Strike Force Five Part 7
Close Calls and Acquisitions
Trowa and Quatre were doing their own "dancing in the dark". Their advance came in cautiously measured steps. The line of light poles woven throughout the perimeter did shed more light, however the adjacent buildings were grouped tighter, their closer proximity producing greater activity.
Odd sounds and noises mixed with voices raised above the din that whined just beyond the pair's position. An occasional heavier thud accented the constant hum of whatever machinery was being put to use.
Quatre peered around a light pole's wide base. The spotlight's concentration, unlike the pervious glows dampened by the fog, radiated well passed its point of origin. The increased brightness made it clear that he and Trowa would have to choose an alternate exit route.
"Which way?" Quatre wondered as he strained to identify a shape silhouetted in the bright backwash flooding the way ahead.
Trowa shrugged, "We retrace our path until we find a safer place to cross the border."
Quatre leaned forward trying to get a better view of the puzzling outline that appeared to be moving in their direction. Suddenly something attached itself to Quatre's jacket jerking him back with enough force to plant him squarely on the seat of his pants.
It took only a moment for Quatre to figure that Trowa's hand was responsible for his swift contact with the ground. The surprised blond twirled around poising his lips to harshly demand Trowa's explanation for his actions and to also question his partner's state of saneness.
Before Quatre could register his protest Trowa's hand covered his mouth. "SHHHH!" Trowa hissed squatting down beside his lover. Cutting his eyes sideways Trowa emphatically underscored his insistence of silence with a hard nod of his head.
Straight ahead, almost close enough to touch, the dull gray armor plate of a Sentry Drone blended perfectly with the haze. The only betrayer of the Drone's presence was the scarlet gleam of its twin video-optics.
Quatre sucked in an involuntary breath so hard that it caught in his chest with a painful stab. He became pale and uncontrolled tremors shook his entire body.
"Steady." Trowa whispered wrapping his arms protectively about his trembling lover.
The mechanical sentry stood fixed in place seemingly in shutdown mod but its piercing stare told Trowa and Quatre that the lethal machine was undeniably operational. Likewise they had no reason to doubt that its weapon's system was just as active as its crimson orbs. Trowa also knew that shooting at the Drone would be as ineffectual as trying to stop a raging bull with a slingshot.
OZ's deadliest defense system, the bipedal Security Drone tracked an intruder by body heat and movement then zeroed in on its target with gut-wrenching speed. Its power capacity could burn through ratio-rated steel plating or damage the body's functions so badly that the resulting disruption left little or nothing behind to identify as human.
Both trespassers froze; their breathing reduced to the minimum necessary to keep from passing out. Quatre and Trowa hoped that the clammy mist would inhibit their body heat and lower their temperature levels below the Drone's sensor range. They prayed that the nearby noise would interfere with the Drone's audio input so the merciless machine would not "hear" each time they had to draw in a shaky breath.
All Quatre and Trowa could do was remain motionless as every nerve ending tingled and jumped under their skin. The lovers clung to each other fighting the overwhelming urge to bolt, to flee certain death if they were discovered. But the odds of outrunning the Drone's electronically enhanced reflexes never came down on the human's side. The hideously twisted skeletal forms of soldiers who tried were a picture forever etched in Trowa's memories.
Those nightmare images from the war came rushing back with such sickening suddenness that Trowa felt himself recoiling, drawing up to merge with the shrouding fog. Chills seized his body, a shudder raced inside before finally coming to rest as a knot in the pit of his stomach. Visions of needle thin beams slicing through flesh and bone sent cold sweat beading across his brow.
Oddly Quatre's reaction to his possible impending doom was peculiarly opposite of Trowa's gripping terror. His quivering had stopped and, as he simply closed his eyes, there was a surprisingly serene countenance on his fair face.
Quatre had long ago accepted his fragile mortal condition. If the end was at hand he wanted no warning. If these were to be his last moments then spending them in Trowa's arms was all he needed to make the peaceful transition from this world to the next.
His inner harmony had come reluctantly at first but the fear had gradually given way to the sure knowledge that the fates or whatever deities ruled man's destiny would sound the final retreat. For Quatre this was not so much an apathetic view of life but a resigned acceptance of his limitations. Contentment with his circumstances especially after his parent's deaths had become his soul's redemption.
The Drone's rigidity suddenly loosened, the unexpected motion causing Trowa to flinch and further withdraw into the shadows. His partner's movements caused Quatre to open his eyes.
Tilting its head off-center, mimicking the posture of a listening human, the Drone appeared to rearrange its audible ports attempting to overcome the background noise, the clangs and thuds. Next it rotated its upper torso in an effort to isolate any resonance different from the machinery's clamor.
With its shift in attitude Trowa swore that the Drone looked directly down at him and Quatre. Now all they could do now was stare back into the merciless killing machine's glowing "eyes" and hope against hope for some miraculous deliverance.
"I love you." Quatre whispered before relaxing against Trowa's chest.
Trowa kissed the top of his precious soul mate's blond head taking a second to breathe in the fresh scent of Quatre's Green Tea shampoo. "I will love you forever." he replied cradling his lover as close as physically possible.
One time in his life Trowa must have done something right. Perhaps the fates had indeed forgiven his sins and his reward was more moments with Quatre. The Drone emitted what could be described as an "electronic sigh" then swiveled about facing forward. Trowa guessed that the mock-human sentry must have finally given into the confusing racket and static produced by the operating machinery.
Walking away on servo-motors so quiet that Trowa was once again reminded just how easily one could fall prey to the walking demolition device the frustrated Drone smoothly traveled back towards the light and noise and voices.
It was not until the Drone had completely disappeared from sight that either man dared to believe that they had been delivered. "Are you all right?" Trowa asked pushing Quatre's golden bangs from his eyes.
Quatre pushed against Trowa to stand up. "Yes."
"Are you sure?" Trowa insisted checking his partner's eyes for signs of distress.
Quatre caressed Trowa's lips with a brushing kiss. "I am always all right when I am with you." he assured his concerned partner.
With their close call fresh in their minds, the grateful pair slipped beyond the shadowy border and faded into the fog.
*********
Heero and Wufei stood shoulder to shoulder squinting at a wooden building. Wufei whispered his opinion that the use of wood, in contrast to the surrounding stone architecture, indicated that the building was not an original part of the warehouse complex but that OZ had constructed it for a specific use.
Heero agreed that the structure's contrariness was not the design quirk of an eccentric planner and therefore needed to be investigated. "Let's have a look." he stated leveling his crossbow. Wufei just shrugged and fell in behind his Strike Force comrade.
Grimy film streaked all the windows running along the building's length. Also the absence of any internal light was equally cooperative in restricting Heero and Wufei's view inside. Pressing his pistol to the chest Wufei paused at the corner for a quick peek. Double doors were set in the building's front. One bare light bulb mounted above the doors cast an eerie glow on the white mist.
"Pitifully poor security." Wufei muttered to himself as he observed the almost useless light. With a wave of his hand he signaled for Heero to cover his back.
Heero braced his shoulder on the wall raising the razor sharp steel-tipped arrow in line with the double doors. A nod told Wufei that he was clear to proceed. An electronic scrambler quickly unlatched the left door. Heero, his crossbow still in force, slipped in behind his partner-in-crime and close the door.
Wufei switched on a flashlight being careful to keep its yellow beam from bouncing off the cloudy windowpanes. Heero's flashlight, aimed at the floor, showed only a portion of what lay directly ahead. Picking their way between boxes stacked well above their heads each man took a side pausing to read the labels. Neither was sure exactly what they were looking for but both felt confident that there would be a few useful items stored away in the dusty gloom.
On Wufei's right a long rectangular tarp was draped over an odd outline. The bumps and ridges under the tarp's irregular surface made for some interesting guesses as to what it concealed. He checked his stride and backtracked for a better look.
"Help me with this." Wufei requested tugging at the brown sheet's hem. With some exertion from both men the trap slowly began to reveal its secrets.
Even in the dim light Heero could see the excitement in Wufei's eyes. "Do you know what these are?" Wufei asked pointing towards four black and chrome motorcycles lined up end to end.
Heero stared down the row allowing his flashlight's beam to dance over each motorcycle's shiny metallic finish. "Well," he paused studying the machines, "they look like motorcycles." he replied wondering if Wufei was seeing something different from what was clearly apparent to him.
Wufei threw his arms about so wildly that Heero had to step back for fear of being struck. "These are more than motorcycles." In a frenzied display of delight Wufei declared, "These are SCAT Models 2250Z." he proclaimed so winded from his exhilarative state that the last of his words trailed off breathlessly.
Heero stood quietly. His perplexed expression reflected his surprise at what he believed was Wufei's overzealous reaction to a few mere motorcycles. "So." he stated after a moment's recovery from his comrade's overly enthusiastic performance.
Wufei spun around so fast that Heero took another step backwards in self-defense. "So!" he glared at Heero. Then accenting his exclamation with a second series of wild hand waving Wufei proclaimed, "These are the most highly advanced vehicles ever made."
Heero found a certain amusement in Wufei's ecstatic fascination with the collection of engines and circuits. He was even pleased by the obvious pleasure that Wufei received from his newly discovered "toys" but he also had to question if such feverish passion on Wufei's part bordered on mental derangement.
Heero paused for reflection before asking, "What exactly is a SCAT?" he wondered then took one more step back for good measure.
Wufei looked down the row, let out a calming sigh then returned his attention to Heero. "SCAT is an acronym for Speed Calculated Adjustable Traction." he explained, "Each motorcycle is fitted with an onboard computer that calculates the lost of traction when taking a curve then the computer automatically adjusts the speed control to allow for a stable turn."
Wufei drew in a deep breath then continued, "When the curve is completed the computer returns to full throttle as you pull out. This allows the rider to run wide open and still be able to take the turns at the highest speed possible." he finished with a gasp for air and a self-satisfied grin.
Heero let his eyes rest on the SCATs seeing them in a new light. They were nice looking machines and, if they could do all that Wufei insisted they could do, they were certainly a fine example of mechanical engineering. Still he couldn't quite understand what significant importance the SCATs had to their mission.
Wufei's avid admiration, Heero supposed, was reasonable but it did nothing to aid their immediate cause. He took the chance of setting off Wufei's temperamental fuse when others did not share his point of view. "All right." Heero agreed, "These SCATs are technological wonders but they are not helping us find something that can create enough havoc to properly vex our enemies."
Wufei sighed running his hand over the first bike in line, "They can cause a lot devastation if they are used right. Just think how quickly we could get in and out. And what better way to deliver the charges that Duo acquires than from one of these. We can get in close and away before the bastards know what hits them."
Heero had to agree that Wufei's logic was sound. The bikes could lend a great deal of support. He could find no arguable flaw in Wufei's reasoning however one doubt kept tugging at his mind. "Do "we" know now to ride these?" He believed the question to be a perfectly legitimate concern.
"Have you ridden a TX3?"
Heero shook his head "yes".
"A SCAT is not much different in handling, only faster. You will just have to use a lighter hand."
"So you are telling me that what we have here are bikes that running at maximum speed take curves at the highest possible velocity and all I need is a light hand?" Heero recounted trying to make sense of Wufei's statement. "What about brakes?"
"If you need them." Wufei declared flashing a sly smile.
"All right," Heero conceded, "they can go fast and hopefully stop but I have one last question...how do you purpose we get the SCATs out of the compound? I don't think that OZ will just let us have them no matter how nice we ask."
Heero's line of thought must have been addressed in Wufei's mind before its last syllables turn cold in the night air and Heero's attempt at sarcasm either missed the mark completely or was ignored. Wufei had a ready reply.
"We're not that far from the compound's border. Of course we can only take two." he stated the obvious, "We take them out of gear and roll them out. Once we are far enough away that the engine noise won't carry in the fog we can ride them back to meet the others at the helicopter. Now if the bikes are here," Wufei declared turning his thoughts to the next logical step, "then there must be riding suits."
"Riding suits?" Heero asked starting off after Wufei as be began searching among several nearby boxes.
"Yes you know windsuits, or better yet, leather." Wufei replied still searching, "And helmets," he rambled on, "there has to be helmets."
Heero decided that it would be easier to help Wufei look then to try to follow his loosely jointed sentences.
"I told you!" Wufei exclaimed pulling back one box's lid, "Helmets."
With a wide smile Wufei held up his newly found prize. The helmet was colored black to match the bikes with two parallel silver-metallic stripes running from just above the tinted face-shield across the top to the rear base. A solid jaw and chin guard finished the circular protective ring. Centered on either side OZ's deep crimson Crossed Swords insignia glared with prominent clarity.
While the helmet was impressive with its glossy black finish and shiny stripes the best advantage was that the tinted face-shield's design gave total anonymity to the rider. With the gray shield in place one became just another unknown entity.
In a larger carton Wufei's wishes were fulfilled...two piece black and silver-gray leather windsuits with twin silver diagonal strips on the jacket's front. Unfortunately the same Crossed Swords emblem of OZ's tyrannical rule was embossed on the jacket's left side, the placement centering the hated symbol directly over the wear's heart making it a prime target site.
Wufei made a cursed-laden vow. "Once the damned insignia's deceptive usefulness was no longer needed the circular patch was coming off immediately." Wufei had no wish to fall victim to any friendly fire mistakenly leveled at the despised design.
The leather outfit was finished off with black leather gloves and knee-high black leather boots. Six adjustable buckles on the boot's outside seam added strength to the ankles. Flex-form overlays across the boot's front guarded the shins from road debris. A helmet, leather windsuits, gloves and boots...the perfect package. What more could anyone want?
"We put these on," Wufei announced holding up his new apparel, "and we could ride straight through the main gate."
Heero didn't share Wufei's optimism at the ease of their escape, "I think it would be wiser to sneak out." he stated flatly.
Wufei nodded in agreement, "I know but doesn't the idea of pulling off something like this right under the bastard's noses get your blood pumping?"
"My blood is pumping just fine." Heero replied coolly tucking his bangs inside a helmet as he pulled it on.
The double doors opened slowly and a helmeted head poked out into the dim twilight. The ground crunched under motorcycle tires as a pair of leather-clad figures pushed two SCATs silently along the building's side wall. As the strange silhouettes reached the far corner the first stopped short checking the way. The thieving pair and their pilfered modes of transportation were visible momentarily in a pool of light then vanished into the encompassing mist.
When Heero and Wufei were some distance away Heero, keeping his voice low, spoke up, "It just occurred to me that it will be passed the meeting time when we get back to the helicopter. If we go riding into the area dressed like this," he stated pointing at the enemy attire, "our comrades will probably shoot us."
Wufei flipped up his face-shield unveiling his brooding ebony eyes, "Then we won't wear our helmets and walk the bikes in," he paused, "and hope they look twice before they shoot."
Heero secured his crossbow behind the seat and mounted his bi-wheeled steed. "I hope so because if they do shoot then we will have gone to a lot of trouble for nothing."
Wufei gunned his engine. The quivering pulsations rumbled with a deep throb that the enshrouding dampness could not quell. He slipped the powerhouse of raw energy into gear. A steady rhythmic hum replaced the shaking. The single headlight flared on.
Slapping his face-shield down Wufei increased the tachometer's digital counter to near overload levels again reviving the engine to a deafening crescendo. With one fluid motion he opened the throttle and popped the clutch. Sandy ground sprayed from the spinning rear tire seconds before it caught hold sending the bike into a fishtail skid. Wufei skillfully corrected the sideways slide and with a second blast of power shot off down the narrow path leading from the compound.
Heero was not as melodramatically inclined. Reminding himself that his skill and experience was far below Wufei's he carefully put the bike into first gear. Steadily he increased the speed until he moved out with a firm grip on the ground.
"Use a light touch." he remembered Wufei's instructions. "Somehow though," he thought, "in Wufei's clutch popping, dirt spraying exit, his fellow Strike Force fighter had not taken his own advise."
TBC...
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