MagicPocket
EMT Extraordinaire
Lieutenant Colonel Palmer, still looking tense from the demoralizing covert ops training, stood at the front of the classroom. He opened a case on the desk and took out a James Bond-like handgun. "This is a Beretta M9, a semiautomatic pistol," he said, being careful not to point it at anyone. "Its one of the safest and best-designed handguns in the world and is standard issue for several branches of the U.S. military." Blaire raised her hand. The lieutenant colonel seemed to go a little pale but ignored her. "Capable of handling fifteen-round magazines, this weapon has proved to be one of the most reliable and accurate--" Blaire waved her hand back and forth. Impossible to ignore. Palmer tried looking stern, "This had better be good," he said, gritting his teeth. Blaire was unfazed. "The Beretta is great and ll," she said earnestly, "but I've heard the military-issued model tends to jam something awful. People thing it's the weird finish on the barrels. Plus, it's supposedly really heavy, bowling ball heavy. Kind of like the all-steel M1911 model. And then the trigger's too far away for most people...So I've heard." Blaire had rattled it off almost exactly from memory, she found it fascinating how humans used the things to kill each other...what ever happened to a good old-fashion fist fight, or a sword duel. Now you just pick up a gun and shoot someone. But she liked to read magazines and things when she got the chance, they were actually interesting to her--not that she would ever need to use a gun to kill someone...what a cheap-shot death, she would prefer to deal it with skill.
Lieutenant Colonel Palmer was nonplussed. Again. Blaire blinked. "Um, it's still a really neat gun, though," she said. "Fun fact: Jam the spring from a clothespin right under the safety when it's in the left-hand mode, then pull the trigger, and it'll explode about two-point-nine seconds later. I mean, throw it first." Blaire grinned proudly, so much for "safest and best-designed in the world". About a minute later, the lieutenant colonel rubbed his eyes. "Class dismissed."
--
Khaki Lady, whose name was actually Lieutenant Morgan, sat at her desk, reading Lieutenant Colonel Palmer's report. Every once in a while she looked up at the Flock sharply, as if she were having trouble believing it. Finally she put it down and laced her fingers together. "So you're saying these children can easily run for four miles carrying heavy packs?" The lieutenant colonel was looking straight ahead, "Yes, ma'am." The Flock was lined up against one wall. "They out performed the rest of the cadets in every way?" Morgan said. "Yes, ma'am." "The nine-year-old beat your best cadet in hand-to-hand combat?" "Yes, ma'am, he beat the instructor also."
Blaire tried not to grin, but somewhat failed. The self-defense instructor had given them all a pass, but the hand-to-hand combat instructor had been more stubborn. For a while. Blaire made sure to dish out she wasn't able to give to the self-defense teacher--without breaking the poor guy, he really did try hard, they were all just too good for any human to keep up. "So, like, we want to thank you for this great experience..." she began, shifting from foot to foot. "But now that we've gone through all your BS, can we go rescue my brother and Lillie?" The lieutenant looked between the older Flock members, "Yes," she said finally. Blaire heart lept. "Tomorrow." "What?!" "We're putting you on the USS Minnesota," she went on smoothly. "Which is a state-of-the-art, Virginia-class nuclear submarine with many enhanced offensive and defensive capabilities. It's on its way here now from San Diego. It will arrive here at oh-three-hundred hours tomorrow, will refuel, and be ready to deploy at oh-six-hundred hours. You will be waiting on the dock at that time. If you are two minutes late, it will leave without you. In addition, while on board the USS Minnesota, you will obey every senior officer without question, you will comport yourself with decorum and maturity, and you will do nothing to endanger the ship, its cargo, or its personnel." Blaire opened her mouth to say something, but the lieutenant plowed on. "Failure to follow these rules to the letter ill result in your being disembarked at the closest possible location, and the mission will be scrubbed. Do I make myself perfectly clear?" Her icy blue eyes raked each of the Flock one by one. "Oh-six-hundred hours then," she said curtly. "Dismissed,"
Lieutenant Colonel Palmer was nonplussed. Again. Blaire blinked. "Um, it's still a really neat gun, though," she said. "Fun fact: Jam the spring from a clothespin right under the safety when it's in the left-hand mode, then pull the trigger, and it'll explode about two-point-nine seconds later. I mean, throw it first." Blaire grinned proudly, so much for "safest and best-designed in the world". About a minute later, the lieutenant colonel rubbed his eyes. "Class dismissed."
--
Khaki Lady, whose name was actually Lieutenant Morgan, sat at her desk, reading Lieutenant Colonel Palmer's report. Every once in a while she looked up at the Flock sharply, as if she were having trouble believing it. Finally she put it down and laced her fingers together. "So you're saying these children can easily run for four miles carrying heavy packs?" The lieutenant colonel was looking straight ahead, "Yes, ma'am." The Flock was lined up against one wall. "They out performed the rest of the cadets in every way?" Morgan said. "Yes, ma'am." "The nine-year-old beat your best cadet in hand-to-hand combat?" "Yes, ma'am, he beat the instructor also."
Blaire tried not to grin, but somewhat failed. The self-defense instructor had given them all a pass, but the hand-to-hand combat instructor had been more stubborn. For a while. Blaire made sure to dish out she wasn't able to give to the self-defense teacher--without breaking the poor guy, he really did try hard, they were all just too good for any human to keep up. "So, like, we want to thank you for this great experience..." she began, shifting from foot to foot. "But now that we've gone through all your BS, can we go rescue my brother and Lillie?" The lieutenant looked between the older Flock members, "Yes," she said finally. Blaire heart lept. "Tomorrow." "What?!" "We're putting you on the USS Minnesota," she went on smoothly. "Which is a state-of-the-art, Virginia-class nuclear submarine with many enhanced offensive and defensive capabilities. It's on its way here now from San Diego. It will arrive here at oh-three-hundred hours tomorrow, will refuel, and be ready to deploy at oh-six-hundred hours. You will be waiting on the dock at that time. If you are two minutes late, it will leave without you. In addition, while on board the USS Minnesota, you will obey every senior officer without question, you will comport yourself with decorum and maturity, and you will do nothing to endanger the ship, its cargo, or its personnel." Blaire opened her mouth to say something, but the lieutenant plowed on. "Failure to follow these rules to the letter ill result in your being disembarked at the closest possible location, and the mission will be scrubbed. Do I make myself perfectly clear?" Her icy blue eyes raked each of the Flock one by one. "Oh-six-hundred hours then," she said curtly. "Dismissed,"
