Dragon

[DerVVulfman]

Chapter Seventeen
Hair

A few minutes earlier, within the VSO van, Roberts, Hunt and the other two solders heard an urgent transmission from Emerson’s radio:

“Code orange -- Pastula’s down! Multiple hostiles in building! At least eight gunshots! Do you copy? Foxy’s on second, but I’m too far -- AHHHH!!!” The sound of a .45 cut Emerson off, then silence.

Hunt waited a few seconds, then confronted Roberts. “Pastula’s down. Emerson’s down. I don’t know what the hell Fox is doing. You said it was just one man in there. What kind of intelligence is this?”

Roberts shrugged. “I miscalculated. He must have guests tonight. It doesn’t matter. Rebecca will find a way to handle it.”

“Well, I don’t see any smoke yet, Doc. Something’s wrong.”

“Give her time.”

“Hunt grabbed his M-16. “I can’t wait. Two of MY squad may be dead. I’m not gonna abort this, but it’s my perogative to check their status.” Hunt pulled out two clips of ammo and slapped one into the gun.

“Hunt, you can’t jeopardize this now! Get back here! If she can’t fend for herself, what good’s she going to be to the VSO?” Hunt ignored him. “I know you think she’s fetching -- and your concern for your men is admirable -- but you can’t deviate from this mission!”

“I’m not deviating. I’m overriding you, Doc. Don’t try to stop me.” He began to strap a pair of holstered Gloks to his legs. Half serious and half cynical, he offered a third to Roberts. “Want to come along? You can watch your dragon work.”

Roberts was annoyed. “Somebody’s got to stay out here in case she tries to escape. If you go in, you go alone.” He’s on to me, Roberts thought.

Hunt saluted, not very respectfully. “That’s fine with me, Doc. Just stop trying to read my mind, and get better intel next time. And what the hell does ‘fetching’ mean?” The sergeant raced out into the dark.

He doesn’t fool me. I thought if I kept him inside the van, things would be stable. They’re not going to be able to work together if they let their emotions interfere with their jobs. I should ask the General to transfer Hunt, but I doubt he’d do it. They’re two peas in a pod. Dammit.. Come on, Dragon, do me proud. You were meant to do this.

Kill them. Kill them all!

? ? ?

Moulty’s mutants took a three-hour plane ride back to Maryland. David, Chris, Lizzie, Pardy and Moulty spoke very little. Every half-hour, Lizzie called Diamond to see if Fred Freshee had returned. Six times, Diamond said no.

? ? ?

“Fox,” Emerson said, “don’t you dare.” It was bluster. He was in no shape to prevent her from shooting him. She was out of his reach.

“I figure it’s you or me, Emerson,” Becky said evenly. Or both of us, Becky thought. Unless I can... At that moment, Ammo handed her his revolver.

“Just a second,” she paused. “Can I keep my hair after I kill him?”

“No @#$%in’ way! What are you, stupid?” shouted the Hitler-wannabe.

“Hey, man, it’s my hair. What difference does it make?” The pistol was lowered.

“No, hair, no, hair, just shoot, shoot, shoot!” Pure Skumm said.

“SHAVE HER!” shouted Emerson bitterly. “Shave her first! Just lemme watch it happen before you ice me.”

Well, thought Becky, that might buy us some time. God, I’m gonna miss these locks.

“HEY!!” shouted Cath to Emerson, “Don’t give us orders, blackass! She’s killing you now. Get it over with, bitch.”

“No more delays. No more talk. Do it” agreed Ammo, now standing beside Becky.

Emerson looked at his former captive, eyes furious. “Fox...”

“Kill, kill, kill, Beck, Beck, Beck, kill, Beck, kill, Beck!”

Becky pointed the revolver at the VSO solder. “I’m sorry, Emerson.” There’s only one thing to do. The gang waited expectantly. I love you, David. She whipped the gun around and fired it at Pure Skumm’s chest... Click.

The gun was empty. No bullets. Becky halted, shocked.