Frank, Or, as his friends knew him as Frank. Most people called him "Hal" as in "open the pod bay doors Hal". It was ostensibly because of his sonorous voice. He was given this name after his first mission in Iraq, by his Company Commander. Usually a C.O. doesn't travel outside of the wire, but all hands were needed for this op. They travelled easily to their destination, a sign of things to come. All hell broke loose when the convoy of HUMVV's and L.A.V's pulled onto the street that was their objective. RPG's, Mortars, small arms fire, and rotten vegetables he was SURE were shot, though none were accurate. Things went to hell quickly and many of his team were wounded, and the C.O. was screaming orders into his radio, ineffectively I might add. Frank went into "soldier" mode and just...took...care...of fucking buisness. He pilote'd his M4 until he had exhausted all of his magazines, and those around him. He picked up the SAW on the other side of the truck and provided cover for the medics picking up the wounded and dead. THEN he commanded, thats right, he COMMANDED a squad of rifleman to "follow me!" and they did so without hesitation. The C.O. got on the radio and asked "WTF are you doing?" Frank, ever mindfull of his job said "what I was told too Sir"and then, shut his radio off. What followed was, as a Sgt. who'd been in country for several tours, absolutely a lethal ballet of death, destruction, and a Marine kickin' MUCH ASS, and, GOT SOME! Frank took point and entered the house next to the target home. When asked "ok, were next door, now what?" Frank merely smiled and said "Why I'm making a side entry" when it was pointed out that they, and he, were standing in front of a solid wall, Frank smiled and said nothing. Taking some Det-Cord, he drew a rough outline of a door on the wall and attached it thusly. He then put a 1/4 lb block of C4, complete with cute lil pen-det, in the middle and said "you might wanna be elsewhere in about 12 seconds" and lit the fuse. The resulting explosion opened a hole perfect in the home they were in.It demolished the wall next door of the target home. Frank got up, threw too "bangers" in the target home, then went about picking up debris until he found his man. In this case, a Woman however. Known as "Betty the Bomber"she was responsible for most of the I.E.D's in this section of town. She was wailing about her dead son,a toddler about the age of Franks own son. His reply, given through a face of dust, tear tracks, and set in stone said "well my Marines you're responsible for killing with your bombs were shown the same mercy. Now stand up or I'll drag you up by your broken limbs" She was hooded, secured, and transported to a C.A.S.H. nearby. He ordered she was to be given no pain med's until she gave up the cache of weapons. Her face turned to a mask of pure hatred and fury. "I will give you nothing you seek but death". When translated, Franks response was pure, well, computer..Logical and delivered with all the emotion of Bill Gate's best computer voice. "I seek not Death, but nor do I fear it. For every minute that cache exists, you will feel pain beyond knowledge, and will welcome Death itself, but I will myself, keep you alive. Merely to make sure we find the weapons. THEN you might, just MIGHT get to see a Dr. Frank took the "long way" to the C.A.S.H. and made sure to hit every pothole, curb, and small rock he could find..After two blocks, she was singing like a well trained contestant on Simon's lil show back home. Frank and his team got back to F.O.B. Freedom and submitted their A.A.R.'s. When the stories were told of his actions, the bronze star, and a new name, followed him home.
Truth be told, Frank was the nicest, most laid back you'd want to meet. Women often said he was "sweet". Usually the kiss of death, but not for Frank. People sensed it in his eyes. He may be kind, polite, and in fact, a bit of a sweet guy,but he was, no doubt, a man of ability and skill, and to cross him would be very, very bad. For all involved. Frank pulled up to the park and walking to a large tube, said to Janelle "I thought you were joking, there IS a gasworks park..Huh, thought it was a park next to a taco stand or something." Ranelle, ever one for a good fart joke, replied with "youknow what you call a guy who farts loud in prison?" Frank, thought it out and said "victim?" They all got a laugh from the gallows humor and got down to buisness. "ok, heres the dealy yo. this guy, Mohammed Archimedes Mohammed, is responsible for the kidnapping of two M.P.'s from Ft.Lewis, as well as the murders of four more M.P.s from the Ft." Frank was referring to a pair of M.P.'s who were kidnapped from a early morning run. The next day, both were found dead, decapitated, 40mi. from the base. That night, several men, entering through the rear fence, assaulted the bases Armory. Four of the five M.P.'s were killed, and the fifth on duty was wounded in the firefight that resulted. The tally was 20lbs of SEMTEX explosive being taken. They hadn't done anything with the explosives...yet.
"well thats great. We got 48hrs to track these assholes, and go get 'em" Janelle sighed and wondered exactly HOW long Chris expected them to work miracles...Her answer was forthcoming. "well it seems a plankowner from Team Six came up with a lil idea. Since we know there are sleeper cells in country, we needed a way to keep track of our explosives. Ever hear of RFID's?" Both gals considered this and it was Ranelle who spoke up "those are Radio Frequency Identification Devices no?" Frank, told these girls weren't stupid, said "Yes, exactly. If we can tag liquor in a store we can tag our hole makers".. Janelle then said "well fine, we know where the tango is, lets go get 'em.I wanna go see if there's a decent band at the Hurricane up in Queene Anne, if not, I'm going to the Owl n Thistle downtown and gettin' shitty. I need it". Frank laughed and said "well, Ok then. Lets go get the sumbitch".
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Friday, March 6, 2009
manic panic
The image leapt off of the front page of the "Bostonian" newspaper. It was the picture Janelle had taken of one "nuclear ali" in his bed, asleep, in his home. Trouble was, the date...The date was two months previous,and everyone knew that he was captured and brought to the US not two days before. Islamabad was crying foul and threatening to expel teh US ambassador, Washington was in a hue and cry, wondering which CIA/FBI/ATF/USMC, or someother acronym'd agency, idiot it was. Washington would have to remain in a hue and cry, for something more pressing was ringing?Wait, what?Ringing?Yes, a phone call...Nice segue no?
"Hey girls, its Vulgar. We have two targets, both are expected 48hr ops, and both of you will be playing backup to one Frank J. , you'll know him, and call him, HAL..as in HAL9000. He'll have the information needed".
Ranelle pondered this and said "we've got to get Chris out more...he's coming up w/codenames from teh movies he's been watching I think"..
"Hey girls, its Vulgar. We have two targets, both are expected 48hr ops, and both of you will be playing backup to one Frank J. , you'll know him, and call him, HAL..as in HAL9000. He'll have the information needed".
Ranelle pondered this and said "we've got to get Chris out more...he's coming up w/codenames from teh movies he's been watching I think"..
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Coming home, again, part Deux.
Motoring into the non-descript open dock on the North side of Seattle, the girls tied up the almost claustrophobically small skiff they'd stolen after leaving the old fishing vessel up north. The people who owned the skiff were most likely mad. Then again, two days later a new one had been left, along with some "sorry" money. Using knots like they'd tied them daily all their lives, the girls hoisted their daypacks over their shoulders, climbed out of the skiff, and walked into the misty, cold, and somewhat typical late January night. First stop? That place. In sight of a large spinning globe, a high end car dealership, on a corner, the name had long ago been forgotten. It used to be on the building, but some overzealous "Huskys" had taken a scavenger hunt while rushing just a little too far. Everyone called it "that place" now, and everyone knew what you were talking about. A counter with about six stool, several tables on two levels, seperated by a stunning 6" difference, and a few outdoor tables were all that was there. However, four enormous Studio Monitors were mounted on the bare support columns, and a eclectic mix of music was usually cranked up to uncomfortable levels, was on from 8pm til about 5am. The menu is what you would expect at a 24hr joint in Seattle. Something with goat cheese, something with fennel, and a lot of standards. The coffee, c'mon, it's Seattle! It was absolute rocket fuel. The first four cups would clean out your lower g.i. tract within the hour. I'm talking, dumb n dumber moment in the trainspotting bathroom. The next two cups would have you wearing out Jim Carrey on crack. Seriously. Janelle ordered the "d.b.b." or, as her sister called "meat-o-rama" burger. "death by burger" was a 15$ hamburger, and worth at least twice that. Made with Kobe beef mixed with a little bit of lamb, it was covered with Havarti and Feta cheeses, and guaranteed to make you soil yourself, juuust a lil bit. Add the wonderful garlic fries in and you're set! Ranelle, being queasy still from the recent boat excursion, ate light. A eggwhite omelet and some toast with Earl Grey tea, lemon no sugar thank you very much, was all she had. The conversation was terse and almost indecipherable, unless your name was Janelle or Ranelle.
"Ok Janelle, I'm going to the houuse in Federal way. I need to check in and so do you. However,you need to get our footage uploaded and submitted to the server for immediate processing, and we seriously, no, really, need a pedi/mani, and I mean, like stat!"
The house in Federal Way she referred to was your basic three bedroom, tri-level house common in Federal Way. The yellow/white paintjob was current, the lawn well kept, and the people who never saw anyone actually come in or out never paid the house any mind. As if it simply, was a hole in the street of like houses. The minute Ranelle turned onto the street, her cars license plate was read by a high definition camera on a telephone pole at the opposite end of the street, some 2oo yards away. It was processed and id'd before she'd made it three houses in, and by the time she reached the house she was aiming for, the garage door was opening and lightw were turning on inside. Pulling the Prius into the garge, she admired the little cars near silent running, and thought it sad that the styling lookek as if it came from crashed vehicles. She entered the house on the second level and turning right, entered the kitchen. Motion sensitive lights followed her movements about the house, and opening a built in wine chiller, she took out a bottle of something red and most likely, from Napa valley. Pouring a glass and kicking off her shoes, she opened the sliding glass door out to the patio, and flicked a lightswitch on the wall outside. The burbling of a un-seen spa began, and soft music, Dave Matthew band if you must know, began to play. She stepped out of her pants and her panties followed, leaving a trail of clothing across the lawn as she headed towards the spa at the far end, hidden behind shrubs and totally hidden from view. Her bra was the last to go as she stepped into the spa, sinking to chin deep and settling into a seat underneath one of the bose speakers. Letting DMB talk to her gently about a gravedigger, she allowed herself to relax, her eyes closed, and forgetting the last two months of planes, death, and finally, a small victory, she did not fall asleep. Rather, she meditated. Her breathing slowed to less than five breaths per minute. Her heartrate would've made a cardiologist want to do surgery immediately. Yet, if you could hook her up to an EEG, you'd see she was in fact, very, very busy. Yet at peace.
Janelle, cursing mightily, wondered why she always got to file the reports,upload the intel, and generally, be office bitch. She HATED the office. O, the people were in fact great, and top notch, but it was...well, an office. Half dead plants, poor lighting, and a carpet that was more dirt than fabric, and the typical Office superstore supplied furniture was functional but horrible to be kind. In any event, she passed through this area with a few smiles and head nods, and unlocking a door with a placard that said "J.Peters" she entered her office. It was no better in here, but here was not where she actually was going. She went into the coat closet, closed the door, and moving to the back of it, sat down. Immediately, a screen lit up before her that interrogated her eyes and fingerprints, satisfied, it opened with the theme familiar to all PC users, dam Bill Gates IS everywhere. She waved a hand over the small bit of desk,and a laser keyboard immediately appeared on the desk. She began to type and checking email,she used a usb flashdrive to upload all the footage, images, and other reports they'd managed to generate in the field recently. She also sent terse explanations of the image, the footage from their cam's would speak for itself,finally, convinced she'd gotten the idea across, she snapped her fingers and the keyboard dissappeared. Twenty seconds later, the screen also dissappeared, and she exited the closet. Sitting at the desk in her office finally, she sat and pondered. Did she go to the house in Federal Way, or was it finally time for her to maybe get her own house. She'd never lived apart from her Sister. Lately however, she'd felt a, well, a stirring. She wanted her own space for some reason. It frightened her, as much as it felt normal. She thought a phone call might help, and dialing a number from memory, she waited intermittently for the ringing to stop. "Hello and thanks for calling Millet Fighting systems! We currently offer self defense training, brazilian ju-jitsu,MMA, and the famous Millet fighting system. Come by our gym for a tour and class schedule and see if YOU could be the next champion! Wait for the beep....beep!". Chuckling at how far her "papa Pat" had come from the gruff, nearly hostile and unfriendly loner to the openly hostile, friendly charismatic trainer of several UFC champions, as well as any other acronym laden Fight competition she spoke quickly" "It's Ursa Minor Papa Pat. I, and Major, are home. Get ahold of me, I have question, o great on-"HEY you lil shit. Wtf? You can't call more often than every 90 or so days?" Papa pat picked up the phone and began immediately berating her, hearing the dejection and absolute exhaustion in her voice. Having raised both of them for years as his own, he knew them as only he could. He knew the only way for her to her his answer was to piss her off, focus her energy somewhere other than inward,for she was her own worst enemy. "I'm pissed the fuck off at you lil bear. I'm sure one of my first year students could kick your ass, and furthermore, there's no one here who'll eat thai peppers with me." Janelle never heard the pepper comment. She knew for a fact HE couldn't kick her ass now, well, she was pretty sure he could'nt. "You know what Pal, you bring your biggest n baddest, to hell with a first year student, and I'll let em tap or nap, their choice, you got that old man?"
Pat, giggling quietly, asked in a much more quiet and less confrontational manner, "now that you're truly on the phone with me, here and now, what is wrong? I hear the tread of your feet and it's a exhausted little girl I hear at the end of her run. What are you running from? I didn't raise you to ever run, from anything." Janelle, tears pouring down her face, immediately returned to 14 yrs old,like she always did when she cried, she hated herself for it, but it's the way it was. Redfaced and snot flying, she huffed and puffed, shuddering breaths and nose blowing giving way to a more understandable rant. Now she was truly furiously angry for some reason. Near enraged. Pat, used to her mercurial change in mood, in fact, could time trains by it, recognized the anger for what it was. Misplaced frusteration. "Ok, so you want your own space? The house isn't whats scaring you, it's the space the house represents. You know dam well you'll be able to survive, and thrive, without your Sister by your side forever. Both of you know that. And don't put on the yoke of having to watch out for her because she doesn't know any different. THAT is utter self-serving bullshit. You are angry because you refuse to admit your frusteration, and in all of this, you never ONCE said you've talked to your Sister about this. Why the hell are you even calling me with this bullshit?" CLICK! was the next sound Papa Pat heard, and laughing openly now, he wiped his eyes, proud of his lil bear as surely as if he'd birthed her himself. He put on his "smoke yellow' trademark glasses, adjusted his do-rag, and exiting his office,he went into his gym to make yet another champion, for thats just what he did.
Janelle left her office, got in her car, and drove to the house in Federal Way. She considered heading for the spa, but never made it that far. Ranelle found her asleep, nee unconcsious nearly, on the couch in front of Conan O'brien. She put her in bed, lifting her as if she weighed nothing, and covered her up, sinking to sleep in her own bedroom to the sound of a light rain beginning to fall on the palmfronds behind her home.
"Ok Janelle, I'm going to the houuse in Federal way. I need to check in and so do you. However,you need to get our footage uploaded and submitted to the server for immediate processing, and we seriously, no, really, need a pedi/mani, and I mean, like stat!"
The house in Federal Way she referred to was your basic three bedroom, tri-level house common in Federal Way. The yellow/white paintjob was current, the lawn well kept, and the people who never saw anyone actually come in or out never paid the house any mind. As if it simply, was a hole in the street of like houses. The minute Ranelle turned onto the street, her cars license plate was read by a high definition camera on a telephone pole at the opposite end of the street, some 2oo yards away. It was processed and id'd before she'd made it three houses in, and by the time she reached the house she was aiming for, the garage door was opening and lightw were turning on inside. Pulling the Prius into the garge, she admired the little cars near silent running, and thought it sad that the styling lookek as if it came from crashed vehicles. She entered the house on the second level and turning right, entered the kitchen. Motion sensitive lights followed her movements about the house, and opening a built in wine chiller, she took out a bottle of something red and most likely, from Napa valley. Pouring a glass and kicking off her shoes, she opened the sliding glass door out to the patio, and flicked a lightswitch on the wall outside. The burbling of a un-seen spa began, and soft music, Dave Matthew band if you must know, began to play. She stepped out of her pants and her panties followed, leaving a trail of clothing across the lawn as she headed towards the spa at the far end, hidden behind shrubs and totally hidden from view. Her bra was the last to go as she stepped into the spa, sinking to chin deep and settling into a seat underneath one of the bose speakers. Letting DMB talk to her gently about a gravedigger, she allowed herself to relax, her eyes closed, and forgetting the last two months of planes, death, and finally, a small victory, she did not fall asleep. Rather, she meditated. Her breathing slowed to less than five breaths per minute. Her heartrate would've made a cardiologist want to do surgery immediately. Yet, if you could hook her up to an EEG, you'd see she was in fact, very, very busy. Yet at peace.
Janelle, cursing mightily, wondered why she always got to file the reports,upload the intel, and generally, be office bitch. She HATED the office. O, the people were in fact great, and top notch, but it was...well, an office. Half dead plants, poor lighting, and a carpet that was more dirt than fabric, and the typical Office superstore supplied furniture was functional but horrible to be kind. In any event, she passed through this area with a few smiles and head nods, and unlocking a door with a placard that said "J.Peters" she entered her office. It was no better in here, but here was not where she actually was going. She went into the coat closet, closed the door, and moving to the back of it, sat down. Immediately, a screen lit up before her that interrogated her eyes and fingerprints, satisfied, it opened with the theme familiar to all PC users, dam Bill Gates IS everywhere. She waved a hand over the small bit of desk,and a laser keyboard immediately appeared on the desk. She began to type and checking email,she used a usb flashdrive to upload all the footage, images, and other reports they'd managed to generate in the field recently. She also sent terse explanations of the image, the footage from their cam's would speak for itself,finally, convinced she'd gotten the idea across, she snapped her fingers and the keyboard dissappeared. Twenty seconds later, the screen also dissappeared, and she exited the closet. Sitting at the desk in her office finally, she sat and pondered. Did she go to the house in Federal Way, or was it finally time for her to maybe get her own house. She'd never lived apart from her Sister. Lately however, she'd felt a, well, a stirring. She wanted her own space for some reason. It frightened her, as much as it felt normal. She thought a phone call might help, and dialing a number from memory, she waited intermittently for the ringing to stop. "Hello and thanks for calling Millet Fighting systems! We currently offer self defense training, brazilian ju-jitsu,MMA, and the famous Millet fighting system. Come by our gym for a tour and class schedule and see if YOU could be the next champion! Wait for the beep....beep!". Chuckling at how far her "papa Pat" had come from the gruff, nearly hostile and unfriendly loner to the openly hostile, friendly charismatic trainer of several UFC champions, as well as any other acronym laden Fight competition she spoke quickly" "It's Ursa Minor Papa Pat. I, and Major, are home. Get ahold of me, I have question, o great on-"HEY you lil shit. Wtf? You can't call more often than every 90 or so days?" Papa pat picked up the phone and began immediately berating her, hearing the dejection and absolute exhaustion in her voice. Having raised both of them for years as his own, he knew them as only he could. He knew the only way for her to her his answer was to piss her off, focus her energy somewhere other than inward,for she was her own worst enemy. "I'm pissed the fuck off at you lil bear. I'm sure one of my first year students could kick your ass, and furthermore, there's no one here who'll eat thai peppers with me." Janelle never heard the pepper comment. She knew for a fact HE couldn't kick her ass now, well, she was pretty sure he could'nt. "You know what Pal, you bring your biggest n baddest, to hell with a first year student, and I'll let em tap or nap, their choice, you got that old man?"
Pat, giggling quietly, asked in a much more quiet and less confrontational manner, "now that you're truly on the phone with me, here and now, what is wrong? I hear the tread of your feet and it's a exhausted little girl I hear at the end of her run. What are you running from? I didn't raise you to ever run, from anything." Janelle, tears pouring down her face, immediately returned to 14 yrs old,like she always did when she cried, she hated herself for it, but it's the way it was. Redfaced and snot flying, she huffed and puffed, shuddering breaths and nose blowing giving way to a more understandable rant. Now she was truly furiously angry for some reason. Near enraged. Pat, used to her mercurial change in mood, in fact, could time trains by it, recognized the anger for what it was. Misplaced frusteration. "Ok, so you want your own space? The house isn't whats scaring you, it's the space the house represents. You know dam well you'll be able to survive, and thrive, without your Sister by your side forever. Both of you know that. And don't put on the yoke of having to watch out for her because she doesn't know any different. THAT is utter self-serving bullshit. You are angry because you refuse to admit your frusteration, and in all of this, you never ONCE said you've talked to your Sister about this. Why the hell are you even calling me with this bullshit?" CLICK! was the next sound Papa Pat heard, and laughing openly now, he wiped his eyes, proud of his lil bear as surely as if he'd birthed her himself. He put on his "smoke yellow' trademark glasses, adjusted his do-rag, and exiting his office,he went into his gym to make yet another champion, for thats just what he did.
Janelle left her office, got in her car, and drove to the house in Federal Way. She considered heading for the spa, but never made it that far. Ranelle found her asleep, nee unconcsious nearly, on the couch in front of Conan O'brien. She put her in bed, lifting her as if she weighed nothing, and covered her up, sinking to sleep in her own bedroom to the sound of a light rain beginning to fall on the palmfronds behind her home.
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