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Old 02-21-2012, 02:17 AM
SPEMack618 SPEMack618 is offline
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The Kremlin, 28 June 1950
Andrey Vyshinsky snarled at his “bodyguard” when he walked into his office. For one thing, the man’s suit was cheap and rumpled, secondly, it was obvious that we was wearing a pistol under his coat, and finally, most grating was the fact that soon Vyshinsky was going to have to ask the man’s boss for help. And that was a tacit admission of defeat. The capitalist lackey’s at the UN had indeed passed the Korean resolution, which Vyshinsky had said they were going to do, but Stalin hadn’t listened, nor apparently did he care. But now, now, the Capitalist lackeys were going to authorize the use of force to stop the Korean situation and Vyshinsky was no longer in the picture. That would attribute to a loss of face with Stalin, and that was never good.
“Valiy, what did you do during the Great War?” Andrey asked his “bodyguard”, who was in reality his watcher assigned from the NKVD.
“Comrade Minister, I fought the fascists for the Motherland.”
“Spare me please, what did you really do?”
“Sir, I, uh, well, I was in charge of a special detachment tasked with spreading fear and dissension among the fascist populace.”
“And how did you do that?”
“By any means necessary to the protect the State and the Party.”

Chekist bastard! He killed and raped his way through the country side while real soldiers, like my son, died fighting soldiers. Vyshinsky raged to himself, thinking about the war, his lost son, and the burning scar down the base of his neck. However, if anything, the man before him gave him an idea for a possible solution to this Korean mess. A good solution at that, if for him and not the North Koreans, who he was sure would be defeated by that pig dog MacArthur in a timely fashion. Little ungrateful yellow savages wouldn’t know what to do with the country anyway.

State, War, and Navy Building, 1 July 1950

Special Agent Calvin Landis quietly fumed to himself as he wilted in the heat of the Washington summer. The tall, stout Kentuckian hated Washington, hated the heat, hated the mosquitoes, and hated his new job. Counter-Espionage was great during War II, for it allowed him to feel as if he was making an actual contribution to the war effort, something his Purple Heart from the Big War prevented him from doing in uniform. He also disliked being so physically close to Director Hoover. He realized that as a young agent chasing bank robbers in the ‘20s, that he admired him from afar, however he had come to loathe sitting within verbal summonsing distance of the director. And he hated the stupid office firearms policy. He had worn a Colt Detective Special for twenty years under his arm. It was small and out of the way, and he ever had needed more gun, he had generally had either a Thompson gun or a Model 12 as his main weapon. But working out of Headquarters, he had to conform to Mister Hoover’s rules on appearance, which meant no visible shoulder holster straps. And that meant his damn revolver was digging into his side, was rubbing on his dress shirt, and was getting liberally covered with his perspiration. Fifty was too damn old to be somebody’s errand boy, which was what he felt like after being assigned to Washington. Take today for instance, he was supposed to be speaking with the head of the State Department security head over something concerning possible Soviet attempts on American diplomatic personnel. That caused him to snort in contempt.

His view of the Soviets was colored by his post-Great War service in the 31st Infantry Regiment. The “Polar Bears” as they were somewhat derisively known had been sent to Siberia after the Csar fell in attempt to stabilize the situation in some sort of damn fooled peacekeeping mission that then Corporal Landis hadn’t comprehended, for he was a recently transferred infantry man, who had served with Blackjack and beat the Huns in 17 weeks and was now babysitting damn Russian royalty. The Marines were supposed to be the ones who fought “small wars”, not the Army. Landis could only seethe as he waited for his appointment.
I like to think, that before that Navy SEAL double tapped bin Laden in the head, he kicked him, so that we could truly say we put a boot in his ass.
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