I don't own anything.
Intelligence
-Chapter Eight: Close Calls
Shinji opened the duffel bag and stared down at the weapons contained inside. "It's not a good thing when they start handing out the artillery, is it?" Takeo asked.
"Nope," Shinji replied. He looked up and watched as Tokyo-3 shot past the windows. He glanced back down at the bag. He dug through it carefully to make sure everything he had requested was there.
"Anything about noisy redheaded Germans?" Takeo asked.
"Not yet," Shinji replied. "What do you have against her?"
"She's too damned arrogant," Takeo stated, "just like every officer I've ever had to put up with."
"She was an officer in the German army," Shinji commented.
"Makes sense," Takeo replied. "What do you think, sir?"
"No arguing," Shinji replied.
"How long do you think we're going to be here?" Takeo asked.
"As long as it takes," Shinji replied. "Why? You got someone waiting for you?"
"I'd like to try and work on that," Takeo replied. "It'd be kind of nice to have a girlfriend for longer than two months. Of course, the messy breakup later always sucks."
"What about that tootsie from NERV?"
"Couldn't hold an intelligent conversation to save her life," Takeo stated.
"That's your problem!" Shinji exclaimed. "Your standards are too damn high." He finished hunting through the bag. "Son of a bitch!"
"What?"
"No SAPI plates," Shinji growled, angered endlessly over the lack of bullet-proof plates. He had asked for them specifically. "I'm going to kill that fucking quarter master." He dug a note out of the bag. "Our request for Small Arms Protective Inserts has been denied."
"Isn't Kita the only one who can do that?" Takeo asked.
"Yup."
(:ii:)
Misato looked up and frowned as Shinji and Takeo walked into the apartment. "Where the hell have you two been?"
"Taking care of something," Shinji replied.
"It's five in the morning!" Misato exclaimed.
"Our job has no set hours," Shinji stated. He slung the duffel bag he was carrying over his shoulder and kneeled to tug off his boots. Takeo just kicked off his shoes and staggered to the couch where he promptly passed out. "Greed knows no exhaustion."
"Neither do you," Misato commented. Shinji laughed.
"I know exhaustion just fine," he stated. "I just choose to drown it in caffeine."
"Right," Misato replied. "Asuka had somewhere to go. She said she probably wouldn't be back until some time tomorrow, well, I guess that'd be today now."
"Alright," Shinji replied. "It's about my bedtime right now. I'll see you in the morning."
"It is morning," Misato commented.
"Morning is relative," Shinji replied as he disappeared into his room and slid the door shut.
(:ii:)
Shinji yawned and stretched. He felt much better now. He pushed his door open and stepped out into the hall. Asuka was sitting on the couch in front of the TV. "Morning."
"It's five in the afternoon," Asuka replied. Shinji decided to save his relativity argument for another time. He needed to head to NERV and begin searching through all those damn files again. 'Those analysts better hurry the fuck up.'
"Where's Misato?"
"Work," Asuka replied. Shinji nodded and looked around.
"Where's Takeo?"
"When I came in he wandered off somewhere with a blanket," Asuka replied. "God you people. You want to sleep all day and get pissy when you can't because everyone else is awake."
"Huh," Shinji replied. He opened the laundry room door and stared at the pile of blankets on the floor. It was, undoubtedly, his partner. "Get up."
"I am up," Takeo replied, his voice muffled by the blankets. "I haven't been able to get any sleep with that damn kraut blaring the TV."
"Now you're just sounding like a racist," Shinji commented as he prodded the pile with his toe. "You could have just come to my room. It's quiet in there." Takeo's head appeared from under the blanket.
"Hm. I can do without having a gun stuck in my face by a groggy and annoyed soldier."
"Point taken," Shinji replied. "Now up. We've got business to attend to."
"What kind of business?" Takeo asked as he sat up and pulled the blankets off of himself.
"Your favorite kind," Shinji stated. "We're off to do the filing."
"I hate files."
(:ii:)
Shinji scanned through the papers locked into the folder in his hand. "Frenchy."
"Kraut," Takeo added, lying another file down in a separate pile. He picked up another. "Limey." Shinji leaned back and stared at the piles of personnel reports laid out on the desk. They were all the NERV personnel from outside Japan. Currently they were being segregated by country of origin since most people were more disposed towards spying for their own country than any other. Shinji picked up another folder and flipped it open.
"Commie."
"The curtain came down a while ago, sir," Takeo commented.
"Once a commie. . ."
". . .always a commie," Takeo finished. He set another file down. "American." Shinji picked up another folder.
"Canadian." Takeo looked up. "I shit you not."
"Shouldn't it be Canadan? Canadians should be from Canadia," Takeo replied. "Canadian bacon really is just ham, right?"
"I think so," Shinji replied as he set the lone Canadian file down and pulled out his cell phone while pulling the pile of American folders in front of him. Orders were to report all Americans to the boss. It just wouldn't do to shake sown some poor CIA agent.
Probably hurt the agreements between the USA and Japan if Japan killed a bunch of American spies.
"Hello?"
"It's Ikari," Shinji stated. He rattled off the names of the Americans and their social security numbers. "Where do you want us to go from here?"
"The Germans are the most visible threat."
"You ID'ed that direct action team?" Shinji asked.
"All former German Spec Ops," Nagao replied. "How many Huns?"
"More than two men can track," Shinji replied. "I think we've done as much with the files as possible."
"Right," Nagao replied. "I've got analysts coming to you now. They'll arrive some time tomorrow. Listen to your gut."
"Right." Shinji flipped his phone shut.
"What did he say?"
"Something about listening to your gut," Shinji stated. He was pondering the plate situation. Something wasn't sitting right with him.
"Sohryu." Shinji chuckled, pushing away his suspicions for now, and glanced through the files in the German pile.
"Your infatuation with. . ."
"Obsession."
"What?"
"Infatuation sounds like I like her," Takeo stated. "I'd prefer obsession."
"Right." Shinji froze as he spotted a face he knew. "I'll take this guy."
"Any particular reason?"
"My gut tells me to," Shinji stated as he stared at the man. 'Time to collect on that favor you owe me, buddy.'
(:ii:)
Asuka glanced down at the compact in her hands and smiled. The fake blond hair covered her own crimson locks perfectly. She looked up at her target and made her way across the bar. "Hello Manfred." Asuka smiled brightly at the stern looking man sitting at the bar.
"Do I know you?" he demanded in a low rasp. Asuka feigned looking hurt.
"It's me," she stated, "Loretta Wulf." It was an old cover name used by many German female officers. Now she was using it to identify herself as an officer. The man obviously understood as his eyes narrowed and lips curled.
"You've got balls, little girl," he growled. "Now go away. I don't work for you people anymore."
"Come on now," Asuka badgered as she sat down. "Let me buy you a drink."
"Do you know who I am?" Manfred Walther asked. "I could kill you where you stand and no one in the bar would notice. That option is starting to look tempting." Asuka frowned. The man was definitely not happy about seeing another German. Of course, with his experiences, she could understand.
"Come on, where's your patriotism?" she asked, feigning cheer.
"Buried with my men in Somalia," Manfred hissed.
"We can give you anything you want," Asuka stated. "Do you want money, a commission in the Army, how about your wife?"
"I want my men back you bitch," Manfred hissed. "Next time they want to fuck over a soldier, think about the consequences instead of the political repercussions." He rose and Asuka scowled.
"Listen here," she growled.
"No," Manfred stated. He looked her up and down. "A little girl. What were they hoping? I'd be so desperate to get my rocks off that they sent you? Couldn't have sent a soldier, no. A soldier probably would have sympathized with me, so they send some little bimbo." He finished her beer and paid the bartender. Finally Asuka's rage died down enough for her to speak.
"Enjoy the rest of your life," she hissed. "Who knows how much longer it will last?"
(:ii:)
Reinhard frowned as he read Asuka's typed report from her meeting with Manfred Walther. She was either a lousy typist with a Blackberry's tiny keypad or she had been pissed off. Every other word was misspelled. "Probably angry," he decided as he began interpreting the gibberish. The report was much less amusing when he could understand it. He hadn't expected much, but open hostility was bad.
Manfred Walther had been a rising star in the German Army before moving to the Intelligence field. He had led direct actions teams in dozens of locales. In Somalia his team had be assured of fire support on an op in a city that had allied itself with the UN coalition. They had been cut off and called in for help. Germany, fearing repercussions for opening fire on a supposedly friendly city, had abandoned them and then warned the Somali government in the city in hopes of gaining their trust.
Abandoned and betrayed they had fought their way across the city, destroying as much as they could and giving no prisoners. It was as Germany had hoped only, somehow Manfred had dragged himself out of that hell hole. A passing Spec Ops team had found him almost dead and dragged him to a Red Cross hospital. Germany had ordered an attempt on his life, but the assassin had been caught and killed, probably an inevitable outcome of sending the assassin into a hospital full of injured Spec Ops soldiers, and Manfred had moved to Japan, gaining citizenship soon after.
Reinhard knew that the Japanese government knew of Manfred's past. They would be fools not to use him.
Manfred would have to be taken care of the right way this time. 'When you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.'
(:ii:)
"Well that's odd," Shinji commented as he watched the German work. The man was putting large tape crosses on the windows of his apartment. Did he know something that Shinji's didn't?
Shinji's phone vibrated and he tugged it out. The screen showed Kita's number. "Hello?"
"Are you tailing Manfred Walther?"
"That's affirmative, sir," Shinji reported.
"He's one of ours," Kita stated. Shinji scowled. It was lack of data like that, that led to major cluster fucks and unnecessary deaths.
"Don't you think you should have told me when I reported?" Shinji demanded. "What if I had decided to he was a threat? I would have put a bullet in his skull!" After a moment Shinji's brain caught up with his mouth. "Sir," he added.
"Close calls happen," Kita stated.
"That doesn't mean I have to fucking like it," Shinji hissed. He ended the call and shoved his phone back into his pocket. He glanced around the street and shrugged. Might was well go say 'hi.'
-End
(:ii:)
-Author's notes. Someone once asked me how I come up with story ideas. I've decided to enlighten you.
Me: I've been thinking about an Eva crossover with Sledge Hammer.
Friend: What's Sledge Hammer?
Me: How the hell can you not know what Sledge Hammer is?
Friend: What is it?
Me: It's a show from the late eighties.
Friend: You were born in the late eighties.
Me: So?
Friend: So how the hell do you know about Sledge Hammer?
Me: I don't know. So, anyway, its about a psychotic, sexist, comically violent cop in love with his .44 Magnum.
Friend: Sounds like you.
Me: I'm not sexist.
Friend: ponders idea You want to have Shinji raised by him, don't you?
Me: Yup.
Friend: laughing That's ridiculous!
Me: laughing Yeah.
Friend: When are you posting it?
Me: Still working out some plot bugs.
Friend: Plot. You. Yeah right.
Me: Blow me. Pass the Jack.
Friend: You've had enough.
Me: Don't make me hurt you.
Friend: Fine. God damned Irish/German Marine.
Yeah. That's about how most of my stories come to be. Jack Daniels is the father of all inspiration.