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Last Assignment


Captain Enema
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[b]Austria- Vienna[/b]

"Well that sorts out my things, I'll be leaving my collection of dirty magazines and coffee cups for you," Denard tells Dellion.

"The only question remains is how long you actually stay retired for this time around," Dellion snorts in reply.

"Forever, gonna teach my boy how to fish and set anti-personnel mines," Denard responds as he packs up the last of his personal effects from his office in Vienna.

"Why does a 14 year old need to know about AP mines?"

"You've met his mother, silly question on your part," Denard says with a laugh.

"Speaking of devils, just how is Rhellani doing these days?" Dellion asks about Mad Dog's former wife who he was married to during the Republic of Somal era.

"Little snow on the roof but plenty of fire in the furnace," Denard says as he labels the last of his boxes and stands up to leave.

"You going to miss any of this?"

"Hell no."

"Liar."

"You'll never get me to admit it," Denard concludes as he and Dellion leave his office.

"Sirs, excuse me sirs," a fussy little Austrian orderly says to get their attention.

"Yes," Denard says.

"Might I speak to Mr. Denard, he's a very important message," the Austrian Orderly announces.

"Is it about beer?"

"No sir."

"Hookers?"

"No sir."

"Blow?"

"Sir, I'm not sure of what this blow is that you speak of?" asks the Austrian with a bit of confusion on his face.

"Son, come with me, I'm going to walk, you are going to talk, and we'll spring by a particularly seedy looking corner on the way to the airport to finish your education into the Free Market System of Vienna at its finest," Denard orders as he keeps walking.

"Sir, I must insist, this message is of vital importance."

"Good god Bob, just let the man speak, it's probably important," Dellion says as he laughs.

"Very well, you may speak now," Denard says as he comes to a stop.

"Mugabe is rising," is all the Austrian says.

"Right Dellion, get my parachute ready and find me a map, my retirement can wait for a week," Denard orders Dellion as he turns and walks out the door with the Austrian Orderly in tow. The desire to complete the man's education properly is overwhelming, and what is life without a bit of corruption of morals?

Besides, the young lad looks like he's just out of puberty. A tumble in a den of ill repute will do the lad some good in Denard's opinion.

[B]Tessarim[/b]

"Hook up!" the jumpmaster screams.

"Hooked up sir!" the 65 Legion paratroopers and Denard affirms.

"Make yourself ready!" the jumpmaster screams.

"Ready sir," as the men begin to scratch their private parts and other weird antics designed to infuriate the jumpmaster.

"GO GO GO!" the Jumpmaster screams as the light in the rear of the C-130 switches from Red to Green.

The Skies above Tessarim are filled with Legion paratroopers all performing a HAHO jump in the middle of the day with smoke bombs of a variety of colors attached to their legs. Nothing special about the colors other than they look interesting and there are quite the few of them.

Just as Denard jumps he tries to remember if he had Dellion call ahead or not. Such is the price of age at the most vital of moments given the fact Dellion had not been ordered to call ahead. Quite the contrary, Dellion was under the impression Denard had called ahead and that it was required of him to do so. This ought to end well.

"OH well, I'll find out in a second," Denard says jumps out the rear of the plane screaming, "HOLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLY SH...."

Edited by Tidy Bowl Man
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The recently formed military forces were still going through boot camp, learning the ins-and-outs of military practice. Which left the soon to be disbanded-and-reformed Hanseatic Foreign Legion, and recently retired Commandant and now number 2 man in Strigia, Christopher Khendon, to deal with the mess. Temporarily re-activated for this occasion (They had working radar up now, and thus had picked them up before their entrance into Strigian Air-Space, Khendon and his still active Command Sergeant Major, Sergeant Major Mugabe, took a team of 100 picked men armed to the teeth and set up an ambush/murder point for the arriving members of the Legion.


"Well Mug", Christopher said with a laugh, "I think this is a perfect way to end my time with the Legion. Whaddya think?"

The ancient Sar-Maj smiled grimly. "Well Sir-"

Chris intervened at that instant. "I told you, if you insist on official titles, I will insist on being adressed as Majestic Grand Poobhah of the Military Order of Fraternal Brotherhood and Motivated Young Legionarres Ready to do Battle, SIR!"

Mugabe laughed. "Fine...Khendon, I think you shouldn't have gone back to the political game. The Legion is going to need you sir."

Christopher nodded. "You'll take care of it, brother. My re-placement will be stepping on deck soon, and I think you will find that he has quite abit of potential...

Meanwhile, the men waited for the drop...and orders to fire.

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Denard looks down from the tree that he is hung up on and decides the best measure is to use a great deal of profanity. If he cuts himself free he's going to land in a patch of someone's prized roses, if he just dangles like a puppet on a string he's apt to be seen as target practice by a wayward farmer.

On the other hand, there is something to be said for dangling rather than being impaled in a rose bush. With this critical bit of intelligence determined Denard looks around a bit before shouting, "Sound off!"

"Here sir!" is the only reply he gets.

"Where are you?" Denard asks back.

"Fell in a latrine sir!" the voice replies.

"OK just stay there... don't come near me." Denard replies.

The other 63 Legionnaires touched down in the city park and were busy rolling up their parachutes and talking to the rather surprised locals. On one edge of the park they see an entire company setting up for what appears to be a rather large boot in their behind. The Company Commander whispers to the paratrooper next to him and says, "You think maybe one of us ought to go politely talk to those guys with the machine guns?"

"Probably a good idea sir," the paratrooper replies.

"Ok get moving," the company commander replies.

"Officers lead the way sir!" the paratrooper replies sarcastically as he hands his side arm to the man standing next to him. The Legion Paratroopers dropped only with their regulation sidearms. Nothing more as it is a diplomatic mission and the pistols were more for the off chance they accidentally landed in a pasture with an enraged bull or some such thing.

"Move it trooper," the Company Commander snarls as he notices a platoon of his men lining up to buy snow cones. He sighs and decides the best course of action is to join them. If you can't beat them, might as well join them he thinks to himself.

And really, he is slightly outnumbered 22 to 1, so there is no way he's going to be able to kick the collective arses of the entire 1st Platoon.

The luckless paratrooper walks across the park with his hands held where everyone can see them as he approaches the Hanseatic forces and he says, "I come in peace, take me to your leader, and by the way have you seen our leader?"

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Khendon drew his pistol, enjoying the chance to make a good show for the boys before his retirement.


"You will not find me long-winded, soldier. State your name, rank, National affiliation, and service number, and surrender any and all weapons on your person. We will be sporting and not torture you for information, provided you cooporate and allow us to take you peacefully into custody. We will however need contact information with your government in order to ransom you for a king's sum."


Mug walked up, and tugged on the old officers soldier. "Sir, look at his uniform...there is only one service like that..."

Khendon blinked and allowed his eyes to focus. "Why, blast my eyes! It's a bloody Legionarre! Son, what the hell are you doing in these parts and why did ya decide to jump into my territory?" He let his gun fall to the side. "Where is your CO? The Legion and we are kin, we are; Mug, grab the Field Whiskey and let's have a sit and talk this thing out."

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The paratrooper was half way finished dropping his toenail clippers on the ground as the only weapon in his possession when he heard the order called for whiskey. Well that is if they were willing to let slide the brass knuckles, sap, and three hidden knives he has on him. Since they didn't seem to bothered about the weapons bit he returns his toenail clippers to his pocket and says, "Well, I think we got separated during the jump. Denard bailed out last and I reckon he got caught in an upwind or something that carried him off the DZ."

As he finishes he hears a voice come over his tactical radio that whispers into his ear, "Oi mate, did they really say something about whiskey?"

"Affirmative," he replies.

"Any sign of Denard?" the voice whispers into his ear again.

"Negative," he replies.

"Best we just sit tight, ask the fancy one in the middle if they need any help with that whiskey," the rather grizzled looking CSM rumbles over the tactical radio.

"Sir, should the Captain be passing this order?" the paratrooper asks.

"He's busy getting a snow cone."

"Oh, do they have blueberry?" the paratrooper asks.

"I'm eating one now."

"CSM, be a good chap and buy me one also?" the paratrooper asks.

"Jesus H Christ! What the bloody hell is my Legion coming to! Get your own damn snow cone!" the voice screams into the paratroopers ear piece.

"Sir, my Company Sargeant Major wishes to know if you need any help consuming that whiskey. He'll be over in a bit, I think he's getting another snow cone," the paratrooper asks as he looks a little embarrassed.

--------------------------------------------

Rose Garden, middle of who the hell knows where...

Denard swings himself back and forth on his risers as he holds his knife in his free hand. If his knowledge of basic physics is correct he'll be able to wait until he's in just the right motion to cut himself free and he'll be thrown clear of the roses. Well at least that is the plan.

Denard is a great many things, but theoretical physics is just not his forte. Still, the basic concepts could be sound in a perfect world with a perfect situation. Providing that perfect world is a cartoon world where coyotes chase road runners whilst strapped to missiles bought from ACME. As this isn't such a perfect world the entire idea invariably comes to a dismal end for Denard as he's thrown against the tree and sent tumbling to the earth in a pile of cuts, bruises, and curse words.

The other Legionnaire, a Lance Corporal, is well occupied laying on the ground and laughing hysterically at the entire badly performed comedy. Denard manages to find his way to his feet and he grumbles, "Sons a @#$#@@ that was my favorite knife, did you see where it went?"

"N.. No.. noooo.. ahahahhaah.. No.. gasp.. no.. wheeze.. giggle.. ahhahahah. siiir!!" is the reply offered by the Legionnaire Paratrooper.

"Well, I can always get another one I guess, let's find a garden hose and get you cleaned up," Denard orders as the two men find a supply shed with a garden hose mounted to the side of it. Denard sprays the malodorous Legionnaire down as the man holds his arms in the air and slowly turns around to get the less than welcome deposits cleaned off his uniform and out of his hair.

"You get it all sir?" the paratrooper asks.

"Ah stay quiet, I'll tell you when I'm done, and back in my day we didn't land in god damn latrines," Denard snarls.

"Wasn't that like 300 years ago sir?" the paratrooper asks.

Denard sighs and just keeps on hosing the paratrooper down. This indeed is a good time to retire. He's too damn old to be jumping out of planes anymore. 'Good time to take up fishing and maybe write a book,' Denard thinks to himself.

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