That's when the spirits hit us again—maybe the same ones that had downed the Merlin, maybe a different bunch. They hurtled down on us from above, like Thor shots—fire, and wind, and water, and Christ-knows-what-else. They hit the troopers first, the young, hardened men and women who'd easily opened the distance between themselves and the wheezing, out-of-shape erstwhile PI who was trying to keep up with them. Some of the soldiers saw the spirits coming, had enough time to get their weapons up and fire them. Most didn't. Not that it made any difference at all. Bursts of tracer fire, grenades, whatever—everything just went straight through the attacking spirits as if they weren't even there. And then the spirits were among the troopers, and the carnage began.