Harris winced. A cramp shot up his leg and he shifted his position to get more comfortable in his treetop perch. He brought the binoculars to his eyes and surveyed the front of the house. The two-story Georgian structure was richly covered in blooming ivy and nestled in the middle of its 100-acre estate. From his vantage point, Harris could see the large wooden entrance doors set behind sun bleached sandstone pillars.
Those doors, he knew, led to the main hall and a large stairway that spiralled upward to the 10 bedrooms above. The dining room, lounge, library, toilet and servants" quarters covered the lower floor. He ran though the house's interior as he waited, picturing the marble floors, the expensive furniture and the art on the walls. None of these things were accurate, for he had never been inside the house; they were just what he imagined such a grand house would have. His understanding of the layout, however, was perfect. He knew the position of every room, window and door. He had studied the plans for this house until he knew the layout better than the house he had been born in, this was his first mission in charge and he was leaving nothing to chance. His stomach churned with nerves and he tried to distract himself by scanning the grounds around him.
They had once been very well kept, he could still see some of the plan that those who had planted and cared for the grounds had once had. The trees had been planted in neat lines, guarding the driveway like silent sentinels. Flower beds had once been dotted liberally around the manicured lawns, providing splashes of colour to offer relief from the green canvas. It must have been quite beautiful Harris thought as he swept the area but the last few years of neglect had seen everything grow wild and untidy. The trees were no longer trimmed neatly back and their gnarled branches seemed to loom over the road as if waiting to grab anything that ventured too close. Plants, once ordered and regimented in neat, explosions of colour now spilled chaotically over the beds and merged with the tangle of the overgrown grass. Harris sighed as he pulled back his sleeve and looked at his watch.
"Blue Leader, initiate in 5 minutes." Harris spoke softly into the microphone positioned directly in front of his mouth and secured with tape to his left ear. His headset broadcasted the message clearly to his colleagues around the grounds.
Harris suppressed the nervousness in the pit of his stomach. He transferred the machine gun that hung from a strap on his back to his lap. As the seconds crawled by, he picked out his targets for the fifth time. There were three separate patrols between his position and the house, and a further two guards at the doors. He ignored the patrols to on either side of his position despite their proximity; his team members would take care of them. He was only interested in the patrols in front of him and the guards at the entrance. He checked his watch, eager to begin the assault, and then slipped down from the tree. The last seconds ticked by and Harris reached for a grenade on his utility belt.
". . .two, one."
Harris counted down the last seconds and pulled the pin on the grenade. He reached back and threw it towards the nearest of his targeted patrols. The guards barely had time to register the dull thud of the grenade landing behind them before it exploded and their bodies were thrown into the air to land in crumpled heaps some feet away. Harris launched himself from cover and sprinted towards the house, firing as he ran.
His hail of bullets tore into the second patrol before they could fully react and their bodies jerked spasmodically with each impact. Explosions and gunfire could be heard all around him as the rest of his team joined the action. Harris leapt to the ground, narrowly avoiding a barrage of fire that tore through the air where he had stood only seconds before. He rolled and brought his weapon up and emptied the rest of the magazine into the last of his targeted patrols.
Harris knelt to reload and looked around, easily changing the magazine with practised movements. To the east he could see Tyrone Johnson and his team running in relays of two as they covered each other on their approach to the house. John Kelly and his team had taken the main gate and were already removing the bodies of the guards and opening the gates to let Jenkins and the rest of the trucks into the estate.
Harris glanced at his watch and then sprinted to the left side of the house. 3:05. Not bad, he thought. Ahead of schedule.
Harris plucked a second grenade from his belt, threw it at the main doors, and dove for cover. The explosion ripped the main doors from their hinges and sent a deadly hail of splinters into the faces of the guards who had fired at him.
"How goes it?" a voice asked from behind a tree to his left.
Harris" heart lurched in his chest. "Shit!" He snapped his face sideways and saw Johnson. "You scared the crap out of me."
Tyrone Johnson grinned, and then let loose a long burst into a group of three guards who had suddenly appeared around the corner and were sent scrambling into the house as the bullets crashed into the stone pillars and sent shrapnel everywhere.
"Three round bursts," Harris reminded him with a glare. "You'll end up with an empty magazine at the worst time if you keep that up."
"Yes, mother," Johnson smirked as he sent another long burst towards the guards. "Oops," he grinned.
"Cover me!" Harris snapped at him as he rushed from cover. He ran up to the main doors and threw another grenade into the hall. Harris threw himself behind one of the pillars as the grenade exploded and sent dust and plaster flying through the doorway. A window behind him shattered with the force and sent wood and glass shrapnel surging outward. Harris was thrown to the ground and he felt numerous pinpricks of pain as small shards cut through his clothes and lacerated his flesh. None were deep but Harris cursed himself for his stupidity.
"I might be a little heavy on the trigger but at least I don't almost blow myself up," Johnson grinned as he drew level.
"Bastard," Harris grinned as he accepted Johnson's hand and pulled himself to his feet. He checked the tears in his clothes but couldn't see any major bleeding. "Right, Now for the difficult part," Harris said. The two men rose, checked their magazines, and eased into the smoke.
Harris rolled to the floor as bullets ripped through the air above him. They seemed to come from everywhere at once and the noise was deafening in the hallway of the house. He returned fire blindly and heard a scream as one of his bullets found their mark. There was no respite though. Bullets tore into the marble floor around him sending deadly shards flying in all directions as guards positioned along the stairs fired down upon him. More guards had set up in the Library and Lounge areas to his right and they poured a relentless barrage of fire towards them. Harris lost sight of Johnson as he was forced to roll behind a heavy Chaise longue that had been thrown onto its side from a previous explosion. Johnson's team finally caught up with them and four men appeared in the doorway and quickly added their firepower to the mayhem in the house.
Harris rolled onto his back as bullets thudded incessantly into the body of the sofa he hid behind. God, the noise was terrifying. His thoughts seemed to have trouble focusing on anything as the chaos reigned around him. God, what was I thinking, we're not ready for this? He wasn't sure what he should do but he knew he couldn't stay where he was, either the sofa would disintegrate and leave him helpless or one of the guards would throw a grenade. He had to get out of here. He took a number of deep breaths and then surged upwards and fired blindly at the stairs above. Almost immediately his weapon stopped chattering and he realised he had run empty. God, if Johnson knew that he'd never hear the end of it.
Suddenly he heard gunfire but it seemed muted somehow as if was coming from further away, either that or his ears had been damaged. He dropped back behind the sofa, reloaded and steeled himself to move again when he heard loud screams coming form the Library. He looked over towards Johnson but the man merely shrugged and raised his eyebrows. Whatever was happening bullets were no longer thudding into the sofa so he surged upwards with his weapon ready, but nobody fired at him. The guards on the stairs still held Johnson and his men pinned down but Harris was a little further in and out of their immediate field of vision. He looked through the smoke and dust, trying to see what was happening but everything appeared blurred. Suddenly he saw a figure move and he took careful aim only to breathe a sigh of relief and take his finger off the trigger when he saw John Kelly move through the smoke and wave at him from the Library.
Kelly had gone around the back of the house and had caught the guards in a crossfire. He smiled at Kelly, he might not like the man but there was no denying he pulled his weight. He wondered briefly why he didn't like the man but then shook himself from his thoughts. There was too much to do. Harris indicated the stairs and Kelly nodded and disappeared for a moment as he went back to gather his men. He reappeared a moment later leading five others and Harris watched as he led his team to the stairs and proceeded up in the same leapfrog relay he had seen them perform outside. Two trucks pulled up outside the house and Harris saw three more men jumping from the vehicles.
"Anderson!" Harris screamed over the noise of gunfire. "Take your men and clear out this floor."
Anderson nodded and the three men moved through the house, systematically clearing each room. Harris pulled a cigar from his shirt pocket and lit it.
Not many of these left now, he thought, and he drew the smoke into his lungs.
"All clear up here," someone said.
"Okay," Harris replied. He looked up the stairs to where the shout had come from. "Let's get to the basement and finish up before help gets here."
"You know I'm not going to let it go, don't you?" Johnson grinned as he pulled himself from where he had hidden behind debris from the explosion. His clothes were covered in dust and there were numerous cuts on his skin where shrapnel had torn his skin. The pale dust covered his dark skin and emphasised his white teeth as he grinned hugely. "It was three-round bursts wasn't it? I'm sure I heard someone say three-round bursts somewhere." He chuckled deeply as he moved on past Harris.
"At least I don't look like a zombie reject from a Michael Jackson video," Harris countered as he wiped dust from the man's cheek and wiped it on his shoulder. "You know we still haven't seen any black vampires." Harris joked.
"Hey, what can I say? You white people don't seem to care if you smell like dead shit. You won't find any brothers sleeping in coffins and wearing the same clothes for eternity."
Harris grinned as he watched his friend lead his men towards the basement door under the stairs. The house was now burning in places and the smoke made visibility difficult. Johnson smashed through the basement door and grunted as a bullet ripped through his upper left arm. Harris pushed past him, threw another grenade down the stairs and ducked back into the hallway. The explosion shook the floor and he had to grab the door for support to avoid falling. Using the wall as protection Harris peered into the cellar. No more shots came, but the cellar was pitch dark and Harris couldn't see any light switch.
"Get me a torch!" he shouted, and turned to his friend. "You okay, Ty?"
"Yeah, went clean through. Hurts like a bitch, though."
Harris grinned with relief and looked up as Anderson returned with the torch.
"Right, let's get this done."
Later Harris walked out to the garden. The sun burned into his body and he squinted along the line of his men. All of them were dirty from the smoke, some grasped various bleeding limbs, but all of them had the same look of determination.
At their feet lay seven coffins.
That basement held more of them than I expected, Harris thought. Jesus, we were very lucky today. There had been more guards than Harris had expected. It wasn't that he hadn't reconnoitred first, he had and quite extensively. But he hadn't seen this many guards and he was fairly certain that there hadn't been seven vampires staying here when he had made his plans. He had wanted to strike back at the vampires, make them notice them. Remind them that they couldn't have it all their own way. But this was way more than he had planned.
There was no way the vampires would ignore this. They had never killed a vampire before. They had stolen supplies, blown up a few supply depots and killed their fair share of thralls. In short they had been a nuisance. But killing a vampire was different. Killing a vampire escalated them to a completely different level. Killing seven vampires, though, was a completely different league. Harris sighed as he began to realise the impact of their actions and he suddenly realised that this would change everything. He had wanted change but events had quickly spiralled out of control. He felt like a passenger on a rollercoaster. He was strapped in and approaching the point where the cart would suddenly begin its frantic journey. He could see what was about to come but he couldn't pull back now. They were all committed now, for good or bad, he had committed them. He hoped to God he had done the right thing.
"Burn the bastards," he said.
The men whooped and set about ripping the lids off the coffins. Harris looked impassively at the coffin nearest him. One of the men ripped the lid off and sunlight bathed the body within. The creature sat bolt upright and smoke began to wisp from the exposed flesh. It opened its eyes suddenly and Harris could almost feel the malevolence of its stare. Its skin puckered and blistered, stretched and split under the merciless assault of the afternoon sun. It tried to rise from the coffin, but pieces of flesh came away from the bone and bubbled like oil in a frying pan as it fell to the grass.
The screams in the garden were horrendous. The seven creatures thrashed and kicked in agony as they melted in front of the men. Harris looked around and saw another creature half out of its coffin. It was trying to pull itself into the shade of a nearby tree when the sun burnt though its hand and seared it at the wrist.
The creature fell forward and out of the coffin where the sun continued to char it until all that was left was smoking clothes and a pool of putrefying flesh. The faint wail of sirens reached the group as the last of the creatures died.
"Okay, we're finished here," Harris said. "Let's go."
The men picked up their gear and moved to the trucks. Harris paused briefly to drop a small note next to the coffins and then jumped up into the passenger seat of the first vehicle.
In the distance the sirens grew louder.