"Subjects of the Worm"
May. 27th, 2022 01:06 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dochermes"Subjects of the Worm"
6/3-6/4/1980
I.
A flash of clear blue light flared up and faded, barely visible in the bright New Mexico sunshine. A man in black had appeared out of nowhere. Instantly, Jeremy Bane glared about him and got his bearings.
He was a gaunt figure six feet tall, wearing what had become his trademark uniform in the Midnight War. All black, the slacks, turtleneck and sport jacket made him seen even more lean than he was. With a narrow face under short fine black hair and a pair of pale grey under eyes under thick feral brows, the Dire Wolf made a striking impression anywhere he went. In one hand, he held a sealed manila folder with the red letters RESTRICTED ACCESS - EYES ONLY AS NEEDED stenciled on a diagonal bar across its front.
In the split-second after his appearance, Bane had taken in his surroundings as if he had been expecting a trap. He had been at war all his life and knew no other way. This was the Human Capability Enhancement facility, a cluster of six low concrete buildings way out in the desert. The blacktopped parking area was surrounded by a seven-foot high chain link fence topped with flood lights and cameras as if to keep out an army. Bane relaxed visibly. He had only been here a handful of times but he knew how good the Trom security defenses were.
Bane recognized with satisfaction he was getting better at using the Eldar travel crystals. The flash of blue gralic light had transported him instantly from the KDF headquarters in Manhattan to this site in the Southwest ninety miles from the nearest town. The process was also becoming less of a mental strain with practice. too. He barely had a headache.
Twenty feet away, rolled out beyond the open doors of a sheet metal hangar, stood a sleek black helicopter that had no identifying logo or numbers on its surface. There was no tail rotor, just two vertical vanes that used high-pressure air streams for control. One panel behind the cabin was open, exposing a solid surface of color-coded wires. Stretched out on a canvas mat under that opening, making adjustments with a tiny set of pliers as if doing the most delicate surgery, was a man in an olive-drab jumpsuit. Opened next to him was a toolbox marked HCE 16.
Bane approached and said, "Stephen Weaver?"
The man gave a start, rolled over and leaped nimbly to his feet. He was slightly taller than Bane, a bit older. Weaver was an American black man with short-cropped hair and a thick mustache under a prominent nose. Behind the friendly smile, wary deepset eyes watched this stranger. "Whoa. I was not expecting any callers today. And I figure I should have heard the gates open when you drove in?" From his hip pocket he yanked a crumpled rag and wiped his hands.
Bane offered his own hand, which Weaver firmly shook. "My name is Jeremy Bane. We spoke briefly on the phone yesterday. Leonard Slade said you'd be free from duty this morning if I came to see you."
Gesturing with a thumb at the black helicopter, Weaver said, "Where these birds are concerned, there's always maintenance to be done. They're never a finished product, just a work in progress. But I can take a break." He moved over to a wooden picnic table with flanking benches. "Coffee, Mr Bane?"
"Call me Jeremy. No, thanks, caffeine is the last thing I need." The Dire Wolf placed the folder on the table and took a seat as Weaver dropped down facing him. "Stephen, you and I have more in common than you might think at first. We both were born with something extra, powers normal Humans never suspect."
When he paused for reaction, Weaver simply said, "I'm listening."
"I'm going to talk to you about classified information that frankly I am not cleared for. My KDF team cannot be kept out by normal security measures. I know all about the Air Force's Black Angel Project, that you were the only functional levitator they ever found. And I know that after two years of testing you, developing the flightsuit and equipment and spending a fortune on the project, that the Pentagon shut Black Angel down. You were given an honorable discharge and pay raise on condition you accept this position here at the Human Capability Enhancement facility."
Weaver kept his face as impassive as he could. "Look.. Jeremy, I am not admitting any of this is true. Even it was true, I'd still be restricted by the Confidential Secrets agreement I would have signed. Right?"
"Sure." Bane unfastened the tab on the folder and passed it over. "Here. Of course, officially I never had these documents and you never got a look at them. They're going to be destroyed before I leave here."
Studying the files in silence, Weaver started to scowl and finally slapped the folder down on the wooden lunch table with a loud retort. "I think you need to do a little bit more explaining, my friend."
"Of course," said Bane as he took the folder back and fastened it shut. "In the Midnight War, I'm known as the Dire Wolf. I am captain of a team of Tel Shai knights, and our cover is a non-profit research organization called the Kenneth Dred Foundation... the KDF."
Weaver snorted. "I understood maybe half of that."
"The Director of this facility, Leonard Slade, is a founding member of my team. He had a lot to do with having you assigned to the HCE and putting you to work on that CORBY. You must see that the avionics and propulsion on that copter are way more advanced than anything the military of any nation possesses, right?'
"I want to remind you again of the Official Secrets Act and of non-disclosure agreements I might or might not have signed here," Black Angel said. "But I can admit that you have my full attention, Jeremy."
The Dire Wolf leaned forward. "Listen, Steve. I need you on my team. Think of us as ghostbreakers, monster hunters, a paranormal SWAT team. We are fighting a desperate secret war against the most horrifying and lethal enemies the Human race has ever faced. Imagine every horror movies you've ever seen come to life, only worse. Every nightmare you've head, every monster and maniac that you thought people had made up in books and folklore.. they're all out there every night. Vampires, Ghouls, werewolves, Skinwalkers, Trolls... and there are worse things that most people have never heard of. There are the Darthim, the skull-faced Nekrosim, Snake men, the Night Gorillas, the Sulla Chun. Every night, the Midnight War starts up and creatures of darkness stalk Human victims."
"Whoa, whoa, stop for a second." Weaver wasn't amused at all, the icy conviction in Bane's voice prevented that, but he was recoiling in disbelief. "Hold on, Jeremy, wait. You can't expect me to believe all that without SOME evidence. I mean, come on."
The Dire Wolf did not smile. His grey eyes were bright with intensity that made Weaver more than a little uncomfortable. "Oh, you'll see more than enough proof, Steve," he answered. "I'm not going to just show you photos or reports. Come with me and my team tonight and see Midnight War for yourself."
"All right, suppose I do go along. Suppose it's all true. I've seen plenty of scary movies and listened to my grandma's stories about Haunts when I was a kid. People always get killed at the end, you know? That makes me a little cautious. Why won't we just get slaughtered too?"
"Because we are special cases ourselves. My team are all knights of Tel Shai with special abilities and training, not to mention advanced weaponry. I lead six people who all have an extra gift like you have. Like I have. We can take the initiative against these monsters and destroy them."
Weaver tried to take a deep breath and calm down. "Damn. I might as well admit what you obviously know. I am Black Angel. I'm the best levitaph ever known, I can in fact fly high and fast enough to catch a hawk by the throat. ...But what about you? You say you and your boys are special but I haven't seen any proof."
In reply, Bane simply stood up and turned to face the hangar door fifteen feet away from where they were. He handed an empty coffee mug to Weaver and said, "Here. Throw this through the door, Steve. Don't worry about breaking it."
After a moment's hesitation, Weaver grinned and lobbed the mug underhand toward the open hangar doors. Something happened that he couldn't quite follow. Suddenly, the white ceramic mug was dangling at face level on the hangar door, swinging back and forth, held there by a black-handled throwing dagger that hurled quicker than the human eye could register. Weaver snapped his head around. Jeremy Bane was just lowering his arm from that throw.
As Black Angel took in what had just happened, he saw Bane slide a second dagger out from a sheath under his right sleeve and transfer it to his left hand. He said, "Today is June Third," and again there was a blur that could barely be perceived. His arm lowered.
Weaver leaned over so he could see the calendar hanging behind the paper-littered desk just inside the hangar door. The dagger was protruding neatly from that calendar. "I don't need to go check," he said. "I'll assume that you hit June 3rd."
"That's my specialty," the Dire Wolf replied as he went to retrieve his knives. "I was born a bit quicker than the average person. Steve, I want you on the team as a fighter. I've read your record. And we need you as a pilot and mechanic for the second CORBY that Len is preparing for us. But that's not the full reason."
Coming back over to stand next to Weaver, Bane went on, "You are a Combat helicopter pilot and field repair specialist, Lieutenant Weaver of the United States Air Force. I know you can keep your head under stress, you can face danger and go under fire without losing it. You won't panic and you also won't go berserk. That's a rare set of traits. You are the one Human in a thousand who can handle being a knight of Tel Shai and a KDF member. What I'm offering is a chance for you to accompany our team tonight for one mission and see for yourself. If you're the man I think you are, you'll be excited and eager and want to sign up. Well. What do you say?"
Weaver did not answer immediately, meeting the cool, hard gaze of those grey eyes directly and judging his own reactions. Finally, he stood up with a grin and held out his open hands palms up. "I'm going to have to verify all this with Slade, of course. All I have right now is your side of the story. But for some reason I believe you. I believe it all.
"All my life, I've been an outsider," he continued. "I tried to hide what I should have been proud of. And now you give me a chance to meet other people like me, to use my gift for a good purpose. If I turned it down, for the rest of my life, I'd regret not found out for myself. Count me in. Dire Wolf, Black Angel is with you."
II.
At eleven that night, the sleek black jetcopter CORBY hurtled silently above the clouds. As always, it broke a dozen regulations just by being in the air, from not having external lights to not bearing an ID numbers to not filing a flight plan. It was also a non-military craft armed with twin 40mm chain guns, a major felony in itself.
In stealth mode at three hundred miles per hour, the rotors made no more noise than a breeze to anyone on the ground. Weaver was in the right-hand pilot seat. He enjoyed flying this craft immensely, the CORBY was so advanced that it was in many ways as easy as driving a car in a two-dimensional situation rather than being airborne. The cabin was backlit by soft pastel greens and blues from the various indicators and a row of small monitor screens.
Weaver pushed the cyclic-collective stick and the CORBY sped up to three hundred and fifty but no vibrations or noise could be felt by the occupants. He had only flown this copter five times before, the first four under the severe supervision of Leonard Slade. So much was becoming clear to him tonight. The mysterious Trom he had overhead mentioned, Leonard Slade's frequent absences, the HCE Project that had somehow gotten him reassigned from the Air Force... and now these people from the Kenneth Dred Foundation. All the threads were leading to each other and he felt more satisfied leaning explanations about the past few years.
In the co-pilot seat with its duplicate set of controls, Jeremy Bane was watching everything intently, obviously remembering each detail. He had told Weaver earlier that most of the KDF members had been squeezing in basic intro lessons to flying between all the other skills they were learning, but they were complete novices. Weaver's major duty as a member would be giving Bane and two or three others intensive lessons in handling the second CORBY that was being built for the team's use. Each KDF member had one or more specialized area of expertise that they brought to the table.
"Another sixty-five miles, Steve," Bane said quietly.
"Copy that, cutting speed." Weaver stole a quick glance behind the cabin, where a clear sliding panel separating the compartment behind them. On a bench, strapped in with safety restraints, were two remarkable people he had just met that day. Like Bane, they were wearing what were called field suits. All black, boots and snug pants and waist-length jackets fitted with a dozen pockets and pouches. Each KDF member had a rigid helmet stowed securely on a shelf, visor retracted in its internal track. In those suits, with the visors lowered, he figured these guys would be almost invisible on a dark night.
Ted Wright was also a black man, darker-skinned than Weaver and older, with a neatly trimmed beard on a heavy, thoughtful face. He had been described as a Blue Guide, one of the healers of the Midnight War, as well as a genuine doctor with an MD. Next to him sat the telepath, Cindy Brunner, a pretty young woman who could not be over twenty. Her dark blonde hair was tied back in a thick ponytail that swung when she moved her head. Neither of them had the dangerous, almost sinister look in those field suits that their captain did. They might have been EMTs or rescue workers; Bane was a commando.
There were seven members in the Kenneth Dred Foundation. Weaver had already gotten to know Leonard Slade and Larry Taper at the HCE Project. Now he was working with Jeremy Bane, Cindy Brunner and Ted Wright. That left only two others to meet, the famous Michael Hawk and someone called Khang, whatever the hell kind of name that was.
Their air speed had dropped to almost hovering. From the back compartment, Cindy slid the clear divider aside and said, "Hey, call me dense if you will---don't you dare-- But why are we going after these critters late at night when they're active? Wouldn't it be smarter to show up just before noon and start pounding stakes in them while they're helpless? I'm just saying."
"Yeah, that's what I thought at first," the Dire Wolf said. "When I first started working for Mr Dred. But these things are clever about concealing their coffins or graves, and it's too easy to miss one or two. Then the cycle starts again. On the other hand, they all stir around midnight and we have a better chance of wiping them out as they begin their hunt."
"Oh, okay," commented the blonde telepath. "I thought MAYBE you just like to fight."
Hearing that, Weaver managed not to smile. It was clear that Cindy Brunner had privileges when it came to sassing Bane, who seemed to take no offense. He didn't think Bane would respond as placidly to insolence from anyone else. Instead, Black Angel concentrated on the weapon he was being shown.
It was a bulky CO2-powered pistol with a thick barrel at least nine inches long. Bane was saying, "Steve, I know you usually carry a Colt automatic as a sidearm, but tonight I want you packing this. These fire a sharpened oak stake six inches long and one inch thick with enough impact to knock a horse down. You insert a dart in through the top here, click it shut and it's ready to fire. The belt has twelve stakes in loops. Got it?"
"Seems straightforward enough," Weaver answered in a subdued tone. With each minute, it was sinking in more and more exactly what was going to happen that night. "We carrying some crucifixes, too? Garlic, maybe?"
"No," Bane replied as he stowed away the stake gun. "Religious symbols sometimes work and sometimes don't. That's one of the frustrating parts of Midnight War. We do wear these Eldaran sigils in our suits for some protection. Here. Clip it inside your collar. It won't necessarily keep the Undead from attacking you but it will keep them away from your throat."
"They might kill you but at least you won't turn into one of them," Cindy interjected cheerfully.
"Thanks ever so much," Weaver answered. "Captain. Where do you want us to set down?"
"Edge of that field there. Just out of sight of the abandoned farmhouse." The Dire Wolf was peering down through the windscreen. WEven without any external lights showing, the CORBY's light-enhancers gave him a clear sharp view of everything beneath them.
Weaver lowered the three-wheel landing gear and settled the CORBY down in an open space so gently that they hardly felt the touchdown. In sequence, he began closing different functions, checking the gauges and dials and row of tiny monitor screens one last time before they winked off. Overhead, the rotors slowed to a halt. Beside him, Bane slid open the co-pilot hatch with a hiss as the pressurized cabin let out its air. The Dire Wolf hopped lightly down to the ground and everyone followed. Pausing to seal the cabin again, Bane showed Weaver the touchpad and its five-number combination.
The Black Angel did not recognize the vitality that filled his body. It was not at all the way he had felt going into combat with his squad. This was different, clearer, more excitement than dread. He felt an adrenalin surge and every sense sharpened. In a way, he felt like he was fully awake for the time time and that he had been sleepwalking most of his days.
Weaver glanced over at Bane. Was this how the Dire Wolf felt all the time? Beside him, the three KDF members opened the chamber of their guns and slid a pointed oak spike into place before the clicking the assembly shut. Vampire or not, he thought, one of those little spears sliding into your heart would do you in.
He was already wearing the Black Angel rig developed by the USAF. The snug protective flightsuit had red piping down each arm and leg for visibility when he had been filmed during tests. The red boots and gauntlets each had a rear-pointed fin to help steer. Weaver lowered the molded fibreglass helmet over his head and attached it to the high collar of the suit. Between the goggles and the shutters over his lower face, he was completely concealed. When the situation seemed to require it, the flightsuit had brackets to attach a small oxygen tank but he did not expect to reach anywhere near the breathable ceiling tonight.
So far, Weaver resembled a SCUBA diver. It was the wings which dramatically changed his appearance and made him the Black Angel. Folded into a compact red bundle, they clicked into place on their support plates between their shoulder blades. He tapped a button on the small control panel high on the left side of his chest. Tiny motors hummed and aluminum tubing extended to open the wings. Ribbed with red nylon fabric like the wings of a bat rather than a bird, they opened to their full six-foot spread, flapped once and then retracted to fold up again into a bundle no bigger than an emergency parachute.
Cindy Brunner had been watching with open fascination. "Say, Steve. I know a teeny bit about physics. There's no way artificial wings that size could lift a grown man, they'd have to flap faster than a hummingbird's. What's the deal?"
"Oh, these help steer and stabilize me in flight," Weaver answered with a pleased smile. "I can fly without them, just not as well. I'm a full levitator, evidently something so rare the Air Force could never find another one for a second Black Angel."
"Yeah, that makes sense." She leaned closer, obviously restraining herself from touching the apparatus. "Where's the battery? Those motors have to have some external power source, I think..."
"Never mind that now," interrupted the stern voice of their captain. "There'll be time later. Right now, we need a quick briefing before we move out. Team, our strike tonight is against a nest of Undead. Best estimate is fifteen to twenty of them, under the control of a single Vampire Lord. This is Lazlo Ferencz, known to have been Undead for at least a hundred and fifty years, maybe longer. Cin, you can pinpoint the enemy's location but your telepathy will not be effective against them. Their higher brain functions have been lost. You'll have to rely on the stake gun."
"They are lost souls in every way," Ted Wright observed sadly. "The Decadent poet Bouchard wrote 'Emperor on his throne or serf in the fields/ we all end up as Subjects of the Worm.' They have only been delaying their fate."
"Right." Bane did not seem interested in philosophy. "Ted, as a Blue Guide you can siphon off the stolen life-force from these things and give them true death. I've seen you do it. But be careful! You can only concentrate on one at a time and we're up against a warren. They'll try to surround you. Stay aware of the situation."
The Dire Wolf turned those pale eyes on the newest member of their team. "Steve, despite your combat record, this will be your first encounter with the genuine supernatural. It's something you have to experience to understand. I want you watching from the air to pick off any vampires that try to escape. Understood?"
"Wait. What if they, well, turn into bats?" Weaver hesitated to ask such a question but everyone was so matter-of-fact about this nightmare that he felt he had to know.
"Only Vampire Lords can transform," Bane answered with complete seriousness. "That takes decades or centuries of gathering lifeforce. Lesser vampires are only a step above Zombies, just ambulatory corpses with bloodlust. A Lord like Ferencz can dominate them completely."
"Jeez...." Weaver said.
"Team, I want Ferencz for questioning. He'll know where other warrens are hidden in the area. Try to take him alive."
"Little late for that," said Cindy.
"You know what I mean," Bane snorted without real annoyance. "Let's move out. Steve, I want you in the air. Ted, go where you can see the back of the house. Cin, stay on my right side. We'll cut them down as they come out."
Black Angel stared at the rundown building. "How can you be sure they'll come out?"
The Dire Wolf gave a very faint, sardonic smile but did not answer.
III.
With that, the three KDF members separated and moved quickly off into the darkness. Weaver immediately followed. It was an overcast gloomy night, with the air dank and clammy. He clicked on the light-amplifying filters in his goggles, which helped. At least he could see clearly enough to run without tripping over loose rocks or tree branches.
The field had obviously been untended for years. Lank dried grass and tangled weeds were sparse and scattered, as though the soil could not nourish life. An abandoned tractor rusted away forlornly under a withered apple tree that had bare branches. It was like the dead remains of a once-living farm, Weaver thought.
As he made his way across the field, Black Angel tried to sort out his impressions of his potential new teammates. What an eclectic group, he thought. He liked and respected Ted Wright at once. There was a brother who was steady as a rock, serious and responsible. He had been told that Wright was an actual MD specializing in trauma surgery and Weaver could see that he had the doctor's trait of listening and analyzing rather than chatting. He was not sure exactly what a Blue Guide was, something about using gralic force to heal and strengthen the injured, but Weaver figured it would all be demonstrated soon enough.
Weaver had found Cindy Brunner immensely appealing as well; not in any sexual way, that specific chemistry just didn't click between them. Besides, obviously the little blonde already had something going on with Bane. Weaver liked Cindy most because she was genuinely interested in hearing what he thought and felt. She listened and remembered what he revealed about himself. She was impudent without being mean, energetic without being annoying.
So far, he hadn't seen any examples of her alleged telepathy. He hadn't asked for a demonstration. Like Wright's powers, Cindy's mental gift would likely to be in evidence soon enough. Weaver did notice how quickly he had warmed up to these strangers when he was normally distant with people he didn't know. He felt as comfortable with these Tel Shai knights as if they had been friends for years. Maybe that was a telepathic effect, he wondered. Maybe this Cindy girl had established a light mental link between them all. Whatever, he was comfortable with it.
Stephen Weaver slowed and concealed himself behind a pair of straggly elm trees within clear sight of the dilapidated farmhouse. He studied it warily. The white-board structure was big enough, two stories high with a wraparound porch and a peaked barn nearby. But it all seemed ready to fall down as he watched. The windows were boarded up or empty squares with bits of broken glass remaining, the roof sagged alarmingly in the middle and not a glint of light showed anywhere. No sign of anyone living there.
Hah, Weaver thought with an actual shiver. LIVING there? If Bane was right, then even if no one was living there, it didn't mean the farmhouse was unoccupied.
Then the front door creaked open with agonizing slowness. Weaver's heart felt as if it had missed a beat or two, and a cold jolt ran through his chest. It couldn't be. It was impossible. And yet... Two things staggered awkwardly out onto the porch. They looked like starving white men in filthy rags but they weren't. They were dead. He could tell at once. He had seen enough corpses in Kuwait to recognize them even if they were moving.
Stinging bile rose up at the back of his throat. He swallowed repeatedly, fighting down the reaction to retch. This was worse than he had expected. It was just so wrong. There was nothing funny at all about seeing the Undead. His hand dropped down to the flap holster at his side but he couldn't manage to draw his weapon. He felt as frozen in alarm as if he had almost stepped on a rattlesnake which now reared up and threatened him.
IV.
A beep sounded in his earphones and the firm voice of the Dire Wolf came clearly into his helmet. "Steve, listen closely. This is Bane. Keep your head clear. Cindy has done a mind probe and she tells us there are no living people in that building. She counts twenty-six of the Undead like these two. We're going to wipe them out. Remember that these things are already dead. They're suffering in this state and we're doing them a favor by giving them the eternal rest they want. Let's do it."
Weaver had known that his new teammates had communications between their own helmets and he was glad to see that the Black Angel radio system could receive them so well. Bane had sounded so calm and confident, as though he were talking about buying a used car rather than tackling a warren of vampires. That attitude made him feel better. He took deep slow breaths and came down to safer levels of adrenaline.
At that very moment, a third creature appeared in the doorway and they all stepped unsteadily out into the front yard. The monsters sniffed the air like dogs. One grinned, revealing long white upper canine fangs no living Human ever said. He hissed one word to the night air, "Blood..."
Then the dark figure of the Dire Wolf strode boldly into view and lobbed two grenades at the roof of the farmhouse. Both explosions ripped across the decaying wood and dry shingles, spreading a film of high-intensity burning gel.
The overcast gloom of the night disappeared before the brilliance of the blazing roof. Weaver could understand why Bane had done this. Not only did the fire drive the Undead outside but they were creatures of darkness would be confused and disoriented by the flickering glare of the flames. A score of monsters lurched and reeled out of the farmhouse, shoving one another aside, climbing over the fallen in their panic.
As soon as they were clear of the fire and saw the living beings before them, bloodlust took over. They rushed for the three potential victims who stood coolly awaiting their attack. Hissing like snakes, bony fingers clawing the air, the pack charged in a blind fury.
The Dire Wolf cut them down one after another, clicking stakes into the gas-powered gun and sending each of the thin wooden spikes directly into the unbeating heart of a vampire. As fast and accurate as he was, not even Bane could faced that onslaught alone. Cindy stood just to one side, crouching slightly and holding her air gun in both hands because of the considerable recoil. She could not reload and fire anywhere near as quickly as Bane, so she concentrated n picking off those Undead who were getting too close.
Watching from nearby, Black Angel was impressed with her. Bane was obviously a born fighter with an innate gift for violence but it was startling to see a cute tiny blonde not much out of her teens steadily firing stakes into the terrifying walking corpses. Suddenly Weaver shook his head. He'd be damned if he would just watch those two do all the work. He snapped open his wings to their full extent and rose smoothly straight up.
There! Two of the monsters had broken off the attack and were fleeing side by side toward the woods. Bane and Cindy hadn't seen them from their angle. All right, he thought with satisfaction, time to demonstrate just what Black Angel was all about. Weaver straightened his body like a diver, arms out in front of him and legs together. Faster than any bird of prey, he hurtled down and smashed into the escaping vampires with both fists.
The undead things were bowled over by the brutal impact, tumbling helplessly across the dirt. Weaver looped around and came back at them. He unsnapped his flap holster and drew the stake gun. One vampire lurched back up onto its feet and flailed its arms in a futile attempt to snatch Black Angel down. Keeping well out of reach, Weaver extended his right arm and squeezed the trigger. There was a low cough of expelled CO2 and the sharp stake thumped down directly into the monster's chest. Then he fired at another one. The vampires were knocked down by the impacts, one after another, and sprawled in true death.
Weaver had expected to feel unease and doubts when shooting at these creatures, as he had felt when engaging the enemy while in the USAF. But this was different. These were not living, breathing Humans. It was so obvious just by looking at them that these were unnatural beings. Dead bodies should stay dead, he thought, they should have their funerals and go compliantly into the grave. Corpses had no business roaming around hunting for victims. It was so extremely creepy that it filled him with a fierce sense that he must exterminate these monsters. Now he fully understood what Bane had meant in that recruitment speech.
Rising steeply upward, soaring around the pillar of flame from the burning farmhouse, Black Angel saw Ted Wright at work at the back of the structure. Only a few vampires were trying to escape this way and the Blue Guide obviously had them under control. Weaver did not fully understand how this Blue Guide stuff worked. It looked to him as if Wright simply pointed at the Undead and a haze of blue electricity crackled around them for an instant before they dropped straight down to the dirt.
Ted Wright spotted Weaver passing overhead and gave him a salute. The Black Angel returned it and kept gliding forward. Flying was not effortless by any means. The force which lifted and propelled him had its source in the mental discipline which tapped the universal gralic force. He found it easier to glide than to hover. Flight took as much concentration as downhill racing on skis. Weaver saw a vampire clambering out through a ground floor window of the burning building and he coasted lower. Still grasping the stake gun, he took aim and sent the creature to true death with one of the thin wooden spokes. Every time an Undead was destroyed, Weaver felt the horror oppressing him ease up slightly. It was as if the world was returning to its rightful state a bit more with the passing of each monster.'
Then Jeremy Bane's voice crackled into his headphones. "Steve! Ferencz is getting away. He's a bat four feet across, heading up toward you. Intercept him. We want him for questioning."
V.
Instantly, Black Angel swung around to obey. He did not resent Bane's assumption that his orders would be followed and in fact he had accepted the authority of the Dire Wolf at once. He knew when someone understood a dangerous situation and he accepted it. Holstering the stake gun, Weaver climbed upward with his wings tucked halfway against his back.
There it was, its dread outline sharp against the yellow flames dancing behind it. A bat as big as a dog, beating the leather-hided wings slowly and powerfully as it avoided the smoke churning up from the farmhouse.
Bad as the walking vampires were, this bat-thing was much worse. Only a Vampire Lord, a veteran of centuries of blood-sucking and life-stealing could change its form and could dominate a colony like this. Weaver could feel the thing's sheer malevolence as it flapped up toward him, but he was beyond fear. The draw of the Midnight War had caught him in its call. He felt clear-headed and sure of himself.
Reaching greater velocity than he had ever achieved before, Weaver crashed headlong into the huge bat, snatching the unprepared monster right out of the sky. He seized the cold furry neck in his right hand and squeezed so hard his forearm locked up. Startled but immediately furious, the bat form of Lazlo Ferencz slashed with its toe claws and beat with its powerful wings on Black Angel's body. Long yellow fangs gnashed and snapped together, unable to slice into the living flesh they craved so desperately.
Weaver stubbornly endured the battering, punching with his free fist at the creature's head. The Undead were stronger than living flesh could match. As the bat wriggled and struggled, Black Angel knew he could not hold on for more than a few more seconds. Only inches away, hellish red eyes glared into his with naked desire to kill. Weaver reversed his levitation ability to start bringing them down to the ground. He swung over toward the front of the house. Standing there within a circle of grotesque corpses, were his new team-mates. He managed to touch down, stumbling to one knee with the monster still clawing and thrashing.
"Take him, Ted," Bane ordered calmly.
Blue light flickered and played over the beast and it swelled up to become the limp form of a man. Lazlo Ferencz sprawled in the dirt as Weaver gratefully released him. The Black Angel got to his feet unsteadily, his own artificial wings folding up along his back. He found he was out of breath and needed a moment to catch up. The sleeves and the front of his uniform hung in shreds, revealing the grey sheen of the Trom armor beneath.
"Nice work, Steve." Bane thumbed the ear pod of his helmet and the visor slid up into its internal track. "I've wanted to ask this character some questions for a long time. He can lead us to more of the Vampire Lords in this country. Cin, did any of them escape?"
The telepath had unlatched and lifted off her own helmet, shaking the dark blonde hair loose with relief. "Not as far as I can tell. Ted, how about you? What are you picking up?"
Wright exhaled deeply. "Nothing but our own natural life forces. As far as I can sense, none of the Undead have escaped to spread their curse." He straightened up. ""Subjects of the Worm,' remember. Gone where they should have gone long ago."
"Great. This is one nest that's been cleaned up for good." Bane clapped his hands together once in triumph. He stepped forward and shook Weaver by one shoulder. "Well, what does our Black Angel think? You've looked the Midnight War square in the face, Steve... how do you like it?"
Sore and aching as his arms were, Weaver slowly lifted his own crested helmet and felt soothing night air on his sweaty face. He had never felt so purely alive before. He smiled wryly at Bane and said, "What have we got lined up for tomorrow night?"
________
1/25/1990-Rev 8/29/2017f
6/3-6/4/1980
I.
A flash of clear blue light flared up and faded, barely visible in the bright New Mexico sunshine. A man in black had appeared out of nowhere. Instantly, Jeremy Bane glared about him and got his bearings.
He was a gaunt figure six feet tall, wearing what had become his trademark uniform in the Midnight War. All black, the slacks, turtleneck and sport jacket made him seen even more lean than he was. With a narrow face under short fine black hair and a pair of pale grey under eyes under thick feral brows, the Dire Wolf made a striking impression anywhere he went. In one hand, he held a sealed manila folder with the red letters RESTRICTED ACCESS - EYES ONLY AS NEEDED stenciled on a diagonal bar across its front.
In the split-second after his appearance, Bane had taken in his surroundings as if he had been expecting a trap. He had been at war all his life and knew no other way. This was the Human Capability Enhancement facility, a cluster of six low concrete buildings way out in the desert. The blacktopped parking area was surrounded by a seven-foot high chain link fence topped with flood lights and cameras as if to keep out an army. Bane relaxed visibly. He had only been here a handful of times but he knew how good the Trom security defenses were.
Bane recognized with satisfaction he was getting better at using the Eldar travel crystals. The flash of blue gralic light had transported him instantly from the KDF headquarters in Manhattan to this site in the Southwest ninety miles from the nearest town. The process was also becoming less of a mental strain with practice. too. He barely had a headache.
Twenty feet away, rolled out beyond the open doors of a sheet metal hangar, stood a sleek black helicopter that had no identifying logo or numbers on its surface. There was no tail rotor, just two vertical vanes that used high-pressure air streams for control. One panel behind the cabin was open, exposing a solid surface of color-coded wires. Stretched out on a canvas mat under that opening, making adjustments with a tiny set of pliers as if doing the most delicate surgery, was a man in an olive-drab jumpsuit. Opened next to him was a toolbox marked HCE 16.
Bane approached and said, "Stephen Weaver?"
The man gave a start, rolled over and leaped nimbly to his feet. He was slightly taller than Bane, a bit older. Weaver was an American black man with short-cropped hair and a thick mustache under a prominent nose. Behind the friendly smile, wary deepset eyes watched this stranger. "Whoa. I was not expecting any callers today. And I figure I should have heard the gates open when you drove in?" From his hip pocket he yanked a crumpled rag and wiped his hands.
Bane offered his own hand, which Weaver firmly shook. "My name is Jeremy Bane. We spoke briefly on the phone yesterday. Leonard Slade said you'd be free from duty this morning if I came to see you."
Gesturing with a thumb at the black helicopter, Weaver said, "Where these birds are concerned, there's always maintenance to be done. They're never a finished product, just a work in progress. But I can take a break." He moved over to a wooden picnic table with flanking benches. "Coffee, Mr Bane?"
"Call me Jeremy. No, thanks, caffeine is the last thing I need." The Dire Wolf placed the folder on the table and took a seat as Weaver dropped down facing him. "Stephen, you and I have more in common than you might think at first. We both were born with something extra, powers normal Humans never suspect."
When he paused for reaction, Weaver simply said, "I'm listening."
"I'm going to talk to you about classified information that frankly I am not cleared for. My KDF team cannot be kept out by normal security measures. I know all about the Air Force's Black Angel Project, that you were the only functional levitator they ever found. And I know that after two years of testing you, developing the flightsuit and equipment and spending a fortune on the project, that the Pentagon shut Black Angel down. You were given an honorable discharge and pay raise on condition you accept this position here at the Human Capability Enhancement facility."
Weaver kept his face as impassive as he could. "Look.. Jeremy, I am not admitting any of this is true. Even it was true, I'd still be restricted by the Confidential Secrets agreement I would have signed. Right?"
"Sure." Bane unfastened the tab on the folder and passed it over. "Here. Of course, officially I never had these documents and you never got a look at them. They're going to be destroyed before I leave here."
Studying the files in silence, Weaver started to scowl and finally slapped the folder down on the wooden lunch table with a loud retort. "I think you need to do a little bit more explaining, my friend."
"Of course," said Bane as he took the folder back and fastened it shut. "In the Midnight War, I'm known as the Dire Wolf. I am captain of a team of Tel Shai knights, and our cover is a non-profit research organization called the Kenneth Dred Foundation... the KDF."
Weaver snorted. "I understood maybe half of that."
"The Director of this facility, Leonard Slade, is a founding member of my team. He had a lot to do with having you assigned to the HCE and putting you to work on that CORBY. You must see that the avionics and propulsion on that copter are way more advanced than anything the military of any nation possesses, right?'
"I want to remind you again of the Official Secrets Act and of non-disclosure agreements I might or might not have signed here," Black Angel said. "But I can admit that you have my full attention, Jeremy."
The Dire Wolf leaned forward. "Listen, Steve. I need you on my team. Think of us as ghostbreakers, monster hunters, a paranormal SWAT team. We are fighting a desperate secret war against the most horrifying and lethal enemies the Human race has ever faced. Imagine every horror movies you've ever seen come to life, only worse. Every nightmare you've head, every monster and maniac that you thought people had made up in books and folklore.. they're all out there every night. Vampires, Ghouls, werewolves, Skinwalkers, Trolls... and there are worse things that most people have never heard of. There are the Darthim, the skull-faced Nekrosim, Snake men, the Night Gorillas, the Sulla Chun. Every night, the Midnight War starts up and creatures of darkness stalk Human victims."
"Whoa, whoa, stop for a second." Weaver wasn't amused at all, the icy conviction in Bane's voice prevented that, but he was recoiling in disbelief. "Hold on, Jeremy, wait. You can't expect me to believe all that without SOME evidence. I mean, come on."
The Dire Wolf did not smile. His grey eyes were bright with intensity that made Weaver more than a little uncomfortable. "Oh, you'll see more than enough proof, Steve," he answered. "I'm not going to just show you photos or reports. Come with me and my team tonight and see Midnight War for yourself."
"All right, suppose I do go along. Suppose it's all true. I've seen plenty of scary movies and listened to my grandma's stories about Haunts when I was a kid. People always get killed at the end, you know? That makes me a little cautious. Why won't we just get slaughtered too?"
"Because we are special cases ourselves. My team are all knights of Tel Shai with special abilities and training, not to mention advanced weaponry. I lead six people who all have an extra gift like you have. Like I have. We can take the initiative against these monsters and destroy them."
Weaver tried to take a deep breath and calm down. "Damn. I might as well admit what you obviously know. I am Black Angel. I'm the best levitaph ever known, I can in fact fly high and fast enough to catch a hawk by the throat. ...But what about you? You say you and your boys are special but I haven't seen any proof."
In reply, Bane simply stood up and turned to face the hangar door fifteen feet away from where they were. He handed an empty coffee mug to Weaver and said, "Here. Throw this through the door, Steve. Don't worry about breaking it."
After a moment's hesitation, Weaver grinned and lobbed the mug underhand toward the open hangar doors. Something happened that he couldn't quite follow. Suddenly, the white ceramic mug was dangling at face level on the hangar door, swinging back and forth, held there by a black-handled throwing dagger that hurled quicker than the human eye could register. Weaver snapped his head around. Jeremy Bane was just lowering his arm from that throw.
As Black Angel took in what had just happened, he saw Bane slide a second dagger out from a sheath under his right sleeve and transfer it to his left hand. He said, "Today is June Third," and again there was a blur that could barely be perceived. His arm lowered.
Weaver leaned over so he could see the calendar hanging behind the paper-littered desk just inside the hangar door. The dagger was protruding neatly from that calendar. "I don't need to go check," he said. "I'll assume that you hit June 3rd."
"That's my specialty," the Dire Wolf replied as he went to retrieve his knives. "I was born a bit quicker than the average person. Steve, I want you on the team as a fighter. I've read your record. And we need you as a pilot and mechanic for the second CORBY that Len is preparing for us. But that's not the full reason."
Coming back over to stand next to Weaver, Bane went on, "You are a Combat helicopter pilot and field repair specialist, Lieutenant Weaver of the United States Air Force. I know you can keep your head under stress, you can face danger and go under fire without losing it. You won't panic and you also won't go berserk. That's a rare set of traits. You are the one Human in a thousand who can handle being a knight of Tel Shai and a KDF member. What I'm offering is a chance for you to accompany our team tonight for one mission and see for yourself. If you're the man I think you are, you'll be excited and eager and want to sign up. Well. What do you say?"
Weaver did not answer immediately, meeting the cool, hard gaze of those grey eyes directly and judging his own reactions. Finally, he stood up with a grin and held out his open hands palms up. "I'm going to have to verify all this with Slade, of course. All I have right now is your side of the story. But for some reason I believe you. I believe it all.
"All my life, I've been an outsider," he continued. "I tried to hide what I should have been proud of. And now you give me a chance to meet other people like me, to use my gift for a good purpose. If I turned it down, for the rest of my life, I'd regret not found out for myself. Count me in. Dire Wolf, Black Angel is with you."
II.
At eleven that night, the sleek black jetcopter CORBY hurtled silently above the clouds. As always, it broke a dozen regulations just by being in the air, from not having external lights to not bearing an ID numbers to not filing a flight plan. It was also a non-military craft armed with twin 40mm chain guns, a major felony in itself.
In stealth mode at three hundred miles per hour, the rotors made no more noise than a breeze to anyone on the ground. Weaver was in the right-hand pilot seat. He enjoyed flying this craft immensely, the CORBY was so advanced that it was in many ways as easy as driving a car in a two-dimensional situation rather than being airborne. The cabin was backlit by soft pastel greens and blues from the various indicators and a row of small monitor screens.
Weaver pushed the cyclic-collective stick and the CORBY sped up to three hundred and fifty but no vibrations or noise could be felt by the occupants. He had only flown this copter five times before, the first four under the severe supervision of Leonard Slade. So much was becoming clear to him tonight. The mysterious Trom he had overhead mentioned, Leonard Slade's frequent absences, the HCE Project that had somehow gotten him reassigned from the Air Force... and now these people from the Kenneth Dred Foundation. All the threads were leading to each other and he felt more satisfied leaning explanations about the past few years.
In the co-pilot seat with its duplicate set of controls, Jeremy Bane was watching everything intently, obviously remembering each detail. He had told Weaver earlier that most of the KDF members had been squeezing in basic intro lessons to flying between all the other skills they were learning, but they were complete novices. Weaver's major duty as a member would be giving Bane and two or three others intensive lessons in handling the second CORBY that was being built for the team's use. Each KDF member had one or more specialized area of expertise that they brought to the table.
"Another sixty-five miles, Steve," Bane said quietly.
"Copy that, cutting speed." Weaver stole a quick glance behind the cabin, where a clear sliding panel separating the compartment behind them. On a bench, strapped in with safety restraints, were two remarkable people he had just met that day. Like Bane, they were wearing what were called field suits. All black, boots and snug pants and waist-length jackets fitted with a dozen pockets and pouches. Each KDF member had a rigid helmet stowed securely on a shelf, visor retracted in its internal track. In those suits, with the visors lowered, he figured these guys would be almost invisible on a dark night.
Ted Wright was also a black man, darker-skinned than Weaver and older, with a neatly trimmed beard on a heavy, thoughtful face. He had been described as a Blue Guide, one of the healers of the Midnight War, as well as a genuine doctor with an MD. Next to him sat the telepath, Cindy Brunner, a pretty young woman who could not be over twenty. Her dark blonde hair was tied back in a thick ponytail that swung when she moved her head. Neither of them had the dangerous, almost sinister look in those field suits that their captain did. They might have been EMTs or rescue workers; Bane was a commando.
There were seven members in the Kenneth Dred Foundation. Weaver had already gotten to know Leonard Slade and Larry Taper at the HCE Project. Now he was working with Jeremy Bane, Cindy Brunner and Ted Wright. That left only two others to meet, the famous Michael Hawk and someone called Khang, whatever the hell kind of name that was.
Their air speed had dropped to almost hovering. From the back compartment, Cindy slid the clear divider aside and said, "Hey, call me dense if you will---don't you dare-- But why are we going after these critters late at night when they're active? Wouldn't it be smarter to show up just before noon and start pounding stakes in them while they're helpless? I'm just saying."
"Yeah, that's what I thought at first," the Dire Wolf said. "When I first started working for Mr Dred. But these things are clever about concealing their coffins or graves, and it's too easy to miss one or two. Then the cycle starts again. On the other hand, they all stir around midnight and we have a better chance of wiping them out as they begin their hunt."
"Oh, okay," commented the blonde telepath. "I thought MAYBE you just like to fight."
Hearing that, Weaver managed not to smile. It was clear that Cindy Brunner had privileges when it came to sassing Bane, who seemed to take no offense. He didn't think Bane would respond as placidly to insolence from anyone else. Instead, Black Angel concentrated on the weapon he was being shown.
It was a bulky CO2-powered pistol with a thick barrel at least nine inches long. Bane was saying, "Steve, I know you usually carry a Colt automatic as a sidearm, but tonight I want you packing this. These fire a sharpened oak stake six inches long and one inch thick with enough impact to knock a horse down. You insert a dart in through the top here, click it shut and it's ready to fire. The belt has twelve stakes in loops. Got it?"
"Seems straightforward enough," Weaver answered in a subdued tone. With each minute, it was sinking in more and more exactly what was going to happen that night. "We carrying some crucifixes, too? Garlic, maybe?"
"No," Bane replied as he stowed away the stake gun. "Religious symbols sometimes work and sometimes don't. That's one of the frustrating parts of Midnight War. We do wear these Eldaran sigils in our suits for some protection. Here. Clip it inside your collar. It won't necessarily keep the Undead from attacking you but it will keep them away from your throat."
"They might kill you but at least you won't turn into one of them," Cindy interjected cheerfully.
"Thanks ever so much," Weaver answered. "Captain. Where do you want us to set down?"
"Edge of that field there. Just out of sight of the abandoned farmhouse." The Dire Wolf was peering down through the windscreen. WEven without any external lights showing, the CORBY's light-enhancers gave him a clear sharp view of everything beneath them.
Weaver lowered the three-wheel landing gear and settled the CORBY down in an open space so gently that they hardly felt the touchdown. In sequence, he began closing different functions, checking the gauges and dials and row of tiny monitor screens one last time before they winked off. Overhead, the rotors slowed to a halt. Beside him, Bane slid open the co-pilot hatch with a hiss as the pressurized cabin let out its air. The Dire Wolf hopped lightly down to the ground and everyone followed. Pausing to seal the cabin again, Bane showed Weaver the touchpad and its five-number combination.
The Black Angel did not recognize the vitality that filled his body. It was not at all the way he had felt going into combat with his squad. This was different, clearer, more excitement than dread. He felt an adrenalin surge and every sense sharpened. In a way, he felt like he was fully awake for the time time and that he had been sleepwalking most of his days.
Weaver glanced over at Bane. Was this how the Dire Wolf felt all the time? Beside him, the three KDF members opened the chamber of their guns and slid a pointed oak spike into place before the clicking the assembly shut. Vampire or not, he thought, one of those little spears sliding into your heart would do you in.
He was already wearing the Black Angel rig developed by the USAF. The snug protective flightsuit had red piping down each arm and leg for visibility when he had been filmed during tests. The red boots and gauntlets each had a rear-pointed fin to help steer. Weaver lowered the molded fibreglass helmet over his head and attached it to the high collar of the suit. Between the goggles and the shutters over his lower face, he was completely concealed. When the situation seemed to require it, the flightsuit had brackets to attach a small oxygen tank but he did not expect to reach anywhere near the breathable ceiling tonight.
So far, Weaver resembled a SCUBA diver. It was the wings which dramatically changed his appearance and made him the Black Angel. Folded into a compact red bundle, they clicked into place on their support plates between their shoulder blades. He tapped a button on the small control panel high on the left side of his chest. Tiny motors hummed and aluminum tubing extended to open the wings. Ribbed with red nylon fabric like the wings of a bat rather than a bird, they opened to their full six-foot spread, flapped once and then retracted to fold up again into a bundle no bigger than an emergency parachute.
Cindy Brunner had been watching with open fascination. "Say, Steve. I know a teeny bit about physics. There's no way artificial wings that size could lift a grown man, they'd have to flap faster than a hummingbird's. What's the deal?"
"Oh, these help steer and stabilize me in flight," Weaver answered with a pleased smile. "I can fly without them, just not as well. I'm a full levitator, evidently something so rare the Air Force could never find another one for a second Black Angel."
"Yeah, that makes sense." She leaned closer, obviously restraining herself from touching the apparatus. "Where's the battery? Those motors have to have some external power source, I think..."
"Never mind that now," interrupted the stern voice of their captain. "There'll be time later. Right now, we need a quick briefing before we move out. Team, our strike tonight is against a nest of Undead. Best estimate is fifteen to twenty of them, under the control of a single Vampire Lord. This is Lazlo Ferencz, known to have been Undead for at least a hundred and fifty years, maybe longer. Cin, you can pinpoint the enemy's location but your telepathy will not be effective against them. Their higher brain functions have been lost. You'll have to rely on the stake gun."
"They are lost souls in every way," Ted Wright observed sadly. "The Decadent poet Bouchard wrote 'Emperor on his throne or serf in the fields/ we all end up as Subjects of the Worm.' They have only been delaying their fate."
"Right." Bane did not seem interested in philosophy. "Ted, as a Blue Guide you can siphon off the stolen life-force from these things and give them true death. I've seen you do it. But be careful! You can only concentrate on one at a time and we're up against a warren. They'll try to surround you. Stay aware of the situation."
The Dire Wolf turned those pale eyes on the newest member of their team. "Steve, despite your combat record, this will be your first encounter with the genuine supernatural. It's something you have to experience to understand. I want you watching from the air to pick off any vampires that try to escape. Understood?"
"Wait. What if they, well, turn into bats?" Weaver hesitated to ask such a question but everyone was so matter-of-fact about this nightmare that he felt he had to know.
"Only Vampire Lords can transform," Bane answered with complete seriousness. "That takes decades or centuries of gathering lifeforce. Lesser vampires are only a step above Zombies, just ambulatory corpses with bloodlust. A Lord like Ferencz can dominate them completely."
"Jeez...." Weaver said.
"Team, I want Ferencz for questioning. He'll know where other warrens are hidden in the area. Try to take him alive."
"Little late for that," said Cindy.
"You know what I mean," Bane snorted without real annoyance. "Let's move out. Steve, I want you in the air. Ted, go where you can see the back of the house. Cin, stay on my right side. We'll cut them down as they come out."
Black Angel stared at the rundown building. "How can you be sure they'll come out?"
The Dire Wolf gave a very faint, sardonic smile but did not answer.
III.
With that, the three KDF members separated and moved quickly off into the darkness. Weaver immediately followed. It was an overcast gloomy night, with the air dank and clammy. He clicked on the light-amplifying filters in his goggles, which helped. At least he could see clearly enough to run without tripping over loose rocks or tree branches.
The field had obviously been untended for years. Lank dried grass and tangled weeds were sparse and scattered, as though the soil could not nourish life. An abandoned tractor rusted away forlornly under a withered apple tree that had bare branches. It was like the dead remains of a once-living farm, Weaver thought.
As he made his way across the field, Black Angel tried to sort out his impressions of his potential new teammates. What an eclectic group, he thought. He liked and respected Ted Wright at once. There was a brother who was steady as a rock, serious and responsible. He had been told that Wright was an actual MD specializing in trauma surgery and Weaver could see that he had the doctor's trait of listening and analyzing rather than chatting. He was not sure exactly what a Blue Guide was, something about using gralic force to heal and strengthen the injured, but Weaver figured it would all be demonstrated soon enough.
Weaver had found Cindy Brunner immensely appealing as well; not in any sexual way, that specific chemistry just didn't click between them. Besides, obviously the little blonde already had something going on with Bane. Weaver liked Cindy most because she was genuinely interested in hearing what he thought and felt. She listened and remembered what he revealed about himself. She was impudent without being mean, energetic without being annoying.
So far, he hadn't seen any examples of her alleged telepathy. He hadn't asked for a demonstration. Like Wright's powers, Cindy's mental gift would likely to be in evidence soon enough. Weaver did notice how quickly he had warmed up to these strangers when he was normally distant with people he didn't know. He felt as comfortable with these Tel Shai knights as if they had been friends for years. Maybe that was a telepathic effect, he wondered. Maybe this Cindy girl had established a light mental link between them all. Whatever, he was comfortable with it.
Stephen Weaver slowed and concealed himself behind a pair of straggly elm trees within clear sight of the dilapidated farmhouse. He studied it warily. The white-board structure was big enough, two stories high with a wraparound porch and a peaked barn nearby. But it all seemed ready to fall down as he watched. The windows were boarded up or empty squares with bits of broken glass remaining, the roof sagged alarmingly in the middle and not a glint of light showed anywhere. No sign of anyone living there.
Hah, Weaver thought with an actual shiver. LIVING there? If Bane was right, then even if no one was living there, it didn't mean the farmhouse was unoccupied.
Then the front door creaked open with agonizing slowness. Weaver's heart felt as if it had missed a beat or two, and a cold jolt ran through his chest. It couldn't be. It was impossible. And yet... Two things staggered awkwardly out onto the porch. They looked like starving white men in filthy rags but they weren't. They were dead. He could tell at once. He had seen enough corpses in Kuwait to recognize them even if they were moving.
Stinging bile rose up at the back of his throat. He swallowed repeatedly, fighting down the reaction to retch. This was worse than he had expected. It was just so wrong. There was nothing funny at all about seeing the Undead. His hand dropped down to the flap holster at his side but he couldn't manage to draw his weapon. He felt as frozen in alarm as if he had almost stepped on a rattlesnake which now reared up and threatened him.
IV.
A beep sounded in his earphones and the firm voice of the Dire Wolf came clearly into his helmet. "Steve, listen closely. This is Bane. Keep your head clear. Cindy has done a mind probe and she tells us there are no living people in that building. She counts twenty-six of the Undead like these two. We're going to wipe them out. Remember that these things are already dead. They're suffering in this state and we're doing them a favor by giving them the eternal rest they want. Let's do it."
Weaver had known that his new teammates had communications between their own helmets and he was glad to see that the Black Angel radio system could receive them so well. Bane had sounded so calm and confident, as though he were talking about buying a used car rather than tackling a warren of vampires. That attitude made him feel better. He took deep slow breaths and came down to safer levels of adrenaline.
At that very moment, a third creature appeared in the doorway and they all stepped unsteadily out into the front yard. The monsters sniffed the air like dogs. One grinned, revealing long white upper canine fangs no living Human ever said. He hissed one word to the night air, "Blood..."
Then the dark figure of the Dire Wolf strode boldly into view and lobbed two grenades at the roof of the farmhouse. Both explosions ripped across the decaying wood and dry shingles, spreading a film of high-intensity burning gel.
The overcast gloom of the night disappeared before the brilliance of the blazing roof. Weaver could understand why Bane had done this. Not only did the fire drive the Undead outside but they were creatures of darkness would be confused and disoriented by the flickering glare of the flames. A score of monsters lurched and reeled out of the farmhouse, shoving one another aside, climbing over the fallen in their panic.
As soon as they were clear of the fire and saw the living beings before them, bloodlust took over. They rushed for the three potential victims who stood coolly awaiting their attack. Hissing like snakes, bony fingers clawing the air, the pack charged in a blind fury.
The Dire Wolf cut them down one after another, clicking stakes into the gas-powered gun and sending each of the thin wooden spikes directly into the unbeating heart of a vampire. As fast and accurate as he was, not even Bane could faced that onslaught alone. Cindy stood just to one side, crouching slightly and holding her air gun in both hands because of the considerable recoil. She could not reload and fire anywhere near as quickly as Bane, so she concentrated n picking off those Undead who were getting too close.
Watching from nearby, Black Angel was impressed with her. Bane was obviously a born fighter with an innate gift for violence but it was startling to see a cute tiny blonde not much out of her teens steadily firing stakes into the terrifying walking corpses. Suddenly Weaver shook his head. He'd be damned if he would just watch those two do all the work. He snapped open his wings to their full extent and rose smoothly straight up.
There! Two of the monsters had broken off the attack and were fleeing side by side toward the woods. Bane and Cindy hadn't seen them from their angle. All right, he thought with satisfaction, time to demonstrate just what Black Angel was all about. Weaver straightened his body like a diver, arms out in front of him and legs together. Faster than any bird of prey, he hurtled down and smashed into the escaping vampires with both fists.
The undead things were bowled over by the brutal impact, tumbling helplessly across the dirt. Weaver looped around and came back at them. He unsnapped his flap holster and drew the stake gun. One vampire lurched back up onto its feet and flailed its arms in a futile attempt to snatch Black Angel down. Keeping well out of reach, Weaver extended his right arm and squeezed the trigger. There was a low cough of expelled CO2 and the sharp stake thumped down directly into the monster's chest. Then he fired at another one. The vampires were knocked down by the impacts, one after another, and sprawled in true death.
Weaver had expected to feel unease and doubts when shooting at these creatures, as he had felt when engaging the enemy while in the USAF. But this was different. These were not living, breathing Humans. It was so obvious just by looking at them that these were unnatural beings. Dead bodies should stay dead, he thought, they should have their funerals and go compliantly into the grave. Corpses had no business roaming around hunting for victims. It was so extremely creepy that it filled him with a fierce sense that he must exterminate these monsters. Now he fully understood what Bane had meant in that recruitment speech.
Rising steeply upward, soaring around the pillar of flame from the burning farmhouse, Black Angel saw Ted Wright at work at the back of the structure. Only a few vampires were trying to escape this way and the Blue Guide obviously had them under control. Weaver did not fully understand how this Blue Guide stuff worked. It looked to him as if Wright simply pointed at the Undead and a haze of blue electricity crackled around them for an instant before they dropped straight down to the dirt.
Ted Wright spotted Weaver passing overhead and gave him a salute. The Black Angel returned it and kept gliding forward. Flying was not effortless by any means. The force which lifted and propelled him had its source in the mental discipline which tapped the universal gralic force. He found it easier to glide than to hover. Flight took as much concentration as downhill racing on skis. Weaver saw a vampire clambering out through a ground floor window of the burning building and he coasted lower. Still grasping the stake gun, he took aim and sent the creature to true death with one of the thin wooden spokes. Every time an Undead was destroyed, Weaver felt the horror oppressing him ease up slightly. It was as if the world was returning to its rightful state a bit more with the passing of each monster.'
Then Jeremy Bane's voice crackled into his headphones. "Steve! Ferencz is getting away. He's a bat four feet across, heading up toward you. Intercept him. We want him for questioning."
V.
Instantly, Black Angel swung around to obey. He did not resent Bane's assumption that his orders would be followed and in fact he had accepted the authority of the Dire Wolf at once. He knew when someone understood a dangerous situation and he accepted it. Holstering the stake gun, Weaver climbed upward with his wings tucked halfway against his back.
There it was, its dread outline sharp against the yellow flames dancing behind it. A bat as big as a dog, beating the leather-hided wings slowly and powerfully as it avoided the smoke churning up from the farmhouse.
Bad as the walking vampires were, this bat-thing was much worse. Only a Vampire Lord, a veteran of centuries of blood-sucking and life-stealing could change its form and could dominate a colony like this. Weaver could feel the thing's sheer malevolence as it flapped up toward him, but he was beyond fear. The draw of the Midnight War had caught him in its call. He felt clear-headed and sure of himself.
Reaching greater velocity than he had ever achieved before, Weaver crashed headlong into the huge bat, snatching the unprepared monster right out of the sky. He seized the cold furry neck in his right hand and squeezed so hard his forearm locked up. Startled but immediately furious, the bat form of Lazlo Ferencz slashed with its toe claws and beat with its powerful wings on Black Angel's body. Long yellow fangs gnashed and snapped together, unable to slice into the living flesh they craved so desperately.
Weaver stubbornly endured the battering, punching with his free fist at the creature's head. The Undead were stronger than living flesh could match. As the bat wriggled and struggled, Black Angel knew he could not hold on for more than a few more seconds. Only inches away, hellish red eyes glared into his with naked desire to kill. Weaver reversed his levitation ability to start bringing them down to the ground. He swung over toward the front of the house. Standing there within a circle of grotesque corpses, were his new team-mates. He managed to touch down, stumbling to one knee with the monster still clawing and thrashing.
"Take him, Ted," Bane ordered calmly.
Blue light flickered and played over the beast and it swelled up to become the limp form of a man. Lazlo Ferencz sprawled in the dirt as Weaver gratefully released him. The Black Angel got to his feet unsteadily, his own artificial wings folding up along his back. He found he was out of breath and needed a moment to catch up. The sleeves and the front of his uniform hung in shreds, revealing the grey sheen of the Trom armor beneath.
"Nice work, Steve." Bane thumbed the ear pod of his helmet and the visor slid up into its internal track. "I've wanted to ask this character some questions for a long time. He can lead us to more of the Vampire Lords in this country. Cin, did any of them escape?"
The telepath had unlatched and lifted off her own helmet, shaking the dark blonde hair loose with relief. "Not as far as I can tell. Ted, how about you? What are you picking up?"
Wright exhaled deeply. "Nothing but our own natural life forces. As far as I can sense, none of the Undead have escaped to spread their curse." He straightened up. ""Subjects of the Worm,' remember. Gone where they should have gone long ago."
"Great. This is one nest that's been cleaned up for good." Bane clapped his hands together once in triumph. He stepped forward and shook Weaver by one shoulder. "Well, what does our Black Angel think? You've looked the Midnight War square in the face, Steve... how do you like it?"
Sore and aching as his arms were, Weaver slowly lifted his own crested helmet and felt soothing night air on his sweaty face. He had never felt so purely alive before. He smiled wryly at Bane and said, "What have we got lined up for tomorrow night?"
________
1/25/1990-Rev 8/29/2017f
