"Move up."

"Keep fire on their right flank."

"Take out that damn turret."

On highway 95, between Trenton and Staten Island, lay a sea of ruin. Fire had rained down from all sides sending civilian vehicles and the front runners of the convoy up in flames; broken metal and flesh bodies covered the road ahead and soon after behind. Waves of unidentified men and women poured into the area as guards vacated the heavily armored vehicles to hold their attackers back. Grenades, rockets, and a storm of lead or spent uranium crashed down on what open road still remain.

That was only in the first minute.

"You three, cover fire."

Their leader, dressed in full combat gear, prepared for the opening salvo of this new war, was distinguishable only by the glowing H.U.D. inside his transparent vision keeping the dirt and debris out of his eyes. He kept his rifle shouldered, ready to fight, but spent most of his time coordinating the rest of the unit's efforts. Some were former military or law enforcement and didn't need as much hand holding; the rest weren't so fortunate.

"Adams," he turned to look at the only other man crouched around him behind one of the flipped vehicles, [b["you're with me."[/b]

A quick check around the corner and he bolted over the open distance toward the next wreckage closer to the rear transport. Adams followed behind him while the others provided fire to keep the soldiers guarding the sensitive cargo from drilling the two full of holes.

Down on one knee, he pulled out a grenade and yanked the pin free. A soft click in the clash of battle went unheard as his fingers let go of the lever. A silent count.

The globe was sent sailing just before the word went out, "On me." The two men swung free and charged for the vehicle behind the grenade. A second later it erupted in flame engulfing several soldiers that'd taken cover between the rearmost and middle armored vehicles.

His rifle jammed against his shoulder, bullets sent sailing. You could barely hear your own gun. It was even beginning to become difficult to breath with all of the smoke filling the area. Visibility was falling rapidly, but they were close now. So close.

Adams slipped between vehicles to clear the immediate area on the other side. Meanwhile their Commander hauled himself up to yank the man in the turret out of his perch. He didn't mind much, now that he was dead. Someone inside seemed to care a great deal, however, since they took an unlikely, and possibly desperate, shot at him through the narrow opening at the bottom of the turret leading into the cabin below.

Another ping. This time the canister dropped down into the vehicle and soon the choking and gagging of soldiers or mercenaries could be heard as they tried braving the hazard. There wasn't time to wait on them to pour out of the vehicle. Another metallic ping, followed by a few dull thuds followed suit; a grenade dropped inside for motivation.

As the two inside jumped out, the Commander shot the one on the right while Adams took care of the other one on the left. He jumped down and inside as the smoke began to clear, ignoring the grenade tossed in earlier--he'd left the pin in it, but those men hadn't been able to see that a moment ago.

He slipped further in and examined the high tech gear they'd hooked up on the inside of this metal beast. The sound of gun fire was growing less frequent now. Looked like the engagement was almost over. Had to hurry.

After slipping a multifunction powertool out, he worked on unmounting a small metal unit from the housing. The drive slipped away in one of the larger pockets on his vest, he punched the backdoor open and stepped back outside.

Adams was waiting for him.

"Is the convoy secure?" A shot every now and then. Cleaning up the mess.

Adams, wearing a band of red on the upper left arm, nodded. "Affirmative."

So nice when everything came together as planned. "Torch it. Use the C4 on the cargo containers. Nothing survives."

"Yes, sir," and with that her dutiful squad began planting explosives through the small convoy. Their main target the containers with live or dead mutant subjects, or their DNA. Even Weapon X was not safe from the Purifiers; they would ensure the filth of Mutant-kind didn't spread to Non-Mutants even to combat Mutants themselves. They would Purify the planet of all traces.

Less than a minute later the surviving team members hustled back to their own vehicles, along with their wounded, and peeled away as the highway was lit up once more. No survivors. And, more importantly, no mutant experiment subjects.

[TBC: Brotherhood HQ \ Upper Level \ Command Center: More Ways Than One ]