From:    brendan.dillon@xx.xxxx.xxx
Date:    Thu Feb 12, 2004 2:55 am
Subject: Welcome to Afghanistan


Three men sat in a cave, somewhere in the Hindu Kush mountain range. They ate
flatbread and goat soup, and spoke in hushed tones, low enough that the
contingent of bodyguards near the mouth of the cave could not hear them.

"Sir, the attacks on the infidel coalition continue in Khowst," one of the men
began. "Further strikes on Kandahar are planned. The Americans and Oligarchists
still have not halted our supply lines to the Taliban remnants."

"Excellent," said the tall man, obviously the leader. He wore a camouflage field
jacket and a pakol hat, and held a Kalashnikov across his lap. He tugged on his
grayed beard thoughtfully. "What of our cells in the West?"

"We have several plans in motion," the third man spoke up. "This acting director
of the OCB, Brown, he cannot find his mokra with both hands. Though he did
manage to stop our plan to introduce a post-hypnotic call to martyrdom into
songs downloaded from KaZaA."

"I see," the tall man said. He then lifted a makeshift hand puppet to his ear
and made some whispery noises. "Hmm. Yes. Mr. Turban has suggested that I
release another audiotape. I think it's a good idea."

Just then, a sonic boom rumbled over the mountain. The three men prepared to run
deeper into the cave, in case it was a warplane come to target their position.
But instead, one of the bodyguards approached them.

"Sir," the guard began, "I do not understand. It looked as if a red automobile
was flying overhead."

"That's ridiculous," said the leader, but but as the beginning of another boom
could be heard, he carefully walked to the cave's opening to have a look.

A blue car, a 1960's Ford, crossed through the sky, following the first car. "A
flying car," the tall man muttered. "What dark Crusader magic could cause this?"

"I dunno," replied one of his lieutenants.

"Sir, perhaps it is the work of our French allies," said the other man. "You
know how they like their Jerry Lewis."

"No, no. I would have been informed. Besides, they would have used a Renault or
something." He lifted the puppet and made his whispering sound again, then
smiled. "Yes, certainly. Mr. Turban says that such a thing would be perfect for
operations in the West. At such a size, it could enter American airspace easily,
and would be quite inconspicuous once on the ground. We could use it for many
types of attacks."

"But sir... you just said that they must be evil."

"It's like everything else. It's only evil when *they* have it."

"Oh, yeah."

* * *

Brendan was working at his undercover position in the motor pool, when a call
came over his radio. "Duct Tape 42, this is Dragon 6. Switch to secure
frequency."

"Roger," Brendan replied, and walked out of the maintenance tent. He switched
the radio to a channel used only by himself and the Commanding General of Bagram
Airbase, Afghanistan. "Come in, Dragon 6."

"We've got trouble brewing. You know that Norman guy who's been raising Cain
back home? Well, I just got a report that he's on his way here in some sorta
flying car. And I doubt if he's here for the scenery."

Brendan grimaced. "Notify attack aviation. We'll give him a nice welcoming
party."

"There's more, sir. A couple of friends of yours are following him. They're the
ones who contacted Base Ops. They could get caught in the crossfire if it comes
to that."

"All right then, cancel the party, but keep a couple of Blackhawks in the air to
watch things, and keep me posted. Break." Brendan thought for a moment. "See if
you can get back in touch with my people, and tell them to meet me on the
flightline."

"Copy that. Dragon 6 out."

* * *

"We're approaching Bagram air space," Matthew announced on the Escort. "Do you
know specifically where to target?"

"No, I'm not sure what part of the base Brendan would be at," said Norman.
"We're going to have to make a landing, and find him on foot. Besides, we're
never going to ditch these bozos behind us in a bright red car. Take us down
over there."

Matthew began the car's descent, and landed on Disney Drive, the base's main
road. He parked next to the PX, and walked off with Norman, putting as much
distance as he could between them and the Escort.

"Dude, your shoulder sucks," Norman said. "Cronan's had more room to spread out.
And your collar bone's giving me a wedgie."

"If you don't like the accommodations, maybe you'd rather walk. I'm going to ask
this guy for some directions." Matthew approached a passing soldier. "Excuse me,
do you know where the Panther motor pool is?"

The soldier looked at Matthew's civilian clothes, and assumed he was one of Dick
Cheney's lackeys from Halliburton. He didn't know what to make of the
three-inch-tall blue elf, so he opted not to notice it. "Yeah, down that road
and to the left, just inside the Falcon City compound."

"Thanks."

* * *

Wayland received clearance to land, and pulled down onto the flightline. After
the landing, he turned and drove onto the corrugated "steel beach." The Mustang
vibrated violently as it scaled the ridges. "D-d-dude, th-his car's g-gonna have
n-no sh-shocks," Wayland said. "It'll b-be like the old G-Ghetto Sled all ov-ver
again."

"W-we'd be b-better off cutting th-through the m-minefield," Paul mused. "T-tell
me we h-have armor."

"Good idea," Wayland replied, pulling off of the "steel beach" and onto the
rocks and thin grass. The occasional explosion still rocked the Mustang, but not
constantly.

Eventually, Brendan stepped out of a tent, just as the Mustang was passing it.
He jumped into the back seat with a duffel bag. "Quick, go that way," he said,
pointing towards a hangar. "We need to hide this car before you blow my cover.
By the way, running over land mines is an attention-grabber. Try not to do it
anymore."

"It's good to see you too, Brendan," said Paul.

Once the Mustang was safely inside the hangar, the three of them got out. The
newcomers began looking around.

"Dreary, isn't it?" Brendan commented. "I'll give you the nickel tour when we
have time. Here, put these on." He reached into the duffel bag and pulled out
two desert-camouflage uniforms.

"Dude, don't you think our hair will give us away?" Wayland asked.

"We went through this on Y2K Eve, didn't we? Don't worry about it, I'll cover
for you."

Paul and Wayland went behind some tool bins to change. After a moment, Paul
walked out with his trouser legs halfway between his ankles and knees, and the
brown T-shirt damn close to splitting. "Brendan, what the fuck are you
thinking?"

"I'm sorry, it's all I could get at a moment's notice. Just don't wear the
jacket, and people will think you're a contractor."

Wayland stepped out a minute later in full uniform, with most of his hair
stuffed into his boonie hat. "And they said that my mental history meant I could
never wear one of these," he said with a smirk.

"Let's go," said Brendan. "We've got an elf to catch."

--
Brendan, the Duct Tape Avenger,  | brendan.dillon@xx.xxxx.xxx
GPG; 1SG, KPS OPC; SC, HQ, SURLI | http://www.holyducttape.com

"You've seen generals inspecting troops before. Just walk slow,
look dumb and act stupid." -Major Reisman, "The Dirty Dozen"