Forceworks #48

Compound of the former Freedom Force at Fort Meade, Maryland.

The operations center was a madhouse. Unopened boxes of equipment were in large piles hastily shoved against the walls of the room. Dusty communications and computer equipment, long unused, were being worked on by U.S. Army technicians rushing to get them operating at their maximum efficiency. Computer technology, in a constant state of rapid advance, had left the current computers outdated and in desperate need of an upgrade. In one corner of the room, some adhoc cubicles had been created by stacking some boxes into walls to separate the areas from the general level of chaos that had so consumed the larger part of the room.

The maintenance and upgrades work being done was under the supervision of a pair of civilians; one a gray-haired bespectacled man with the look of a mad scientist and the other a plump middle-aged lady with brown hair touched with gray. The man, Eugene Strausser, was a certifiable genius (some said a certifiable lunatic) in the fields of Construction, Applied Technology, Computer Design and Computer Programming. It was rumored that he had done extensive R & D work for classified government agencies in the past, but those rumors were unconfirmed. What was known for a fact was that he had spent the last several years working as the Head of R & D for Damage Control, Inc. and that he was currently in a similar position at Forceworks: the Project’s Director for Science and Engineering. The woman, Peggy Carter, was a veteran of SHIELD and had worked for the Avengers and Captain America in the past. Her bailiwick was Communications and considering the lengthy and acerbic butt chewing that she was delivering to a quaking female military technician, she took her job very seriously. In the makeshift cubicle in the corner was a very young, but intent man wearing a baseball cap facing rearward on his head. In addition, he was wearing headphones on his head to help drown out the din of the nearby workers. Considering the head bobbing and shoulder shaking that was going on it must be assumed that he was listening to some pretty rocking tunes. Looking down through the window of the Project Director’s office which sat up overlooking the operation center, Robin Chapel watched her new little fiefdom, Operations and Intelligence, try to get it’s act together. She was awakened out of her observational musings by the slam of a phone back into its cradle. As she turned around she spoke, “Personnel problems?”

Colonel Delbert Granville Tremens glared at her from behind his scrupulously clean desk and replied, “Yes Ms. Chapel. We have personnel problems. U.S. Agent just told me to go to hell. Said he wasn’t doing anymore work for the government.”

“So how many does that leave us with?” Robin asked.

“The same number we had four hours ago, four operators and the cripple. Six if you include me as mission commander,” Tremens snarled.

Robin was shocked. “You as the mission commander?”

Colonel Tremens snapped, “Is there a problem Ms. Chapel?”

Robin, trying her best to be diplomatic replied, “Well sir, you haven’t been in the field since you retired from the Army more than ten years ago.” She didn’t add, “Forcibly retired under suspicious circumstances.”

Tremens replied testily, “So what? I’ve kept myself fit and trim. I’m just as good as I was ten years ago, besides, two members of the team are considerably older than I. Both Frank Bohannan and Martin Fletcher are veterans of World War II for chrissakes!”

“That’s true sir, but both Crimson Commando and Super Sabre are mutants and Commando’s mutant powers deal specifically with the age issue, “ Robin calmly replied.

“Well, I am in command Ms. Chapel, not you. The decision is mine to make and I‘ve made it,” Tremens asserted forcefully. “I will personally command the mission to Costa Verde.” Tremens stood and walked to the window. “What’s the Freak doing?” The Freak was Tremens disparaging name for Bart Rozum, the man with the baseball cap in the corner cubicle.

“Keep your cool, Robin,” she thought to herself.

“Well sir, Bart is digging up all known relevant information about Costa Verde from both government and civilian databases to fill out the intelligence brief for the mission,” she replied tactfully.

“Well, I hope he does a good job. I don’t trust him. He is too young, has that long hair, listens to that wild music on duty and has a general level of slovenly sloppiness that I abhor. Hell, he even has pimples! By God, If he were a soldier under my command I would drum him out of here!”

Robin, getting a little testy at this point, “Well sir, he isn’t under your direct command, he is under mine. If you’ll remember the agreement….”.

Tremens waved his hands, “I know….I know…you don’t have to remind me of the agreement. You have authority to hire whomever you want for the Operations and Intelligence staff.” He wagged his finger at her; “You don’t have to remind me of anything Chapel! I am still your superior!”

Chapel glared at him for a moment then looked away, “Yes sir, I realize that. My apologies.” Chapel deftly changed the subject, “Sir, what are we going to do about operational personnel?”

Colonel Tremens replied, “Well, I suppose its time for Plan B, Ms. Chapel and don’t bother to even respond. Your objections were noted for the record yesterday. We have no choice but to move forward. Now, Don’t you have some work to do?”

Chapel moved to the door, “Yes sir, excuse me.” As she closed the door behind her and began trudging down the steps she thought, “Insufferable bastard….this whole plan is insane.”

At the same moment on an airplane bound for Washington D.C.

Three people sat in the passenger compartment of the Gulfstream III corporate aircraft. The sole female aboard the aircraft was a tall, muscular Hispanic woman lost in thought. She was battered and bruised, both mentally and physically, and had finally resigned herself to gazing out the window of the aircraft after trying and failing to fall asleep. Sitting nearby was a middle-aged man with a brown crewcut shot with gray and an unlit cigar clenched between his teeth. On the fold out tray in front of him was a laptop computer whose keys he pounded on like he was engaged in battle while continually muttering and cursing to himself. Sitting apart from the other two passengers was a black man with a shiny, bald head and a thousand-yard stare. He had recently reached into the depths of his own personal hell and seemed to still be locked there. The horrifying events, that had occurred a little more than a day ago, still had him trapped within his own mind as they replayed over and over in his head. He was briefly pulled out of his reverie when the pilot announced, “We are beginning our descent into Washington D.C;” however, he immediately sunk back into the empty spot inside his soul.

The Compound- Fort Meade, Maryland

Robin Chapel and Bart Rozum watched as the hard looking men and women swaggered down the hall towards the billets. Bart looked at Chapel questioningly. “Who are they?”

“Hired thugs,” Chapel replied angrily.

Bart stared at Chapel with his mouth gaping open. “You mean mercenaries?”

Robin didn’t even look at him as she strode out of the break room, “Yes Bart. Now get your ass back to work. The mission briefing is in two hours.”

Briefing Room at the Compound

Robin Chapel paced in front of the big-screen video display as she ran the events of the past couple of hours through her head.

The hired guns known as Hardcase and the Harriers had arrived and had received billets. Augmented by two old over-the-hill has-been superheroes and two survivors of the NYPD’s Code Blue who still seemed shell shocked, they formed the ground team that was going to be inserted into Costa Verde to get revenge for the New York massacre. “Where the hell are the clowns? Chapel sarcastically asked herself.

However, there had been one bright spot. One of the survivors for Code Blue, Mother Majowski, seemed to be a real find. He knew how to take information and distill it into a useful format. In addition, his skills and experience as the support person for Code Blue as well as his experience in tactical control made him a terrific asset. Within ten minutes of his arrival, he had taken charge of Rozum and was directing the intelligence efforts. “If I have my way he’ll be joining our Ops and Intell staff permanently. I don’t care how much he costs us,” she thought.

“Robin Chapel?”

Chapel, startled, spun around at the sound of the clipped British accent.

The tall, solidly built leader of the Harriers approached and extended his hand. “I would like to introduce myself. I am Sergeant-Major Harry Malone, formerly of the Royal Marine Commandos, formerly an agent of SHIELD and currently the Commander of the Harriers.”

Robin gingerly took his callused hand as he shook it gently. “Hello. Pleased to meet you, Sergeant-Major.”

He laughed and grinned. “I doubt that. I saw the look you gave us earlier upon our arrival. You can call me Hardcase or Harry, if you prefer.”

Robin couldn’t help but find him charming. “Ok Harry, what can I do for you?”

Harry Malone looked directly at her. “Well, it’s obvious that you don’t care for me or my team, so I thought I would do what I could to avoid a misunderstanding. While it’s true we work for money, we are all good people. We love our respective countries and every member of my team is a former agent of SHIELD. We would never do anything that might reflect poorly on ourselves and we avoid civilian casualties when possible.”

Robin fired back with a question, “If I may be so bold…why did your people quit SHIELD?”

Malone replied evenly, “Do you know anything about the problems SHIELD had a few years ago? Resulted in the original American version being closed down for awhile then resurrected by the United Nations?”

“Just what I read in the papers…some kind of scandal,” Chapel answered.

Malone’s face grew tight. “Well, when SHIELD got shut down the operation I was running fell between the cracks. Let’s just say that my group’s collective arses got hung out to dry and a lot of good people ended up dead. The members of the Harriers are the survivors of that group. As a result, even though we received personal apologies from the Executive Director of SHIELD, we refused to hook back up with the new SHIELD and went to work for ourselves.”

The door opened and people began to enter the room. “I understand Harry. Welcome to the team.” Chapel rapidly shook his hand and went to the front of the room. When everyone was seated, Chapel had Mother Majowski roll up to the front of the room and give an overview of what the press had dubbed “The New York Massacre.” Mother spoke in detail of the events on that tragic day. As he got deeper and deeper into the story the room fell completely silent, as the people present seemed transfixed by the tragedy. There were four villains involved with the attack. Their apparent leader was Tarantula, an assassin for hire that had fought the likes of Spiderman in the past. The other three were mutants who hired themselves out to anyone for the right price. One was Noise, a Mexican mutant with the power to generate sonic energy. He had been the one who blasted the hole in the side of the Conference building and in addition, had used his powers to slide the helicopter across the street and into a brick wall. Next was Zapper, a British mutant whose powers consisted of the ability to generate Electro-magnetic energy in the form of bolts from his hands. He had used his powers to shoot the helicopter down and had been the one who had vaporized the pilot. Finally, there was a sneering Irish-Argentine mutant named Stealth. He had demonstrated the ability to fly and seemed to be invisible to any sort of electronic detection. He had been carrying a submachine gun during the massacre and had been the one who had shot into the open doors of the helicopter. All four were deadly and obviously had no compunction about killing anyone whom got in their way.

Mother’s presentation was followed by a basic intelligence briefing, given by a very nervous Bart Rozum, describing the country of Costa Verde and it’s leader, Hector “the Razor” Gonzalez. It described his background, how he had run the island nation for the past decade and how the dictator was involved with the South American drug cartels. In addition, he provided the assembled personnel with a listing of the military assets in the army of the little nation. He ended by stating that all of the information was dated due to a lack of adequate tactical intelligence on the island, but it was the best available from U.S. sources. The question invariably arose, "What about getting intelligence from SHIELD?”

Tremens stood and asserted, “We are independent of SHIELD and won’t be receiving any intelligence from them.” Chapel thought back to the real story behind the lack of SHIELD support.

“Commander Bridge, we have an emergency situation and need to get some intelligence information from SHIELD,” Chapel had asked.

Bridge had nastily responded, “Listen…you people wanted Forceworks to be independent of SHIELD, so go ahead….be independent. Get your own intell.”

He had left Chapel listening to a dial tone.

Tremens continued his part of the briefing. As he lay out his tactical plan the people began to look at each other as if to say, “Is this guy crazy?” The plan basically rested on the idea that the team could just waltz into Costa Verde, strike the Presidential Palace, then waltz back out. He finished by stating, “I will be the mission commander for Operation: Retribution and I’ll be located in the aircraft, so I can respond rapidly to the changing situation. Considering that most of the personnel involved will be the Harriers, I am assigning Hardcase Malone as the ground commander. No questions? Good. We leave in two hours."

In a plane over the Atlantic several hours later.

“It’s a full load. No doubt about it,” mused Bobbi Chase AKA Blindside. She glanced around the passenger compartment looking over her companions. Two of the ‘cops,’ as the Harriers referred to the survivors of Code Blue, were sitting side by side on the other side of the plane. What were their names? Stone and Ruiz? The large Hispanic woman was leaning forward snoring lightly while the black, bald guy just seemed to stare into space out of those eyes with bags under them. Bet he hasn’t slept a wink since the massacre, she thought.

She looked up to the front of the compartment and observed what she had tagged as the “self-appointed brains” of the outfit. Hardcase and that cop, Mother, were both chewing on unlit cigars. They seemed to have hit it off right away, as both appeared to be tough proficient bastards. It’s a shame about Mother’s legs. Bet he was a tough SOB in his day. Also, seated with the two was Crimson Commando, who she vaguely remembered as some sort of hero from World War II. He’s old, but he seems like he’s “fit as a fiddle” as my daddy used to say. That pompous asshole, Colonel Tremens, was also sitting with them, but man he sure looked out of place. He basically listened to what the others were talking about and kept his mouth shut. Wait a minute, where was the other old guy?

She looked around and her eyes found him easily. He sure stands out in a crowd with that goofy pilots hat from those old movies and that odd looking blue suit. She snickered when she looked at him. Drool! He actually had drool dripping from his open mouth while he is sleeping! She laughed silently to herself. Seated on the floor near Super Sabre were the two card sharks of the Harriers. Louis Joubert AKA Timebomb, the team’s demolitions expert and resident lady killer, had that wicked grin of his showing and was speaking in that sexy French accent. She decided that he must have been winning when she looked at the little French’s opponents’ face. Jerome Henderson AKA Axe looked madder than hell. His temper was ferocious and his name came from the axe he carried for close combat. Axe had obviously reached his limit, she decide, as the black baldheaded man angrily ripped the cards in his hand into little bitty pieces and threw them at the laughing Frenchman. As she watched, the card scene attracted the attention of a trio of Harriers seated together.

Zeke Hamilton AKA Shotgun looked over the top of his perpetually present comic book and looked at the two card players out of those coke-bottled glasses. He then glanced back down and began to read again. Comic books? Gimme a break. How old was he anyway…twelve? Little kids read comic books… and why was he sitting next to Jesus? Probably hoping that some of his shooting ability will rub off on him. It has got to be embarrassing to be called “Shotgun” because your shooting is so shitty that’s the only weapon you can hit anything with. The pair of men sitting next to Shotgun were both non-Anglos. Jesus Suarez AKA Ranger was devilishly handsome and the most accurate shooter that Bobbi had ever met. He rarely missed. That’s why he was a natural choice to serve as the sniper for the Harriers. He was quietly engrossed in a conversation with the only Asiatic member of the team, Tom Nakadai AKA Warhawk. Tom was a Japanese-American who flew on SHIELD-designed Jetwings that allowed him to serve as the team’s aerial scout. Both men were quiet and thoughtful. Definitely they were two of the smartest and deadliest members of the team.

Amelia Greer AKA Longbow drew Bobbi’s attention, when her head slid down to Bobbi’s shoulder as she slept in the nylon bench suit next to her. Amelia was the only other female member of the Harriers, so naturally she was Bobbi’s closest friend on the team. In addition, she was as good with her bow as Jesus Suarez was with his sniper rifle. Bet she could give that Hawkeye guy a run for his money, she thought confidently as she gently slid Amelia’s head back upright. Sleeping in the seat next to Amelia was the team’s medic, Deacon AKA Lifeline. He was an expert at treating battle wounds and rumor had it that he actually was a M.D. before joining SHIELD. He was a healer in every sense of the word. Both body and soul. Besides being the medic, he was also the Harrier’s Father Confessor and Counselor. He was the closest thing to a father figure any of them had outside of Hardcase himself.

Who am I missing she thought? She starting counting heads then remembered that Andrei Semyanovitch Rostov AKA Piston was co-piloting the plane. He was an expert in the use of all sorts of vehicles and could operate and maintain automobiles, helicopters and aircraft equally well. Bet he can drive boats too she thought. His eyes had really lit up when he had seen what he would be helping to fly on the mission (and when he had seen how pretty the oriental female pilot, Genji Odashu, was.) The converti-plane was a top secret United States government VTOL aircraft that unfortunately had just finished it’s testing stage when the Cold War ended. As a result, this bird never got to fly. The only converti-planes in existence were the dozen sitting in the hangar at Fort Meade, so for Piston, she was sure flying the bird was pretty much a once in a lifetime event. In addition, the former Russian boxer was built like a man made of iron and constantly pounded a speed bag and heavy bag to keep in shape. Good man to have beside you in a dark alley.

She checked her watch and thought, “Well I guess I’ll catch me a couple of hours of shuteye,” and promptly shut her eyes and fell asleep.

Across the aisle, Stone had been running down the same list in his mind trying to recall the information in the personnel files that he had read about each person. He came to Bobbi Chase early on his mental list and recognized that she too was analyzing the strike team’s strengths and weaknesses. He thought, Bobbi Chase AKA Blindside, former agent of SHIELD. Belonged to something called the Esper Division for awhile. Possesses the power of thought suppression that makes her invisible to telepathy and mindreaders. Could be useful in the right situation. Seems smart and quick. Stone moved on to the next name on his mental list.

Five hours later in the converti-plane over the ocean

Tremens screamed, “What happened?” as the plane flew west towards Honduras.

Crimson Commando, sporting bloody bandages on his thigh and shoulder, looked up from tending a nasty wound on Jesus Suarez’s face. He saw where the bullet had entered the left side of the once handsome face then exited out the right side taking most of his teeth with it. “What happened? We got our asses kicked genius.”

Tremens looked around the passenger compartment. Stone, Suarez, Mother and Crimson Commando. Four he thought numbly. He demanded, “Where is everyone else?”

Crimson Commando ignored him.

Tremens looked over at Stone expectantly and the former cop wearily answered. “Dead or captured. Now shut the hell up.”

Stone sunk back into himself.

Mother was consumed with horror. “Oh my god! It happened again!”

Tremens, likewise consumed with horror, is thinking too. “I had a chance to redeem myself and failed. My career is finished.”

Washington D.C in a government building 8:37 a.m. the next day

Raymond Sikorsky’s head was in his hands. “That’s it. We’re finished. The mission was a total failure with nearly 90% missing or dead. Our answer is obvious.”

Judge Petrie, another member of the Commission, agreed. “Yes, we must cut our losses and close down Forceworks.”

NEXT ISSUE: What in the heck happened to the team in Costa Verde? Will Stone snap and go postal? Is Tremens’ career really in the dumper (and does anyone really care)? Will Forceworks survive? It’s a double-sized issue filled with politics, mayhem and some surprising character appearances.

LETTERS:

Dear Shan-

Forceworks certainly seems to be going in a fresh, amazing direction under your guidance. Issue #47 is another example of my love for non-action. The action that you would look for in some comics is within the dialogue in this type of story.

I have a little foresight from you already, but I can say that the characters you introduced and will be using are human as can be, and are both seriously likable and amusing, among other things. There is no doubt that your new run will be great, and I plan to keep reading.

-Will Short

WeekapaugB@aol.com

Greetings!

---Shan Kelley