Operation: Pacifica - Fun in the Sun with Guns
   
   by Trooper Palaemon (antares@inch.com), Doberman Empire
   
   DOBERMAN EMPIRE PRESIDIO NAVAL WORKS
   
   "No, Susan, I'm positive. I can't leave right now...Yeah, I know I
   promised I Would try. I did try. I can't get out right now...I don't
   think I'm going to be able to meet you out here...Yes, I'll see you
   you back in New York, hon...I miss you too...That's sweet...Susan, you
   only live one floor up, it's not like we don't see each other
   enough... I know...I know...I might be out here another couple of
   days...The usual business bullshit...No, nothing exciting, of course,
   what did you expect? I'll talk to you in a few days...have fun in San
   Francisco...OK, bye."
   
   Palaemon sighed as he hung up the phone. It had only been a few
   minutes since he had received the order to get ready to move out.
   "First mission jitters, I suppose," he muttered to himself as he put
   the last touches on his packing. There was only one small bag. Most of
   his stuff was either still in his hotel room in San Jose, or destroyed
   when his train was wrecked on the way to San Francisco. He would be
   entering his first real battle for The Cause with only a small duffel
   bag and his ever-present long, slim canvas case. His eyes rested on
   that case for a moment. "It never ceases to amaze me what you can pick
   up in an East Village occult store," he thought, as he usually did
   when he remembered the case and what was inside it. Once more, he
   opened the case and took out the contents. It was nothing impressive,
   nothing more than a few shortish links of wood which snapped together,
   and a mop head. The wood lengths were carved with intricate,
   unreadable lettering. The thought of a rune-carved mop had amused him
   at a time when the floor in his apartment had been threatening to get
   away from him once again. Besides, it had only cost him 12 bucks. He
   assembled the lengths of wood. "Whosoever Shall Raise This Mop of
   Destiny In Cause Just Shall Be Master of  Fate," the runes proclaimed,
   or at least that was what the salesgirl had told him. Well, hell, she
   was cute, and it was an entertaining conceit, so he put his 12 dollars
   on the table and took home a magical mop. It had become something of a
   good luck charm, so he brought it with him most of the time. He
   swished it through the air a couple of times. "Ha! Take that,
   spongie!!" he yelled. Realizing how ludicrous he looked, he stopped
   and put the mop away, laughing to himself. Yeah, that was about right.
   Enter the fray armed with a mop. Suited him perfectly. Well, time to
   get going...
   
   1 hour later...
   
   Palaemon climbed aboard a large transport ship. The writing on the
   side proclaimed "DTT Sea Spider" in large letters. From what little he
   knew of ships, this one looked like a transport. A cargo ship.
   "Perfect," he thought. "Just the right place for me. In the rear with
   the gear." Well, Samhain and CP were no fools.  Palaemon was certain
   that the commanders understood exactly what value he brought to this
   mission. "Figures I would be in California this weekend. That's why
   I'm here. Another warm body to catch ammo." His reverie was quickly
   cut off. "Trooper! Grab some damn boxes! Make yourself useful! Get
   moving!" the voice of an officer barked in his direction. Palaemon
   fell to lugging boxes of food and ammunition and other useful things
   onto the ship and placing them into storage holds.
   
   Once the loading was finished, he settled into his tiny cabin and
   changed out of his sweaty clothes. He found his favorite T-shirt, the
   one from his other service in the Jihad. It said, "The Legion of
   Doom...We Have the Cleanest Floors in the Jihad!" It had been a
   present from some of the officers of the Legion for his helping clean
   up after an attack. Seemed especially appropriate for the duty it
   looked like he would be pulling on this trip...
   
   A horn blew, and the Spider, along with the rest of the Empire's
   fleet, left port, bound for some mysterious island in the middle of
   nowhere for reasons he wasn't entitled to know. At least the weather
   would be nice. Hell, how was this different from work...?