| From: | shadowtk@*********.com (Paul J. Adam) |
|---|---|
| Subject: | Rising Winds and Heavy Rain |
| Date: | Thu Oct 18 16:25:01 2001 |
Him bleeding all over the damn things didn't help much.
It turns out that someone managed to pull the tapes from the FRAG
archive before the Ebola-VII they dumped into their cores ate all the
good data, though, and we recovered some cellblock footage.
Scary reading, sir, this Ernang was not a team player.
+++++begin included message
+++++begin video
Lynch sits on the floor, looking annoyingly comfortable despite being
stripped to fatigue pants and a '4th Marine Division - World's Greatest
Weekend Warriors' T-shirt. Explosive restrainers bulge around his
forearms, the charges on his left wrist making a nice necklace for the
beautiful, elaborate dragon tattoo that writhes from shoulder to wrist
down that arm. On closer examination, the dragon's spine, wings and legs
are drawn around hideously jagged scar tissue: it looks like something
with claws the size of Bowie knives tried to shred the flesh off the
Marine's left arm and nearly succeeded, a good few years ago.
The rest of Team B, in the same cell (the facility's drunk tank?) are
trying with varying success to find comfort on the concrete floor or the
thinly-padded bunks. They look up as a smartly-tailored figure,
accompanied by four black-clad FRAG troopers armed with gleaming L7
assault weapons, marches briskly into the cellblock.
"Don't expect a salute, Chuck, I'm not covered." Lynch says without
rising.
"I'm surprised you were taken so easily, Lynch." General Ernang replies,
from the other side of the bars.
"I'm surprised I found you and chased you down so easily, Chuckie. Your
plan's blown, the Sioux know you're coming."
"They don't know what with, or what our plan is. Their alertness helps
us, if we hadn't had you to create it we'd have had to leak it to them."
Ernang smiles, thin and cold. "We need their military units grouped and
together, so the five per cent can be fully effective."
"The five per cent?"
"All you get, Jason. You think I'll show you the secret self-destruct
button? Tell you all the secrets so you can foil the plan? Just know
that you've failed. I'd have you killed now, but you might still be more
useful alive than dead, and we have a few ideas to try out that need
test subjects. Don't worry, Colonel Lynch, you won't get a chance to
escape. I'll make sure you're dead before you ever escape from that
cell."
"Been there. Done that. Buried the last bastard who told me that." Lynch
replies cheerfully. "Since you're going to kill us anyway, can I have
some smokes?"
"You don't think I'm stupid enough to-"
"No, you won't give me *my* cigarettes, if you were any good you'd
already have found the monofilament whip in my cigarette case and the
microgrenade and razor blade hidden in the lighter. I just want a couple
of packs of Marlboro from the PX, and whatever source of ignition I'm
allowed. A cheap Cricket, a box of matches, a guard coming down the hall
with an old-fashioned torch of pitch and reeds, I don't care as long as
I can light up on demand."
Ernang laughs. "That addiction's pathetic, Jason."
"Definition of an optimist. A Marine who quits smoking so he'll live
longer. It's *my* addiction and not your problem. Come on, Chuck, even
Death Row inmates are allowed to smoke, and we're not on suicide watch."
"I'll consider it." Ernang nods graciously. "It was easier than I
expected to trap you."
"On the third try." Colonel Lynch snorts.
"Three strikes, you're out. I'd have thought you'd have brought a more
threatening team with you, though."
"Than what? These guys are good. I wouldn't bring them otherwise. Who's
meant to be better? Who else chased down your top-secret base?"
"And your choice of weapons runs to the antique as usual. A *sword*? You
came here carrying a *sword*?" Ernang laughs mockingly.
"You know, the US Army was writing swordsmanship manuals as late as
1914." Lynch replies thoughtfully. "Authored by one Second Lieutenant
George S. Patton, in fact. Tell me he was a military failure, Chuck.
Tell me with a straight face how Patton didn't know how to fight. There
are times when three feet of sharp steel really is just the best
solution to your problem."
"Oh, really? Name one."
"Bughunting. Insect spirits react better to brute force than bullets."
Ernang sighs dismissively. "That's just myth."
"So how many bug hives have *you* cleaned out with bayonets, bullets,
blades, fire, fragmentation and fists, _mon General_?"
General Charles Ernang glares, and turns on his heel, and walks out.
Once he's gone, Lynch sighs, and affects an exaggerated Southern accent.
"That boy has *definitely* got a corncob stuck up his ass." He shakes
his head. "You guys are going to get a _lot_ of this. He likes
gloating."
+++++end video
There was more, sir, but basically they don't like you.
They also have no idea how to get out.
And most of them don't like cigarette smoke. Is that why you let Lynch
have those Camels?]<<<<<
-- Captain W S Hensen <21:36:36/10-05-62>
Fast Response Action Group
+++++end included message
Sir, could you reassure me that these guys got cleaned out?]<<<<<
-- SSgt T R Porter <22:52:26/10-18-62>
Data Extraction & Recovery
Cyberspace Special Forces
*****INTERNAL: SSgt T R Porter, CSF
>>>>>[Consider yourself reassured, Staff.]<<<<<
-- VAdm J Kowalski <22:54:21/10-18-62>
Special Operations Command
