"There is no reason to consider guerilla warfare separately from national policy. On the contrary, it must be organized and conducted in complete accord with [it]." -Mao Ze-Dong, _On Guerilla Warfare_ "Are you sure?" CINC Most Holy was talking to one of the doctors that had examined Half Holy. Since the Colonel's death, Most Holy had acquired four broken bones in his hand, as a result of forcibly applying it to a brick wall. Half Holy had been like a brother to him, and the night he found out, he had lost his self-control and attacked the Administative Building. "I know this is possibly insubordination, Sir, but I disagree with the findings of the Chief Medical Officer. If I may speak frankly, sir," the doctor- a Lieutennant- said as he splinted the CINC's hand, "I thought his methodology in the autopsy was, well, lazy. But that's not all." "What is it?" The doctor continued. "He never, well, you see, he did the autopsy correctly, up to a point." "Come on. I'm not going throw you in the brig for having opinions." "Thanks you Sir. See, well, he never opened up the skull." "What?!" "Yes, Sir. He didn't let any of us near the body- we, that is the intern and I, were only to note his findings. But I noticed from the observation deck that he never opened the skull." "Are you telling me that the CMO lied in his report?" "Well, not... well, kinda. Yes. Sir." The splint in place, Most Holy got off the examining table and faced the doctor. "Tell W.O. Marquardt to have him in my office in 5 minutes," Most Holy said, and stormed out of the room. ----- Four minutes and fift-five seconds later, W.O. Nick Marquardt entered the CINC's office alone. Before Most Holy had a chance to speak, the Warrant Officer produced a sealed letter, and handed it to him. "What's this?" "That's all that was in the CMO's room. I haven't been able to find him, Sir, his room was empty except for this." "His room was empty?" "Yes, Sir. totally. As if the CMO had moved out. I've issued a warrant, sir, and alerted the MPs." Most Holy opened the note. "Good work," he said, as he read the word written on the paper: Gotcha. "I don't get it," Most Holy said after a few moments. "What's going on?" As if in answer, an explosion rocked the building. Sirens started blaring, and shouts could be heard outside. Both the men ran outside, where soldiers and medical personnel were scrambling towards the Armory. "What's going on here," Most Holy asked of a Recruit, grabbing onto him as he was about to pass them by. "I don't know, Sir, there was an explosion by the Armory and I was ordered with my platoon to secure the area." W.O. Marquardt asked the man his name, and he answered, "Rct. Madman, Sir." "Well, get going. Marquardt, let's you and I find someone who knows what the hell's going on here." The two officers found a grizzly scene at the Armory, fragments of wall and metal scattered around among the twisted screams of men and women being treated for injuries. Most Holy quickly joined the doctors in administering to them while W.O. Nick took it upon himself to find out what happened. ----- Bradford Wallace came out of the shower as one of his aides knocked on the door. His office was quite large, with oak panelling, a mahogany desk, and a door leading to a bathroom that boasted a jacuzzi, shower, toilet, and bidet. The only thing that might separate this office from that of a powerful corporate executive was the glass floor (laid over a hardwood floor, so he could tell when anyone came in or out), ceiling mirror (so he could watch whoever was in his office even with his back turned), and a 7-foot marble statue of Barney the Dinosaur, with a name-plate that read: +----------------------------------------------+ | | | F O R M E R I T O R I O U S | | S E R V I C E | | | | "Rouge Squadron" | | | +----------------------------------------------+ Sitting in his lushly-furnished padded chair, Wallace said, "yeah, come in." The aide walked in, bowed, and placed a folder on Wallace's desk. With that, he bowed again, turned around, and left, closing the door behind him. Wallace picked up the folder and began to read. He read of the confusion that struck M.A.U.L. when the bomb went off. He read of the casualties, 23 to be exact, and he read of how M.A.U.L.'s CINC had vowed to catch the man thought responsible for the blast- Chief Medical Officer Rosenberg. He grinned as he read, sipping from a glass of wine. Finally, he pressed the intercom button on his phone and spoke. "I want Henry in my office immediately." With that, he placed the folder in his desk, went to the wet bar and poured another glass of wine, and waited, looking affectionately at the new marble statue, sent to him by the nameless corporation that had financed his rise from unemployed, disbarred lawyer to his current status as head of Rouge Squadron. After a few moments, Henry walked in abruptly, and made himself a drink. Smiling at the agent's impudence, Bradford Wallace returned to his desk and brought out a thick envelope, filled, aparently, with cash. "You did good work back there, Henry. They fell for it. So long as the media think we're `the new and improved M.A.U.L.', we can operate with healthy abandon. Has that Medical Officer talked yet?" "Nope. Hasn't said a word. This early in the interrogation, though, that's to be expected. We'll have him talking soon enough. Then we can release him, and Most Holy will take care of the rest. I'm betting on decapitation, what do you think?" "Assuming this plan works, and M.A.U.L. react the way we think they will-" "They will." "-then I think you can expect a lot more than this," Wallace said, tossing the envelope at Agent Henry. "What if this Most Holy character believes that we kidnapped his Chief Medical Officer and framed him for a bombing we're responsible for?" "If they were going to figure that out, they would have already," Agent Henry replied. "They didn't make the connection between our attack on the Barney Liberation Group and the M.A.U.L. bombing-" "An excellent piece of work, by the way." "Thanks. We had to get our supplies and equipment from somewhere, and they were going to use them against civilian targets, which never sits well with the public. So-" "So we apropriate their gear, have their leaders arrested, and with all this media support, can now erase M.A.U.L. as a major power in the war against Barney, take their place, and work towards securing this country for Barney. A great plan, if it works." Agent Henry looked eager. "What should we call it, once it's ours? LyranLand?" "I think you're being premature. First, Most Holy has to kill Rosenberg. When and if he does that, we can have him arrested and execute the final phase of Operation Effigy. Then the Midwest will be ours for the taking, and from there, with control of the vast resources here, we can take the entire country. If Most Holy kills Rosenberg." "He will. You can count on that. Can I get a refill?" "Don't mind if you do. Fill mine too while you're at it."