Fic, Silk and Steel, Part 35
Mar. 18th, 2009 08:10 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fredbassettTitle : Silk and Steel, Part 35
Authors : fredbassett & munchkinofdoom
Fandom : Primeval
Characters : Leek, Lyle, Ditzy, Annie Morris, Norman, Abby, Connor, Lacey, Wilkes, Blade, Thomson
Rating : 18
Disclaimer : Not ours, no money made, don’t sue
Spoilers : None.
Summary : Written for the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
primeval_denial siege fic challenge.
Warning : Slave!fic!
A/N : The final part of the siege fic story arc. This section of the story can probably be read as a standalone section if you haven’t been following the series as a whole, but still want to read the challenge fic. Tanya Lacey and Chris Wilkes appear by kind permission of![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
reggietate and Captain Thomson appears courtesy of deinonychus_1. The remainder of the series can be found here
Oliver Leek trudged wearily back into the atrium, almost too exhausted to think, let alone walk. The bright lights and open space was a stark contract to the cramped and darkened basement where half a dozen predators had made a last desperate, but ultimately futile, stand.
He leaned against an undamaged section of wall in the wrecked atrium, watching as the soldiers worked their way around the corpses, checking for signs of life, and dealing with any that they detected with what would no doubt be termed extreme prejudice.
He couldn’t even begin to imagine Lester’s reaction to the state of the place, and frankly, he didn’t want to try. Their political lords and masters weren’t going to be impressed by the size of the hole that this little extravaganza would punch in the Repairs and Renewals budget.
Movement outside the building caught his eye. A large helicopter was landing in the snow-covered car-park, the movement of the rotor-blades whipping up swirls of white flakes to dance eccentrically in the freezing air.
“Lyle! We’ve got company.”
The lieutenant glanced up from one of the corpses and grimaced. “They took their fucking time. Ditz! Chopper’s here. Do you want to tell them they’ve got a med-evac on their hands or shall I?”
“I’ll leave that pleasure to you,” replied the medic. “I’ll take Blade and help Wilkes get the patients down here.”
“I’ll extend a warm welcome to the conquering heroes, shall I?” muttered Leek, pushing himself upright off the wall and trading a weary glance with Lyle.
Lyle grinned, but it was obvious to Leek that the soldier was now suffering from severe adrenalin fatigue. He’d discarded the heavy equipment vest, and the back of his grey tee shirt was soaked with blood. From the look of it, he’d managed to open up nearly all of the barely-healed scars.
Still clutching the assault rifle like a teddy bear, Oliver Leek picked his way through the mess towards the entrance doors, which opened smoothly at the touch of a button. Probably the only thing that was still working properly in the ARC.
A powerful torch-beam cut through the darkness and a voice yelled, “Stay where you are! Drop the weapon!”
“Yes, yes, gentlemen,” Leek called, his voice carrying across the noise of the helicopter. “Very impressive, now would you mind dropping the macho posturing and starting to do something useful instead? We have two casualties requiring immediate airlift to hospital.” With that, Leek turned on his heel and stalked back into the relative warmth of the building, still carrying the rifle.
Moments later, four black-clad figures took up station on either side of the main doors; two of them standing, the other two kneeling, weapons held at the ready. A fifth man stalked in through the doors, his rifle slung across his chest. He was a large man, as tall as Lyle but broader, with dark close-cropped hair, wearing a sneering impression as impenetrable as his body armour.
The soldier stared around him in disgust, then commented, “Who is the senior office here?”
“That would be Lieutenant Lyle,” said Leek, gesturing vaguely in Lyle’s direction. “Captain Ryan is elsewhere with the science team, and Captain Stringer is indisposed. I am Oliver Leek. I report directly to Sir James Lester. And you are …?”
“Captain Thomson,” said the man in an accent that spoke of an expensive education, and which appeared at odds with the slim metal band encircling his throat.
Leek looked the man up and down, eyes lingering meaningfully on his collar. “Thank you, Captain. You may call me sir. The situation here is under control, despite appearances, but as I have already remarked, we have casualties requiring immediate transportation to hospital. Lyle, if you would be so kind as to brief the captain, then he and his men can start the clean-up operation.”
With a weary gesture of his hand, Leek waved at the destruction in the atrium and went back to his position against the wall. He didn’t particularly want the immaculate newcomer to know that he was in serious danger of sliding down into a heap on the floor if he didn’t keep something solid behind his back.
Captain Thomson stared without liking at Lyle. “Lieutenant, can you explain what the hell has been going on around here?”
To Leek’s relief, Lyle kept his eyes fixed on his superior officer, and didn’t so much flick a glance in Leek’s direction at the question. Then, without batting an eyelid, the lieutenant drew his pistol and discharged two rounds into the head of one of the predators sprawled on the floor behind Thomson.
The captain jumped visibly and belatedly went for his own gun.
“It twitched,” said Lyle, by way of explanation.
An angry red flush suffused Thomson’s cheeks.
“It twitched, sir,” amended Lyle, in a lazy drawl. “As Mr Leek says, we have two casualties requiring immediate med-evac. Most of these buggers are dead, but if you see ‘em moving, don’t economise on the lead. Professor Cutter will no doubt want to see the bodies, but there’s a big refrigeration unit in the basement, with its own generators. You can store the sods in there. We have civilian scientists in the building that will require body-guarding. My team will handle that until we can be relieved by Captain Stringer and his men. Probably tomorrow – sorry, today – if they can stay off the bog long enough.”
Before Thomson had time to question Lyle in any depth, a loud cackle came from the top of the ramp, and a voice yelled, “Take the bloody brakes off, laddie!” and a wheelchair containing Norman came flying down from the upper floor, with Blade in hot pursuit.
Following at a somewhat more sedate pace, came Ditzy and Wilkes, slowly wheeling a hospital bed containing the badly injured cleaner, with Annie Morris stalking beside them, holding a drip carefully up in the air. Jenny Lewis, immaculate in her high heels, a rifle held casually in her right hand as if it were the latest fashion accessory, followed the little party, her eyes calmly scanning the ruin of the atrium from her vantage point.
The group finally reached the ground floor and stopped. Annie stared at Captain Thomson and sniffed. “About time, too. I was beginning to think you’d all stopped for a meal en route. I’d like my Physics Labs cleared of dead vermin by the morning. The present conditions can hardly be described as acceptable, even for the public sector.”
Leek watched the small cavalcade make their way across the atrium, with Tanya Lacey pushing bodies and other assorted detritus aside, while Connor and Abby leaned on the handrail, simply looking pleased to be alive.
Norman rode his wheelchair like a chariot, still cackling wildly and declaring, “We bloody well showed ‘em! Gave them fuckers an ‘eadache they won’t forget in a hurry, pardon me French, ma’am.”
Annie waved her free hand in elegant forgiveness.
One of newly arrived soldiers stepped in through the outer doors and reached out to take the drip from the grey-haired professor. Oliver Leek watched Connor Temple’s dark-eyes widen in shock, at exactly the same moment as Norman declared, “What the bleedin’ ‘ell?”
Blade’s green eyes narrowed and a knife appeared instantly in the young soldier’s hand.
A sharp spike of adrenalin shot through Leek’s system. He’d seen the object of their attention before, not ten minutes ago, during a final sweep of the building, checking for any surviving predators. Only on that occasion he’d been lying on the concrete floor of the basement wearing blue overalls, with his head twisted at an unnatural angle. Dead. Very dead.
A pair of surprised eyes set in a broad, craggy face stared around him, taking in the shock registered in several pairs of eyes.
Leek’s breath caught in his throat and he glanced at Lyle, doing his best to think of something to say. Calm hazel eyes flicked across at the soldier, still standing there, hand held out for the drip, and Lyle said, in a voice somewhat louder than necessary, “Sorry, mate, we’re all still a bit jumpy. Put the knife away, Richards. It was only Lacey kicking the fucker with her foot. Get Norman into the chopper, before the old bugger catches his death of cold.”
The knife in Blade’s hand disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, and the soldier started pushing the wheelchair again. As they headed out of the doors, Norman was heard to declare loudly, “I’m tellin’ ee, ’tedn’t nat’ral!”
Then to Leek’s relief, the wind and the noise of the still-spinning rotor-blades drowned out what was left of the old man’s imprecations, although by now the blame appeared to be being laid firmly at the feet of the Archangel Gabriel.
A shiver ran down Leek’s spine.
Lyle gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head and smoothly returned to the business of giving orders as the casualties were finally evacuated from the building.
Oliver Leek let out a pent up breath and wondered how the hell he was going to go about the ignominious business of begging Lyle not to leave him alone with Captain Thomson and his men.
He was suddenly even more afraid than he had been for most of what had already turned out to be a very long night indeed.
Authors : fredbassett & munchkinofdoom
Fandom : Primeval
Characters : Leek, Lyle, Ditzy, Annie Morris, Norman, Abby, Connor, Lacey, Wilkes, Blade, Thomson
Rating : 18
Disclaimer : Not ours, no money made, don’t sue
Spoilers : None.
Summary : Written for the
primeval_denial siege fic challenge. Warning : Slave!fic!
A/N : The final part of the siege fic story arc. This section of the story can probably be read as a standalone section if you haven’t been following the series as a whole, but still want to read the challenge fic. Tanya Lacey and Chris Wilkes appear by kind permission of
reggietate and Captain Thomson appears courtesy of deinonychus_1. The remainder of the series can be found hereOliver Leek trudged wearily back into the atrium, almost too exhausted to think, let alone walk. The bright lights and open space was a stark contract to the cramped and darkened basement where half a dozen predators had made a last desperate, but ultimately futile, stand.
He leaned against an undamaged section of wall in the wrecked atrium, watching as the soldiers worked their way around the corpses, checking for signs of life, and dealing with any that they detected with what would no doubt be termed extreme prejudice.
He couldn’t even begin to imagine Lester’s reaction to the state of the place, and frankly, he didn’t want to try. Their political lords and masters weren’t going to be impressed by the size of the hole that this little extravaganza would punch in the Repairs and Renewals budget.
Movement outside the building caught his eye. A large helicopter was landing in the snow-covered car-park, the movement of the rotor-blades whipping up swirls of white flakes to dance eccentrically in the freezing air.
“Lyle! We’ve got company.”
The lieutenant glanced up from one of the corpses and grimaced. “They took their fucking time. Ditz! Chopper’s here. Do you want to tell them they’ve got a med-evac on their hands or shall I?”
“I’ll leave that pleasure to you,” replied the medic. “I’ll take Blade and help Wilkes get the patients down here.”
“I’ll extend a warm welcome to the conquering heroes, shall I?” muttered Leek, pushing himself upright off the wall and trading a weary glance with Lyle.
Lyle grinned, but it was obvious to Leek that the soldier was now suffering from severe adrenalin fatigue. He’d discarded the heavy equipment vest, and the back of his grey tee shirt was soaked with blood. From the look of it, he’d managed to open up nearly all of the barely-healed scars.
Still clutching the assault rifle like a teddy bear, Oliver Leek picked his way through the mess towards the entrance doors, which opened smoothly at the touch of a button. Probably the only thing that was still working properly in the ARC.
A powerful torch-beam cut through the darkness and a voice yelled, “Stay where you are! Drop the weapon!”
“Yes, yes, gentlemen,” Leek called, his voice carrying across the noise of the helicopter. “Very impressive, now would you mind dropping the macho posturing and starting to do something useful instead? We have two casualties requiring immediate airlift to hospital.” With that, Leek turned on his heel and stalked back into the relative warmth of the building, still carrying the rifle.
Moments later, four black-clad figures took up station on either side of the main doors; two of them standing, the other two kneeling, weapons held at the ready. A fifth man stalked in through the doors, his rifle slung across his chest. He was a large man, as tall as Lyle but broader, with dark close-cropped hair, wearing a sneering impression as impenetrable as his body armour.
The soldier stared around him in disgust, then commented, “Who is the senior office here?”
“That would be Lieutenant Lyle,” said Leek, gesturing vaguely in Lyle’s direction. “Captain Ryan is elsewhere with the science team, and Captain Stringer is indisposed. I am Oliver Leek. I report directly to Sir James Lester. And you are …?”
“Captain Thomson,” said the man in an accent that spoke of an expensive education, and which appeared at odds with the slim metal band encircling his throat.
Leek looked the man up and down, eyes lingering meaningfully on his collar. “Thank you, Captain. You may call me sir. The situation here is under control, despite appearances, but as I have already remarked, we have casualties requiring immediate transportation to hospital. Lyle, if you would be so kind as to brief the captain, then he and his men can start the clean-up operation.”
With a weary gesture of his hand, Leek waved at the destruction in the atrium and went back to his position against the wall. He didn’t particularly want the immaculate newcomer to know that he was in serious danger of sliding down into a heap on the floor if he didn’t keep something solid behind his back.
Captain Thomson stared without liking at Lyle. “Lieutenant, can you explain what the hell has been going on around here?”
To Leek’s relief, Lyle kept his eyes fixed on his superior officer, and didn’t so much flick a glance in Leek’s direction at the question. Then, without batting an eyelid, the lieutenant drew his pistol and discharged two rounds into the head of one of the predators sprawled on the floor behind Thomson.
The captain jumped visibly and belatedly went for his own gun.
“It twitched,” said Lyle, by way of explanation.
An angry red flush suffused Thomson’s cheeks.
“It twitched, sir,” amended Lyle, in a lazy drawl. “As Mr Leek says, we have two casualties requiring immediate med-evac. Most of these buggers are dead, but if you see ‘em moving, don’t economise on the lead. Professor Cutter will no doubt want to see the bodies, but there’s a big refrigeration unit in the basement, with its own generators. You can store the sods in there. We have civilian scientists in the building that will require body-guarding. My team will handle that until we can be relieved by Captain Stringer and his men. Probably tomorrow – sorry, today – if they can stay off the bog long enough.”
Before Thomson had time to question Lyle in any depth, a loud cackle came from the top of the ramp, and a voice yelled, “Take the bloody brakes off, laddie!” and a wheelchair containing Norman came flying down from the upper floor, with Blade in hot pursuit.
Following at a somewhat more sedate pace, came Ditzy and Wilkes, slowly wheeling a hospital bed containing the badly injured cleaner, with Annie Morris stalking beside them, holding a drip carefully up in the air. Jenny Lewis, immaculate in her high heels, a rifle held casually in her right hand as if it were the latest fashion accessory, followed the little party, her eyes calmly scanning the ruin of the atrium from her vantage point.
The group finally reached the ground floor and stopped. Annie stared at Captain Thomson and sniffed. “About time, too. I was beginning to think you’d all stopped for a meal en route. I’d like my Physics Labs cleared of dead vermin by the morning. The present conditions can hardly be described as acceptable, even for the public sector.”
Leek watched the small cavalcade make their way across the atrium, with Tanya Lacey pushing bodies and other assorted detritus aside, while Connor and Abby leaned on the handrail, simply looking pleased to be alive.
Norman rode his wheelchair like a chariot, still cackling wildly and declaring, “We bloody well showed ‘em! Gave them fuckers an ‘eadache they won’t forget in a hurry, pardon me French, ma’am.”
Annie waved her free hand in elegant forgiveness.
One of newly arrived soldiers stepped in through the outer doors and reached out to take the drip from the grey-haired professor. Oliver Leek watched Connor Temple’s dark-eyes widen in shock, at exactly the same moment as Norman declared, “What the bleedin’ ‘ell?”
Blade’s green eyes narrowed and a knife appeared instantly in the young soldier’s hand.
A sharp spike of adrenalin shot through Leek’s system. He’d seen the object of their attention before, not ten minutes ago, during a final sweep of the building, checking for any surviving predators. Only on that occasion he’d been lying on the concrete floor of the basement wearing blue overalls, with his head twisted at an unnatural angle. Dead. Very dead.
A pair of surprised eyes set in a broad, craggy face stared around him, taking in the shock registered in several pairs of eyes.
Leek’s breath caught in his throat and he glanced at Lyle, doing his best to think of something to say. Calm hazel eyes flicked across at the soldier, still standing there, hand held out for the drip, and Lyle said, in a voice somewhat louder than necessary, “Sorry, mate, we’re all still a bit jumpy. Put the knife away, Richards. It was only Lacey kicking the fucker with her foot. Get Norman into the chopper, before the old bugger catches his death of cold.”
The knife in Blade’s hand disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, and the soldier started pushing the wheelchair again. As they headed out of the doors, Norman was heard to declare loudly, “I’m tellin’ ee, ’tedn’t nat’ral!”
Then to Leek’s relief, the wind and the noise of the still-spinning rotor-blades drowned out what was left of the old man’s imprecations, although by now the blame appeared to be being laid firmly at the feet of the Archangel Gabriel.
A shiver ran down Leek’s spine.
Lyle gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head and smoothly returned to the business of giving orders as the casualties were finally evacuated from the building.
Oliver Leek let out a pent up breath and wondered how the hell he was going to go about the ignominious business of begging Lyle not to leave him alone with Captain Thomson and his men.
He was suddenly even more afraid than he had been for most of what had already turned out to be a very long night indeed.