posted on May, 10 2004 @ 10:06 PM
Chapter 31: Blood and Water
Deus rested his head against the passenger side window of the older Toyota pickup. His skull rattled against the glass as the truck jarred across the
rough roads, but he was still lost in thought. The trees whizzed by him as Colonel tapping on the wheel, leading the convoy in. Music blared as he
tapped away, sometimes looking and grinning at Deus. DE merely smiled weakly back, not putting much thought into it. The weight of remembering was
getting to be a heavy burden on him.
There was a brief stop as the snipers unloaded, four of the Devils among them-Keenkid, Gothique, Worldwatcher and Amantine . Gothique smiled gently at
Deus before disappearing into the brush. Saucerat had been left behind for obvious reasons. After the brief pause, the Colonel began to drive slowly,
grinding down the road at a snail’s pace. It was about seven hundred feet to the main gate, two hundred before the main gate. It was the Colonel, DE,
Baked, Agent 47, and four green recruits either from Springer’s boys or freshly volunteered for the mission in the lead pickup. The was to be no
deception on this run- the hummers were both too banged up to even run properly.
The line of four trucks idled just out of view. Ten minutes passed, then fifteen. Deus’ sword was across his lap, shotgun between his legs. The
soldiers waited as the snipers got into position with immense irritation. Agent47 tapped the glass at the back of the cab, gesturing for Deus to use
his radio to contact TheDemonHunter. DE shook his head in response. The order had been for radio silence. Suddenly, a single shot rang out. Colonel
slammed his foot down on the accelerator before anyone could react, the motor chugging and protesting as bits of gravel flew up behind the truck. A
split second later, they had cleared the bend. TDH was screaming over the radio, as most of the soldiers on board the truck braced themselves.
“They shot someone, not us! #! Fire at will, someone’s gone and #ed this whole thing up.”
Glancing past the Colonel, Deus caught a few muzzle flashes from the woods. The Colonel’s teeth were bared as he cursed himself for his mistake. None
the less, he drove on. A machine gun chattered in the distance. The Colonel’s foot was to the floor. No other vehicle followed as the eight men in
that truck held on for dear life. They didn’t get far. The machine guns in the towers over up, shredding the hood of the truck, shattering the window.
Deus’s arm went up instinctively. A few razor edges of pain crept into awareness, some on his face but most in his previously wounded arm. Behind him,
everyone bailed and hid behind the now slowly rolling vehicle. Black, bilely smoke rose from the engine. Coughing, Deus looked to the Colonel, and was
immediately horrifying. Blood splattered the interior of the car. The brave Colonel’s chest had all but imploded under the stream of bullets. In
shock, Deus rolled out of the car. He fell face first onto the ground, vomiting.
His men popped off a few shots, pinned down in the middle of the open field. Soldiers had begun to advance, the weight of the suppressing fire keeping
even the snipers in the woods pinned down. Deus rolled over, shotgun in hand. His men were screaming at him, begging for orders, advice, salvation.
One took a bullet to the back of the head, sprawling out suddenly as life left his body. His knuckles white around his gun, he struggled to cope with
the influx of adrenaline and fear. He was going to die. He knew it. It was going to be painful, and everything was going to end. A twinge of religion-
something he had crusaded against since his teens- flared up, telling him he was going to go to hell. Gritting his teeth, he forced down the panic,
breath by breath. Struggling to his knees, he wiped the acidic remains of breakfast from his lips and chin, leaning around the front of the now
immobile truck. He emptied his shotgun in a matter of seconds, forcing the advancing soldiers to a halt. A grenade flew past them, exploding and
showering them with dirt. Shrapnel pinged off the body of the truck.
Then, it happened. Like a bat out of hell, the other trucks roared to their rescue. The occupants fired wildly as a sniper’s bullet took the man in
the tower who showered them with lead. Thumbing shells into the magazine of his long gun, Deus perked up to the cascade of sound.
“What the # are you waiting for? Up! UP!”
His men scrambled to their feet, returning fire of their own. Firing the three shells in the mag, he ditched the shotgun and drew his pistol and
sword. Two of the other pickups shot past them. Another stopped, offloading more men. Some tended to the wounded, while others laid down fire of their
own. Deus felt the anger rising again. The Colonel was dead. Another friend. And for what?
His loping strides carried him further than he expected as DE whipped out of cover, legs pumping and pistol firing. His world shook with the force of
a hurricane as his sword glanced off the ground, muzzle flashes and cordite-scented fumes stinging his eyes. Before he knew it, he was halfway to the
small group of the enemy. Ahead of him, he saw others breaking down the camp gate, prisoners revolting against their masters. The trucks sped on. His
gun empty, he dropped it, right hand closing around the haft of his katana. Something seemed right about the feel of it as he launched himself
forwards, blade flicking up from his side. It ducked beneath the body armor of the first man, momentum tearing it out the other side. He cloud hear
pounding behind him, shots. But that didn’t matter. There was only anger that clouded his mind. His movements were fluid, one stroke melding into the
next. Three men fell quickly, the other taking to their heels in short order. Two made it to the woodline. Only one remained behind.
The last man fired at him, and missed. DE shot forwards, two steps and then his blade thrust just below the chinstrap, severing it as the point of the
sword sliced through the man’s windpipe and out the over side, ribbons of blood trailing down the silvery messenger of death. The man struggled at the
end of his sword. The helmet fell off as he grasped the blade, cutting his finger to the bone. Deus’s rictus grin of pleasure and rage was reflected
in the young man’s eyes. Behind the mask, the Gestapo tactics, the black armor and hatred lay a fifteen year old boy. Buzz cut hair and high
cheekbones, the kid could have been a highschool athlete. Now, he was just a pawn. His shocked face gasped forgiveness and desperation. Before long,
the struggling stopped and the blade withdrew. The eyes were dim, but still reflected DE’s astounded face.
They were still a watery blue, bright even in death.
Yes, at long last. The next chapter. I apologize, thigns came up. My schedule will now be more intermittent (ei random). However, soon I plan to add
more to the story, and also notes such as what I was listening to at the time of the writing. Perhaps even revision is in the cards.
Oh well. Again, enjoy and apologies.