Attack and Kidnapping

No. . . . Hissing in alarm, I charged into the battered house, my talons making clattering noises on the wooden floor as I entered the main room and spun about, seeing the empty nest, the smashed and smoking ruins of the communications gear, the splintered furniture. I sent Stefan to search the kitchen area, then went to check the sleeping quarters--

--Only to have the door facing explode into a cloud of deadly splinters about my head as a hailstorm of heavy-caliber military rounds came blasting out of the adjoining room. With a strangled squawk I threw myself backwards, away from the doorway, almost losing my footing as I fought to get my momentum back under control. I tried to shout something, then cursed myself as fifteen kinds of fool as I paused to yank the sphere from my jaws. "Don't shoot, you idiots! It's me!"

There was a deadly pause, then Field's voice came echoing from the opening. "Advance and be recognized," he said tightly.

Stefan had come running back and now was crouching in the kitchen entrance, his Makarov out and searching the main room for targets. I gave him a silent stay put gesture with one hand, then turned back to the doorway to the back rooms. Clipped-off by the fusillade, several strands of my mane lay gleaming in the opening. At my current size, those G-3s could quite literally cut me in half. I swallowed, gripped the sphere in my hand in case I needed a quick getaway, then gingerly peered around the edge of the door frame. Inside, several pieces of furniture and various items of equipment had been thrown together into a hasty barricade, behind which two of my men crouched, their weapons trained on me. Long seconds ticked past, then Fields said a single word. "Number."

I let my breath in a gust of relief, banished the sphere, then gave the countersign. "Solution," I replied, and the soldiers relaxed slightly. Fields got to his feet and stepped around the barricade, his weapon still ready but no longer pointed at me. "Okay, Sarge, just what in the hell's going on around here?" he snapped.

"I was hoping you would tell me," I rumbled, "What happened? Where's the kids?"

"I don't know; it all happened pretty damned fast, and most of us were still asleep," the Special Ops trooper replied, his eyes warily scanning the area behind me. "Grease was just coming in after being relieved by Luce, when all of a sudden all hell breaks loose. Some dragon that looked a lot like you somehow got into the front room and started smashing stuff. Grease managed to get off a few rounds, but Kaa'saht and the other critter took him down. He gave us enough time, though, to be ready for them when they tried to come in after us. We fought them off, then we heard the front door getting smashed, and then nothing. You showed up. . . hell, it hasn't been more than five minutes. It's a flaming miracle you didn't run into them."

I heard the sound of my talons slicing deep into the wooden floor, closed my eyes for a moment to regain control. "Grease?" I said at last.

"He's banged-up pretty bad," Fields turned, and I followed him around the barricade, still manned by a grim-looking Deebs, to where Grease lay upon the floor, Wolfman kneeling next to him. Blood-soaked bandages swathed his right shoulder, left leg, and most of his left arm. Blood smeared the floor all around him and his skin was the color of dirty dishwater, but his eyes were open. "Hey Max," he panted, grinning feebly "you missed the party."

Oh, God. . . . I looked up at Wolfman, who nodded. I turned back to the wounded soldier. "Who was it, Grease?" I rumbled.

He gave his head a sharp shake. "Dunno; for a second I thought it was you, but they-- your look-alike and Kaa'saht-- they were tearing the place up." Grease paused, panting with the effort, then continued. "Sorry, Max; I tried, but I couldn't stop them."

"My Lord? Are you--" I turned my head at the voice, found Stefan frozen in the doorway, staring down the business end of Deeb's heavy assault rifle. The Texan's lips skinned back from his teeth as he glared at Dithra's agent through the gun sight, and I could almost feel his trigger finger tightening.

"Deebs, don't," I said quietly "he's on our side."

"Oh, yeah? Like his buddy was?" Deebs snarled, all trace of his normal humor gone. "Fuck 'em! Kill all these bastards!" Grudgingly, though, he did lower his weapon.

A slightly-pale Stefan took a moment to warily scan the room's remaining occupants, then turned back to me. "My Lord, what has happened?"

"Pasqual, that's what happened. She's back, and she took the kids. Kaa'saht has betrayed us." Stefan's face went white. I sighed, let my head sag, the feeling of defeat overwhelming. "We only missed them by a few minutes."

The agent's eyes narrowed. "Then we must pursue them!" Immediately he spun on his heel and bolted from the room.

"Stefan, there's no point," I called after him. "They're miles away from here by now, and we have to get Grease to a hospital."

"No, my Lord! You don't understand!" Stefan almost-shouted as he came rushing back. "No dragon could fly in this weather! Perhaps a Lung, yes, but not Kaa'saht, and certainly not with your children! They must be fleeing on foot!"