zones. It appeared the school was still in the process of evacuating the students and the first emergence had not yet happened. Police cars and fire trucks were streaming to the site. Brose had ordered the squad to split. Sgt. McNeil, Pvt Loose, Sunny and Shadow were to land at the rear while Brose took the rest to the front where the police were responding.

The team was spotted by the students and word spread quickly. Brose could see police and firefighters heading into the building. Brose saw a policeman and fireman in animated discussion and aimed for them. She landed five feet away and quickly shucked her diving harness as the startled men stared at the four military uniformed people landing at their feet with practiced skill. That they were wearing combat fatigues and body armor was not very reassuring.

"I'm Sergeant Shamrock," Brose announced as she removed her jump helmet, showed her ID and put on the regular helmet that had been attached to her belt. "I was told you'd been notified I'm to be in tactical command. Recall your officers and firefighters immediately. No one except my squad is to go inside. Get everyone at least five hundred yards away from the building, that includes all police, fire personnel and equipment. Notify all aircraft to maintain a mile no-fly zone. Anyone who violates the restrictions will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law."

It was obvious the two men were not accustomed to taking orders. The police chief spoke. "How old are you?"

"I'm old enough to have you arrested for interfering with DHS orders," Brose declared in an icy tone. "You have your orders. Carry them out." With that she pulled her .50 caliber Desert Eagle. "I'm taking my team in. Get your people out, NOW."

Brose gathered Sgt. High, Blaze, and Snow and headed for the main entrance. The two men reluctantly got on their radios and ordered all their men to immediately vacate the building then set about gathering the evacuated students and staff and marching them down the street away from the school.

Brose had Snow boosted by Blaze pass the orders to move in. Firemen and police were reluctantly leaving.

"EVERYONE OUT, NOW!" Brose shouted as she led her three people inside while brandishing the Desert Eagle.

The sight of the armed figures in full combat gear made the decision for the locals to get out quick real easy. From the front and back, the two detachments of the SOS Squad moved towards the cafeteria. Suddenly there was a tremendous explosion. Everyone was thrown back by the concussion, dust and debris. Virtually all the tiles from the drop ceilings in the halls were blown out. Most of the fluorescent light fixtures dangled by their conduits and swung about. Electricity sparked from a few live wires but that quickly ceased as the circuit breakers kicked off.

Brose surveyed her team to see they were dazed but okay. Snow gave her a thumbs up to indicate Sgt. McNeil's unit was okay.

Brose keyed her mike which had been set to the local emergency frequency. "This is Sergeant Shamrock. Everyone stay out of the school until we clear the area. I repeat, everyone stay out. Do not attempt to extinguish the fire. There may be more bombs."

Cautiously the two teams advanced through the wreckage and dust. As they got closer they could see daylight coming in from the area where the roof had blown away. Fires were burning in numerous locations. The interior walls were cracked and several had collapsed. When they reached the epicenter it looked quite bizarre. Most of the lavatory floor was visible as everything had been blown away from the site. There were smoking, charred and crushed body parts against what was left of the walls. Lying in the center of the space was a naked teen. The fire and blast had apparently consumed his clothes but left him unhurt. The concussion had probably knocked him out. Fires burned furiously around the edges of the damage but the concussion had put most fires out closer to the epicenter. Snow quickly extinguished the nearby flames by freezing the burning material.

The boy was still alive and began moaning and trying to move. Brose knelt beside him.

"Just stay still," she whispered. "You're safe and we're here to help you."

"Wh... what happened?" The confused and disoriented boy muttered as he looked around at the devastated area. "Who are you?"

"We're from the Department of Homeland Security," Brose answered as she helped him sit up.

Sgt. McNeil pulled a poncho from his kit and gave it to the boy who only at that point realized he was naked.

As the clearly terrified teen wrapped the poncho around him he looked around at the squad. "What's going on? What happened to my clothes? What happened to the school? Why are you here?"

"We're here to help you," Brose explained. "I'm Brose, the other teens are Blaze, Snow, Sunny, and Shadow. What's your name?"

"Michael... Michael Williams," the battered teen looked around the devastated area in total bewilderment.

"Okay, Michael, I know this is difficult but try to remain calm," Brose soothed. "As to what happened, you did all this. Before you deny it please listen. You're familiar with the X-men comics where human mutants have different powers, right?"

The befuddled teen nodded his head.

"Well, I'm a mutant, so are Shadow, Snow, Blaze, and Sunny," Brose explained as each teen nodded while McNeil, Loose, and High kept a look out for anyone trying to make their way inside. "You're a mutant too, from the looks of this, a powerful pyrokinetic. Something happened just before all this destruction that set you off."

"Yeah," Michael squeaked in a trembling voice. "Gary and his gang weren't satisfied with taking my lunch money. They started beating me up. It really hurt and suddenly I got real angry and I sort of exploded..."

Michael looked around in wide eyed disbelief. "I really did explode?"

"Your pyrokinetic power exploded," Brose answered. "Fortunately, we're all immune to our own power. However, you did burn off your clothes."

Suddenly Michael looked terrified. "What about Gary and the gang?"

"There's no easy way to say this," Brose said. "You toasted them."

"I... I k... killed them?

"Yes, but it happened so fast they never felt a thing," Brose nodded.

"This can't be real," Michael said. "Mutants with powers are only in comic books."

"Shadow," Brose nodded her head.

Shadow created a ball of darkness, then altered it to create a dome that shielded them from the sunlight. Just as everything went dark Brose said "Sunny." A ball of light appeared in Sunny's hand to illuminate the inside of the dome of darkness. "Snow," Brose stated and the water on the floor instantly froze. "Blaze is a pyrokinetic like you," Brose declared as Blaze held out his hand palm side up with spread fingers. Tiny flames erupted from his fingertips and the flames flickered away to melt the ice.

Michael sat there with his mouth open, then whispered. "This can't be real."

"It's very real," Brose said. "That's why we're here. You're one of us. We have a safe place to live. There are a lot of bad people who'd like to get their hands on us. They want to make us do their bidding. We're here to keep that from happening. Shadow, raise the dome but keep an umbrella above us. I don't want any aerial surveillance picking us up."

"Oh my God," Michael gasped as he saw the grotesquely charred body parts of his tormentors. "Those were Gary..." He leaned over and vomited.

"You didn’t do it intentionally," Brose declared after he was done then turned to her team. "We need to keep his survival secret. Let's move out to the gymnasium. We'll set up our command post there. McNeil, Loose, head down there and stake out a secure location. Snow, go with them and put out any flames that threaten the route. High, Blaze, Sunny, help Michael down there. Shadow, keep them shielded from above and any line of sight through halls. I'm heading out to keep the natives calm."

Five minutes later Brose emerged from the shattered smoking building and jogged down the street to where the local and state police had set up roadblocks. The school was burning in several places. Several news stations had crews filming. As she neared, several people stepped in front of the roadblock to meet her away from the cameras. Everyone was staring at her. Small debris and dust from the explosion covered her from head to toe. Her face was blackened by the soot. It was clear she'd been near the blast when it went off. The police and fire fighters were glad they had been ordered out. Even the brusque police chief was sociable.

"We didn't quite make it here in time. We got caught in the blast but my team made it through. We're not sure if there are any more bombs," Brose declared. "Sometimes the terrorists place smaller bombs to try to injure rescuers. No one is to enter the building but I think it's safe enough to let the fire fighters move close enough to shoot water on the flames. You can move a guarded perimeter to within fifty feet of the school. Have you taken a head count on the students?"

"It's still in progress," one of the men stated. "The evacuation scattered everybody."

"The bomb apparently went off in the middle of the boys lavatory near the cafeteria," Brose informed them. "All the blast damage emanates from that spot. We found some badly charred body parts inside what is left of the room. At this point we wait for the ATF experts to arrive. Get your headcount and find out who is missing. My team is scouring the building searching for other bombs. We're setting up a command post in the gymnasium since it's well away from the blast and we've already cleared it. Other units will be arriving soon by vehicle and helicopter. Direct them to the gymnasium entrance where I can brief them."

Brose ran around the school to the gym entrance. Inside she met her people. Michael was still in denial but slowly coming around. Brose reported the situation back to The Center where the information was forwarded to the approaching relief and clean up units. Fifteen minutes later, the whoop whoop sound of approaching helicopters could be heard. Brose stepped outside to see three military choppers landing. Troops jumped out and spread around the building taking over the security from the overstretched police. They continued to let the firefighters pour water into the flames. An Army colonel and agents from the ATF disembarked and headed for Brose.

After a face to face briefing, the colonel designated a captain to act as liaison with the locals. Three squads of soldiers were assigned to the accompany the fire fighters inside the shattered school while they extinguished the fires with orders to keep them away from the epicenter.

Five minutes later another chopper flew in, this one an unmarked UH60A Blackhawk The Center had informed Brose they were sending to pick up the SOS squad and Michael. Brose bid the new arrivals farewell and organized her squad in tight formation surrounding Michael, hiding him from view. Then they walked quickly to the Blackhawk, Shadow created a translucent cloud like shield to hide the team as they boarded. The single crew chief helped them inside then closed the doors. Once everyone was inside, the chopper lifted off. Brose knew the Blackhawk was near the limit of it's operating radius but should be able to make it back to the airfield at The Center without any difficulties.

Once airborne, they briefly relaxed until Cpl. McNeil noticed the cockpit was sealed off from the passenger/cargo area. Brose and the crew chief noticed McNeil's reaction.

"Shit," said the crew chief as he pulled the pin on the fire extinguisher and grabbed an oxygen mask hanging on the wall.

As gas flooded the compartment, McNeil made it across the area and was able to yank the mask off the crew chief as the gas quickly knocked everyone out... almost everyone that is.

Brose smelled the knock out gas and her body automatically neutralized it. In the confusion of the moment, Brose reached up and snagged the headset the second crew chief would use. Cradling the headset to her own com unit she keyed the emergency frequency to alert The Center. Then she deftly pulled her Desert Eagle from it's pouch and pretended to slump like the others. Her actions had gone unnoticed.

"Damn, they realized something was up and Rosario had to gas them already. One of them managed to yank off his mask so he's out too. We'd hoped to reach our rendevous before we had to gas them," the co-pilot said as he surveyed the slumped bodies in the back. "Some of them might wake up before we reach the transfer point."

"Our orders are to kill them if there is any danger of them escaping," The pilot replied. "It'll be safe to open the seal in fifteen minutes. You'll have to go back and cuff them. Just have your pistol ready and nail any of them that move."

"I hate these freaks," the co-pilot grumbled. "I'd rather just kill them all now."

"You know the Colonel wouldn't be happy about that," the pilot replied. "We have our orders. It looks like we have five from the Center as well as our primary target."

"Yeah, I know," the co-pilot grumbled as he released his flight harness and turned in his seat to watch the payload. "I hope the Colonel will give us a bonus for taking out an entire Center squad."

"Yeah, I don't know who sabotaged The Center chopper that was supposed to pick them up but I hope he has the intelligence to take the money and run," the pilot said.

Back at The Center, as soon as Brose keyed the emergency frequency, they scrambled. No one had been aware that the SOS Squad and retrieved teen had left the school. During it's pre-flight check, The Center's Blackhawk that had been assigned to pick up the SOS Squad had a warning light go off. They found a small leak in a hydraulic line and repaired it, but then had to re-check the other connections as a precaution. It was in a location that was regularly serviced so they had assumed it had simply been an error by a member of the ground crew. Rosters would be checked and discipline meted out to the guilty mechanic. Everyone was glad they had discovered the leak before lift-off.

The background noise and conversation those listening in at The Center could hear between the pilot and co-pilot made it clear the squad was airborne in a helicopter, but the pick up chopper hadn't even left. Something was very wrong. Calls were put into the DHS units at the school who informed them the unmarked Blackhawk had landed and left with the retrieval unit.

Obviously someone had learned about the emergency mission and somehow managed to kidnap the unit. No attempts were made to communicate with the team on the emergency frequency. The longer the kidnappers thought they had gotten away with the subterfuge, the better chances the team had of surviving. Within minutes Ms Fine and Max were listening to the recordings of the pilot/co-pilot chatter. Ms Fine immediately locked down The Center and the airfield and began a security sweep to see if anyone was missing. The satellite tracking system easily homed in on the emergency frequency of Brose’s activated communicator thus locating the mystery chopper to followed it’s flight. Now they knew the leak on their Blackhawk had been sabotage.

The incident also highlighted an error in their non-emergency flight procedures. No one had thought to notify Brose of the delayed pick up flight. It also meant someone had leaked details of the last minute mission. Ms Fine began tracking the movements and communications of everyone who had known of the operation.

Rescue/retrieval units were scrambled and airborne in fifteen minutes heading off to rendevous with the mystery helicopter. Unfortunately, they helicopter was heading away from The Center and the rescue crews were four hundred miles away. Fortunately, they were in a jet and could rapidly close the distance if there was enough time.

On the illicit chopper the co-pilot waited twenty minutes just to be safe before he headed into the back. Brose waited patiently as the seal to the cockpit was opened. With his pistol drawn, the co-pilot came through, stepping over the knocked out bodies to retrieve the case containing the cuffs that was next to Rosario. Brose knew she couldn't allow herself to be cuffed and had to do something. Carefully she created a concentrated bubble of the knock-out gas they'd used around the head of the co-pilot. Before he knew what was happening he slumped to the floor.

The pilot heard him collapse and turned to look back. "Damn. Jonesy, wake up, Jonesy! Shit. The freakin' gas didn't dissipate like they told us it would!" The pilot could feel himself becoming woozy. Opening vents in the cockpit and setting the autopilot he quickly resealed the back.

The pilot flew on muttering under his breath about his dilemma.

As she was lying behind the pilot, Brose shifted a bit to make herself a bit more comfortable and to be in a better position to respond. She debated whether to confront the pilot or wait. If the pilot was committed to whatever cause he was aligned with, he might just crash to kill everyone as per his orders.

"SOS to Base," Brose softly called after a few moments of debate. "SOS to Base."

"Base to SOS," crackled back into Brose's ear. "Status."

"Everyone but the pilot and I are out," Brose whispered. "He thinks he's the only one. I can get the drop on him but I think he's a fanatic who would rather crash the chopper than let us go free. Any ideas?"

"We're tracking you and have rescue units airborne," Max said as he took over the com. "Unfortunately they're about three hundred eighty miles away. The longer you’re airborne, the closer our unit will get. At this point we have no good ideas but we're working on it. We're monitoring you and don't want to risk contacting you. We've been receiving everything. Check in every fifteen minutes for updates. If you see a solution, take it. Base out."

Brose made sure her M26 shotgun was handy. Then she slung High's M4A1 over her shoulder and tied his ammo belt down her right leg. Then she settled back to relax as best she could and waited.

Ten minutes later the pilot made a decision. "Grasshopper to Praying Mantis, over."

Brose perked up and listened.

"Praying Mantis to Grasshopper, go ahead."

"We had to put the packages out much earlier than expected," the pilot said. "Rosario and Jones are sleeping. Packages are unsecured. I'd like permission to stop and secure them before they fall off."

"Negative, Grasshopper," the voice came back after a pause. "Packages should be okay unsecured for two hours minimum. We'll have reception when you arrive."

"Roger Praying Mantis, ETA is one and a quarter hours," the pilot replied before he switched off the radio. "Fuckin’ Nazi’s. Damn, I hope they're right about the two hours. If one of them wakes up, I'm toast."

So far the helicopter had been flying in a straight line at a steady rate of speed. Based on the one and a quarter hour ETA and their speed, the crew at The Center was able to pinpoint a small municipal airport as the probable landing site. Using satellite surveillance, they zoomed spy satellites in for a closer look. There were seven SUVs clustered around what appeared to be a C-17 Globemaster III parked just off the end of the runway. Armed guards were seen patrolling the area.

When Brose next checked in, Max was waiting. "Brose, it looks like you're heading for a small airport where you'll be transferred to a jet. So far we've spotted seven guards patrolling the perimeter and at least twenty other people waiting. Assume all are armed and dangerous. We can not get anyone there in time for your landing. The best we'll do is get troops there fifteen minutes after you land. They'll be coming in hot on the runway. Do what you can. We've scrambled air force fighters to intercept the jet if it gets off the ground. We will not let it get away."

"Understood," Brose replied knowing the jet would be shot down. "I'll do what I can. They used xenon as a knock out gas. Any suggestions on what gases I could create to wake everyone up?"

"We'll check," Max answered. "Out."

Brose anxiously waited and checked in every fifteen minutes.

"Grasshopper to Praying Mantis, over," the pilot spoke.

"Praying Mantis to Grasshopper, go ahead," a voice replied.

"ETA in five minutes. Packages still in place," the pilot stated.

"We're ready, Grasshopper. Come on in," The voice answered.

"Roger that," the pilot stated.

"SOS to Base, over," Brose called realizing her next check in was due after they'd be on the ground. "Any advice?"

"Negative, SOS, no antidote found," Max replied. "Good luck."

"Thanks," Brose sighed. "But I prefer to make my own luck. I'm going to activate the emergency band on Snow so you can track their location. Over and out."

After activating Snow's com, Brose moved slowly to the fallen bad guys. She cuffed them together, Rosario's right wrist to Jones' left ankle. Then Jones' right wrist to Rosario's left ankle. Then she handcuffed their left hands together. They were effectively immobilized.

Brose pulled the gunbelt off Shadow and strapped the two nine millimeters about her waist. Then she pulled the M4A1 ammo belt off Loose and tied it down her left leg. Lastly, after adding as many grenades as she could hang on herself, she picked up the other two M4A1s.

By that time the chopper had reached it's destination and was circling to land. Kneeling behind the pilot, Brose cautiously peered out the windshield. They were landing by a large four engine jet inside a semicircle of SUVs stretching from the tail to wingtip. A quick glance showed armed men aiming at the chopper.

"This is Grasshopper to Praying Mantis," the nervous pilot called out. "Tell your men to make sure their safeties are on."

The nose of the chopper was facing the jet and when they were about fifteen feet off the ground, Brose moved into a crouch and opened up in full automatic mode with both M4A1s. The three front wind screens shattered under the fusillade and the bullets ripped into the left wing of the jet. Brose swung the M4A1s quickly emptying the thirty round magazines in three seconds to punch holes the entire length of the huge wing. The startled pilot panicked thinking the guards on the ground had opened up on him. Pulling back on the throttle he swung the nose about as he tried to take to the sky. As soon as she’d emptied the M4A1s she dropped them, ducked and clung on. Outside the surprised guards opened up on the chopper. Bullets ripped through the shattered windscreens hitting the pilot. The nose of the Blackhawk rose up and away from the jet as the tail dipped and struck the ground. The chopper twisted on it's side and crashed to the ground as the main blades ripped screechingly through SUVs and bodies as the Blackhawk fuselage cartwheeled over them to land on it's side with the armored bottom facing the jet.

As soon as Ms Fine heard the firing begin, she had the DHS notify the local authorities there was a terrorist unit at the airport and a DHS unit had engaged them. They were ordered to stay at least a mile away and block all access roads. The fire department was forbidden to go in if they saw flames. They were also told fighter jets were en route and a unit of commandos was flying in to take out the terrorists. They would allow firefighters in if anything still needed extinguishing but the location was otherwise quarantined until the DHS and FBI released the site. The US Air Force jets that had been dispatched to prevent the jet from escaping would be circling the airfield in plain view of the scrambling locals as soon as they arrived.

Brose was battered by the crash but quickly recovered. Unslinging the third M4A1, she stepped over the dead pilot and ducked out through the shattered windscreen. Bullets were pinging into the bottom of the chopper as she pulled the pin on a flash-bang grenade and threw it towards the jet.

As she did so two mercenaries came around the front of the downed chopper. Brose dove under the still shuddering rotor engine housing and let loose with a burst from the M4A1 cutting both men down. Both managed to fire but their aim was wide. There was a loud explosion and brilliant light as the flash bang went off. Almost instantly there was a loud WHOOOSH followed by a tremendous explosion as the bullet riddled fuel tanks of the jet exploded. The concussion rolled the chopper one hundred eighty degrees to it’s other side leaving Brose exposed on the side towards the exploding jet. Dirt and debris flew everywhere. Brose felt the heat of fire even as large pieces of burning aircraft came crashing back to earth.

Brose had been shielded from the worst of the concussion by the chopper. The mercenaries had not been so lucky. Climbing to her feet she ran toward the jet's nearly severed aft portion as the jet fuel burned furiously, firing at the seven men she saw moving. All stopped moving. A few of the soldiers who had been further away from the blast had only been knocked down. They started firing at Brose as she ran.

At that point the fuel in the right wing exploded. The body of the huge jet absorbed the worst of the concussion and the now completely severed aft section and tail moved towards her as debris and burning fuel once more soared into the sky. Realizing she wouldn't make it to the rear of the jet, Brose dove into a drainage ditch and immediately scurried away from where she went in as bullets ripped along the edge. Pulling a smoke grenade, she tossed it just over the top of the ditch, then crawled upwind away from the smoke. As she hoped, the soldiers spread out firing through the smoke. Sensing where they were Brose popped up and emptied the clip cutting down the five soldiers.

Before the others could respond she was down and crawling back the way she came. The bullets were now ripping the ditch where she had been. With a fresh clip, she again popped up and raked the soldiers, this time dropping three before ducking back down. The remaining soldiers returned fire and ran for cover behind the shattered remains of the SUVs.

Brose could sense the fear and anxiety of the mercenaries as they wondered what the hell had happened. She detected nineteen fighters spread over a front of eighty feet in front of her. If she popped up to shoot, someone might get a lucky shot in. In addition, she could pick up five more mercenaries coming off guarding the perimeter moving into position behind her. She had to get out of the ditch and away from the chopper and her unconscious squad. Also she needed to draw the flanking mercenaries in to keep them together, then maneuver about so their backs would be toward the runway when the rescue units swooped in to land. She needed a diversion, fast.

It was easy to determine the wind direction because of the fire, so she decided to pop stink bombs on those in front of her. Just three feet down wind of each man, she dropped a skunk bomb.

Coughing and hacking the bewildered men tried to scramble away from the almost debilitating stench. Brose sprang from the ditch and sprinted to the burning aft section of the jet where three men had taken cover behind the large ramp that had been left in the lowered position. The M4A1 easily took them out as she approached. Several mercenaries saw her go, but had been too disoriented by the skunk stench to fire. Brose skirted around the wreckage of the aft section, leapt over a puddle of burning fuel, darted through the twisted wreckage of what had been the connecting area of the big top mounted wings to shelter behind the smoldering twenty feet long fairly intact nose that had been blown thirty feet from the fuselage. After reloading she pinpointed the nearest targets. Flipping the M4A1 to semi-auto, she popped around and fired single shots taking out three more mercenaries. Sensing others were drawing beads on her she ducked back as slugs slammed into the nose.

By this time the five who had been trying to flank her from the perimeter had made it to the drainage ditch. Now all the mercenaries were facing the runway. All she had to do was get behind them so they’d turn around. This time Brose popped a huge methane bubble between the burning jet and the mercenaries.

The methane bubble ignited with a tremendous WHOOOSSSHHH into a ball of flame eighty feet across. Two mercenaries caught in the flaming explosion died as they inhaled the fire. Even as the ball ignited, Brose was running back the way she came to the aft section of the jet. Since the mercenaries were flinching away from the fireball, none saw Brose move.

The remaining mercenaries were clearly terrified. They knew about the powers of the emerged. It didn’t take much for them to understand they were dealing with one who was also a skilled soldier and marksman. Several thought about trying to escape but were too terrified to come out of their cover.

Brose checked the mercenaries she’d killed and found a functioning com set. She quickly removed it from the bloody corpse and put it on just in time to hear a man speak.

“Where the hell is he,” the angry gruff man with a German accent demanded.

“We’re not sure, he was behind the cockpit before that last explosion,” a strained voice replied.

“Fools,” a cocky teenage voice also with a German accent sneered. “One kinetic and you can’t fight him. How pathetic.”

Despite the superior attitude Brose felt the speaker’s anger burning, felt it trying to find her. Instantly she knew an emerged was closing in. Peeking out she saw two Hummers bearing down on the holocaust she had created from the direction of the terminal. Each had a gunner standing behind an M60 machine gun on a roof ring mount.

“Wilson,” the gruff voice spoke. “Where are Helm, Merit, and Harman?”

“Dead,” the same strained voice from earlier replied, obviously Wilson. “This son of a bitch is a freaking marksman trained in special ops.”

“Has anyone bothered to check the chopper yet,” the cocky voice asked.

“We haven’t had a chance,” Wilson answered. “This one popped out and all hell’s broken loose. Every time we break cover, he shoots. So far he hasn’t missed.”

“What’s your position?” The gruff man asked.

“We’re scattered amongst the vehicles and the drainage ditch facing the remains of the jet,” Wilson replied.

“Casualties?” Gruff voice asked.

“I’m not sure,” Wilson answered. "The crash and explosions took out a bunch and we haven’t had time to take count. I’d guess over half the men are down.”

“Damn,” the gruff man swore. “Okay, if the bastard is half as good as you think, he’s not behind the nose anymore. Nail the bastard if he tries to come around on your side. We’ll split and circle the jet. Shoot anything that moves.”

Brose knew the M60s could take out the rescue plane as it touched done. She knew she had to disable them and deal with the emerged. To add distraction she popped out another methane bubble. The fireball sent the battered mercenaries to the ground. The Hummers sped up and separated as they tried to envelop the jet and Brose from the rear.

Shielded from the view of those in the Hummers by the smoke of the still burning fuel, Brose hurriedly dragged one of the corpses behind a large piece of debris. Placing it in a prone position she laid the dead man’s weapon facing in the direction the Hummers would be approaching. Then she crawled under the tail ramp and drew her Desert Eagle. Once settled she concentrated on creating a nightmare like mental image of a frightened pyrokinetic hiding behind the piece of debris where she’d placed the body.

The cocky emerged in one of the Hummer easily picked up Brose’s imagined thoughts and as she hoped never probed deeper.

“That piece of debris between the wing and tail, he’s waiting there hoping to ambush us but he’s scared as hell,” the cocky guy spoke. “Fire to pin him down but don’t hit him. I want to take him. I’ll show him what TRUE power is!”

Brose had to struggle to keep the imagined figure in her surface thoughts. She could feel the creepy evil of the emerged as he toyed about the edges of her mind. Brose understood he was a dominator but needed to be much closer to attack. As the Hummers closed in their gunners opened up, raking the area near the planted body.

Hearing the machine guns opening up, the mercenaries jumped from their cover and began cautiously moving towards the jet.

Pinpointing the dominator in the front passenger seat in the Hummer closing in from the right Brose slowly and cooly took aim. As they closed in past the hundred meter mark, Brose had him in her sights. At that moment, her imagined decoy crumbled. Brose pulled the trigger as fast as she could emptying the magazine into the approaching Hummer.

“DAMN,” the cocky voice yelled as he realized he had been duped. “TURN RIGHT! DAMN IT, TURN...”

The exploding windshield and the heavy .50 caliber slugs cut him off mid-word as his head exploded under the impact of two bullets. The startled driver had already yanked the wheel to the right as he was ordered just as the windshield exploded. The turn brought the remaining .50 caliber slugs ripping through the Hummer. Two hit the gunner blowing his guts apart as he stood firing. Another ripped into the right arm of the man feeding ammo to the gunner, passed into and through his chest and blew most of his left arm off as it exited. The last slug obliterated the driver’s head. The turn was so fierce the Hummer rolled over. The gunner’s torso was torn off while his legs and lower abdomen stayed inside.

Brose had not waited to see what happened. As soon as she fired the last bullet, she replaced the ammo clip and turned to the other Hummer.

“Oh fuck,” the gruff man uttered as he saw the carnage happening to the other Hummer. “Get us the hell out of here!”

The driver had seen what happened and in a near state of panic turned to his left.

With cool determination Brose emptied the new clip into the second Hummer aiming for the vulnerable side windows.

The slugs caught the vehicle broadside. The gunner took a through and through gut shot that passed into the ammo handlers chest blowing a massive hole through his aorta. Another slug ripped through the neck of the gruff man severing his spinal cord then blowing a massive hole in the driver’s head. The wheel stayed turned and with no one pressing the accelerator, the Hummer began aimlessly circling.

Not waiting, Brose reloaded and holstered the Desert Eagle as she crawled from beneath the ramp. Pulling the two nine millimeters she turned to face the remaining mercenaries easily pinpointing them by their anxiety as she moved.

The mercenaries had hear the panicked words of the emerged abruptly cut off as heavy caliber gunshots rang out. At nearly the same time the one machine gun fell silent followed by the sounds of a wreck. Then came the voice of their commander cursing and telling his driver to leave as the heavy caliber gunshots once more resounded over the site and the second machine gun stopped firing. To a man they stopped and listened to the eerie silence.

Brose dove out from behind the tail of the jet with both pistols aimed and firing. Four mercenaries were hit before she landed on her stomach. Two more went down before the rest wildly fired back as they dove for cover. Two more went down before they could reach cover.

By the time the remaining mercenaries reached cover and turned to fire at Brose she was gone. Now they were really panicked. The Hummers had been obviously taken out as was their dominator. Then in less than ten seconds their foe had taken out eight of them with single kill shots simultaneously from two pistols and disappeared.

“If you boys want to live, throw out your weapons, place your hands atop your head and walk slowly to the back of the jet,” Brose calmly ordered over their com set as she put full clips into the nine millimeters and holstered them. “If you haven’t figured it out, I’ve taken out the Hummers and everyone inside them. They were easy prey for my .50 caliber Desert Eagle. If you're curious about me, I'm the one who shot down the jet and chopper in New Jersey a few weeks ago... with my Desert Eagle. You've got thirty seconds.”

The remaining mercenaries were even more stunned than before. A girl. They’d been up against a freaking teenage girl! A girl had decimated their unit and obviously taken out the dominator! They had heard rumors of a determined soldier at the Jersey terrorist attack who shot down the jet and chopper with a hand gun. They hadn't believed it... until now.

Brose didn't wait. She maneuvered to the crumbled rear fuselage, climbed on top and pulled out the Desert Eagle. "I know where you are," Brose spoke calmly into their com. "One of you is behind the second SUV from the rear of the jet. Two of you are behind the next SUV. Two SUVs over there are three of you. One is behind the SUV nearest the nose, and one is hunkered down by the jet engine."

One of the three behind the same SUV was clearly scared. "How the hell does she know that?"

"She's one of them freaks," the man beside him said. "If I had my way I'd kill every one of them motherfuckers!"

"Your time is up," Brose said into the com as she took aim at the man who just said he wanted to kill all emerged. Although he was hidden from her sight, with her empath receiving talent she knew exactly where he was. She shifted position a bit so the bullet would miss a support strut in the SUV.

"I'm afraid you won't have the chance to kill any of my people because you're dead," Brose said as she pulled the trigger then scrambled off the fuselage, sprinting to the nose.

The .50 cal slug punched through the body of the SUV with ease and the face of the man who said he wanted to kill all emerged exploded after the heavy .50 cal slug entered the back of his head. The sound of the heavy caliber shot rang in the survivors ears. Three of the mercenaries fired at the spot Brose had been.

"Fuck," the scared guy exclaimed as he looked in horror at the body of his buddy. "She shot through the freakin SUV and blew Mike's friggin head apart! She couldn't even see him! How the hell can we fight her? We're as good as freaking dead!"

"Shut up, Davis," the voice she recognized as Wilson spoke. "She's playing with us like a cat plays with a mouse."

"Meooowwrrr," Brose purred into the com. "You've got thirty seconds to surrender. Purrrrr..."

"That's it, I'm not afraid to die in a firefight, but this is just too fucked up," Davis declared. "I'm surrendering."

"Davis, if you or anyone tries to surrender, I'll kill you myself," Wilson growled. "We signed up with the understanding we could never be taken prisoner. If you're afraid to fight this freak, kill yourself."

Brose was able to pinpoint Wilson who had obviously assumed command. She shifted position to get a shot through the SUV he was hiding behind.

"MMRROWWLLL," Brose growled cat like into the com. "Thirty seconds are up, boys. Say goodbye to Wilson."

Brose fired as she said ‘Wilson’, then sprinted back to the tail section of the plane.

"Fu..." was all Wilson managed to get out before the .50 cal slug blew his head apart after passing through the SUV door that hid him.

"OH HELL NO," Davis exclaimed as he saw Wilson's nearly headless body topple away from the SUV. "That shot came from the nose. The last one came from the tail. This isn't what I signed the fuck up for! I'll fight any man, but not some freaking mutant! I'm done. Listen cat lady, I'm throwing out my weapons and standing up."

Brose watched as he threw his weapons out and stood placing his hands on his head. "Purrrrr," Brose said over the com link. "Good boy. How about the rest of you? Do you want to live?"

When Davis wasn't was gunned down, the others began tossing their weapons and stood with their hands on their heads, nervously looking to the nose of the plane.

"Walk single file to the front of the nose and stop twenty feet from it," Brose ordered over the com.

The men nervously shuffled towards the front of the cockpit forming a single file as they moved. Brose eased out from behind the tail section and followed them, swinging wide to conceal where she'd been As she moved, she felt a niggling of emotion on the edge of her mind but it was too faint to pinpoint. She increased her empath scanning.

As the men reached the point they could see in front of the jet they saw no one. Confused and frightened they nervously looked around but stayed in single file with their hands on top of their heads.

Brose moved silently to fifteen feet behind the last man. Brose spoke loud enough they could clearly hear her voice. "Looking for someone?"

As one the men turned to see Brose with the big Desert Eagle pointed right at them. She was filthy, covered with dust, debris and soot.

"If I was as nasty as you seem to think we emerged are," Brose smiled "I could drop you all with one bullet."

The men blanched.

"Fortunately, I'm not nasty," Brose smiled in deadly earnestness. "Stay where you are. Kneel down facing the runway, then lie forward with your arms extended."

Brose felt the niggling against her empath senses suddenly spike. It was coming from behind her. Instantly she dove sideways with a half reverse twist, firing at the now glaring emotion.

The man had been injured and knocked unconscious during the crash of the chopper and explosion of the jet’s fuel tanks. What Brose had initially felt was his confused return to consciousness. When full cognisance flooded back into his mind, the empathetic spike Brose felt was his lunging for an AK47. The man got off a wild burst before the .50 cal slug slammed between his eyes bursting the rear half of his skull to smithereens.

One of the slugs hit Brose in her left arm, passing straight through without hitting bone. Without stopping from her dive she rolled over and sat up facing her prisoners.

The clearly startled men had witnessed her cat like grace and deadly in mid air aim. They were stunned since what they witnessed was impossible. It had happened so fast they had no time to react. How had she known she faced danger?

"Now I'm pissed off," Brose said as she aimed the big Desert Eagle at them. "You've got five seconds to get down on the ground like I told you or I open fire."

The men were much too intimidated to even contemplate disobeying. Almost as one they dropped to the dirt and assumed the position Brose had ordered.

Brose carefully laid the Desert Eagle on her lap and pulled one of the nine millimeters and laid it by the .50 cal. While she could handle the big .50 cal one handed, now wounded, her aim might be off. The nine millimeter would be better for her current situation. Pulling out her first aid kit, she pulled out some gauze and stuffed it in the exit wound, then did the same with the entrance wound. While not a great patch job, it would suffice until the relief showed up.

The prisoners watched in awe as she unemotionally tended to her wound. They understood they had faced an emerged killing machine and the battle had been lost from the first shot.

Brose went to key her own com unit and realized she'd never turned it off. "Base, this is SOS," Brose spoke. "Have you been monitoring me?"

"Yes, SOS," Max replied. "Rescue is inbound now and should be coming into sight."

Brose looked out over the far end of the runway and saw the speck that was the plane getting closer and lower. "I have the end of the runway secured with prisoners. There may be hostiles in the hanger area. Two Hummers attacked from there earlier. I'll need mop up coverage here as I've been unable to check on wounded. The last exchange was with one who regained consciousness. I took a through and through on my left arm. I have no idea how my squad is doing. The chopper crashed on it's side which bounced everyone on top of each other. I didn't have time to check. As soon as I exited I was engaged. Then the fuel tanks on the jet went off and rolled the chopper over. As you've heard I've been quite busy since then. Does the inbound know my status?"

"Roger that, SOS," Captain Johnson spoke up. "We've been monitoring you. My unit will be down in about two minutes. I'll send the medics to check on you and your squad as well as mop up units."

The prisoners heard the conversation as Brose had not turned off their com link. They raised their heads to look down the runway as the sound of screeching tires echoed across the runway followed promptly by the whine of jet engines going to full aft thrust. The transport jet had not even stopped when doors popped open and armed soldiers stood ready to deploy. As soon as the craft shuddered to a halt men began pouring out. Forming up as they ran, four squads headed for the hangers and terminal. One squad fanned out back down the runway and another to the opposite side of the airfield from the terminal. Two squads headed for Brose. Once the initial troops deployed, ladders were put in place and more troops emerged. Several took up post around the jet, the rest headed towards Brose.

As the two squads reached Brose, two men from one were dropped off to take over the prisoners as the others headed out to the Hummers, the one still going in lazy circles. The other squad spread out and began checking the bodies for wounded or any playing dead. When the rest of the people arrived, Captain Johnson pointed medics to the upturned Blackhawk. He and one medic came to Brose. Three soldiers accompanied the medics to the chopper while three took up positions around the Captain and Brose.

Five minutes later the team that went to the SUVs reported eight dead, no wounded and a few cut in two. The team to the chopper reported Michael and the SOS team were still unconscious but were showing signs of coming out of it. No one seemed to have suffered any major injuries in the crash. They were in the process of removing them from the wreck and laying them out on the ground to monitor their awakening. The co-pilot and crew chief were still unconscious and cuffed together. It was decided to let them inside with a guard keeping an eye on them until they awoke. The wreck site mop-up crew found three mercenaries who had been severely injured in the crash and explosion but were still alive.

The units at the terminal and hangers engaged in a short fire-fight taking out five mercenaries and freeing eight airport employees who had been taken prisoner.

Four bodies were found in the wreckage of the jet, killed by the explosion. Six mercenaries had been killed by the chopper crash, nine others by the wing explosion either by concussion or being struck by debris.

The tally was twenty killed in crash and jet explosion including the chopper pilot. Brose killed thirty nine in the fire fight, toasted two more inside a fireball, and captured eight including the chopper co-pilot and crew chief. The rescue units killed five at the terminal and found three unconscious injured from crash.

Of the seventy four mercenaries in the mission, Brose was directly responsible for fifty eight fatalities and eleven prisoners.

The SOS Squad and Michael slowly regained their senses. Seeing the friendly faces of the rescue unit made the squad feel better. The wreckage of the jet, helicopter, and SUVs was enough to realize there had been a hellacious fight. Seeing Brose sitting by them with her arm in a sling let them know she had done her thing again. Michael looked about and then at Brose noting her blood stained uniform.

Brose gave them a rundown on the their gassing in the chopper and the battle. She calmly described her actions but didn't give any numbers.

Michael was amazed. "How many did you face?"

"There were seventy four enemy," Brose said. "I captured eight and three were injured in the crash and found unconscious. The rescue units took out five over at the terminal."

Michael did the math. "What about the other fifty eight?"

Brose bit her lips and lowered her head.

"She took them out, son," Sgt. McNeil said softly. "She doesn't like killing, but she's deadly. Don't ever get Brose pissed off."

In awe Michael looked over at Brose and saw tears rolling down her cheeks. Snow and Shadow moved over to her to wrap her from either side in a comforting hug as she began to silently cry.

*****