|01-09-2010, 05:50 PM||#241|
Join Date: Oct 2008
Hooray for the Gunwale mention!
You ever think about including some really obscure guys from the Marvel comics, like say, Captain Minh or Tyrone (the Blind Master's ex-skate punk/reformed thief student)?
|01-09-2010, 07:09 PM||#242|
Join Date: Sep 2008
Location: Northwood, NH
I'm going to include as many of the secondary characters as I can, even if it's just sharing a name.
Joker, the sniper from one of hte first stories, is Lazlo Bronsky from the Special Missons.
Breaking my own "rule" and doing back to back chapters of the same story. But the Atoll is turning into one long story. I'm sure you Gung-Ho fans won't mind.
|01-09-2010, 09:56 PM||#243|
Join Date: Sep 2008
Location: Northwood, NH
The Atoll pt 4
Location: Assault Team A Landing Craft
Time: 2 hours from Mission Launch
Captain Bulldog, battered Marine hat on and unlit cigar in mouth, stood over the makeshift table in the middle of the Landing Craft’s open bay. Men and equipment surrounded him. A couple of crates had been brought over, stacked up, and now Dial-Tone’s laptop computer sat on the crates. The small screen showed the just received images from the stealth fly over. The images showed the Atoll, with the tank paths barely visible thru the tall trees. A small speaker was set up next to the computer. Dial-Tone kneeled down in front of the laptop, Bulldog and Steeler looking over his shoulders.
“This all we got,” Bulldog growled.
“Yes sir,” came the voice of Sparks over the speaker. The Landing Craft was connected over encrypted lines with the Ledger, Platform and PIT. “We couldn’t risk more flyovers.”
“It’ll have to work,” Bulldog said. “Tone, bring up the Recon Team’s mission map, then put it side by side with the new.”
The screen changed to show an older image of the island, the thin dark marks of the roads not shown. A red dot indicated where the recon team had beached on the island. The screen changed again and the image got smaller and the new image appeared as well.
“I want to land here, between where Recon beached and that first road to the buildings,” Bulldog said pointing at the map. “That fine with everyone?”
Location: USS Ledger, 4 miles offshore of Atoll #12
Time: 2 hours 5 minutes from Mission Launch
“Works for me,” Gung-Ho replied in his deep Cajun accent. He was standing in the ops room of the Ledger, staring at a much larger screen with the two images displayed. “Request permission to split the Support Team,” he asked.
“What do you have in mind?,” came the voice of General Hawk thru the ops room speakers.
“I want to take 4 of the team in on the Little Bird and try to make contact with the recon team.”
“Understandable,” that was Gunwale on the Platform. “Could we risk a short burst comm to them? Fly over the island, burst them, link up?”
“That’s what I’m thinking sir,” Gung-Ho replied. “By the time Captain Bulldog and his get there, it’ll have been four hours. We don’t know what’s happening with them.”
“Link up with them then fall back to the rest of the support team at the beach head?” Man ‘o War, the captain of the Ledger said, standing next to Gung-Ho.
“And the Whale will be there to bring any wounded back to the Ledger,” Bulldog’s voice said thru the speakers. “I agree with the change.”
“As do I,” this voice belonged to General Colton at the PIT. “Good hunting Gunny.”
“Thank you sir,” Gung-Ho replied. “Sirs, I have a mission to launch.”
Gung-Ho left the ops room and went to the Ledger’s launch bay. The Ledger was one of the new Joint High Speed Vessels, not that large of a ship but incredibly fast. It was able to field a smaller crew and carry a large number of troops and vehicles, with built-in helicopter launch pads. The Ledger had been modified to be able to carry and launch one of the Joe units Whale hovercrafts from its mid section, dropping down underneath and the JHSV, and between the raised pontoons. Gung-Ho opened the door to the bay. The bay was cramped, big enough to hold the Whale and not much else, a thin metal catwalk ringed the bay, where the Whale was held aloft by the clamping mechanisms.
The Whale was recently returned, water still dripping off. The devilfish had been unhooked and brought aboard the Ledger by the exterior hooks. Shipwreck was refueling the Whale. The two SEaLs, Mariner and Hammerhead, helping the rest of 16 man Support Team Delta with the loading of equipment. It was going to be a cramped trip to the island.
“Sgt. Stone,” Gung-Ho called coming leaning over the railing.
“Yo,” came the reply as Stone climbed out of the Whale’s hold.
“Change in plans,” Gung-Ho said catching everyone’s attention. “I’m taking Hollowpoint, Red Dog and Tracker with me on the Little Bird. We’re going hunting for the Recon Team.”
“Right,” Stone said. “We got landing coordinates?”
“Yeah,” Gung-Ho replied. “We launch in 30. Get everyone ready to go. Red Dog,” he called out.
“Yo,” the big Samoan answered from the crowd of soldiers and equipment. “Grab the other two and grab my gear. Refit for a helicopter insertion.”
Gung-Ho turned and left the launch bay, heading for the helicopter pad. He knew that Man ‘o War would have called ahead and gotten the Ledger’s helicopter pilot, Squall, ready for launch but Gung-Ho was the type to do things himself. Besides, he was bringing some big boys along, needed to make sure Squall could compensate for the extra weight riding on the struts of the Little Bird.
The Little Bird launched from the pad of the Ledger, Gung-Ho and Tracker on one side, Red Dog and Hollow Point on the other, coils of rappelling rope in the back compartment of the small helicopter. They all had helmets with radio sets on, the wind buffeting them as they flew. They overtook the Whale, the hovercraft having launched ten minutes prior, but having to go slower due to the rough waters. The Whale was due to hit the island an about an hour, the Assault Team landing crafts were due to land thirty minutes after that. It gave Gung-Ho and his team about an hour to find the recon team and get them all back to the beach.
“How close can we get before we have to burst them?,” he asked Squall thru the headsets.
“I’d prefer to be about ten minutes out,” was the answer. “If they’re on the other side from our approach, I want to limit the amount of time we’re in the island airspace. No telling what measures the snakes have on the island.”
“Understood,” Gung-Ho said.
Location: Atoll #12
Time: 3 hours after mission launch
The sounds of gunfire had stopped. The team had found a small cave, nestled in the bottom of a small bowl in the ground, giving the effect of a cliff face. It was the best, but not by much, defensible position they had been able to find since the pursuit had started. Almost as soon as they had transmitted the data to the Platform they had been found by a patrol. Had the patrol stumbled upon them or somehow picked up the communications signal, they had no way to be sure. They just knew their presence on the island had been discovered.
Which didn’t bode well for the incoming assault team. The snakes hopefully didn’t know the team was coming, but they would have gone to defensive positions as soon as they realized there was a hostile force on the island. Since then, it had been a chase through the jungle. They had tried to maintain a direction towards their insertion points, but without being able to stop and take their bearings it was difficult.
When Wet-Suit had taken the bullet in the leg, that was when they knew they needed to hole up and wait for the assault team. Shortly after they had found this bowl and been holding off the snakes since. The sounds of return fire had stopped. Either the snakes were lying in wait or they had taken them all out.
Windtalker wasn’t sure which. He hoped they had taken this group out. Hopefully they didn’t radio in the position, he thought, holding no hope that it was true. Leatherneck and Waverunner were at the front of the small cave, behind some boulders, weapons trained on the surrounding trees. Rampart was backing them up, his SAW at the ready. Torpedo was tucked into the cave, looking at the wounded Wet-Suit’s leg. Windtalker, beside them.
The radio, held in front of him, gave a short and somewhat quiet squelching noise.
“What the hell,” Torpedo asked. “I thought I said comm silent?”
“It’s not on this end,” Windtalker said grabbing the radio and turning it on. “That’s a forced squelch on a short burst. Someone’s calling us.”
“Recon Team Delta,” the voice said over the radio. Windtalker wasn’t sure but he thought it was Squall, the helicopter pilot from the Ledger. “Recon Team Delta. Code Delta Alpha Niner Three. Repeat. Code Delta Alpha Niner Three. Pop smoke. Pop smoke.”
“What’s that mean,” Rampart asked looking back at them.
“It means that help is inbound,” Windtalker replied.
“You heard the man,” Torpedo said smiling. “Pop smoke. Let ‘em know where we are.”
|01-09-2010, 10:54 PM||#244|
Join Date: Jul 2008
Another home-run with the latest Troy! Good work yet again.
|01-10-2010, 02:08 AM||#245|
Join Date: Nov 2007
Location: Back in the US of A! (NoVA)
Well Gung-Ho is my favorite Joe So this was a huge bonus. Gung-Ho makes a great team leader in my opinion. Love all the Marines. Is Tracker a Marine too? It makes sense to mix the Marine Recon and the SEALs. Its great. Well it's a good thing a HISS hadn't rolled up on Torpedo's team before reinforcements getr there. Plus you got Steeler coming too.
|01-10-2010, 11:56 AM||#246|
Join Date: Sep 2008
Location: Northwood, NH
Manly, Stanley and Freight all came from Z's project.
|01-10-2010, 07:20 PM||#247|
Join Date: Sep 2008
Location: Northwood, NH
Uploaded a commentary piece on all the different stories written. Thoughts on why did what did, where different characters came from, the different refereces made to other Joe media.
Download Commentary pt 1.docx from Sendspace.com - send big files the easy way
|01-10-2010, 08:29 PM||#248|
Join Date: Sep 2008
Location: Northwood, NH
The Seduction pt 1
Booker looked around the room. It wasn’t large by any means, but it wasn’t small. Much better than the dark stone cell he had first been in when captured. What a fool he was. The man, Rey, had suckered him but good. Gone along with the spiel, the entire time the man was a member of the Society, and pretty high up as well. How had their intelligence messed up that bad? And now Booker was paying for it. Rey was good, stronger then he looked, well taught in a variety of martial arts. Booker was no slouch but Rey had taken him down easily.
He had no idea how long he had been here. He wasn’t allowed out of the room, and there were no windows. The lights automatically shut off and turned on. Was it the same time every day? It was hard to tell.
How long he had been a prisoner. He had no idea either. When Rey had knocked him out, he didn’t think he had been out for more than a couple of hours. And he hadn’t been moved since. Chances were good he was still in Springfield Illinois. Rey had brought him back here. Where was here? No idea. Had brought him back and promptly started the questioning.
Booker, a good soldier, hadn’t given more than just his name, no matter how much torture they had done. And they had done a lot. Booker’s chest still bore the scars. His biggest regret was that, even though he hadn’t spilled anything, Rey still had some ideas because Booker had started the recruitment. Rey knew about Cobra, knew there was an organization that was created to fight Cobra.
From what he could gather, Rey was part of the Society of the Coiled Serpent, the group that Cobra had split from. The weird monks he had met, North, South, what kind of names were those? They must be the higher ups in the Society. You’re really in it now Book, he thought to himself.
After the meeting with the Society monks, he had been brought back to his cell for awhile. Days? Hard to tell. Then they had brought him here.
Here being one of the nicest hotel rooms he had been in.
It was still in the same place as the cell, but 100 times better. Nice and comfortable bed, all natural linens. Goose down, feathered pillows. There was a mini-bar, stocked with water and other all natural drinks. Some snacks. Mostly fruit and vegetables. The snacks and bar restocked daily when they brought his food. Three meals a day. All healthy and natural foods. He was eating healthier than he ever had before. There were dozens of books on a shelf in the corner, no novels, all non-fiction books. History books. But not the history books he was used to.
From what he could tell, they seemed to be history books from the Society’s point of view. And if that was true, it scared him. The depth of the Society’s involvement was immense. Europe, the Americas, Australia, even Antarctica. It was unbelievable. And to let him know this knowledge? They must not think he’d ever escape.
And he did think about escape, but he was never given a chance. When they came, always with armed guards. What he came to think of as the Turtles. They were black underneath body armor of some kind. Armor plates at the shins, forearms and shoulders. The body armor was front and back, like armored plates that widened at the top and formed a neck guard. The metal masks they were, some kind of design, like a skull, with breath slits and lens over the eyes. Those were not troopers he wanted to take on unarmed.
He’d been over his room a dozen times, and would go over it a dozen more, looking for some means to escape. The air conditioning came from many small vents, too small to crawl through. So he’d bide his time and wait. He could handle it.
The only thing that would end up driving him nuts, he thought, was the damn tv.
There was a television in the room. He was unable to change the channels. And all the television showed was atrocities in the world. Darfur. Sierra Gordo. Trucial Abysmia. Borovia. Over and over, the same and different atrocities. Even ones from history. Documentary on the small pox given the native Americans in blankets. The holocaust. He’d shut it off and awhile later it would turn on by itself. Even turning the night, or what he thought of as night when the lights were off, the television would just come on and stay on for awhile. Shut it off so he could sleep and it would come on again.
What was the point?
The television and the history books. Besides the four walls, that was all he had. He’d do his exercises, what he could do with what the room offered to keep his strength up.
And so the days, was it days, so hard to tell, would go on by.
Sighing, he grabbed another book, this one on the history of Germany, and sat down in one of the chairs, thankful the television wasn’t on.
How much time passed he wasn’t sure. The lights had remained on. The television had been on for awhile. A documentary, one he had already seen, on the holocaust was playing. He was doing his best to avoid paying attention but it was hard. Getting harder.
The television shut off.
The locked door opened. One man walked in. No guards. The door immediately closed behind the man. A man Booker recognized.
“Good afternoon,” Philip Rey said walking into the room and heading for the mini-bar.
“Is it,” Booker asked closing the book he had been reading.
“Is it what?”, Rey asked taking a bottle of water from the fridge and grabbing a couple of grapes.
“Afternoon,” Booker said, attitude creeping into his voice. He wasn’t going to play this nut jobs games.
Rey seemed taken aback from the question and then it dawned on him.
“Ah,” he said indicating the rooms. “No windows, no way to tell the time of day.”
Rey moved confidently towards the bookcase, showing Booker his back many times. Either confident that he could take Booker on, or unconcerned that Booker would try something. Why bother, Booker thought, take him out and the guards come and take me out.
“Disorientating isn’t it,” Rey asked looking over the books on the shelves. “Not knowing what time of day it is, or even what day it is.”
Booker said nothing. Just watched.
“It is afternoon by the way,” Rey said taking a drink of water. “We will have to see about replacing the ones that you have already read. Can’t have you getting bored now can we.”
“What are you going to do with me,” Booker asked. He had found it odd that he hadn’t been questioned since the initial capture.
“Tell me Mr. Horner,” Rey started ignoring Booker’s question. “Why did you join the military?”
“What,” Booker asked, the question surprising him. “My name is Booker,” he said recovering.
“Yes yes,” Rey said waving his hand as if to say ‘whatever’. “Was it like me,” he asked continuing. “Did you join up hoping to do something good? To help your country. Well that last part wasn’t like me,” Rey said chuckling to himself. “Your country isn’t my country, at least not yet.”
“What do you mean,” Booker asked hoping to get some information he could use if, no not if, when he escaped. There was no doubt, he’d escape. The how was the question.
“Some join their countries militaries for money, help with college, that kind of thing. But then there are some that join with a higher purpose in mind. I believe you fall into that category. As do I.”
“And what was your higher purpose,” Booker asked as Rey turned and walked back to the door.
Rey ignored him, or at least didn’t answer until he got to the door. Knocking , it opened, with two guards standing outside.
“My higher purpose,” Rey said turning and looking at Booker. “Why, to heal the world. Isn’t that what you want as well?”
Rey left the room and shut the door, it locked behind him.
The television turned on.
|01-10-2010, 11:25 PM||#249|
Join Date: Sep 2008
Location: Northwood, NH
Sharks in the Water pt 2
Ripper, knife in hand, crouched near the edge of the wall, hiding in the shadows of the doorway recess. The blade of the knife was long, almost nine inches, serrated along one edge, wicked looking. He held in down, so the moonlight wouldn’t catch the edge and alert the guard that was walking his way. Silently he waited as the guard walked by. Stepping out, he grabbed the guard’s head with his left arm, bending the guard back and with his right drew the knife, serrated edges against flesh, across the neck. He dropped the man and looked around. No one had seen.
He heard a noise, down the direction the guard had been heading. Quickly but silently he made his way down the deck and around the corner. One of the other Dreadnoks, that had come aboard with him, was walking out of a room he had just been in, pack full of loot over his shoulder.
“Ya bloody bike,” Ripper said in whispers when he caught the attention of the other. “Ya make too much noise.”
“Ah bite me mate,” was the reply and the man headed back towards where they had come aboard.
Stupid bloke, Ripper thought, be paying that one a visit when get back. Which one was it? One of the new blood. Greasepit. That was the name.
Shaking his head, Ripper went back the way he had come.
“Guard down,” he said thumbing the headset on.
“Five left,” Buzzer’s voice came back. “Civvies?”
“Accounted for,” came another voice, Gash. “Tied up or dead. Missing the fat guy and his chickies.”
“Right,” Buzzer’s voice replied. “I got him. Rest of you finish up.”
Wiping the blood off his knife Ripper went off in search of more guards to kill.
Buzzer glanced at his watch. It was taking too long. Sooner or later one of the ‘Noks would be seen, the alarm would go up and the SOS would go out and who knows what that would bring. They had to hurry it up. Which meant that he had to hurry up. Heartbreaker led the way, her time spent as part of the crew, she knew the layout of the ship and was taking him the quickest way to the interior cabin where the yacht’s owner was. They had already come across two guards, and had quickly and quietly taken care of them.
Where’d he hire these jokers, Buzzer thought to himself, as they opened a door and headed down a hallway. Heartbreaker put her finger to her mouth, indicating silence. Buzzer nodded. They had come to an intersection, coming into a larger hallway from the side. She indicated that he was to stay and she got up, smoothing her uniform, and walked around the corner to the right. He inched his way closer to the edge, taking his pistol out.
“The Sheik’s not to be disturbed,” he heard a deep voice, a guard at the door.
“Please,” Heartbreaker said, her voice sounding scared. “I heard a noise outside and thought I saw someone outside.”
“Just one of the guards,” was the answer.
“I’m scared,” she said. “Please just take a look.”
Her pleading won out and Buzzer heard them walking towards him. He saw Heartbreaker walk by his position, the guard behind. When the guard walked by, Buzzer raised and shot him, almost point blank to the head. The muffled shot louder in the cramped compartments.
“Ahoy matey,” Buzzer said laughing.
“You got blood on me,” Heartbreaker complained stepping over the body. Spots of red covered her white uniform, some dots on her face.
“Makes you prettier luv,” Buzzer said turning and heading towards the door at the end of the hall. “Any guards inside?”
“No,” she replied, taking the door keys from the dead guard. “He’s with his ‘lovelys’ as he calls them.”
“Right. You first.”
She nodded, stepped in front of him, unlocked the door, and stepped into the room.
“Marie,” came the voice with a heavy middle eastern accent. “How dare you.”
“I’m sorry sir,” she said, not quite as contrite as she would have been normally. “But we’re under attack.”
“What,” the sheik exclaimed. “Where are my guards.”
“Dead,” Buzzer said walking into the room, gun pointing at the man.
The room was large. Opulent. A large bed was in the middle. On the bed was a fat middle eastern man, completely naked. Around him were three young women. The oldest, eighteen at the most. All were beautiful. They were all naked. The girls huddled in a corner, clinging to each other.
“The safe,” Buzzer said.
“Marie,” the sheik practically shrieked. “What is the meaning of this.”
“He pays better,” Heartbreaker said taking her gun out and pointing it at the man. “The safe.”
“Never,” the man said, trying to sound defiant.
Buzzer pulled the trigger.
The girls screamed.
One of them died.
“The safe,” Buzzer said again, barrel pointed at the sheik.
He pulled the trigger again. The sheik screamed, blood erupting from his shoulder.
“The safe or I’ll just find it myself and blow it open,” Buzzer said as calm as before. “I don’t need you alive. It’s quicker but not necessary. Your choice.”
The man started to protest and stopped when Buzzer looked him down.
“Behind the painting, second from the left” the sheik said pointing at the collection of valuable paintings on the right hand wall.
Heartbreaker went over and pulled down the painting, revealing a metal wall safe. She looked over at the sheik who gave the combination. Opening it she found a small sack of jewelry, currency in a couple of different forms. Also inside was a computer disk. She held up the disk and showed Buzzer who nodded. That was what they had been after.
“Paintings?,” she asked.
“Yeah,” Buzzer said shrugging. “Why not.”
“Excuse me,” Heartbreaker said motioning the sweating sheik out of the way and grabbing a pillow from the bed. She pulled the pillow out wrinkling her nose in disgust. “Eeewww, fat man sweat.”
She quickly grabbed the five paintings in put them in the pillow case, along with the rest of the stuff from the safe. The computer disk she gave to Buzzer who put it in an inside pocket of his vest.
“What about them?,” she asked pointing at the sheik and the girls.
Three shots later she had her answer.
“Dreadnoks, we’re leaving,” Torch heard Buzzers voice over the headset. Which meant he had secured the disk they had been hired to get. Which meant it was time for his part of this job.
Smiling and whistling quietly to himself Torch finished wiring up the explosives he had put around the engine room. Putting the final cap in place he attached the timer and set it for fifteen minutes, long enough for them to get clear. Satisfied with his work he head back out the way he had came, stepping over the bodies of the two guards. One of them was badly burned.
“Ta ta fellows,” he waved to them, smiling, as he headed off to the boats.
Buzzer felt the boat rock under him as he climbed down. He was the last aboard, the other two had already reported that they were clear of the yacht. Steadying himself, Buzzer took out a knife and cut the rope ladder.
“Get us out of here Zanzibar,” he said taking a seat next to Heartbreaker and the other two ‘Noks that had made up his boarding party.
“Aye aye,” the craft’s pilot said, reaching out and pushing off from the yacht.
He turned the wheel, pulling the smaller craft away, and brought it up to speed, turning around and heading the opposite direction from the yacht, the way they had come. Far enough away from it, he gunned the small craft, putting as much distance between the two.
Couple minutes later the yacht exploded.
|01-11-2010, 12:50 AM||#250|
Join Date: Sep 2008
Location: Northwood, NH
The Fourth Gift pt 3
The road they were following, if it could be called that, was steadily going up into the mountains. Gorkij had told Flint, which he had radioed to Colton, that they were in the Caucasus Mountains. The road hadn’t seen heavy use in years, and had never been repaired. Not that it would have been expected in this part of the world, they had other things to worry about then roads up into the mountains. But Colton had noticed that parts of the road had been repaired, where it had been worse than the ruts and potholes they were going over. An expert job, he thought, looking out the window of the humvees. It was hard to tell the difference unless you knew to look for it.
“You know the way back right,” he jokingly asked Skidmark.
“I think so sir,” the man said smiling. “There’s a GPS tracker in the plane and I have a receiver keyed to it. But I gotta tell you, wherever they are taking us, they don’t like visitors.”
“You know where we’re going,” Colton asked Norseman.
“Not a clue,” was the answer. Norseman was in the front of the humvees with Skidmark, leaving Colton in the back with Mainframe.
It had been almost an hour since they had left the airport. They had gone parallel to the mountains for ten miles or so from the airport, then turned and headed up into the mountains and had been climbing since. The lead humvees slowed down for an approaching blind corner. Taking the corner the three occupants all gasped at the sight.
The lead humvees had come to a stop in front of a pair of large steel doors in the mountainside. Only the doors were visible, and what looked like some openings in the mountain above the door.
“What the hell,” Norseman exclaimed.
The humvees pulled into a large open chamber inside the mountain, the heavy doors closing behind them. The ceiling was high, and partly finished off, stone still visible in places. Doors led deeper into the mountain, directly in front of them. The space, the garage, was mostly empty. Only a couple of other humvees filled up the large space, making it look larger then it was with its emptiness. Three people stood near the doors.
Colton waited well Norseman and Skidmark got out first, Mainframe following, Norseman coming behind and opening the door for Colton, both had their weapons out. Flint got out of the lead jeep, keeping his eyes on both the men they had come with and the newcomers. Flint waited well Colton came alongside, then the two started towards the doors. Gorkij and Day walked ahead. The three near the door were as different as could be. One of them wore dark pants, white shirt and tie. The other was dressed in an older Russian uniform with a lit cigar, and the last was of middle eastern descent and wore a gray and black camouflaged uniform.
“General Colton,” the man in the shirt and tie said stepping forward. “Welcome to Oktober Base.” He held out his hand and shook hands with Colton as they came together. “Raymond Trent, formerly of MI-6. Head of intelligence around here. This is Colonel Ivan Brekov of the Ukrainian 80th Airborne Regiment, commander of operations” The man nodded. “ and Cipher, our communications expert.”
Colton shook hands with all of them, and then introduced the Joes that had accompanied him.
“Good to see you again Agent Harvath,” Trent said.
“It’s Norseman now,” was the reply.
“Gentleman,” Colton began. “As you’re probably aware, this is all news to me. The President keeping the existence of this operation a secret until just recently. I’ve read the reports, I want to hear it from you.”
“Of course General,” Trent said, indicating the door behind them. “Why don’t we go in and you can see the operation itself.”
“That’s why I’m here,” Colton replied.
“We currently have 30 operatives, not including myself and Brekov,” Trent was saying.
Colton, Flint, Mainframe and Norseman were all seated at a long table across from Trent, Brekov and an Englishman they called Skip. Skidmark was standing near the door to the conference room. On the screen at the end of the room was a diagram of the base they were in. Trent had said it was an old bunker used during World War II and forgotten about until their intelligence had discovered it two years ago. They had been rebuilding it ever since.
“It was slow going at first, as you can imagine,” he said continuing. “The Society is relatively new in the colonies, but has been around here for a long time. So we had to work carefully to keep from being found out. The President got a hold of me and it took me over a year until I even got the second operative, Skip, and then we went from there. Was even longer before we were able to expand outside of Great Britain.”
“How long ago was this,” Colton asked.
“About a month after you accepted the job,” Trent replied smiling. “We always knew the American contingent would be bigger and be in charge. We’re just support. We all understand that, but we do our own operations as well. Being the newer lands, so to speak, the Society didn’t have centuries to become ingrained in the governments.”
“How much support from your home countries,” Flint asked.
“Probably as much as yours,” Skip replied. “Which is to say, none.”
“Very few governments know about this,” Trent said. “And those that did, they’re no longer in office. We’re very much alone, much more so then you are. But every member here is dedicated to the fight. Most had personal reasons for joining.”
“What countries are represented,” Flint asked. Colton was silent, fingers tapping his chin, which told Flint that the General was deep in thought.
“England,” Trent replied. “Scotland, Ireland, Turkey, Finland, Denmark, Georgia, Ukraine, Russia, Sweden, France, Morocco, Israel, Norway, Switzerland and Germany.”
“Nothing Asian,” Flint asked when Trent was done.
“Nyet,” Brekov replied. “Hard egg to crack.”
“The Society never had a large presence in Asia,” Trent said explaining. “So it’s hard to find anyone there. We have some contacts, but no agents.”
“Well Gentlemen,” Colton said finally. “Let me officially welcome to the Joint Operations Taskforce and let’s get our heads together and see what we can come up with to expand operations to the middle east.”
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|Sgt. Holland v2 (from my 3060 verse)||Wyld2304||G.I. Joe Customs Finished Projects||19||09-14-2009 05:03 PM|
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