Deathstalker 04 - Deathstalker Honor

was still trying to work out what the hell to do. From what he’d seen of the Mission so far, it was going to be hell to defend. Wooden walls, wooden buildings, wooden roof. The constant rain would help to suppress fires, but if the Hadenmen had access to the right accelerants, they could set fires no rain would be able to put out. Maybe that was what they’d gone to get. The lepers seemed willing enough to fight, but they were still basically only invalid civilians with limited training. One on one they wouldn’t stand a chance.
    The augmented men were designed and constructed to be efficient, merciless killers. They had internal armor, steelmesh under their skin, servomotors in their muscles, inhuman speed, and built-in disrupters. It was a wonder that the Mission hadn’t fallen already. But then, a man always fought hardest when defending his home. And when he knew there was nowhere else to go. Owen got to his feet. Hazel was right. The place stank of death. He walked slowly over to the door, still too restless to sleep. An impulse made him pull his cloak around him, and bring his hood well forward so the shadow hid his face. Perhaps if he walked among the lepers as one of them, they would speak freely in front of him, and he could learn more of the truth of the situation. He needed the truth. He couldn’t make plans in the dark.
    He made his way slowly through the narrow streets and alleys of the Mission. Despite the dark and the late hour, there were people everywhere. It seemed Owen wasn’t the only one who couldn’t sleep. He moved unhurriedly along, going nowhere in particular, being as careful as everyone else not to bump into
    anyone. The never ending rain drummed loudly on the wooden roof overhead. Indoors, you learned to tune out the sound, but now it was like an endless drumroll, foreshadowing the action to come. Owen found himself looking out over the compound, the only large open space inside the Mission. Torches blazed at regular intervals, casting pools of gold and amber light, surrounded by shifting shadows. People stood or sat in small groups—eating, drinking, preparing weapons, or just talking quietly. No one noticed one more cloaked and hooded figure as Owen moved to join the crowd.
    He found Sister Marion and another Sister of Glory holding an impromptu class on the best ways to set booby-traps and pitfalls for use in case the Hadenmen ever got past the outer wall. The two Sisters passed a bottle of the local wine back and forth as they lectured the attentive group before them. Sister Kathleen looked more like what Owen thought of as a nun, in sweeping black robes and traditional starched wimple, but she too wore a sword on one hip and a disrupter on the other. She was a strapping woman of average height, with a man’s large, bony hands. She all but crackled with nervous energy, stalking back and forth like a trapped animal, her hand stabbing out to point at her audience when she wanted to emphasize something. She had the word love tattooed on both sets of knuckles. She had a long, horsey face, a wide mouth full of protruding teeth, and a voice like an angel. Owen could have listened to her for hours. Sister Marion stood beside her like a ghastly scarecrow, interjecting the odd word or comment whenever she felt the need.
    “Caltrops,” said Sister Kathleen cheerfully, holding up two nails twisted together. “However you drop them, they always land point up. And even a Hadenman won’t get far with three inches of steel rammed through the sole of his foot. Don’t forget to dip the points in fresh dung before you drop them; that’ll make the wounds fester. Every little bit helps. Now, you’ve all seen the deadfalls we’ve arranged.
    Memorize where the triggers are so you won’t set one off accidentally. Same with the spiked pits and the land mines we’ve improvised. And don’t forget: never hit a Hadenman when he’s down; put the boot in, it’s safer. And if you’re down, go for his hamstrings and cripple the bastard. A Hadenman may have the edge in strength and speed, but no one’s ever matched a human for sheer dirty fighting.”
    “Don’t forget the nooses,” said Sister Marion.
    “I was getting to the nooses!”
    “A dangling noose inside the doorway of a darkened room can take out even the most experienced warrior.”
    “I was going to tell them that!”
    “Of course you were, dear. You carry on. Don’t mind me.”
    “Thank you.”
    “And if the noose