Peace Out (45 hits)
Category: UberMadness! EntryRating: 2 on 1 review (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Impassive-Digressive (View user info) at 2006-09-25 02:20:35 EDT
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Fierce whispers followed the two men as they strode down the corridor. For much of the populace, the mere privilege of setting foot upon this royal blue carpet is one they would never know. If they could, many would pause to admire the not-always-legitimately acquired art that sat like vast gilded barnacles upon the cream walls. Others would stand expectantly and wait, hoping for the opportunity to catch a glimpse of one of the famous and powerful people to whom the corridor simply formed part of a workplace.
Alas, with the Security Threat Level set at Cornflower Blue, all tours were cancelled, and there was nobody to witness the General advancing down the hallways, locked in a hushed debate with the Vice President.
"All I'm saying, Frank, is that perhaps we should keep this news under wraps until we receive more details." Vice President Dixon was rapidly growing tired of the argument. He knew that, regardless of the outcome, it was going to be a long day. Mentally, he was already removing a much anticipated dinner appointment with the mammararily gifted new secretary in the Press Office.
"I hear what you're saying, but he's the President for Christ's sake!" Hissed General Hawkins "He is about the only person that we can't cut out of the loop!" "Besides, Ambassador Cole is also one of his personal friends. Hell, it's no secret that he only got the job because of that bet the President lost."
"That's beside the point." Countered Dixon "All we know is that he is missing..."
"Presumed dead." Cut in Hawkins
"'Presumed' being the operative word. We don't know what happened. We need to have all the facts before taking this to the President - because with Cole involved, I don't think he will act rationally."
"Are you high, Andrew? If the President was capable of rational behaviour we wouldn't be having this conversation." Hawkins shook his head; he could deal with people with explosive tempers. He could even handle those who just broke down in crises. Fruitcakes like this President however, were not his forte, and he knew it.
"We have confirmation that we lost communications with the Ambassador's helicopter while it was flying near a guerrilla controlled zone. The President needs to hear about this."
"What I want to hear is why the Ambassador was flying in such treacherous airspace. Wasn't he briefed? Isn't shit like that marked on the maps you give these guys?"
"Oh yeah, sure. In big fucking letters. 'Here be monsters.' 'Here be whales.' 'Here be guerrillas with anti-aircraft weaponry.'" He snorted.
Dixon glowered at the sarcasm, but couldn't be bothered countering with some of his own. "Look Frank, the President is going to want to know how someone let this happen. And we both know that whoever that someone turns out to be, they'll be in shit so deep they're going to need scuba gear and a big fucking shovel to get out of it. If we don't have complete information, 'someone' could well be us."
Before Hawkins could fully consider the metaphor, they turned the final corner and halted abruptly at the end of the hallway, where an imposing door stood before them. He whispered to the Vice President "I still think he needs to be informed."
Dixon sighed, looking resignedly at the door before them. "Fine. On three." He stretched out his hand. "One... Two... Three."
"Bad luck, Andrew. My scissors beat your paper." Hawkins snipped his middle and index fingers together in victory. "We tell him." Grinning, he rapped on the door.
"Who is it?" Demanded a gruff voice from the other side.
"General Frank Hawkins and Vice President Andrew Dixon, requesting permission to meet with you Mr. President, sir." Replied Hawkins. (The President insisted at the start of his term that he be addressed at all times as either 'Mr. President, sir' or 'His Magnificent Excellency'. Most people, including his family, opted for the former.)
"What's the password?"
Hawkins groaned, and looked over at the Vice President for support.
"It's 'Sparkle unicorn', Mr. President, sir."
"Secret knock?"
Dixon leant over and tapped out 'Pop Goes the Weasel' on the door. No sooner had he finished when it opened and the President ushered then inside.
President Clarence Harvey was an unremarkable man to look at - mid sixties, balding, five-foot ten with a slight paunch. What is remarkable is that he became President. A fair to middling politician throughout most of his career, his wealthy friends and a series of lucky breaks - including the unexpected retirement of his predecessor and the (still unsubstantiated but) politically devastating paedophilia accusations levelled at the opposing candidate catapulted him to power.
If only people had more time to get to know him, they might have realised that he wasn't 'endearingly eccentric' as he had once been described, but something closer to 'as irrational as stuffing stuff a rabid meerkat down your pants' and paranoid to boot.
"Come," began the President "We can meet in my fort."
Their gaze drifted to a staggering structure of sofa cushions and curtains that had been erected around the President's mahogany desk. The President entered through the back and took a seat at his desk. Somewhat bemused his two subordinates parted the curtain and seated themselves opposite him in the relative darkness.
"Now then, gentlemen, what did you want to discuss?"
The General cleared his throat. "We have received a worrying report regarding Ambassador Cole, Mr. President, sir."
"Willy? Great man, William Cole. One of my oldest friends, don't you know?" The President chuckled. "Once bet me I couldn't lick my own elbow." He lowered his voice "He doesn't know that I've been practicing while he's been away. Pretty soon, I'll get there and win that bet back."
He raised his forearm to his mouth and strained to lick a patch of his suit near the elbow.
"See?"
Dixon acted quickly to end the stunned silence that followed. "Uh, very impressive Mr. President, sir." The President grinned broadly. "We must report that we have lost contact with Ambassador Cole."
"He wears glasses, not contacts." Interjected the President.
"I beg your pardon, Mr. President, sir." The Vice President was confused.
"Glasses, Dixon. William Cole wears glasses. Not contact lenses." The President explained.
"Sorry Mr. President, sir." Dixon met the President's gaze and slowed down his speech. "What I meant was that we no longer have contact with Ambassador Cole."
"He's missing, Mr. President, sir." Added Hawkins. "His helicopter was lost; we believe it was shot down."
The President's face fell, as the news sank in. After a pause, he looked across the desk at Hawkins. "Was it... terrorists?"
"We, uh, we haven't been able to confirm that yet, Mr. President, sir."
"This country we sent him to, it's got oil, doesn't it?"
"Yes, Mr. President, sir. Some of the biggest reserves in the region."
The President nodded knowingly. "Let me tell you men something: If there is one thing that recent history has taught us, it's that the more oil these foreigners have, the more terrorists they are harbouring." He slammed his fist on the desk. "It is our duty to seek out these terrorists and destroy them, before they can do any further harm. How quickly can we launch a pre-emptive strike?"
Dixon paled. "Mr. President, sir, we are talking about a sovereign nation, with a democratically elected government." He might as well have remained silent for all the attention his objection received.
"Hawkins, how many nukes do they have?"
"Uhh, none that we are aware of, Mr. President, sir."
"Excellent. How many do we have?"
"Hundreds, Mr. President, sir."
"Terrific. We can't lose."
The Vice President tried again.
"Mister President, sir, I think an invasion would severely damage this government's popularity - and our standing in the international community. Shouldn't we perhaps examine a peaceful solution first?"
"Poppycock, Dixon." The President gave a dismissive wave of his hand. "This administration has started more successful conflicts than any other - we have a reputation to uphold. War is back in favour, and peace is out like last year's fashions. Especially when you are winning them, like we are." Little flecks of saliva were starting to rain down on the polished mahogany desktop. "Peace is the same as doing nothing. Peace means that the terrorists win!" He fired an accusatory look at the Vice President. "Is that what you want?"
Before he could offer a resigned reply, the President cut in once again.
"You heard Hawkins, this country has more oil reser.. I mean terrorists, than almost anywhere in the region!"
Hawkins decided to weigh into the debate. "Mister President, sir, our military is already very stretched; it would be difficult to mount another invasion at this time. A peaceful alternative could be worth consideration."
"Some things in life are difficult, General!" Scolded the President, "This however, is not. War in. Peace out. Simple as that. If someone kills your friend, you don't offer them a peaceful solution, do you? No! You teach them a lesson! This will be 'Operation: Peace Out' - make it clear we aren't taking the soft option. William would've wanted it that way."
"'Operation: Peace Out', Mr. President, sir?" Dixon could feel his political future, and any chance of presidency falling apart right in front of him.
"That's right, Dixon. Has a nice ring to it, don't you think? Might even score us some points with the younger crowd. I hear that the phrase 'Peace out' is a popular one on the street. We could even get one of those Negro hippity-hop musicians to feature in the publicity campaign..."
Grinning at his own ingenuity, from the recesses of the President's jacket emanated the unmistakable tune of the 'Baby Elephant Walk'. The president retrieved his phone and answered it.
"Hello?"
"Willy!" The President looked bemused. "You found a phone in heaven?"
"You aren't? Dixon and Hawkins here just told me you were!" He shot a glance across his desk.
"Ran out of fuel? No kidding. Remember that time when we tried to hitchhike home from summer camp?"
"I know. I've never touched poison ivy since. I couldn't sit for a week!"
"Ok, glad to hear you're alright. I have a surprise for you when you get back."
"Let's just say that the next bet we have, you're going to lose!"
"Great. I'll talk to you later, Willy."
The President placed the phone back inside his jacket and glared at his two subordinates.
"William Cole isn't missing. His chopper ran out of fuel and he had to hitchhike to get to a working telephone."
Dixon sighed with relief. "That is great news, Mr. President, sir. I take it we will be shelving 'Operation: Peace Out'?"
The president furrowed his brow. "Hawkins, you know more about these things than I do. Does giving our Ambassador a bad pilot constitute an act of war?"
"I don't believe so, Mr. President, sir."
The President looked crestfallen.
"Not even if they have some of the biggest, uh, terrorist reserves in the region?"
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Submitted by TheUniter (user info) at 2007-06-05 12:42:31 EDT (#)
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