Flint's Loss [Archive] - HissTank.com

Flint071

11-24-2010, 11:25 AM

He did not want to do this. He did not want to be here.
Flint was standing alone on the cement path overlooking the rows of white grave markers at Arlington Cemetery. The rain had finally stopped but the sky was still showing signs that the deluge could begin again at any moment. He stood staring at the people amassing around the open grave and taking their seats in the rows of folding chairs that had been set up. He had only spoken to her family on the phone this morning and his grief and theirs made it a brief conversation. Flint noticed the empty chair next to her father where he would no doubt be expected to sit. He watched as the honor guard neared, marching in perfect formation with their rifles held at the ready. Her coffin was already there, draped in an American Flag; the flag’s color seemed vivid amid the gray skies.
For a moment, Flint’s tactical mind pushed to the forefront of his consciousness. The security team was making constant sweeps through the tree line surrounding the funeral, and with the Secretary of Defense slated to be present, the Secret Service protection detail was in their customary black suits with earpieces scattered among the headstones. They looked entirely too conspicuous as they spoke into their wrists and regarded the attendees through identical Ray-Ban sunglasses.
Flint heard the footsteps behind him and went rigid as his right hand closed over the grip of his Beretta which hung in a worn leather shoulder holster under his trench coat.
“Easy soldier” the man said as he approached on the path. Flint immediately recognized the voice and released his weapon. Flint’s eyes never left the American Flag over her coffin.
Flint tried not to flinch as Sgt. Hauser put his hand on his shoulder. “You decided not to wear the vest”.
Flint’s head snapped to the right and he glared into the cool blue eyes of Conrad “Duke” Hauser with a look that required no words. The issue was dropped immediately.
“She was the best of us”
Flint did not immediately reply or give any indication that he had heard what the other man had said until Hauser turned to leave.
“No, she was the best of me.”

SH0CKWAVE

11-24-2010, 01:32 PM

boobs

Flint071

11-24-2010, 02:12 PM

The funeral had ended as solemnly as it had begun.
Her mother had clung to his chest, weeping uncontrollably in fits of gasps and sobs as Flint grimaced through the unabashed display of emotion and finally allowed himself to wrap his arms around the woman as to offer some semblance of comfort.
It seemed endless, the friends and family and colleagues who shook his hand, or offered an embrace. “If you need anything “they had all said. But he didn’t, and wouldn’t.
The rain has begun again as the canopy of umbrellas were raised and people shuffled off to their cars lost in thoughts of their own mortality. Funerals had a way of doing that.
He didn’t want to do this. He didn’t want to be here.
Flint stood in front of the tombstone looking at the freshly etched lettering of her name. The rain soaked through his beret and seeped down the back the collar of his trench-coat but he paid it no mind. His thoughts drifted back to her laying in the drainage ditch alongside the road, the jagged scrap of steel impaling her body, her blood seeping out onto the ground as her life ebbed away. Then forward to the cold, impersonal morgue deep in the sub-basement of the Pit, the pure white sheet covering her body as she lay on the autopsy table. He gritted his teeth as he remembered the way the spit polished JAG attorney offered the standard, army issue condolences and had him sign paperwork in triplicate verifying the transfer of the body to Arlington.
“I should have killed Dela Eden”
Flint snapped back to the present and took last look at the grave maker before turning to walk down the path to his car.
He was soaked to the core by the time he slipped into the driver’s seat. He grabbed his beret off his head and tossed it in the back seat of the BMW. Closing his eyes he put his head back against the headrest and listened to the rain drum on the car roof. Minutes passed, or were they seconds.
If the sound of the passenger door latch startled him he gave no indication, but the Beretta seemed to materialize in his hand. She was wearing a form fitting rain coat that probably cost more than the car and as she slipped into the passenger seat it was impossible not to notice the grace of her every movement. Flint was also immediately aware of the .380 auto in her hand with its laser sight held steady on his chest.
She locked her eyes with his through her black rimmed glasses.
“Dearest Flint, I’ve come to offer my condolences.”

Flint071

11-24-2010, 03:45 PM

Goddamn it, I should have worn that vest
Flint did not blink as he stared into the dark pools of the Baroness’s eyes. Her eyes returned the gaze unfaltering in their scrutiny. The laser sight from her pistol was aimed unwaveringly on his chest. His Beretta, in turn, was pointed at her side and dug into the Kevlar vest she was most certainly wearing under her long overcoat. He noted that even at this close range her vest would stop his bullet, it would hurt like hell, but she would still be able to fire off a round or two which would never miss.
Flint eased down the hammer on his pistol and tossed it on the dashboard of the car. Resigning himself to the situation, he sighed audibly.
“Anastasia, if you’re going to shoot me, get it over with. I’ve just buried my wife, I’m hung-over and really just don’t give a fuck anymore.”
His entire day had been filled with stoic resolve that belied his weariness and his own grief. He had worn the mask of strength for her family in their time off loss, and had numbly managed to fumble through the endless waves of pleasantries and obligations that are expected from the grieving husband. Breaking their intent gaze he leaned back into the seat and found himself more at peace in this moment than he had been in days. Funny that looking down wrong end of a gun barrel could do that to a man who was accustomed to violence.
“Very eloquent for a Rhodes Scholar, dear Flint”
Her accent was not as thick as when they had first met, but coupled with her sarcastic barb, it still sounded as elitist as ever. Twisting in the passenger seat her silky, black hair obscured her face as she tucked away the pistol into one of the pockets of her rain coat.
“What do you want?” he asked. HIs voice was withdrawn and he realized that a part of him actually hoped that she was there to grant him relief from this life.
“A drink”

laurenluna1977

11-24-2010, 04:26 PM

I like the simple and direct prose, ala Hemingway. It describes what is going on without removing the reader from the experience with complex methapors or allusions.

Having said this, I have been stroking for the last couple of pages without any release. Baroness better start looking like this soon:
http://i771.photobucket.com/albums/xx352/laurenluna1977/sexy-cosplay-pics2-12.jpg

BCross

11-24-2010, 08:43 PM

Flint071

11-24-2010, 09:12 PM

The only people,who would be able to help Flint get through his grief,besides the Baroness,are Destro and Snake Eyes. Then Hawk would need to give Flint a mission,even if it would be a wild goose chase.

If there was a point here, I missed it.

Feedback is welcome, but I would like to understand it.

Flint071

11-24-2010, 10:06 PM

“I half expected you to be swilling Budweiser, but 18 year old Laphroaig…I find myself mildly impressed”

Flint regarded at her over the rim of his glass without expression.

“Actually, us good ‘ol boys from Kansas drink PBR from a can, but I don’t feel like slumming at the moment”

“How droll, dear Flint”

She was perched atop a chair at their high topped table which he had chosen for its adequate view of the front door, and ease of exit through the kitchen if became necessary. She was dressed as casual as, he figured, she knew how. Impossibly tight black leather pants, high heeled, knee high boots and low-cut top that looks as if it came straight out of the lingerie section. She had discarded her rain coat on the seat next to her and made no attempt to retrieve her pistol from the pocket. In the dim light of the bar Flint noticed that a silver pendant hung around her neck, a Cobra insignia.

“Christ, you don’t even attempt to hide it, do you?”

She smiled dismissively and plucked the stuffed olive from her glass and popped it in her mouth. She pouted slightly at the empty glass.

“Why ever would I hide my affiliations? You don’t seemed burdened by yours.” She reached over and lightly touched the Ranger pin affixed to his uniform.

She offered a smile that looked decidedly evil.

“How is that affiliation working out for you at the moment? A dead wife, and a Warrant Officers salary. Surely a man like you is capable of so much more fulfilling endeavors.” She leaned towards him , her fingertips brushing over her pendant which hung low into her ample cleavage. She played the role of power broker very well.

Flint locked his eyes with hers.

“Baroness……spare me the recruiting rhetoric. I’m not some mal-adjusted kid with delusions of grandeur who you can convince to join up. If you try that bullshit with me again I’ll shoot you where you sit.” From under the table came the distinct double click of a Beretta's hammer being drawn back.

The barman cleared his throat as he neared the table to bring a fresh round of drinks. The Baroness held Flints intent gaze for a moment more then sat back, crossed her legs and lifted the martini to her lips in regal fashion. Not many woman could enjoy a martini while staring the wrong way down the barrel of a gun. She was not bothered.

“ I find that I have fallen out of favor with Cobra, and more specifically my husband. I need your help.”

wertdog91

11-24-2010, 10:40 PM

Yo man this is really intense. Its really vivid and keeps your attention completely. More please

laurenluna1977

11-24-2010, 10:49 PM

I am seeing a distinct lack of the follwing words:

slam; wall; feverishly; tug; pull; mound(s); moist; slick; ruby red; pink; Thailand; wrap; alabaster; erect; ramrod; receiving; screaming; pain; blood; choke; neck; trail; dip; starfish; long; leggy; piledriver; jackhammer; release; arch; bite; lip; tounge; suck; awaiting; lips; penetrate; sword; tease; tight; warm; thrust; heave; destroy; rip; tear; turn; flat; stomach; on; knees; whimper; crest; rise; spin; drain; flood; non-stopping; drench; sheets; an "old-fashion;" lap-dance; rub; over and over; upside down; hand-cuffs; raw; strike; bruise; open-handed; closed fist; spit; and cab fare.

Flint071

11-24-2010, 11:06 PM

She was asleep, her black hair fanned out on the pillow. The sheets was clinging to her every curve. Flint did not notice. He lay on his back next to her and stared out the floor to ceiling windows of the penthouse suite. Below them the city was coming alive in the morning hours. He felt the urge to run, to pick up and just go. Forget the conversations, forget her pleading for his help, just go, Go home to Alison.

Then it struck him, Alison wasn’t at home. He had buried a part of his soul yesterday. And today he was selling whatever was left of it to the devil.

She stirred next to him, but not waking.

The sheet slipped from her body and barely covered her lithe form. Flint forced his head back into the pillows and felt the guilt start to slowly devour him. It took every ounce of strength he had to stifle the scream that dared to leap from his chest.

He and the Baroness had spent the better part of the afternoon discussing her situation. As she talked and he listened, the barman kept bringing drinks. Afternoon turned into early evening. Flint could handle his liquor, but even he had his limits. Apparently so did she.

How they got to her hotel was eluding him. He vaguely remembered a taxi. Moving slowly as not to wake her he pushed himself to his feet. From the doorway to the foot of the bed was the tell-tale line of clothing, her leather pants, his uniform jacket, her bra and his shirt. Even his pistol has been discarded and lay still sheathed in the holster on the hotel room floor.

He closed his eyes and remembered. It had been passionate and vigorous and at times savage. The broken lamp and missing bedclothes evidence of their drunken exuberance. Flint lowered his head and leaned against the window frame looking out over the city. He felt nothing now, last evening had driven the final nails in the coffin of his former self. He was now beyond guilt, and beyond emotion. Numbness pervaded his entire being. His dog tags clinked loudly off the window. Behind him she stirred again, this time waking.

“ Flint, come back to bed, we still have hours before we need to leave”

He turned slowly towards her, very much aware that she had let the sheet fall from her body completely.

camper

11-25-2010, 12:25 AM

It was early morning and a steady rain was drumming against the window of the house in the quiet D.C. suburb near Alexandria. The house was bathed in shades of gray, as was the man who lay unmoving, yet awake beneath the sheets of the bed. He had not shaved in the last two days and his eyes were blood shot from lack of sleep that didn’t come from half a bottle of Johnny Walker.
Today was the funeral at Arlington. Full military regalia, a twenty-one gun salute and the haunting melody of taps echoing amid the gravestones was yet to come.
Now, the scent of perfume from the untouched pillow next to him brought upon a rush of memories that sent a shudder through his entire body. Hours spent laying with her head on his chest on lazy Sunday mornings, the passionate love-making after returning home from long assignments or the gentle caress before falling asleep all played across his scotch addled brain. Groaning, he wiped his eyes as if to wipe away the images that his brain tortured him with. In truth, it was also to wipe away the tears that seemed well up when he remembered her.
He willed himself to move, and his body reluctantly followed orders, just like a good solder. Her family was coming today. Damn, if that wasn't going to be hard.
Sitting at the edge of the bed he reached for the half empty glass of scotch on the nightstand, the ice cubes having long melted away. The glass clinked against the barrel of the well-worn Army issue Beretta. The hammer was still cocked back from the night before and even thought it was unseen he knew there was a round chambered. It has been a particularly bad night. He swallowed the piss-warm scotch with purpose. More bad nights would come.
Reaching back he touched his fingertips to her pillow .....(end)

________________________________________
*Takes place three days after Lady Jaye's death*

Never been a fan of fanfic, but this was well written and plotted (watch the syntax and punctuation). I'd read more.

camper

11-25-2010, 12:49 AM

So there was more.
And I read it.

And as I said above, i would definitely read more. Excellent work.
Please keep me posted of future works!

Flint071

11-25-2010, 05:30 PM

Something just felt wrong.

Flint slide his key into the lock of his front door and hesitated. Half turning he scanned the street, fully expecting to see something, anything. An advancing battalion of Grenadiers, or a column of Hiss Tanks rolling down the quiet suburban streets would have at least explained the growing knot that was forming in his stomach.

He shook his head and shot a glance to his car which sat idling street-side. She was in the passenger seat, casually checking her make-up in the visor mirror. Despite himself, he thought back to their shower this morning at the hotel. There was no foreplay, or teasing, in fact, there was not a word spoken, just urgency, as she slid open the shower door and stepped in.

Afterwards they dressed in silence. He made coffee and was checking his weapon as she collected her things. He was grateful that she did not act like other women might have after a night of physical intimacy. She spared him the pillow talk and awkwardness that usually came with such things. It was as if they were both taking what they needed from the other, at least in the physical sense, without regard.

Flint snapped the clip back into his Beretta, chambered and round and slipped it back into his shoulder holster.

“I want to pick a few things up at my house before we leave.”

“And if my husband has already ascertained my whereabouts? “He might come to retrieve me” She stood with her hands on her hips.

“I’ll chance it, besides, if he knew where you were, I think we’d already be dead.”

Flint071

11-25-2010, 05:59 PM

Why should anything feel right? Nothing is.

Flint opened the front door and stepped into his house. Waves of emotion washed over him as he looked around the home they had built together. Pictures of them together on the mantle, her favorite movies atop the DVD player and the flowers he had bought her a week ago still in the vase on the kitchen island. A sob formed in his throat. He closed his eyes and looked away.

Flint was a hard man, a combat tested soldier, a brilliant tactician and when he had to be, a killer of men. Of all the experiences and trials that had made him hard, nothing had ever rattled him to his very core as taking the first step into their bedroom. Tears welled up in his eyes, and he propped himself up on the doorframe fighting against the sudden weakness in his legs and the violent urge to vomit. He never imagined it would be this bad.

He could have ended it that first night had he been able to pull the trigger as the barrel of the Beretta was in his mouth. If he had, he wouldn’t be here now.

His breath rattled in his chest and he wiped the tears away with the back of his hands. He moved deliberately now, quickly changing out of his uniform, which still smelled of last nights bar and Anastasia’s subtle perfume. From his closet he grabbed the canvas duffel which he always kept packed with the essentials incase he had no time between assignments.

He could not leave just yet.

Flint stood staring at her side of the bed and slowly lowered himself to his knees. Tears flowed down his face as he buried his face into her pillow. It still smelled like her and his heart broke.

Forgive me.

Flint was not a man that asked for forgiveness, his arrogance, however mellowed by his marriage to Alison, had defined him in many ways. But now, with raw emotion he plead to his dead wife for absolution for sins committed and those yet to come.

Flint071

11-25-2010, 10:31 PM

He had not heard them until it was too late.

It was the strangled cry, and then the flesh on flesh slap that shook him back to the present. Flint drew his Beretta as he stood up. Listening intently he heard voices in the living room. Not able to make out what they were saying he crept towards the doorway. Pistol up, aim with the front sights, check the backgrounds.

A voice yelled from the living room “’’Ey just come out already, ya tosser. “
Flint groaned as he recognized the Pikey gibberish instantly. Fucking Drednoks.

Flint eased himself around the corner and leveled his gun at the closest of the two men standing in his living room. He couldn’t remember the first ones name. Not that it mattered for what was coming.

He was dressed like a punk-rocker from hell: a leather jacket with metal spikes protruding from the shoulders, and the wild mass of black hair with a brilliant green stripe down the middle. Anastasia was on her knees in front of him with what looked like the chain of a motorcycle wrapped around her next. Her eyes bulged beneath her cracked glasses and she clawed at the chain trying to gain purchase.

Flint fired one shot, no hesitation, no remorse. The bullet sounded as if it struck a too ripe melon as the back of the mans head exploded over the wall.

“THRASHER” the other Dreadnok roared. But Thrasher was incapable of responding as his body had already crumpled to the carpeted floor.
Anastasia raggedly gasped for breath as the grip was released on the chain.

Flint leveled his pistol at the mountain of a man who had taken a step towards him.

“I won’t miss at this range.”

His warning went unheeded, the Dreadnok was already in mid-swing with what looked like a cinderblock attached to a pipe. Flint fired point blank into his attackers chest. Double-tap. Nothing. The cinder block came in a savage arc. Flint ducked a second too late and caught a glancing blow with the primitive weapon that sent him sprawling across the tiled floor of the kitchen.

“GONNA KILL YOU!!”

Flint wondered why all these bad-asses always referred to themselves in third person. The two bullets to the chest only seemed to fuel the giant’s rage.

Flint’s mind didn’t work like everyone else’s did. He had already assessing the situation and had come up with a workable plan of how to proceed. The adrenalin coursing through his body made his mind sharp and his reflexes equally so.

He saw the white crew cut Road-pig sported round the island in the kitchen. Flint lashed out with his heavy booted foot and slammed it into his attackers left knee. Cartilage and bone ground against one another as the giant fell to one knee. Flint was up and launched himself into the air, driving a knee into the man’s face. Road-pig pitched backwards, gurgling on his own blood.

Anastasia was by his side.

“Come on, we have to go, now!”

Flint was in complete agreement. He had to get one more thing from the bedroom.

She was leaning heavily on him as they made their way down the walk towards the car. In his right hand was his shotgun. The worn grip was comforting and he held the weapon in front of them as they went.

“Wait, Flint, do you hear something” Her voice was raw and raspy and it pained her to speak.

Right before the house exploded he swore he heard laughing.
　
　
　
　
　

KingBiohazerd

11-26-2010, 01:16 AM

Dude omg this story is just awesome man great work I really can't wait to read more is there and way I can get you to email the whole thing its really a good read bro

Kujo

11-26-2010, 06:10 AM

Excellent! I really dig the "dark" Flint.

ooten

11-26-2010, 07:42 AM

Great work. Im not a reader but u got my interest.

gijoe071681

11-26-2010, 10:22 AM

I agree this story completely has held my interest and is just friggin awesome

Flint071

11-26-2010, 06:43 PM

“We removed two bodies from what was left of the house. Best I can tell, whatever caused the initial explosion tore through the gas line in in the kitchen, not much left after than. Specialist Lavigne and his K9 are working the scene, but the rain is proving to be problematic. We’re not catching much of a break on this today.”

Duke nodded in understanding of the sit-rep. It all seemed very surreal. This was Dashiell and Alison Faireborne’s house smoldering away on the quiet Alexandria street. Alison was dead and gone only four days prior, and he had just seen Dashiell at the funeral yesterday morning. What in the name of Christ was going on?

Duke turned his attention back to the man before him.

“Anything else, Phil?”

“The two bodies were unrecognizable, medical examiner is on the way from Bethesda, so she should be able to tell us more once she does the autopsy. One of the guys is huge, must go close to three hundred pounds.”

“And the other?”

“Besides that the back of his skull is missing? From the entry wound I figure a nine-millimeter, maybe. You gotta forgive me, Duke, I’ve been undercover for so long I’m rusty as hell when it comes to forensics.”

Duke nodded.

“Just glad you were available this morning, I would have hated to leave this to regular CID to fuck up.”

Philip “Chuckles” Provost had not had much opportunity to work with Flint or Lady Jaye. Flint always seemed like an arrogant dick, and he never understood what she saw in him, but they were Joes, and that was enough today.

“Duke, if you need anything on this I have a lot of connections that aren’t exactly approved by the..."

His sentiment was interrupted as Specialist Lavigne and his dog approached. In the palm of his gloved hand he revealed a broken silver chain adorned with Cobra Insignia.

Flint071

11-26-2010, 09:58 PM

Things had gotten interesting.

Flint eased the rental car onto I-95 north. When he was certain no one was following, he set the cruise control and tucked into a line of traffic. They had been quite the pair as they approached the rental car desk. His shoulder was gashed from Road-pigs cinderblock on a stick, and blood trickled down his arm through the makeshift bandages. Her neck was circled with a dark red welt, and the greenish black bruising that came from fresh trauma. She could barely speak. The chain that had been wrapped around her throat must have bruised her vocal chords. There very little to discuss anyway. The clerk was easily convinced that paperwork was not necessary, especially with the stack of hundreds that she practically threw across the counter at him.

She was reclined in the passenger seat with her eyes closed. She was not unaccustomed to violence but this morning had been a little more hands-on that she was used to. The two thugs had gotten the drop on her all to easily Then the chain around her neck. She had been unable to breathe, and unable to fight back. The big one had dragged her behind him across the yard as if she weighed nothing. At one point when she resisted he stopped and leaned over her prone form to make the promise of violation before he killed her, his hot beer-soaked breath and body odor making bile rise into her mouth.

She shuddered in the seat and pulled her coat tighter around herself. Opening her eyes slowly she stared at him. He had saved her, he had saved them both. He had shot the first one with such decisiveness; there was no hesitation, no attempt to wound or spare his life. His intent had been to inflict death, and he did so with a look of utter contempt chiseled into his face. She had known many evil men who killed without compunction, but this was something else. This was a man who had known the joys of life, and had it taken from him in a violent act. She knew this made him dangerous to their enemies, but also to himself. Violence beget violence, but in her experience the one with less to lose often won.

Flint had not realized she was staring at him so intently. His eyes fell upon hers and she blinked and looked away, obviously caught in her own thoughts. Flint reached across the car and gently pushed away the collar of her leather overcoat, his fingertips brushing away her hair to examine the bruised and raw circle around her throat.
She did not flinch. His touch was welcome.

“Anastasia, tell me about the information that you gave the Red Shadows.”

At this, she flinched.

devilfish60

11-26-2010, 11:23 PM

Dude this is like an addiction...awesome please pm me when more of your story comes out.

Flint071

11-27-2010, 09:44 AM

That's a great little piece of writing man. I really like it!

Thanks, man.

That was pretty damn fantastic.

Great work...it actually made me feel like shit lol.

That was the goal - I was having a shitty day when I started this.

Where is the part where Flint goes to a strip club and ends up banging two strippers at once to try to forget and/or see if he can still feel anything? Which, I assume, will be followed by the part where he pays a late night visit to Cover Girl because he just needed to "talk" to someone about the pain?

I'll release a directors cut later - which will tell the story in "interpretive dance - on a pole

Yo man this is really intense. Its really vivid and keeps your attention completely. More please

Thanks

Never been a fan of fanfic, but this was well written and plotted (watch the syntax and punctuation). I'd read more.

I am definately rusty in the use of comma's and punctuation.

Dude omg this story is just awesome man great work I really can't wait to read more is there and way I can get you to email the whole thing its really a good read bro

When I finish it up I will e-mail you a compilation - keep in mind I have no idea where this is going from day to day, or how long it's going to be. It's just some therapuetic writing for me.

DaViper

11-27-2010, 11:59 AM

This is like reading a romance novel but for men. Or should I call it a joe-mance? either way, great stuff flint...I'm going back to reading the rest of the story under the cover of my camouflage snuggie.

Flint071

11-30-2010, 10:19 PM

“You disappoint me, Zartan.”

Without further comment James McCullen Destro terminated the vid-link. He was going to have to reconsider his arrangement with the mercenary. He loathed being surrounded by incompetence. He had not ordered the death of a common peasant, but rather a highly trained operative of Cobra, his wife the Baroness. The decision to give the order was not made lightly, and as such, the task of executing it should not have been given to buffoons. Zartan would answer for that indeed.

His eyes burnt with rage beneath the unchanging façade of the mask he wore as they drifted to the body lying at his feet. She had been a promising Lieutenant in the Crimson Guard, but now her half naked form lay crumpled beneath her desk, her neck bent at a wicked angle, her dead eyes gazing into nothingness. Her only trespass had been reminding him of his wife as she moaned out in the throes of their carnal union. She broke easily.

He stood, adjusted his suit and began to pace the length of his office.
He had set the plan in motion. The Baroness was to gain the trust of the CEO of the genetics research firm, Biodesign. It had been extraordinarily easy. The CEO was almost as ruthless as she, conducting business in a manner that made terrorism seem rather civilized. In no time, she had been moved from financial consultant to Chief Financial Officer of the corporation. It was amazing what a reference from M.A.R.S could accomplish in certain circles. It was only then that the truth was revealed, BioDesign was almost fully funded by DARPA. The Baroness had tracked the funds to shell companies owned by the Department of Defense, and had learned that BioDesign was owned by none other than the United States Secretary of Defense.

Destro had personally compiled the data as it streamed to him from the electronic monitoring devices and viruses she had planted in key systems within the lab. The research was incredibly advanced, and the science proved to be sound. The application for their research was limitless in the hands of Cobra. Even more, the leverage this manner of ethically questionable research afforded Destro when it came to playing the political chess-match.

DARPA had already invested 6 billion dollars into the project with the goal of eliminating “the randomness of natural evolutionary advancement.” The plan would assemble the latest bio-tech knowledge to come up with living, breathing creatures that were genetically engineered to “produce intended biological effects.”

These “mad scientists” had discovered how to genetically program organisms not to die.

The thought of the power that had been in his grasp was still exhilarating.

She had thrown it all away. All of it.

And she would be made to pay, he would see to that.

Flint071

12-02-2010, 01:58 PM

It was 0700 hours.
Flint was leaning against the hood of the rental car adjusting the straps of his shoulder holster. Even at the early hour the hot July sun was stifling.
They had parked at the edge of an abandoned playground under what little cover the huge oak tree had offered. Below he watched the seemingly abandoned industrial complex with its maze of run-down warehouses and cargo containers. It was one of countless thriving business centers that now lay in ruin as corporations decided it was cheaper to move business abroad. It was also the perfect camouflage for a Cobra weapons cache on domestic soil. Flint’s eyes kept falling to the brand new, ten foot high, chain link fence that skirted the perimeter.
A lone sentry in the cliché gray watchmen uniform rounded the corner and began his slow march along the perimeter fence; Flint checked his watch and noted that the guard was right on schedule. To the casual onlooker, nothing would be out of place, a minimum wage slob making his rounds to keep the local kids from spray painting the empty building and breaking windows. Most private security companies didn’t issue Russian Kalashnikovs.
Flint was not feeling confident about this plan. They had very little to work with. She had been able to sketch an interior layout of the building on the notepad found in the hotel’s nightstand but they had no idea of the size of the security compliment, and they were severely under-equipped.
Flint’s shotgun lay on the hood of the car next to him; at least he had grabbed a full bandolier of shells. He had five magazines for his Beretta and his Ka-Bar too. If this had any hope of working he was going to have to rely on his ability to scrounge weapons and ammo as they went.
She was somewhat more equipped. Among the luggage she had insisted they bring along, even with his protests, she had concealed a Styer-Aug rifle with a decent scope and twin 9mm Glock pistols.
Flint turned to look back towards the rear of the car. She stood there, unashamed and unconcerned, in a lacy black bra as she adjusted the straps on her Kevlar vest; the twin pistols handing in tactical holsters on either leather clad thigh. Anastasia felt his eyes on her and turned to face him as she shrugged into the vest and zipped up the front of her body suit.
“You’re no good to me dead, dear Flint, perhaps you’ll reconsider a vest.” There was no mistaking her tone for concern.
Flint allowed a wry grin and shook his head.
“With what we're about to do it probably wouldn’t do much good anyway.”

Flint071

12-02-2010, 11:08 PM

Sweat poured down his face.

Flint stood perfectly still with his back to the cargo container. Scaling the fence in between the sentry’s rounds has been the easy part. What came next, less so. Flint flexed his gloved fingers around the worn hilt of the Ka-Bar and consciously slowed his breathing. He listened intently to the sentry’s slow, steady footfalls across the pavement as he walked the perimeter, very close now.

Three more steps.

Flint looked to the ridge beyond the fence where the Baroness lay in wait behind the scope of her rifle. They had made love again the previous night. It was the union of two people who understood that the path they traveled could only lead to destruction. It was that of passion fueled not by emotion or lust, but rather some dark need to punish themselves for transgressions not fully understood. For fleeting moments during the carnal act they were able to forgot. Suddenly, he remembered the last time he made love to Alison and the pang of guilt forced itself through the numbness as it did every time he allowed himself to think of her. Flint secured his grip on the knife.

Two steps.

The guard’s shadow stretched out on the pavement. Flint knew there was never any going back to his former life, or his former self. Helping Anastasia wasn’t going to grant him some relief from his torment. His wife had barely been in the ground a day and he was bedding another woman. Or had she bedding him? What did it really matter. The only thing that ever mattered was gone. The pang of guilt again. No, not now, focus on the mission. It made the guilt bearable.

One.

Flint waited a half breath and stepped out behind the guard. His left hand seized the sentry’s mouth and nose. Flint twisted the mans head back savagely and at the same time planted his boot firmly behind his targets left knee. The sentry’s own body weight carried him downward as Flint drew the knife across the neck in one practiced move. A spray of crimson. The strangled sound of the throat filling with blood and then nothing.

The guard went limp and crumpled to the ground at Flint‘s feet.

On the ridge, the Baroness blanched as Flint wiped his knife clean on the dead man’s uniform.

She looked away.

She thought she had seen him smile.

thecorporation

12-07-2010, 05:43 PM

More, please.

Topside

12-07-2010, 06:38 PM

More, please.

this^^^^

Flint071

12-08-2010, 11:29 AM

She needed to get to higher ground.
Flint has disappeared behind a wall of cargo containers. A lot of good she was going to do if she couldn’t provide him cover fire. She sprang to her feet and covered the ground between the ridge and the fence in a low firing stance, sweeping her rifle back and forth, scanning for targets. Dressed in a full body suit adorned with the crimson Cobra sigil on her chest she could not help but feel foolishly conspicuous as she scaled the fence, the blazing July sun eliminating any hope for concealment.
Raiding a Cobra facility, one of her own damn facilities, in broad daylight, what next?
She moved towards a decrepit looking water tower. From there she would be able to cover the entire yard. Anastasia moved cautiously among the buildings, she still could not see him, damn. The more ground she covered without running into another patrol the more she allowed herself to believe that they might just pull it off. But there was still enough doubt in her mind to keep herself pressed close to the walls and her rifle at the ready.
A burst of automatic rifle fire cracked over the compound. She ducked near the rusted out frame of an abandoned tractor trailer and scanned line of buildings. Not knowing if she had been spotted, she waited for the telltale pop of incoming small arms fire. She didn’t have long to wait. A second shot rang out, and she realized that it wasn’t in her direction, but rather Flint’s. As if to punctuate this, the distinct sound of a shotgun echoed through the metal maze of cargo containers.
The image of Flint’s body, riddled with bullet holes, flashed into her mind. She swallowed hard dismissing the image. She needed him alive, and the thought of having to go it alone was instantly terrifying.
Securing the rifle against her shoulder she sprinted the last hundred yards towards the ladder leading up to the water tower. It wasn’t a tactical move, but rather one rooted in a sense of urgency
She almost made it too.
Bullets tore at the asphalt at her feet. Throwing herself into a forward roll she landed hard behind a pallet of oil drums. Another barrage of machine gun fire slammed into the barrels. Without hesitation she popped over the top of a barrel and fired at her attacker. A three round burst from her Steyr-Aug ended the Cobra Trooper instantly.
Another Trooper was working his way towards her position. All hope of scaling the water tower, forgotten. She pivoted on her booted heel and fired; the first round went high and dinged off the trooper’s helmet. The second and third round, however, plunged into his throat. She smiled viciously as he lay on the pavement gurgling to death. She tasted bile in her mouth as the bloodlust overtook her momentarily. How dare they attack her, didn’t they know who she was? She was the Baroness, Cobra royalty, the beloved wife of….
Then, as it was known to do, reality slapped her across the face.
She was no longer a Cobra officer; these men trying to kill her were doing so at the command of her husband. He believed to her be a traitor, not only to Cobra but to their own marriage. And the penalty for betrayal was death.
It, of course, was preposterous. She had been set-up from the start. Eloquent machinations by the Red Shadow she had later discovered.
There would be vindication. She would regain her place within Cobra, if not with Destro.

Flint071

12-09-2010, 11:47 AM

While the Baroness was as graceful as a dancer, wielding her sub-machine gun with an exacting eloquence, Flint was a brawler. His philosophy was painfully simple. Inflict as much damage to the opponent as possible, and ignore any damage given in return.
Flint was practicing his philosophy without prejudice.
He had fought his way to the large overhead doors at the front of the warehouse. His back pressed against the cement wall. A Cobra Trooper carrying an RPG ran through the open doors. From his concealed position Flint smashed the butt of his shotgun into the man’s face, catching him mid-step and completely by surprise. The troopers face exploded in a spray of blood and teeth. The RPG fell from his hands and skidding along the pavement as the trooper pitched over backwards grasping at the bloodied remains of his face. Flint stepped into the doorway of the warehouse and pressed the muzzle of his shotgun to the fallen troopers chest and fired. The body jumped and convulsed from the blast of the 12 gauge. Blood soaked through Flint’s boots.
Flint pumped another shell into the chamber. His cold eyes surveyed the interior of the warehouse in the half-second it took him to crouch behind a stack of crates stamped with the Cobra symbol. It looked like Baroness had been correct, a small weapons cache, and more importantly the mid-range, Gulfstream jet. Her plan was proving to be sound, thus far at least.
Two more troopers remained from the original ten man squad. Both were now taking cover in the small warehouse office. Flint figured it was either a last ditch attempt at holding the installation, or two cowards who were unwilling to throw themselves into the fray.
Flint decided on cowardice and stepped from behind his cover, slinging his shotgun over his shoulder.
“Hey, take what you want. Just don’t kill us.” The sound of rifles hitting the concrete floor confirmed Flint’s thoughts on the matter.
They stood before him with their trembling hands on their heads, eyes pleading. Flint wiped his face and regarded them with an intent glare.
“Get the fuck outta here.” he growled.
An audible breath of relief emanated from both troopers as they tripped over themselves running for the warehouse doors. One trooper paused long enough to tear the Cobra patch from the shoulder of his uniform and toss it at Flint’s feet, a final act of submission. He would not be returning to the Cobra ranks.
Flint had not turned to watch them scurry towards the door. He didn’t even turn when he heard the distinct sound of the Steyr-Aug echo through the warehouse.
“Cobra does not suffer cowards, dear Flint.”

Flint071

12-09-2010, 02:07 PM

The yellow crime-scene tape outlined the perimeter of the industrial park.
Chuckles pulled the standard issue, non-descript, announce to everyone that you’re a cop, Crown Victoria off the side of the road. He had borrowed the car from the NCIS motor-pool at the Naval Yard in Bethesda and its look suited his current needs.
New Jersey State Troopers had responded to numerous 911 calls reporting a small jet either crashing into, or taking off from, a vacant warehouse facility on the outskirts of Millville, New Jersey. The specifics of what was witnessed all depended on which bored Jersey housewife made the call. One report had the jet’s landing gear knocking shingles loose off a roof, while another made it sound as if the jet was trying to land in main-street. After the seventh report, the skeptical 911 dispatcher sent a car to do a drive-by, just to be sure.
Chuckles pushed his sun-glasses up into his blonde hair and pinned his CID identification card to the pocket of his uncharacteristically subdued Hawaiian shirt. He approached the police tape and casually tapped his ID badge as he neared a uniformed local-cop. No doubt the State Police had commandeered the town-clowns for traffic duty and crowd control. There was always a pecking order, and he was going to ruin someone’s day. His ID was bigger.
The patrolman lifted the tape and pointed to the largest of the warehouses. Chuckles nodded as he went past.
He was starting to piece things together, but it was damned confusing. For reasons unknown, two Dreadnoks, goons in the employ of the mercenary Zartan, had paid a visit to Faireborne’s house in Alexandria. A fight ensued and the house was leveled. The medical examiner had confirmed that neither of the two charred bodies had been Flint.
So why didn’t Flint report in?
Maybe he was captured. Chuckles dismissed that line of thinking. The agent from the rental desk at the airport didn’t give any indication that Flint was under duress. Even more confounding was the description of the woman who was with Flint. The rental agent had been obviously impressed with her physical attributes. Chuckles had listened patiently to a five minute description of how her ass looked in leather pants. With further questioning he was able to glean that she had jet black hair, dark rimmed glasses and spoke with some sort of accent. That explained the Cobra pendant that was found in the burn out house.
What the hell was Flint doing with the Baroness?
The industrial park was a flurry of police, paramedics and firefighters. Chuckles paid them no attention and made his way to the large warehouse. As he stepped inside he was greeted by the unpleasant, but familiar scent of jet exhaust. Chuckles had worked enough crime-scenes on carriers to know that distinct aroma. Someone had left the party.
Chuckles kneeled next to the two bodies that lay covered in white sheets on the floor of the warehouse. He peeling back the covering on the closest, the bullet-riddled body was clad in the blue uniform of a Cobra trooper.
What the hell were Cobra regulars doing in New Jersey? It was like Springfield all over again.
“We got nine more just like that.”
Chuckles looked up to the woman who had spoken. She was wearing white examination gloves and had the sleeves of her white blouse rolled up. Her chestnut hair was pulled back in a ponytail giving her face a severe yet not altogether unattractive look. She wore a Glock on her left hip. Chuckles noted, as an afterthought to be explored later, that she probably had a killer body underneath the bulky Kevlar vest. He always did have a thing for brunettes. His blue eyes fell to the detective’s shield that hung around her neck.
“All in the same uniform?”
“Yeah, every one. That mean anything to you?”
It did, it meant that Flint was most likely not among the dead. It also suggesting very strongly that Flint might have been the reason for the dead bodies. But how in the hell did the Baroness play into everything.
Chuckles tilted his head to the side “Maybe”.
“You care to tell me who you are, and why I shouldn’t have you removed from my crime scene.”
Chuckles unclipped his badge from his shirt and tossed it up to her. He remained kneeling to examine the body.
“Special Agent Phil Provost, Army Criminal Investigation Division.”
“Detective Emma Cross, but you’re a little bit late aren’t you, I mean the other CID Agent has been here for forty-five minutes.”
Chuckles shot her a look that demanded more explanation.
“Other Agent? What other agent?”
She looked confused.
“Tall guy, Australian accent… I think, has an eye-patch. He said he was CID too.”

camper

12-09-2010, 03:39 PM

Continued excellent work, Flint. Excellent.

Flint071

12-09-2010, 04:20 PM

“Duke, we’ve got a situation. I need back-up at the Millville Industrial Complex.”
Chuckles didn’t wait for a response.
“Detective Cross, where did you say the other CID agent was?”
She was staring blankly at him. Chuckles decided that it wasn’t her fault. How was she supposed to know that one of the world’s most wanted terrorists was working her crime scene for intelligence? Hell, he was doing the very same thing. But right now he didn’t have time explain.
“Goddamn it.” Where?” he barked, belying his previously cool exterior.
She snapped back to the present and shot him a look of anger that suggested that she didn’t appreciate the tone. She was going to make him explain.
He sighed.
“Listen to me, the other Agent is a known terrorist. I think he’s trying to find out what went down here, just like us. I need to know what he knows.”
“Last I saw him he was up near where we found an abandoned rental car; we think it’s the car the shooters came in. It’s on the ridge to the west above the facility. He had us back-tracing the car to find out where it was rented.”
Chuckles slipped his Sig Sauer from the back of his belt and thumbed off the safety. He knew the minute that Bludd smelled trouble he was going to run. What was troubling was the potential body count that he could leave in his wake if he felt boxed in. The facility was teeming with emergency personnel, any of which could be made into a hostage in a split second.
Chuckles tucked his weapon into the front of his belt and hid it beneath his un-tucked shirt.
“Detective Cross, walk me up to the car. Play like nothing’s wrong, like you are going to give him the information on the rental car. You’ve got to get me close to him.”
She still didn’t fully understand the situation but one look into his eyes let he know that he meant business. She turned and started walking along the outside of the perimeter fence.
Chuckles had always done his homework before going undercover. He knew the players and he knew the game better than anyone. Right now however, he was a long way from knowing anything, and that was more chilling to him than any deep cover assignment. He had to get some answers. He just hoped it was going to be without getting anyone killed.
She walked to his right. He couldn’t help but feel a little like a gunslinger heading to a fight at high noon. She looked tense, her hand drifted to the Glock absently.
“Go easy, Detective; mind your body language, if he smells trouble he’ll start shooting.”
She flexed her fingers and hooked her thumb into the belt loop of her pants.
“Sorry, I ….” she stammered.
He cut her off smoothly. Then flashed a smile, “No time for that, here we go.” He had always been able to assure people with his charm. For him it was a defense mechanism. People instantly liked and trusted him. He could turn it on at the drop of the hat, not matter the situation. It was armor that had served him well over the years.
They approached the rental car. Chuckles stopped at the hood and watched as two forensic techs pulled fingerprints off the dashboard. A uniformed State Trooper was standing near the trunk taking down notes in a small pad. The fourth person was who Chuckles settled his calm blue eyes upon.
Major Sebastian Bludd was dressed in typical federal agent attire; an ill-fitting, off the rack, suit. He looked uncomfortable in the hot, July sun. He had undone his top button and loosened his tie. Chuckles knew from the bulge in his suit-coat that he was carrying a piece. It would have been more surprising if he wasn’t actually. Chuckles took comfort in predictability.
Bludd’s voice grated on Chuckles calm exterior. It was a high pitched, almost whining, Australian accent.
“Ah, and what, pray-tell have you found out about the car, Detective?”
Damn it, her hand was drifting back to her weapon. She looked three shades of pale. She can't even help it. Chuckles saw his eyes fall to her side-arm, and then the small, evil twist of his lip. He knew he had been made.
It was slow-motion. Chuckle’s pistol barely cleared his belt when Bludd fired the Desert Eagle. Cross was between them, the line of fire was compromised. Bludd’s laughter cackled from his chest as the State Trooper fell over backwards, dead from the heavy bore pistol. Detective Cross fumbled with the Glock at her side, her hands trembling with adrenaline and fear.
Chuckles heard someone yell, “Get Down”. He realized that it had come from his own mouth. With no other options and time running out, he fired.
The only target he had was Bludd’s right shoulder. It wasn’t much. In fact, it wasn’t much at all. He saw Cross wince in pain and grasp her left shoulder in pain immediately upon firing. He had hit her instead. Then a split second later, the heavy Desert Eagle erupted again, but this time the bullet slammed into the side of the car. Bludd had not been able to aim and was knocked backwards by Chuckles shot. Bludd disappeared behind the car in a wail of pain.
Chuckles rushed forward. Cross was on the ground, blood seeping through her fingers. It was a superficial wound. She looked up at him and gritted her teeth, tears welling up.
“Go, I’m fine, shoot that prick.”
Chuckles nodded and wordlessly stood. He kicked Bludd’s Desert Eagle to the side, and stepped behind the car, his pistol leveled at empty ground.
Bludd was up, and running across the adjacent playground parking lot.
Chuckles broke into a hard run.

Silverclown

12-09-2010, 07:04 PM

This is freakin Great!!!!!!!

I need more of this. Not for nothing but cartoons and comics be dammed, this is how i want my joes. Dark gritty and Holy Crap real. I cant wait for the rest of this.

Flint071

12-10-2010, 10:43 AM

“You should have called me first, Lord Destro.”
McCullen noted the condescending manner in which the title Lord was spoken.
Large video monitors replayed the assault on the weapons cache in New Jersey from every angle. Destro focused on one video stream in particular. The Baroness had cut down two unarmed and fleeing troopers and then stepping over their dead bodies as casually as if they were garbage on the street. He loved her ruthless nature. Yet he was growing uneasy. What was her end-game? What did she hope to accomplish, and why was she keeping company with a Joe? Surely she had enough intelligence on the Cobra organization that, if she desired, could hinder operations on a global scale. This would be especially so if she had turned. This was something different.
All Questions with no answers.
McCullen slowly turned his chair from the monitors and set his expressionless mask on his guest.
“Bludd was able to acquire a civilian flight plan filed from the computer at the warehouse. They will take on fuel at a small airport in the Florida Keys.”
Destro’s guest was leaning easily against the far wall, half concealed in shadows of the dimly lit office, the only light coming from the video monitors. He was dressed in gray on gray camouflage fatigues, even without the baklava he wore when “working”, his face seemed purposely obscured. Firefly absently twirled a small detonator in his fingers, as someone else might an inkpen.
“And they are both the targets?” his French accent was almost unperceivable.
“Indeed. My dear wife for her betrayal and Flint for no greater reason than it pleases me.”
“It shall be done, Lord Destro.”

Flint071

12-10-2010, 12:04 PM

He gave chase.
Chuckles feet pounded along the pavement as he followed his quarry. Bludd was wounded but the injury wasn’t life threatening and apparently wasn’t hindering his ability to run. His heart pounding in his chest and his lungs burned, the hot afternoon air stole his breath.
He stared to close the gap. Bludd was getting winded, or was he? Bludd turned and fired two shots from a snub-nosed revolver. He had a hold-out piece. Chuckles launched himself over the hood of a parked car, the bullets cutting through the space he had previously occupied. The bastard was a good shot.
Chuckles lay on his back in the street, the impact from his fall knocking what little breath he had out of him.
To hell with this.
Chuckles rolled to his side and aimed his Sig Sauer. Bludd was crossing the street at a full run. Take him in the leg, end this now. Chuckles fired once. The shot echoed down the empty street and Bludd grasped at his upper thigh, then sprawled face forward onto the yellow lines of the road.
Forcing himself to his feet he trained his weapon on the mercenary and advanced. Sweat poured down his face, and his breathing was not back to normal yet. They had run almost a full mile from where Bludd had killed the patrolman, and attempted to shoot Detective Cross. Chuckles looked up and down the street of the small town center. He could see numerous faces pressed against the front windows of the sparse shops along the thoroughfare. No one came into the street to inquire as to what was happening.
“You son of a bitch”, Bludd wailed, writhing in pain. Blood seeped from the bullet hole in his leg.
“Shouldn’t have run, dumb-ass.”
Chuckles kept his gun trained as he kicked Bludd’s discarded revolver towards the curb. He heard sirens approaching.
“Let’s have a little talk before the cops get here, Sebastian.”
Chuckles holstered his weapon and unclipped the handcuffs from the back of his belt. He secured Bludd’s hands behind his back.
“Tell me what you were looking for at the warehouse, snake.” Chuckles spoke as he started to pat-down Bludd.
“Get fucked!”
“So not nice.” Chuckles nudged the seeping bullet wound with the toe of his boot. Bludd gritted his teeth and moaned. Chuckles checked each of the man’s pockets. The only item of interest was a Blackberry, which was locked with a four digit pass-code.
“Guess you aren’t going to give me your password?”
Behind them two patrol cars skidded to a stop, their sirens interrupting the rather unproductive discussion.
As Chuckles turned he saw Detective Cross standing behind the door of the lead car, her Glock aimed at his chest.
“Let me see your hands,” she ordered, “We checked with CID, they said they have no idea who you are.”
Chuckles groaned as he raised his arms in the air.
Behind him, grating laughter.

Flint071

12-10-2010, 04:26 PM

The holding cell smelled like piss.
Chuckles leaned back on the steel framed cot with his head against the grimy concrete wall. Across the cell on another cot lay a man covered in sweat obviously de-toxing, probably heroin. His body odor, a foul mixture of sweat and chemicals, was nauseating. Every few minutes a scream or moan accompanied by incoherent babble would break his restless slumber. Chuckles was pretty sure that the man had soiled himself too.
Well this is what I get for shooting a cop.
Chuckles lightly struck his head against the wall as penance. Detective Cross had no compunction about throwing him in the cell with the junkie. At least she had allowed him to make a phone call. She definitely didn’t buy his story of being a member of an elite military unit. Then again, she probably figured that elite soldiers didn’t usually go on missions wearing khaki’s and Hawaiian shirts. His charm had run out two hours ago, when he was deposited in the cell.
Chuckles assessed what he knew about the case. Flint was AWOL and most likely in cahoots with the Baroness. Cobra was hunting them both, but so were the Joes for that matter. The Baroness must be on the outs with Cobra, otherwise she would not have had to shoot her way into the New Jersey facility. So why was Flint with her? He figured that was a key piece to all of this. Faireborne was too much the all-American, golden boy to turn traitor, of that he was sure. Flint wasn’t exactly leaving behind a trail of bread-crumbs either.
Chuckles hit his head harder against the concrete wall, as if to incite more thought. Think dammit, think.
He could only conclude that they had taken off from the facility in a small jet. He cracked his head harder against the wall. Which would mean that they would have needed to file a flight plan, otherwise they would have set off any number of countermeasures that were in place since 9-11 for unaccounted for aircraft over domestic soil. Chuckles chided himself for not putting it together sooner. Bludd was there looking for the flight plan.
It was another half an hour before Detective Cross entered the corridor to the holding cells. She looked amazingly unhappy. Chuckles noted that she had discarded her Kevlar, and that he was definitely correct about her having a killer body.
“Attica, Attica, Attica” Chuckles chanted from his prison cot.
Cross ignored him.
“On your feet, soldier.” a stern voice rang down the hallway.
Chuckles snapped to full attention.
“Sir”
Cross unlocked the door and stepped aside. As Chuckles exited he looked back to the shivering addict, then to Cross.
“The accommodations were lovely.”

jeditaz

12-10-2010, 04:53 PM

This is absolutely brilliant! Cant stop reading, and anticipating more~!

Stuart_Selkirk

12-10-2010, 06:01 PM

Great story, great writing.

Silverclown

12-10-2010, 07:25 PM

“Shouldn’t have run, dumb-ass.”

Love it.

Ok so firefly talks with a french accent?

meh if it works for you LOL

Keep it up.

camper

12-14-2010, 10:55 AM

Looking forward to the next chapters, man.

Flint071

12-15-2010, 03:23 PM

Flint knew fighter pilots who would have lost their nerve as less.
He had remained perfectly still in the co-pilots chair as the Gulfstream roared down the pavement. To have called it a runway would have been an exaggeration. It was a narrow corridor formed by cargo containers and warehouses, just wide enough for the wings of the jet to clear, and no margin for error, that ended abruptly in a grass filled drainage pond. Unconsciously his fingers dug into the plush leather armrest as they neared the pond. She was the picture of determination, never wavering as she pushed the throttle to full. Then the sudden weightlessness and the whining engines lifted them from the ground. The industrial complex fell away and the landing gear retracted settling into their underbelly of the plan with a rumble. The jet gained altitude over the quiet New Jersey neighborhood, and at her skilled piloting, found its heading for the southern coast.
The Baroness set the controls and toggled on the auto-pilot.
“Two hours and we should be in the Keys.”
Flint nodded and added “With the flight plan we were able to log directly into the FAA database we should be relatively unnoticed, just another corporate jet.”
” Americans know nothing of security. Cobra has been hacked into similar systems for decades.”
Flint was not amused as he unbuckled himself from the co-pilots chair. He gave her a look of distain before disappearing from the cockpit into the passenger area.
“So very serious, dear Flint.” She could not help her condescending tone. But even to her, it sounded forced and inappropriate against the man who was taking a blind leap of faith to support her.
The Baroness waited for the cockpit door to snap shut before exhaling a long ragged breath. She felt the tears welling up in her eyes. The take-off had nearly been a disaster, she would never admit it to him, but she had gambled with the length of the runway, and had she guessed wrong, would have killed them both. She sobbed quietly, the stress of the last few days finally piercing her armor. She was tired. It would be so easy to change headings and make for a remote island, to leave everything behind, and forget this fool errand. She was not even sure that she could prove her innocence; yet another detail she had neglected to tell him. More so, she wasn’t confident that her husband would be interested in her innocence if he discovered just how far she had strayed.
Her moment of weakness passed as quickly as it came. Steeling herself she checked the control one last time and slipped back into the passenger cabin.
Her eyes, still puffy from the little emotional breakdown, settled upon Flint. He was stripped to the waist and was trying rather unsuccessfully to reach what appeared to be a bullet wound on his side. Dried blood streaked down his side and disappeared below his web belt.
“Were you hit?” this time there was no condescending tone.
“Bastard grazed me; I didn’t even feel it until I pulled off my shirt and noticed the blood.”
He paid her no attention and opened the lid of the first-aid kit.
She unbuckled her gun belt and tossed it into an empty seat. She watched him wince with pain when he twisted around attempting to apply disinfectant.
“Will you need stitches?”
“I’ll be fine.” Ignoring her attempts at concern he fumbled with a roll of gauze, finally opening it with his teeth.
She watched him struggle as she slipped out of her leather body suit and tied the arms around her waist like a belt. She removed her Kevlar vest and saw that there were two pieces of shrapnel embedded in the protective weave; she had never felt it hit her. Her eyes returned to him, and then to the blood seeping through the first layer of sloppily applied bandages.
He had no reason to be here. Yet he was.
She stood before him in her battle worn body suit and black, lace bra; her black hair fell around her face and she pushed it away as would a shy schoolgirl. Her body was not soft, but rather toned and muscular, that of a soldier rather than a supermodel. Her expression, however, was uncharacteristically caring. Perhaps a glimpse of whom she could have been in another life.
Flint’s frustration was apparent; he tossed the roll of gauze back into the kit and leaned back heavily against the seat.
She lowered herself to her knees before him, never making eye contact. It was a moment of pure tenderness that could only be ruined if she looked into his eyes. She found herself trembling slightly as she applied the bandages to his side, jumping slightly when he inhaled sharply when she pressed too hard. She tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear as she worked.
When she finished she allowed herself to look up into his eyes. Shyness was gone, replaced by something else.
Her hands fell to his belt buckle, but she remained on her knees.

Flint071

12-16-2010, 01:47 PM

The gentle hum of the engines had lulled her into a quiet sleep.
The cat-nap was understandable after the last forty-five minutes of rather vigorous activities that they had just concluded from.
Flint was sitting on the floor lacing up his boots and watching her. She was lying on her side on the soft leather seats, her arms curled beneath her head. He had seen her without clothes before, but this was the first time that he bothered to take notice of her exquisite form. Even stripped bare, both in clothing and emotion, she exuded a striking air of confidence. Flint knew a little something about confidence, as he was usually accused to being overly so. As his eyes roamed her body, he thought about the striking differences between this woman and his beloved, Alison. Anastasia was arrogance incarnate. Alison was humble to a fault, always putting others first. It had been her nature, as long as Flint has known Lady Jaye, she was the nurturer and the protector. Flint found none of these qualities in the woman lying before him. Anastasia was cold and calculating, and even when there was a glimmer of emotion daring to shine forth, it was quickly quelled. Flint recognized her as a mirror of himself in many ways, but certainly not entirely. In this he took solace.
Within the hour they would be landing at the small airport in Key West, Florida. Their arrival, he hoped, would go unnoticed as it was a frequent stop for corporate charters heading to the Caribbean or into the Gulf of Mexico. Just another unassuming landing, a quick re-fueling, and back in the air.
A shrill alarm emanating from the cock-pit cut short his musings. Anastasia was on her feel and shrugging into her leather body suit, a look of panic mixed with confusing washing over her face.
“We’ve just been target locked!” she spat forth, as she pushed past him to gain access to the pilot’s chair.
She toggled off the auto-pilot and regained manual control of the plane, no doubt ready to begin evasive maneuvering. He motioned for her to wait.
“If they were going to shoot us down, they’d have done it already.”
Flint heard a crackle of static and the headphones on his seat came alive.
“GulfStream Echo Tango Niner, acknowledge.”
Flint checked out the left side of the cock-pit and saw a United State Air Force F-22 settle in next to them, matching their airspeed. The fighter pilot gave Flint a two fingered salute.

Flint rolled his eyes, so much for traveling unnoticed.

camper

12-16-2010, 02:36 PM

Sharp.

devilfish60

12-16-2010, 03:21 PM

This is awesome!!! Jonezing for more!!!

WeaponXCustoms

12-16-2010, 04:26 PM

nice work man keep it up

Silverclown

12-17-2010, 05:17 PM

Love it loooooove it!

Silverclown

12-23-2010, 05:21 PM

I need more, I gotta know how it ends. Dammit i need to know if Flint laid more Anastasia pipe. LOL

jeditaz

01-08-2011, 10:42 AM

Withdrawals....ya gotta write more!

Flint071

01-10-2011, 10:12 AM

Florida was a hot, miserable place in the hot July sun.
He, however, didn’t mind the discomfort. For him it was about the anticipation and the release. The waiting was foreplay, as evidenced by the aching bulge in his fatigue pants. For some it was the construction of the device that would bring about chaos, or the mere thought of doing harm. But for him, the waiting, the build-up, and control required to hold back until the perfect moment for the climactic release gripped him.
Firefly leaned back against the humming air-conditioning unit atop the refueling station. He had selected the spot for its perfect view of the small airstrip. He was perfectly concealed and had remained totally motionless since taking position on the rooftop of the fuel depot two hours ago. Sweat soaked through his gray baklava, and fatigues. There was always the urge to move or flinch or to wipe away the drops of sweat that had been steadily burning his eyes, but he resisted. For others to have exerted such control would have been agony, for him it was tantric pleasure.
Setting the charge under the fuel truck has been disappointing. There were no guards to subdue or security systems to blind, only a ten-foot fence to scale. The small device magnetically attached to the underside of the fuel trucks chassis. It was small charge, and rather uncomplicated, just a remote detonator. The power of the blast would come from the ignition of the jet fuel in the tanker. He shuddered at the pleasurable thought, so close. The remote detonator sat in his lap; as soon as the tanker was attached to the jet he would toggle the switch and watch the ensuing fireball. He found himself quivering with anticipation, knowing that his own release would come as the shockwave of the blast washed over him.
Only a few more minutes, his lips quivered from the agony of control and the promise of sweet pleasure.
He allowed his eyes to fall downward to the chronograph strapped to his wrist. Something was wrong, they should have touched down.
He heard sirens approaching from the north side of the airport. Turning, he saw the small column of military vehicles rolling down the tarmac heading for the refueling station. They were going to deny him his pleasure.
His hand crept to his lap, for the briefest of moments he considered indulging himself.
Always in control, he disappeared from the rooftop as the first humvee skidded to a halt.

Flint071

01-10-2011, 03:13 PM

The bedroom was dark except for the dim light from the screen of the Blackberry. He could hear the sound of typing coming from the adjacent office, and the familiar sound of a fresh Red Bull being cracked open.
Chuckles scrolled through the after-action report filed by local CID on the Florida incident. They had found an explosive device on a tanker truck, but no other signs of Cobra. Nothing in the report came as much of a surprise to him. He narrowed down the list of potential attackers in his mind, but settled firmly on either Firefly or Scrap Iron, both had the know-how to build the device, but he was leaning towards Firefly as the method of delivery was simple and the trigger was rather sophisticated.
Chuckles shut off the Blackberry and tossed it onto the nightstand next to his Sig Sauer.
He kicked off the sheets and padded to the doorway of the office. His cool blue eyes settled on the petite Korean American woman perched at the edge of her desk chair in front of three LCD flat screen monitors. She was wearing pink panties with skull and crossbones on the front, and nothing else except for the sleeves of ink that ran up her arms. Her black hair was done in tight fetish pigtails and her nails and lipstick were a matching shade of black. She wasn’t exactly his type, but then again after so many years of deep undercover work he didn’t even know if he had a type anymore. It was hard sometimes remembering what the lie was and wasn’t. But, at the end of the day, she sort of reminded him of Jinx and that was enough, plus he needed a place to crash for the night.
Chuckles liked to watch her move, her fingers moved over the keyboard with a precision that would make the most accomplished pianist envious. Her eyes didn’t seem to blink as she examined the lines of code on the screen before her. She seemed to crackle with an innate energy that he found very sexy.
She tossed her head back and drained the last of the Red Bull from a can. Spinning around on her desk chair and made two complete rotations before coming to rest facing him. She gripped the arms of her chair and steadied herself.
“Whoa! Dizzy. …might have had too much Red Bull today.”
Chuckles didn’t say anything and continued to lean against the doorframe.
“So is Flint in custody?”
He shook his head “No, Ace, escorted him and the Baroness to a remote refueling depot in Pensacola, they took on fuel. Flint and Duke talked for maybe fifteen minutes on a secure link and Duke cut them loose. He was pretty tight lipped about it but said he was trusting Flint to make the call right now.”
“Those two sure are leaving a trail of bodies behind them.”
“I figure Duke is thinking that Flint is going to stir the pot a little. Did you manage to dig up anything on BioDesign yet?”
“Nothing yet, they have some amazing security for their servers, and since you don’t want anyone to know we’re checking them out, it’s going to take a little while. Exactly why are we checking them out again?”
“We’re not, I am. Duke didn’t give me much to work with, only the company name, BioDesign.”
“How so very mysterious and naughty, and did I mention illegal. It would be the illegal part that I am concerned with by the way. Not so much that I might get caught, because I won’t, but more in the terms of the fact that I don’t want to have to explain to General Hawk why I got nabbed for hacking a private company with ties to the government…again. So you’re sure that Duke gave you the ok for me to, well, do what I do? Because I know you work off the grid sometimes and I just don’t want to make anyone mad at me, maybe I should shoot Duke an e-mail to make sure it’s ……
Chuckles let her excited rambling continue until she stopped for breath.
“Michelle. It’s fine. I am operating under orders from Duke” He paused for a moment and winked at her, “But just don’t get caught.”
With that reassurance she jumped out of her chair and ran into the bedroom, diving into the bed.
“Well in that case, I broke their security an hour ago and have been downloading files to a virtual database. By morning I should have it all.”
Chuckles turned as her pink panties hit him in the face. She had the covers pulled up to her chin and was giggling.
Hacker chicks are really hot, he decided as he joined her.

5h4rK

01-10-2011, 04:37 PM

Wow... 8-o
Flint071, you are one of the reasons why I love HissTank! Have you ever been front paged with your story??

Flint071

01-13-2011, 04:41 PM

“So again, why did they let us go?”
Flint turned to look at her, and but remained quiet. Anastasia had been in a state of disbelief since their Gulfstream had been cleared for take-off from Pensacola two hours prior.
It has not been a planned stop, in fact, they were to have landed at a small private air-strip in the Keys, and had it not been for some intelligence gathered on site in New Jersey they very well may have sprung the trap that had been laid for them. Flint made a mental note to ask Duke how he found out they were heading to the Key West when he got back. The sudden realization that there might be no return trip to U.S. soil struck Flint in the gut like a size twelve boot. Hell, if he actually lived through this he’d most likely have a court marshal and a cell at Leavenworth waiting for him. Not a great incentive to see him through. Flint dismissed the entire line of thinking, there wasn’t much left to go back to anyway.
Flint’s ID had been more than enough to let them by-pass customs and security. The head of airport security had scrutinized Anastasia’s face for what seemed like an eternity before letting them pass. He had undoubtedly seen her face somewhere on a terrorist watch list.
Outside of the Tocumen International Airport they flagged down a taxi. Flint loaded their weapon laden bags into the trunk, ignoring the offers from the driver to help. The warehouse in New Jersey had been a calculated risk, not only for the means of transport but also the necessary gear for their endeavor.
The Panama heat made Flint sticky and uncomfortable as he stacked their bags in the trunk. Anastasia had taken refuge in the air conditioned interior of the taxi and hid behind her oversized sunglasses as he worked.
When he finished he settled into the back seat of the taxi next to her.
“Driver, take us to the InterContinental Miramar.” The tone of her voice was cold as she regarded him, she was used to having people at her beck and call, and she spoke at him instead of to him.
“Intercontinental? Not exactly staying off the grid; you should have asked me first.”
The driver, having overheard his tone, did not pull away from the curb.
“Yes, the Intercontinental. What, did you think I would be caught dead at the local Motel 6?”
“Caught dead is what I was hoping to prevent, for a little while longer, anyway.”
“Come now, dear Flint, a little trust that I am not some silly school girl on vacation. Driver, you may continue on to the hotel now.”
“I assume that you will be discussing any other matters of great importance with me before you act on them, or am I just being drug the fuck along?” his tone more harsh than warranted.
She pushed her sunglasses into her hair and glared.
“You may assume what you like, but let me assure you that I do not take orders from you. If you choose to forget that fact again and think that I am yours to control, you may take your leave of this, and me, at any time. “Her accent seemed to thicken as her anger spewed forth.
Days of frustration and weariness, coupled with generally being pissed, overcame what was left of his self control as he slapped her. The back of his hand connected solidly with the side of her face and knocked her sunglasses of her head. She sat stunned for a moment, a line of blood trickled from the corner of her mouth.
"You fucking asked me for help, YOU would do well to remember that."
He sat unmoving, staring back into her hate filled eyes, awaiting the verbal and physical barrage that he knew would come next.
To his amazement she threw herself forward and crushed his mouth his mouth with hers. Her tongue parted his lips and her hands tangled in his hair. She pressed herself again him, hard.
She was panting when the kiss broke. Her eyes wide with an insane lust.
“You should make your point like that more often.”

G.I. Jennster

01-13-2011, 09:12 PM

damn. this is hot. i loveeee it! can't wait for more!

jeditaz

01-13-2011, 09:58 PM

Flint071....this is pure genius!

Flint071

01-14-2011, 04:29 PM

They checked into the hotel under the name Becket.
Flint’s own thoughts had, as of late, drifted to "Thomas à Becket", the venerated saint and martyr who had slept on the cold, stone floor as penance for sins previously committed. Flint did not have delusions of sainthood or martyrdom, but rather could relate fully to paying penance for his sins.
They occupied a suite on the second to top floor of the hotel. Anastasia had wryly commented at her disappointment that the Honeymoon Suite was already occupied.
With the exception of the clothes on their backs they were rather under packed when it came to attire. They did, however, manage to scavenge a rather varied collection of weapons from the warehouse in New Jersey.
Flint was stretched out on the floor of the bedroom sorting through his portion of the gear. He had go five extra clips for his Beretta and two boxes of shells for his 12 gauge stacked next to him. Flint checked the action on an M4 and noted about a dozen, thirty round magazines. In another bag at his feet he had already taken inventory of the assortment of grenades, C-4 and random other goodies. Once satisfied, he tucked the gear back into the oversized duffle and pushed it under the bed.
Anastasia emerged from the bathroom, her black hair piled upon her head and her body wrapped tightly in one of the hotel’s plush robes. Flint thought that she looked tired. Why shouldn’t she, he thought, they had been existing on minimal sleep and adrenaline for days. He could feel his own weariness creeping into his body. If they didn’t get some rest, they were bound to start making mistakes. He rubbed the back of his hand absently, the same hand he had used to strike her in the taxi.
…mistakes.
“I’m going downstairs to the spa.” she wasn’t asking, rather announcing. He said nothing as the door closed behind her.
They had not spoken to one another since the bell-hop pulled the door closed. It was as if they were both running on automatic. Flint’s memory flashed back to the last vacation he had taken with Alison. Two weeks in Jamaica, just the two of them. Since their wedding day they had not spent two consecutive weekends together, yet alone two weeks. Their duties with the Joes always had them at opposite ends of the world and they only saw each other in passing. Not that they wasted a moment of their time together. Flint allowed a painful smile as he remembered the sixth day of the trip. He and Alison had fought that morning about something, he couldn’t even remember what. He remembered her finally taking a deep breath and announcing “I love you, but if you don’t get away from me for a couple of hours I’m going to kill you.” She had put her hands on his chest and kissed him lightly, whispering that she would see him at dinner. His heart ached as he remembered Alison wrapping herself in a white robe and leaving their hotel room. “I’ll be at the spa.”

G.I. Jennster

01-15-2011, 11:13 AM

Flint071

01-15-2011, 02:58 PM

very nice! looking forward to the next installment. did you make the call about flint and lady jaye being married, and her death, or was this something that happened in the comic series? i am really impressed with the writing. thinking about trying my hand at this for an idea i have about renegades.
keep up the good work!

It was in the comic series from Devils Due Publishing - I sort of have this thought out as the time between G.I. Joe and G.I. Joe America's Elite.

Sorta for the half - but I'm going to go where ever it takes me....but I do have the ending figured out at least.

G.I. Jennster

01-16-2011, 01:37 AM

it's really good. i am something of a writer myself. when you keep people jonesing for more like we are all, you are totally doing something right. Can't wait for next installment!!

Flint071

01-16-2011, 09:06 AM

Thank You

Flint071

01-24-2011, 04:33 PM

Flint needed some air.
For days now he had existed on the highs of adrenaline and the lows that came from the morning after a bottle of scotch. He was not unaware that the same high he experienced during a firefight was much the same as the high experienced when she dug her nails into his back and called out in pleasure, and that the lows mirrored the guilt he felt as she fell asleep next to him afterwards.
He mulled this over as he walked through the crowded Panama City market.
Flint walked with his head down, but his eyes scanned the streets and rooftops now with a practiced efficiency honed under the fear of attack in the thickest of jungles and darkest desert cave. Usually in the latter scenarios he had some idea of who was coming for him, not so much the case today. Cobra or Red Shadows, hell, it could be him own team coming to retrieve their wayward solider.
He stopped at a small stand and picked up a pair of knock-off sunglasses. Using the small mirror on the display stand he scanned the crowd behind him looking for a tail. Flint was not an undercover operative by any means, but he had picked up a few tricks along the way. It was hard to sort through the paranoia, especially exacerbated with a lack of sleep, but he had a distinct feeling that he was being watched.
Then he saw it. Or did he?
A man across the street, wearing a tan ball-cap caught his attention. Flint’s focused and then saw it, the scar running down the man’s right cheek. Flint cursed under his breath, knowing full well that the other one would be close.
How in the hell did they locate us so quickly.
Flint paid for the sunglasses and secured them on the bridge of his nose before continuing on down the sidewalk, leading his pursuer away from the hotel. Under normal circumstances everything about Flint denoted him as military, even out of uniform. Today, the circumstances were not normal, Flint wore a pair of worn jeans and a v-neck t-shirt left loose as to hide the Beretta in the concealed holster in the small of his back. He was sans his trademark beret and his short dark brown hair was matted down and sloppy; that coupled with five o’clock shadows and he just another tourist wandering aimlessly through the marketplace.
Flint hated cat and mouse games, he hated the idea of being hunted, and he certainly hated the idea of running from anything. He took a deep breath and stopped in the middle of the street. Slowly he turned, scanning the crowd until he located Xamot who was trying to blend into the crowd. Flint cocked his head to the side and made a come-hither motion with finger. A long second passed as Xamot realized he had been made and flashed Flint a sardonic sneer before breaking into a run heading towards a narrow alleyway.
Flint launched himself through the throng of shoppers giving chase. He was aware that the brother, Tomax, would be lurking close by, and with any luck would come to the aide of his sibling. As he made his way into the alley and out of view of the civilians Flint produced his Beretta and drew back the hammer.
There was no movement on the cobblestone path leading between the buildings. Then he heard the rattle of the fire escape from above and the distinct pop of a small caliber pistol. Hot air rushed past his face as the bullet barely missed its mark. Flint threw himself backwards and thudded into a foul smelling dumpster, aiming his pistol up the metal framework of the escape and firing three rounds from where he believed he was taking fire. His bullets bounced off the metalwork with little effect.
“Dammit” he muttered as he tucked away his pistol and took to the ladder, hoisting himself onto the iron grating of the fire-escape, continuing the chase.
Where was the other one?
Flint paused at the top of the fire escape. He could not see over the ledge to the roof, and he knew he was going to have to break cover to look; best to be quick about it. Flint inhaled deeply and peered over the edge, it was only a split second but just long enough for an attacker laying in wait to squeeze the trigger. Thankfully no bullets whizzed past his head. Another deep breath and he launched himself over the edge of the roof, rolled once and came up in a crouching position with his pistol drawn.
His heartbeat sounded like a bass drum in his ears and even in the early evening the sweat soaked through his t-shirt. Nothing moved on the rooftop except for the lazy spinning blades of an exhaust fan. It was trite, but seconds seemed like hours. Flint stepped forward, moving his weapon side to side, waiting for a target. He listened intently, but the constant hum of the a/c units and the street noise below made it futile
Where are you?
Then movement from the right side as Xamot broke cover and sprinted along the very edge of the rooftop, one misstep would mean plummeting to the street below. Flint fired twice, just missing as Xamot disappeared behind a cistern.
Five expended with ten more in the magazine. Flint kept a mental count as he cautiously advanced his position.
Footsteps on the gravel rooftop behind him, Flint spun and went to one knee, firing two more shots into nothingness. He knew there was no way Xamot could have gotten behind him. That meant that dear brother Tomax had joined the fray.
Off to the right the flash of a ball-cap and the sound of footfall on the gravel. Flint fired again, his bullets slamming into the side of a neighboring building. He couldn’t be sure which twin it was that time.
Seven left in the magazine.
“Brother, I think he’s confused; firing off in all directions.” An amused voice echoed amid the rooftop.
“Indeed Brother, I thought this would be more of a challenge.” The response sounded, equally amused
Flint edged backwards, giving himself the best view of the rooftop and keeping his would-be killers in front of him. He didn’t suspect they would be dumb enough to try taking him one on one. Flint steadied his breathing and waited.
It happened in an instant; the two brothers stepped into view from opposite ends of the rooftop. Flint marveled at how they moved in unison, exactly the same, even as they leveled their pistols at him.
Flint, against all training, fired only once. Normally in these situations three shots, mid-mass was warranted, but he needed a prisoner. Flint’s weapon fired a split second before either of the twin’s small bore pistols. The 9mm hollow point from Flint’s Beretta slammed into Xamot’s upper thigh, shattering the femur and shredding the femoral artery, effectively dropping him to the rooftop. Flint felt the satisfying smile creep upon his lips at the brother Tomax wailed in pain and fell flailing to the rooftop as well grasping his seemingly unwounded leg.
Flint dropped the used magazine to the rooftop, and snapped a fresh on into place.
“We are undone” they screamed in unison.
“Not just yet,” Flint growled.

Scarlett-Jinx

01-24-2011, 04:37 PM

It was early morning and a steady rain was drumming against the window of the house in the quiet D.C. suburb near Alexandria. The house was bathed in shades of gray, as was the man who lay unmoving, yet awake beneath the sheets of the bed. He had not shaved in the last two days and his eyes were blood shot from lack of sleep that didn’t come from half a bottle of Johnny Walker.
Today was the funeral at Arlington. Full military regalia, a twenty-one gun salute and the haunting melody of taps echoing amid the gravestones was yet to come.
Now, the scent of perfume from the untouched pillow next to him brought upon a rush of memories that sent a shudder through his entire body. Hours spent laying with her head on his chest on lazy Sunday mornings, the passionate love-making after returning home from long assignments or the gentle caress before falling asleep all played across his scotch addled brain. Groaning, he wiped his eyes as if to wipe away the images that his brain tortured him with. In truth, it was also to wipe away the tears that seemed well up when he remembered her.
He willed himself to move, and his body reluctantly followed orders, just like a good solder. Her family was coming today. Damn, if that wasn't going to be hard.
Sitting at the edge of the bed he reached for the half empty glass of scotch on the nightstand, the ice cubes having long melted away. The glass clinked against the barrel of the well-worn Army issue Beretta. The hammer was still cocked back from the night before and even thought it was unseen he knew there was a round chambered. It has been a particularly bad night. He swallowed the piss-warm scotch with purpose. More bad nights would come.
Reaching back he touched his fingertips to her pillow .....(end)

________________________________________
*Takes place three days after Lady Jaye's death*

fix your font dude...... good story but the tiny font hurts my eyes (.)_(.)

Silverclown

01-24-2011, 05:17 PM

yeah.... Ive been waiting for this. My life sucks right now and god dam your story is great. It gives me something to look forward to.

Flint071

01-25-2011, 03:17 PM

Flint did not have a lot of time.
The sun was setting over Panama City, and the rooftop was awash with long shadows of the departing day. Flint looked down at Xamot, the twin’s face was a ghostly shade of white and his teeth chattered as shock overtook his body. He lay in a pool of crimson, his femoral artery pumping his lifeblood out between his fingers. His feeble attempts to staunch the flow were proving ineffective.
“Your brothers got maybe fifteen minutes to live, Tomax. Tell me how you knew we were here!”
Tomax was on his knees facing his brother. Flint had a handful of the twin’s hair forcing his gaze downward to where his brother lay bleeding out. The barrel of his Beretta was screwed into Tomax’s right ear.
“If you let my brother die, there will be no safe haven for you, Faireborn, I will hunt you down and kill you slowly.”
Flint yanked the man’s head back savagely.
“What makes you think either of you are getting out of this alive unless you tell me what I want to know?”
“Tell him, brother. It will be of no consequence….” Xamot said between labored breaths.
Flint punctuated the request by drawing back the hammer of the pistol and pressing it deeper into the man’s ear.
“We have an agent at the airport; he alerted us to your arrival, and we’ve had you ever since the market place.”
Flint immediately knew of whom he spoke. The head of airport security had taken a particular interest in Anastasia. Flint knew they had taken a risk flying into a public airport, but had hoped for anonymity among the crowd.
“What was your mission?” Flint growled.
The twins shot each other a knowing glance but said nothing.
Flint, already confident that he knew the answer, drew back and smashed butt of his pistol into the bridge of Tomax’s nose. As was common with the Corsican Syndrome, the pain was from the blow was felt sharply by both twin.
“To kill the Baroness!!” both brothers screamed in unison.
“There is a squad of Shock-Troopers headed to the hotel right now.” Xamot started giggling, lost in a delirium as his life began to slip away. “You should have never left her…she’ll be an easy kill now that she is…alone.”
Flint jerked the bleeding Tomax to his feet.
“And me, what were your orders?”
A twisted smile formed on Tomax’s face.
“Destro considered you to be inconsequential, nothing but chaff.” as he spoke blood sprayed into Flint’s face.
Tomax joined his brother’s psychotic laughing fit, “Tell me, Faireborn, does Destro’s wife fuck as well as your dead wife did?”
Tomax was still laughing as Flint threw him from the rooftop to the unforgiving pavement five stories below, both brothers dead upon impact.
“Inconsequential…… I’ll remember that”

!!Snake-Eyes!!

01-25-2011, 03:33 PM

wow amazing read! keep it up please you should get this published

Topside

01-25-2011, 03:57 PM

I like where you're going with this- keep it up.

G.I. Jennster

01-26-2011, 08:24 PM

thank you for killing off the two most annoying cobra fools to ever walk the earth! damn i hated those two!!

you da man flintster!

Flint071

01-27-2011, 07:25 PM

thank you for killing off the two most annoying cobra fools to ever walk the earth! damn i hated those two!!

you da man flintster!

LOL - glad you are enjoying.

jeditaz

02-09-2011, 02:31 PM

Any new material yet? Its been a while and I need a fix!

Topside

02-09-2011, 02:35 PM

This- ^^^

Scroll142

02-09-2011, 02:36 PM

why are you not writing in
http://www.hisstank.com/forum/g-i-joe-fan-fiction/95547-our-joe-story.html
?

you got a way with words sir. very nice.

wertdog91

02-09-2011, 04:14 PM

This story is amazing, you are friggin very talented man. Keep it up cause I need more

Neuspeaq

02-09-2011, 04:34 PM

why are you not writing in http://www.hisstank.com/forum/g-i-joe-fan-fiction/95547-our-joe-story.html ? you got a way with words sir. very nice.^^^Most Definately This^^^ Considering that Scroll 142, Lifeline MD, Pit Viper, and YOU were HUGELY influential to me, in regards to me trying my hand at Fan Fiction. Thank You ALL btw.

camper

02-11-2011, 12:45 AM

It is time for an update, Flint. Bring the pain.
And enjoyment :)

I seriously enjoy your work.

thunderdan19

02-11-2011, 10:51 AM

Love the story! It's gritty and in your face. It's kept me checking back for updates, and posting for the first time in months.

Just a couple critiques that would help take it from great to excellent:

Don't depend on spell check for grammar or usage. Balkava does not equal balaclava. Eloquent does not equal elegant. Spell check will not pick these up. You have to read and reread. WordWeb is a very handy resource for spelling, usage and definitions. When it doubt, look it up. It'll keep you from embarrassing snafu's like Firefly's baklava.
Banging in every chapter is not required and actually takes away from an otherwise fantastic storyline. It's a great element when used sparingly, but overuse makes it seem more like erotica and less like original gritty fiction. Your work is good enough that you don't need to rely on it to keep the reader interested. The first drunken encounter makes complete sense, but on the plane was excessive and actually takes away from (particularly Flint) the characters. I liked where you were going with the Baroness's humanity. Pursuing that further on the flight would have been preferable, IMO.
JM2CW. Great job. Looking forward to the next installment.

Flint071

02-19-2011, 05:22 PM

Thanks for everyones comments, encouragement, and in some cases death threats for more of my story.

As soon as I get some down time I'll continue the further adventures of Flint and Chuckles kicking ass and laying pipe.

Because sometimes you just feel like getting your favorite characters laid.

wertdog91

02-19-2011, 05:49 PM

[QUOTE=Flint071;230

Because sometimes you just feel like getting your favorite characters laid.[/QUOTE]

Hell yea

Flint071

02-19-2011, 09:23 PM

The little Latina masseuse had weighed all of ninety-five pounds but her fingers felt like hot iron as they kneaded sore muscles, working the knots out an inch at a time. The private massage had been worth every penny. Now that it was over Anastasia slipped the soft, plush robe over her naked form and padded into the atrium carrying with her a glass of perfectly chilled champagne.

The spa was quiet and for that she was grateful. Such a relaxing endeavor would be utterly ruined by a chatty tourist from Iowa or a babbling college sorority girl. The robe fell from her shoulders as stepped down into the whirl-pool. The churning water enveloped her, drowning out what little sounds there were in the soothing environment.

Anastasia lay her head against the edge of the tub, closed her eyes and allowed her mind to drift to the last time she had been with her husband.
They had made love, or as close as they came to such an act. Destro had certain tendencies that Anastasia was usually more than happy to accommodate; black leather and a degree of pain was usually involved. Anastasia found her fingertips gently caressing her own thigh at the pleasant memory. There was no denying the passion that each elicited in the other. For him it was the touch of a dominate and stunningly beautiful woman. And in return, she had absolute control over arguable one of the worlds most dangerous men. Their marriage was born of such self-serving cruelty, but over the years grew into something more. She did love him now, not always, but certainly now.

She furrowed her brow as a twinge of doubt crept along her spine. Then what was Faireborn?

A sadistic sneer seemed to curl at the edges of her mouth, but it was forced, she was trying to convince herself that she felt nothing for him. He was something different. It had been many years, even before Destro, that she had allowed anyone to see her splayed open to her very core. She recalled their tender moment on the plane as she tended to his wounds.

Her fingers trailed up her fluttering stomach and between the curves of her breasts. For a brief moment she allowed herself the hope they were both going to make it through this alive. For a brief moment she wondered what it would be like to no longer be the Baroness. Did such a future exist for people like them.

She chided herself for such adolescent prattle, but nonetheless a smile formed on her lips. Perhaps.

Her contemplative musings were abruptly cut short as a leather clad hand savagely tangled in her ebony hair. Instinctively, she opened her mouth to scream, but the churning water rushed in as her head was pushing below the surface. She clawed at the leather gauntlet that was locked into her hair, feeling her fingernails ripping from her fingertips in her adrenaline fueled barrage.

Anastasia could not find purchase on the slippery floor of the hot tub. Her legs thrashed uncontrollably. Starbursts fired in her peripheral vision as her brain begged for oxygen. She arched her back and her limbs felt useless as the thrashing stopped. Darkness was overcoming her blurred vision.

No, god, not like this.

Then air, or was it the release of death. She faded in and out of consciousness. She felt herself being drug from the water by her hair, but she felt no pain. No longer in control of her extremities she felt heavily onto the tile floor, her head bounced once with a sickening thud. Water seeped from her mouth as she struggled for air in gasps and coughs.

Anastasia forced her eyes open, searching for a glimpse of her would-be executioner. Then in the last moments of consciousness the twisted visage of a white haired man, and the striking skull and crossbones emblem on his crimson uniform.
“Flint just can‘t seem to keep his women alive, as of late.”
Then darkness.

camper

02-22-2011, 12:16 AM

Fantastic work, as always, Flint.

More.

G.I. Jennster

02-22-2011, 11:40 AM

ahhh flint, such a tease! latest chapter over to quickly :,(

wertdog91

02-22-2011, 11:48 AM

ahhh flint, such a tease! latest chapter over to quickly :,(

This^^^

Silverclown

02-23-2011, 05:17 PM

nice, surprised The Baroness would be caught off like that.

jeditaz

03-09-2011, 01:14 PM

Needing an update here Flint! Anything!? Please dont lose interest in this!

devilfish60

03-12-2011, 11:56 AM

Come on man......NEED MORE!!!

Flint071

03-16-2011, 01:04 PM

Flint stalked back and forth in the empty hotel room.
He had not been able to get to her in time. She was gone, just like Alison.
Running at breakneck speed through the crowded Panamanian streets he had arrived just in time to see the last of the crimson garbed figures tossing what looked like a body bag into the rear of a nondescript Suburban. He was too far away to anything but watch as it pulled away from the curb and disappeared into the myriad of traffic in the downtown.
…a body bag.
Stop! You don’t know that they killed her?
Of course they did. What would be gained by keeping her alive?
Why didn’t they leave her body lay, it would have been a more effective message.
Evidence. You just don’t leave bodies lying around. And why did they need to send a message to anyone, especially you. They were just cleaning up lose ends.
Or she isn’t dead.
What if she was? It’s over now anyway. No way of telling where they took her, or even who took….
Damn! They weren’t Cobra Shock Troopers. They were something else.
Flint’s nuts felt like they were being gripped in a vice. Bile forced itself into his throat.
Dela Eden! They were wearing the same uniform as Dela Eden was when she killed Alison.
Motherfucker! It’s Red Shadow. They have her.
He had little time to consider his revelation.
The sound from other side of the door was faint, almost non-existent, but his immediate gut response was unmistakable. Flint knew the sound of a weapons’ safety being thumbed to the off position.
There was no time to react; his hand had barely gripped the Beretta when the battering ram knocked the door from its hinges.
They came hard. Black clad Shock Troopers in tactical gear, well protected behind clear polymer shields emblazoned with the red Cobra insignia; their equivalent of a SWAT team.
Flint set his jaw for the beating that was going to ensue and fired his weapon, one-handed, into the lead shield. The bullets deflected harmlessly.
“Come on, bastards.”
Flint lowered his shoulder and threw himself at the first Trooper. His weight toppled the first man over and Flint came down hard atop him. He went for the Troopers helmet, intent on twisting his head off.
Not going easy.
He felt the two pin-pricks in the back of his shoulder and the surge of electrical current. It coursed through his body. There was no fighting through it.
The Shock Trooper holding the Taser watched with a sadistic sneer as Flint’s rigid body shuddered and convulsed. The troopers booted heel ended all struggling decisively.

Neuspeaq

03-16-2011, 01:33 PM

Sweet Jeesus!!! Awesomeness hayuz Returned!!!

camper

03-16-2011, 01:42 PM

Thanks for the fix, Flint. I like the inner dialogue, near stream-of-consciousness style. Good chapter.
And I like the accessories for the figures making an appearance, too :)

Topside

03-16-2011, 05:16 PM

way to short- l need more after such a dry spell

Flint071

03-17-2011, 09:55 AM

“I can’t believe Duke is making me wear this.”

Chuckles rolled his eyes and looked at his traveling companion. She had her feet on the dashboard of the Government issue Crown Victoria and was fiddling with her hair, making sure her pig-tails were firmly in place and that her dark oversized sunglasses her meticulously perched on her nose. Her legs ran from under a short, schoolgirl skirt and were encased in thin black fishnets. They ended in shiny patent leather shoes held in place with a silver buckles. Secured firmly around her left ankle was a black electronic monitoring device that was all the rage with parolees and those under house arrest.

“Really? You’re bitching about an ankle bracelet. You conveniently forgot to mention yesterday that you were under house arrest and on suspension pending investigation from the team for hacking a gaming Website, you claim, was a front for Cobra. Would have been good to know before I went to Duke and told him I wanted to take you with me on this.”
Michelle crossed her arms in true pouty school-girl fashion and stuck out her bottom lip. She did, however, remain quiet. Chuckles knew her well enough to know that this was sure sign that he had just confronted her with something as dastardly as the truth.

They drove along Route 64, east of St. Louis. It was a seemingly endless road that stretched out before them in a long and rather boring ribbon of blacktop.
“Ok, so tell me again why we couldn’t have flown out here.” The ankle bracelet, and possibly, the preceding conversation in its entirety had been forgotten in the blur of her ADHD.
He checked his watch; it was a record, almost a full forty-five seconds of silence, and the first since their departure from Washington D.C. earlier that morning.
Without taking his eyes off the road he shrugged, “I like to drive, give me time to think.”

“Well I don’t like it. It’s boring, and there isn’t anything fun to see unless you really like cows and cornfields, which I don’t for the record. And the only radio stations I can get are playing Country music, and did I mention it was boring…B-O.R.I.N.G.” She spelled the last word again for emphasis.

It occurred to Chuckles that he might have to duct tape her and put her in the trunk.

“You’d rather be back in your apartment waiting for the board of review hearing?”

“Good point”, her hands flopped into her lap as if in resigning to her boring fate. She kicked off her shoes and tucked her legs under herself. Leaning forward she began rooting around in the oversized Coach bag on the floor of the car. Random items of varying degrees of appropriateness appeared and disappeared back into the bag amid her muttering of “No, not it, where is it, can’t believe this is in here. Oh, I’ve been looking for that…”

Chuckles made note of how the schoolgirl skirt rode high on her legs, apparently the fish-nets were thigh-highs. One of the perk of being a well-trained investigator, he never missed anything.

“Ha! There it is.” she exclaimed and produced her Blackberry from the bag.

Chuckles took a deep breath the kept driving without interrupting her.She paid him no attention and bopped back and forth in the passenger seat, scrolling through Blackberry looking for her latest train of thought.

“Ok, BioDesign, incorporated in Baltimore, Maryland, but most of the R and D is done in the Washington D.C. lab, presumably so that the Government big-wigs can check on their investment. Everything seemed to be on the up and up except that I found a single data-stream that was being sent off site. Not strange you say? Well I didn’t think so at first either, until I realized that the data wasn’t being sent through normal file transfer protocols consistent with the BioDesign’s server network and exchange servers. The data stream I isolated was outgoing only, and was back-feeding along a non-secure data link….I think it was their digital cable lines. I bet if I physically tore apart BioDesign’s network I would find a transmitter and a receiver linking their secure networks to an open and unmonitored system. Someone has been mining their secure network for data for months."

Chuckles had heard all of this already, but let her continue on. Her thought processes, he was learning, worked best when she vocalized, everything. And she did, rather incessantly.

“So the data was not only being sent off site, but it was highly encrypted, so I couldn’t tell what it was. But I could tell where it was going.”

“Springfield” Chuckles stated, apparently to no one in particular.

“Springfield”, she continued on, matter-of-factly, lost in the scrolling text on the Blackberry. “We’ve, I mean, the Joes, not you and me, have thought that Springfield has been a hot-bed of covert Cobra activity for years, but have never really been able to find out anything but some small weapons caches and fanatical propaganda targeted at youth groups. You’d find that in every city these days, probably on the same block that you’d find Hezbollah and Al Qaeda. Do you think Cobra has medical and dental?”

Chuckles shot her a look of disbelief “Seriously, is that the way your mind really works?”

She nodded happily, never looking up.

“Why? It would be a great recruitment tool. Join Cobra, we pay better than McDonalds and offer full medical and dental.”

Chuckles admitted that she posed an interesting point. A lot of folk would do some pretty twisted things to take care of themselves and their families. So what if it meant joining an evil organization bent on world domination. Hell, Cobra was probably so compartmentalized and spread out through shell companies that most “employees” probably had no idea who they really worked for. They punched their time clocks and got paid every week.

“So what’s the plan?” she asked as she cracked open a fresh Red Bull which she had produced from the depths of her purse.

Chuckles shrugged, “We find where that signal was being pumped and go from there?”

“Not much of a plan, glad you had a thousand miles of thinking to come up with that gem.”

“You’re not allergic to duct-tape, are you?”

G.I. Jennster

03-17-2011, 04:18 PM

oh love the lil nod to me sweet hometown of ole bal-T-mor! keep up the good work homes

wertdog91

03-19-2011, 10:26 PM

Give em coming man. Loving it

wertdog91

03-23-2011, 11:15 PM

I need my fix brother

G.I. Jennster

04-20-2011, 01:15 PM

oooh flint, don't forget about us. ya can't leave us like this!!

jeditaz

04-22-2011, 02:38 AM

Its been waaaaaaay too long! Help!

Flint071

05-11-2011, 01:50 PM

There was light.

Flint blinked his eyes, fighting off the darkness that pervaded his peripheral vision, and dared to swallow him back into unconsciousness.
He was lashed to a simple wooden chair. The rough corded rope cut into his upper arms and looped back around both wrists and ankles, effectively securing him in place. Whoever had tied the knots had a high degree of expertise as even the slightest motion caused the ropes to constrict further. After a moment of futile struggling Flint took deep breath and resigned to the situation at hand. He had been captured.

Methodically he began to analyzing his surroundings. It was a stonework room, damp and musty, maybe a basement. His boots had been removed, and he felt that the floor was hard-packed dirt or clay. There was only a single point of entry, a solid oak door with rusting iron hinges; pins on the outside, of course. The only light came from a naked light-bulb hanging directly over his head on a thin black wire that disappeared into the ceiling. The light emanating from the bulb bathed the chamber with a dim white light that barely reached the farthest corners.

He grimaced at the distinct lack of options for escape.

Closing his eyes, Flint concentrated on sounds. He expected to hear the screams of other prisoners, or the hushed conversations of guards. There were none. He continued to listen to the silence for a few minutes more, keeping his own breathing shallow, remaining absolutely still. Finally, he exhaled heavily and leaned back into the chair, finding a position that didn’t cut off the circulation to his fingers.

There was nothing else to do but wait. If they had wanted him dead, they could have put two in his brain-pan in the hotel room after he was tasered. The list of would be captors was growing every days since he had agreed to having a drink with the Baroness. As best Flint could figure, Destro was probably the leading candidate. You don’t sleep with a man’s wife, steal his jet and then leave a trail of bodies behind you without causing some hard feelings. Then again, tossing one of the Crimson Twins off a rooftop in Panama wasn’t likely to have gained him any favor with the Commander either.

With the initial panic and adrenal response that he had experienced upon waking now wearing off Flint became painfully aware of the knot on the back of his head. It was the lingered effect of the Shock Troopers booted heel delivering the final blow of their melee in the hotel room. His skull was throbbing painfully, adding to the discomfort caused by the ropes digging into his arms and wrists.
Flint’s thoughts drifted to a few years earlier. He had been captured, along with the Baroness, and held by the Russian Mafia and Yakuza. Their interrogator had pumped they full of sodium pentothal and had thrown them both a rather savage beating in hopes of learning the whereabouts of the then missing Cobra Commander. They had only managed to orchestrate an escape by using the Baroness’s broken glasses to cut their bindings.

Flint’s memory fast-forwarded to their eventual rescue by a joint Joe/Cobra team, led by none other than Destro and Lady Jaye. Flint pondered the irony of their respective lovers coming to save them. He saddened as he remembered the look of jealousy and hurt on Alison’s face when the Baroness had kissed him, a reward of sorts for helping her survive their ordeal. He also knew that her kiss had been nothing more than a sadistic jab at his wife. A parting shot before exiting in the arms of her husband. Of course, Alison promptly responded by knocking him on his ass with a right cross. Jealousy was a bitch. But his beautiful Alison had come to save him that day.

No one was coming to save him today.

As if fate decided to punctuate that revelation, Flint heard the sound of keys in the lock of the heavy oaken door. The lock clicked open and door swung open slowly in an almost theatric fashion, accompanied with the obligatory creaking of the hinges. Flint narrowed his eyes and set his jaw, it was go time.

The man who entered the room was dressed in green surgical scrubs that looked entirely too orderly and sterile for the current environment. With the man was a small stainless steel cart which he pushed into the room.

“Good morning, Mr. Faireborne, I am Doctor Andrew Walker”.

Walker’s manner was inconsistent with their current surroundings and instead suggested he had just walked into an examination room at the local clinic. Flint’s skin crawled as he regarded the doctor; perfectly manicured hands, a suntan most likely from spray bottle and blonde hair bleached so hard it was almost white. His hair was styled into a fashionable spiked do, complete with frosted tips.

“How ya doin’, Doc?” Flint replied, “Not sure what we’re doing here? I already had my physical this year.”

The doctor flashed him a wide, almost genuine, smile showing his perfectly white teeth which looked very shark-like in the dim light of the room.

“Well, Mr. Faireborne, I’ll take you at your word that you are in perfect health, but let me assure you that is not why we are here.” Walker giggled. The giggle made Flint’s skin crawl that much more as it belied something sadistic from the depths of the doctor’s being.

“Great bed-side manner, Doc. I bet that really put your patients at ease, especially that fucking sick giggle of yours.”

Walker’s demeanor became hard.” Unlike most medical practitioners, my patients never have to ask if it is going to hurt.” A cruel smile formed on his lips “They know it is going to hurt.”

Flint glared at the man, his muscles straining against the heavy ropes. Beads of sweat formed on his brown and a cold shiver ran down his spine.

No one was coming to save him today.

Walker donned white latex gloves taken from a drawer on the metal cart. “Now, Mr. Faireborne, my employer would like to know the whereabouts of Baroness DeCobray.”

“Them and me both” Flint retorted, already preparing for whatever was to come.

“That is a rather unacceptable answer, Mr. Faireborne.” Walker back-handed Flint across the face, connecting solidly enough to rock the chair to which Flint was tied side to side.

Flint tasted the familiar metallic taste of blood on this tongue as the chair set back on all four legs.

Spitting the blood it at the doctor’s feet he leaned forward. “Fuck! Did they teach you that back-hand maneuver in medical school?”

Walker giggled his sadistic little giggle and countered with a back-hand to Flint’s other side. Again, Walker connected well enough to rock Flint side to side in the chair.

Flint shook his head; he had actually seen stars from that one.

“Well motherfucker,” Flint growled “We’re going to be at this all day, because I don’t know where she is.”

Walker’s eyes glowed in what would only be described as delight. “I was so hoping you would say that.”

Shipwreck

05-11-2011, 02:32 PM

YOu're going to have fun with the Mercs, I can tell.

Flint071

05-11-2011, 06:42 PM

There was only darkness.

Anastasia hit the ground hard, forcing what little air she had from her lungs. Disoriented as she was she tried to apply her training, breathe shallow, to conserve air. Listen to the surroundings for tell-tale clues as to determine location.

Stay calm.

She was wrapped in something, not tightly, as she had room to move. It was course against her skin, almost like a heavy canvas. She was still naked and the interior of her trappings smelled heavily from chlorinated water, no doubt from the hot tub where she was relaxing before her attack.

“Stay calm, “Anastasia muttered to herself as she lay perfectly still. The last thing she had remembered was the strong black gloved hand pushing her beneath the water, her lungs screaming for air and the water filling her mouth.

“Stay calm” she reminded herself again as the memory of almost drowning caused her heart to race within her chest. She felt as if she was suffocating. She had to get out, get out of whatever shroud was covering her.

“Calm, the fuck down”.

She listened intently and regained control, albeit tenuous at best.

There were too many noises coming at her at once, and they were muffled through the material of the bag. She could hear people talking in Spanish, there were machines running, maybe heavy equipment; definitely the distinct rattle of tracks, a bulldozer or maybe a tank. Occasionally there was yelling. Someone was yelling orders to get back to work. She strained to hear individual sounds through the veritable orchestra of her surroundings.

She needed to be able to see.

Slowly, she felt along the inside of the bag, there were at least two sewn seams on either side of her. Running her fingers along them she decided that they were too strong to be torn open. She felt something metallic running down the center of the bag, a zipper. Reaching up she hooked found the edge of the zipper and slowly pulled it down a quarter of an inch, waiting for the inevitable kick from a guards boot. It never came. Hooking her finger to the outside she slowly undid the zipper from above her head to her waist.

Harsh sunlight spilled into the bag and blinded her. Raising a hand up, she rubbed at her eyes. When her vision finally cleared she pushed herself upright, inhaling deeply, and finding the air on the outside just as stifling as within the bag. It was excruciatingly hot, humid and the foul stench of animal feces assaulted her. She choked on the air; caught between the instinctual response to breathe deeply and the urge to zip herself back up to be free of the stench.

Anastasia’s eyes widened as she realized that her trappings had been that of a body bag, the type reserved for cadavers headed to the morgue. Those bastards had stuffed her in a body bag.

She was overcome with emotion, ranging from anger, to helplessness and one that disturbed her, a sense of being suddenly very much alone. She wished that he was with her now. They had not been apart since their first night in the D.C bar and his absence was terrifying to her.

“Where are you, Flint?”

Anastasia crossed her arms over her naked breasts. She was still seated in the body bag which offered concealment for her lower half at least. Looking to either side the reason for the stench became apparent. They, whoever they were, had tossed her unceremoniously into what appeared to be an old horse stable. Piles of rotting manure festered in the afternoon heat; flies swirled around the piles of refuse. The dirt floor was covered in a mat of decaying straw and the occasional rat carcass.

The walls of the stable were clapboard, and in varying degree of ruin. Missing boards offered a glimpse to the goings on outside, and the tin roof captured the afternoon sun creating an oven effect even with the shade it provided. She had begun to sweat profusely, her hair matted to the sides of her face.

Her situation disgusted her, it was the epitome of indignation; naked, alone in a barn of all places, with rotting manure and buzzing flies. Slowly she stood up, careful to stand only on the bag. She was not sure if she wanted to put her foot down on the dirty floor just yet.

Again she surveyed the inside of the barn.

“I’d give anything for a burlap sack to cover up with right now.” However, no matter how hard she looked nothing useful could be found.

Anastasia stepped out of the body bag onto the damp, almost soggy dirty floor and picked up her former means of confinement, turning it inside out and wrapping it around herself like a makeshift shawl. She decided that even the little bit of cover that the bag offered was better than trudging around in the barn naked.

Slowly she made her way to one of the slots made from a missing board on the side of the stable and pressed her face close, peering outside.

The stable, her prison, was on the outer edge of a small village that by all accounts was being occupied by a military force. She guessed that there were several hundred troops. They were erecting buildings, entrenching heavy weaponry and rousting the local populous. The soldiers looked to be comprised of regular military personnel, as indicated by the red berets and red arm-bands that they wore emblazoned with the insignia of the…….Red Shadow.

Her heart sank and suddenly she wanted to retch into the corner of the ramshackle barn. She had been taken by the Red Shadow organization. Panic again began to well up.

She stepped back from her vantage point, and spun around quickly as she heard voices approaching.

There was no place to hide, and nothing to use as a weapon.

Taking a deep breath she wrapped the body bag tightly around herself and stood erect. If nothing else, she was the Baroness Anastasia DeCobray. She winced at the hollow sounding nature of that particular title in her current situation.

The door of the bar was kicked open, nearly sending it flying from its hinges. She caught a glimpse of two uniformed guards standing their post at the doorway. She was more concerned however, with the figure in the doorway.

“Wilder Vaughn, how dare you subject me to such conditions, I demand to be released immediately. Surely you know my husband will not stand for such actions.”

Vaughn pushed a hand through his silver, white hair and with his free hand tapped a swagger stick against his thigh. He was in his forties, but exceptionally well built. It was the kind of build that a man acquired from a regimented, military life. He stepped toward her, his high leather boots sporting a perfect shine. If the heat of the barn bothered him it didn’t show, even dressed as he was in the full military regalia denoting his position of leadership with the Red Shadows.

“Shut your whore mouth, Baroness. Surely you don't expect me to believe that Destro cares what becomes you, especially after your recent transgressions with Fairebore. My god, is that man's wife even cold and in the ground yet? We snatched you minutes before a Cobra kill-squad arrived at your hotel. You might say that you are still alive because of me."

Defiant as always, Anastasia laughed, “I am still alive, because you need the encryption code, that I possess, in order to unlock your precious data. So pardon me if I find your half-assed attempt at benevolence somewhat questionable.”

Vaughn kept idly tapping his thigh with the swagger stick and allowed a wicked smile to form on his lips.

“My dear, you will give me that encryption code, or your life won’t be the only thing I take from you in a most savage and ungentlemanly way.”

She did not waiver at this threat, and instead stepped towards him, still wrapped in the make-shift cloak.

She had no other weapon but her arrogance and she wielded it with an unparralleled precision.

“I’ve kept company with some of the most ruthless men on the planet, and they have yet to break me. I seriously doubt you have anything more to offer than idle threats and shiny boots.” She looked down at his feet as to add reinforcement to her statement.

She returned her gaze to his eyes. Knowing at the very least that he needed her alive for a while longer.

The rage burnt in his eyes, and a pallor of red crept from beneath the collar of his jacket. He moved to strike her so quickly that she was caught entirely off guard. The swagger stick connected just below her temple and she was sent sprawling to the filthy ground of the barn, losing the grip on her cloak.

He stepped forward, again raising the crop above his head and slashing savagely down at her naked back. The strike was clean and she felt it rend her flesh. She reached back and felt the sticky blood on her fingertips. Anastasia growled and fought to her knees, her own rage boiling within. His heavily booted heel caught her squarely in the chest, toppling her over backwards onto the feces and straw strew floor. His kick took the fight out of her. She gasped for air, feeling the pain of his strike in her entire body. She lay unmoving, curled on her side, panting and gasping, a clearly defined boot print marring her perfect breasts.

He leaned over her body now, speaking in almost a whisper.” Will you give me the codes?”

“No” she fought to speak even the single word through her breathlessness.

“Very well.” Vaughn stood and straightened his uniform “We will have this discussion again in the morning. I will leave you in the capable hands of my personal guardsmen until then. I’m sure that you will find their company to be the kind of ruthless to which you are accustomed.”

wertdog91

05-11-2011, 09:40 PM

Unbelievable bro. Love it

Topside

05-11-2011, 11:12 PM

worth the wait. keep em coming.

Flint071

05-13-2011, 10:37 AM

It’s a ten digit alpha-numeric encryption code.”

He was sitting on the hood of the Crown Victoria sipping coffee from a Styrofoam cup and only half listening to her. His eyes were hidden behind the dark tinted lenses of his aviator sunglasses and his navy blue ball-cap was pulled low. He stared intently at the small brick building across from the Mini-Mart parking lot where they sat now. The sign on the side of the non-descript building read “Springfield Cable Service”.

She had run the cable company’s financials the night before in their hotel; it had appeared to be a legitimate company, providing digital television and internet services to Springfield. Thanks to the less that legal search methods employed by his travelling companion, they learned that Springfield Cable Service was a well-concealed subsidiary of Extensive Enterprises, a company long- believed to have been a domestic front for Cobra activity in the United States, but no one, even the Justice Department, could make that accusation stick. He figure that most likely had a lot to do with the hundreds of millions of dollars that the company provided in campaign donations.

“Someone programmed the encryption code when they activated the transmitter back in Washington, so even if we do get the data, it’s pretty much useless to us without the encryption key.” She tapped away on the keys of her laptop, most of her face hidden behind oversized sunglasses. In front of her, perched on the dash of the car, was a four-pack of Red Bull and a large coffee with extra sugar and low-fat milk.

“Are you listening to me?” she asked.

“Not really.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’ve said all of this about a dozen times before…and I’m working now”

“What do you mean you’re working?”

“I’m watching.”

“What are you watching?”

“The building across the street.” He gestured towards it with his coffee cup.

“How do you consider that working?” She was just being a brat now.

“Because.”

“Oh! Well! Since you have such a good reason, ok then! So sorry to have disturbed you with my babbling.”

“Glad you realize that you were”

“Asshole!”

He exhaled heavily, suddenly realizing that they might have been tracking down the identity of the data thief from the wrong end.

“Michelle, can you can access any surveillance footage from BioDesign’s facility in D.C.”

She shook her head adamantly “If by access you mean hack, well I already tried. I couldn’t access the restricted areas where the transmitter was probably located. If they have cameras at all in those areas it’s probably a closed circuit system.”

“I’m not so concerned about access to the restricted areas, how about cameras in the lobby or parking lot? I want to know who’s been in and out of that facility.”

She was already bent over her keyboard, typing furiously, and chewing on the end of one of her pigtails. “I’ll see what I can get. If there are clear enough frames I can run them through facial recognition to see if we get a hit on anyone. I’ll start with known Cobra operatives. That’s if there are any cameras I can access in the first place. Did you know that Washington D.C. has the highest concentration of video cameras of any city in the United States? That’s kind of scary when you think about it, I mean do you realize just how many times a day you are caught on camera? I mean just think about all the stuff someone could find out about you if they really wanted. Do you think anyone is looking at us right now? I bet that, even in the middle of bumble-fuck Egypt, that we’re on at least two cameras right now.”

As she continued her rant, seemingly without taking a breath, a white panel van pulled into the parking lot of the brick building. On the side of the van, in clean block letters was SCS – Digital Services. He could see a driver inside the van and no passenger. The driver exited and opened the rear doors on the van removing a tool box. He then slamming the doors shut and entered the building. Chuckles sipped at his coffee and watched the man’s every move. There was nothing out of the ordinary, just your average everyday guy showing up to work. What interested him the most was the smart card that the driver used to unlock the door of the building.

“Are you not listening to me again?”

“Yup.”

Chuckles took off his ball-cap and adjusted the brim and pulled it back into place. Even at seven in the morning the temperature was already in the seventies and was sure to rise even higher by mid-day. He was dressed casually, a blue Hawaiian shirt over a utilitarian pair of tan cargo pants. His Sig was tucked away in the small of his back and his extra magazines were in his hip pocket.

“You never listen to me?” she pouted, sticking her lower lip out in true melodramatic fashion.

“I hear all the important stuff.”

With that, he finished the last of his coffee and hopped off the hood of the car, still looking at the small brick building. Tossing his empty cup into a trash can he started walking across the parking lot.

“Be ready to move if this goes south.”

“How will I know if it is going south?”

“Gunshots are usually a good indication “

camper

05-14-2011, 03:28 PM

Sharp.

sparks007

05-15-2011, 09:02 AM

This should have been part of " Tales from the Cobra Wars"

great work I'm really enjoying it.

wertdog91

05-20-2011, 08:08 PM

Nice bro

Neuspeaq

05-20-2011, 09:07 PM

DEFINITELY worth the wait:) .

devilfish60

05-20-2011, 09:33 PM

Great story and leaves us waiting for more!!!!

wertdog91

06-04-2011, 11:16 PM

Got anything cooking Flint?

jeditaz

06-13-2011, 01:28 AM

anything?

camper

06-13-2011, 09:55 PM

bring back the beat, bro.

wertdog91

06-13-2011, 09:58 PM

How's it going Flint?

Neuspeaq

06-18-2011, 06:27 AM

For Anyone who Hasn't found this Awesomeness yet,
BUMP.

thecorporation

06-29-2011, 12:27 PM

I've got a fever and the only cure is more Flint's Loss.
Please give us more.

Neuspeaq

07-14-2011, 08:41 PM

Bump!!!

jeditaz

07-25-2011, 03:18 AM

Bump

Flint071

08-18-2011, 02:57 PM

“March along; sing our song, with the Army of the free
Count the brave, count the true, who have fought to victory
We're the Army and proud of our name
We're the Army and proudly proclaim”

Flint bloody hands clawed at the stonework floor. Every muscle in his body screamed in pain as he pushed his battered body from the ground. For his determination he received a savage strike from the toe of a boot in his ribs. And then the giggling; a high pitched, nails on a chalkboard giggle that was born either of depravity or insanity, either way Flint didn’t really care as it was proving to be highly effective at cutting to his very core and was working to sap away what little resolve was left.

He collapsed back onto the cold damp stone, blood from the wound on his temple blurring his vision. Coughing violently, a red mist sprayed forth. Flint lay gasping.... but only a moment, there was still fight left in him.

“First to fight for the right,
And to build the Nation’s might,
And The Army Goes Rolling Along
Proud of all we have done,
Fighting till the battle’s won,
And the Army Goes Rolling Along”

Again he pressed his palms to the floor, attempting to push himself upright. He wanted to look into the cold, blue eyes of his torturer, Dr. Andrew Walker. The doctor had introduced himself when Flint had first come to. At that point, Flint had been tied to a simple wooden chair with heavy cords. Since then the chair had been smashed to splinters as Walker’s “questioning” became more physical.

“Where is the Baroness?”

“Who have you told about your location?”

“What do you know of a company called BioDesign?”

“Where did you hide the data?”

“What has the Baroness told you about Cobra’s plans?”

“Where is the Baroness now?”

The cords had fallen away as the chair was demolished, but Flint was in no condition to offer much resistance by then. He lay in the far corner of the room now, having managed to crawl his way there even as the violent assault of kicks and punches rained down upon him.

Flint offered nothing in return. Hell, for all he knew the Baroness was dead and he was going to be joining her in the very near future. It was cold comfort knowing for certain that in death he would not be seeing Alison, not where he was headed.

“Then it's Hi! Hi! Hey!
The Army's on its way.
Count off the cadence loud and strong*
For where e’er we go,
You will always know
That The Army Goes Rolling Along.”

Walker was panting now, pacing back and forth in the center of the room. He had been dressed in pristine green surgical scrubs when his interrogation had begun. Those same scrubs were now smeared with the Flint’s blood. Sweat stains around the collar and under the arms made apparent the level of exertion that the doctor had reached in his questioning. He rubbed his bloodied hand together before him, pondering his next move, momentarily lost in the fog of insane lucidity.

His eyes fell to the small stainless steel cart containing his surgical instruments. He turned for a moment, watching Flint struggle to gain purchase on the stone floor that was soaked with his blood. He slipped and thudded heavily onto the floor, only to try again.

“The fight was almost out of this one”, Walker mused to himself, “and with the proper application of pain, would certainly break.”

Of course, it wouldn’t matter how much pain was applied to patient after he broke would it?

Walker’s fingers closed over a slim bladed scalpel. He could not help himself, he began giggling.

Valley Forge, Custer's ranks,
San Juan Hill and Patton's tanks,
And the Army went rolling along
Minute Men, from the start,
Always fighting from the heart,
And the Army keeps rolling along.

Flint had managed to push himself in a seated position in the corner of the cell. Blood gushed from his mouth. He spat on the floor at Walker’s feet as he approached, covering the doctor’s boots in phlegm and blood.

“You better make sure….you fucking kill me…quick, Walker,” he spoke through gurgling breathes. “Because I won’t hesitate you psychotic fuck.”

“Come now, Flint, you are not a man in a position to make idle threats.”

Bending down Walker sank his fingers into his Flint’s hair and yanked his head back, smashing it against the stonework wall in the process. Flint felt blackness creeping into his peripheral vision, and then the cool touch of the scalpels blade as it was pressed firmly against the flesh of his cheek.

“That’s quite enough, Scalpel.” A voice boomed from the doorway of the cell.

Walker went rigid, turning away from his work and regarding the figure that had interrupted his moment of pleasure.

“Liard Destro, you dare intrude, I have not finished my interrogation of the prisoner.”

The green glowing eyes of Destro’s mask seemed to flare with rage as he crossed the room in three long stides, one back-handed strike from his gloved hand sending Walker sprawling on the floor.

“Know your place, boy. I suffer your arrogance only because of your talents on the battlefield tending to my wounded; I have no tolerance for men who act like spoiled children intent on pulling the wings off flies.”

Scalpel cowered as he lifted himself from the floor and stood much like a beaten puppy in the center of the room, his eyes locked on his feet.

Flint struggled to his feet; it was a moment of reckoning, it was time to accept his fate at the hands of the jilted husband. Everything else, Cobra, Joes, Red Shadows, faded away for there were only two men now.

Destro’s metal mask was unwavering, the green light of the eyes flared and Flint stood unmoving.

Then the light faded.

“I believe that I need you to help me find my wife.”

Flint exhaled audibly.

Dr. Andrew Walker shrieked as if struck my some unseen force. He thrust himself between the two men as Destro’s words stole away his grand prize.

“My LORD, you ……”

Those were the last words uttered by the doctor as Flint drove the point of the stainless steel surgical scalpel under the man’s chin and into his brain, ending his sadistic life instantly.

“You dropped this.”

Men in rags, men who froze,
Still that Army met its foes,
And the Army went rolling along.
Faith in God, then we're right,
And we'll fight with all our might,
As the Army keeps rolling along.

sparks007

08-18-2011, 04:01 PM

Glad to see you back at it :)

wertdog91

08-18-2011, 04:56 PM

Ah shit yea brother.

Shipwreck

08-18-2011, 05:11 PM

Flint got his point across to the dr.

Flint071

08-19-2011, 02:39 PM

There were way more questions than answers, and that didn’t sit right with him.

Chuckles crept alongside the white panel-van inching closer to the small brick building that held…

“Exactly what in the hell am I expecting to find in there?” he asked himself.

“Probably more questions than answers.”

The van was locked; he had tried the driver’s side door to no avail. A cursory glance through the window revealed nothing as the contents looks very much like what you would find in a cable repairman’s truck.

Well this wasn’t starting off well.

He admitted to himself that he would have found it much more comforting if there was a crimson Cobra insignia on the side of the truck. It would negate the need for all this sneaking around, and he could kick open the door with guns blazing.

It was rarely that simple anymore. Cobra was becoming better adept at integrating into communities, becoming part of the populous. Your kindly accountant, who has done your taxes for years, and volunteers as the little league coach could also be a goose-stepping Cobra Trooper in reserve.

Chuckles caught his mind drifting and in an instant snapped back to the here and now.

“Gotta get the hell away from Michelle, she’s got me babbling in my own damn head now.”

He kept the van between him and the street, using what cover it offered from prying eyes. The rear doors of the van were locked too, and the windows were blacked out.
“Awesome” he thought,” I’m batting a thousand with this endeavor. “

Taking a deep breath he tightened his grip on the hilt of his pistol and pressed his back to the brick building next to the electronically locked door. Reaching out slowly with his left hand he pressed down on the handle. It stayed firmly in place.

“Well that would have been entirely too…”

Before he could finish this thought the door began to swing open slowly. The repairman had apparently finished his task and was returning to his truck. Chuckles made a snap decision, he was either going to figure out what was behind the door, or he was going to beat the living shit out of an innocent man. He closed his fingers around the repairman’s wrist and yanked with all his might, pulling the unsuspecting man through the doorway and sending him careening into the back of the white panel van.

As the man’s head bounced off the rear double doors Chuckles got affirmation on his earlier decision. The repairman went for a snub-nosed .38 that was tucked into his hip pocket. Before he could bring the gun to bear, Chuckles was on him, knocking the weapon from his hand and giving it a quick kick under the van and out of reach. That move, however, cost him, as the repairman managed to connect with a quick right jab to Chuckles jaw.

Could just shoot him, but gunshots would bring cops. Have to end this quietly.

Chuckles staggered back purposely, and as anticipated his attacker pressed forward. Chuckles set his left foot and kicked out with his right boot, connecting squarely with the man’s balls. The kick connected so squarely, and with such force that the repairman was nearly lifted off his feet.

The man collapsed on the pavement, clutching at his groin and writhing in pain.

Chuckles took a deep breath and touched the side of his face where he had been tagged by the man’s punch. That was going to be sore for a couple days, but at least no teeth had been rattled loose.
Leaning over the man now, he pressed his Sig into the bridge of his nose.

“That shit hurts doesn’t it? Getting kicked in the nuts like that.”

The repairman sneered but remained quiet.

“Give me your designation?”

The man’s eyes widened, but he remained silent save for occasional wince from the pain coursing up through his stomach from where he had been punted moments earlier.
Chuckles pressed the barrel of his gun between his eyes harder and snapped the hammer back. The cold stare that regarded him behind the sights of the gun loosened his lips. Apparently Cobra didn’t pay well enough to make one eat a bullet for the cause.

“Tele-Viper” he man muttered through gritted teeth, “Hail Cobra Command…”

“Shut-up” Chuckles hated these mindless minions. “What are you doing here?”

“Checking the cable, making sure all those lonely housewives get Sex in the City nice and clear.”

Chuckles smashed the butt of his pistol into the Viper’s temple rendering his unconscious.

“That could have gone so much better for you, pal.”

Chuckles found the van keys clipped to the man’s belt and quickly opened the rear doors. The Viper was heavier than Chuckles had anticipated and it took a little bit of doing to toss him into the back of the van. As he patted down the unconscious body he found out why, he was wearing body armor under his repairman’s uniform. Chuckles noted his luck with being able to incapacitate his attacker so easily. Had he chosen to square off with the man in a fair fight, it might not have gone the same way.
“Lucky for me I cheat.” Chuckles mused.

Half a roll of duct-tape later the Viper was secured in the back of the van, no longer a viable threat, and tucked neatly out of sight.

A search of the van and the man had produced only one item of interest, the smart card that would allow entry into the building.
Pulling his phone from his pocket he quickly dialed Michelle’s number and when she answered said gruffly “All clear, get over here, we’re going in.”

“Someone is using their mean voice…grrrrr.”

He disconnected and leaned against the side of the van, looking intently at the steel door of the building.

More questions than answers.

wertdog91

08-19-2011, 05:55 PM

More, more, more,More, more, more,More, more, more,More, more, more,More, more, more,More, more, more,More, more,

youdoitimbusy

08-19-2011, 06:17 PM

It was early morning and a steady rain was drumming against the window of the house in the quiet D.C. suburb near Alexandria. The house was bathed in shades of gray, as was the man who lay unmoving, yet awake beneath the sheets of the bed. He had not shaved in the last two days and his eyes were blood shot from lack of sleep that didn’t come from half a bottle of Johnny Walker.
Today was the funeral at Arlington. Full military regalia, a twenty-one gun salute and the haunting melody of taps echoing amid the gravestones was yet to come.
Now, the scent of perfume from the untouched pillow next to him brought upon a rush of memories that sent a shudder through his entire body. Hours spent laying with her head on his chest on lazy Sunday mornings, the passionate love-making after returning home from long assignments or the gentle caress before falling asleep all played across his scotch addled brain. Groaning, he wiped his eyes as if to wipe away the images that his brain tortured him with. In truth, it was also to wipe away the tears that seemed well up when he remembered her.
He willed himself to move, and his body reluctantly followed orders, just like a good solder. Her family was coming today. Damn, if that wasn't going to be hard.
Sitting at the edge of the bed he reached for the half empty glass of scotch on the nightstand, the ice cubes having long melted away. The glass clinked against the barrel of the well-worn Army issue Beretta. The hammer was still cocked back from the night before and even thought it was unseen he knew there was a round chambered. It has been a particularly bad night. He swallowed the piss-warm scotch with purpose. More bad nights would come.
Reaching back he touched his fingertips to her pillow .....(end)

________________________________________
*Takes place three days after Lady Jaye's death*

well written, hard to get behind though knew a guy who blew off half his jaw trying to kill himself when i was in the army.so when i here stories like this all i can think of is suicide prevention class...sorry i have to say it dont kill yourself. now my conscience is clear.fyi he didnt die he got a new jaw a new duty station and hopefully some help

Flint071

08-19-2011, 08:45 PM

well written, hard to get behind though knew a guy who blew off half his jaw trying to kill himself when i was in the army.so when i here stories like this all i can think of is suicide prevention class...sorry i have to say it dont kill yourself. now my conscience is clear.fyi he didnt die he got a new jaw a new duty station and hopefully some help

I hope you read more than just the first chapter.

This is definately Flint right after Lady Jayes death, not the writers feelings on life or death.

But I take it as high praise that I brought on a little emotion.

Topside

08-19-2011, 08:47 PM

great to see some new work from you. keep'em coming!

wertdog91

08-19-2011, 09:39 PM

well written, hard to get behind though knew a guy who blew off half his jaw trying to kill himself when i was in the army.so when i here stories like this all i can think of is suicide prevention class...sorry i have to say it dont kill yourself. now my conscience is clear.fyi he didnt die he got a new jaw a new duty station and hopefully some help

Just reinterate what Flint is saying. It's the story of Flint after Lady Jaye was killed. Not a take on suicide or such things. You have to get passed the first part of the story and you'll see this. He's not trying to depict any real life situation. Sorry your guy did that and if you're thinking the story is like that throughout, you're wrong. Read the whole thing, you'll see, I garauntee

devilfish60

08-19-2011, 10:42 PM

As always good stuff Flint...MORE Please.

killerloon

08-20-2011, 02:35 AM

Flint071

08-20-2011, 03:37 AM

Acutely... us boys from Kansas drank bush lt, natural LT, and bud lt... lol... great story keep it coming...

Shit man, us boys in Pennsylvania drink the same damn stuff.

Thanks man.

Glad you are enjoying.

Flint071

10-03-2011, 03:15 PM

Bad dreams

There was the gentle caress of the breeze coming in from the open window. The thin silk sheets that draped her body began to flutter. She pressed her face into the pillow and lay very still.

She kept her eyes closed, knowing that when they opened it would no longer be only a bad dream. As long as she kept her eyes closed she was safe.

Safe

Safe seemed to be a laughable state of being to her. Was she safe in the arms of her husband or had she been safe in the company of Flint? Neither of the two seemed to have worked in her favor considering her current predicament.

She squeezed her eyes shut forcefully, but not before the tears escaped.

Her captors had held her in the dilapidated stables and she could still taste the rotted straw and manure. More so, she could still taste the sweat of the first two men that Vaughn had sent, and the memory caused her to shudder in disgust. Her martial arts training proved its worth, as she was able to fight them off initially. But as is too often the case, men with a single goal, no matter how perverse, prevail.

One of the guardsmen pinned her wrists above her head, the other kneeled down on her thighs causing her to cry out in pain. He began to loosen his belt and once accomplished pushed his trousers down. They laughed cruelly as she arched her back and twisted against their vice-like grips in a futile attempt to break free.

Even now, in the comfortable embrace of the bed, she could feel the hot, rancid breath of her attackers on her face. Then the sting of his hand as it struck her in the face, demanding compliance.

She went limp, as if with defeat. The man’s hands started to maul her body, squeezing and kneading painfully, intent on only his pleasure and her humiliation. She fought back the urge to resist, she had to bide her time. He became more eager, lifting his weight off her thighs and repositioning himself. She forced a wry smile at him as he fumbled over her body as if he was nothing more than an eager teenager copping his first feel.

She felt like vomiting at his every touch.

“She loves this?” he exclaimed with bravado to his companion “She’s not even fighting it. She ain't never got it like she's about to."

She felt the second guardsman, the one holding her wrists, let go. He began fumbling with his own uniform, the promise of pleasure within his grasp and like most men it made him dimwitted and unaware of what was to come.

“Well hurry up, I’m next.”

She felt the man atop her quivering in anticipation and to his amazement she reached up and tangled her dirty fingers in his hair. She could feel him relax at her touch. He incorrectly believed her to be giving into her situation.

“Bitch, I hope you like it rough.”

“Oh, I do.” she whispered to him, her lips brushed his ear as one would a lover; a final word for the dying.

She deftly cupped his chin with her left hand and twisted, bringing to bear every ounce of strength her battered body could produce. The man’s neck snapped and his body pinned her to the ground as the last ragged breath shuddered forth from his lungs.

She recalled very little from that moment forward. There was the choked cry from the second guardsman as he reeled backwards from the unexpected death of his companion, then his more coherent commands to the other guards positioned outside the stable.

She vaguely remembered the dead man being lifted off her naked body. It was more that she remembered the sensation of being able to breathe again than an actual memory. There was a jumble of voices, none more prevalent than the other. Then a pinprick to her thigh, a sedative, she now concluded.

Fading into blackness there was the face of Wilder Vaughn. “Take her to the main house before she kills any more of you idiots."

She raised her head from the pillow now, dispelling any hope that she was merely lost in the dreamscape. Sunlight filtered in through the open balcony doors warming the sparsely decorated, but clean guestroom. Far be it from Vaughn to reside in the barracks like a common soldier. She noted that they seemed to be cut from the same cloth in that regard at least.

Sitting upright, the silk sheet fell away from her body revealing the myriad of bruises that marred her normally perfect skin. Her fingers traced the faint outline of the boot heel that still lingered between her breasts. Greenish black bruises encircled both her wrists, and two more on her thighs confirmed that her recollection of her attack in the stables was accurate. And even still, she could feel the tenderness around her neck from where the Dreadnok’s chain has been used to leash her.

She was on her own now. Flint was probably captured, or dead. Her husband mostly likely wished the former for her. Cobra Commander would not give her even a passing thought other than to wish her a traitor’s death.

“What am I even protecting anymore?”

How easy it would be to give the Red Shadows the decryption codes, to be free of all of this. The Baroness looked at her bruised wrists and shaking hands, knowing full well that if she turned the codes over to Vaughn she was no longer necessary, and would only be considered a liability.

“If the situation were reversed I would never allow me to live.”

Gathering the sheets around her she moved to the balcony. Her movements seemed clumsy, most likely the side effects of the sedative. She had no idea how long she had been unconscious, but at least she had not woken up in that horrible stable. Stepping onto the balcony she breathed deeply of the fresh morning air, and had it immediately stolen from her as she gazed at her surroundings.

The main house was all that remained of the former coffee plantation. Just across a small manicured lawn began a military complex of shocking size and layout. Newly constructed building of steel and concrete created a maze that was surrounded by an imposing wall topped with concertina wire and guard towers. From her vantage point she could make out well a conceived airstrip capable of large cargo planes and fighters alike. Guards patrolled the fence at regular intervals and divisions of armor were staged in the center of the compound. There were radar installations, anti-aircraft stations and hardened bunkers. Troops moved about the facility in orderly fashion. Helicopters touched down and lifted off from the helipad in the distance. The Red Shadows were preparing for war.

The Baroness gripped the railing of the balcony with one hand as she scanned the compound; a sense of dread crawling up her spine.

“Just what in the hell do these codes unlock?”

DARKWIND

11-03-2011, 05:03 PM

Yup I'm in for the long haul.
Great read!!!!!
You have incredible talent. . .

Dealer Destro

11-03-2011, 05:07 PM

Damn Dullah, bad day eh? Don't let it eat at you that much, we all have that special someone we lost....... *raises glass of Makers Mark*

Neuspeaq

11-18-2011, 12:09 AM

Bump

Flint071

11-28-2011, 10:34 PM

She sat at the computer consol with her fishnet clad legs tucked beneath her. This tech was state of the art and like nothing she had ever seen before. Flexing her fingers she assaulted the keyboard.

He had never seen her so intent or focused.

Knowing that her attention span was always fleeting he slowly paced off the interior of the small building. Steel grated floors, stainless steel paneled walls, and cold enough that they could see their breath. Against the far wall, two identical racks of servers humming quietly. The best he could figure the cold temperature kept the servers working at optimum efficiency. On the opposite wall a set of metal stairs leading into the darkness below the grated floor.

She was surgical in her approach to the system, cutting away layers of security and accessing root menus, navigating deeper and deeper into the system. Her pale face was bathed in the harsh light that eiminated from the computer monitor and it gave her face a slightly corpse like sheen. Not that her thick mascara and black lip stick did much to dispel that image.

Her level of concentration, and the fact that she worked in absolute silence made him uneasy. She was never this quiet.

His eyes kept drifting back to the heavy metal door in which they used to enter the building. Surely their entry had been monitored, he could almost feel cold gaze of surveillance cameras upon him. Every instinct in his body told him that their window was closing fast, and he nearly yanked her from the seat and headed for the door.

It was worth the risk. He swallowed hard and allowed a wry smile. Although I might not feel that way when they are busting down the door and we’re still here.

She had started to rock back and forth and her fingers were still on the keyboard.

“Are you in?”

“That’s what she said.” she spoke without her usual bratty tone. A pre-programmed response of sorts. She was still sorting through the myriad of zeros and ones, still analyzing.

“Damn it, Michelle?” he spat.

She blinked, maybe for the first time in minutes, and looked up at him.

“I’m in, I have everything.”

“What do you mean everything?”

“I mean, everything, I think I can access the Cobra Global Network from this console.”

“Can you get me access to the data that was sent out of BioDesign?”
She nodded and hunched over the keyboard.

“It’s still encrypted, no way around that without the access code…wait….”

“Michelle, no time, we need to get the hell out of….”

“No, someone else accessed this same data but through a back-door. And recently too.”

“The system was already hacked?”

“Yes, and they were good too, I almost missed it completely.”

“What can you get me on the hacker? Can you get me a location?”

“Back-tracing it now.”

A faint click. Chuckles was already in motion. He slammed his 6’4” frame into the steel door and felt it slam back into place, hoping like hell that whoever was coming in didn’t get the bright idea to shoot through the door. He felt pounding on the other side now, pushing back against him. Out of time. He aimed his pistol at the electronic lock mechanism and fired twice. The lock exploded in a shower of sparks, but as he hoped, the deadbolt snapped back into place securing the door.

Wasting no time he turned and snatched her from the seat. He fired twice more into the console, and then spinning around he emptied the remaining bullets from the clip into the server racks.

“That was dumb I’m sure they have back-ups.”

“Yeah, but it made me fucking feel better.” He ejected the spent clip and expertly rammed home a fresh one.

He kept his gun trained on the door, at the same time he shoved her towards the metal steps that led under the steel grate floor. He could hear pounding coming from the entry door. If they were worth anything they would be breeching it with a shape charge any second.

“Where do these go?”

“No clue.”

“Awesome.”

They were almost to the bottom when the door of the building exploded off its hinges.

“Yeah, fucking awesome.”