Waking up the next morning, they found the rain still hadn't stopped. The house, wired for, well,everything, noted the girls awakening and played appropriate music in their separate rooms, then bathrooms. Janelle enjoyed "Fool in the Rain" while Ranelle enjoyed "November rain'. Neither payed attention to the irony of the house suiting music to not just weather, but individual moods and tempo's of the home. If the sensors detected elevated heart rates and enhanced activity, it adjusted lighting and music accordingly as well. All of this could be over ridden, but there was no need to. It was..freakin' almost scary how well this program did. From auto-temp showers to reminding you the milk is about to go bad, this house did it all. Apparently some video-geek from Colorado designed the whole program on a hacked phone from his employer, then dloaded all the code to his PC at night and debugged it. The people "Vulgar" knew was truly broad in depth and skillset. Having learned his lessons well,he had everyone from white collar to his favorites "the dirtbags" trade guys. Guys who can build, or tear down, things. People who can fly, and fight, and learn other things as well. If his roster of people was ever on paper, it would scare hell out of most intelligence officers, for they would see it as what it was.
The most rag tag, semi trained and therefore unpredictable,well organized and funded yet TOTALLY below the radar, most normal group of people You could ever ask for. Individually, most of them weren't impressive. Until You found that 'thing' that "V" found in all his "people' as he called them. That one thing they absolutely fucking know, in and out, port to starboard, fore to aft. Without a doubt, no thought needed, it just happens, now, and well, without being told or asked to happen. Then, he fit them in somewhere. Who knows where? Hell, other than the Sisters, most "people' never met each other for the most part. Op's were conducted "blind, blind, then Ray Charles". That is to say, nobody knew freakin' nuttin' ya hear? *smack* I sed ya he-sorry, Anyhow. This not only kept things compartmented, and therefore easier yet harder to track, this also kept his 'people' from having to expose themselves too much. Unless absolutely needed, no one left tracks. No one left a trail. Those that did, well..those weren't his "people". Those were "Them" and if "Them" were sent, you had two options and only one of them was attractive, and that was death. Janelle and Ranelle were part of..well...who knows?
'how the fuck did you two, fuckin', FUCKS.....FUCK!" 'well that certainly explores the diversity of the word" Wayne said with a chuckle and a quick duck from the lighter "V' hurled at him. Much like some people say "lol' in conversations and other fun lil computer borne habits, "V" had a habit of speaking in movie/song quotes. Sprinkle in some curses, a few random thoughts, Bake lightly w/a Bong and add Patron, shake well and let simmer...Absolute brilliance could follow, or fuckin' gibberish, but chances are it'd be funny as HELL and involve one movie, two songs, and a popular quote or two. He didn't notice it and neither did anyone else who knew him. Those who met him got used to it quick simply due to the immense amount of information he threw at you in a given period of time. If you are a computer on 56k, 'V' transmits at t1 speed, period. Or, he's in "standby" mode. That's it. That's how it is. Get on the bus, shut up, listen, ask a few questions, shut up,listen, get the fuck off the bus" and wonder HOW the fuck you ended up in Yakima or Pascagoula. He HATED to fuckin' fly so he bought a old tour bus, had it thoroughly de-loused and customized, he traveled the Country on this "land yacht" as he called it. A.F. one would be somewhat jealous if they knew what this dam thing carried and could do. In fact, last time they spoke to W.H.C.C. or White House Communications Center, or, as he called it, 'ShottyQueens office". 'Shotty queen" was indeed "people' however, she was also knows as Debbi Renee Anhoulue. All 5'1 of her, 5'3 in heels, she was a curious mix of influences that had the most observant finally losing all tact and couth and most often merely asking bluntly "Debi, this is rude but what the fuck ARE you'? Instead of being offended, she'd from the start not only giggled, but replied "I tell everyone what my Mom told me I am, Korean, Dutch, Islander, and Long beach". Most in her office called her "Major Ma'am" and this suprised all who knew her when she signed up. She kept her promise and signed up for something 'safe' computer.What her parents didn't know was the current state of affairs is such that our average soldier carries three times the computing power of NASA in the 60's on his PERSON, computers, and the need for repair, was everywhere on the battlefield. When her post in Firebase Tarantino was mortar'd, she ran for the shelters like everyone did. On the way she saw a Marine and a Soldier helping one another to the shelters when the 3rd mortar hit 70 or so foot away. Spraying them w/more dirt than shrapnel, the concussion lifted all three of them and didn't drop them, but SLAMMED them on the ground as hard as if R.Couture had you elevated and on the way down in the octagon. She regained the ability to breathe and see at the same time and saw them both down, and not moving. She low crawled to them and saw them pockmarked with shrapnel and impact debris, and bleeding from the ears.Concussion and blast injuries both, which means if they DID wake up, or weren't already dead....nope, still breathing, they were NO help to walk, they had no balance with blown eardrums. Not thinking, just doing, she stood up, again, all 5'0 of her(they made her take out the 1" lifts in her boots) and grabbed the nearest, the Soldier. Grabbing him by his 'handle' in the rear of his vest, she leaned into the task and drug his ass another 2o yards to the mouth of the shelter and tapped the Marine in the opening on the shoulder and pointed down at the Soldier. He dropped to his knees to attend to him and drag him in further as she turned and strode to the Marine still down but now moaning and gurgling in a way that says not good things in this Man's future unless he gets aid, now. She ran to him and flopped down quickly on top of him. She felt under his tunic and shirt and found a ragged 1 inch hole with air/blood escaping with every breath. She found his aid pack and pulled the Ascherman chest seal from it and applied it. Basically a one way flutter valve, it lets the chest expand while keeping air from entering the chest cavity and causing, or in this case, worsening, a pneumothorax. (Google it ya lazy so n so's..not gonna give em ALL to ya)Satisfied He probably most likely shouldn't die between here and there, there being the shelter, she repeated her earlier efforts. Leaning into the task, she found it mush easier to pull this Marine. Then found herself face up staring at first concrete then a concerned Naval Corpsman. "Ma'am, if you move, you'll die for dam sure. Keep still, let me do my job and I promise You, you will live". Recognizing the Man, or in this case barely more than a boy, meant it, she went to her childhood home. Pho in the air and bowls steaming on the table, her grandmothers kindly face and her grandfathers aftershave he seemed to bathe in. She still couldn't stand the smell of Skin Bracer. She wrinkled her nose in memory and the Corpsman apologized for hurting her. She never heard the blades of the helicopter nor felt the trip to the CASH in the rear. Her next conscious thought was "wow, they've really upgraded the CASH' when she saw drop ceiling acoustic tiles and painted white walls. That was the last time she noted the color of the walls. All efforts were focused on walking again and getting mobile. Her third month in the Rehab unit at Walter, a loud 'TEN-HUT, attention on DECK!" and all snapped to. Some upright, some in wheelchairs, some blind, some missing a limb, or limbs. All stood tall. a bevy of people wearing more stars and bars than a gay revue strolled in whilst a earnest faced young Ensign strode forward of where they assembled and said "ATTENTION TO ORDERS". Calling two names, two Marines strode forward proudly. One leaning on his friends wheelchair handles as he pushed him forward. Both saluted smartly and loudly, as Marines are wont to do, announced their presence. Both had citations of conduct read and awards presented to them, bronze stars, combat ribbons, and Purple Hearts. Finally Her name was called. Debi Renee Anholoue Attention! She strode forward, confident on her new right leg and nearly without a limp. Her commedation, read in part as follows.
'...Under mortar attack from insurgent forces and on the way to shelter, Sgt. Anholoue noted two wounded U.S.Servicemen struggling to make the shelter. After pulling the first one to safety, at great risk and giving up 140lbs to the Man in the process, she returned, now under consistent mortar attack. The next barrage struck her former operating center and threw her to the ground. She arose seconds later to find her base under direct action attack from unknown number of well organized insurgents. Locating the only weapon she could find at the time, she defended the shelter with a Standard issue Remington CombatMaster shotgun. After depleting the shotgun and it's associative ammo she was able to find, she drew the Marine's pistol from his holster and emptied all 6 clips he carried, in the process stopping another concerted rush and inflicting disproportionate casualties to the enemy, driving him to turn his attack to a retreat. In doing so, Sgt. Anhloue sustained multiple wounds to her right leg. Despite the efforts of surgeons, she was unable to retain her leg but in showing her fighting spirit still rides tall, she is only the 4th American, and first Female, to be certified, as of this date, to return to full duty. Furthermore, it my duty and honor, not to mention distinct privellege, to offer a invitation to the White House. It seems someone of a higher authority wants to meet 'Betty BadAss" as the newpapers called her when her story broke. The whirlwind that followed is when, somehow, she met "V' as he's known...and how she became the President's personal operator. And direct line for...special people..People like..well.."V'. See, ya never know...
who 'people' are...
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