Royal Service

[unscratchedfoot]

I know I messed up big style in setting the mood of this story. As the introduction explains, it is actually a serious war story. After the Finnish-Cartel issue has been settled, we can have a look at the multicultural massacre happening up on the plateau.

*************************************************

"As the righteous aggressors
We will punish the despicable lessors
And with a great din
We will beat the hairy finn
But first let us snort some cocaine
So we don't abort due to pain
With the finn on the run at the end of a gun
Oh it will be so fun!"

A poem composed by a famous Columbian poet. It became an instant hit with the troops stuck on Mount Y46 and helped to lift their sagging morale.


Operation Raptor


Colonel Morallis took out his satellite phone and pushed the fast-dial hotkey to the Cartel HQ. Just as he began to speak, a rifle shot cracked up on the bluffs and one of his officers jerked and fell backwards.

Morallis snatched up the megaphone and yelled the command, "Suppression!"

He need not have bothered for the whole line of tanks and troops had already opened-up on the bluffs hoping to hit the sniper. The M60 tanks were loaded with canister shot which were much like big shot-gun shells filled with steel balls. The effects of this munition were absolutely deadly in the snow-swept rocky bluffs. Unlike most snow-capped peaks which just went straight up, Mount Y46 had particularly variable terrain which was made up of countless little pathways, crevaces, and rocky points jutting out everywhere forming natural battlements. It was a winter fortress, a defender's paradise. In this hard environment, the shot from the canisters ricocheted terrifically throughout the rocks, turning the defending troops into a puree, even those hunkered down behind the strongpoints.

The Finns were masters of defense, probably the best defending troops in the world. They adapted to the shot-gun hell by making big quilts of interwoven sand bags which they draped over the bluffs all around inside their defensive positions. The quilts were made in a camouflage design to mimick the terrain, the same as the soldier's uniforms and the armored vehicles they used to make. And under the quilts they packed in snow to further cushion the bouncy effect of the steel shot.

This adaptation worked great until the FARC responded by including tracer rounds in their canisters and heavy machineguns to burn up the quilt materials. The winds almost constantly buffeting the mountain helped to stoke the flames which quickly burned up the quilts along with a few unlucky Finnish defenders. In short time, however, the Finns remedied this new problem by constructing the quilts using fire-retardant material.

"Cease fire!" bellowed Morallis into the megaphone. "Any kill confirmation?"

The officers up and down the line signalled and one them said to Morallis, "We saw a blood spray on the snow near the Finnish positions but we don't know if it was the sniper, another soldier or even one of our own forward observers."

Morallis put down the megaphone and said, "Very well, check ammo supplies and await further orders." He picked up his satellite phone which he had dropped in the snow but before he could redial HQ, an officer named Vova interrupted him.

"Colonel, this is why we want to dress like regular infantry. Our officer uniforms are gonna get us all killed." complained Vova. Vova used to be a stick leader in the Red Army before he defected over to the FARC's. His squad had been ordered to mine a well-used road used by FARC reinforcements going to the Finnish front. It was so well-used that the mission was pretty much suicidal. Vova and his comrades had simply walked up with white plastic bags tied like flags on sticks and given themselves over. FARC was more than happy to hear all about the communist dispositions.

Morallis was looking grim. In addition to being interrupted, he was angered whenever someone suggested doing things differently than regulations stipulated. He was a strict "by the book" commander.

"W'the hell you say?" growled Morallis with a deep frown. "At no time during his duty will an officer ever appear out of uniform. Any violations of this rule will result in immediate demotion. Do you understand this Corporal?"

"I understand, but aren't you concerned about losing your best men?" Vova tried to sweeten the plea a little.

"Best men?" Morallis scowled. "Hell, if you catch a slug all I gotta do is promote one of our grunts to take your place. It's all the same to me. Think about this corporal: you dressing like a private is just being plain cowardly. Dismissed!" He went back again to trying to dial, leaving Vova feeling depleted and wishing the colonel would catch the next sniper's bullet. Unfortunately for Vova, although Morallis always stood high and in full uniform, he seemed to be blessed with immortality. He never flinched as bullets missed him by mere inches.

"Initiate Phase II"

[ChrisiusMaximus]

Yo Vovan your in this too now keep it coming ol Scratchy

[History Guy]

Another good installment.

Personally, I like the bizarre blending of humor and seriousness...

Keep it up, Mr. Foot.

[unscratchedfoot]

Operation Raptor Phase II

"An army that square dances together can stand up to anything."
On building comradeship from 'Military Master'


The officers could hear Morallis talking on the phone. "Yes, I know, but if we ever needed to play a trump card the time is now. We are pinned down on the cliffs, barely hanging onto this narrow road filled with wreckage... Do you have an ETA for me?... Thank you."

Colonel Morallis returned the phone to his jacket pocket and picked up the megaphone. He aimed it at the Finnish positions above and yelled as loud as he could into it, "To the brave Finns up there, non-combat planes will be flying over your positions displaying messages that will interest you! We appeal to your sense of honor to hold your fire!"

The officers murmured to each other trying to figure out what was going on. The Captain spoke up, "Colonel, what's up?"

"Wait and see. Propoganda promises a good show."

Minutes later the buzzing sound of an approaching plane could be hear. Everyone looked up to see a little yellow biplane with a huge banner being dragged behind it. The banner appeared to be some sort of drawing.

When it was in full view, they saw 'Part one' written in the corner and there was a cartoon of a big hairy rat with von Vermin's head on it. Castro was holding out a butcher's axe for Vermin to take and was saying, "Hmmm, you want peace do you? Very well, slice off your bottom and put it on a platter and give it to us. That is the price of peace - a piece of you."

Everyone was pretty quiet while they waited for part two. Soon enough, a second biplane, this time blue, came dragging another big cartoon banner. 'Part two' showed von Vermin now holding the butcher's axe and while cleaving Castro in half he was saying, "We don't give a rat's ass!"

There was much snickering among the FARC troops as well as loud groaning.

"OMG!! THAT WAS TERRIBLE!!!" came a booming voice from above like the voice of Thor himself, echoing off the rock walls. The Finns were obviously using their powerful amplification system which they so often used to remind the FARC's of how warm it must be back at the beach, as well as messages of doom and gloom.

As revenge for the corny joke, the Finns launched a counter-attack, catching the FARC's by surprise with a hail of machine and rocket fire. Scores of FARC's were riddled with bullets and one tank blew up. A few seconds later the FARC returned a murderous barrage but the Finns had already taken cover again and suffered few casualties.

"Please be patient and wait for the next one!" yelled Morallis into his megaphone which was like the voice.

"You do know that the Finns have no sense of humor don't you?" asked Vova.

"Propoganda said they'd be in stiches after seeing these jokes. They're gonna need some stiches when I'm done debriefing them." growled Morallis.

Another biplane approached, a lovely pink one this time. It carried a simple banner with no picture. 'And now, a message from UNICEF...'

A purple biplane followed it with another simple banner, 'Do your part to save the thirsty children of the world and...'

And a red biplane came with a big cartoon and caption saying, '... drown a queen.' The picture showed Mendez savagely drowning the Queen of England in her milk bath.

The FARC soldiers burst out laughing and a couple of soldiers were laughing so hard they fell off the road and down the steep cliffs which went for hundreds of meters. Two crunches could be heard far below.

Morallis handed the megaphone over the a Sargent and said, "Talk to the Finns."

The Sargent held up the megaphone and yelled, "How was that?"

"NOT BAD. WE WANT SOMETHING BETTER."

The laughter died down at the sound of another biplane coming. It was dragging a big cartoon showing all the clan leaders playing some kind of ball hockey game using cricket-style paddles instead of hockey sticks. Looking closely one could see the 'ball' was actually a baby-sized President Bush of the USA rolled up and being knocked around. In the foreground of the picture was G.I. Jane holding up a paddle and saying, "Care to join us in beating around the bush?"

Again, loud groans and angry hollering were heard all up and down the FARC lines. Morallis nodded to the Sargent who asked the Finns, "And how was that?"

The Sargent immediately took a sniper bullet to the head and the bluffs above flickered with muzzle flashes, sending the offending biplane down in flames. It spiralled round and round and exploded into a cliff on the next mountain.

"YOU HAVE OUR ANSWER."

The FARC troops reponded to the shooting with their own little barrage and quickly stopped, hoping for more joke banners.

Vova complained to Morallis again, "There goes another good officer."

"You got a problem with the officer uniform Vova? Strip down to your briefs!"

Vova hesitated.

Morallis took out his pistol and aimed it at Vova. "Now."

Vova stripped down to his boxer shorts which had the Energizer Bunny on them and he stood there shivering.

"Now make an angel in the snow!" commanded Morallis.

Vova lay down in the snow on his back and moved his arms and legs to make an angel pattern in the snow. Despite almost freezing to death, inside he was already planning a nasty revenge.

Morallis said with an evil chuckle, "And keep going just like the Energizer Bunny!" None of the other officers made a sound. "Now get up and put on your officer's uniform like a real man, unless you'd prefer to stay 'safe' in the cold."

"Sir, what about Phase II? What's happening to it?" asked the Captain, hoping to distract Morallis from Vova while he put his uniform back on.

"It isn't working." complained Morallis and he took out his cell phone. The officers listened, hoping for word of more cheesy jokes.

"No, no more of those silly banners please. They are just angering the Finns even more! Stop the program!" barked the Colonel into the phone. He turned off the phone and said to the officers. "I have no choice but to contact Mendez himself for some advice.

"Be careful! He'll be pissed!" cautioned the Captain. It was true. Mendez usually got up at about 3pm everyday after a night of playing with his 'kittens' as he called them. He then spent some time in his jaccuzzi snortin up, and then got pampered with massages and sweet talk from his favorite kittens. In the evening, he would either have the usual house party in his beachside mansion with 50+ babes and only 2 or 3 of his best male friends to share the 'merchandise', or he'd head out to town for some expensive entertainment with a small group of chosen kittens. Any phone calls at all regarding state affairs were received with the most extreme vehemence.

"That is true. But what is also true is that Mendez is a strategic genius if only he were evenly slightly concerned about the welfare of the cartels. Remember how he got Culiacan back from the UK and elimated 8 UK infantry brigades without firing a shot?" asked Morallis. He dialed.

"There's a call for you sweety-pie! It's that lameass Colonel Morallis." said a shapely babe in a pink bikini taking the phone to the jaccuzzi which had so many bubbles in it, only Mendez's hippylike head could be seen.

"F***!!!" cursed Mendez as he yanked the cell phone out of her hand.

"You #^@$^ %^#&@ @&*$% stupid-ass ****** of a colonel! Do I pay you to hassle me on my free time you S.O.B.!?"

"Boss, Phase II was a disaster. The jokes were too cheesy and the Finns have no sense of humor. I humbly request your expert advice in this dangerous situation. The honor of our state is at risk." pleaded Morallis.

"It's your dumb a$$ that's screwing everything up! Use your ugly head and figure it out! The Finns are experts of warfare so what do you think would be funny for them?" Mendez talked slowly and deliberately as if he really were talking to a ******.

"Um... uh... please sir, could you at least give me a clue or something?"

Mendez sighed deeply and let out a loud frustrated growl like a wounded monster. "Ai yi yi yi yi yi yi!! The f***ing book you idiot! Drop it on them!"

"What book? Ah, yes! Military Master! Yes yes! Good idea." Morallis sounded like a kid hoping not to be beaten up by a bully. "So where do I get lots of copies. It'll take a few days to have it ordered."

"I'll order the college bookstores to immediately ship all their copies to the nearest army airbases. Military Master is required reading for 'How Not to Conduct Warfare 101 and 201'." said Mendez, starting to cool off as he put his mind to work on the problem.

"And sir, there is one more problem. The Red Army is chewing up our reinforcements travelling to the Finnish front. Is there any way we could have a defensive line formed on the border to protect our lines of communication?"

"You really are a moron aren't you? Does it always take an army to stop an army? Think about it will ya? What's the terrain made up of mostly?"

"I think plains so like clay or something?" said Morallis.

"Yeeees, and what else?"

"A few trees and, I don't know, rivers I guess. So what can we do with that?"

"Just send some engineers to block-up the f***ing rivers criss-crossing the border using explosives and bulldozers so the overflow turns the clay into a quagmire. Tanks can't move through that can they? It doesn't take a genius to figure that out!"

"Yes, I thank you for your excellent advice." And he turned off the phone before Mendez could hack on him anymore.

A few hours later, as the sun was starting to go down, hundreds of copies of Military Master, written by Lord Cornwallis of the UK, were dropped onto the Finnish positions by helicopters and airplanes. Although a small number of the Finns were given concussions by the heavy textbooks falling on them, the real value in the tactic was soon realized.

"THIS IS GOOD" boomed the voice of Thor. Laughter and shouts came from the bluffs. The FARC troops holding the second pass could sometimes hear the Finns saying, "I found another good one! Check out page..." or "No wonder the UK and FARC always get wasted!"

"All companies charge!" yelled Morallis to the officers who passed on the order down the line using signals and radio sets. All the FARC's ran about like ants getting into position and charging up the slopes through the little paths in the rocks. Only a small number of soldiers staggered and fell from the defensive fire unlike the previous slaughters whenever they tried to attack. Up above the chatter of machinegun fire and booms of grenades going off indicated the second pass was heating up from the FARC troops surprising the distracted Finns.

While everyone was involved with the attack, Vova crept up behind Colonel Morallis like a siberian tiger preying on a deer.

[SKILORD]

good work there.

[ChrisiusMaximus]

It could have been the beast from Vova's story creeping up on Morallis

Still very entertaining please do continue.

[vovan]

Good stuff, scratch.

[TheGuitarist]

Nice work - interesting as always.

Keep it up!

[unscratchedfoot]

Vova had learned hand-to-hand combat fighting techniques during his time in the Red Army. He quickly planned his attack on the colonel who was standing with his back to him while looking through binoculars at the assault being carried out on the slopes above. The little impromptu command post was set up behind a shot-up M60 tank, providing a little cover for the officers but still left their heads vulnerable to snipers. Vova's plan was to run up hunkered down in a football tackle position and simultaneously grab both his ankles and yank back while he slammed his right shoulder into the back of his knees. This technique was supposed to faceplant the victim into the ground, knocking him senseless. In this case, the ground was soft snow so Vova aimed it so that he would knock his block on the metal side of the tank.

I could have frozen to death. I was lucky to have been brought up in a high-altitude tundra environment. Had you done this to another hispanic soldier he would certainly have been lost to the deadly cold. For that I must teach you a lesson.

Vova felt nervous knowing that what he was doing was tantamount to mutiny. But after humbling the colonel he would let him return to command. Of course none of the other officers would interfere, both because they were concentrating on the assault and because they knew the colonel was a hard-a$$. Vova had carried out private little 'humblings' on officers during his stay with the Red Army and was looked up to by his comrades as an account-settler, earning him the nickname 'The Accountant'.

So in he went. At first he walked and then at 2 meters distance he sprung forth like a rattlesnake uncoiling to strike. As planned, the attack sent Morallis hurtling into the tank and made a ding from his head slamming home. Morallis and Vova both fell onto the ground. Morallis reacted amazingly quick by wrenching a leg free and used it to give Vova a viscious kick in the forehead.

vova was dazed by the unexpected kick and he barely made it to his knees by the time the second kick, even harder than the first, was delivered by a now standing Morallis. This time the kick connected with his nose and knocked him backwards onto the ground again. It would have broken his nose had it hit a little higher, but as it was, blood gushed from his nostrils. The colonel made ready to continue booting Vova who was lying on his back next to the M60, but there was no need.

Now Vova was certainly too dizzy to make it back on his feet and knew it was safer to stay where he was anyways. Perhaps he had bitten off more than he could chew. Morallis stood there and began to holler at him, but Vova was too out of it too hear much. "... MP's will arrive shortly to detain you... court-marshall... imprisonment... according to military law... back-stabbing weasel..."

Just when Vova had given up all hope of winning this contest, he see something coming up from the side of the cliff behind the colonel! Both wonder and fear took hold of Vova's mind. It's the monster from my story 'Post Mortem'! But how could it be? The monster was ficticious. Or was it? And this is no dog either like in the story. It looks like one of the earlier monster ideas I had planned for the story.

The creature growled and clawed its way onto the road from the near vertical drop-off it had just climbed up. It had wide, round yellow eyes, a sloped forehead, and a grey haired body muscled like a human body-builder. Certainly this monster can beat the indomitable colonel.

The monster stood on its 2 'hind' feet, slightly hunched over and awkward like a four-legged beast trying to stand up like a human. But this was no 4-legged walker. It was more like a hybrid of a wolf and a musclebound man. It grunted and growled, and walked towards the oblivious colonel who had finished his rant and was dialing his cell phone probably to call for the military police. The beast reached out his clawed hands for the colonel's neck and opened a fang-filled mouth.

Vova held his breath. As much has he wanted to avenge the wrongs Morallis had committed upon himself and the other officers, he had no desire to actually kill him. The beast looked like it was pumped up to either tear out Morallis's throat or to grab and drag him off the cliff edge to a certain pulpy death.

"No! Stop!" shouted Vova. Morallis spun around to see who or what he was yelling at. The mirage faded. The combination of his exposure to the cold and the knocks he had received had set Vova's mind to hallucinating.

"Take off all your clothes." Morallis, seeing nothing behind him but snow-capped mountains, turned back astonished that Vova would have the nerve to issue orders to him after being put down.

Upon looking back, he was even more astonished to now see The Accountant pointing a pistol at him. He had completely forgotten that both of them had been packing pistols all throughout the melee! He had fallen for one of the oldest of deception tricks, while doing just the same to the Finns.

"Turn around, slowly remove your gun from its holster and toss it over the cliff. Then proceed to undress." ordered Vova. Morallis wore an expression of utter pain and regret. He slowly but surely turned around and did as he was told.

While Morallis complied, The Accountant told him his resume. "I've had officers tied on top of 2 meter long anthills after my squad pissed all over the little critters to frenzy them. Nothing pisses off an ant more than being pissed on. I've dragged my commanders by a rope tied to the back of a truck around the forest for hours at a time, sent them out on rickety rafts in wave-tossed waters teaming with sharks, force-fed them live centipedes and even had them run naked through busy city streets waving at the women as they passed them while my comrades and I drove along behind in a jeep shooting them with a pellet gun whenever they slowed down."

Vova let the colonel off relatively easily compared to the Red Army officers he wraught havoc on in the past, knowing he really intended to do his best to serve his clan. He had him do some ballet in the snow in a miniskirt and bikini, all videotaped of course to show the troops back in the barracks, and then let him resume his command, a smaller man. From that day on, the colonel relented on his rule-abiding nature and the men under him even came to like him little by little.

As for the assault on the Finns, they were broken completely. When Vova, Morallis and the other officers finally stood on the summit of Y46, there were bullet-ridden Finns in their red-stained arctic camo outfits strewn among the bluffs. The rocks themselves were chipped and scarred in every place from the weeks of suppression fire they had been forced to bear. And all along the routes among the rocks approaching the summit were stricken FARC troops, evidence that the defenders did not fall easily in their last stand.

And so it was, the FARC had fully paid its admission fee to the plateau.



Unwelcome News


Chrisius flopped down onto the comfortable sofa with a can of ale in one hand and the TV remote in the other. He relished how he could always come home from a nice Corny-free day in the planning department to be with his wife and screaming kids and take it easy. As always he first watched the 6 o'clock news with the beautiful Jenny Swinger as the announcer.

An army recruitment ad showing a group of happy young lads and lasses all done up in camo fatigues and green faces having a good time had just finished. Pam came on the air with her usual lustrous long, wavy hair and beaming face which Chris looked forward to seeing everyday.

"Good evening, this is Jenny Swinger with your 6 o'clock news. In today's headlines, the FARC forces manage to break through the stubborn Finnish defenses after weeks of being held up on steep mountain passes. Reportedly the breakthrough was achieved using Field Marshall Lord Cornwallis's strategy book 'Military Master' to help them form a decisive winning strategy. Military experts from many different armies have agreed that 'Military Master' has replaced Sun Tse's 'Art of War' as the modern day guru's guide to the successful conduct of warfare."

"In other news, the UK army heading towards Hoth has taken a rest stop after going through the Hoth defensive ring of mountains. The Right of Passage the UK has with the Scandinavians allows them entry onto the plateau without the costly battles the FARC and Red Army have been experiencing. The stop also is to permit a change of command from Field Marshall Lord Cornwallis to General Kaos. Cornwallis ordered the changeover because he said he must return to the UK for a speech and autograph signing appearance after the incredible success the FARC had using his book. Already tens of thousands of his fans are lining the streets of Meatpie Town in anticipation."

A video showed crowds of young women holding up big banners some of which had red hearts on them saying 'We Love You Harry!' referring his former name. Some middle-aged folks held up signs reading 'Praise the Lord!'

"Police are restricting downtown access to only residents and public service vehicles to reduce traffic jams. Now lets have a look at some scenes of the UK forces moving towards Hoth in the last week."


"Here we can see Challenger tanks on the move in Cartel territory fighting their way through the mud starting to develop from the FARC's new plain flooding tactic. Russian tanks approaching the area pose a hazard to both the FARC and UK forces. The engineered floods are designed to bog down the Red Army armored vehicles."

"While FARC and the UK continue to have icy relations after their brief war, they have agreed to a Right of Passage to allow the UK to freely advance to engage the German forces in Hoth, their mutual enemy. Following the notorius 'photocopy incident', the communists have also declared war on the UK providing another common enemy for the Cartels and UK to fight against."


"In this scene, Royal Scots Dragoon Guards have made it through the Hoth mountains and are in the forested area preparing to head into the plateau where they will face-off against the vaunted German armed forces."

"In addition we have a photo of a German Leopard 2 main battle tank (below) which is the principal combat unit the UK forces will be facing on the plateau. "

"The well-armored Leopard 2 built-up a fearsome reputation from decisively defeating several other clan armies. On a sad note, the spy who took this photo was exposed soon after taking it and shot by the nazi authorities."

"As for the concentration of units, the UK will be slightly outnumbered by the battle hardened German forces on the plateau and will also have to contend with Red Army tank columns coming up from the rear trying to trap them."

"The communists field the sporty T-90 main battle tank seen in photo above which is not only very agile, it can fire both tank shells and anti-tank missiles through its smoothbore 125mm cannon making it a very dangerous opponent."

"In sports news today..."

Chrisius had lost interest in football since the outbreak of war. He thought about how Corny was up to his tricks again by putting Kaos back in command once the going looked tough. He doesn't want to be held responsible for a possible defeat so might as well let Kaos take the heat. thought Chrisius.

"Chris darling, dinner will be ready soon. It's your favorite, lamb steak pie and dumplings with hot apple pie and ice cream for dessert." called out his wife. He could hear the kids running around on the porch outside playing with the dog and screaming all the while, enjoying the warm summer evening.

"Sounds great honey! I love your apple pie!" Nothing tasted better to Chrisius than his wife's homemade apple pie.

His cell phone rang. "Hello?" answered Chrisius, expecting it was Dexters wanting to discuss the breaking news about the command changeover in Hoth.

"Hello Chrisius, I hope you are enjoying your evening." Corny's voice was the last thing Chrisius wanted to hear right then.

"Uh yes I am. I'm just about to have dinner with my family."

"Well cancel your dinner plans. You can eat on the way to your mission." Corny spoke in his 'you will do as I say' tone of voice which irritated Chrisius to the core.

Mission!?! Chrisius's heart beat faster as dread filled him. Doesn't Corny know I've never been on a field trip or fired a gun? Maybe he wants me to meet with a foreign leader somewhere else. And why must I cancel dinner? This is bollocks!

"You are to join up with Dexters and 2 other soldiers whom I've already chosen. You will be advised of your mission on route. If this is your first time going into combat, don't worry because none of the others have ever seen combat either. You can all enjoy this first time experience together." Corny was legendary for his use of backwards logic. In Chrisius's mind he could see Corny talking on the other end of the line with that evil little grin of his.

Corny went on, "The name is Operation Scum Removal. Perhaps you can understand what that will entail. And its not cleaning splattered pans either. Your easy days of loafing around the planning department talking gossip are over. The secretary has fully informed me of your slothfulness. I expect to see you on the Meatpie Air Force Base tarmac in 30 minutes. As I mentioned, you will be equipped and briefed for the mission on route. Don't be late or you will be penalized." Corny hung up.

Chrisius laid back on the sofa for a brief moment, grimacing in emotional pain. Now he, Kaos, and Dexters were all in the catbird seat. "Honey, I'm sorry. I've just received orders to go to the Operations Center." He lied, not wanting to leave her worrying too much.

"Oh no way! That's bollocks! You're gonna stay here and enjoy a nice dinner with us."

"I can't disobey orders, Hon. I have to leave ASAP. I'm sorry." He jumped up, changed quickly and ran out the door grabbing a freshly baked dumpling off a plate on the way and letting off a yelp of pain.

[ChrisiusMaximus]

Hmmm, that corny's gonna get whats coming to him you just mark my words.

I just hate missing out on a good meal

[vovan]

Heh, keep the goods coming, please, scratch. This is some good stuff.

I agree with HG here: I like the blending of funny and serious stuff, too. I am glad you are kind of back to your regular style of writing. The little brawl with Morallis was nice, althought I felt that in the middle of it, it got a little monotonous (I guess, too much of "he", "his", and such), but the rest was really good. I also thought that the dialogue parts were cool in this chapter. Definitely an improvement. I felt for Chris here missing his favourite apple pie.

[Kaos XIII]

Hi!

Good job, on updating your story so frequently.

The ‘Military Master’ appears to be quite a genius, avoiding battle and all. Anyway, it’ll be interesting to see Chrisius in action that doesn‘t involve cleaning.

keep it coming with the same humor.

[TheGuitarist]

Very nice, keep it up.

[unscratchedfoot]

*Game note: in the game, there is a tech called 'Special Ops' which I have not yet completed so this explains the lack of high level special ops units on the UK side in this story.*

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A Hodgepodge of Fruity Characters


"As we learned from the Cold War experience, the NATO forces holding the fort in West Germany against the Soviet herds were stoned silly on weed and could have been defeated by a band of broom-wielding old ladies. On off-duty, keep your soldiers minds occupied with quality activities such as the writing of poetry, playing fiddles or bird watching. In doing so they will avoid the vices of pornography, drugs, and most importantly as I have learned the hard way, the planning of mutiny."
Lord Cornwallis speaks about off-duty in his book 'Military Master'


The military police jeep carrying Chrisius from the officer's parking lot accelerated across the tarmac towards a small group of men next to a C-130 transport plane which had a couple of maintenance vehicles working on it. The jeep stopped and Chrisius got out and saluted in greeting. An officer in a black special operation uniform returned the salute. Dexters was already there and he looked like a kid who had just received a scolding.

"We're on a tight schedule here so I'll just let the Special Ops squad team leader take over this briefing." said Corny. "Frankly, I don't have high expectations on you making it through this mission in one piece, but good luck to you all the same. There are some rather attractive young ladies I promised to go out drinking with tonight so I'd better be off. I'll be thinking of you when we're enjoying some lovely hot apple pie with ice cream on it." With that said, Corny got into the jeep which had brought Chrisius and it drove off.

The young special ops squad leader nodded once towards each general and said, "Good evening Chrisius, Dexters, my name is Skilord. That, of course, is a nickname I use while on mission and I see no need for you to know my real name. My rank is much lower than you 2 generals so you will be officially in command of this operation and rely on me only for my advice and expertise. If you must know my credentials, I have gone through basic special operations training and am waiting for the SAS Advanced Special Ops program to be completed so I may continue my training. I have consistently been at the top of my class in all subjects and I received honorable mention for a paper I wrote on why the hammer and anvil attack strategy has been made obsolete by modern bait and destroy tactics. I've also written several enormously popular papers on politics. This mission will be my first time in real live combat."

Skilord turned to a soldier beside him and said, "And this chap can be called 'The Guitarist'. I'll save you asking why and just tell you that he can pick up any type of guitar from a mexican banjo to a bass guitar and play it better than you've ever heard it played by anyone else. At least that's what he tells me." Skilord managed a tight grin. "He's fresh out of boot camp and is full of beans."

The Guitarist nodded in greeting. He was a young soldier, perhaps only 18, and seemed to be fairly muscular and full of beans like Skilord had said. "Hello Chrisius and Dexters. Lord Cornwallis told me you were a couple of overripe couch potatoes who need to be toughened up with some field work. Looks like what he said is true."

Chrisius said, "Uh right, okay." Chrisius had grown a bit of a pot belly over the years of working in the planning department, but that was normal he thought. Dexters was also a bit on the round side. Chrisius tried to think positively that maybe this little adventure might actually be good for them to allay his fears.

"And one more thing about me, I'm a duelist. That means if I ever get into a one-on-one scrap with someone, whether it be a gunfight, fistfight or a plain old name calling session, you will never interfere. Are we understood on this matter?" asked The Guitarist.

"Sure, whatever." Chrisius was a little put off by his rough attitude but he knew it was just a typical young recruit's attitude towards the business of war. "You really wanna kick some a$$ don't ya?"

"Damn rights. I fully intend to fill some bad attitude punks full of 9mm ordinance, compliments of the Lord."

Chrisius was astonished that even this kid was buying into the Corny worshipping trend.

Dexters grunted, "Huh?"

"We'd better be off." Skilord tactically interrupted the conversation to keep things cool. "We want to airdrop outside the target around midnight when there's columous cloud formations being blown in by medium winds. That will provide visual cover us from the moonlight. I'll continue with the briefing on the plane. We're on a tight schedule. Saddle up men!" Skilord ran up the ramp into the waiting C-130. The pilot fired up the engines and the maintenance vehicles departed.

Chrisius and Dexters sat across from Skilord and The Guitarist with their backs against the wall of the plane.

Skilord started the briefing. "The target of Operation Scum Removal is the boss of the Drug Cartels, Mendez."

It was no surprise. The 2 generals had already figured this out given the name and the recent happenings involving Corny. Obviously the loss of Culiacan coupled with the ego-bursting produce incident had pushed Corny to the edge. Dexters asked the question he already knew the answer to in order to hear how Skilord would handle it, "Why Mendez and not von Vermin or Castro?"

"The reasoning behind it is confidential and I'd be careful about suggesting hits on other clan leaders, especially considering you used to be the chief negotiators until your transfer." They could tell where Skilord's loyalty lay.

"Transfer?" asked Dexters.

"Yes, and I'm aghast you don't even realize Lord Cornwallis has transferred you to the SSR. And in case you don't know, SSR stands for Special Situation Resolvement. I'm sure a demotion from your current rank of general is in the works as well." said Skilord.

They were too dumbfounded to respond so Skilord continued. "As for the mission. There are only 4 of us going in. We will be airdropped into the jungle about 3 kilometres east of Mendez's country cottage in the dead of night. Watch out for snakes. At daybreak we will move closer to the target area and set up a hidden observation site to record all the patrol activities of the guards. We expect 4 guards plus one sniper to make up the security force."

"How do you know that? Do you have a spy in the cottage?" asked Chrisius.

"Not really, but all the people there, be it workers or military personnel, are a dime a dozen to bribe for information. We once paid a maid 2 pounds to place listening devices in Mendez's bedroom. Unfortunately, Mendez sniffed out the bugs before we heard anything other than his um... you know, bedroom activity. He's quite a stallion by the sounds of it."

"So what do you have on those guards? They any good?" asked The Guitarist.

"Well, there are at least 3 regular guards plus the guard leader whose name is Vova. We don't have much on him except that Mendez hand-picked Vova from all the FARC officers so he's probably quite competent and we also know he defected from the Red Army. The sniper, named Forgorin, is in a league of his own. He is our number one problem on this mission and I fully expect us to lose a member or 2 on account of his skill. He's incredibly resourceful to the extent that if you left him in a junkyard with a toolkit, you could come back next day to find an Apache gunship fully fueled and ready to fly."

"Sounds like some tough cookies we're going up against here." said Chrisius.

"And that's not all. Mendez himself is an ex-Sandinista death squad leader. He's an expert at night combat which he proved by annihilating 3 teams of assassins we already sent against him on night hits."

"Huh!?! You mean 3 teams have already tried to kill him and failed?" squealed Dexters like a kicked pig.

"That's right. Don't you know anything? Get with the program man. And the security's been beefed up since with the sniper and that Vova dude added in now." said The Guitarist.

"Yup, we're gonna die." concluded Dexters.

"Not necessarily." Skilord seemed a little put-off by Dexters comment. "We have a good plan and some excellent equipment to give us a chance."

Skilord took out a photo of a soldier holding a souped-up gun and held it up for the others to see it.


Skilord looking bad to the bone.

"This is me holding a MP5SD - the weapon we will be using. That fat thing on the end of the barrel is a sound dampener so the gun is quite quiet. Inside these hiker's backpacks we each have, there is one of these weapons with some parts detached for packing purposes. Everyone also has 2 flashbang stun grenades, a K-bar combat knife and an extra clip of 9mm ammunition."

"Why are we using these civilian packs?" asked Chrisius.

"Yeah, shouldn't we be going in with guns blazing?" asked The Guitarist.

Skilord shook his head and smirked at the question. "No, this is stealth mission. We are going to dress in tourist clothes and wear these packs to give us extra cover. If we run into locals, they will think we are tourists. After all, there is a large number of UK boys living in the area since the mass mutiny. Next to the packs there is a pile of clothes for each one of you. Put them on now."

They chuckled while looking over the clothes - bright surf wear with funny logos like the teenagers wore on the beach. The long shorts were in dazzling colors of peachy orange, pink and aqua blue. They even had funky hats to go along with the outfits.

Chrisius held up his t-shirt and said, "I'm sure this will give me truly excellent cover." It was one of a series of funny clan leader shirts. It showed a cartoon picture of Mendez with his long hair, tank top and sunglasses, a sniper's crosshairs over his face and the words, 'Wanted Dead: Mendez'. This was printed on both sides of the shirt.

They all laughed. It was indeed a foolish thing to wear on a hit mission.

[unscratchedfoot]

Mendez's country cottage was made in an old-fashioned charming, half-timbered design and being quite large with 3 floors and 2 walkways/balconies which went all the way around it, it provided a panoramic view of the surrounding area. In the coca fields to the north and west, chubby middle-aged hispanic women in raggy clothes picked the full-grown leaves which would be taken to labs to extract the valuable cocaine powder. Coca fields were easy to maintain because being draught resistant, they required no irrigation. The processed cocaine was illegal everywhere in Antarctica except in Cartel territory so the smuggling of it provided abundant riches to the cartel bosses especially Mendez himself.

It was a cloudy warm afternoon day and the sun had just broken through sending its cheery beams down across the fields. The stubby hills beyond the fields were adorn in coffee bean trees which were also harvested and exported, though for far less profit than the coca plantations provided. The trees, with their shiny arrowhead shaped leaves, were pruned to only 6 feet in height to allow for easy picking. In the south were the parched plains where the big black bulls were being nurtured into beasts of entertainment, doomed to a violent, glorius last moment in the arena. And in the east were the thick steamy jungles where bananas, coconuts and pineapples were grown.

Being so full of the wonderful delights of nature, fruit, vegetation galore and all kinds of insects, the place had become a kind of bird sanctuary with flocks of many species gathering daily to partake in some feasting and sing-songs.

Two of the destitute old women working in the fields, bent-over filling their buckets, started up some small chat. "I wonder when the next lot'll come? It seems not a week goes by without a bunch of vagabonds trying their hand at offing that high living coot in charge o' all this." She chewed on a coca leaf, giving her a slight energy boost much like that gained from drinking a cup of strong coffee.

"Well don't you worry yourself now Pamela. I hear they got some hotshot new mercenary to take care o' them hoodlums from now on. He's supposed to be one mean S.O.B."

"You know Martha, I don't give a hoot in Hades about them tough-talkin chain smokin Rambo wannabes. I tell ya when the bullets start a flyin, them are gonna be the first to skidaddle on outta here yipping like a coyote with his tale on fire. They're only here for the bucks and young women. They ain't got no guts I tell ya."

"Don't be so sure, I overheard Mendez and his thug friends talking about this new fellow and he ain't gonna be doin no running I tell ya. He's a real killer! Apparently he takes great pleasure in doin in whomever, whoever or whatever. He just don't give a sh*t about nuttin!"

Over at the cottage, Vova stared at a bird sitting on a coffee tree through his telescope attached to the wooden porch railing. "Ah, you're a dainty one aren't ya. Don't fly away now you little beauty." Vova had just joined the Culiacan Bird Watcher Club after being transferred to provide security for Mendez's country cottage. Ever since he had lived in the communist city of Red Sickle, he had explored his love for birds. The rule of the Culiacan Club was that ever member had to identify at least 30 different species of birds a day and take pictures of them only using nondigital cameras to ensure proper photo quality.

The rock dove shuffled his position on the rock while Vova adjusted the telescope sight on his camera preparing to take the prized picture.

At the same time, high in a pata de vaca, a big leafy tree related to a banana tree, Forgorin, also looked through a scope at a bird he could neither identify with nor sympathize with. In his perch among the foilage, he had carefully constructed a hiding spot on a very thick branch, so well camouflaged that someone a few metres away could not see him even if looking directly at him. This was helped by the fact that he was a skinny bag of bones with hardly any muscle and not a hint of fat on him. Next to him was 8 year old Sonny Mendez, son of Mendez, the Drug Cartels leader.

"You see this here Sonny? This be a 50 calibre machinegun. I found it in a broken down old armored personnel carrier left by the British. I got it working again and made my own mount for it using the workshop over in that there shed behind the cottage. I got it fastened good into this tree on the swivel mount I made. I had ta rig up my own rope and pulley system to heave the thing up here. Ain't no one can see me here they can't. I spent a good parta a week fixing up this here spot. I tell ya, anyone come here lookin for trouble they gonna get it good." Forgorin nodded and winked at the boy. In the distance, perhaps 500 metres or so away, the cottage could be seen and Forgorin occasionally looked it over through the gun-mounted scope.

A belt of golden cartridges was attached to the gun, feeding out of a steel box. The foilage, thick as it was, still allowed the gun to swing freely inside of the carefully arranged branches. In some places branches had been cut off, and in others, extra branches were roped on. The gun itself was wrapped in a kind of camouflage mesh with an open part to allow the belt to feed in and the ejected rounds to fly out.

"Cool, I love machineguns! Let's see you shoot something with it! Can I try it?" Sonny was like any eager young lad hoping for some excitement.

"He he he. Takes some skill, laddy. I don't usually use this rig on auto. You see if I flick the trigger just right I can fire one big slug up to 2000 meters away and hit the antennae on an ant if I so desire. When I fire, its so damn loud the echo goes everywhere and ain't no one gonna figure out where it came from. For more delicate jobs inside of 500 metres I use the rifle you see slung on my back. Now, let me demonstrate this rig for ya little fellow."

Vova had finished sighting in the rock dove and slowly applied pressure on the shutter button. 'Click.'

Then to Vova's horror, the once elegant little bird exploded into a puff of feathers and its parts were splattered over the rock. He was truly appauled. What the hell is with this camera? And what was that god awful report rolling across the fields? It reminded Vova of his time on Y46 where the crashes of gunfire echoed through the mountains.


"Rock on!" yelled Sonny with a giggle.

The shot scared up hundreds of birds, all of them taking off at the same time and flying over the coca field where Pamela and Martha were working. Forgorin reaimed the 50 cal at the centre of the flock and pulled back on the trigger. The heavy automatic fire shredded both the leaves infront of the gun position and a good lot of the birds, filling the air with feathers and splattered guts which rained down upon the women working in the coca field.

Martha wiped off some icky goop from her blouse and said, "Well I don't know if that mercenary has any guts but them birds sure do."


TATATATATATATATATA! Spent cartridges spilled down among the branches, clinking and dinging on their way down.

Sonny was delighted. Forgorin had a wide grin stretched across his face showing off his clenched teeth. The sniper's eyes were wild and fanatical, filled with the ecstacy of the kill. The slaughter soon came to an end and Forgorin relaxed and breathed deeply, relishing the mood. "That felt so good. There's just nothing sweeter than 500 rounds per minute of pure 50 caliber joy. You wanna try a little shootin Sonny? Them birds'll be back soon. Ya just gotta wait a minute. That's what being a sniper is all about - waiting to perform the kill. It's good to let the gun cool down a little too."

"Yeah yeah yeah!" Sonny stepped up to the gun and put his hand around the pistol grip and Forgorin held himself up against the boy and put his hands behind the his elbows to support him from the recoil. Sure enough a couple of birds flew back towards the coffee trees and Sonny didn't hesitate.

"Yah! Cool!" TATATATATATATA The gun spew fire randomly all over the plantation, field, workers quarters and dusty roads below. Several parked cars were riddled with fire along with most of the buildings in the vicinity. A small yappy poodle got his just desserts and Pamela looked up just in time for a wild slug to take off her hat.

"Cease fire!" yelled Forgorin.

"Holy! Is that thing ever unstable!"

"You're just too small yet to handle it properly. No worries though, no harm done." Forgorin winked at him and then looked at his watch. "Anyways, time to go now. I got things to do."

"Aw, no way. I wanna hang out here some more and bring my friends over too."

"Nah, you don't wanna give away my super secret hiding spot now do ya? Remember, its our secret okay?"

"Okay but I'm not leaving."

"Very well then." Forgorin reached down, grabbed the kid by the ankles, heaved him over the side of the branch and held him upside down there.

"Ahhhh, don't drop me! I'll go I'll go! I promise!"

"Don't worry... I... won't... drop..." Every vien and sinue in Forgorin's neck and arms was at the point of bursting, his spindly muscles working overtime to hold the kid in place. Realizing he lacked the strength to lift the kid back onto the branch, he simply prolonged the inevitable.

When the kid fell he bounced from branch to branch, knocked upsidedown, sideways and back again. Forgorin lost sight of him crashing through the thick foilage but it was obvious when the kid finally landed on the ground. Whump!

The kid lay there moaning in pain. Forgorin went right back to watching the cottage through his scope.


**************************************
Chrisius, Dexters, Skilord and The Guitarist

versus

Vova, Forgorin, Mendez and the FARC

If you miss this fantastic 4 on 4 showdown you probably find yourself putting on red clothes and walking onto a bull-fighting farm.