Dinner Meeting and Night Revelation
Disclaimer: Same as before. The character of Aron Rooney Munro is my creation. They never stated Lucius' job in the Incredibles so I figured I'd make him a high school principal…
AN: The story Hey I'm On TV in the X-men Evo section is a nice shorty that will help understand some of the dialogue…
The site was a mess, Paramedic Ed James decided, though the term mess was an understatement if he ever heard one. The limousine was still smoldering from the incendiary grenade thrown underneath it. The fallen tree in front of it was still being moved by a crane, traffic having been diverted through several back roads. The back of the limo was crumpled in, with several cracks in the bullet proof glass.
The helicopter hovered over the site of the attack, and two other fellows with a gurney rushed out. Andrea Carmichael, the other paramedic, was frantically trying to stabilize the limo driver, a grim expression on her young face. The man had been shot about half a dozen times in the torso and stomach, with large caliber assault rifle bullets if the brass casings littering the road were any indication. He assisted Andrea and the two stretcher bearers as they lifted the wounded man onto the gurney.
The poor bastard. Ed thought. He isn't going to make it. He's probably got two hours, max, of life left in him. Andrea boarded the helicopter with the two stretcher bearers while Ed headed over to the other patient.
Gilbert Huph lay on his back, two bullets in his head and seven in his torso and neck, as well as two others through his left thigh and hip. He was a complete mess, barely identifiable. His glasses were shattered, one round having gone into his left eye, the second having gone through his thick upper lip and into his throat. His face was red and puffy, swollen and barely recognizable as human. His neck sported two other holes, and his torso bore the brunt of the gunfire. Whoever shot him evidently kicked him to make sure he was dead, as if the eleven bullets that perforated his body weren't enough evidence.
"Russians." Officer Fellows, one of the police officers on the scene, said, picking up a casing, and indicating the Cyrillic writing on the rear, "Simple yet effective ambush."
Fellows dropped to one knee to examine the site of the murder from line of fire level. "They came upon that fallen tree over there, and when they backed up, the mine exploded."
"Why didn't the mine explode when they passed it in the first place?" James asked.
"Probably it was command detonated; meaning one of the guys detonated the thing after Huph's driver backed up." Fellows replied, "And then they stopped the vehicle and the killers rushed the occupants. And obviously they came prepared."
"How can you tell?" James asked.
"You can tell by the evidence." Fellows replied, "The limo's bullet proof. You'd need a fifty-caliber bullet to punch holes in it. They figured it out quickly if you look at the left rear window."
Indeed the window sported impact spots but no holes. The bullets failed to pierce. "I'm guessing they were 5.45x39 mm rounds, because of the casings, the rounds fired by an AK-74 the standard issue Soviet assault rifle."
"But they came prepared for that eventuality." Fellows continued, "Because the car's on fire. They threw an incendiary grenade underneath it, the fuel caught fire and the vehicle would have roasted the occupants alive like a giant oven. My guess is that when they ran out, they were shot. The driver got out, and as soon as he went out he got shot. But he was only a secondary matter…"
"Why not blow the car up, why risk exposing themselves." James asked.
"Obviously Huph had something important on him." Fellows added, "Look at Huph's right hand. It looks like he was clutching something when he died and the Russians took it."
"How can you tell they were Russians?" James asked.
"Look at the casings. They've got Cyrillic writing." Fellows replied.
"So do casings used by other Eastern Bloc countries. Who's to say that Czechs or Yugoslavs didn't kill him?" James replied.
"I don't have all the answers yet, Ed. But something certainly isn't right in Metroville." Fellows thought. Besides the obvious, since Syndrome took power, things have been going to hell. First the Union Carbide plant caught fire and now this…
"How was your first day at work, honey?" Helen asked.
"Dada. Dada." Jack Jack clapped excitedly, when he saw Bob.
"Strange." Bob replied.
"What do you mean?" Helen asked.
"Exactly what I said." Bob said, "When I see Bluey Truscott remind me to wring his neck."
"What happened?" Helen asked.
"Well, apparently there's an insane sailor named Shipwreck on the loose, a classified army unit with mutants called the Misfits are searching for him. What kind of demented world did Truscott land us on?" Bob replied.
"Apparently one where people face hiding their identities as well." Helen sighed, "The TV's been active with news about mutants all day. The groups known as the X-men and the Misfits. Heck there was even reruns of the FYI special: Mutants in America."
"Was this Shipwreck character Paige, my co-worker, was talking about." Bob asked.
"In fact, yes. He's a member of the Misfits team, as one of their adult handlers, but he acts like an overgrown alcohol happy college kid in a sailor suit." Helen replied, "It was a classic "Hey! I'm On TV!" lunacy."
"Great." Bob replied, going into the refrigerator, and popping open a beer that he made go away in two tilts, "I need to relax before I go give a certain Australian a piece of my mind."
"Relax, Bob." Helen replied.
"When's dinner?" Bob asked.
"I figured we should go out tonight, you know to celebrate your new job…" Helen began.
"You mean celebrate the fact that my co-worker is somewhat on the absent minded side and that her boyfriend is part of the International Lunatic Society." Bob groaned.
"Bob, we have to try optimism." Helen urged.
"Idiot…moron…nincompoop…" Bob grumbled a mantra, "I'm going to put Bluey Truscott's head through the ceiling next time I see him."
"That's it, we're eating out tonight, like it or not." Helen replied, "Our neighbor recommended this place called Quake, she says it serves good food and you look like you could use a good meal."
"Hmm, I could go for a nice juicy steak." Bob thought.
"Remember your diet, mister." Helen replied.
"I know, I know." Bob groaned, "But since tonight's a special night and I'm going to work out later anyway."
"Quake it is then." Helen replied, "I'll go make sure the kids are ready. Go get dressed and warm up the car."
Bob walked outside, feeling slightly less homicidal regarding Truscott. I'll just maul him instead. Bob thought.
Purvis walked back to the house, with Sprocket, after letting the dog attend to the call of nature. He saw Jan Shimoda typing in reports on the laptop, and Papa Louie working on a large map of San Francisco, putting in colored pins and working on the mechanism that hid it behind a false panel in the living room wall.
Marian was already in the kitchen, talking to Bluey about something as they were setting up the dinner table to meet their contacts from ACME on this world.
"Boy did I get an earful…" Marian groaned.
"Of what, earwax?" Bluey joked.
"You are not funny, Ernie…" Marian replied. Truscott reddened.
"Is your brother named Bert by any chance?" Shimoda remarked.
"Ha ha." Bluey replied.
"He got you there." Marian replied, "And my personal hygiene is none of your business."
"OK," Bluey replied, "But what happened?"
"Bob Parr had more than a few complaints about this, quote: insane world, unquote." Marian replied, "He was more angry at you though."
"Me?" Bluey replied.
"You suggested this world." Marian replied.
"If I recall, the final call was yours." Bluey countered.
"I deferred to your experience on that end." Marian replied.
"How was I supposed to know this world was populated with two teams of insane mutants that make the Hatfields and the McCoys look like a Harlequin romance?" Bluey asked.
"I agree." Marian replied.
"You two actually agreed on something work related? Let me call the press." Papa Louie quipped, "The parts that aren't classified at least."
"That would be about nine tenths of it." Marian replied.
There was a knock on the door just then and Purvis answered it, meeting the same mustachioed fellow he'd run into in the park earlier that day, still wearing the omnipresent Springboks jersey, obviously he was a South African, or at least a fan.
"The great white hunter for this trip has arrived." The man replied, and said, "Aron Munro, ACME San Francisco branch."
"Well I see someone's a Springboks fan." Truscott said.
"I take it you must be Bluey." Munro replied, "Sorry mate, the Wallabies aren't taking jack shit in the Tri-Nations."
"Bollocks." Truscott replied.
"Before you two argue any more rugby trivia," Marian replied, "Let's get down to business."
"Right." Munro replied, as they closed the door, locked it, and headed for the dinner table, "As you know doubt have guessed, I'm a South African. I served with the South African Police Service in Praetoria for two years before I transferred into the Special Task Force and then got picked up for ACME's SOG."
"How bad is the Heartless problem?" Purvis asked, "Because I've had a couple scent trails around Golden Gate Park, nothing major, but they're definitely here."
"Sporadic appearances, mainly isolated appearances." Munro replied.
"Sounds like the start of a Class 1 Infestation." Marian replied, "Have they made alliances with local villains?"
"Vague rumors about the Barillo Cartel in Mexico and a terrorist group called COBRA, but that's all they are, rumors." Munro replied.
"What about knowledge that other world's exist?" Marian asked.
"They don't have any idea, or maybe vague ideas." Munro replied.
"Agents?" Marian asked.
"So far nothing from our network of agents, as I've said vague rumors and maybes, nothing definite yet." Munro replied. There was a map of the surrounding area on the wall, and Munro pointed at the city map saying, "There was a battle in Golden Gate Park two weeks ago, and there were Heartless present."
"Who fought them?" Purvis asked.
"It was a group called the Misfits, together with a new group that we've seen them with. It's that house down the street, 1329 Prescott, right next door to where you moved the Incredibles if I remember correctly." Munro replied, "Fortunately our branch has quite a lot of data on the Misfits and the X-men, but none on these three sisters on Prescott."
"We'll give you a hand there." Papa Louie said, "Purvis…"
"I'm on it." Purvis replied, "Sprocket's going stir crazy for a walk anyway right now."
What's going on? What's happening? Tony thought. Less than fifteen minutes ago Mrs. Satterlee had called him out of class. What was wrong? He wasn't a troublemaker, wasn't one of those pyromanics or skater wannabes who kept getting into fights. He was an honor student for Christ's sake and…
"Mom?" Tony began, stopping dead in his tracks when he saw his mother, her face red from crying and holding a handkerchief in her hands. Behind her was Mr. Best, the principal of Metroville Southern High School. His ebony features were unusually severe.
"What's going on?" Tony asked, at his mother's silence.
"Your father…" Mrs. Rydinger began, between sobs, "Someone…"
"Your father had an accident on the highway." Mr. Best began. And I can't tell the kid the damn truth or I'm fired? The evidence is plain, the Russians stopped Huph's limo, threw an incendiary grenade underneath it, and shot both men when they came out.
"Oh my God…" Tony began, tears appearing in his eyes. He was embarrassed and wiped them away.
"He just arrived at the hospital an hour ago. We'll take you to him." Mr. Best began, "Janice…"
"Yes Mr. Best?" Janice Rand, his secretary, began.
"Tell Assistant Principal Jenkins to take care of things for now, I'm taking the family to the hospital." Lucius replied, as he escorted the Rydingers to the parking lot.
Allyson Fellows, one of the other teachers at the school had overheard the whole thing. "Accident? What kind of euphemism is that?" Allyson replied, "The family has a right to know."
Janice Rand adjusted her glasses and replied, "Don't rock the boat, Allyson, the government wants to keep whatever happened to Huph under wraps until the press release."
"My husband is on the investigation and he thinks the Russians are responsible." Allyson replied, "Don't the people of Metroville have a right to know that we're being attacked?"
"We'll know soon enough." Janice Rand began.
Meanwhile, Lucius parked his car in the hospital parking lot and talked to the receptionist at the front desk. A nurse led Tony and his mother to the Intensive Care Unit where Tony's older brother, Dan (nineteen years old), and his younger sister Kayla (four years old) waited.
Tony walked into the room and saw his father lying on a bed. Tubes and wires of every imaginable kind were poking off of his body, connecting to machines and bags of various kinds. An oxygen mask covered the man's lower face.
"Wh-What happened…?" Tony asked.
The television in the room reported a news broadcast just then before any of his family could respond.
"Unknown assailants murdered Metroville Comptroller Gilbert Huph for unknown motives this morning. His driver, James Rydinger is listed in critical condition after being airlifted to Metroville Hospital. The assailants were well armed, as the presence of several large caliber bullet casings from Eastern Bloc assault rifles were found on the scene, as were fragments from a firebomb. In other news, the Union Carbide Automotive Plant fire is still burning…" the newscaster said.
Murdered. Somebody tried to kill Dad? But why? Dad wouldn't have hurt a fly, he was the nicest person alive. Tony reeled.
"Unknown assailants my ass." Dan grumbled, "The Russians did it."
"Russians?" Tony asked.
"Mr. Huph was the primary target and Dad just happened to be in the way." Dan replied.
"Why did they shoot Dad to begin with?" Tony asked.
"No witnesses." Dan replied a hard line setting into his face, "They didn't want Dad telling anyone who did this so they shot him."
"Mommy?" Kayla asked, "Why did those mean people hurt Daddy?"
"I don't know sweetie. I don't know." Mrs. Rydinger began as she clutched her daughter to her chest.
Purvis walked down the street, Sprocket on his leash in front of him. On the surface they just looked like an ordinary guy in a waterproof jacket, jeans and hiking boots walking a slightly over energetic Border Collie. In reality, Sprocket was searching for signs of the Heartless.
"Anything boy?" Purvis asked, as he dropped to one knee to scratch Sprocket affectionately behind one ear.
Sprocket gave a canine equivalent of an annoyed chuff. There was nothing of any note over there. Almost to the end of the street, and still there was nothing of any note except,
Sprocket suddenly barked and Purvis was about to speak into the Bluetooth when Sprocket suddenly strained at his leash, barking at a Siamese cat.
"Sprocket! Down boy! Down!" Purvis began firmly, yanking back on Sprocket's leash, "We see cats all the time, why is this one putting you on edge all of a sudden?"
"Hey," a voice said, from his right side.
"Hi." Purvis said, "I'm not stalking you, I swear."
Purvis turned to see Phoebe standing next to him, "Kit, back in the house."
The cat slinked back towards the front of 1329 Prescott Street, "Sorry Sprocket got out of control."
"It's OK, he didn't hurt Kit." Phoebe replied.
"He's usually not this tense around cats, I don't know what got into him." Purvis replied.
Sprocket growled at Kit, who stood his ground and hissed back at Sprocket. "Talk about fighting like cats and dogs." Phoebe remarked.
"I'm terribly sorry miss," Purvis began, "I've never seen Sprocket act this way around cats in my life."
"It's OK, Kit's just a special kind of cat." Phoebe began.
"Sprocket, sit!" Purvis commanded and Sprocket did as he was told.
"So Sprocket doesn't like cats?" Phoebe asked.
"He's not usually this strange around cats." Purvis said.
"I'd best let you two keep on your walk." Phoebe replied.
Purvis smiled, "That would be best, to keep Sprocket in line."
As Phoebe headed back into the house, Purvis asked, "What's gotten into you boy?"
"I trust you find your meal to your liking." Theowner of Quake asked.
"Everything is delicious." Bob smiled, as he munched down a piece of his steak.
"Smaller bites Dash, yikes." Helen began, as Dash tried to tear a piece off his own steak with his teeth, "Bob, can you help the carnivore cut his meat."
Bob took his knife and cut at his son's steak. The meal was going great. For once Dash and Violet were getting along, Jack Jack was being his usual cute self, and Helen was still the woman he loved. He sipped at his wine when he heard a shout from the entrance of the restaurant.
"You're not getting away Zartan!" shouted a bearded man in a sailor suit.
The manager of Quake ripped off the mask of a forty year old Frenchman, revealing a face of a man with strange brown tattoos like a raccoon tan around his eyes and long brown hair.
"You're right Shipwreck!" Zartan shouted.
Shipwreck was quickly joined by the Indian and the Canadian in the Israeli uniform that Bob had seen earlier.
"It's no use running Zartan." Spirit replied.
"I have no intention of running at all Spirit…" Zartan replied.
"Standing and fighting would be pointless, Zartan, as we have you surrounded." Spirit replied.
"On the contrary Spirit." Zartan replied.
"COBRA!" came a shout from all over the restaurant as several patrons, bartenders, and waiters pulled out guns from nearby hiding places.
The Parrs followed the other innocents and ducked for cover, but this was only to buy some time as the battle began to rage nearby them. Bob tore open his shirt, revealing his red super suit and put on his mask. Helen followed her husband's lead as did the children.
Bob saw a teenaged boy, maybe nineteen at the oldest standing in the doorway. He's gonna get killed. Gotta save him!
Bob sprang towards the boy, just as the boy's eyes rolled into his own head and he squeezed his hands into fists, causing the restaurant to shake violently like an earthquake.
"WHOO HOO! WHOO HOO! WHOO HOO!" A silver haired teenager shouted as he ran among the COBRA gunmen, knocking them over, bashing heads together and pulling wedgies. The COBRAs tried to fire, but their bullets hit nothing but air.
Violet looked up from under the table only to find herself staring into the barrel of a gun, in the hands of this Zartan character. She looked at Dash, and Dash nodded and began to run at top speed. Violet simultaneously generated a forcefield bubble and they ran around the restaurant like a giant bowling ball, knocking things over as they went.
"KEEYAH!" Another teenager with dirty blonde hair shouted, as he swung his bo staff into the head of a Viper.
"Toad, watch your six!" Mountaineer shouted, leveling his CAR-15 and squeezing off two shots, killing a second COBRA about to shoot Toad.
"Thanks Mountaineer!" Toad replied.
Bob picked up a viper and flung him into a couple others charging out of the kitchen as Helen stretched her free hand and kicked out her feet as well, hitting COBRAs left and right, while she cradled Jack Jack in her arms.
A strange looking green humanoid with golden mane leapt atop a table and several COBRAs tried to shoot him. He was dodging around their bullets by doing disco moves, singing, "Everybody! Come on sound your funky horn!"
Xi, the repto-humanoid, flipped into the air, drop kicking one COBRA, burying his claws into the chest of another and kicking a third over. A fourth tried to rifle but Xi only to be shot twice by Shipwreck's twin Desert Eagles, with their .50 Action Express rounds.
"COBRA!" Came another warcry as several robotic humanoids came charging through the skylight.
"Xi!" A big, broad bodied teen with a mohawk shouted, "Ally…"
Xi promptly jumped onto the bigger teens back as the bigger one squatted down. "OOP!" Xi shouted as the Blob, a.k.a. Freddy Dukes, stood to his full height and he leapt into the air at the BATS (Battle Android Troopers). He decapitated the BAT he collided with, a la Ozzy Osborne, and flung the head into a second BAT.
"Time to cut out!" Zartan shouted, flinging down a sphere which flooded smoke into the restaurant through which he escaped.
Bob Parr decided now was about the best time to get out before the Misfits saw them. He signaled for Helen and the kids to follow and they ran into a nearby alley where they resumed their secret identities and appeared to be any normal family fleeing the scene of a battle.
"Remind me to kill Bluey Truscott later." Bob grumbled, taking some mashed potatoes out of his hair.
"Trust me honey, I'll help." Helen replied as Jack Jack gurgled as he played with a silver cylinder.
"What is that you've got their honey?" Helen said, as she looked down at her baby and noticed that the cylinder had a red COBRA head on it.
Bob promptly snatched it saying, "It's a…"
"Dad?" Dash asked, "Is it a bad thing if there's no little ring on the grenade?"
"Of course it is son, why?"
"Uhm, I think Jack Jack's teething on the firing pin…" Dash began.
"That means I'd better count to ten and through this away…" Bob began.
"One…two…three…four…five…six…seven…eight…" Bob counted.
BANG! The grenade exploded in a silver flash, it was one of the flash type grenades used to disorient suspects in hostage situations.
"…nine…ten…" Bob groaned as he blinked the grenades disorienting effects away.
"Truscott, you are dead." Bob grumbled, "No, scratch that, you'll be lucky if you only die."
Meanwhile in Quake, the Misfits stood amidst the wreckage of the restaurant. "Zartan got away? Hawk's not gonna be happy." Roadblock, the powerful African American heavy weapons man, began.
"My question is who those weirdoes in red suits that started attacking the COBRAs were?" Shipwreck asked.
"I would guess that they're friendlies." Spirit mused, "After all, they didn't go after us at all."
"For all we know they could be a new COBRA faction." Mountaineer began, "After all, one of them came charging after Lance."
"That's because there was a COBRA about to shoot Lance, he was trying to save him." Cover Girl, a red headed former runway model and tank driver, replied.
"We can't discount they could be COBRAs or some similar enemy." Ted replied.
"Did you guys get that tracking sensor on them?" Shipwreck spoke into a throat-mike (a portable communication device).
"Of course." Trinity replied, "We tagged them after they left the restaurant, they're on their way home."
"I could shadow them." Low Light suggested, "Make a note of their movements and see what it is they're all about before we make contact."
"Do it." Roadblock replied.
The G.I. Joe sniper vanished into the shadows stealthily to carry out his mission, the PSG-1 sniper rifle strapped to his back.
Meanwhile, Xi and Toad had freed a Frenchman from the backroom where Zartan had knocked him out.
"My restaurant! It's ruined! GET OUT! GET OUT!"
"Let's not be too brash." Roadblock began, "Perhaps we can help with repairs, and take out the trash."
"Who will pick up the bill?" the owner demanded.
"How much will repairs cost?" Cover Girl asked.
The owner handed her the bill and Cover Girl replied, "Hawk's going to blow a gasket, isn't he?"
"He always does." Roadblock replied, "In other words, we've got new players in town and caused more public damage and destruction in San Francisco."
"Basically another Thursday night." Mountaineer replied as the Misfits teleported, via the Mass Device, back to their base somewhere in the Utah desert, called the Pit.
"And their ghosts may be heard as they march by the billabong. Who'll come a Waltzing Matilda with me?" – From Eric Bogle's And the Band Played Waltzing Matilda.
The lead man of the Fulani patrol passed by the kill zone, unaware that his last moments were at hand, as the eyes of a dozen men watched the Fulani patrol of twenty people pass. The Ibo pointman to Truscott's left looked to Papa Louie. The nine Ibo soldiers thirsted for revenge, after hearing of the ethnic cleansings that were tearing through their villages, the deaths of family and friends.
Bluey Truscott sighted the lead man with his CAR-15, waiting for the patrol to be suckered into the killzone. He had to admire the Ibo tribesmen. Six weeks ago they would have blasted the Fulani pointman to hell, but they grasped the concept that they had to let the patrol pass fully into the kill zone before pouncing. Sucker them in and kill them all, show no mercy.
BOOM! Jan Shimoda triggered the Claymore mines which flung hundreds of razor edged metal fragments into the patrol, practically obliterating the men. As soon as the mines went off, Bluey Truscott flicked the safety off of his CAR-15 as the Fulani pointman, his legs a mess from the shrapnel, tried to crawl to safety in a nearby ditch. Bluey fired a single, well aimed shot that entered the back of the man's skull.
Every single man in the patrol opened fire, in short bursts or in rapid single shots. The Fulani survivors didn't have a chance, as the enraged Ibo shredded them apart without mercy. "Cease fire! Cease fire!" Papa Louie shouted.
"Cease fire!" Truscott shouted, echoing the command.
The shooting stopped as the Ibo melted from the jungle to the dead or dying Fulani, taking weapons, ammunition, and documents from the corpses. A wounded Fulani tried to crawl away only to have Malawi whack him in the neck with his machete
Truscott heard a moan to his left and turned to see a Fulani soldier, lying on his side, his left arm below the elbow blown away by the shrapnel Both of his legs were riddled with shards of metal.. Truscott flipped him onto his back with the toe and aimed the CAR-15. It's a kid! A God damned kid!
Indeed, the boy was hardly even sixteen at the oldest. His AK-47 lay nearby, with three strings that had human ears on the ends of them. For all he knew, this kid had taken the grisly souvenirs from that burned out Ibo village he had seen. Tears mixed with blood on the boy's face as Truscott stared down at him. The poor bastard had a grand total of fifteen to twenty minutes of life left before he bled out. Leave the bastard for God's sake. He doesn't deserve a mercy killing. It's only fair for the dead people in that Ibo village. Let him suffer. Truscott finally decided.
Bluey left the site of the ambush with the rest of his team, covering the tail of the unit like any good One-One…
Bluey Truscott sat up in bed just then. He threw his clothing on, left a note on the fridge, and grabbed a light jacket before heading outside for a stroll, the Sig Sauer 9mm concealed underneath his untucked gray jacket. He still saw the eyes and the mixture of blood, tears and dirt on the dying boy's face, and his plaintive cries before he finally bled out or before some scavenging leopard got to him.
And you're feeling sorry for that fucker why? He helped kill innocent people. Truscott thought, and regained some measure of peace. Wasn't he a kid though? He just swallowed all General Mustafa Yakubu's nonsense and believed in the whole idea of Muslim purity. He was a mixed up bloke who didn't belong out there.
He wandered aimlessly, finding himself at Golden Gate Park where he ran across Marian. "Bluey, you're up early?" she said.
"I could say the same, mate." Bluey replied.
"I can't say what I'm up for." Marian replied, concern etching her features as she noticed Truscott's faraway look, "What's going on?"
He wasn't a mixed up kid. The fucker would add your ear to his collection if he'd had half a chance. Truscott thought. He was still sixteen.
"I'd rather not say." Bluey replied. Marian closed the distance between them, putting an arm around his shoulders.
"I know you saw things out there Bluey." Marian replied, with a wry expression adding, "I do have the clearance to read your SOG after action reports. It might help to get it off your chest."
Bluey returned the embrace. God it felt so good to hold her in his arms. He heard a voice in the back of his head. You don't deserve her. A woman like her would be horrified.
"And how well I remember that terrible day…" – And The Band Played Waltzing Matilda.
"How did it feel to kill them?" an old woman in the SOG compound, a relative of one of the soldiers asked.
A very tired Bluey Truscott, still calming from the adrenaline, replied, "The bastards got what they deserved, no more no less."
"What did it feel like to kill boy soldiers?" an old man challenged.
"Listen mate, the blokes I shot were trying to kill me, but I killed the bastards first!" Bluey shouted, angrily, "So if you want an honest answer it felt fucking good!"
"Bluey, whatever is bothering you; you know you can tell me." Marian said.
"I'll be alright." Bluey replied.
Marian took one of his hands in both of hers, a hurt expression on her face, "Any time you're ready to talk you know where to find me."
Wanker! You certainly demonstrated a spectacular ability to hurt someone close to you. Bluey thought angrily. But if she knew…
"So they gathered the crippled, the wounded and maimed, and they shipped us back home to Australia. The legless, the armless, the blind and insane, the proud wounded heroes of Suvla." - And the Band Played Waltzing Matilda.
Murmansk Oblast, Soviet Naval Base.
"Soyuz nerushimy respublik svobodnykh. Splotila naveki velikaya Rus! Da zdravstvuyet sozdanny voley narodov/ Yediny, moguchy Sovetsky Soyuz!" the voices of eighty-seven men of Soviet Naval spetsnaz detachment 2-F-50 echoed loudly across the deck of the Krivak Missile Frigate.
The smell of Baltic Sea was carried by the wind's biting sting, and carried the words of the men over the waves and across the quay. By nightfall the ship would rendezvous with a Soviet submarine complaining of 'engine troubles' in Soviet waters. In reality the submarine would carry the eighty-seven man spetsnaz detachment to Metroville's shores.
The voices of the spetsnaz men, undistinguishable from the crewmembers of the Krivak frigate for they wore the same Navy uniforms, blended with the voices of the crew of the Voronezh as they carried out their morning dedication to the Soviet Motherland.
They had vague knowledge, through unconfirmed rumor, that several of their comrades were already engaged in the fighting. Neither the Voronezh crew nor the men of spetsnaz detachment 2-F-50 had any true knowledge that their brethren from the better equipped professional athlete formations of the spetsnaz were already engaged in the fighting.
Comissar Mikhail Kulikov lead the singing of the Soviet national anthem from the bridge of the warship, standing alongside the captain and executive officer.
"Slavsya, Otechestvo nashe svobodnoye,Druzby narodov nadyozhny oplot, Partiya Lenina – Sila narodnaya Nas k torzhestvu kommunizma vedyot!" As the last strains of the Hymn of the Soviet Union died away, the crew sprang to their positions, disconnecting hoses and disengaging mooring lines.
"Set maneuvering watches." The watch officer commanded, "All engines ahead one third."
"Engines ahead one third aye." The helmsman responded. The Voronezh maneuvered away from the pier.
Lieutenant Nikolai Vatunin looked over the eighty-seven man detachment, commanded by Major Anatoly Ivanovich. 2-F-50. The only thing that separated them from the crewmembers of the frigate was the fact that they were trained to raid overland from the seas. The weapons and other kit were stored below deck, and the gathering on the main deck ended.
"Comrade Major, all equipment and gear are below decks. I've already sent the NCOs to inspect the men's kits and the aqualungs." Nikolai began.
"Noted, lieutenant." Ivanovich replied. As soon as the other officer had disappeared below decks, Ivanovich glanced at his watch.
As soon as his watch read 18.00 (6 PM) local time he opened the sealed envelope in his pocket. It read: "Execute Phase Two. Receive Instructions aboard Kosmolets."
Ivanovich would learn what exactly his mission was, as soon as he boarded the submarine Kosmolets.
TBC
Billabong – A freshwater pool from backwaters of streams in the Australian Outback.
One-One – SOG Assistant Team Leader, a One-Zero is a Team Leader, and a One-Two is the radio operator. One-Three's are specialists of any kind.
Professional Athlete Formations – The Soviet Spetsnaz consists of three major components. The first is the most numerous, the fighting units consisting of a mix of conscripts who are especially strong and tough and seasoned veterans who serve more than the mandatory two years. The second component is the professional athlete service, members of various government funded sports clubs throughout the Soviet Union. These soldiers are athletes of Olympic caliber who compete in sports such as triathlons, cross country skiing, boxing, competitive swimming, and shooting to name just three and are utilized in the most dangerous operations behind the enemy lines before the outbreak of an actual war. The third component consists of agents (spies) who help the Spetsnaz formations behind enemy lines.
Special Task Force – Paramilitary unit of the South African Police Service that arrests dangerous warrants and deals with hostage situations and similar emergencies all over South Africa.
Suvla – A particularly hellish portion of the battle at Gallipoli where many Australians and New Zealanders died in battle against the Turks and Germans.