Sunday, February 27, 2011

I'm a stranger here myself

I'd visited the United States before, of course, but mainly Boston, where an Irishman always feels welcome, and New York City. But Las Vegas, Los Angeles....the great American expanse out West...this was all new to me. I feel like an Irish cowboy. The sky is so wide, so blue and often nearly cloudless; land stretching before you in every direction. It feels--cinematic. Nothing quite like this back in Ireland, with our often gray skies and regular rainfall. I laughed at Nate when he talked about being inspired by so many movies to enter Law Enforcement, but I think I understand him better now...he grew up here, among all this vast expanse.

It sort of reminded me of parts of Africa I'd seen on UN peacekeeping missions; that was the closest thing I could relate to it.

Still disagree with Nate about Laurel's actions at the Vegas motel; I think the Voodoo stuff was a game changer. Unlike the cultist I put in cuffs in the earlier encounter, there was no telling with that Scion what she was capable of. Plus we were in the midst of battle. It wouldn't have been tactically sound to attempt to apprehend her anyway. I was rather busy when that all went down, ramming my mythic spear into the knee of a newly ascending god at the time.

Anyway, I think we mostly have that behind us now. I'm even alright with Nate wielding the Irish relic we found into our upcoming battle.

I think I can use Aisling to help us gain an element of surprise...she should be small enough to fly in unseen by the guards, and if we can get blueprints of the compound from the contractor who built it, I can send her to the main circuit breaker to cut the power just before we begin the assault. Don't want the wee lass to feel left out, after all. Plus it's about the only thing I can think of she can do for us that won't excessively risk her getting killed. I'm very fond of her, in a brotherly kind of way.

Saturday, February 26, 2011

As I lay dying...



I had been considering how and whether to enhance my status in the Pantheon; the question was rendered academic when several bursts of .223 cal. Remington rifle rounds tore through my Garda-issue bullet proof vest. It all happened so fast. I was too absorbed with that damned laptop, so damn proud of myself for hacking past its password encryption...thank you Trinty College Dublin for making me at least quasi-L33t on computers. There I was, bent over the hotel desk, absorbed in the sea of data. I was still feeling a wee bit of pride for successfully identifying the Irish artifact that Laurel had found.

How else to explain being caught utterly flat-footed by the squad of heavily armed cultist militia that stormed that hotel suite...looking for all the world like a typical American SWAT unit, only without any identifying logo or badges. I should be a dead man. I guess in hindsight I should be grateful it was only a CS canister and not an actual fragmentation grenade. If this had been Belfast, it would have been a fragmentation grenade. As luck would have it, this was a posh hotel in Fresno, California.

The world seemed to go into slow motion around me. It was like watching a movie all around me but feeling rooted to the spot. I watched Jack, Gunnar, and Nate spring into action...saw Laurel take the first burst of fire, then felt the searing burst of pain as my own body began absorbing hot American lead. I flashed back to the UN peacekeeping missions I'd been on in Africa as an Irish soldier, still only a teenager. Then the bloody mess in Kosovo. My life seemed to flash before my eyes when at long last my instincts took over and I threw down the heavy oak chair, whipped out my Garda-issue Sig P226 from its holster, crouched for cover behind the chair and drew a bead on the nearest rifle-toting lunatic.


We exchanged fire, but it was Laurel who flanked him and dropped him. Though wounded herself, Laurel had rushed to my side...I don't know what she did exactly, but when she touched me on the shoulder as I dove for cover, the agonizing pain seemed to fade away from my immediate awareness, and from somewhere deep within me I found the courage to fight on. I was also dimly aware of sniper fire incoming from across the highway, and that my friend Gunnar was engaging the sniper with that insanely modified .50 cal Desert Eagle of his. Nate and Jack were methodically taking down these black clad tactical SWAT-wannabes. When I finally gathered my wits, I drew a bead on the last black clad figure standing and let loose with such a ferocious volley of 9mm hell from my Sig Sauer P226;

I saw the man go down, crumpling under my withering barrage...he went down and I still kept firing until my slide locked back. Empty magazine. I hit the slide release, inserted a fresh magazine and clicked the lever, slamming the slide forward in nearly one fluid motion. Out of targets, utterly exhausted, drenched in sweat, my knees buckled and I collapsed onto them. Laurel sprang into action like a guardian angel, tended to my wounds and kept me from going into shock. We both invoked some divine intervention that day.

We had the Intel we needed. We knew where the abducted Scion children were being held captive. But unless we could stabilize these wounds, I was going to be checking in to UCLA Medical Center for an unplanned extended stay. Ogma be praised, I felt blessed with a higher level of awareness and understanding than I'd ever felt before. Laurel invoked a divine presence herself and was able to at least stabilize me. I had only recently learned to heal myself...drawing on deep reserves from within me...it took a lot out of me but I somehow managed to restore myself to full health...the bullet holes closed, the sinews and tissues reconnected...I don't know if any arteries had been severed, or vital organs hit...I think most of the high speed rifle ammunition had passed through me...at such close quarters the rounds had not traversed sufficient distance to begin tumbling.

I was right as rain again, ready to join my team in the assault on The Order's compound. We had to strike now; time was of the essence. My body, at least, was ready. But goddamn I could sure use a bloody pint of Guinness to calm me nerves. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph...! I realize I'm no spring chicken anymore, but I'm in no hurry to be buried back in the Auld Sod just yet.