Mando Bk. 02: Good Badass Bitch Ch. 08-09

She jams the gear in reverse and shoots back through the wall. I hear a deafening noise and turn in time to see thousands of soldiers rounding both corners. Most are yelling, waving weapons, but some in front are shooting. They break into a sprint to head Kammy off and turn over the ATV she's driving.

I know if that throng surrounds the jeep, the war is over. Not on my watch. I dash toward the jeep, leap onto the hood, and bounce onto the top. It's do or die time. We have seconds to get out in front, but those seconds are leaving fast. My Chi is bursting and pulsating with power. The energy is buzzing through me. I don't have to think; I just go into action.

I snatch a handful of saucer disks from their pouch and set them free for vertical flight one at a time at the speed of machine gun fire. The fist that could fell a full grown tree is throwing the blades so hard they are spinning faster than a jet propeller.

Like stones skipping across a pond, the blades skip vertically, digging through any head or shoulders in their paths, cutting a gash in every place they touch. My hands are a blur. Cutting the skulls didn't seem to slow the blades down. Chi power keeps their speed up as they rip through skulls, bones, and brains. When a disc hits the last person in line, it sails out of sight. The soldiers behind us litter the ground like rag dolls. I concentrate on the ones closing in from both sides. Kammy's voice comes through my earpiece. "Ninja, are we clear to get Chief?"

"Yes. Go!" My voice is sharp and crisp.

In her urgency to leave the throngs behind, she turns too sharp, spilling me over the side.

I'm the terrorists' new target. When the hummer crashed through the wall, Danny began peppering the area we had to travel through with puke gas and the hallucigenic LSD. The hordes are breathing heavy and gulping large amounts of the gas as they run through it. She already launched the two nine-foot and two six foot long remote controlled helium blimps with the high powered speakers to transmit the high-frequency sonic sound waves and issue commands.

The soldiers are running at me with swords and knives in their hands and blood in their eyes. I do two quick somersaults to land among them with the intention of catching them by surprise and wreaking havoc. A few kicks and punches makes a hole and arms me with two swords. Chaos is on the menu, and I am the heaver and cleaver.

At first, I'm swinging, swishing, and slicing to make the start of a path. Then I hold the blades straight out from my sides and spin like a whirling dervish and Tasmanian devil. I am a tornado with claws cutting large swaths everywhere I go. I spin ten seconds in one direction before reversing to keep me from getting dizzy. I mow through the terrorists like a reaper cutting wheat.

Danny is busy launching the mini-weather balloons with speakers and strobe lights.

The sound of thundering feet and angry cries of more terrorist running toward me forces me to change tactics. Many are getting sick, but others are running around them. I leap straight up high enough for the proper vantage point and sling those killer blades with the speed of bad news and power of a pissed off crocodile's jaws. Those circular blades keep rolling and slicing skulls, shoulders, chest, and bellies and I keep throwing. The soldiers are screaming and dropping like dead rats.

I'm running out of blades. I throw harder so they'll run faster to help me cut down more of these monsters. The sharp disk zigzag from head to head slicing, gashing and bouncing until they run out of heads. Even so, I know there are more heads than blades. I remember the powerful burst of Chi energy against the gangs in China. Revealing advanced Kung Fu skills to the satellite cameras makes it easier to identify me. Therefore I must use misdirection or secrecy.

Danny has peppered the field with canisters of puke gas and LSD and filled the sky with more miniature weather balloons holding the sonic bombs aloft. Silent super high frequency sound waves bombard and blanket the entire fighting theater and kill zone. The sheer number of these sonic weapons blasting the soldiers from all directions will cause severe brain hemorrhages and nosebleeds. Terrorists are collapsing by the hundreds. One nine-foot blimp is ahead now, the others are farther back spaced evenly apart. Her voice barks in my ear. "Use more ear cover. Low-frequency blast in seven seconds, six, five, four, three, two, one, zero!"

The six speakers on each end of the blimps blasts low frequency sound waves in a five-second burst, alternating with fog horn blast. The Low-frequency waves attack the body while the high frequency rips at the brain. The fog horn keeps them confused and attacks their ear drums. Combined, they incapacitate or even slaughter. Ten seconds later strobe lights flash from a hundred parachutes. The LSD, bright flashes and gyrating sound turns the soldiers 'minds to jelly.

"Kill command coming, Falcon. Shout these instructions, so it appears to the satellite photos that you're in control of every one of their troops.

While I hustle to stack five bodies crisscross to make a stage to shout from, people are dropping to the ground, holding their heads while rolling and moaning. Their bodies and brains are under attack. I sling on a full beard and mustache to cover my gas mask and leap on top of my human stage. Danny's voice booms in my ear. "Go, Falcon, the brains are blank. Say these words." After she reminds me of the Arabic words, I raise my sword and shout into the jumbled minds. "Allah be praised.! Kill the infidel. They are all around you dressed like us. Kill them. Kill them all."

She is sending that message intermittently with the high frequency, just below a dog whistle to register on the human ear at a glass shattering pitch. She repeats the commands three times. The LSD, strobe lights, puke gas, and sonic sound waves give us control of the soldiers' bodies and minds. Mayhem rules the killing field as the remaining soldiers slash and stab each other. Neighbors killing neighbors beside, behind, and in front of them. The strobe lights stop sixty seconds later so the eye in the sky can record the soldiers killing each other.

I keep shouting and pumping the air with my fist. "Allah be praised. The infidel is dressed like us to deceive us. Kill them! them! Kill them all. The demons and devils are all around you. Kill them. Allah be praised."

The LSD mist causes their troubled brains to conjure visions of demons and devils when I say them. They are besieged by the most terrible predators they can imagine. Huge monsters with shape and color changing faces are bound to be attacking their lives and souls. The deep sounds make the devils ugly and awful, and the high pitch frequencies make them aggressive and mean, driven by each individuals' imagination and fears.

When the genocide slows down Danny's message changes to, "Allah be praised! Give the infidel no victory. Give them no glory. Die by your own hands. Steal the heathen's victory. Shame them before Allah. Kill yourself. Don't die at the hands of the infidel. Leave no Muslim standing. Give yourself to Allah."

This message replays continuously while shrieking noises wax and wane from the other speakers. No mind can think; it can only react and self-destruct. All orders are taken literally. Such is the power unleashed by Timothy O'Leary' hallucinogenic drug called LSD in the Sixties era. Debilitating sights and sounds bombard the tripper into self-destruction.

Those still standing are thrusting their swords and knives into their hearts, or falling on their blades. Others are shooting themselves praising Allah before they pull the trigger.

Out of the thousands of soldiers, not over five hundred are left standing, or vomiting, but the sonic blast is penetrating their massive headdresses. The prolonged exposure is frying their brains.

Danny speaks. "Ninja, you're clear. Phantom is here. Run back the way you came and we'll pick you up so we can jet!"

"On my way!"

After a hundred yard of fast paced jogging Kammy skids to a halt beside me. I pile in and we continued our escape. Kammy is driving full throttle toward the pickup point because the farther away from the fort, the stronger the possibility of being cut off by inbound enemy gunship choppers and armed trucks from a few miles away. If we go slow they'll block our path. If we don't haul ass they'll shred them with lead.

"How far have we driven, Phantom?" Danny asks the driver.

"Coming up on two miles." She replies while keeping fher eyes focused on th road ahead.

"Good. We are out of the blast radius."

Kammy snaps back. "What blast radius?"

Danny holds up a little electronic gadget, extends its antenna, and presses the red button on it. BOOM! A fireball rises from the fortress area topped by a second explosion. "That blast radius. All evidence of us, our weapons, and dead soldiers are erased. I just sterilized the killing field and the compound with a hot tempered cleanup crew.."

The unmistakable noise of helicopter rotors chop-chop-chopping above us and trucks overloaded with armed soldiers racing toward us from the direction we are headed proves Danny's assumptions correct. These boys were waiting undetected in the outer perimeters a few miles away ready to put their heavy artillery to work without endangering their Arab cohorts..

Danny is focused ahead instead of behind us. "Damn, these guys are tenacious! Ninja, the grenade launchers are inaccessible. You take that chopper, and I'll mow the trucks down with a few rounds."

The chopper's gunners are stitching a trail of bullets directly in our path. I open the enclosed jeep's door, stand half in and half out holding on the jeep with one hand and whipped three spikes in the chopper's direction with my free hand in rapid succession. One hits the gunner, one cracks the windshield in front of the pilot, and the other one breaks through making a hole. A fourth spike shoots through the hole like an arrow from hell and sinks two inches deep in the pilot's forehead. Where's the co-pilot? Don't know, but his seat is empty. The pilot-less chopper veers to the left careening out of control and crashes between two oncoming trucks. When the helicopter explodes it shreds the trucks into confetti and spaghetti. As it billows balls of fire and black smoke, roasting the downed truck passengers. Two trucks down, two to go.

Danny has no problem with the other two trucks. She leans out the front passenger window and Punt! Punt! Two missiles fly from her tube and seal the trucks doom with a double BOOM!

The trucks are shrapnel, and the soldiers are history.

Before I can swing back inside four chopper gunships, float into view. I can't spike my way out of this one. If they circle us, we'll be in the crossfire of all four and won't last two minutes.

____________________________________________________________________________

End of chapter 9