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Mother Damnation [The Blessed and the Damned I]
by Janrae Frank, Phil Smith
75
Lareine continued his advance towards the retreating company, heedless of the
bullets that nicked his hide and shredded his evening wear. His black hair
fell out of its pompadour and hung messily about his face, which contorted
into an expression of incandescent rage. The Lemyari's fury burned as fiercely
as the flames that had consumed his home.
"Keep firing, you little shit-wipes!" roared Sergeant
Ramsden.
Two more Lemyari rose up from the rubble, scorched and battered. They were as
disheveled as their host, and though their anger could not possibly match his,
neither could their composure. They launched themselves at their attackers,
claws flashing in the firelight, heedless of the fusillade that flew towards
them. The first, a wild-haired and waif-thin
Lemyari female, tore her way through Watts and Sitch, ripping both their
throats open in an instant. Private Burke let out a scream that mixed terror
and anger in equal proportions as he saw the blood-soaked vampiress leap
towards him.
Only Sergeant Ramsden's order to fire snapped him out of it:
he emptied his magazine into her, sending entry wounds dancing up her belly,
over her chest and throat, and finally into her head. She fell, cut almost in
half by the salvo.
Screams of rage competed with bursts of gunfire to drown out the noise of the
crackling flames. The second Lemyari, nowhere near as successful a murderer as
his female companion, had the misfortune to choose Bill Ramsden as his first
victim. He plugged the vampire neatly in the head a split-
second after ordering his platoon to fight back. "Cheeky
Mother Damnation [The Blessed and the Damned I]
by Janrae Frank, Phil Smith
76
bastard!" He fired another shot into the recumbent Lemyari's temple before
aiming at Lareine and continuing to fire.
"Ruined! Quite possibly the most important event of the season; easily the
most important soirée
I would ever give, and you ruined it for me!
" howled Lord Lareine, his fingers splayed like the talons of an eagle. His
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secondary nails slid out, dripping with venom. He bounded forward, weaving to
avoid the increasingly heavy fire directed at him, focusing his willpower on
his attackers' perceptions, misdirecting their aim. A stray round creased his
cheekbone, but he did not pay it a moment's notice "It will take me years to
think of suitable punishments for you all."
"It's not working! Cease firing!" barked Captain Sinclair.
Despite Sinclair's order, bursts of rifle fire still ripped through the air.
Only the bellowing of Sergeant Ramsden silenced it. "The Captain damn well
gave an order!
Hold your fire!
"
The Lemyari, still shaking with rage, continued to stalk towards Captain
Sinclair. Despite his anger, a sadistic grin crept across his face. "An
officer, are we? But hardly a gentleman. Whatever shall I do with you?" He
gazed deep into Sinclair's eyes, focusing his influence. "For a start, I think
you should order your men to surrender to me..." He hardly seemed to notice
the corpulent form of Private Lodge moving into his way.
"You keep away from the captain, you big-toothed cunt!"
Splodge aimed his rifle directly at Lareine's head. The barrel weaved to and
fro uncertainly, Lareine sighed, rolled his eyes theatrically, and brought his
hand around in a graceful arc
Mother Damnation [The Blessed and the Damned I]
by Janrae Frank, Phil Smith
77
that took off half of Splodge's face. If the wound didn't kill him, the venom
certainly did. Private Lodge hit the ground, sending a spray of gunfire into
the air like a water-jet from a whale's blowhole.
The Lemyari returned his attention to Captain Sinclair. "I
do apologize," he purred. "The lower orders will insist on making a nuisance
of themselves, will they not? Now; where were we? Ah, yes. Surrender. Now."
His eyes burned like malignant stars; his gaze seared all those who caught it.
Sinclair felt the vampire tighten its grip on his will; any attempts to
protest were silenced at once. Unbidden, the order to surrender crept into his
mouth. In later months he would come to reflect on how close he came to giving
it. He drew on every last reserve of willpower to fight that urge; to steel
himself, look to his sergeant, and shout: "
AIM FOR THE
HEAD!
"
"What? No!" Prior to several dozen hollow-point rounds, the last thing to pass
through Lord Lareine's mind was a sudden rush of disbelief. How could
blood-cattle shake off his influence? His headless body crumpled to the
ground.
At the section regroup with Lance-Corporal Sloman and his men, Captain
Sinclair noticed Ramsden eyeing him.
"Is there a problem, Sergeant?" he asked as the platoon made their way toward
the rendezvous point.
"No, Sir. Just ... just wondering if you were all right, Sir."
"Never better, Sergeant. Why?"
"Well, it's just that, well, when we ceased firing, well..."
"You think I froze up?"
Mother Damnation [The Blessed and the Damned I]
by Janrae Frank, Phil Smith
78
"Not as such, Sir, no, it's just that, well, you had me worried for a bit
there, and "
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"Leech trick, Sergeant. It happens. He was interfering with the boys' aim; I
had to get him to focus on me."
"Yes, Sir."
Sinclair cursed silently as he noticed a scintilla of doubt still haunting his
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