Operation: Home Front: "...Gets Stuck With the Drinks"
	Author: Centurion A.P. Selene / Zaphyre

	A few hours later, Will and Selene were sitting in the tent that
was functioning as the C&C.
	Neither the room nor its contents were something that one would
expect from a usual Jihad command.  The seven roughly-hewn chairs, one of
which looked like it was missing a leg, surrounded a  beat-up, old table
that filled the center of the tent.  To one who was used to the finest in
technology and gadgets, the simplicity took a bit of getting used to.
	After getting through her initial shock over the sparse
furnishings, Selene had settled in quietly as Will filled her in on their
current status.  "So right now," he finished, "we find ourselves in a type
of stasis, due to the lack of reliable information."
	The Centurion shook her head in disgust.  "Figures.  I suppose
there's no way to insert additional resources?"
	"Nope.  Security is way too tight.  A couple of our patrols have
just missed being discovered as it is... I don't understand it.  We've
never had problems obtaining information on Spoungin' bases in the past."
	Selene sighed heavily.  "I can answer that one...  Rhyn."
	"As in Rhyn, the Liaison?"
	"That's the one.  I take it Command hasn't tried to contact you today?"
	He frowned.  "Should they have?"
	"Who knows.  Maybe they just expected me to pass the word.  In a
nutshell, the Nagenta Thug[tm] is still dead.  This whole escapade was
engineered and run by this Rhyn character.  Our best guess is that he's
hoping this will put him a notch above the others in the eyes of his
master."
	Will let out a low whistle.  "That explains quite a bit...  How'd
you manage to uncover that little tidbit?"
	She smiled.  "It's part of the reason why it took me so long to
arrive..."   Selene proceeded to describe her adventures and the subsequent
interrogation of the Wyrm minion.  Finishing her tale with her meeting with
Sam, she glanced up and was shocked to notice how pale Will had become.
	She immediately dropped her pen and rushed to his side.  "Will?
Are you OK? Say something, anything.  Are you ill?  hurt?  Is there
something I can do?"
	He gently placed a hand over her mouth to still the endless prattle
and gathered her close.
	"I just suddenly could picture my worst fears becoming reality.
You really had me worried.... I think I went out to that clearing twice a
day - more when I could get away with it."  Cradling her closer, he laughed
ruefully, "it became the joke of the camp.  I got so tired of people
needling me about it... but I couldn't help it.  I couldn't stand it if
something were to happen to you..."
	Selene snuggled deeper into his arms.  "Oh, Will. I understand you
feeling that way, but it's part of who I am, what I am.  I can't change who
I am for you, I won't.  I tried that once before, Grimace it seems like
ages ago."
	The flash of pain that the memories brought back was strong enough
that somehow even Will caught the traces of it.  His arms tightened around
her.
	"All it brings is pain... and heartbreak.  I won't go down that
road again.  And...  if you really care about me, well, you'll accept that
and accept me for who I am."
	He placed his hand gently on her chin, turning her to face him.
His eyes delved into her own, even as his words found their way to her
heart.  "Selene, I hope you know me better than that.  I would never ask
you - or anybody else - to change for me.  But that doesn't mean that I
won't worry.  I... you..." Unable to finished he pulled her tightly to his
chest, still somewhat surprised by how good it felt to hold this woman.
	Her thoughts were following along the same paths.  She couldn't
remember another time in her life when she had felt this happy, this safe,
this... loved.  *Oh Grimace,* she gasped as she suddenly realized where her
thoughts had been heading, *I can't be that far gone already, can I?  I've
only known this man for a little more than a week!  Though at times it does
feel more like a lifetime....  Oh, Grimace, help.... I /can't/ be in love
with him, yet... I just can't!*
	"Excuse me, pardon me!" a high-pitched, nasally voice intruded.
Selene jumped up as a short, skinny man pushed his way into the tent
carefully balancing a small mountain of papers in his spindly arms.
"Centurion Aphrodite Persephone Selene of the Doberman Empire?"
	She nodded uneasily.  "Yes?"
	He carefully placed the towering pile on the table, before holding
out his gnarled hand.  "Hubert T. Mooney, IV, of the Midwest Beta branch of
the IJT Corporation.[1]  I need these forms filled out - in triplicate - by
the end of the business day.  Then we'll be able to start covering the
vouchers you've been leaving in the nearby towns."
	The Centurion looked at him dumbfoundedly.  "What in the name of
Grimace are you talking about?"
	Hubert T. Mooney, IV, eyed her skeptically over the tops of his
horn-rimmed spectacles.  "You mean to tell me that somebody else has been
leaving vouchers in your name for..."  He pulled out a long list from his
inside jacket pocket.  "... 400 cases of Jolt[tm] cola, 300 lbs. of Pixie
Stix[tm], 1000 Hamburger patties,..."
	Selene glanced at Will,  "The supplies?"
	"Sounds like it to me."
	She sighed heavily.  "Very well.  Mr... Moneybags, was it?  I'll
have the papers for you by the end of the day."
	"In triplicate?"
	She glared at him, the flames in her eyes betraying her anger, but
the pipsqueek refused to even blink.  "Alright," she growled, "in
triplicate."
	"Good day, ma'am.  sir."  He quickly excused himself and strolled
out of the tent whistling a merry tune.
	Inside, Selene sat glaring at the gently swaying tower in front of
her.  "Stupid, paper-loving bastards.  I bet that the 'T.' in his name
stands for 'Tight-ass'.  Grimace, I wish I knew who the idiot was that
decided /I/ should be the one lucky enough to get to organize the supply
run. When I get through with him, he'll... I'll..."  Too upset to continue,
she completed the threat with a growl.
	Deciding wisely that now would be a good time to retreat, Will
practically leapt out of his chair and gave her a quick peck on the cheek.
"I think I'll let you get started on this mess, while I go finish some
other... stuff."  He scooted out of the tent without giving her the chance
to reply.
	Selene stared at the tent flap still swaying from his rapid exit.
	*Zaph, you don't think...*
	*Nah.  He'd never do something like this to you...  not even as a
joke.  Some of the others, though...*
	*Yeah, you're right.  I guess we might as well get started.*  She
stood up and gingerly plucked off the top sheet.  The pile teetered
slightly so she grabbed at it, managing to snare a handful of nothing as
the tower collapsed around her.
	*Wonderful,* she griped dropping herself into the closest,
paper-covered chair.
	Selene pulled out a pencil and had just started to read when the
chair collapsed.  Screaming in rage, she hurled the three- legged thing
across the table.
	*Feel better?* the dragon asked sarcastically.
	*Much.* was her response as she settled down on the floor and
started to fill out the first form, grumbling about what she'd do to the
twit who had the nerve to dump this job on her... once she found out who he
was of course.

	[1]: The IJT Corporation is the International Jihad Treasury,
Corporation.[2]
	[2]:  Currently taken over by the "paper-pushers" of America.

TBC in "A Drenched Dobermensch"