|
|
The massive transport looked ungainly but it was pulling steep turns as it circled over the base of the C4. Some of the group on the ground looked at the craft as it landed slowly, VTOL jets flaring in the morning mist. Military guards motioned the present C4 members back into the bunkers due to the flight apparently unscheduled. Though the pilot gave proper clearance codes the group was worried by the fact that the pilot also manouevered wickedly breaking the locks of 3/4 of the sensors at ground level and would have almost have past unhindered had it not been for the transponder. The craft slowly lifted, it's hover system evidently working fine as it rocked slightly. Military guards started driving out in jeeps with heavier weapons mounted on the racks as the craft came to rest in front of the hangar. From behind the group of military guards a jeep drove through at full speed. Soldiers wearing heavy black body armor got out and moved into position -
"Move out of the aircraft and onto the pavement keeping both hands up, open and free, any indication of using psionic equipment will result in your death."
The black-armored troops, four in number, climbed on top of the craft, creeping slowly along the fusellage two to the front entrance and two to the rear. The rear entrance, a ramp of considerable size opened slowly and the two soldiers above peered into the craft carefully.
"Well isn't this nice, first day and I get a welcome such as this." Into the center of the circle of soldiers casually strolled out holding both hands out open, the greens, though grease-stained show a couple of patches indicating different vehicle groups. "So what's the big occasion?"
The two soldiers high up behind him swung themselves to the ground quietly. The other two by now were back on the ground and moving around, their rifles ready.
"Okay I have identification papers in a sheaf somewhere here, I also need a drink and some fuel for this bird if it's going to go back to Andrews." The man signaled behind himself keeping his arms in plain view and moving slowly showing no other action. "Oh, and I am tired so could we get this over with?"
The four soldiers crept slowly up, one unclipping a pistol. The military guards now formed in a ring around the single character didn't budge, barely flinching or moving otherwise.
"So could I get a drink? My drink canister just ran out and I really would like some juice soon if thats fine with you. Oh yeah I know I parked it badly but I thought that that hangar was empty." The man seemed to be more impatient than worried considering he had quite a few guns aimed at him.
"Well can I have an answer, or as they say in the movies... Take me to your Le..." At this point Brian Kemp and Arthur Parker wrestled the man down to the ground, using suppression holds to keep him still as Dominic Geller held a gun to the back of his head and John Poole frisked him pulling out a pistol, two combat knives and a machete before rolling him over.
"Geller, suppress any psionics you notice!" John Poole did not look happy and turned back to the man on the ground "Name, rank and unit."
"Mark Jorgenson, Private, Used to be Seargent, Apparently the division is something like plastique or C4."
"Pick him up, keep him covered." Parker and Kemp lifted Jorgenson to his feet keeping him immobile but facing the angry face of Master Seargent Poole. "Documents."
Jorgenson manouvered himself leaving one arm free for a second and pulled out a metal card before the arm was held again. Poole took the card looked over it and slid it into a small reader, scanned a section of Jorgensons arm then looked back extremely annoyed. "This transit order is for tommorrow, not today and you were meant to arrive with another group of soldiers!"
"What and trust someone else flying? Good-luck! I just heard there was a transport needed from here to send something to Andrews, I don't know the details - I just decided I'd drop in early." Jorgenson gave a half-smile "So what do I call you?"
Master Seargent Poole shook his head and nodded to the other two to let him go. Behind them, guns were lifted and the jeeps moved away.
"Jorgenson, if you ever pull a stunt like this again I am going to personnally beat the living crap out of you." Jorgenson smiled, nodded and picked up his equipment. "Oh and it's Master Seargent to you, Private."
"Don't worry Sarge." Poole turned and stomped off into the hangar while Parker helped Jorgenson organize the parking of the transport. The last thing he heard before moving into the base was "So now the essentials - where is the pub, where's the fuel and where can I place my shit?"
Another wonderful day in the corps...
Written on May 11th, 2000 by "Mark Jorgenson"