The other eight, p.19
The Other Eight, page 19
All nodded.
“Okay, hands in,” Phosphor said, sticking out his right hand.
One by one the other members of the group stacked their hands on his.
“To save lives,” Phosphor said.
“To become what we were meant to be,” Nonsensica said.
“To continue the family legacy,” said Non Sequitur.
“To see the look on Primadonna’s face,” said The Number.
“To show what a real sidekick is made of,” Gracias said.
“To make those bastards eat their words,” Chloroplast said.
“To prove once and for all that I’m not just a kid,” Bomb Sniffer said.
“Go-o-o te—” they began.
“To be remembered!” Afterthought added quickly.
“Right, sorry. Once again,” Phosphor said.
“Go-o-o team!”
They stood, eyeing up the fort in the distance.
“Time to be heroes,” Non Sequitur said.
#
At the fort, Retcon stood at the top of the wall, eyes peeled and gun ready. Beside him waited Undo. Below them one of the squads of soldiers patrolled, slowly circling the wall and sweeping the field around them with flashlights.
“So what do you figure they’ll do?” Undo asked.
“Well, the way I figure, their only hope is to try to sneak in. We got ’em out-manned and out-gunned. If we so much as catch a whiff of ’em, we’re gonna have them painted head to toe with pellets. So they’re gonna lay low, move slow, and stay real quiet,” Retcon reasoned.
Undo nodded in agreement. For a beat, there was silence, then in the distance a voice echoed, “Hey, everybody, look over here!”
Retcon and Undo, along with the soldiers stationed at the top the wall and the nearest patrol, turned and raised their guns. A pivoting spotlight was shifted to the source of the voice. Standing on the top of a hill was Gracias. A grin to came to his face.
“Grassy ass!”
An absurd serenade of puffs and rustles rang out as the watch and the patrol suddenly received an uncomfortable gift courtesy of his powers. Before any of them had recovered from the initial shock of having to deal with a problem no sane human has ever had to prepare for, Chloroplast sprang up from behind the hill and sprayed the soldiers with a flurry of paintballs. Gracias raised his own weapon and picked off a few more.
“Dang it!” Retcon growled, ducking below the edge of the wall and pawing at the seat of his pants.
“I’m on it,” said Undo, who had managed to un-look. He fired a few shots in the Blue Team’s direction, causing them to retreat into the darkness, then pulled a radio from his belt. “Enemy sighted on the west side of the facility. Men are down. Dispatch support!”
#
The sudden attack from their foe plunged the fort into a frenzy of activity. Only four soldiers had been hit, but those in the best position to pursue the attackers were now discovering the severe chafing that comes with a landscaped posterior. Additional troops were pulled from the east side, flooding out of the fort with their guns ready. A final soldier bolted out of one of the rear doors. Behind him, the door began to close but stopped just short of latching. Twenty seconds later, Non Sequitur, grabbed it and pulled it open.
“Let’s go, let’s go!” he hissed desperately to the rest of his team, knowing full well that the chaos that had distracted the watch thus far wouldn’t last much longer.
Nonsensica, Phosphor, and Bomb Sniffer filed inside and pinned themselves to the wall. They were in the narrow alleyway that ran around three sides of the fort. A call went out from the top of the wall, and a burst of paintballs whipped by, barely missing Phosphor. He returned fire by tugging a bundle of bulbs from his bag and hurling them in a single volley. A second cluster of shots shattered a few of the bulbs in midair, while the rest smashed against the wall and the side of the facility. The broken bulbs left a veritable smokescreen of phosphorescent powder hanging in the air. He gave the other side the same treatment and heaved a few more bulbs every few seconds while Non Sequitur fought with the door.
“They must have padlocked it or something. I can’t get through,” he said, tugging at the handle and feverishly trying to activate his ability.
“Fine, plan B,” Nonsensica announced. “Two bulbs, Phosphor.”
He pressed the makeshift weapons into her hand. She peeked into the window, whipping them inside and then diving quickly after them. Two soldiers positioned inside scattered to avoid the projectiles.
“Mushroom badger! Bagel warn!” she called out, causing a twitch from each soldier as they tried to raise their weapons. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to give her time to squeeze off two shots of her own, forcing the technically defeated soldiers to reluctantly lower themselves to the ground. The other heroes climbed through the window.
The inside of the fort was as simple as the outside—more plain gray cinder-block walls, speckled with the multicolored dots of prior mock shootouts. They ran down the narrow corridor directly ahead of them and pinned themselves, two each, to either wall when they got to another hallway running perpendicular. Nonsensica leaned out to find that the hallway led into the center of the facility, which was a sort of indoor obstacle course. The center of the building was mostly filled with crates and chest-high walls, laid out similar to an office setting with the crates taking the place of desks inside cubicles. The pounding of approaching boots convinced them to roll into the midst of the pretend cubicle farm and crouch behind a wall.
“Take a whiff, BS. You smell anything?” Phosphor asked.
Bomb Sniffer breathed deep. “It is so big…” she said shakily. “It is below us. This place must have a basement.”
“If this place has a basement, then that’s where the service rooms would be anyway, and that’s where we’ve got to get,” he said.
“I see the stairs,” Nonsensica said, peering over the wall. “The stairwell is on the north wall.” Her eyes widened, and she ducked down suddenly, paintballs whizzing overhead. “But we’ve got company. I’ll lay down covering fire, you guys move. Ready!”
She sprang from behind the cover and fired a continuous spray of shots toward the soldiers who flooded in. Bomb Sniffer, not the most athletic member of the team, did her best to stay low and move fast while Non Sequitur fired a few shots of his own on the move, and Phosphor continued to hurl bulbs to increase confusion and decrease visibility. The good news was that, since the official target was supposed to be the flagpole on the roof, the basement of the fort shouldn’t have any troops assigned to it. All they had to do was get into the stairwell. Bomb Sniffer was first, half falling down the steps as the patter of paintballs dotted the wall ahead of her. Phosphor and Non Sequitur took up positions on either side of the stairwell and painted the doorways, giving Nonsensica a chance to make her own move. She made excellent use of her light frame, jumping and vaulting over walls and boxes until she was able to roll through the doorway to the stairwell. Once she was inside, the team retreated down the stairs and regrouped, Phosphor keeping his weapon trained on the stairs and firing a few bursts to make sure any soldier interested in following would have to think twice.
“Look for the utility room. It is going to be a door with a real lock on it, not one of these mock doorways,” he called out.
The others glanced around. The basement was much less a training ground and much more an actual utility area. Rather than the half walls and crates, there were poorly lit hallways lined with pipes and an electrical conduit. Looking up and down the hall at the base of the stairs revealed no doors at all, just a long hall with a right-angle turn at both ends.
“That bomb is definitely down here. I think the opposite end of the building,” Bomb Sniffer said after a deep whiff.
“Okay, we look for that second. First we need to find the utility room so Phosphor can get us started on phase 2,” Nonsensica said.
“Follow the conduit. It must be leading to a circuit breaker,” Non Sequitur reasoned.
“Good thinking! Move,” Phosphor decreed.
“Stop!” yelled a soldier at the end of the hall. The heroes turned and fired, but not before he managed to squeeze off a shot that struck Bomb Sniffer in the abdomen.
“Damn it!” she cried.
“Go down, BS, we’ll find it,” Nonsensica said.
Bomb Sniffer nodded. “Remember, far side of the floor. And make sure you get it. I don’t want to be blown up for playing dead.”
The trio whisked off down the hall, followed shortly afterward by soldiers. In what was not the best showing of sportsmanship, Bomb Sniffer tripped one of them as he went past. The others reached the corner, and Non Sequitur’s theory proved accurate. The conduit disappeared into a wall beside a door marked Main Utility Closet. Nonsensica rattled the knob.
“Locked,” she said. “Do the honors.”
Non Sequitur turned the knob, pulled the door open, and flicked the lock to the open position.
“We should have called you Locksmith,” she said.
The stutter of paintball fire echoed through the hall, prompting the four heroes to pile into the claustrophobic closet and shut and lock the door. Inside, there was just enough room for two people, making it horribly cramped for the three of them. A single lightbulb with a metal cage around it dangled overhead, and a circuit breaker and a socket panel with a number of audio and video jacks in it hung on one wall. On another wall was a bank of switches labeled for gate controls and various security measures.
“Shame this isn’t one of those control rooms from the movies with all of the monitors and whatnot. We could have just flipped thorough the footage and found the bomb that way,” Non Sequitur said.
“You have the soundtrack and the adapters?” Phosphor asked.
“Check and check,” Nonsensica said, pulling a gadget and a cluster of wires from a pouch.
“Okay then, lights out!” He flipped the main breaker, cutting power to the entire facility and plunging them instantly into blackness. A moment later the dull yellow glow of a fluorescent tube lit the little room. “Hold this,” he said, handing off the lit bulb. “I’ll get phase 2 going.”
“I’d hurry up if I were you,” Non Sequitur suggested, throwing himself against the door as the soldiers outside began to thump at it in attempts to break it open.
“Won’t take a moment, so get the safety equipment on,” he recommended.
#
In the rest of the fort, the opposing team clamored to deal with the sudden darkness. Flashlights clicked on and FM, Retcon, Hocker, and Undo were trying to work out a plan of action from their position on the roof.
“How many are we dealing with?” FM asked. “How many are inside?”
“At least three, not more than four,” Retcon said. “Definitely Phosphor and Nonsensica. If they managed to get in a locked utility room they must have Non… Non Sek… The other non guy, too. I knew he’d be trouble.”
“Does anyone have the keys to that room?” Undo asked.
“No, it wasn’t supposed to be part of the area of engagement,” Retcon replied.
“Okay, well, it is now. Hocker, get down there and spit a hole through that knob,” Undo said.
“That might hurt somebody,” FM warned.
“Hey, if they are going to throw around broken glass and bust into off-limits areas, we can play rough, too. Get on it, Hocker,” Undo decided.
“With pleasure,” said Hocker with a measure more demented glee than was really appropriate for a training exercise. He sprinted off, sliding down the ladder for the wall and disappearing into the facility.
“We’ve got to assume this is a cover for a second attack somewheres,” Retcon said. He turned to the roof, where Primadonna and six of the remaining soldiers were standing guard. “Keep your eyes open, missy! They’ll be making a run for the flag with at least four of their team!”
“I’ll be ready for them,” she said primly.
With a whump, the power switched back on. Lights flicked on one by one, slowly gaining brightness. More curious was the sound. Public address loudspeakers crackled for a moment, then broadcast static and the clicking pop of a bad audio connection.
“The front gate!” came a cry.
The single fully lit searchlight was swiveled to the front of the courtyard to reveal that the gate controls had been activated, and the chain link was rattling open.
“Get that dang gate closed!” Retcon ordered.
The speakers chose that moment to get themselves sorted out, filling the facility with a thumping drum machine beat and a repetitive synthesizer chord.
“Earplugs! earpl…” came the hasty order from Retcon, but it was too late.
Through the opening gate and into the spotlight stepped The Number. To either side were Chloroplast and Gracias, each wearing a sound-canceling headset with a walkie-talkie earphone wire poking up beneath it. The audio began to swell, now recognizably “Party Rock Anthem” by LMFAO. In a wave centering on The Number, the soldiers in the facility began to shuffle in time to the music, turning and dancing in place as he marched to the center of the courtyard. Even the soldiers who had been struck by paintballs and were thus required to remove themselves from the war game stood and joined in the dance. Without the will to dodge or fire back, Gracias and Chloroplast efficiently fired at least one paintball at each dancer, ensuring that when the music ended they would be out of the game.
“Does compelling a group of soldiers to dance against their will count as some sort of a war crime?” Gracias asked over his radio.
“I genuinely hope so,” Chloroplast said. “Just keep your eyes peeled for anyone who got in their earplugs in time. We need to clear this place out.”
“Child’s play for a couple of pros like Team Green,” Gracias said, shielding his eyes against the glare of the floodlights.
#
The pounding on the door of the utility room tapered off as the music playing on the PA system forced the rival soldiers to shuffle up the stairs and into the dance routine happening in the courtyard. Cautiously, Phosphor opened the door. He and the others had donned a similar noise-canceling/radio-headset combo, allowing them to communicate without succumbing to musical friendly fire.
“Okay, we’ve got four minutes and twenty-two seconds from when we hit play,” Phosphor said, hustling down the now deserted hallway.
“We shouldn’t need it, right? We’ve got it narrowed down to half of the building, there’s no one standing in our way, and we’ve got a guy who can automatically unlock doors,” Nonsensica said. “Should be a cinch.”
They wove their way through a series of hallways. Room after room was entirely empty, which at least didn’t require a thorough search, and most didn’t have a proper locking door. Finally just one door remained.
“Ah. Well, that will complicate things…” Non Sequitur said, looking down.
“What? There’s only a little over two minutes left, no time to mess around,” Nonsensica said.
“Look,” he replied, indicating the latch for the door. Rather than the simple knob lock that had been on what few doors they’d encountered, this one had a combination lock.
“Great! This must be the right door, then. Why else would they lock it in a way that you couldn’t unlock,” Nonsensica said.
“Stand back, I’ll try to bust it open,” Phosphor announced, reeling back and beginning to bash the lock with the butt of his rifle.
#
In the courtyard, after dancing in place long enough to get all of the downed soldiers on their feet and all of the ones inside the building out, The Number began working them through a sequence of steps and turns, following the beat until they had arranged themselves into a few orderly lines. He then began to walk them out.
“How are things going up there?” came Nonsensica’s voice over their radios.
“According to plan. The evacuation is going well. I think we’ll have everybody out before the music stops.”
“Good, we need you and Chloroplast down here. There’s a combo lock, and we could use a hand getting through.”
“We’re on it,” Chloroplast said.
“Wait,” said Gracias. “Something’s happening.”
Pair by pair, soldiers dancing to The Number’s beat began to peel off from the main group, two-stepping their way back toward the facility. The pair searched desperately for the cause.
“Oh man… this is going to be epic. Look!” Gracias said, pointing to the edge of the roof.
Primadonna was there, dancing in a distinctly different manner, but still perfectly, to the music. The troops on the roof beside her danced to her routine, not The Number’s, and those peeling off were joining her. She danced her way down the exterior steps and into the courtyard, her dancers in a tight formation around her.
“Number you’re losing them,” Chloroplast warned.
The Number turned. His eyes met with his rival and narrowed in determination. He strutted back toward the center of the courtyard, Primadonna sashaying toward him until they were face to face. The music reached a brief pause. When it began again, he and his dancers executed a complex maneuver. As the song rolled into its next repetition, she and her dancers countered with their own. And so began a kind of duel, the two choreographers raising the bar with each new bit of music, and each time gaining or losing some dancers. It was a sort of battle of wills, with the most complex and skillful maneuver recruiting more of the pool of dancers.
“This is simultaneously the lamest and most awesome thing I’ve ever seen,” Chloroplast remarked, eyes wide. “I’m gonna try to tackle Primadonna.”
“No,” huffed The Number as he continued his routine. “This has been a long time coming. I got this. Help the others.”
“If you say so. Come on, Gracias. There’s more important stuff to do.”
“Crap… I really wanted to watch this,” said his partner, reluctantly turning and rushing into the facility as the dance-off steadily escalated.
#
“This assignment keeps getting better,” Private Summers squealed, eyes glued to the monitor for the courtyard camera. “The Number is really going all out on this one.”
