by John Ringo
“I’ll try to stop about five hundred meters out and in as steady a hover as I can get with these wind conditions,” the pilot continued. “Try to get the sucker with the first shot.”
I used some parachute cord, colloquially 550 cord, to secure my vest to the helo. Then I used more to secure Bertha to my body. I put in a quick release knot on both so I could undo them.
“How’s the wind?”
“The way we’re coming in?” the pilot said. “From right to left more or less, about ten knots.”
“I’m not sure about how to finish it off. I can do a dust off onto the roof but…Can you keep your footing on that?”
“Hold on,” the pilot said. “Hey, girlie, there’s a phone back there. Hook the intercom into it.”
“How?” Shelbye asked.
The frog hadn’t gone anywhere. It was still mournfully calling for a mate. Must be the time of the season in whatever dimension they came from. Or maybe they were just like me and mating season was any season.
I had to think it was getting dried out up there. It wasn’t humid enough for a frog like that to appreciate direct sunlight. They preferred night-time and shade.Then I realized I was trying to equate normal frog behavior to a giant, acid spitting, regenerating Superfrog. Maybe it preferred the sunlight for the heat?
We got the phone hooked up and the pilot had Shelbye dial a number.
“Gary, Tom,” the pilot said.
“Hey, Tom. What’s up?”
I had no idea who Gary was.
“Boss loaned me to take care of a little problem your boss has at the moment,” the pilot, presumably named Tom said. “We’re up here over the Dome.”
“Thought that might be you. I’m inbound at your eight. Hoodoo onboard?”
“Roger. They want to know if they can do a dust-off on the roof.”
“It will support them. But, stand by, putting on my onboard. This is Bart Tocca, he’s one of the facility engineers. Bart, what about standing on the roof?”
“Can’t you just shoot it?” someone, presumably Bart, asked.
“I have to get to it physically and either put a fire grenade in its gut or cut its head off. Come to think of it, forget the problems of standing on that gas bag. They melt into acidic slime when they die. I just realized either of those could be bad.”
“Yeah, you make a major cut and you’re going to go for a several hundred foot drop,” Bart said. “And what kind of fire?”
“The kind that will be guaranteed to burn right through. I may be able to do the cut without cutting into the roof. But…” I thought about it and then realized there was something else to consider. “Oh, and, by the way, I need fifty yard line tickets to the first Saints game. You can get those, right? But I suppose that’s not important right now.”
Everyone on the connection laughed until a voice broke in.
“God damned right it’s not,” the voice said. “You bust my roof I’ll sue the crap out of you!”
“You want this thing off your roof or no? ’Cause there are three more wandering around the city and I can chase them.”
There was a long pause.
“Get that thing off my roof without a major hole and I’ll get you season God damned tickets to the fifty yard line,” the voice said.
“You want to after this is over, go and look at the big blob on the forty yard line of Isham and Newton. I’m pretty sure it’s still burning a hole in the ball field.”
“Isham and Newton? Why there?”
“Frog landed on their ball field.”
“Any casualties?” It wasn’t boss tone it was worried tone.
“A coach. No kids luckily.”
“Get this damned thing,” the man said. “And we need to finish this call. Fast.”
The Superfrog still looked content. “I’ve got an idea. I need NOLA PD or dome security or someone to clear the area on the shady side. When that’s done we’ll try to herd it off the roof and either to the ground or onto the side. Then we’ll take the shot, land and dispatch. Sound like a plan, Tom?”
“As long as this bird comes no closer than five hundred meters,” Tom said.
“We need to go back to intercom. Can whoever I’m talking to get the area clear? I don’t want civilians getting hurt when it comes down. Oh, and I’m going to have to put bullet holes in the fabric. That’s a must. So you need to clear the interior.”
“Got that,” the boss said. “That we can repair. Acid burns not so much.”
“Call us when the area is clear. Out,” Tom said. “Okay, we’re back on intercom.”
“These things regenerate fast. When we get it down, we need to be on it fast to take it all the way out. At short range, .45 will keep it down. Enough in the right place, anyway. So once it is out, yeah, I need you to drop us as close as you possibly can.”
“There’s a reason I got out of this shit,” the pilot said with a sigh.
* * *
It was about fifteen minutes later when the air-phone rang. The MCB was going nuts. They were even out hunting the things. So far only Team Bertha and Team MCB had a definite score up on the board. Ray and Milo had been chasing one and nearly run the van into a canal. Milo had nailed it from across the canal, anyway, only to see it sit back up and jump away.
“We’ve got the interior and most of the exterior cleared,” Boss voice said. “And, by the way, thank you.”
“Why?” I said, thinking about the shot.
“I just got ahold of my daughter. You the guy carrying ‘the biggest gun I’ve ever seen in my life, Dad’?”
“She a really level-headed brunette, five-two, plays field hockey?”
“No. Blonde. Bit of an airhead.”
“Oh, yeah, she did great,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“Thanks to you two. Now get that thing off my roof.”
“Okay, let’s go in for a shot approach. Every time these things have been dinged, they jump. So far enough up and back it can’t get us and I’ll shoot it. Try to drive it off the roof.”
“Hope it doesn’t spit,” the pilot said.
“Me too,” I said. “I owe somebody tickets.”
We approached from up and back and Tom came to a hover at five hundred meters distance.
We were practically right over it. The distance over ground was about ten meters. There were no ballistics as such. The bullet was both firing and falling straight down.
“Winds?” I asked.
“Picking up a bit,” the pilot said. “Hang on.”
The craft drifted a bit.
“Thirteen knots here,” he said.
“You’re good.”
“Yes, yes, I am.”
I spotted the big frog in the scope. It was massive at this range. I didn’t want to actually harm it. Just get it to hop. I aimed at its tail and fired.
The round missed and hit the roof a few inches behind it. But the wind of its passage and the supersonic crack must have spooked the thing. It hopped.
I tried the same thing. I was further away this time and it didn’t move. Then it turned and hopped back in the general direction it had come from. Shit.
I adjusted based on those two shots and tried again. That time I hit it in the leg. That caused it to hop, sort of sideways. And it started limping towards the side of the massive building.
A few more shots, one reload, and it crawled over the side into shade.
“Get us in position, Tom! Quick. Right over it.”
Tom slid the helo sideways like it was on rails. The guy really was amazing. Then he pivoted so I could get a shot in.
The frog was climbing quickly down the exterior of the building. The wound on its leg was already closed. Damn, these things regenerated like nobody’s business.
I lined up the shot and considered the ballistics. We were out from the dome, at an angle and further away.
The bullet went right through the sweet spot. Superfrog dropped off the side of the Superdome and did a Superimpact into the super parking
lot.
“Whooo!” Shelbye shouted.
“Get down us down. Fast.”
“I gotta drop you on a car.” The people might have been evacuated but this must be an employee parking lot. It was packed.
As we dropped down and I hit the thing again. I swear it was already starting to move.
Tom hovered directly over a car. Shelbye wasn’t tied in with paracord, and got out before I could. I undid the fast knots on my harness and on Bertha. I dropped Bertha on the floor of the chopper and jumped out.
I hit the roof of a new model Mercedes and rolled down onto the hood then onto the ground landing on my feet. I ran for the frog as fast as I could, charging up to it as it was starting to get to its feet. Shelbye was pumping .308 rounds into its head.
I pounded a whole magazine into its pith point, again. It dropped. Again. Reload.
Then I took Mo No Ken and, wincing at what would happen if I hit the acid sack, sliced into its head.
I got most of the way through and then sawed the rest off. Mo No Ken dug into the concrete of the walkway it was on and I nearly cried.
The frog began to deliquesce.
“That’s two, Milo!” I shouted.
I looked at the goop on my sword and swore. I wasn’t sure if I could wipe it down with my usual silk cloth or not. And I had to get it off before it fucked up my sword or dried.
“Fuck it,” I said, and wiped it with my remaining glove, hoping the stuff wasn’t poisonous.
Pro-tip if you ever have to deal with Superfrog.
Yeah. Yeah it is. And it penetrates Nomex flight gloves and skin. But it takes a while.
* * *
Milo had one up on the board and they were hot on the trail of another. With the one that Higgins got, that only left one more. All the teams were hot on its trail but the fucker kept moving. But my team had a helicopter.
Then Juliette called. She was just thrilled to get fifty yard line tickets but they’d gotten a call and there was one in a backyard in Central City on Josephine Street near the intersection with Clara. She was getting around to putting it out where MCB and Trevor could hear but, darn, she’d just broken a nail. It might be a minute or two.
“Head to Josephine. Near the corner of Josephine and Clara.”
“I’m not actually from around here,” Tom said. “Where?”
“I think I can figure it out,” Shelbye said. “It ain’t but right over that way,” she added, pointing.
“Turn to seven o’clock,” I said.
“Ain’t far,” she said.
Tom turned the helo and put the nose down. Shelbye leaned in and looked out forward.
“See that there canal?” she asked, pointing forward and down. “Slow down as you cross thet.”
“Got it,” the pilot said.
“Thinkin’ it’s over there,” she said. “Go slow round here…”
“There,” the pilot said, gesturing with his chin.
“Yeah,” I said, spotting the giant neon thing. At least this one wasn’t parked on a giant landmark in front of the whole city.
“What the hell is it doing?” Tom asked.
The frog had its rump in the air and its head down in some sort of hole. It seemed to have its tongue down in the hole like an ant-eater. A moment later something came out of the hole, stuck to the tongue and struggling. I could just get a flash of a red hat and it was gone.
“Heh,” Shelbye said, chortling. “It done found a gnome burrow.”
“Oh, now I’m conflicted,” I said. “I mean, killer frog terrorizes city, sure, go kill it. But it’s getting rid of a gnome infestation. Damn, to kill or not to kill, that is the question? Whether t’is the nobler path to allow gnomes to be consumed or follow the path of duty? Gah.”
“If Milo gets it we’re gonna have to split the pot,” Shelbye said.
“Oh, yeah, that,” I said.
I picked up Bertha off the floor.
“Let’s try the same thing,” I said as the frog started rooting around in the ground again. Seriously, gnomes. Apparently you can’t eat just one. “I’ll hit and drop it at height. Then we drop, hit it again. Then drop all the way down.”
I leaned out and sort of swayed.
“Oooo,” I said, my vision blurring.
“Don’t fall out!” Shelbye said, grabbing my harness.
“You okay?” Tom asked.
“I think the frog juice is kicking in,” I said, slurring. “I sort of got some on my hands on the last one.”
“You okay to make the shot?” Tom asked.
“I dunno,” I said. My vision was getting weird. “Pretty colors! Whoa! It’s got pretty colors! Okay, I’m good…I’m a Marine. I can do this…”
I lined up the shot and fired just as another gnome was pulled up from the burrow. It was getting sucked into the Superfrog’s mouth on the end of psychedelic pink tongue.
I hit the gnome.
Ever seen what happens when you hit a gnome with a fifty caliber round?
You can’t, really. Not unless you’ve got one of those stroboscopic cameras on it when you do in which case you’re a very very bad person.
But it was pretty much like that film of an apple getting shot. But…splashier.
“Oops,” I said. “Missed.”
“At least it was quick,” Tom said.
Well, the little dude was about to get eaten anyway. The frog was clearly confused by where its snack had gone. One second it was struggling on the sticky end of its tongue, about to enter its maw and the next second it was just a fine mist of blood.
It stuck its head back down the hole. Gnomes must be tasty as hell.
The next shot went through the back of its head and it dropped.
We dropped down. I put another one in. All the way down.
I tumbled out, much less graceful than my usual entry, and stumbled over to the super-frog. I pulled out my .45 and pulled the trigger. Oops. Didn’t reload. Chuckle. That’s funny. I pulled out a mag and looked at it wondering what it was.
“Let me handle this,” Shelbye said. She put a round of .308 through its skull.
“When’d you get out of the…” I looked at my fingers and worked them like I was counting. “Word. Thingy on top. Goes round…” I said, swinging my 1911 around in a circle. “What’s that thingy called?”
“Man you’re seriously stoned.”
“Pretty colors,” I said, reaching for the frog. “Feel the pretty colors…”
That’s about all I can remember. Well, okay, I remember a lot of stuff after that but I’m pretty sure the giant purple porcupines were just part of the trip. You never can tell in this business.
* * *
I swear this next part is true.
“I have to report what happened,” Doctor Ransom said, holding his pen over a form on a clipboard. “It’s a Federal requirement.”
The doctor had dealt with a lot of odd cases in his time in the Emergency Room but the…little person currently occupying the bed in the emergency room seemed to be a special case.
Paramedics responding to one of several incidents of temporary release of a mold toxin that caused brief hallucinatory periods, which only occurred under certain very rare weather conditions which New Orleans had briefly experienced and there’s no real danger and it’s passed go back to your normal lives, or possibly the giant frog attack that hundreds had witnessed, found the much-gang-tattooed little person, heavily bearded and bald, wearing only a pointed red cap and blue jeans, unconscious, lying in the middle of Josephine Street in a very distressed condition. Multiple contusions, lacerations and some sort of weird burn that appeared chemical.
His ID listed his name as “Lyfta Barmhärtigast” but he insisted his name was “Bun-Bun.”
“Doc,” Bun-Bun said in a squeaky voice, lifting his left arm to swear since his right was in a sling. “I swear on a stack of Bibles, as God is my witness, I’m just standing on the corner, mindin’ my own damn bidnitt when this giant fucking killer frog just drop
s out of the clear blue sky!”
“SOCMOB,” Doctor Ransom wrote. “GKF, CBS.”
CHAPTER 22
The Mob Rules
Seagulls churned in a squawking mass as some tourist threw them crackers, their wings a deep salmon from the setting sun. Couples walked hand in hand along the beach, shoulders and hips occasionally bumping in a pavane as old as humanity. Older men, the burning passion of youth long damped, sat on chairs with rods in holders, drinking beer and hoping to catch the big one. There’s always more fish in the sea.
The first sliver of the full moon was rising over Lake Pontchartrain.
The frog toxin turned out to be a leeetle more dangerous than I’d realized. I spent a few days tripping like Timothy Leary and hooked up to an IV drip before it finally cleared my system.
The good news was it gave me plenty of time to heal up my various hurts. My bicep was as healed up as it was going to get. And, well, the trip while occasionally bad was actually pretty cool. It’s not something I’d do voluntarily even if I was into drugs. But it wasn’t all bad. And the “bad trip” aspects were mostly sort of banal compared to my actual job. Giant carrots with teeth? Piffle.
Apparently a big neon parade balloon had been sucked up in the wind, and gotten stuck on top of the Superdome. Pretty crazy stuff. The other frogs had been moving fast through residential neighborhoods, so those were either hallucinations, explainable phenomena, or intimidated away. Special Agent in Charge Castro had been so pissed off at having to bully an entire field hockey team that he had personally gone to see Miss Odette about her hex gone wrong.
The old priestess had explained that her spell was not supposed to have been so strong, the frogs so big, and they should have melted back into the pool when their job was done, not rampaged and taken lives of folks not cursed! But the hoodoo, Agent Bill! There’s just so much more power building lately! Bad spirits everywhere! Even the weakest of hexes was raising the dead and making monsters bold!
Did Miss Odette know why?
No, Agent Bill, but something was hiding in the dark, making the hoodoo extra strong, and out of control. Summon a little thing, it turns big. A weak practitioner who would normally struggle to summon an imp would get a mighty Agaran shadow demon instead. It was a mystery, but she knew in her bones it would be worse on the full moon.
