Prologue
A tall man stood in a room filled pipes. Steam hissed out of them every few seconds, and perspiration dripped off of him. He wore leather pants, no shirt, combat boots, and blood-red war paint. A set of silver armor and a suit of black under armor lay near his feet. He picked up a radio and spoke (with a southern accent) into it, "SEC Piqua, copy, over."
"Go ahead, Choctaw," a distinctly female voice replied.
"Put Timicua through."
"Yes, Sir."
There was a rustling on the radio, then a voice that sounded about 20 years old said "Go ahead, Boss."
"What have you scouted?" asked Choctaw, obviously the leader.
"We seem to have stumbled across a Christmas party."
"Did anybody notice you?"
"Yes, a blond haired, tall man, looks like you except for the hair and the eyes,. He was way too stoned to do anything about it."
"Good." Choctaw, now seen as a brown haired, brown eyed man of age 25, picked up another radio set to another channel. He heard some sucking noises from the other end. He sighed. Why did he send those two as a team. They were to in love with each other to focus. He then had an idea. He tuned into the others. "Guys, Catawa and Cherokee are making out at their post. Tune in your helmets to theirs' and on the count of three, we all say CHEROKEE! How does that sound to you?"
"Great idea Boss!"
"One….Two…THREE!"
"CHEROKEE!"
There was a scrambling on the other end, then Cherokee's voice came on. "Really, Choctaw? You just interrupted something very important!"
"Yes, what you were just doing was very important. I know what you were doing. You can go back to it, and I won't listen in."
"Thanks."
Choctaw sighed. He began writing a letter. "Dear Director, We remember you. You should remember us. Remember back 6 Years ago….
Cliffhanger!