In Love's Defense - Part 5
Title: In Love’s Defense
Spoilers: Takes place after ep 101 (8x09) soon after Pepa and Silvia have announced their engagement.
Rating: A hard R for some fairly graphic violence, lots of gunplay, lots of swearing, lots of danger!
Pairing: Pepa/Silvia (Spanish women with guns = hotness!)
Summary: As Pepa and Silvia look forward to their upcoming marriage, the precinct becomes aware of a lead on the Italian mafia, but at what cost?
A/N: The story and characters are not mine - wish they were! This is a longer chapter with lots of the aforementioned action - hope no one minds! To raven_bard - thanks for all your enthusiastic feedback! You make the best cheerleader! Sorry ‘bout all the cliffhangers I’ve been leaving folks with, but I’m taking hints from raven_bard - so throw cookies at her! [grins] And a big thanks to lysachan for providing this story with a tag on the pepa_silvia community - I'm so proud to be a PepSi fan!
[ Part 1] [ Part 2] [ Part 3] [ Part 4]
“Mierda!” Paco swore, the piercing sound of the gunfire deafening him. He crouched behind the stack of wooden boxes feeling the bullets whizzing by, mere inches over his head. Through eyes that squinted to see through the chaos that surrounded him, he saw the delivery man take multiple hits, the blood spurting a ghastly crimson shower from his chest cavity. The body jerked spasmodically with the impact, almost comically like a drunken puppet, coming to land at Paco’s feet.
Though the inspector was horrified, his mind still worked mechanically, trained as it had in the police academy. He knew he couldn’t stay where he was. The boxes made of plain timber provided scant cover that even .22 rounds could pierce, let alone the large caliber rounds that were being fired.
“Paco!” His head jerked around at the mention of his name, startling him. He saw Don Lorenzo a few meters away crouched behind a metal shipping container, motioning frantically with his free hand. “Wait until they reload, then go! I’ll cover you!”
The large man waited until what seemed like a small eternity, his ears waiting for the break in the gunfire. He coiled his legs and launched into a run at the first hint of silence, automatically raising his gun and firing upwards towards the second floor railings where he knew the gunmen were. Suddenly everything was in slow motion - the mafia henchmen popping up like macabre jack-in-the-boxes with an assortment of rifles, pistols and automatic machine guns, seeing them duck under the cover fire that was being provided, but most of all, witnessing their smug, self-satisfied expressions. Because they’d pulled a fast one on the San Antonio precinct. Because they were taking part in trying to kill him and his family.
Paco watched almost dispassionately as one of his bullets struck home, hitting a mafioso in the neck as he dropped immediately. And then he was suddenly beside Don Lorenzo under sufficient cover, breathing raggedly.
“Don Lorenzo, there’s got to be about 30 of them, maybe more! I can tell by the amount of firepower they’ve got! Automatic weapons, rifles, who knows what else!”
The commissioner keyed his mike and yelled into his radio. “Base, Tango 3, Tango 4, we need backup immediately! Repeat -” He was cut off as another barrage of bullets whined over his head. “Joder!” He ripped his earpiece off. “We can’t communicate, it’s useless! All I’m getting is static!”
Paco quickly reloaded his gun, snapping the clip home. “Vale! I’ll keep trying anyway! Until they get here, we’re just going to have to hold tight! From what I could see, they’re not wearing any vests or armor. So we might have a chance if we can hold them off!”
He got a terse nod from Don Lorenzo. They two men crouched back to back, their guns at the ready.
As Paco aimed his smoking weapon in front of him, his eyes and ears sought out any movement, any threat that was not one of his own people. But his mind still kept babbling, praying to anyone or anything that would listen. Dear God, take my life if you must at this moment! Just let my family get out of this alive!
___
Pepa heard Silvia grumble a bit behind her as they fanned out, taking the right flank. And for good reason. She knew as well as her partner did that the group was forced to spread out more than they were comfortable with in order to complete their sweep. But it was the task they were assigned.
“Nothing so far, Montoya.” Pepa spoke into her mike. Her forearm muscles were rigid with holding her Walther P22 in front of her in an offensive position, sharp brown eyes taking in everything as they moved over the floor. “How about you?”
“What do the Americans say?” His affable voice resonated in her right ear. “Dead as a doornail.”
“Hey.” Pepa felt Silvia’s soft touch on her shoulder, stopping her in her tracks. “Why don’t we head back towards the front and regroup before searching the rest of the floor? We’ll go slower but have more safety in numbers.”
“I hear you, princessa.” The brunette assented, glancing back at her fiancé’s serious features. “We’re getting too isolated for my liking.”
The agent heard a telltale click of a rifle being cocked somewhere above her. Somehow, she knew that the sound was out of place, that it didn’t come from a friendly source. Her muscles tensed, ready to spring.
Three things happened at once. Paco’s warning echoed throughout the space. Pepa reacted instinctively, pushing Silvia behind her and spinning to tackle her to the ground behind a load of packing crates. And all hell broke loose.
___
“Son of a bitch!” Curtis bellowed as he racked his shotgun again, having missed his intended target. He and Kike had almost gotten to one of the metal staircases that led up to the second floor offices when they’d seen several figures appear from the shadows above, forcing them to dive for cover just in time.
“Kike!” Curtis shouted his partner’s name. The redhead focused eyes on him that were rounded with fear. “Cover me! I’ll get this son of puta if it’s the last thing I do!”
“Curtis, no!” Kike reached out to grab Curtis’ belt, his fingers grasping only empty air. Flashbacks of the agent being struck by multiple rounds assaulted his memory, as he could only watch, powerless to help his friend.
The curly-haired agent paid no heed as he recklessly stepped forward from behind his defensive position and fired at a mafioso only a yard in front of him. This time his target was hit square in the stomach, the blowback flinging the body against the wall to slump in a bloody heap on the floor. Curtis’ eyes widened as he glanced up and saw two more men sighting him in their scopes, about to fire. Mierda! They’ll be no coming back from the dead this time! he berated himself for his stupidity as he saw their fingers tense to squeeze the trigger. He felt the air abruptly leave his lungs as he was pulled back and forcibly shoved against a shipping container, Kike’s hand firmly grasping a fistful of his leather jacket.
“Curtis, if you try and pull a Bruce Willis stunt again, I’ll kick your ass!” Kike sputtered furiously into his partner’s face, spraying him with spittle.
“Vale, vale!” Curtis raised his free hand in supplication when he saw the anxiety in the pale blue eyes that were still shooting daggers at him. He pulled Kike to him as they both ducked under another volley of bullets. “But if we don’t defend ourselves, we won’t have any asses left! If we hold this position, we can at least keep some of these bastards from getting down on this floor!”
“Fine!” Kike snapped as he readied his shotgun. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Only we can still argue in the middle of a gunfight! “But wait for me to get into position before you go in there all loco again!”
“Vale. Ready?”
At Kike’s tense nod, they waited for another lull and emerged into the line of fire, their shotguns going off simultaneously. Two more men fell, but the agents had little time to celebrate as they retreated under shelter again.
Curtis blinked away the nervous sweat that was streaming down his face, stinging his eyes. “I’ll bet my cajones that if we keep this up, we might actually get out of here!”
Kike gave him a tiny, amused smile as he cocked his shotgun again. He took a deep breath, waiting, watching for the next respite in the deadly fire that surrounded them all.
___
Sara put a hand to her mouth to stifle her scream as a special forces agent was hit in the vest and collapsed three meters in front of her. She felt Aitor move up from his position beside her, breaking his cover and firing rapidly.
“Dammit! That asshole got away!” Her lover cursed as he dropped back down beside her, quickly expending his empty clip and reaching for another one, only to find that he was out of ammunition.
Sara wasn’t sure what scared her more - being caught in the middle of a firefight that threatened everyone she loved or the fury she saw blazing in Aitor’s eyes. She’d never seen him so pissed off. She followed his gaze as he peered around the corner of the crate they were pressed against, eyeing the fallen agent’s semiautomatic rifle.
“Aitor, no! Don’t!” she cried, shaking her head vehemently. “It’s too far!”
“And if I don’t, we’ll die here!” He spit out, the intensity of his gaze almost making her flinch. He felt her cup her face in sweaty palms before kissing her forcefully, and she could only feel compelled to return it with just as much heated fervor. They parted, breathing heavily, unevenly. “Sara, listen to me. I’d rather protect you and die here for you than live without you. No matter what anyone says.”
“Aitor…” she trailed off, her eyes filling with tears as she was once again reminded that she was torn unfaithfully between two men.
“Let me do it, Sara. Let me prove myself to you.”
And before she could protest again, Aitor was gone. She dared to look around the corner again as he slid over to the fallen man, trying valiantly to untangle the strap of the rifle from the dead weight of the unconscious agent’s body. He finally managed to do so and swing the rifle into position when the high pitched whine of a ricochet echoed nearby. The young constable fell to the ground, howling in pain as he clutched his left calf.
“Aitor!” On instinct, Sara moved to reach him but was forced to pull back, bullets hissing through the air where her head had just been. The girl fell to the floor in a fetal position, trying to make herself as small as possible. She clamped her hands tightly over her ears, constant tears dampening her cheeks and splashing on the cold concrete below her.
___
“Dios!” Povedilla stuck his tongue out and blew through his lips an exasperated breath, the sputter from his raspberry effect making him smile in spite of his extreme boredom. The agent hated pulling duty in the surveillance van. It was too cramped and claustrophobic in a vehicle jam packed full of electronic equipment, that was overheated in the summer and freezing cold in the winter. This tended to cause the agent’s thick glasses to fog up, putting him in a foul mood. On top of that were the hours and hours of the mind-numbingly dull task of observing, quite frankly, not much.
The surveillance van was set up with several monitors tuned into the camera feed from the convoy of trucks that the agents had driven in, as well as the portable camera Paco had on him. Since the agents had just entered the building, Povedilla mainly had to focus on Paco’s screen and keep track of his radio communications.
“Vale, I’ve checked in.” Povedilla muttered out loud to himself, a habit he’d had since childhood, which also happened to drive Rita crazy. “Tango 3, Tango 3 is here is doing…nothing. Nada! Why do I have to miss all the action this time?”
He drummed restless fingers on his knee and with his other hand tugged at the bulletproof vest which was hot, itchy and felt like was choking him. “And to top it all off, I’ve got to wear this stupid thing and I’m not remotely even near any danger!”
Povedilla’s attention was briefly diverted to Paco’s monitor as black and white image bounced erratically with the investigator’s movement. He paused, listening in to Paco telling the delivery man to freeze. “Huh, why only one worker in the whole warehouse?”
The agent shrugged nonchalantly and picked up a small bag of contraband pretzels he had snuck into the van and noisily munched on a handful. He was well aware that he was breaking a policy of having no food in the van, but he couldn’t help in this indulgence since dinner was a long way off. Everyone breaks this dumb rule anyway! You can’t do surveillance on an empty stomach! Unbeknownst to him, Povedilla’s crunching of the salty snack was drowning out what was becoming an increasingly tense conversation on Paco’s end.
Povedilla sighed annoyingly, as he crumpled the now empty bag and stuffed it in his pocket. “Where the hell’s my water bottle?” He looked and saw it in the holder in the center console between the two front seats. Grumbling to himself, he shuffled to squeeze his body between the seats and grabbed the bottle, quickly uncapping and chugging its contents thirstily.
A reflection glimpsed in the driver’s side mirror gave Povedilla pause as he slowly detached the bottle from his lips. His heart rate accelerated so quickly, he almost saw stars. A beefy, bald-headed man was stealthily creeping up on his position, a small machine gun at the ready.
The agent pulled his gun and tried to quickly, carefully make his way to the back of the van, pressing his back against the heated metal. Dios, dios, dios!!! His brain stuttered in a semblance of a desperate prayer. Dear Lord, help me get out of this one and I’ll never complain about surveillance ever again! He crossed himself with his free hand and counted internally. Uno…dos…tres!
The rear door of the van slammed open with incredible force as Povedilla leaped out, his gun quavering in front of him, his small frame trying to look as imposing as possible. “Freeze!! Policía! You’re under -” He paused, bewildered as he looked from one side to another, seeing no immediate threat. A body fell down to his right with a resounding thump, forcing him to shuffle out of the way.
“…arrest.” The agent finished his sentence, amazed by the sheer luck had befallen him. He realized he’d flung open the door so vigorously, that he’d knocked the mafioso out cold. Already an ugly bruise and knot was forming around the long gash on the man’s forehead, the blood sluggishly painting a scarlet trail down the side of his cheek.
“Joder!” Povedilla cursed, his heart rate still thumping as he grasped the danger his colleagues, his friends, his ex-wife were in. He spoke frantically into his mike, “Tango 1, Tango 1, you’ve got -” he cried out in pain as the sound of gunfire blasted in his ear, forcing him to rip his headset off. Quickly, he switched to the backup frequency, somehow managing to stuff the earpiece back in, while holstering his gun and extracting his handcuffs from his belt.
“Base, Tango 4, come in on backup frequency one-four-six!” The agent grunted with effort as he managed to roll the unconscious body over and snap the handcuffs on the suspect. “Tango 1 and Tango 2 have been drawn into a trap! They need backup now, for fuck’s sake, NOW!!”
“Tango 3, this is Tango 4 leader.” Povedilla almost collapsed in relief hearing Agent Alejandro Ramos’ voice over the line. “We heard the shots, we’re on our way.”
“Base, Tango 4, be aware that the mafia know where I am and that they’ve already tried to take me out. The suspect’s down and detained.”
“Affirmative. Tango 3, you sit tight. We’ll send more backup to your position and to the warehouse.” Salgado’s voice came over the line in an authoritative tone. “Tango 4 will be at the warehouse in two minutes.”
“They don’t have two minutes! Move!!” Povedilla screamed uncharacteristically. He felt like hyperventilating, but forced himself to function as he threw the suspect’s gun in the van and slammed the door behind him. Rita! I’m coming! Removing the keys from his pocket, Povedilla started the engine, put the van in drive and smashed the gas pedal to the floor.
___
“I’m almost out, Paco!” Don Lorenzo shouted as he snapped his last clip into his gun. Several bodies littered the ground in the vicinity of the commissioner and the inspector, but it seemed that the enemy kept on coming, relentlessly, endlessly. Don Lorenzo knew that even if both sides did have a relatively even number of bodies, whoever ran out of ammunition, lacked the reflexes, or was just damned unlucky would be the ones to die first.
“Mierda! I’m empty!” Paco looked over his shoulder at his friend. “When I say go, cover me and I’ll go for one of their guns.” He gestured with his head towards one of the bodies, which lay in an ever increasing pool of blood on the soiled concrete floor.
“Paco, that’s insane! You know you’ll be shot on sight!” Don Lorenzo tried to argue.
“What choice do we have? I still can’t get Base on the radio!”
“You loco son of a-” Don Lorenzo was interrupted as two more mafioso appeared mere yards in front of him. He fired on instinct, watching as their bodies twitched with the impact, their own rifles discharging harmlessly to the side. He did a brief mental inventory of himself, noting that he was miraculously still unmarked. Dios, my luck is going to run out any second before I get killed! Then again, I think it just did. The commissioner grimly noted the slide of his gun was pulled back to reveal a vacant chamber, indicating that the weapon was empty and therefore useless.
He threw his gun to the ground with a clatter, getting Paco’s attention. “You’re right, we’ve got to move Paco! They’ve gone down to the floor and whoever’s left will be here any second.”
“Vale.” The stout man turned to place his body in front of Don Lorenzo. “We can try for cover over there.” He pointed out an open door leading to an empty office, it’s trajectory on a diagonal slant from their position. “Grab what we can on the way.”
The older man blew out a breath, trying to psyche himself up for what could amount to a suicide mission as he balanced on his haunches. He could still hear gunfire at various intervals and prayed that his officers and family were not being forced to make the unavoidable decision he was about to make.
“Ready?” Paco tensely whispered. “Vale, go -”
A click of a rifle being cocked sounded behind the two men, accompanied by a low laugh. Don Lorenzo and Paco eyed each other, each expression reflecting the hopelessness of their situation.
“Hands up!” A guttural voice sounded in heavily accented Spanish. “Stand up and turn around!”
Both men relented and slowly obeyed, seeing a tall, slender Italian man, his machine gun leveled at their chests. The mafioso smiled, the low light reflecting off the dark stubble on his chin. “Stupido!” He spat. “Old men, good for nothing! Well, El Gordo himself will be very pleased knowing that I’ve personally killed Don Lorenzo Castro and Francisco Miranda.”
“Do what you will.” Don Lorenzo muttered, his chin held defiantly high. “But if you’ve hurt my family, I will personally find a way to come back from the dead and kick your ass, you puta!”
The gunman’s smile grew wider, as he arrogantly snickered. “I don’t think -”
A horrible high-pitched screeching, scraping sound filled the space of metal grinding on metal, the material protesting loudly. Paco tackled Don Lorenzo and shoved them both to the ground as they both landed painfully on the floor. The deafening sound of a collision reached his ears as he felt a spattering of debris, glass and shrapnel shower over his back. A hissing sound reached his ears, like a machine that had suddenly broken down. But no gunfire, no bullet in his head. He dared open his eyes and squinted to see through a smoke that had filled the area. The mafioso had vanished. One minute he had was there and now he was gone, replaced by a wreck of the small red surveillance van, which was pathetically crumpled and wheezing.
“Don Lorenzo!”
The commissioner looked up at the sound of his name, never so glad to see the normally infuriatingly annoying, stuttering agent that was Jose Luis Povedilla in his life. He approached the two men, his gun at the ready, seeming not to notice the blood that was now pouring from a gash over his eyebrow.
“Pove, what the hell was that?!” Don Lorenzo snarled as he stood. “You couldn’t just call for backup, but you had to charge in, balls to the wall and ruin the fucking surveillance van?” At the agent’s suddenly crestfallen face, he exhaled shakily, pulling the surprised agent into a hug. “Gracias, Pove! I think you just saved all our lives.”
The two men parted as Povedilla saluted his superior. “I come bearing the cavalry, sir! Tango 4 is on their way, ETA… Mierda, get down!”
Povedilla shoved Don Lorenzo down with his left hand as he fired over the commissioner’s shoulder, fatally shooting two more mafioso that had just rounded the corner. More boots scuffled behind the trio and the agent wheeled around, only to see two members of the special forces team, their tense bodies relaxing as they saw their own men.
Ears ringing, Don Lorenzo stood, almost shocked numb by the events of the last few minutes. He clapped Povedilla gratefully on the shoulder and approached the special forces team. “Do you have a status report?”
“Sir!” The team leader Alejandro Ramos jogged up to him. “We’re checking now. So far, the only DOA we’ve seen are hostiles. Commander Salgado is sending three more backup units, forensics, medical personnel, you name it.”
“And my team?” Paco asked, his eyes watering with tears that threatened to fall. “My familia?”
Ramos’ eyes swiveled to Paco’s face, his tone gentling. “We don’t know yet sir. This is a huge place, and it looks like everyone got pretty spread out during the firefight. We’ll find them and sound off, make sure everyone’s accounted for and able.”
“Don Lorenzo.” The commissioner turned at Povedilla’s soft voice. “Here.” He handed him the confiscated machine gun that he’d tucked in his pants. “You’ll probably find this handy, just to be on the safe side.”
“Gracias, son.” The older man turned off the safety and checked to make sure the gun was ready. He was sure there was a reason behind why Povedilla had a suspect’s illegal, automatic firearm, but that was the last thing on his mind. “Let’s go find our familia.” He felt a small sense of relief that he had survived, mixed with a stronger, growing trepidation, wondering if the nightmare was over.
___
A/N2: And what of our girls? Stay tuned!