Listening to the radio

Golden oldies

Author: Norgco <norgco[at]>

Rating: NC-17 for violence

Summary: A pitched battle, Xander makes a speech, a logical end to the Glory problem. NO JOYCE/WALSH, I PROMISE!!

Disclaimer: I own none of it.

Feedback: Please.

5th Season.

Outside Shaft 3, Never Sweat Copper mine, Lost Hope Nevada, 2106 hours.

It was cold in the desert and the survivors of Alpha Company were tired. They were tired in a way that went deep to the bone, in a way that no amount of mere sleep was going to fix. The fortnight's fighting had ground them down, in many ways. Now the big fight was up, three hours time limit, do it or else, the bell for round 15 had rung, and some dickhead had sent these guys as 'reinforcements.'

Not that there was anything wrong with 3rd Platoon, 1st of the 9th Armoured Cavalry Regiment as such. It was just that their damn M1A2 tanks wouldn't fit into the old mining tunnels where the fight was to occur, and as tankers they didn't have rifles, just their 9mm Beretta pistols. Demon killer ammo came in 5.56mm NATO only.

"So what?" Xander commented in exasperation, partly at whatever Colonel had reflexively sent the standard reinforcement for an infantry company rather than take the trouble to think. "They WERE trained to use M-16's in basic, right? And it's not like we don't have any to spare."

They had gone to the old Nevada ghost town as with nearly 200 men. There were 36 left after two weeks fighting in the abandoned mines scattered around here. Alpha was what the old Initiative had mutated into when Walsh quit running it. The research had turned to developing weapons and tactics to kill demons and vamps more effectively and safely than the medieval weapons currently still used.

"There tankers Major, they don't know the first thing about infantry combat, and they're cherries anyway." No armoured unit had seen serious combat since the gulf war, so none of them were veterans.

As far as the former Scooby was concerned a bigger problem was numbers. An armoured platoon is four tanks, and that was all that had arrived, not even some support guys. Each tank had a crew of four. The maths was not favourable.

"LISTEN UP LADIES AND GENTLEMICE." All heads turned, Alpha because they knew Xander and the tankers because they didn't know what the hell to make of him. He looked and talked like the reservist he officially was, if you didn't know what to look for, and none of the tank crews did.

On the other hand Faith, who was never more than three paces away, got attention immediately. Her looks would have anyway, but the fact that this small, slender woman carried a Barrett 50 calibre sniper rifle on a patrol sling like it was an MP5 submachine gun, AND a broadsword in a back mounted scabbard blew them away totally. The rifle weighed more than a loaded backpack and was normally used to disable howitzers at a thousand metres, for one thing.

"For the benefit of the track heads in the audience I am Captain Alexander Lavelle Harris, and my shadow here is Lieutenant Faith Morgan, the Vampire Slayer." Having to step over the corpses of some of the demons that had attacked the Remain Over Night position early that morning did wonders for the credibility problem of Faiths title.

"These are half breed demons, fossils of full demons are often mistaken for dinosaurs, BIG dinosaurs. We have three hours to prevent a ceremony that will turn all demons worldwide into full demons."

He let that sink in for a moment.

"In the immortal words of Bruce Willis, the United States Government has asked us to save the world, does anyone want to say no?"

Shaft 3, 2248 hours.

The darkness was lit by the flashes of dozens of rifles, creating a small pool of light within which massive forms suddenly appeared, claws, tentacles and teeth reaching out for human flesh. The lighter sound of the M4 carbines killing individuals was punctuated by Faith's 50 that punched through a demon and then any five or six others that might have been standing behind it. Then there was silence as the attack ended.

"How long has the Captain been in charge anyway?" One of the surviving cavalrymen asked while reloading his empty magazines.

"Since the command element was eaten this morning." That had been bad, waking up to screaming and gunfire and slashing claws in the darkness.


Bottom of Shaft 3, 2332 hours.

Shooting their way out of the elevator shaft was nearly as much fun as getting down into it in the first place. The mine was a series of levels parallel to each other, linked by an elevator, as was standard. So working your way down the mine meant dropping down to the appropriate level and killing the reception committee that always guarded the only weak spot in that level's defence.

At least on the bottom level they could stand on something and fire instead of hanging suspended on ropes like at the previous ones. To be specific they were standing on the corpses of the demons they had thrown down the shaft to clear the entranceway of the upper levels.

"Well fuck you too." Faith shouted as she slashed off another scaled arm. This being the last stop on the line the welcome wagon was here in force. Only the demon priests who would perform the actual ceremony had a reason to be anywhere else. She was leaning over the heads of the kneeling Alpha troopers, this sort of situation being a situation anticipated in training. "Die hogfucker, die."

Keeping up a steady fire while dismembers bits of demon fell on you was also something Alpha had not only anticipated, but also actually experienced. It was generally agreed that having their intestines fall out of a stomach wound onto you was the most disgusting of the possible alternatives.

Shaft 3, 0027hours

Searching out all the nooks and crannies for hiding survivors was tricky and time consuming but necessary and taken seriously. Still, the main battle was over and the casualties were being winced up to the surface strapped to stretchers.

"Faith, have I ever told you how sexy you look with demon goo all over you?"

"No boytoy, you haven't, and if you do I'll have you committed." Which was a standard answer to the previous statement, an old joke between two people who were not just lovers but friends.

"I wonder what the rest of the world is doing?"

Wesley Wyndham Price's research alcove, Angel investigations.

The watcher was running on Jolt and that hunters and sportsman's blend chocolate with twice the normal caffeine. He was working here because he had been talking to Lorne about how he had come to this dimension. Glory was still holding to the truce, but as truces negotiated by catching one of the participants in a potential crossfire of anti-tank weapons are want to it was a fragile. The crazy hellgodess was not being patient about the promised alternative route home.

"Wesley, stop and get some sleep." Angel demanded.

"But I'm so close."

"You're paid for how your mind works Wes, and it doesn't work properly when you're tired." Was the souled vampires response. They were not close workmates like in the main timeline, Price had a roving commission not a commitment to a specific place, but there was respect. And the Englishman knew the other was right.

"Ok, I'll finish up my notes and go, don't disturb anything."

"I promise, now finish up and GET SOME SLEEP."

The researcher woke up 12 hours later, had a generous breakfast, and went back to work. He was successful in fining the right spell three days later. Glory was gone, with all her followers, less than 48 hours later.

Buffy Summers, therefore, did not die. She did eventually agree to counselling about her Post Traumatic Stress Disorder problem, however.