Ambushed

The bar's din rumbled steadily as the patrons, both regulars and newcomers alike, reveled in their own personal celebrations. Bikers and their girlfriends played billiards, college students drank and laughed.

The dartboard was occupied by the Junkyard Jacks, Solo Stryker and Psycho13. One of the bikers watched them play, smirking as he watched the tan-hooded young man repeatedly strike the upper right of the target.

"Got one close to the bullseye," he growled, "Nice tight grouping, too."

"Yeah, now if I could just aim better," Levi replied as he grabbed the darts and handed them to Daren.

"Hey!" Jared shouted to the bartender from the table they were using, "We're on the news! Turn it up!"

"…And here we are, at the scene of gangland violence brought to a swift end by the coordinated efforts of the Angel Falls police and a small group of meta humans," the young female newscaster, Sarah Greenfield, announced to the camera.

"They make it sound like we planned that shit…" James grumbled.

"Here we are speaking with, ah…" she brought the microphone to Psycho13, who just turned and shook his head at her and she moved on to Jared Simms.

"Hi, I'm J-Draven Erickson," he replied, smoothing his red trench coat and pulling his brown hair out of his eyes, "Ah… We came across the Sixth Street Strikers a little over a year ago and… Have been trying to assist a couple of their dens with their transition from being a criminal element and… Well… The rest of the gang didn't like that idea…"

"That was some quick thinking," Mattock growled over his beer.

"Eh, we talked about it as we headed over in James's truck," Jared murmured.

"What are you calling yourselves?" the reporter asked.

"Ah, we're going by the Junkyard Jacks for now…" Draven on the television replied with a sly grin, "We're affordable protectors, you know?"

"You used the name I came up with!" Levi cheered as Solo took a shot, "Oh, how the fuck do you get a bullseye now!?"

"Practice," Daren replied with a smirk and proceeded to throw a dart into the black border around the target, "Damn it!"

"We'll be sorting this whole incident out with the gang members who have thus far been compliant," Officer Fargo's voice came up as the scene shifted to scenes of Strikers being rounded up by the police, "But this is certainly a major blow to the gang. We've got a lot of their footsoldiers, some of their lieutenants… We'll be some time prosecuting these thugs and malcontents, but the streets are definitely a little safer."

"That was you guys?" the biker watching the dart game asked.

"Yeah," Levi replied as Daren handed him the darts, "It's a little more complicated than a news blurb can say, but we helped some of those kids."

They partied with the bar-goers for the night, making friends with the bikers, Biff was the one watching the dart game, and two of the pool players were Jordan and Hardshank. They called themselves the Rowdy Knights and had forty-five members in their posse.

The local regulars and the college students got into the rhythm, too. The music was kicked into high gear and everybody in the dive partied hard into the night.

When closing time came around, even the more hardcore college students, trying to prove themselves to their fraternity brothers, were feeling the effects of the alcohol they'd consumed. Everybody stumbled out to into the wee hours of the morning to search for taxi cabs to take themselves home. Draven found himself a cute girl to go home with and the others in the group were left to fend for themselves. They were fine with that, though.

"I think… I think we can count on Rusty to get us home…" James murmured as he dragged Daren into the parking lot with one of his friend's arms draped over his shoulders, "Jeez, Solo, you need to learn to pace yourself."

"Hey, that-sh Rick guy… He wash show cull… He bought me SHAHTZ!"

"He was trying to drink you under the table," Levi commented, walking calmly beside them, unhindered by alcohol since he didn't drink, "Some kind of 'I beat a superman at drinking!' thing."

"But he DIDN'T!" Daren shouted happily before slumping and whispering, "He… Didn't…"

Rusty was never hard to find in a parking lot. He looked positively misshapen and broken among all of the MUCH more modern-looking vehicles. He looked like an old truck from out of the Fifties, only with little horns and spikes protruding from various places.

"You really need to trim those things," Levi explained as he looked them over.

The truck was doubly easy to find because of the monstrous motorcycle sitting next to it. Matt McGinty's "Christine" had been doing wonders helping the former mechanic adjust to his new life as a vehicle.

"Hm?" a voice rumbled from under the hood of the truck, "Oh! Hey guys. What's happening?"

"Hey, Rusty. How'd you like chilling with my little girl?" Matt asked as he approached his bike.

"Great, great… She tells me I should probably enjoy the quiet moments.

"We're all drunk and need to head home," James explained, "Except Levi… So we're putting him in the driver seat, okay?"

"Yeah-yeah," the demonic machine fired up, producing no exhaust despite the roar of its infernal engine, "Oh-YEAH! I am ready to rock! Hey… Uh… What are you gonna do about them?"

"About what?" James asked.

The truck pulled back and spun to shine its lights on a dark space in the back of the lot. Suddenly, a number of women in tight latex outfits and trench coats were highlighted. They reached up to cover their eyes from the blinding light, but it did little to hide their automatic weapons and swastika symbols emblazoned on their chests.

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" Levi shouted, shaking angrily.

The women of the Fourth Reich leveled their weapons on the young men and one stepped forward with her hand raised. Even in James's inebriated mind, her freckled face looked a little familiar.

"You probably thought you could stand against us," the leader announced, "You have repeatedly stood in the way of our endeavors, you have sabotaged our efforts, but now we shall reclaim our pride and your corpses will serve as a reminder to all you meta humans of what happens when you stand in the way of true superiority!"

"What?" Daren burped into James's shoulder, "I'm… I'm too drunk to care about what she just said… And I think I'm about to throw up…"

"Then spew," Matt growled as he grabbed the boys by their arms and tossed them into the back of the truck, "Get 'em outta here, Rusty!"

The truck's wheels spun and gravel was thrown hard into the soldiers, causing them to once again break form and cover their faces. Matt dove behind the cover of one of the cars and pulled his pistol from the back of his waistband. Looking up, he saw Levi diving behind another vehicle and drawing a pair of hunting knives.

"Get out of here!" he shouted before a staccato of gunfire drowned him out.

"I'm not leaving you here, Matt!"

"I said GO! Go, God damn it, GO!" Matt shouted, not sure if the younger could hear him.

"Probably can't," he grumbled as he checked the brass in his pistol and drew his katana from his hip, "All that heavy metal blaring in his ears all the time…"

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" Psycho13 shouted in the split second it took for the firing to stop and soldiers to switch shooters to resume firing.

Bullets pierced the thin young man's flesh, but he was beyond caring. Knives drawn, adrenaline rushing in his ears, and his voice howling like a madman, he drove the blades into the nearest foe. An assault rifle clattered to the ground and the female terrorist screamed in surprise. Her elbow had been skewered, severing tendons and causing her hand to open suddenly from the shock. She could slowly close her hand again, but that wasn't fast enough to keep her legs from getting swept out from underneath her.

The next target had the back of her knee cut and she found herself shoulder tackled into the next woman down the line. This would have continued had not a metal arm suddenly lashed out of the darkness and cuffed him back into the lot. Mattock dragged his prone form behind a vehicle and fired a few rounds into the soldiers before they knew what was happening. Six bodies dropped, unmoving, to the ground, the rounds guided to their heads by the magic of the gun and the calm skill of its wielder.

"You fool!" the leader of the Reich troops shouted, "You think this will save you!? My new soldiers are the supreme example of the new vision of the Fourth Reich, under MY direction!"

She stepped into the light of the street lamps and two heavily armored troops stepped out of the darkness to flank her. Resting a hand on her hip, she pointed at the vehicle behind which Mattock and Psycho13 hid. The armored woman on her right raised her arm and a wrist-mounted submachine gun deployed before barking fire into the vehicle.

"Powered armor, you fools!" Anna Holt screamed, "And this is just the beginning! We'll be bolstering our ranks with machines, and cyborgs, and-!"

She stopped as the motorcycle suddenly roared and leaped across the lot to its creator. In a smooth motion, Mattock threw Psycho13's body across the seat and yanked one of the sickle "Reaper Toys" off the manifold. Spinning, he hurled the weapon at one of the armored women, striking her in the chest.

A red blast erupted from the contact and the two armored soldiers and the new Standartenfuhrer were thrown to the ground. The struck woman was dead, a large hole gashed into her chest plate. The other was having trouble standing and Holt was gasping for breath.

As the motorcycle sped away, Mattock stood back in view of the other soldiers. They drew their weapons again and proceeded to fire, only the brazen man was faster than they expected. His blade moved like a blur, flashing steel and glinting light. Sparks flew and bodies dropped before his pistol barked fire back at the line of soldiers, finally scattering them behind cover.

It was almost silence that followed. The thunder of the weapons faded, the Fourth Reich troops whispered to each other about what their next tactics would be and Mattock's breaths came haggard, but even. Then there was applause.

A slow clap sounded from deeper in the darkness and slowly drew closer to the scene. Mattock slid the clip out of the pistol and loaded another. He knew who the next challenge was, he recognized the scent wafting through the air.

"I'd put one between your eyes, Ilsa Hauppman," he growled, "But I bet a thickhead like you could take it…"

The leader of the Fourth Reich stepped into the light, a self-satisfied smirk twisting her lips into almost a sneer. She wasn't wearing a uniform, just a trench coat that hid her features.

Mattock knew what that meant. He'd seen her massive form before and had heard about her shape shifting ability from the news about the trial. She wasn't about to destroy one of her favorite outfits in her transformation.

The blonde woman looked down at the coughing Anna Holt and clucked her tongue at her. The freckled blonde eventually rolled over, a whining sound signaling that she apparently had sampled some of the technology that she held in high esteem. Mattock couldn't be sure, but it looked to be some form of exo-skeletal suit.

"I would recommend you work on your tactical training," Hauppman laughed at the retreating woman, "I won't tolerate such failures for long, but at least your toys work."

She looked down at the broken body at her feet and gave a short bark of a laugh.

"Mostly," she quipped before stepping over the corpse and walking toward Mattock.

There was an odd sway to her hips as she moved. Matt wasn't sure, but he could almost swear the woman was a little intoxicated. It would explain her unusual behavior toward her subordinate and her calm approach to the situation.

"You, my short, unwashed dog, have earned a rare honor," she explained, her German accent coming through thickly along with her odd attitude, "I'm going to kill you myself. No more toying around… I'm just going…"

Her breasts swelled against the interior of her trench coat…

"…To grab you…"

Her biceps bulged, splitting the seams of her coat's sleeves…

"…And crush you…"

She got taller. She got bigger. She now stood a few feet from him and in a few seconds time, Ilsa Hauppman towered overhead. Her body was a mass of muscle, covered barely by the remains of her torn trench coat and a thin bikini she seemed to prefer to wear for these occasions.

Mattock slid the pistol into the back of his waistband again and brought his katana blade up. Laughing, Genocide lashed out one of her massive arms in an attempt to bat the little man against one of the vehicles like a cat playing with a mouse.

Matt ducked and rolled away from the swing, narrowly avoiding getting kicked, too. When he was back to his feet, he was poised to strike. The big woman was moving slow and deliberate, giving him an opening and he drove the point home.

There were a few seconds of silence that followed. The soldiers watched in awe as they noticed something shine on the back of their Reichsfuhrer. Then a trickle of red blood slowly dribbled down her skin underneath it.

With a roar, Mattock wrenched his blade free of the big woman's body, slashing the weapon to the side in an attempt to sever arteries, organs and whatever else he could on the way out. It was a strike that would have disemboweled any normal person. It made a gaping wound on the ogress Genocide had become, which wasn't insignificant, but it certainly wasn't going to stop her.

Worst of all, he noted, he missed the main artery he'd been aiming for. The Mesenteric Artery. He should have aimed more center mass, but perhaps his own inebriation had caused his aim to waver. His Blade, despite its connection to him, did not correct his aim the way his pistol did.

Blood flowed from the large woman's wound and she doubled over in pain. Ilsa Hauppman didn't know why, but it felt like her blood was on fire. She was seeing double for a brief moment and could feel something wet spilling all over her knee as she braced herself against the ground. Howling with rage, she looked down and saw the wound torn into her slowly closing. He had pierced her armored skin. He had harmed her! In front of her troops! He had made her seem fallible!

He'd also stayed too close. In one smooth motion, Mattock had brought he blade up in a defensive position, bracing it with his left arm and planting his feet into the gravel of the lot. Still, he knew his chance was blown. There was nothing left to do but take this next hit.

Ilsa lashed out with a backhand. She didn't care that her strike was mostly absorbed by the sword. Mattock was still sent flying into the distance, into the darkness, away from her. That was all she cared about now. No matter what he'd done, she had hurt him. She had hurt him much worse than he could possibly have hurt her.

"Reichsfuhrer!" the surviving power armored soldier shouted as she rushed to help her, "Are you alright?"

"Ja," Ilsa replied, gripping the smaller woman's shoulder and briefly considering crushing it.

She decided against the idea as she realized she was truly being supported by the woman. She was a soldier doing her duty, not some ambitious worm trying to cut her down. The fire receded from her blood and the wound in her belly started to close faster. It wouldn't be long before she was back to full strength. The young warrior had harmed her, but he lacked the power to truly kill her. She grinned with the realization that their next encounter would result in his death.

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Mattock didn't know how far he had been launched. He just knew that he was angling to land on his feet so he could tuck and roll. He felt his grip on his sword tighten as the wind rushed by his ears. He saw the street come up to meet him and he braced for the impact.

He made contact and immediately commenced to rolling. Once again, he brought his sword up to absorb the impact, this time of the ground. There was a terrific clatter as he felt his body slide across the pavement before finally rolling.

He tumbled for a distance. Sometimes he rolled, other times he skidded across the ground. He knew his skin was getting horribly rashed from the drag. Dimly, he figured that if it had been Cedric doing this, he'd actually be having fun. The big man saw all sorts of death-defying as entertainment.

Finally he came to a stop. Or rather, his back slamming into a dumpster stopped him. He still had enough momentum to move the big metal box and it turned to partially block the alley he'd landed in. He also felt his ribs crack. He figured hairline fractures at least, possibly even cracking his shoulder blade and pinching a nerve. With the way his body lanced fire through his spine, he'd have almost thought he was paralyzed.

But he could still move, and Hauppman was probably hot on his trail. He didn't have the luxury of being able to sit around for a few minutes to heal up. He also wasn't Psycho13, so he couldn't pull himself back together in that time. Despite a few enchantments that made him inhumanly faster at times (usually only in times of extreme stress), he wasn't much different from the average human being.

Well… The average human being that spent every day since he turned four absorbing the skills it would take to be a warrior. The average human being wasn't built like a small grizzly bear, either. He was a tough young man. He didn't like to brag, but he was one of the toughest people he knew.

Mattock had to draw on that toughness to survive the night. He could already picture the soldiers clamoring to get him now. He'd bloodied their leader. He'd wounded her pride. She would definitely want to make sure he was dead.

With a grunt, he pushed off the ground and lurched into the nearest wall. He drew the pistol from his waistband. Despite the tumble, it was still in firing condition. He was lucky it hadn't blasted him in the ass.

McGinty could taste blood and felt vomit was welling up from his belly. He wasn't going to waste time hurling in the street right now, though. He swallowed the fluid back down and ignored the burning sensation in his esophagus as he pushed himself deeper into the alley and tried to find his way through the city. He didn't even know where he was anymore, which way was home, or if he would even be able to find a bus stop.

He emerged from the alley to a dark street. There were lights, but on a dark night like this, only the area directly beneath each one was lit. He saw a bus stop in the distance. He didn't know if he would be fortunate enough to catch a bus as he got there, but getting there was a goal.

Matt pushed himself forward, one step at a time. He avoided the light, snipers would get a clear shot.

Each step brought him closer to the bus stop, brought him closer to some tenuous grasp of civilization in this nightmarish morning.

He stopped. This wasn't going to work. What was he thinking?

His thoughts weren't clear. He was moving like an animal on instinct. The bus stop wouldn't save him. Even if it were that easy, the Fourth Reich weren't about to let some civilian casualties get in the way of them and the vengeance of their leader. He needed a real plan.

Unfortunately for the blonde warrior, he didn't have time for that. He heard a sound of rushing air and something landing behind him. Something that landed first one foot, then another. It was over. They'd arrived. They'd found him.

Shaking his head, Matt brought his pistol to bear, aiming it toward where he'd heard the noise. He stepped into the light. If he was going to die, he wanted them to see that even now, even in the end, he wasn't afraid.

"Well, you got me," he growled and tried to ignore the fire in his lungs from his damaged ribs, "Step into the light and face me, demon."

He could see the silhouette. Something fluttered, like Hauppman's trench coat. The form was definitely feminine and she was approaching slowly.

He wasn't prepared for what stepped into the light with him. The gray, form-fitting uniform and hammer-and-sickle insignia were unmistakable, but Mattock wasn't looking at that. The blue eyes of Olga Yezhov gazed over his pistol's sights and into his own eyes.

Those blue eyes. Beautiful sapphire rings, intensely warm despite the cold the color was associated with. He could see her gaze into his own green eyes, trying to gaze into his soul and find some glimmer of his intent.

Mattock must have been quite the sight in the light. His skin torn and bleeding, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. Still, he stayed focused on her, his pistol still leveled smoothly on her with practiced precision. She wondered briefly at the sort of man standing before her, his posture unwavering despite his evident injury.

She had been flying patrol when she heard gunfire. Believing it was gang activity, she had been surprised to arrive in time to witness him fighting the murderous Genocide in her titanic form. When she batted him aside like a ragdoll in retaliation, she had to make a decision. She could either try to engage the troops and their wounded leader, or try to save his life. Her only regret was that she had hesitated in her decision to rescue the brave man.

"Are… Are you alright?" she asked as she stepped closer.

"I…" Matt growled, suddenly feeling very tired, "I think... I think I'm going to… Pass out…"

He finally lowered the pistol and swayed on his feet. The gray-clad heroine closed the distance between them and caught him before he fell. His head drooped to her shoulder and a low groan rumbled in his throat.

"Do not worry," she whispered as she picked him up, disregarding the sound of the pistol clattering to the ground, "I will take you some place safe…"

As she took to the sky with her new burden, she noticed dimly that he still clutched his sword in a white-knuckled grip. He was certainly a peculiar warrior, and the fact that he was an enemy of Ilsa Hauppman, in such a way she was willing to come personally to make an attempt on his life, was intriguing. She had many questions for him.

She just hoped he would be alright.

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Matt awoke with a start. He immediately regretted it as he felt fire in his lungs again. However, he also felt something tight around his chest. Looking down, he saw that his upper torso had been heavily bandaged. So had his limbs wherever he'd suffered road rash. The bandaging didn't look professional, wrapped repeatedly about his arms as opposed to single patches held down with tape, but at least whoever had done it had cleaned the wounds first. He didn't feel terribly sore and the skin didn't look red.

Looking around, he saw he wasn't in a hospital room, but a bedroom. His sword wasn't nearby. Mattock closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

He could feel her. Outside. Christine. She was out in the parking lot of the building. He could see the word "Yoyodyne" written on a nearby sign. She knew he was inside, she just wasn't certain where.

"It's okay," he rasped, "I think… I think I'm alright…"

The door to the room opened with a light knock and he looked up to see the face of Olga Yezhov poking in to check on him. He waved with the arm that didn't hurt as much to move and she favored him with a warm smile.

"You are awake," she said happily.

"Yes," he replied, "Thank you."

"I have questions," the tall, muscular woman said as she walked over and looked at his bandages, "Are they too tight? I… It has been a long time, since… Since I had to help someone… Like this…"

"I'm just fine, thank you," he again replied simply.

"You should rest," Olga stated happily as she patted him on the head and gently pushed him back down to the mattress, "We can talk later. Bur first… May I have your name?"

"Mattock," he replied as he closed his eyes again, "Mattock McGinty."

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This was a fantastic story I have been working with the author for some time: Soviet Superwoman finally meeting up with the Junkyard Jacks! If you aren't familiar with them or his works please go to his page now and read a selection of his stories. I promise his Tarantino-esque conversations and dynamic action scenes with leave you wanting more.

This stunning piece of art was provided by the amazing who works fast and has amazing prices! Just look at the quality of that image!

Mattock and the other Jacks, as well as the story, are the creative property of

Soviet Superwoman, Genocide and the 4th Reich are all my creations and property.

This story takes place in