Post by CAPT Issac R. Madden on Jul 11, 2011 3:51:03 GMT 1
And since I've hit writer's block on Halo of Flies, I'm switching gears for a Mercs fanfic. Don't have a title for it yet but here's what I've gotten so far.
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They had better have a decent contract for me this time, Jennifer Mui thought in irritation as she pulls her humvee into the AN base at the Korean DMZ a couple hours before sunset. If they make me escort another member of the press, I’m leaving the bastard in the middle of the nearest NK camp. Walking into the HQ building with a nod to the guard at the door, she walks into the main room and plops down into a chair while she listens to Colonel Garrett rail at someone on the phone.
“Hey, Mui,” Garrett says, hanging up on whoever pissed him off. “You’ve got good timing.”
“If this is yet another escort mission, I’m walking out the door,” Mui counters, her London accent thickening slightly from her irritation over being what amounts to be an over-glorified babysitter.
“Can’t say I blame you after that last one. Thing is, the only job I’ve got available IS an escort job.”
“And what precisely is stopping me from telling you to sod off?” Mui asks pointedly.
“The fact that the contract pays two hundred thousand and should be more interesting than babysitting pain in the ass reporters,” Garrett answers.
“Two hundred thousand?” she asks, her eyebrows rising in surprise. “Just who am I going to be escorting?”
“One of my linguists. He’s going to be running around and talking to his contacts.”
“Then why not assign a squad of your soldiers to the job?”
“We want this to be low key. Linguists are hard to come by,” Garrett says, clearly hoping she’ll agree to the job.
“Fair enough. So. Two hundred thousand dollars. I’m assuming bonuses might be available?” Mui asks, wanting a better feel for the job before she agrees to it.
“Depending on what happens during the course of the contract, I might be able to work something out,” Garrett says, not exactly fond of Mui trying to get more money out of him, but her skill easily makes her worth the premium she charges.
“How long is the job?”
“Depends on how fast he gets the information, but I’m guessing at least a couple weeks, maybe a month,” Garrett answers after a moment’s thought. “You start immediately, assuming you take the job.”
Babysitting a linguist for a month for two hundred thousand plus possible bonuses? That’s one of the better jobs I’ve been offered since I got here. Boring, but lucrative, Mui thought behind a mask of boredom. “Alright. I’ll take the job,” she says.
“Alright. I’ll send the contract over to ExOps and Major Howard can help you get everything squared away,” Garrett said, obviously relieved that she accepted the contract.
“Right this way,” Howard says, leading Mui out of the meeting room and down the hall to where the intelligence division is set up. “Is Lieutenant Martin on duty now?” he asks the British sergeant who’s manning the desk by the door.
“No, sir,” the sergeant answers, snapping to attention.
“At ease, sergeant. Any idea where I can find him?”
“If he’s not in the barracks, he’s either at the armory or the shooting range,” the sergeant answers, his voice having a Liverpool accent.
“Thank you, sergeant. Carry on,” Howard says, leaving the room with Mui in tow.
“A bit odd for a linguist to be spending time at an armory, isn’t it?” she asks, her curiosity piqued.
“Yeah. Lieutenant Martin is… unique,” Howard comments.
“I gather that means he’s crazy?”
“I don’t know about that, but he definitely isn’t your typical linguist,” Howard answers as they drive a staff car to the armory.
Getting out of the car, they head inside just in time to hear the armorer let out a long string of profanity and call the ancestry of the last person to use a particular machinegun into question.
“Having problems, Sergeant?” Howard asked when the irate soldier stopped to take a breath.
“Nothing I can’t handle, sir,” the sergeant said as he sets the partially disassembled M249 SAW aside and goes to attention.
“At ease, sergeant,” Howard said. “I’m looking for Lieutenant Martin.”
“He just went out back to test fire one of the M4A1s I just got done rebuilding after some idiot decided to not lube the rifle and then fire it like it was an MG. The moron went cyclic with every mag he had on him.”
“I see. Well, carry on, then,” Howard said as he and Mui walk out of the building and head to the range out back.
As they walk up to the firing line, they spot a smallish man wearing shooting glasses and earmuffs in addition to his AN-issue uniform standing at a bench, loading several magazines for the carbine in front of him.
“Lieutenant Martin?” Howard calls out as they approach.
“Yes sir?” the man asks, setting the magazine down and facing the Major and Mui. Since they’re out in the open, he doesn’t salute or go to attention. Officers are sniper bait to begin with. No way am I going to make things easy for them.
“This is Jennifer Mui,” Howard said. “She’s going to be your escort on your mission. Play nice, you two,” he quips as he heads back to HQ.
“I’ve heard a lot about you, Ms. Mui,” Martin said, offering to shake hands with the merc.
“I’m sure you have, Leftenant,” Mui answered cordially, shaking hands with him. Then she notices the service tape on his uniform. “You’re Air Force?” she asks, a bit surprised since she expected him to be Army.
“Yeah,” he says, turning back to the bench. “Hard to believe a fly-boy would be out here shooting guns instead of trying to host the latest online RPG isn’t it?” he continues, poking fun at the stereotype of the nerdy intel puke.
Great. A bloody American cowboy, she thinks as he picks up the rifle.
“You might want to grab some ears. I’m going hot and the last thing I need to do is wreck your hearing,” he says, inserting a magazine into the rifle with a push/pull motion to make sure it’s properly seated before racking the charging handle to chamber a round and shouldering the rifle.
He’s left handed, Mui notes as she puts on her hearing protection. When Martin sees that she’s wearing the muffs, he flicks the carbine’s safety off with his trigger finger and fires ten shots slowly and methodically. Not bad, she thinks as all of his shots ring off the steel torso-shaped target fifty meters away.
Alright. The gun hasn’t lost any accuracy and the sights are still zeroed, Martin thinks, lowering the rifle so he can see where his shots impacted. Raising the rifle back to his shoulder, he burns through the rest of the ammo on semi-auto, firing as fast as he can re-acquire the sights. The rifle performs as expected, not hiccupping once and putting every round where the sights were looking.
“That’s some fair shooting,” Mui allows, not wanting to show that she’s actually somewhat impressed. His marksmanship is better than your run-of-the-mill soldier.
“Thanks,” he answers, loading another magazine into the rifle with the same push/pull and slapping the bolt release to charge the weapon. Flicking the selector from semi to auto, Martin fires in bursts of five to seven rounds, quickly running through all thirty rounds. Repeating the process with the remaining three magazines, Martin finally safes the rifle, satisfied that it’s in proper order. He’s also happy with his shooting, not a single round missed his target.
“If you’re quite finished, perhaps we can talk about my job,” Mui says sarcastically, masking how impressed she is with his shooting.
“No need to get your panties in a twist,” Martin says almost reflexively, firing back out of habit. “Just let me drop this carbine off in the armory and we can get going.” As they walk, Martin takes his first real look at Mui; a tall, athletic frame that isn’t lacking for curves; her outfit is a purple overcoat with off-white cargo pants, black boots, finger gloves, a well-used pack, what looks to be a SIG-Sauer P226 in a thigh holster, and an M4A1 carbine slung on her back. Her hair is raven black, hovering just above her shoulders, and her slightly almond-shaped eyes are a rich earth brown.
Holy shit, she’s hot. And from the way she’s carrying herself, she knows it. Definitely out of my league, though, he thinks. He’s couple inches shorter than his new partner and solidly built for his frame. Looks-wise, his chestnut brown hair is cut close to his skull in the obligatory “high and tight” style and his eyes are a unique shade of golden hazel. A pair of gunmetal grey wire framed glasses finishes off his look.
“Don’t even think about it, Yank,” Mui says sharply. “I’m well out of your league. It’s bad enough I’m having to baby sit your scrawny arse because the rest of your military is too bloody lazy or incompetent to do it; so I really don’t want to have to deal you drooling over me instead of doing your bloody job.”
“Fair enough,” Martin answers coolly, not letting her bitchiness faze him. Walking into his office, he goes over to the mini fridge behind his desk, pulls out a couple bottles of water and sets one on the deck for her. “So you want more details on my mission?”
“That would be helpful,” she says, plopping into the chair behind his desk like she owns it.
Arching an eyebrow over her games, Martin closes the door and takes one of the seats across from his desk, sitting so he can see the doorway and Mui at the same time.
That’s interesting. Not having his back to the door. Smart thinking, Mui thought behind her mask of arrogance, continuing to size him up. And he’s not letting me get under his skin. Most people would have gotten pissed-off by now.
“I’m sure Colonel Garrett already told you that I’m going to be running around and checking up with my contacts over the next few weeks,” Martin says, taking a swig of his water. “What he doesn‘t know is that the majority of my contacts aren‘t the kind of people the brass would like to be associated with.”
“Let me guess. They’re mafia,” she says, not necessarily surprised.
“Mafia, People’s Liberation Army, NK turn coats, et cetera,” he confirms. “Since this mission is sensitive, I’ll be posing as a contractor and I won’t be carrying any of my AN or US documents. If I get caught, the government will disavow any knowledge of what I’m doing and cover their tracks.”
This job might actually be interesting, Mui thought, sipping at her water, keeping her arrogance expression in place to hide her thoughts. “What can you tell me about your past work?” she asks, wanting to get a better gauge on how competent he is.
“Much of it’s classified,” he answers truthfully. “But I can tell you that I was the one who tracked down Hwangbo to Song Tower.”
“I see. At least you’re somewhat competent,” she answers, trying to get a rise out of him. Actually, he’s a damn good intel officer if he managed to track down Hwangbo as quickly as he did. And he seems to be competent with weapons. There’s more to this Leftenant than meets the eye.
“Well I’ve had a long day. I assume, since I’m your babysitter, that I’ll be sharing quarters with you?”
Again with that “babysitter” shit. Either she’s really pissed that she’s my escort or she’s trying to piss me off. “Yes, we’ll be in the same quarters. There’s already a spare bunk, foot locker, and so on so you don’t have to worry. Can’t say I’ll be able to do much about the rumors, though,” he comments with a snarky grin
“Maybe if I kick you in the balls, it’ll keep the idiots silent,” she retorted, the expression in her eyes plainly saying that it’s not an idle threat.
“That won’t be necessary,” Martin answers with a laugh. She’s definitely out of my league. Beauty, brains, and toughness. Just my luck. Finishing his water, he tosses the empty bottle into the trash bin and stands. “This way.”
Leading the way out of the HQ building, Martin walks over to the barracks and to his quarters. True to his word, the room is set up with two separate beds, extra storage units, and so on. The room is partitioned off with a changing screen so they can at least have a modicum of privacy when needed.
“I’m taking the bed closest to the door,” Mui said, dropping her pack onto the bed in question.
“Fair enough,” Martin says, sitting on the other bed and taking off his boots and socks. “Latrine’s over there,” he continues, waving toward a door on the side wall. While she heads into the latrine for a shower, Martin quickly changes out of his uniform and into a grey t-shirt and black sweat pants.
While she’s in the shower, Mui takes the time to relax and think about the situation. He’s definitely not typical of the Americans I’ve dealt with before. He’s not letting me get under his skin nor is he turning into a slavering sack of hormones nor is he questioning my skill. It’s a refreshing change of pace, actually. When she’s finished, she sees that he’s already turned in for the night.
Hearing the latrine door open, Martin glances over to see Mui walking over to her bed. “Good night, Mui,” he says, wanting to be polite, at least.
“Good night, Leftenant,” she answers, lying in bed and turning off her lamp before stripping down to her underwear and crawling between the sheets of her bed. Not ten minutes after her head hits the pillow, she falls asleep.
------------------------------------------
They had better have a decent contract for me this time, Jennifer Mui thought in irritation as she pulls her humvee into the AN base at the Korean DMZ a couple hours before sunset. If they make me escort another member of the press, I’m leaving the bastard in the middle of the nearest NK camp. Walking into the HQ building with a nod to the guard at the door, she walks into the main room and plops down into a chair while she listens to Colonel Garrett rail at someone on the phone.
“Hey, Mui,” Garrett says, hanging up on whoever pissed him off. “You’ve got good timing.”
“If this is yet another escort mission, I’m walking out the door,” Mui counters, her London accent thickening slightly from her irritation over being what amounts to be an over-glorified babysitter.
“Can’t say I blame you after that last one. Thing is, the only job I’ve got available IS an escort job.”
“And what precisely is stopping me from telling you to sod off?” Mui asks pointedly.
“The fact that the contract pays two hundred thousand and should be more interesting than babysitting pain in the ass reporters,” Garrett answers.
“Two hundred thousand?” she asks, her eyebrows rising in surprise. “Just who am I going to be escorting?”
“One of my linguists. He’s going to be running around and talking to his contacts.”
“Then why not assign a squad of your soldiers to the job?”
“We want this to be low key. Linguists are hard to come by,” Garrett says, clearly hoping she’ll agree to the job.
“Fair enough. So. Two hundred thousand dollars. I’m assuming bonuses might be available?” Mui asks, wanting a better feel for the job before she agrees to it.
“Depending on what happens during the course of the contract, I might be able to work something out,” Garrett says, not exactly fond of Mui trying to get more money out of him, but her skill easily makes her worth the premium she charges.
“How long is the job?”
“Depends on how fast he gets the information, but I’m guessing at least a couple weeks, maybe a month,” Garrett answers after a moment’s thought. “You start immediately, assuming you take the job.”
Babysitting a linguist for a month for two hundred thousand plus possible bonuses? That’s one of the better jobs I’ve been offered since I got here. Boring, but lucrative, Mui thought behind a mask of boredom. “Alright. I’ll take the job,” she says.
“Alright. I’ll send the contract over to ExOps and Major Howard can help you get everything squared away,” Garrett said, obviously relieved that she accepted the contract.
“Right this way,” Howard says, leading Mui out of the meeting room and down the hall to where the intelligence division is set up. “Is Lieutenant Martin on duty now?” he asks the British sergeant who’s manning the desk by the door.
“No, sir,” the sergeant answers, snapping to attention.
“At ease, sergeant. Any idea where I can find him?”
“If he’s not in the barracks, he’s either at the armory or the shooting range,” the sergeant answers, his voice having a Liverpool accent.
“Thank you, sergeant. Carry on,” Howard says, leaving the room with Mui in tow.
“A bit odd for a linguist to be spending time at an armory, isn’t it?” she asks, her curiosity piqued.
“Yeah. Lieutenant Martin is… unique,” Howard comments.
“I gather that means he’s crazy?”
“I don’t know about that, but he definitely isn’t your typical linguist,” Howard answers as they drive a staff car to the armory.
Getting out of the car, they head inside just in time to hear the armorer let out a long string of profanity and call the ancestry of the last person to use a particular machinegun into question.
“Having problems, Sergeant?” Howard asked when the irate soldier stopped to take a breath.
“Nothing I can’t handle, sir,” the sergeant said as he sets the partially disassembled M249 SAW aside and goes to attention.
“At ease, sergeant,” Howard said. “I’m looking for Lieutenant Martin.”
“He just went out back to test fire one of the M4A1s I just got done rebuilding after some idiot decided to not lube the rifle and then fire it like it was an MG. The moron went cyclic with every mag he had on him.”
“I see. Well, carry on, then,” Howard said as he and Mui walk out of the building and head to the range out back.
As they walk up to the firing line, they spot a smallish man wearing shooting glasses and earmuffs in addition to his AN-issue uniform standing at a bench, loading several magazines for the carbine in front of him.
“Lieutenant Martin?” Howard calls out as they approach.
“Yes sir?” the man asks, setting the magazine down and facing the Major and Mui. Since they’re out in the open, he doesn’t salute or go to attention. Officers are sniper bait to begin with. No way am I going to make things easy for them.
“This is Jennifer Mui,” Howard said. “She’s going to be your escort on your mission. Play nice, you two,” he quips as he heads back to HQ.
“I’ve heard a lot about you, Ms. Mui,” Martin said, offering to shake hands with the merc.
“I’m sure you have, Leftenant,” Mui answered cordially, shaking hands with him. Then she notices the service tape on his uniform. “You’re Air Force?” she asks, a bit surprised since she expected him to be Army.
“Yeah,” he says, turning back to the bench. “Hard to believe a fly-boy would be out here shooting guns instead of trying to host the latest online RPG isn’t it?” he continues, poking fun at the stereotype of the nerdy intel puke.
Great. A bloody American cowboy, she thinks as he picks up the rifle.
“You might want to grab some ears. I’m going hot and the last thing I need to do is wreck your hearing,” he says, inserting a magazine into the rifle with a push/pull motion to make sure it’s properly seated before racking the charging handle to chamber a round and shouldering the rifle.
He’s left handed, Mui notes as she puts on her hearing protection. When Martin sees that she’s wearing the muffs, he flicks the carbine’s safety off with his trigger finger and fires ten shots slowly and methodically. Not bad, she thinks as all of his shots ring off the steel torso-shaped target fifty meters away.
Alright. The gun hasn’t lost any accuracy and the sights are still zeroed, Martin thinks, lowering the rifle so he can see where his shots impacted. Raising the rifle back to his shoulder, he burns through the rest of the ammo on semi-auto, firing as fast as he can re-acquire the sights. The rifle performs as expected, not hiccupping once and putting every round where the sights were looking.
“That’s some fair shooting,” Mui allows, not wanting to show that she’s actually somewhat impressed. His marksmanship is better than your run-of-the-mill soldier.
“Thanks,” he answers, loading another magazine into the rifle with the same push/pull and slapping the bolt release to charge the weapon. Flicking the selector from semi to auto, Martin fires in bursts of five to seven rounds, quickly running through all thirty rounds. Repeating the process with the remaining three magazines, Martin finally safes the rifle, satisfied that it’s in proper order. He’s also happy with his shooting, not a single round missed his target.
“If you’re quite finished, perhaps we can talk about my job,” Mui says sarcastically, masking how impressed she is with his shooting.
“No need to get your panties in a twist,” Martin says almost reflexively, firing back out of habit. “Just let me drop this carbine off in the armory and we can get going.” As they walk, Martin takes his first real look at Mui; a tall, athletic frame that isn’t lacking for curves; her outfit is a purple overcoat with off-white cargo pants, black boots, finger gloves, a well-used pack, what looks to be a SIG-Sauer P226 in a thigh holster, and an M4A1 carbine slung on her back. Her hair is raven black, hovering just above her shoulders, and her slightly almond-shaped eyes are a rich earth brown.
Holy shit, she’s hot. And from the way she’s carrying herself, she knows it. Definitely out of my league, though, he thinks. He’s couple inches shorter than his new partner and solidly built for his frame. Looks-wise, his chestnut brown hair is cut close to his skull in the obligatory “high and tight” style and his eyes are a unique shade of golden hazel. A pair of gunmetal grey wire framed glasses finishes off his look.
“Don’t even think about it, Yank,” Mui says sharply. “I’m well out of your league. It’s bad enough I’m having to baby sit your scrawny arse because the rest of your military is too bloody lazy or incompetent to do it; so I really don’t want to have to deal you drooling over me instead of doing your bloody job.”
“Fair enough,” Martin answers coolly, not letting her bitchiness faze him. Walking into his office, he goes over to the mini fridge behind his desk, pulls out a couple bottles of water and sets one on the deck for her. “So you want more details on my mission?”
“That would be helpful,” she says, plopping into the chair behind his desk like she owns it.
Arching an eyebrow over her games, Martin closes the door and takes one of the seats across from his desk, sitting so he can see the doorway and Mui at the same time.
That’s interesting. Not having his back to the door. Smart thinking, Mui thought behind her mask of arrogance, continuing to size him up. And he’s not letting me get under his skin. Most people would have gotten pissed-off by now.
“I’m sure Colonel Garrett already told you that I’m going to be running around and checking up with my contacts over the next few weeks,” Martin says, taking a swig of his water. “What he doesn‘t know is that the majority of my contacts aren‘t the kind of people the brass would like to be associated with.”
“Let me guess. They’re mafia,” she says, not necessarily surprised.
“Mafia, People’s Liberation Army, NK turn coats, et cetera,” he confirms. “Since this mission is sensitive, I’ll be posing as a contractor and I won’t be carrying any of my AN or US documents. If I get caught, the government will disavow any knowledge of what I’m doing and cover their tracks.”
This job might actually be interesting, Mui thought, sipping at her water, keeping her arrogance expression in place to hide her thoughts. “What can you tell me about your past work?” she asks, wanting to get a better gauge on how competent he is.
“Much of it’s classified,” he answers truthfully. “But I can tell you that I was the one who tracked down Hwangbo to Song Tower.”
“I see. At least you’re somewhat competent,” she answers, trying to get a rise out of him. Actually, he’s a damn good intel officer if he managed to track down Hwangbo as quickly as he did. And he seems to be competent with weapons. There’s more to this Leftenant than meets the eye.
“Well I’ve had a long day. I assume, since I’m your babysitter, that I’ll be sharing quarters with you?”
Again with that “babysitter” shit. Either she’s really pissed that she’s my escort or she’s trying to piss me off. “Yes, we’ll be in the same quarters. There’s already a spare bunk, foot locker, and so on so you don’t have to worry. Can’t say I’ll be able to do much about the rumors, though,” he comments with a snarky grin
“Maybe if I kick you in the balls, it’ll keep the idiots silent,” she retorted, the expression in her eyes plainly saying that it’s not an idle threat.
“That won’t be necessary,” Martin answers with a laugh. She’s definitely out of my league. Beauty, brains, and toughness. Just my luck. Finishing his water, he tosses the empty bottle into the trash bin and stands. “This way.”
Leading the way out of the HQ building, Martin walks over to the barracks and to his quarters. True to his word, the room is set up with two separate beds, extra storage units, and so on. The room is partitioned off with a changing screen so they can at least have a modicum of privacy when needed.
“I’m taking the bed closest to the door,” Mui said, dropping her pack onto the bed in question.
“Fair enough,” Martin says, sitting on the other bed and taking off his boots and socks. “Latrine’s over there,” he continues, waving toward a door on the side wall. While she heads into the latrine for a shower, Martin quickly changes out of his uniform and into a grey t-shirt and black sweat pants.
While she’s in the shower, Mui takes the time to relax and think about the situation. He’s definitely not typical of the Americans I’ve dealt with before. He’s not letting me get under his skin nor is he turning into a slavering sack of hormones nor is he questioning my skill. It’s a refreshing change of pace, actually. When she’s finished, she sees that he’s already turned in for the night.
Hearing the latrine door open, Martin glances over to see Mui walking over to her bed. “Good night, Mui,” he says, wanting to be polite, at least.
“Good night, Leftenant,” she answers, lying in bed and turning off her lamp before stripping down to her underwear and crawling between the sheets of her bed. Not ten minutes after her head hits the pillow, she falls asleep.