Stories by MaryLou Morning
Summer, 1999 -
Just outside of the immense doorway to the Rumah Bar, knots of people were talking and smoking. Carved in a large oval shape in a rich well-worn Teak, the entrance to the bar and restaurant resembled a towering muscular vagina. Between the edges of the entrance, stout strips of black Kevlar hung down and created a dark curtain concealing the three large men inside guarding the door.
“No, no. No, it has to be a hatchet.” Hank finally stuffed his large, calloused hands back into his jacket. It was a heavy jet-black leather duster, the kind the cowboy Regulators wore when they did business.
The crew of the ArkBoat Liberato Prime were all exceptional individuals; Captain Zimma gave them some interpersonal latitude when he could; after all, that and having children together was a critical part of this mission.
This mission was simple on paper: breach, locate, extract, exfiltrate, escape. On the ground, simple was the last thing a soldier expected.
“My shadow at Vandenberg says it’s an operational project they just launched. Disintermediation refers to a set of coordinated attacks up and down the pacific coast at communities like ours. Cut out the middle, the resistance collapses; now it’s easier to bust the flanks.”
Slipping from their moorings aboard the North Korean observation satellite ‘Kwangmyŏngsŏng-4, the EMP warheads didn't need a multi-stage rocket to deliver their special brand of misery.
"Well, tonight is kinda special," Janica said it as she looked out the window; a black city police van rolled past; large letters on the side: SWAT.
...between the beginning of everything and the end of whatever is left over.