Operation Pacifica: A Spider In The Web
by Admiral J-Rock, TRES Corps




"There are two gates of Sleep, one of which is held made of horn and
  by it ghosts have easy egress; the other shining fashioned of gleaming white
  ivory, but deceptive are the visions the Underworld sends that way to the
  light." - Virgil, _The Aeneid_



PETTING ZOO FOUND IN SPONGIN CITY
PACIFICA ISLAND, 1932 HRS. ISLAND TIME
DAY TEN OF OPERATION PACIFICA


 Icy water washed over the Lost Viqueen, rousing him somewhat rudely
  from his dreamless sleep. He moved a hand to clear his eyes, only to find
  his wrist meeting resistance. Opening his eyes, he found that he had been
  tied spread-eagled to the fence at the edge of the moose pens.


 "Wakee-wakee," Slider the Feral (NYAR!) said, idly tossing a metal
  bucket off to one side as he walked toward the Viqueen. "I've gotcher wevver
  forkast fer tonite: cold rain, loightnin', funda, and yer 'ead stook on dat
  gate if ya don't tell me wot me an' da boyz wanna know!" Behind Slider,
  Windigo, Sheridan, and Sabine stood or sat in various positions, with the
  latter playing with a young moose calf. Slider immediately put his face
  precisely one inch from Paaaaaal's and yelled, "YA GOT DAT?!?!?!"


 "I will tell you nothing!" the Viqueen hissed.


 "Bukkit," Slider said, extending a hand toward Sheridan, who put
  the empty bucket in his hand. Slider then clouted the Viqueen on the head
  sharply with the bucket, making a nice dent in both bucket and skull.


 "Now listen! All dis time we've been gettin' nuffink but statik
  from da Lyruns, see. And yer bein' wit' dem would meen an ass-kickin' for ya
  normully."


 "So why not send me to Odin already? I am ready for Valhalla!"


 "Becoz dey've got sum uv our boyz lokked away, dat's why! Dey could
  'ave showed ya where dey 'ad dem!"


        "Now you see why we'd keep you alive rather than slitting
  thine throat?" Sheridan asked.


        Slider made a "Hook 'em Horns" sign under Paaaaal's chin,
  bracketing his face with the forefinger and pinky Claws (tm). "Don't relax
  too much, tho'... it woz a tuff choice!"


 "Torture me all you want," the Viqueen said. "You still won't get
  anything!"


 "Torcha... dat's a good idea," Slider said. At that point, Sabine
  got up from where she was sitting and came over to the tied-up Viking-
  wannabee.


 "Before you do anything to him," she said, "I want to see if
  something I've always heard about Vikings is true." With that, she
  lasciviously undid the belt that held the Viqueen's pants up, and looked
  through the resulting gap. Her eyes went wide for a second before she
  stepped away. With an evil grin, she took his belt off and snapped it across
  his rear. She turned to Slider and said, "Yup. He's regimental, all right.
  What'cha planning to do?" [1]


 Slider walked over to Sabine, bent down slightly, and whispered
  something in her ear. When he was done, she looked over at him and said,
  "I'm not sure I believe what I just heard from you."


 "Ya gotta admit, it's effektiv for wot we want outta 'im. Dat, and
  it 'as a poetik ring to it."


 Sabine looked over toward the Lost Viqueen. "Eep!" she exclaimed.


...



MEANWHILE, IN A TOWER FAR, FAR AWAY...


# Ozzy Osborne "Diary Of A Madman" _Diary Of A Madman_


 Charn'El, High Mage of Lyra, Summoner of the HellWyrm, sat in
  contemplation. Meanwhile, Abtr'El, the Eighth Circle mage who functioned as
  Charn'El's exec, paced the room like a worried father, or at least as close
  to that state as Lyrans ever got. "Why aren't we moving to crush the Jihaddi
  in the city now?" Abtr'El asked.


 "Patience, Abtr'El," Charn'El responded. "Prey comes willingly to
  the spider who waits patiently in the web."


 "But their leaders are isolated from them! We should attack!"


 "Yes. We have seperated their leaders, especially CyberPyro, from
  the main force, but even then the battle is far from over."


 "If you ask me, we should not be sitting on our thumbs waiting for
  the 'heroes' of the Jihad to do heroic things."


 "Go supervise the Jihaddi torture. It'll do you some good."


 "But.."


 "Leave me! Everything is still proceeding according to plan!"


 As the gaunt Lyran left the room, the High Mage of Lyra cupped his
  chin with a bony hand and thought aloud. "Even with CyberPyro, Samhain, and
  J. FoxGlov cut off, J-Rock, Windigo, or (Slaanesh forbid) Sheridan can fill
  the vacuum. The problem is to take care of them, and let the battered
  remnants dash themselves against my legions. It is time once again for
  subtlety." A smile crept across his face as an idea entered his mind.
  "Domination via illusion," he laughed. "That will do quite nicely. It's a
  shame Most Holy isn't among them. With no resistance, he would be perfect
  for this plan.


 "J-Rock would be my second choice, but he has become more powerful
  after the Viqueen struck him down. The powers of the fae would complement
  his Solar Ishtari-taught mental resistance. But there are others among their
  number who have power, but not the power to resist. They shall prove
  useful..."



...



JIHADDI LANDING FORCE HQ
OUTSKIRTS OF SPONGIN CITY FACING JUNGLE
PACIFICA ISLAND, 0658 HRS. ISLAND TIME
DAY ELEVEN OF OPERATION PACIFICA


 Slider was right: for what he wanted out of the Lost Viqueen, the
  torture he had in mind was both poetic and effective. The details of the
  interrogation are not for mixed company, but it can be said that the moose
  calf and the Viqueen's regimental status of dress figured heavily into the
  methodology. (If you really must know, go rent "The Cowboy Way". -- J-R)


 After five minutes of this, the interrogators had a place: within
  the bowels of the tower they had spent all day trying to reach. It was
  located near the northeastern tip of Pacifica Island, inaccessible by
  landing craft due the sheer cliffs ringing it to the north and east. The
  only way to get to it was by traversing 30 miles of real estate that got
  worse the closer you got to the tower. And on top of all that, CyberPyro
  checked in, only to delegate his authority to J-R and Matt Korth before
  leaving once again. Not to mention that there was no sign of J, and they'd
  lost contact with Samhain.  That in turn ruled out the possiblity of using
  the _Freedom's_ ragged attack squadrons as tactical ground support for fear
  of hitting any hard-charging stragglers.


 And J-Rock (who by now was back in his 'normal' seeming) didn't
  like this one bit. He was currently leaning back in whatever chair could be
  found in the main headquarters tent, listening as everybody else reacted to
  this latest turn of events.


 "Whaddya mean he's gone?" Yearnshaw asked plaintively.


 "I didn't stutter," Sheridan replied.


 "Great," Mal sourly observed from his corner. "CP decides that
  _now_ is the time to play Doom: The Ultimate Experience."


 "How long's he been gone?" Palaemon asked.


 "Five hours, seventeen minutes," Sheridan responded.


 DarkSide threw up his hands. "Ferals," he growled. "Go figure."


 J-Rock bit back a retort like bitter medicine as DS continued with,
  "What else can you expect..." Instead, he saw Sheridan pick up a pointer
  stick and hold it like a samurai would a katana, grinning an evil grin as he
  did so.


 "Um.. uh.. DS," Mal replied, trying in vain to warn DS of impending
  doom.


 "I mean, really!" DS continued in blissful ignorance as Sheridan
  reared back to strike. "What else-- OUCH!!" At that moment, Sheridan brought
  the pointer down, using just enough force to sting.


 "He didn't do this for light reasons," snapped Sheridan. "I have no
  choice but to abide by that decision, as must we all."


 "Not all the Maenads have gone on their own," J-Rock snarled, soon
  gathering the attention of everyone else in the room. "Look at us! If the
  Lyrans saw us now, they'd be busting a gut laughing at us doubting
  ourselves, and doing their work for them! What we need to do is to figure
  out a way to move further eastward. We're dead if we stay here! The Maenads
  may well be our last, best hope of breaking through!


 "And I ain't even gonna address the disapperance of CP, Sam, and J.
  I'd get mad at too many people who have nothing to do with this at all. But
  I do know that if they were here, they'd be asking for the same thing. If
  anyone wants me, I'll be around. I need to get out of this room." And with
  that, he turned around and left.


 Mal shared a glance with Sir Tim. "Battle fatigue," Mal said.


...


 "Well, this is for sucks," J-Rock said sourly inside a house being
  used as a temporary headquarters for what was being called Army Group B.
  "Who knew there would be _this_ many Spongin on the island?"


 "I don't think any of us have the answer to that," Yearnshaw noted.


 "So why don't we go after them and finish them off?" DarkSide
  asked.


 "Right now," J-R intoned, "both sides are like punch-drunk prize
  fighters, staggering around the ring. One good punch would send any of them
  to the canvas... or so the Lyrans would have us believe.


 "The trick is there's more of them than there is of us. Right now,
  the logical thing to do would be to clinch like crazy and wait for the bell.
  They'll be waiting when we've regrouped."


 "How can you be sure that they would have reinforcements?" Sabine
  asked.


 "If Operation Phoenix taught me anything, it's to expect the
  unexpected. That, and not to take anything for granted," J-Rock added, mouth
  etched in a grim line at that last statement.


 "Ye got that right, demon!" DS bellowed, reaching back for his
  claymore.


 "DarkSide, have you gone completely native?" J-Rock asked, nimbly
  stepping away from an overhead swipe that cleft a table in twain. He
  promptly pinned Darkness in place with Da Holy Sibling-Sawblade before
  standing on DS's foot. An elbow to his chin made DarkSide lose his grip on
  the enchanted claymore and stagger across the room.


 "Ye bastards 'll never take me alive!" DS shouted as spines grew
  out of his back and his skin darkened. Within seconds, DarkSide had been
  replaced by DarkImp, and he was not a happy camper either...


# Clutch "A Shogun Named Marcus" _Transnational Speedway League_


 The imp immediately threw fireballs across the room, which only
  succeeded in scoring scenery. One of the fireballs blossomed near Sabine,
  causing her to dive out of the way and recoil from the burning remains. Fire
  and sunlight are the twin banes of vampiric existence, and Sabine rightly
  feared both of them.


 J-Rock looked briefly at Sabine, who was obviously in fear of her
  unlife, before turning toward DarkImp with utter contempt in his eyes.
  "Now," he growled, "you're pissing me off." Electricity played around him
  like a Jacob's ladder as his fae seeming asserted itself. In almost the same
  amount of time it took DarkSide to become DarkImp, Slider the Feral (NYAR!)
  had come out to play once more. "Ya wanna peece o' dis?" he asked.


 The first thing Slider noticed about the imp was that its aura
  wasn't reading like it normally would coming from DarkSide. For starters,
  there was a lavender tinge to it. 'Aw sneck,' thought the redcap, 'he's been
  ensorceled. How do I make him see that?' Any more rumination had to wait,
  for DarkImp had spotted his Firebomb Rifle (tm). "Oh no ya don't," Slider
  said, grabbing the imp by the neck and interposing himself between imp and
  door.  "Da only way yer gettin' dat is over my arse!"


 DarkImp merely drove his fist into Slider's gut, getting a pained
  grunt out of him before Slider dealt him a cruel backhanded slap, which
  raked the side of his face with barbed wire. Blood welled up from the
  lacerations as DarkImp readied a fireball. In his eyes, the time for playing
  around was over. He tossed the fireball at Slider, pretty sure he'd hit bang
  on target.  The explosion from the impacting fireball told him so, at any
  rate. After all, if his quarry was going to take the time to scratch an itch
  in the midst of battle, then he deserved whatever he got.


 DarkImp suddenly felt a kick to his midsection. Crumpling to the
  floor with pain, he saw a perturbed and _unharmed_ Slider deliver another
  boot to his stomach. Pointing a finger at his blood-red hair, Slider said,
  "How many timez do I havta tell ya? Red wunz go fasta!"


 DarkImp sprung back up and tackled Slider to the floor. As he
  reared back an elbow spine, Slider caught it with his left hand and placed
  his right palm under DarkImp's chin. "Yer bein' used," he said. The imp
  brought his other elbow spine back, but before he could bring it back down,
  Slider threw a knee into his crotch.


 The redcap used the momentary surprise to flip DarkImp over on his
  back. Grabbing the imp's left wrist with his right hand, he locked his own
  left elbow spine with DarkImp's right and used his left hand to push the
  head to the left, where a free-standing mirror was. "Da Lyruns are usin' ya,
  see," Slider grunted, pulling the imp's head back to look at him for a brief
  second before pushing it back to look at the reflection, which showed a view
  much different than what his eyes without the mirror were showing him.
  "Dey're mukkin' wit' yer mind, makin' ya see wot isn't troo. Dey're doin' it
  ta make ya attack us insted uv goin' to give dem a taste of boot leather.
  Now knokkit off and act like a Jihaddi, all roight?!"


 DarkImp went limp as the spines grew back into him and his skin
  color lightened. "Dang," DarkSide said as he regarded himself and Slider on
  the floor, "I had no idea my anger could be used against us."


 "Relax," Slider said, getting to his feet, "you'll be reddy for da
  next time."


 "Did you have to hit me that hard?" DS asked.


 "Wot're friends for?" Slider extended a hand to DS, and as he took
  it, Slider pulled him to his feet. "Ya okay, Sab?" he asked as jry came in
  with a fire extinguisher and hosed down the fires.


 A nod and a smile from her told him she was safe. "This whole
  island seems like one giant trap," DS mused. "And all means, fair and
  unfair, are being used to try to wipe us out."


 "I 'eard dat. It's like a web 'as been spun to entangul us, and
  we're tryin' not ta get stook. And leavin' the rest uv da boyz ta rot is not
  an optshun.


 "Dere's a spida in da web, DS," Slider said as he shifted into his
  'normal' seeming, "and I fully intend to kill it."


...


THE OBSCURE:


[1] "Regimental" is the polite term for saying someone isn't wearing any 
underwear. It is usually used when referring to the wearing of kilts.



To be continued in "A Race Through Dark Places"...