Brother
by Rick Spiff 
A S.E.F.U. Project

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                  Episode 7: Enter the Counter-Attack

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Disclaimer: I don't own Toryama-sama's characters, just James, Ed, the
TCA, and the Skeemdians (well, there's more, but that would be spoiling
the later parts of this story).

Warning: Sharp language (somewhat sharper than DBZ), violence, gore
(more than DBZ), and maybe a little sexual innuendo. I would rate this
fic a heavy PG-13, but not R. Enjoy!

Quick note:  *Stuff in here is
people's thoughts, not said out loud.*

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The first died standing, fingers poised to radio in a report.

The second died turning to face its leader.

The third actually aimed its weapon at the shadow.

The forth saw its companions' killer.

James grinned like a demon, covered from head to toe in the blood of his
enemies. He danced around them like smoke, cackling madly and calling to
them. Insane laughter echoed in his wake, bodies falling to the ground
as he passed.

The effect was, as Ed had once observed, like throwing mice at a
mountain lion; hard on the mice and somewhat amusing to the mountain
lion.

The lone Skeemdian felt real fear at that moment. It blinked, taking in
the empty space of air that once held a Human assassin of legendary
skill. It was sure something had been there a second ago. Something--

A splattering noise drew the Skeemdian's attention to its abdomen, its
eyes were about to identify the organ that was stuck fast to its skin,
but the last thing to go through its mind was an explosive .50 caliber
bullet.

"Yippie ki-yi ya, you ugly sack of meat." James eloquently mis-quoted as
he disappeared into the shadows.

The Assassin was back.

----------

Ed ran through and around the plants, feeling like a rat stuck in a
rain forest. Everything organic was ridiculously large, yet thankfully
absent of insects. There was only the distant hum of the Sky-Cows and
the wet crunching sounds of his own footfalls through the plants to keep
him company.

Each hand held one of his 35-AK handguns. Each was a semi-automatic
"super handgun" with customized .35-caliber ammunition. He was down to
these, the 'Hurtalot' rocket launcher and his MB-666 machine gun, with
only seven hundred rounds left.

There was, of course, the backup thermonuclear warhead and about twenty
knives of varying sizes, but Ed wasn't in the mood to commit suicide
just yet.

The gun in his right hand was loaded with the duct tape clips--each
fired a fragmentary round that would briefly stun a normal Skeemdian.
The right hand had the yellow tape clips--high velocity bullets that
were one-shot kills if you knew how to use them. Ed knew that in this
cover there wouldn't be enough space for long-range firefights, so his
tactics would be simple. Shoot first, shoot again (many, many times),
and pray that there was nothing left to interrogate afterwards.

The only problem was his painful lack of ammunition: a mere five clips
of each type--which translated into a meager 200 rounds.

He crested the ridge at full run. The foliage unexpectedly fell away,
revealing the rocky ground around him like morning mist parted by beams
of sunlight. Trees towered over him like a miniature metropolis.

And a dozen Skeemdians in camouflage suits stood in wait.

Ed was shooting before he realized what he was up against. He dove to
the left, praying (as he flew through the air with both guns firing)
that he wouldn't run head-first into the nearest tree. Bullets and
energy beams lanced through the clearing, cutting apart trees, trimming
plants, and generally making an epic mess of the ridge-top clearing all
in the blink of an eye. Ed's guns ran dry just before he hit the ground
and used his momentum to roll behind one of the massive tree trunks.

He remembered Skeemdians. Skeemdians shooting at him. One had taken a
hit in the leg and didn't even flinch. Ed's hands were reloading at a
blinding pace even as his brain raced to catch up with his heartbeat.
The twin actions slammed closed as he rolled out from behind the tree. A
portion of his mind noted that it was rapidly being cut apart by the
Skeemdian's weapons.

He side-stepped rapidly to his left, his mind finally synched with the
rest of his body. Each of the five Skeemdian went down in turn; two to
the chest from one gun, two the brain with the other. He noted with
satisfaction that the yellow tape rounds where leaving exit wounds the
size of grapefruit in the Skeemdians. *Wait, wasn't there six?!*

Out of bullets. He backpedaled, throwing one gun into the air and
fishing a missile out of his coat. The explosive dropped to the ground
harmlessly, Ed caught his free gun, then deftly flattened himself
against the backside of yet another tree. His hands reloaded on
automatic again. He barely heard the clips bouncing amongst the rocky
ground.

He did notice the sudden silence.

*There was only five that time. There was six when I hit the top. Six,
then five. I didn't put one down. He's still out there. He's--*

He was to Ed's right. Ed turned, firing sight unseen, as a veritable
whip of energy chorused through the tree six inches from his head. Hairs
on the back of his neck jumped to attention and did a Chinese fire drill
on the spot. His vision blurred and a buzzing noise--not unlike a jar
full of homicidal wasps implanted into his brain--beat mercilessly on
his eardrums.

The stream of plasma died abruptly at the same time Ed's gun ran dry.

"That was too close." He said slowly.

"You're right about that." James said, glaring his friend from behind
the Skeemdian's corpse. "C'mon, drop those hunks of junk. We're too
close for that kind of cowboy shit."

Before Ed could reply, the air was rent with a yell of rage, followed
shortly by the sound of a ship exploding. The concussion echoed off the
hill, rocking James and Ed on their feet.

"Go?" James pointed towards the Skeemdian base.

Ed nodded and the two took off. Directly behind them, two squads of
Skeemdians rushed into the clearing, looking around in shock. James...
just disappeared, Ed noted sourly. He jumped, spun 180 degrees, and
fired into the crowd with the duct tape rounds. As he had hoped, one
clipped the rocket he left in the rocks earlier. He continued his spin
for another 180 degrees before he hit the ground and dashed around
cover.

The mess the rocket had turned the Skeemdian troops into did not invite
description.

"Now what was that about useless?" Ed asked the wind. With a grunt, he
noted that he was alone. *Now where did James get to?*

----------

James found trouble. Lots of trouble. Lots of short, six-limbed, two
hundred kilograms a piece trouble. Trouble his skills were well suited
to eliminating.

He broke their ranks with a classic two-for-one. Dashing from shadow to
shadow, he cut down one Skeemdian with his sword, neatly bisecting the
alien before he knew what hit him. During that same dash, he threw a
sticky bomb at another Skeemdian, one a dozen feet away. The bomb went
off after a one second delay, taking out that soldier and wounding the
one next to him. The two remaining Skeemdians were looking in the
direction of the explosion, and not at their violently dissected
comrade. James took each from behind using his large .50-caliber
handgun.

He had become stronger, faster, and more eager to use these newfound
abilities over the last few days. He was enjoying himself immensely, and
marveled at the power he'd gained simply by witnessing another call it
forth. To James, ki had been something useful, but mundane. Ki, put
simply, was concentration. Focus.

He had one technique that was particularly well suited to this focus. If
performed incorrectly, it could result in severe injury, but with the
proper focus, it was incredibly powerful, able to shatter stone with
ease.

But ki as a real source of energy, energy his body could use and his
mind could form as easily as soft clay... now that was something new. He
had quickly figured out how to extend his old technique--the
Stonecrusher Fist he called it--to greatly enhance both his strength and
speed. Coupled with his formidable experience and skills in killing
people quickly and simply, he was nearly unstoppable against any human
opponent. The Skeemdians could be handled easily now that the playing
field was level.

He leapt into the shadows once again, moving like a wraith. This kind of
trouble he could handle all day.

----------

Explosions thundered across the countryside. Beams of pure light
criss-crossed the sky in patterns of pure insanity.

Skeemdian air forces: 0
Airborne Saiyajin warriors: 26

Vegeta tumbled under a series of shots that formed a series of lazy X's
in the clear morning sky, drawing a bead on the most distant ship. A
ball of ki flew from his fingertips easily a second later, nailing the
ship before it could dodge and ending his airborne dance. He leveled
himself in the air, then dodge to one side as his dairokan tipped him
off to an attack from the ground. Out of the corner of his eye, he
traced the beam back to where it exited the trees and fired a blast in
that general direction, clearing land and adding yet another smoking
crater to the landscape.

"Nappa! Are we getting any closer?!" He yelled to the winds.

His servant's voice floated back from the other side of the ridge.
"Much, much closer. I think they're beginning to pull back as well."

Vegeta snarled in agitation. Flying was not a way to conserve energy,
it actually expended a fair amount, and he felt very exposed at this
altitude. He and Nappa had dropped low on opposite sides of the ridge,
moving forward in time with the two Humans.

Teamwork was key, and playing out his part of the plan was boring, yet
dangerous. The tedium was maddening, and being shot at was very
annoying.

He grit his teeth together until his jaw began to ache. The plan was
working brilliantly. Simple, decisive, direct. The only problem was that
they had to work at the same pace as the Humans below. Vegeta planned to
kill them once this foolish battle was over, but something about the
pair bothered him.

He dodged three sets of successive blasts from the ground. Two from
below, one from above. Amateurs. He let fly two more blasts, catching
all three fire teams in a miniature inferno, then returned to musing
over his new 'comrades.'

*There's something wrong with those two. They're very similar to
Saiyajins, but ridiculously weak. What I don't understand is how they
doubled their power in just two days! What kind of race has that
ability?*

There was an alternative answer to this, of course. The Humans were able
to 'power down' when they weren't using their ki, returning to a resting
power level. It struck Vegeta as a simple but dangerous trick. If they
were caught with their guard down...

*And when they talked about the Skeemdians destroying their home world...
such anger. Rage. All it turned into raw power. I thought there were
going to explode! Why, that James fellow was glowing red. Glowing! His
power level spiked enormously. I could _feel_ it...*

Emotion. That was the trigger for the Humans. When they got angry, they
fought with a ferocity that defied explanation. Perhaps anger was a
special kind of insanity.

Vegeta flipped aside of yet another energy blast. Whatever the case,
these two bore watching. Perhaps he wouldn't kill them after all.

----------

James wondered if he was stuck in a bad samurai movie. Guns exhausted,
he was down to a sword, his wits, and seventy-five thousand Skeemdians
out for his blood.

Akira Kurosawa would be proud.

He rushed the next squad with a vicious smile holding onto his lips and
fire burning in his eyes.

Vegeta and Nappa had dropped dozens of the Sky-Cows so far; the
explosion of yet another fireball in the sky was becoming a constant
thunder in the distance. One carrier had managed to close in on Ed and
James' position, dropping a crew of ground-clearing Skeemdians in their
path.

Excellent. They looked like some high-ranking types, with heavy duty
radio transceivers mounted atop their bodies.

James cut from one end of the clearing to the other in a single blurry
line. At the end of the clearing, he ran straight up one tree, kicked in
his ki, and rocketed away like a missile. Spinning slowly in the air, he
let fly a spare hand grenade in one direction, and a knife in the other.

Too easy. With another push from his ki, he dropped from the air faster
than gravity permitted, dodging twin plasma beams, and grabbed the dying
Skeemdian with a knife sticking from his chest, using him as a shield.

The grenade went off, taking out the rest of the pack.

Too easy.

He gathered his energy for a second, letting it rush through his veins
like liquid lightning, and leapt skyward. He cleared the treetops in a
single leap, and quickly sighted Vegeta.

 James yelled to the Saiyajin.

 Vegeta yelled back.

James dropped to the ground, thumbing the microphone in his coat. "Ed,
we're moving two kilometers down as fast as we can. The valley turns
there and I smell an ambush. Tell Nappa."

"Understood." Ed tersely replied, the sound of explosions coming over
the communications link a split-second before their echos could be heard
over the ridge.

James blinked. *He... Vegeta... aw, screw it.*

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Preview of the next episode: Is there an ambush at the end of this road?
Do our heroes have a way out? Will the Saiyajins be bored now, fighting
a war that was a risk to their lives merely five days ago? Find out in
the next exciting episode of Brother!

NEXT EPISODE: Enter the Plan: Part Deux

Author's note: Dairokan is Japanese for a kind of six-sense in battle.
Will Vegeta really bump off his new allies once the battle is won?
You'll have to read through it all to find out!


First Draft: 11/04/02

    Source: geocities.com/rick_spiff/txt/Brother

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