SNAFU: Black Ops

GROUND ZERO An Alpha Unit Story Kirsten Cross

“MIND THE GAP! MIND THE GAP!”

The perfectly enunciated voice boomed through the station. Authoritative, masculine, and tinged with a fat dollop of ‘don’t fuck with me’ undertones, it had cowed an entire generation of commuters into compliance. You could practically hear it pronounce the exclamation marks. But it was almost drowned out by the teeth-clenching squealing of brakes and the pulse of stale air that always announced the arrival of a tube train at Highgate station. Waiting commuters got shotblasted by a cloud of dust and grit as the train burst out of a pitch-black tunnel and into the fluorescent glare of Platform Two. It sounded like a king-sized tin of thundery whoop-ass had been given a damn good shake and then opened in a confined space, accompanied by all the screaming, tormented souls of Hell.

The train squawked to a halt with all the grace of a car in a crusher, as metal wheels with metal brakes made contact on metal rails. It even threw up a few sparks for effect. Doors hissed open and a high-pitched bleep ticked down the seconds before exiting or entering the carriage would become much more of a challenge than it already was. A surge of humanity broke onto the shoreline of the carriage like well-dressed flotsam and flowed into the garishly bright interior, where the fittest and fastest plonked their arses into still-warm seats.

Alpha Unit moved with the flow of the mob, guiding a couple of stubborn civvies out of the way through the careful application of subtle but painful pressure to various points on the body, carefully disguised under the cover of a crowd crush. Each team member knew exactly where they needed to be. They’d planned this dekko just as meticulously as if it were a live-rounds assault. This particular theatre, though, was packed full of non-combatants. And that was always a problem.

Subtlety was the name of the game today. Black ops didn’t always have to be flash-bang-wallop, gun-toting mayhem. Sometimes, it could be a sneaky-peaky before things got up close and personal with the organophosphor rounds later on. It’s all very well kicking in metaphorical doors, but Alpha Team knew it helped to know which damn doors to kick before you started lacing up your boots.

They had basic kit with them, stowed in the large holdall Gary Parks carried. They hadn’t really come for a fight, but it paid to have at least a little bit of kit with you, just in case. They’d come to find out just how bad the Highgate infestation had become, and how much of a threat this particular nest of Taints were to the local food source. Or ‘Northern Line commuters’, as the poor, unfortunate bastards were known.

The four-man team positioned themselves strategically throughout the carriage. Gary Parks, in a very real sense of the word, ‘occupied’ the space next to the far exit. He entertained himself for a few seconds by staring intensely at a scrawny little skinhead sporting a piss-poor home-made ‘White Power’ tattoo. The skinhead, now nose-to-nose with a huge black man encroaching on his ‘personal space’, suddenly looked like he felt very alone in the world.

Yolanda Jaeger propped herself in a corner by the central doors. From here she could see both Gary Parks and the other end of the carriage, occupied by Colby Flynn and the interminable Micky Cox — master of electronics and generalised mayhem. The Unit’s former SAS and REME make-it-happen guy was currently staring at a smartphone like a good little commuter.

Three of the team blended in relatively seamlessly with the surrounding hoi polloi. Gary Parks, however, looked like a rhino gatecrashing a tea party.

“For chrissake, Gary, try to look a bit more commuter-y, will you?” Yolanda hissed into a Bluetooth device. The smartphone revolution meant appearing to talk to yourself was now part of digital life, making it almost impossible to tell the nutjobs from a crack team of SF soldiers on a dekko. Of course, there were those who claimed the two were not mutually exclusive.

Gary responded to Yolanda’s comment, avoiding any obvious eye contact as per oppo protocol. “As opposed to what, exactly, boss?”

“As opposed to a bag of footballs in a suit. Damn it man, I can see the outline of your Glock from here — and no, Micky, before you chip in your five-pennyworth, that is not a euphemism! Seriously, Gary, didn’t the QM have anything that actually fitted you?”

Colby Flynn's voice crackled over the comms. “Yol, c'mon, cut him some slack. His tailor sure as hell can’t.”

“Fuck off.” Gary frowned at the skinhead, who assumed the comment was meant for him and did everything he possibly could to comply.

Colby grinned and notched it up a turn. “Seriously. The poor guy’s a medical freak. He gets his underpants from Marquees-R-Us, you know.”

Gary’s frown turned into a full-power scowl. “Come down here and say that to my kneecaps, puny little man.” He forgot ops protocol for a second and glowered up the carriage towards the definitely-not-puny Colby Flynn.

Flynn simply grinned back and flipped Gary the finger. “Hulk smash!”

“Fuck… off!”

Yolanda stopped the banter in its tracks. “Gentlemen, cease and desist, please. Gary, quit intimidating the racist, would you? There’s a good chap. Flynn, eyes on, you reprobate, and stop tormenting the giant man in the bad suit. Micky, are we ready?”

“Ready, boss. I’m plugged into the train’s electronic control system. I’ve by-passed the safety protocols and remotely disengaged the Dead Man’s Handle. Should be pretty straightforward to interrupt the power.”

“I’m so very, very proud of you, you clever boy. A simple ‘yes boss’ would have sufficed. Just kill the damn power on my mark.” Yolanda pressed closer to the door to try and cancel out the reflection of the carriage interior. She peered out into the darkness as it blurred past the windows. “Three, two, one, mark!”

Micky stabbed at his smartphone and the tube train squealed, slowed, and finally juddered to a halt. A few seconds later a nasally voice mumbled over the tannoy. “Good morning ladies and gentlemen, this is your driver speaking. We seem to have suffered some kind of electrical malfunction. No need to worry, we should have you moving again in a few minutes. Thank you.” A rousing chorus of very British tutting clicked through the carriage in response.

Yolanda checked the carriage and then spoke into the Bluetooth again. “Now the lights if you would, please, Mick.”

Micky stabbed at the smartphone again, and frowned. The carriage lights stayed resolutely on. Yolanda turned and raised an eyebrow in Micky’s direction. “In your own time, Mister Cox.”

“Trying, boss. Let me rotate the frequency, see if I can hit the sweet spot.”

“Micky, I genuinely don’t care what you rotate, just get those bloody lights turned out.”

The lights flickered and then went out, and the only illumination in the carriage came from dozens of smartphone screens. London’s hardy commuters again clicked and tutted their annoyance like a pod of angry dolphins. In between signal dropouts they relentlessly carried on tweeting, texting and facetiming, unaware they were witnesses to a black op happening right in front of their noses.

“Anything?” Yolanda ignored the winter-wonderland twinkle of smartphone backlights and stared out into the gloom. The tunnel was much wider here, with columns, arches and walkways intersecting the various lines. This was a major junction, and they were also very close to the old abandoned Highgate tunnels.

Perfect Taint territory.

“We’ve got movement.” Gary’s deep voice came through the comms. “Yep, they’re out there all right. They’re taking the bait. Cheeky little fuckers, too. Didn’t expect ‘em to be this close.”

“Flynn?”

“Nothing this end… wait, nope, scratch that. We’ve got action here too, Yol. And they’re moving in.”

“Wait out. Remember this is recon only. We are not to engage, repeat, not to engage unless absolutely necessary.”

Micky Cox’s voice chimed in. “And by absolutely necessary, boss, you mean…”

“If they clamber on board and start eating commuters, what the bloody hell do you think I mean, Mick?”

“Judging by the amount of eyeshine out there, that’s a deffo probable in the very near future, Yol. Twelve o’clock. I count at least five, possibly six.” All the earlier brevity had evaporated from Colby’s gravely voice, replaced by a much more serious tone.

“A minimum of six here too, boss.” Gary glared out into the darkness.

Yolanda cursed. “Oh, bollocks! I bloody knew this was gonna go sideways. Wait out.” She slid her right hand slowly back underneath her jacket, and her fingers curled around the butt of the adapted Glock. The object of this operation was to assess a possible nest and see just how close they were willing to get to the trains as they passed through the tunnel. Okay, it meant using a train full of commuters as bait, but it was a necessary part of the operation.

And now it looked like they had their answer.

Bloody close.

A scrabbling outside the doors made Yolanda tighten her grip on the Glock and flip the safety catch to ‘off’.

Okay. Make that too fucking close.

A swarm of hungry and emboldened Taints were now just inches away from the commuters, separated from ‘lunch’ by nothing but a flimsy metal door. The genetically enhanced vampires with a less-than sunny disposition and a voracious appetite were single-minded, relentless and fearless. Their exceptional strength and speed meant the doors on a thirty-year-old tube train would pose no problem for their venom-tipped fingers. If one of them got purchase on a gap and put their shoulder into it, they could have the doors open in a heartbeat.

So effectively, all that stood between biblical carnage and a tube full of commuters was a thin metal shell, four Special Ops soldiers with a very limited supply of ammo, and the good will of the Northern Line gods.

Yolanda prepared to repel borders by shooting an organophosphor round into the face of the first bastard that came through the door. That would definitely catch the commuters’ attention, and would instantly turn what was supposed to be a low-key surveillance operation into a Twitterverse ‘trending’ topic. And that would not please the Colonel. It pretty much defeated the whole ‘black ops’ ethos if the damn thing immediately got its own hashtag and went viral.

Further up the carriage, Flynn had eyes-on with a Taint of his own. The drooling, snarling mutant was worrying away at the outside of the carriage. The scrabbling of talon against metal caught the attention of a young woman and she looked up from her smartphone. Colby gave her a friendly smile and nodded towards the door. “Rats.”

The girl shuddered. “Ugh. I hate rats.”

“Don’t worry. They can’t get in.”

“Oh. Good.” The girl immediately lost interest in the rat-slash-slavering, ravenous, genetically altered vampire, and went back to playing a game. Micky craned to look at the girl’s screen and then shook his head. She was playing ‘Vampire Hunter’.

Yolanda had seen enough. “Micky, I think about now would be a good time to restore power and get both us and these nice, vulnerable commuters the hell out of here, don’t you?”

“Copy that.” Micky stabbed at the screen.

The lights flickered on and off again.

“Um, Micky?”

“Trying, boss. Bear with me…” There was a waver of anxiety in Micky’s voice.

“Tell that to Bitey McBiteface out there, Cox. These fuckers are working to their own timetable, fella, and it’s deffo on the hurry-up!” Gary’s hand tensed around his own Glock. “Boss…”

“I said wait out!”

“Yol, I’ve got a damn talon here…” Colby put the sole of his boot against the needle-sharp talon that protruded through the gap in the door, and crunched down hard. The resulting yelp made the girl look up again, and Colby did a quick impression of a buck-toothed rat, complete with ears and comic-effect “Eek!” for emphasis.

The girl rolled her eyes, muttered a quick “Weirdo!” at Colby, refocused on her screen and updated her status.

Flynn threw a look to the heavens in thanks, and then double-checked the venom-filled talon had withdrawn. He peered into the darkness and watched the Taint scuttle back into the shadows, cradling its hand. They were getting much, much too bold. He glanced down the carriage towards Yolanda. She was eyes-on and totally focused, but he could see the tension in her face even at this distance. This was bad. This was very bad. His own spidey-senses screamed blue bloody murder. He reached back to where his adapted Glock sat in its holster and unclipped the retaining catch.

Halfway down the carriage, Yolanda stared out into the tunnel, watching the Taints move into position for a full-on attack. The onslaught was imminent. The muscle in her jaw twitched. “Micky? I hate to rush you, fella, but now would be good. I would be really very pleased with now!”

“Damn it, boss, I’m trying!”

“Try harder!”

“Wait, wait, yep, okay, I got it!” Micky stabbed at the screen and the train’s lights blazed once again. The carriage jerked forward, accompanied by the traditional ‘About bloody time!’ round of tutting from the commuters. Not one of them had any idea they’d been just seconds from the worst start to a Monday anyone could possibly have.

The train finally pulled into Archway station and screeched to a stop. The doors hissed open and the team surfed the wave of humanity out onto the platform. They reconvened in the centre, letting the commuters flow around them.

Yolanda ignored the swirling and buffeting as the whole in/out/shake-it-all-about commuter dance played out once again. The four of them stood just to the side of the entrance to the carriage so they could assess and do a field debrief without interruption. “Well, that was a hoot and a half, wasn’t it? Right then, opinions and options, please.”

“We’ve definitely got a problem, Yol. And sooner or later someone who isn’t us is gonna notice there’s something distinctly moody going on down here. Then there’s going to be full-on panic. Cop an eyeful.” Colby nodded at the side of the carriage. Tramline scrapes were etched deep into the metal around the door, and a streak of black blood where Flynn had given the Taint an impromptu manicure was obvious. Thankfully, to the untrained eye it simply looked like a smear of oil, and none of the commuters were close enough to notice the acrid chemical tang either.

“Bugger. That was close.” Yolanda pointed her phone at the door and snapped a succession of photographs. The Colonel would need documentary evidence if they were going to risk going into the tunnels for a seek-and-destroy op, but she didn’t want to alarm any of the commuters still milling around. Sneaky-peaky. Keep it off the radar and don’t alarm the herd. The last thing they wanted was a stampede. “I need to get a swab of that for the forensics team before this train buggers off. Gentlemen, would you mind awfully giving me a bit of cover, so the civvies don’t get freaked out by the crazy lady taking DNA swabs off a train carriage door, please? Thank you.”

The team moved to shield Yolanda from view as she took a swab of the blackened blood. She stood, dropped the cotton-tipped bud into a plastic tube and snapped on the lid. The tube was deposited into a plastic zip bag and secreted into a jacket pocket with all the dexterity of a street magician pulling a card trick. Not a single ‘civvy’ noticed.

Taints were continually evolving, and the swab would give the team a chemical blueprint of their current stage of development. It would probably be bad. It usually was with Taints.

“Right then, let’s get this back to base.” Yolanda nodded towards the exit, and Micky, Colby and Gary set off at a brisk walk towards the stairs, dropping instinctively into the standard staggered two-two formation, even in this supposedly ‘safe’ environment. It was hard-wired into their DNA through years of training, operations and that overriding instinct to stay the fuck alive. So far, it had worked rather well.

Colby paused and turned, aware that Yolanda had dropped back. She was still standing in the middle of the platform, a puzzled frown creasing her forehead. “Yol?” He walked back towards her and laid a hand on her arm. “You’ve got that ‘look’ again. ‘Sup?”

Yolanda turned and looked behind her. At the far end of the platform, and right in the CCTV’s blind spot stood a massive figure. It ignored the commuters that flowed around it. Unusually for Londoners, they didn’t jostle or push past, but gave the looming figure a wide berth, repelled from making actual physical contact with him by some internal survival instinct. Colby snorted a laugh and shook his head. “Damn, that dude’s bigger than Gary!” He looked at Yolanda. “Yol? Hey, c’mon, you’re starting to freak me out. You okay?”

“Yeah. Big lad, isn’t he? Now look closer, Flynn.” Yolanda’s gaze never left the figure at the end of the platform. “Remind you of anyone?”

Colby looked at the hulking figure and frowned. Then a look of recognition finally spread across his face. “Oh, hell no!”

Yolanda nodded. “Yep. And there it is…”

Colby reached for his Glock in one smooth, flowing move.

Yolanda grabbed his wrist and shook her head. “Stand down, Flynn.” For a split second she battled with him. “I said, stand down!”

Colby glared at her. “He’s right there, Yol! He’s right fucking there!”

“And so are god-knows how many civilians! We start shooting now, all hell breaks loose, we are royally burned, and people die. And if two blocks of C4 in Tokat couldn’t take the bugger out, do you honestly think a single clip of organo jackets’ll do the trick? Now, stand down!”

Colby relented, but didn’t take his eyes off the figure at the end of the platform. “Okay, but we need to bang out of here sharpish and call in a lock-down team. Now.”

“Not until I know that every civvy in here is out safely. We wait.”

“Are you actually kidding me? I am not just standing here playing platform chicken with that son of a bitch!”

“I said, we wait!” Yolanda’s gaze never left the brooding figure in front of her. She clicked the Bluetooth. “Micky. Find the station manager. Close the station. Now. Then call in containment. I want all trains on this line stopped immediately. Usual ‘suspect package’ or ‘major emergency engineering works’ bullshit, you choose. Gary, get your arse back down here. FUBAR. FUBAR like you wouldn’t bloody believe. I need you and your bag of tricks here. Move.”

Two voices responded in sequence: “Copy that.”

Yolanda refocused on the figure in front of them. It wasn’t just the size that was so intimidating. It was the way that his mere presence seemed to suck the very light out of the air. And those teeth. Man, those teeth! He smiled slowly, revealing a mouthful of dazzlingly white and needle-sharp dentistry.

Vlad.

In London.

In the middle of the morning rush hour, on platform two of Archway Underground station.

One of the most savage and evil monsters ever to walk the face of the earth was currently standing casually on a London underground platform as if it were the most natural thing in the world, dressed in normal clothes, and looking every inch like a bog-standard commuter. A hidden horror, right there, in plain sight. And nobody except the two soldiers had the faintest idea what ancient evil had wandered, unseen and unchallenged, slap-bang into the normalcy of everyday London life.

Tinted glasses masked his distinctive golden eyes from the gaze of his human fellow travellers. But nothing could hide who he really was to Colby and Yolanda. And he was about as welcome as finding a scorpion in your boot.

He stood there, a snarling smile taunting the two soldiers.

Then, from the same carriage stepped another figure. Almost as tall as Vlad, he was lithe and wiry, not as muscular but certainly a contender for ugliest Northern Line commuter of the day. He stood slightly behind Vlad, subservient to the monster. Yet there was a quiet, confident menace that permeated from the creature. He had authority. He had standing. He had a connection with Vlad that went beyond that of a mere ‘foot soldier’. This was a Taint of some importance.

Colby glanced at Yolanda. “Like father like son?”

Yolanda’s eyes didn’t leave the two figures. She shook her head. “More likely one of his Lieutenants. Remember, Col, this bastard may be a monster now, but he was a military man once. And a great one at that. He’ll have his own chain of command.”

Colby scowled. “Great. So we’ve got a second tango to deal with. This day just keeps getting better and fucking better, doesn’t it?”

“Focus on the primary, Col. If the secondary advances, engage and shoot the fucker in the face. And keep shooting until it goes down and stays down.” Yolanda’s hand tightened around the grip of her Glock.

Okay.

So this could go either way…

Vlad glanced sideways as a pretty blonde, wrapped in her own little commuter-world full of bland pop music, LOL texts from ‘Angie’ and wearing the standard-issue officeware of white blouse, dark pencil skirt and cheap, clattery high heels, tried to squeeze past. He sensed Colby and Yolanda holding their breath as they watched his fingers flex and ripple.

Motionless and still smiling, Vlad gazed at the woman, sensing every fluttering beat of her heart as she manoeuvred past him.

Then her perfume hit him.

Like a storm surge, it sent a wave of ancient memories crashing into his mind, overwhelming him for a second. He didn’t care about the insignificant life of this woman. He had taken thousands — hundreds of thousands — of lives over the centuries. One more wouldn’t make him any more evil than he already was. Sparing her would not redeem him either.

But that perfume…

It was the scent of lilacs on a soft, summer evening. It was the scent she had worn, all those centuries ago.

Brief seconds slowed to the speed of dripping molasses. Vlad watched the girl move past him in slow motion and took in every detail. Her red lips. Her silken blond hair. But above all, that dizzying perfume that had the power to stir such a fire in his blackened heart. She turned and looked at him, and for a split second he could have sworn the girl’s face transformed into her face. His love. His sweet love.

Taken from him by soldiers.

Soldiers who had wanted to make sure his dark legacy ended at Tokat. There would be no more children. No more sons. They had gutted her like a fish. Soldiers had butchered his love in front of him. Soldiers had tainted the sweet scent of lilacs with the coppery tang of her blood.

And now, this vapid… child, tottering past him on ridiculous heels, had the audacity to wear the same perfume as she did? Vlad’s mind reeled and insanity roared inside him. It warped and twisted that brief flutter of clarity — of light, of beauty — and morphed it back into a black, blood-soaked chasm of hatred. How dare she walk on this earth, while his love rotted in the ground! How dare she!

Vlad’s madness, fuelled by the scent of his long-dead love, boiled. For a moment, his focus had shifted away from the soldiers standing just a few feet from him. The girl and her perfume had filled his world.

His lieutenant saw the black madness in his master’s eyes and twitched his finger. It was enough to bring Vlad’s attention sharply back into focus.

The girl was nothing more than an impostor.

A mere memory of his love.

A haunting reflection, stimulated by the scent of lilacs.

But the soldiers… Ah, now they were something else.

They were toys to be played with, before he unleashed his lieutenant and his pack of slathering Taints on them.

But not yet. Not yet…

The grandfather of all vampires studied his opponents, taking in every micro-expression, feeling every hammer-blow of their hearts, and hearing the blood rushing through their bodies. He could almost taste the fear-tinged frustration they felt at being so close yet so far away from protecting an ‘innocent’.

It delighted him.

Watching the impotent rage boil and churn in the bellies of his enemies was exquisite. He relished the thought that for the rest of their probably very short lives the two soldiers would have that gut-punch of shame every time they remembered they had had no choice but to simply stand and watch a monster decide the fate of an innocent girl. In the most normal of surroundings. Where the girl was supposed to be safe.

But this was a tactical confrontation, too. A chance to see how his enemy reacted. How they moved. How they prioritised potential collateral damage. Examine their weaknesses.

Vlad chuckled quietly. Time to take things up a level. He nodded to the lieutenant, who bowed slightly and smoothly stepped back on board the train. Inside, a handful of oblivious passengers sat starting at their smartphones, unaware of what stalked their carriage.

The two soldiers instinctively reacted by stepping forward a couple of paces. Vlad held up a finger and wagged it from side to side. They froze again, closer to the door yet not quite close enough to make a difference.

Colby snarled at Vlad, that taunting laugh sending a pulse of fury through him. He hissed. “Fuck. Yol, we need to get that bastard off of that train. Yol…”

“I know. I know, damn it.” Yolanda ground her teeth in frustration. Oh, you clever bastard, Vlad. You clever, clever bastard! Split your targets. See how we prioritise. You son of a bitch, you’re on as much of a dekko as we are, aren’t you, you fucker?

An ear-splitting beeping warned of the impending departure of the train. The two soldiers knew those passengers were trapped now. Trapped inside a tin can with one of Vlads lieutenants. And there was nothing, nothing they could do.

“Fuck! Fuck! Yol, we have to stop that train!” Colby’s voice cracked with pent-up fury.

“Damn it!” Yolanda watched as the lieutenant sat beside an elderly woman. He glanced back towards Colby and Yolanda and smiled a vicious, spiteful smile, and draped his arm around the back of the seat.

Yolanda glared back at the lieutenant, clicked the Bluetooth and hissed into it. “Micky, get them to stop the train! Stop the damn train!”

Static. Fucking static. Shit! Those few steps they’d taken towards Vlad and his lieutenant must have put them slap-bang into a dead spot. She knew that if she moved a muscle, she could instigate a reaction from Vlad. And that would be bad for the long-term prospects of blondie in her clattery heels and tight pencil skirt. “Micky! Micky!”

Still nothing but the tormenting hiss of dead air. “Fuck!”

Back on the platform, Vlad snarled, and reached out. His long, sinewy fingers brushed the woman’s hair as she passed by, a caress as gentle as a lover’s touch, as delicate as a butterfly — and filled with so much potential for violence. All he had to do was change that caress into a snatch, wind his fingers in the girl’s hair and drag her towards him…

The electric motors of the tube train whined into life and the carriages started to move. Out of the corner of her eye Yolanda saw the lieutenant give her a little wave and then lean in towards the old woman. The last thing Yolanda saw as the carriage started to blur past was a sweet little old lady strike up a conversation with a ‘nice young man’…

The noise grew into a mechanical roar, and the air pressure increased. Garish fluorescent lights flickered, combining with the flashing tube train to create a violent strobe effect. The air blasted along the platform, turning the girl’s blonde hair into dancing strands and tangling them around Vlad’s fingers.

“Yol!” Colby couldn’t hold back any more.

Screw this.

“Engage!”

Screw the whole ‘low-key’ bullshit. They couldn’t just stand there impotent and motionless any more. They were burned. Might as well make it official, then. Their Glocks flipped out and the business end of two adapted G17s pointed straight towards where Vlad—

— Wasn’t.

Colby cursed long, loud and passionately. “Shit! Shit! Shit! Oh, you sneaky, mother-fucking, greasy, undead son of a bitch!”

Still holding the Glocks out in front of them, Colby and Yolanda moved forward at a rapid scuttle, ready to start blasting at anything that didn’t look like a commuter.

The girl stood alone, alive and paralysed with fear as two grim-faced, gun-toting figures moved smoothly towards her. They were using that feline, cross-step gait that always hinted at extreme violence and explosive power bubbling just below the surface. What were they, Special Forces? Police? Security Services? What? Whoever they were they looked like they’d shoot her in a heartbeat. She stood, frozen with fear, hot tears of terror rolling down her cheeks. “Please! Please don’t kill me! Please!”

“Get out. Move. Move!” Yolanda moved past the girl, reached back with her left hand and shoved her hard in the back, not wasting time with nice reassurances or any of that touchy-feely shit. The girl didn’t need telling twice. She staggered under the surprising power from Yolanda’s shove, regained her balance and then clattered her way along the platform towards the exit, where she saw another huge man running down the stairs with a menacing look and equally menacing Glock. Her tears started to dissolve the cheap mascara she wore, and it ran down her face in two gritty black streaks. This was not a normal workday commute.

The back end of the train disappeared into the far tunnel behind them, and Yolanda stopped at the point where the platform ended and black oblivion began. She lowered the Glock and unleashed a shit-ton of real passion into an uncharacteristic outburst of cursing. “Fuck! Fuck!”

Colby jumped down onto the tracks and started to move towards the darkness.

Gary dumped the kit bag on the floor, looked over Yolanda’s shoulder and watched his best friend heading purposefully towards the tunnel entrance. “Colby, you daft bastard, stop! There’s an entire army of Taints in there, and the next train is about a minute away from turning you into a smear! Colby! Colby!” He glowered at his friend’s back and muttered. “God damn it, you stubborn…” Gary, still questioning Colby’s parentage under his breath, turned and took up position behind Yolanda. He kept his back to his team, eyes fixed firmly on the other end of the tunnel, just in case the Taints tried a pincer move on them.

Yolanda raised the gun, targeting the nose of the Glock straight at Colby’s back. She scowled down the barrel and her sharp voice echoed through the station like broken glass. “Mister Flynn! You will stand down immediately or so help me, I will shoot you in the back!”

Flynn stopped, and slowly lowered his gun. He glared into the blackness, trying to ignore the itchy sensation between his shoulder blades. He could practically feel the green dot from Yolanda’s sighting laser. She probably wouldn’t shoot him, he knew that. Well, probably. Possibly. Actually? Thinking about it, she might squeeze the bloody trigger just to prove a point, the crazy bint. But that was just Yol’s way. And that’s why he loved her. It was nothing personal, just Yol trying to save his stupid, hot-headed idiot self from dying a wasteful, pointless death.

She was right, of course.

The Jaeger family had been hunting and killing vampires across Europe for generations. Even the name meant ‘Hunter’ in German. There was also the small technicality that when they were on duty Yolanda Jaeger was Flynn’s CO too.

So he complied. Not doing so would mean the mother of all arse-kickings in the training gym later. The bloody woman fought dirty. But she’d also stayed alive by knowing which battles to pick, and which to walk away from. It was a lesson he was finally starting to understand. And this was definitely one of those ‘walk away’ times, no matter how much that pinpoint of fury currently burning its way through his chest told him to chase his quarry down and end this once and for all.

Colby stood motionless, staring into the black of beyond. The clustered eyeshine of at least a dozen Taints winked and twinkled back at him, taunting him, daring him to run away from the safety of the bright platform and into their dark, death-ridden world. A pulse of warm air throbbed down the tunnel, indicating that he had about fifteen seconds to get back to the platform before thirty tons of London Underground rolling stock really fucked up his day.

"Vlad?” Colonel North’s voice was sharp.

“Yes, sir.” Yolanda nodded. She paced the platform with the phone pressed to her ear. Colby sat on the bench, glowering at the darkness. Micky Cox had got a reluctant official to close the station due to a ‘suspect package’, so the team were currently alone in a deserted tube station. All Northern Line trains were at a standstill. Gary Parks stood sentry at one end of the platform, a fully loaded shotgun pointed at the north tunnel, while Micky patrolled the south end.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, sir.”

“In the middle of the bloody day?”

“Well, technically, it was the morning rush hour, but yes, sir.”

“You’re absolutely certain it was him?”

“Yes, sir. I’d know that bastard anywhere. It was him. And I’m pretty sure he knew who we were too. His lieutenant hopped back onto the train before it left. We couldn’t contain both of them. I’m sorry, sir.”

“You did what you could, Captain. This was supposed to be a rekko, not a damn meet and greet. The fault is not yours, Yollie. It’s Vlad’s. Always remember that.” Colonel North sighed. “Okay. So what’s your appraisal of the situation?”

Yolanda answered quickly and succinctly. “The tunnel between Highgate and Archway is infested, sir. Looks like it’s ground zero for this particular nest. London Underground is uber-pissed about us limiting access to the Northern Line between the two stations, but we’ve pulled our usual ‘national security’ number on them, so they’ve been forced to comply. We’ve got a lot of angry, inconvenienced commuters, but that’s nothing new.”

“Good. I’d rather they were annoyed and alive than happy and dead.”

“Nobody who travels the Northern Line is happy, sir.”

“True. Right then. Solutions?”

“We’re already on the ground. The station’s closed and we’re ready to go in and evict the little buggers with extreme prejudice. If you could have Terry Warner and Bravo Unit suited up for a bug hunt and to us with supplies asap, we can try and do a seek and destroy right now. I’d like to keep Vlad off balance by hitting hard and fast. We may not be able to take Vlad out now, but we can certainly show him we’re not just going to roll over…”

Yolanda’s report was interrupted by a loud bang. She instinctively flinched then spun to face the southern end of the tunnel, where Micky Cox was pointing the smoking barrel of a 12-bore pump-action shotgun into the darkness. Yolanda rolled her eyes. “Jesus! What the hell, Micky?”

Micky turned, grinned, and re-primed his shotgun, ignoring the screaming, thrashing, heel-drumming Taint behind him. “Sorry, boss. Little bugger got a bit lunge-y at me.” There was a ‘wuuumph!’ sound and a cloud of ash floated gently down onto Micky’s shoulders. He casually brushed it off and shrugged.

Yolanda shook her head. “Eyes on, Mick.” She returned her attention to the Colonel. “Sorry about that sir.”

“Everything all right, Captain?”

“Yes, sir. Just Micky getting trigger happy with a Taint. But that just goes to show how bold they’re getting.”

“Hmm. They are getting a bit cheeky, aren’t they? Anything else?”

“Yes, sir. I’d like permission to go after that damn lieutenant of his if possible, too. I don’t like the look of that bastard.” Yolanda paused. “Sir, we need to move quickly on this if we’re going to keep it under the radar. If the press get hold of it we’re going to face an epic shitstorm, and right now I’d rather keep this on a need to know basis.”

Colonel North responded with a grunt. “Agreed. I’ll have Corporal Warner and Bravo Unit en route to you in fifteen. Good hunting, Yollie.”

“Thank you, sir. I’ll keep you updated.” Yolanda ended the call and put the phone in her pocket. She glanced up. “Upstairs, chaps. We’re meeting Terry and Bravo team in the ticket area.” A nasty smile crept over her face. “We’ve got ourselves a bug hunt, lads.”

Micky and Gary grinned back. Colby merely stared into the blackness of the tunnel and glowered at the blinking, winking eyeshine.

He wanted that lieutenant. He wanted him bad.

There was something about that nasty little bastard that made Colby’s skin prickle…

Outside the tube station’s locked metal gates a throng of commuters milled about. A single London Underground employee, resplendent in a hi-viz jacket and with absolutely no clue as to what was really happening, tried to shepherd the muttering masses towards the nearest bus stop. A scribbled note stuck to a sandwich board apologised for the inconvenience, while the hi-viz employee reassured passengers that yes, the station would probably reopen shortly. Even he didn’t believe that bullshit line.

Terry Warner walked up to the guy and flashed an ID. “Clean up crew. Open up.”

The man — currently engaged in telling an officious, besuited commuter that no, he didn’t have any further information and no, he didn’t know or in fact care who the man was, he’d have to wait like everyone else — flickered his attention towards the ID. He puffed up his chest and looked as ‘official’ as he could. “Suspicious package. Security alert. Nobody gets in.”

Terry carefully pulled his boilersuit open so hi-viz guy could just see the butt of a Glock 17 tucked under his armpit. He made damn sure the stroppy commuter couldn’t see anything. His blue eyes hardened and he stared intently at hi-viz guy. “Listen, fella. I have neither the time nor the crayons to explain this to you in any detail. I said, clean… up… crew. Translation, open the damn gate. Now.”

Hi-viz guy, now completely ignoring the still-stroppy commuter, focused on the ‘clean up team’ and, in particular, the tall, fierce-looking man carrying the Glock 17. They were the most evil-looking bunch of ‘cleaners’ he’d ever seen. They were all powerfully built, probably heavily armed too, and scanning the crowd like a bunch of SAS soldiers on an operat… oh. Shit…

Realisation kicked in and hi-viz guy gulped. He quickly decided pursuing any kind of argument he might have about who was allowed where and when was probably trumped by the sheer amount of ordnance this ‘clean up crew’ were packing. He fumbled with a key and unlocked the gate, opening it just wide enough for the team to squeeze through.

As Danny Smith walked past the man he stopped for a moment. He kept his voice low, so as not to alarm the civvies. “Listen, fella. Things are going to get a little bit urgent in a while. So when you hear screaming and a shit-load of people stampeding up the stairs, you open this damn gate and you let them out. Got it?” He gave hi-viz guy what he thought was a reassuring smile.

“I… I… I…”

“I said, got it?” Danny’s smile melted away.

“Y-yes. Yeah. I got it. Sure. Why the hell not?” Hi-viz guy nodded. He really regretted not calling in sick this morning.

“Adda boy.” Danny patted the man on the shoulder just a tiny bit harder than he needed to, and followed his team into the bowels of the station and out of sight of the crowds outside.

Inside, a lone London Underground official stood shaking in a corner. Watching the team pull balaclavas over their faces, wrapping throat comms around their necks, and opening up bags filled with automatic weapons did nothing to rebalance his peace of mind. He let out a little yelp.

A pair of hard, steely eyes immediately connected with his own. He could tell the face was scowling underneath the black fabric. Terry barked out two words. “Which platform?”

The official pointed a shaking finger towards the escalator. “P-p-platform two…”

Terry gave a curt nod. “Thank you. Now fuck off.”

The man fucked off at a rapid scuttle, and Terry motioned to Bravo Unit. “Move out.” Time to tie up with the boss…

“You’re late.”

“You’re welcome!”

Terry gave Micky the finger and threw a kit bag at him. Micky Cox caught it with all the grace and dexterity of a one-armed blind man in a dark room. Terry chuckled. “Careful, fella. That’s the bag with the UV flash bangs.”

Micky plonked the bag down and crouched next to it. He unzipped the bag and pulled it open. “Okay. Wadda we got, then? Big, honking great bullet chuckers?”

“Check.”

“Spare organo FMJs?”

“Check.”

“Sneaking-around black ninja outfits with anti-Taint kevlar weave?”

Gary Parks glanced over and primed his Remington 870 shotgun as an underline, before attaching it to a lanyard and picking up a C8. “Micky, we are not doing sneaking-around ninja shit. We’re going in dressed as a team of London Underground Northern Line fluffers who’ve had all the love, hope and faith in humanity sucked out of them through years of working in one of the city’s shittiest hellholes. So it’s regulation boilersuits, boots and beanies. No ninja shit.”

Micky looked puzzled and glanced over at Yolanda, who was busy checking the recoil on her Glock. “Um, boss? Question?”

Without even looking at him, Yolanda immediately responded. “Fluffers are teams who clean the underground tracks.”

“Oh, so they’re not…”

“No, Micky. No. They’re really not. You bloody pervert.”

Gary laughed. “Mate, you watch far too much porn, you know that?”

“Yeah. Porn with your mama in it.”

Gary gave Micky a blank look. “Seriously? Did you actually just throw down with a ‘yo mama’ joke at me?”

Terry Warner turned to Colby. “Are they always like this?”

Colby grinned. “These two? Fella, this is a good day. They’re usually going at each other like an old married couple.” Colby dropped the magazine out of the C8, tapped it, checked and re-inserted it with a snap. He primed and checked the primary holographic sighting, making absolutely sure that he hadn’t accidentally knocked the switch from ‘Safe’ to ‘Rapid’ — or ‘NoKill’ to ‘Parp’, as Micky liked to call it. The team were using the more compact 10-inch barrel version. The 16-inch barrel might be more accurate, but when you were going in up-close-and-personal with a grabby Taint full of bad intentions, then the longer barrel tended to snag and get in the way. There was no point attaching the standard bayonet either. That would just tangle you up even more, and if you were using a bayonet against a Taint then you were probably way too up-close-and-personal already.

A clatter of heavy boots announced the arrival of a worried-looking Danny Smith. He was carrying a tablet in one hand and a C8 in the other. “Boss, you better see this.” He spoke rapidly. “Came in via our covert channels about three minutes ago. It was addressed to the team.” He glanced at Colby. “Personally.”

The team gathered around the tablet and studied the flickering, jerky picture. Yolanda squinted at the screen. “That picture is piss-poor, fella. What are we looking at?”

“Hang on…” Danny pointed at the screen. “There.”

Gary groaned. “Oh, now, this isn’t good.” On the screen was a figure that, while the face may have been blurry and grainy, there was no question as to whom it was.

Vlad’s lieutenant sat among a train full of oblivious commuters and stared up at the CCTV, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Next to him, the old lady had her head down on her chest, looking for all the world like she was simply having a quick nana-nap in-between stops. The team, however, knew immediately that she wasn’t asleep. They could all see a dark mark on the side of her neck; a small wound with the tiniest trickle of blood running from it. That was one ‘nana-nap’ the old girl wouldn’t be waking up from, bless her heart…

Gary glared at the screen. “Motherfucker!”

Yolanda stared at the screen. “Is he sending us this via live feed?”

Danny nodded. “Yes, boss. The train’s been held in the tunnel next to Tufnell Park on an emergency ‘suspect package’ order. The entire Northern Line this side of the water is at a standstill. The commuters are getting majorly angsty, and I’m guessing Vlad’s lieutenant is just a finger-snap away from unleashing that pack of Taints you saw and turning that train into an all-you-can-eat buffet.” Danny paused. “Boss, there’re a lot of people on that train. A lot. And we’ve basically put them slap-bang in the middle of a potential feeding frenzy.”

Yolanda nodded. She pushed the Glock back into her leg holster. “Get the train moved back here and hold it. Doors shut. We move. Now.” The steel in her voice told the team it wasn’t a suggestion. It was an order.

They grabbed their kit. The time for a bit of pre-op, barrack-room banter was well and truly over.

The team had picked a quiet spot well away from prying eyes and in the station’s CCTV dead spot. Nobody needed to know what was going on down here, least of all some jobsworth security ‘spotter’ in a grey room somewhere. They were here to clear the nest, get the civilians to safety with minimum collateral, and take out the lieutenant at the very least. Not provide some bored security guard with an impromptu reality show.

Yolanda sniffed sharply, and looked straight at Colby. “Right then. What’s his end game here, Col?”

“Fuck knows.”

Colby was concentrating on balling that churning knot of fury he had twisting his insides up into a focused and precise pinpoint. Random, uncontrolled rage was useless. It would probably get you killed. Focus and you released the true killer inside. It was a side of his personality Colby didn’t particularly like, but it had kept him alive up to now, so he had learned to embrace it and use it when necessary.

Combat wasn’t just about training. It was about unleashing the monster within that everyone has but nobody wants to acknowledge. And doing it in such a way that allowed you to achieve your objective without thinking about the blood and carnage you were inflicting. You needed to disassociate yourself from that side of combat. Otherwise you’d freeze. And if you froze, you died. Really quickly.

Combat was a means to an end. It was about protecting your team. Protecting yourself. And protecting those who couldn’t defend themselves.

And it was about royally fucking up enemy combatants with pointy teeth and centuries of hatred twisting up their intestines.

But now wasn’t the time for navel-gazing or introspection on the Art of War. Yolanda studied her oppo and brought him back to the here and now with a bump. “Fuck knows isn’t an answer, Flynn.”

Colby looked up and shook his head. “Yol, you know more about vampires than any of us. Just because I got up close and personal with Vlad in Tokat doesn’t mean I’ve got an inside on his chain of command or their reasoning.”

Yolanda scowled. “Bullshit. You’re our strategist and battlefield tactician. That’s what you do. And you’re damn good at it. So start bloody strategizing! I need to know what his game play is, and what we have to do to make whatever he wants to happen not happen.” She ignored the slightly puzzled look from Terry Warner. “From my perspective, Old World vamps want one thing. Power. I’ll put a week’s pay on Vlad not showing his face openly to us again. One exposure was a meet-n-greet. Two would be pushing it and he’s not stupid enough to expose himself to any potential risk if he thinks we’re ready for him. So I’ll guess we’ll be going up against that lieutenant and his squad, not Vlad.”

Colby nodded. “Agreed. Which at least means we should get a kill out of this shitstorm at the least.”

Gary chipped in. “Would Vlad risk one of his top people against us? I mean, like you said, he’s a general. He values good lieutenants.”

“Not enough to avoid sending them up against us, Gary,” said Yolanda. “Nah. As important as this bugger might be to Vlad, he’s not irreplaceable. He’ll be a tough bastard, so expect a fight. But he can be killed. Remember that, no matter how ugly it gets.”

Colby nodded. “Yol’s right. This is a game of chess to him. He’s a strategist, and a damn good one, too. Don’t ever, ever underestimate this guy. Look, if you’re planning any kind of whacko world domination shit, you take out your enemy’s strongest keystone first, right? As far as Vlad’s concerned, the primary threat is us. So he’s gonna throw one of his lieutenants at us and see how we do. If we lose, he’s golden. If we win then okay, Vlad’s lost a link in his armour, but it’s not as if he can’t get a replacement.” Colby sniffed. “It also helps if you spread a bit of panic among the general populous at the same time, too. Makes it harder for the military to contain the situation and mount a counter-offensive. Hearts and minds can be used in a negative context too, you know.”

Micky scowled. “So, okay, what is it then, Col? Whacko world domination shit? Revenge for Tokat? Sheer bloody mindedness? Indigestion?”

“Honestly, who the fuck actually cares right now? We’ve got a train full of commuters that matey’s got lined up as today’s chef’s special, and no plan other than going in and giving him the biggest beasting we can while minimising collateral.” Colby looked at Yolanda. “Back-up?”

“If you’re asking if there’s a plan B, that would be a no. Like you said, we’ve barely got a plan A. Back-up is at least another fifteen minutes out.” She shook her head. “We’re on our own with this one.”

“Perfect. So Vlad’s Rupert, plus guests, plus a shit-load of panicked collateral in the way, in a confined space, and a team of eight with limited ammo. Oh, happy fucking days.” Terry shook his head. “Ah well, more to go around, I guess.”

“Yeah. The one with the least number of kills buys the pizza.” Gary primed his C8 carbine…

They stopped on the last broad landing before the steps reached the platform. Crouching on either side with their backs to the wall, they were all ready and waiting for the go from Yolanda. She nodded. “Right then. We all know what we’re doing. Watch your backs. Objectives. One, get the civvies out and clear. Two, eliminate the nest. Three, take out that lieutenant with extreme prejudice. Four, bang out sharpish and let the cleaners in to bag and tag. No collateral, and I mean none. Everyone gets out. Except that arrogant little fucker. Are we clear?”

The entire team answered as one. “Crystal!”

Yolanda glanced at her watch. “Right then, gentlemen. We’re on the clock here. Let’s go to work, shall we?” She gave them a dark little smile.

They all knew what that meant.

Bug hunt time…

Alpha and Bravo Unit moved silently down the stairs towards platform two. Everyone knew their role. Staggered two-two formation. Two teams of four. Minimum comms. Chain of command was Yolanda as primary point of contact, Colby leading Alpha team, and Terry Warner leading Bravo.

They’d practised this a thousand times in the old Charing Cross tube station on the Jubilee line, selected as a kill house because it was the most recently abandoned station and had the most up-to-date layout. Now they had to put that training into real-time action, but with both warm bodies and a shit-ton of civilians adding an unknown element into the mix.

The plan, if there was such a thing, was simple. Kill the lights. Bravo team led by Terry Warner would hit the tunnel end and take out any close proximity Taints. Alpha team would take the platform to lay down cover if needed while Colby and Danny dropped down and used Primacord blasting cord to daisychain a series of detonations on the train doors. Create a series of small, contained explosions that would be enough to blow the doors open, cause maximum diversion and allow the passengers to get the hell out of Dodge on the hurry-up. Bravo team would get the civvies out. Alpha team would breach and attempt to take out the tango with extreme prejudice. As fast as Vlad’s lieutenant was, even he wouldn’t be able to contain an entire tube carriage of stampeding London commuters and take on a determined and highly-trained Special Ops team at the same time. Plan A just might work.

Well, that was the theory, anyway.

The teams stopped at the bottom of the stairs, just out of sight of the stationary tube train. The darkened platform wasn’t entirely pitch black, but there was more than enough deep shadow to mask their movements. Yolanda turned to Danny and Flynn, keeping the commands to a minimum, delivered in a sharp whisper. “Doors. Go.” She turned to Terry and the rest of Bravo team. “Tunnel. Go.” Finally, she glanced to her left. “Micky. Exit point. Go.”

Danny and Colby hunched up and scuttled along the length of the train, staying tight against the metal skin and expertly positioning a series of Primacord strips on each set of doors. As they placed each strip, they cautiously checked for commuters standing too close to the doors, and waved them back. The orange Primacord2 had a central core of 2.1 grams of PETN explosive per meter of cord, which shouldn’t be enough to actually kill anyone, even close up. But an injured commuter could slow the extraction process. This needed to be fast, furious and with minimum casualties. And the entire team knew that ‘minimum’ in Yolanda’s book meant no fucking casualties at all.

A link cord connected the blasting caps on each strip, and led back to the detonation button cradled in Yolanda’s gloved hand. She was conscious to keep her finger well away from the button at this point. It might not be enough to kill, but the Primacord could certainly take a hand off at the wrist.

Danny and Colby took up position at the far end and gave the ‘Ready’ signal. Yolanda nodded and glanced back towards the tunnel, where Terry nodded and gave another ‘Ready’ signal. Micky nodded and made it three-for-three. The whole thing had taken less than a minute.

She held up three fingers, ensuring all the teams could see.

Stand by.

Three… two… one…

Yolanda flipped up the cover switch and pressed the detonator.

The teams recoiled from the daisychain of blasts that ripped through the station. The tube train doors tore open, accompanied by screams and shrieks from dozens of terrified commuters.

In the tunnel, Terry and Bravo team unleashed an organophosphor shit-storm towards the glistening eyeshine. The waiting pack of Taints were mowed down in a heel-drumming firework display. The organophosphor payloads sent their bodies into overdrive, coursing through their veins like lava and igniting into an explosion of guts and body parts. An intense fire consumed every last one of the bastards, sending clouds of hot ash cascading and tumbling into eddies and whirls, which pulsed down the tunnels and sent the ex-Taints spiralling into oblivion.

A series of double taps took out the last stragglers, including one that lunged towards Terry’s face, slashing at him with a freshly mutilated hand. Terry calmly grouped two FMJs in the centre of the bastard’s chest, and watched the creature thrash on the floor. This must’ve been the one Colby stomped on earlier. “Manicure that, motherfucker!” Without even a hint of a reflexive flinch, he grinned as the Taint exploded. Terry shouldered the C8 carbine and did a quick double check. “Tunnel clear.”

“Get the civvies out.” Yolanda kept her instructions minimal and crystal clear. She trusted every one of her team to do their job. They didn’t need babysitting.

Terry responded. “Copy that,” and motioned to Bravo team. He stabbed a finger towards the train. “Civvies! Out!” The team sprinted back up the tracks and up onto the platform, each taking a carriage and shouting at the terrified passengers to “MOVE!” First one and then a flood of commuters poured out of the carriages. They were shoved unceremoniously towards the exit by Bravo Team. Micky Cox stood on the stairs, ushering the flow of terrified humanity up the stairs and to safety.

From the end carriage a screaming, rolling roar of fury echoed around the platform, amplified by the station’s acoustics. It stopped everyone dead in their tracks — civilian and squaddie alike. Something deep inside every man, woman and child’s soul sat up and screamed in terror.

It was a primeval sensation that stripped away the cosy blanket of safety from an ultra-modern world, like the growl of a wolf next to your ear, or the brush of talons on the back of your neck. It spoke of vast, dark forests and starlit, shadow-filled nights, the sharp tin tang of snow in the air and the metallic taste of your own blood bubbling up in your throat.

It promised nothing but death.

And it was pissed. Man, it was pissed…

Yolanda barked commands, breaking the stunned silence. “Danny! Colby! Fall back! Now!” She threw a quick glance towards Terry and Mick. “Get those bloody civilians out of here! Move!”

Danny and Colby moved carefully backwards towards Yolanda, their C8s trained in front of them, waiting for the sinewy shape of the lieutenant to emerge from the end carriage. Colby’s sighting laser didn’t waver, and Danny targeted his own so the two grouped tightly together. “Don’t cross the streams,” Danny muttered, prompting a snort from Colby.

“That would be bad. That would be very bad.”

They cross-stepped their way back towards the exit point. “Where the fuck is he? Where is he, Col?”

“Focus, Dan. He’ll pop up any second now. We’ve pissed him off. He might not engage this time, but he’s sure as hell gonna show himself, you can bet on it.”

The Taint didn’t disappoint. Right on cue, he emerged from the end carriage, dominating the platform. He turned and faced his challengers, a vicious snarl curling his lips back from those teeth. He held up his right hand.

Danny squinted towards the monster. “What the hell is that motherfucker holding, Col?”

Colby peered through the darkness, and nearly threw up on the spot.

Dangling from its bloody fingers was a severed head that had quite clearly been forcibly torn from its body. Blood pooled at the vampire’s feet, dripping like a broken tap and bouncing off the tiled floor. The grey curls were tangled in his fingers, and the head swung gently in the hot breeze that wafted through the tunnel. Tendons and nerves dangled from the shredded neck, and two streaks of black and red ran down the cheeks, a combination of cheap, gritty mascara and blood.

The Taint threw his head back and laughed — a cruel, dangerous sound that spoke of violence yet to come. He tossed the head casually down the platform like a bowler aiming for a ten-pin strike. It rolled and bounced, coming to a stop at Colby’s feet.

Colby looked down at the once-gentle face and then back at the vampire. Sheer rage overtook him. He aimed the green laser at the thing’s chest and roared. “FIRE!”

Danny and Colby unleashed a swarm of organophosphor FMJs straight at the Taint.

He didn’t explode. He didn’t twitch and writhe as fire consumed his body. He didn’t scream and drop to the floor, heels drumming and body twisting. He merely threw his arms wide open as if welcoming the bullets into his loving embrace. His body took impact after impact.

Nothing.

The bastard didn’t even bleed.

“CEASE FIRE! CEASE FIRE, DAMN IT!” Yolanda’s voice cut through the cacophony of noise and gunfire. The last shot echoed around the tunnel and finally, silence fell.

Danny and Colby stood motionless, their fingers still on the triggers of the C8s. There was no point wasting any more ammo on this son of a bitch.

“Fall back!” Yolanda, Terry and Micky gave cover as the two men slowly moved back.

The team regrouped by the stairwell, a veritable clusterfuck of ordnance pointing straight at the lieutenant. Yolanda barked an order. “Danny? If you wouldn’t mind?”

Danny grinned, stepped forward and hoisted an AT4 Anti-tank weapon onto his shoulder. Designed specifically for confined spaces and urban warfare, it fired an 84mm round of death and destruction at anything you pointed the bastard at.

Gary turned to Colby and grinned. “Man, you gotta love those Swedes. They might be neutral, but they make seriously funky ATWs!”

Colby grinned back. “Yeah. Let’s see the bastard catch this and still smile.” He glanced up at Danny. “Fuck his day up, mate!”

“Boss?”

“Fire at will, Dan. Like Col said. Fuck his day up, there’s a good chap.” Yolanda glared at the smirking lieutenant, and suddenly gave him a bright smile and a wink. “Hey! Toothy! Catch!”

Danny took aim, and squeezed the trigger. The projectile exploded from the smooth-bore barrel and fizzed like a firework along the length of the platform.

Too late, the lieutenant realised the missile was considerably bigger than the FMJs he’d batted away like bees. His mouth formed an ‘O’ as the missile hit him directly in the chest.

The entire team flinched back from the blast. Even though the AT4 was designed for use in close quarters, the blast was still a little too close for comfort this time.

As the smoke and dust cleared, the all looked towards where Vlad’s lieutenant had stood. All that was left was a dark, sooty mark on the floor and a pile of ashes that danced and whirled in the backdraft from the tunnel entrance.

There was no heel drumming.

No thrashing.

No fireworks.

The fucker simply vaporised on impact. As did a bench, three advertising hoardings, a ‘NO ENTRY’ sign and every single tile on the end of the platform wall.

Danny lowered the AT4 and sniffed. “I ain’t payin’ for the damage, boss. Not on my wages.”

Yolanda stood and walked towards the end of the platform. She stopped and crouched where the old lady’s head lay, discarded and bloody. She unzipped her jacket and took it off, carefully covering the old woman’s remains.

She looked up and into the darkness of the tunnel, and quietly spoke.

“I’m coming for you, Vlad. I’m coming for you…”