Aces High Bulletin Board
General Forums => Aces High General Discussion => Topic started by: S Reilly on January 24, 2005, 04:23:16 PM
-
January 24, 2005 16:00hr
My arrival at Knight forward command was nothing out of the ordinary. I could hear the metallic grind of the M3 caravan as we hastily made our way across the road winding up to the parking spaces carefully marked “V.I.P.” The engine quickly cut off to a sputtering stop and our entourage began to file out of the aging and badly beaten half-track. Taking a moment to thank the driver, a short Philippine not a day over 16 that went by the handle of Kubwak, I started off for the front door. A handful of agents and secret service appointed body guards accompanied me to the tower. Once inside the group dispersed across the room in a frenzy of the usual day to day operations around the tower. People were briefing and debriefing on current situations along the bloody Bishop and Rook fronts. The usual banter about 20K hordes in the west, low level last ditch efforts of the Bish to bring in low level heavy bombers and destroy our airfields, there was even rumors circulating about a daring HQ raid that had been spotted high above in the wee hours of the morning. I found myself trying to humor the “boys in the back room” as much as I could, but knew that there were much more important issues at hand. Looking down at the metallic “Eyes Only” folder in my hands I ducked off into a dark corner to brief myself on its Top Secret contents.
INTELEGENCE OPERATIONS
SHADES DIVISION
CODNAME: STARIK
Rumor has it that a high level defection has taken place BREAK
One of our prized heavy bomber pilots has flown the coop BREAK
Pilot known as 999000 flew for an elite group secretly known as “Dambusters” BREAK
Mission calls for deep cover behind enemy (Rook) lines BREAK
Your job is to locate and extract one 999000 BREAK
Utterly shocked by the news that sat in front of me I almost forgot to dispose of the heavily encrypted message. I couldn’t believe my eyes! 999000 gone! This had to be taken care of ASAP. Shaking the shock of the matter aside, I lifted a match to the chemically treated parchment and set it ablaze. With the white flash still slightly burnt into my retinas and the smell of white phosphorous still lingering in the air I drearily made my way down to the basement, The O Club.
-
I was greeted at the bottom of the stairs by the fowl odor of stale cigar smoke and cheap booze. The floor of the O Club was littered with empty bottles of Wild Turkey, Jack Daniels, and the occasional handle of some vodka I couldn’t pronounce. “Hey SR ole pal!” a drunken, stubby faced older gentleman had called out. As I looked up to make eye contact with the voice, a man we call GooseCH, I noticed quite a gathering compared to the “usual suspects” of the Knights clandestine information service. Slicing my way through the clouds of smoke I began to inspect this motley and utterly exhausted posse that gathered before me.
The congregation was gathered around a long make-shift table badly stained from years of operating as the chiefs bar/brainstorming platform. Around the edges, from left to right, sat the heart of our operating network: GooseCH- our DD/O (Deputy Director Operations), WMLute- DC/O (Director Chief Operations), Spade- DC/I (Director Chief Intelligence). The three were accompanied by several other important Generals of the Knight high command. FBDread could be seen milling about in the back corners searching the bottom of a bottle for the last hints of yesterday’s nightcap. A couple of MAWs were propping themselves up against one another staring at a winkled and torn map of BALTIC. The last two on the far wall of the O Club were talking advanced wing and ACM techniques over cups of coffee spiked with the last of the Yukon Jack. Both of the dark figures turned to acknowledge my presence. I winked back. It was JB42, a middle-aged man that appeared of some German or western European decent, a defector of the Rook persuasion. Next to him stood the short, spastic young character Jamusta that heads up our CAP (combat air patrol) division. Deciding that the room had been sized up and enough time had been wasted scanning the walls of the small dingy room, I sat down next to GooseCH to begin my days work.
-
keep going.....i cant sell a book if you dont finish it :mad:
-
The briefing was short and to the point. Goose, Lute, and Spade quickly began to build up our case concerning 999000. “According to our sources ‘Triple 9’ flew off in vanilla (unmarked) B26 sometime yesterday afternoon” grumbled Lute, a soft spoken and short tempered vet of the company.
“We have reason to believe that he has joined forces with the Rooks and has already taken up hostilities with the Knights” Goose piped in. “Various sources have claimed to have seen his trademark menacing low-level raids over several Knight occupied territories in the last few hours.”
Lute stood up and dug his leathery fists into the table. “SR… as you can see we are in quite a pickle over this catastrophe. We have reason to believe, given the 48 hour policy on defectors, that we can organize a ‘get’ on this ‘Triple 9’ character.”
Spade looks over to Lute awaiting his turn to finish the brief. “We have a recent Rook defector of our own in custody here at the field. I would like you to have a word or two before you depart for Rookland. He is a young blood that goes by the name of 616FuBaR. Grill him for what you can about the current Rook situation. You know; political issues, banter/slang, customary greetings, and squad relationships.”
I rose to my feet in hopes of escaping this hell hole of an office as quickly as possible. “Sounds pretty routine Spade. Nothing I haven’t ‘been there done that’ ya know?” I looked around the table for any more quips form the needless hierarchy. “Should I take the usual guise?”
Spade arrogantly replied “That depends on what you find from this FuBaR clown. Be wary of what he has to tell you. We have suspected him of being a Rook disinformation agent in the past. His shady history with us should warn you to stick to only superficial questions about Rook lifestyle and work habits. Consider him your primer for re-entering into a lifestyle of deep cover in Rook turf.” Spade clears his throat and reaches for a double Jack Daniels, no ice. “Oh… there’s one more thing.”
“OK…” was my only reply as I joined Spade and Lute in a ceremonial devouring of whiskey.
“If you run into any problems once you are behind enemy lines you are to locate a gentleman by the name of ‘hub.’ He is an old Knight sympathizer whom has been working for us under deep cover for well over two months now. I cannot disclose anymore information about agent hub at this time, just that you are to contact him via channel 123 around dusk f there is any trouble.” Spade poured another round pressing Goose to join in the rite. “As usual you will be dropped via C47 Skytrain well under enemy radar. Your pilot is waiting for you on the tarmac as we speak. After you finish briefing 616 on the Rook serials grab your kit and head for the lines.”
“Godspeed SR!” chanted Lute, Goose and Spade as the four of us exchanged toasts.
I was out the door and on my way to the local barracks faster than a P51 can run from trouble.
-
Making my way across the field to the barracks I could hardly hear myself think. Why we ever decided to use a base so close to the front lines for a meeting of this magnitude was beyond me. Perhaps the brass had decided that we were less likely to be bugged this close to hostile operations, who knows. The sounds of aircraft rasping away as their engines came to life always gave me an inspiring and invigorating feeling only felt in my younger days flying for the Knights elite Air Corps. BANG! The shot from a starting cartridge in an IL2 sent echoes across the tarmac as I sped up my pace. The presence of IL2 only meant one thing. The enemy was making an attempt to spearhead the base with ground vehicles. I had little time to loose. The briefing of 616FuBaR would have to be short and to the point.
-
Can i get paid for this :D
-
“Present your identification please” said the burly young sentry at the barrack door.
I quickly produced a small laminated card.
Sidney Reilly
DIVISION: JG.26
RANK: ST.9 (Captain)
PAYGRADE: K0.1
“Many thanks sir” the guard quickly remarked as he quickly corrected his lazy posture.
Strolling past the guard still holding his rigid salute “” I found myself entering to see a company of Knight soldiers noisily arguing over a game of poker. It appeared that one of the lesser ranking individuals had gone “all in” on a bluff and had cleaned the pockets of one of his senior officers. Realizing that this was merely a friendly scuffle amongst the local Texas Holdem jockeys I ignored the banter and approached the CO regarding one 616FuBaR that was in his temporary custody.
The CO, who was known around the camp as Nwbie, spoke in a thick Chicago accent reminiscent of the old Super Fans. “Shur thing Mac. We gottem pinned down in the back near tha brig.” He pointed in the direction of a small makeshift plywood door. “Better get to em quick tho… heh, he ain sittin too well wit da boyz.”
“Thanks chief.” I replied as I shot a quick and made my way to the door.
-
????
:confused:
-
I searched the door that read “Auth0riz3d P3oplz 0nly” (scribbled in red crayon) for handle only to find that it was merely a piece of plywood propped up against the frame. I found it funny that our Federal Reserve couldn’t afford to buy this rag-tag bunch proper means to seal off the local holding cells, let alone adequate spelling/grammar lessons. However; someone has to pay my salary, and I am happy that they manage that much of the bargain. Clandestine services can really be a hard apple to core without the proper tools to get the job done.
“Patty?!?!?!?! Patty?!?!?!?!?!?!....... Patty this one ‘Baker’s Man!” I heard from a mocking voice behind the walls. THUMP!!! THUMP!!!! THUMP!!!!
I quickly threw the board aside and rushed the threshold of the jail brandishing my Knight issue Colt 1911 from its carefully concealed shoulder holster. “Allright partys’ over gentlemen!” I hollered. “Which of these pukes is FuBaR? I’d like you to remember that he is on OUR side.”
An officer holding a slimy pillowcase full of what smelled like yesterday’s catch pointed diagonally to he ground at an annoyed, yet not frightened, young man. “You this SR guy we supposed to see today?” the aggressor in the stripes of a captain asked. He hiccupped in a manner known only to those religiously in touch with at least 24 beers in the last hour.
“The one and only” I replied as I presented my laminated ID once again.
“Captain JB73, master of scum around here boss” as he shot up a quick salute while trying to kick aside the empty cans of Ole Milwaukee. “He’s all yours.” JB slowly zigzagged his way out of the room (presumably in search of those pink elephants someone in his disposition would be haunted by).
With the room at my disposal I peered down at the scrawny boy on the floor. “He couldn’t be a day over 16!” I thought to myself. “What the heck would the DC/I think I could learn from this little brat?” At a second glance I figured what the heck and ordered the boy to his feet.
-
Originally posted by S Reilly
“Captain JB73, master of scum around here boss” as he shot up a quick salute while trying to kick aside the empty cans of Ole Milwaukee.
:rofl :rofl :rofl
-
:rofl Scrawny Kid.....
This is good stuff
-
who you callin scrawny???? Im 6' 175 lbs
-
Originally posted by FuBaR
who you callin scrawny???? Im 6' 175 lbs
that muscle, fat, excessivly dense bones, or brain?
-
Originally posted by FuBaR
who you callin scrawny???? Im 6' 175 lbs
:rofl :rofl
Ya out weigh me. and I'm the same height. That being said...If you stick your tounge out and stand sideways...do you look like a zipper?
I know if I drink to many Big red's I look like a Thermometer.:lol
-
ALL of the above of course
:mad: :mad: :mad: RedTop dont make me come abck into AH, FUBAR coming to town!
-
Originally posted by FuBaR
ALL of the above of course
:mad: :mad: :mad: RedTop dont make me come abck into AH, FUBAR coming to town!
LOL...J/K with ya bud...Come fly with with me and the guys soon.:aok
-
Takin a week or 2 off AH ill see ya when i see ya :cool:
-
get lost fubar, take a month off!
-
:confused: :confused: :confused: :confused: :confused: :confused:
-
gutted. :)
-
so what happens next S Reilly?
-
FuBaR sprang to his feet like a jack-in-the-box held captive for at least a decade. Upright the boy seemed to tower above me. Keeping my distance, I decided not to return my 1911 to its comfortable home. Slowly, I sized the kid up. He had to be at LEAST 6 foot tall, his bean-pole silhouette casting a long slender shadow on the floor beneath my feet.
“Tell me one thing Fubie” I barked pointing my 1911 at his clown-like feet. “What do I need to know about Rooks these days…”
“Well…” he didn’t have time to remark.
“Feed me any BS and the big toe gets it!”
“…”
Seeing that I may have stirred the subject a bit I reached for the breast pocket of my suit jacket. FuBaR began grinding his teeth. “No no no no young man” I said as I produced a flask from its cozy hiding place. “You need not worry son. We are olives of the same branch.” I lifted the flask to FuBaR inviting him to drink.
“Thank you…”
“Reilly…. Sidney is the name”
FuBaR gulped a healthy chug of the Grey Goose vodka. “Thanks Sid.”
“Listen kid. I want you to be straight up with me now ya hear? I am heading back to Rookland after a long absence and you need to fill me in on a few details.”
“OK…”
“It is important that I know the answer to three simple things before I leave here today.”
………………
-
CLIIIIIIFFFFFFFFFFFFFFHANGER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!:mad: :mad: :mad: :mad:
-
Behind the brick walls and shoddy plywood door the members of the 101st Knight Airborne could hear only a muffled debate between the two curious visitors. One soldier claimed he could hear the infamous Reilly shouting something absurd about Rook dress code and alcoholic dispositions. Something of a crash was heard against the wall closest to the bunks when the men of the 101st began scurrying around trying to look presentable. Something serious was going on. It was time to shake the “drunks” archetype.
Shortly after the noise settled in the brig, the plywood door once again was kicked aside. The two (Reilly and FuBaR) marched towards the door through attentive rows of Knight infantry. Passing the last of Reilly’s flask, FuBaR could be heard muttering something about altitudes and a safe voyage behind enemy lines.
-
Reilly, the Psych Ward let you out on a one week Furlough again?
You're about as funny as seeing the former Nell Carter in Spandex.
Karaya
-
:rofl :rofl :rofl :rofl :rofl :rofl :rofl :rofl :rofl
Day 1 off AH went well, Im seeing im more happy off it..... Be back next week guys :)
-
[SIZE=30]WTF?![/SIZE]
-
Originally posted by streetstang
[SIZE=30]WTF?![/SIZE]
Yeah...
-
STAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANG :eek: :eek: :eek: