| From: | "Paul J. Adam" <shadowtk@********.DEMON.CO.UK> |
|---|---|
| Subject: | Pentagon Follies |
| Date: | Tue, 19 May 1998 01:16:27 +0100 |
>>>>>[It gets funnier, doesn't it?
+++++begin video
Lilith looks up as Mitchell enters the office. "Oh my Lord, it's an
extra from _Fast Response_."
Mitchell - wearing unmarked black fatigues - shrugs. "You said working
dress. This is how I work." Though he's left the combat harness behind,
he's kept the assault holster on his right thigh, and the matching
magazine pouches on the left: the worn grip of his Guardian automatic is
just visible.
"Well, it's an improvement on the Class-As. But do you have to shout
'Hut! Hut! Hut!' every time you go anywhere?"
"What?"
"Old movie reference. Forget it." Lilith shrugs, rises to her feet.
"Toad, I'll be down the hall with Byrnes and Price if anyone needs me."
She even manages to make leaving the room a veiled insult.
Mitchell steps aside to let her pass, before settling into his chair.
"What is her fucking problem?" he says tiredly.
Tarkington shakes his head. "Look, Mitch, you're in a bad situation. You
came in to replace her husband. You're even sitting at his desk, because
we're so pushed for space. And they were _close_. So that doesn't help.
Neither does the fact that we got pulled off hunting his killers. Now
she's wound up tight, looking for something to blow up at, and you're a
handy target. Deal with it."
"Why not just pack her off to some warzone, then?" Mitchell asks.
"We tried. Best one was South Africa, where there's a CoT enclave
holding out, but the Vreistaat are handling that in-house. We're flat
out of leads to the Farmer right now, so nothing for her to chase there.
Zach and Alex are handling the Curry case just fine, Coppinger won't
offload Lilith onto them unless they ask for backup. And we don't do
much if any of the forcible-extradition stuff any more, not now InterPol
got their act together, otherwise we'd turn her loose on that. For the
first time in years, we're actually not overstretched."
"Should I be impressed?" Mitchell asks wryly. "Or can I claim credit?"
"Neither. And don't worry, it won't last. The world's one fragged-up
place, we can guarantee that any day something's going to come up
that'll get people screaming for us to pitch in."
"Great. Until then?"
"Suck it up and soldier, soldier." Toad shrugs. "Besides, you're still
officially on the sick list."
"I'm fine. I can handle any shit the street's got-"
"Mitch... reel that attitude in. There are ex-SEALs and Green Beanies
out there who aren't bedding in new cyber. Who got UCAS wares, then left
service and got the Mafia to pay for an upgrade. You might be
technically outclassed out there. Understand that. Lynch did, that's how
come he kept winning. The moment you underrate the Gomers, they kill
you."
Mitchell pauses. "You mean that?"
"One Navy man to another. The bad guys we're up against have more money
than God does. They spend some of it on their stormtroopers. You go in
thinking 'me SEAL, me the best', you'll be in the freezer next to Lynch
that same day. You got a big advantage: us guys." Toad strikes a
dramatic pose, then relaxes, chuckling. "Intel. Background. Imagery.
Major trawling through City Hall and police files and Christ knows what
else, so you know more about the target than the guys living in it do.
Drone overwatch. The buzz on local gangs. You get all that..."
"You're made. Until you fuck up." Mitchell nods, slowly. "Okay. I get
your point, Tarkington."
"Toad. I'm a NFO, call me Toad. And like I said, sit out this rough
part. Get your corners knocked off. Settle into the system. You'll get
more action here than SOCOM, that's for sure."
+++++end video
Not much useful after that, but it's on the chip anyway.]<<<<<
-- Furrow <01:15:43/05-19-59>
