Glenlivet military training camp, Master at Arms office, two present.
A dark panelled room, green lit by two brass and glass table lamps, infused with the aroma of polish, cigar smoke and whisky.
The cadaverous figure of the adjutant had poured himself a Macallan from the crystal decanter at the flicked finger assent of his superior as he read the dispatch.
“Satan's piles man, they can't be serious? And what in fucking thunder is the Zetetic council?
“The Marcher Assembly seem to think that if we can pull off a successful meet, keep the body count low it may prove invaluable, intel' wise, whatever demons possess the Penguins, they seem to want out of the deal with NASA.
And the Zetetic council is some sort of legislative body amongst these flat-earther chappies, loose thing by all accounts, the crouton character is interesting, spent time as a cat and various other things out on the ice apparently.”
The seated officer swallowed the four fingers of whisky in one go, pushed the glass towards the adjutant for a refill ignoring the raised eyebrows, then spoke.
“So the bloody plan, and I say plan with sarcasm you may well note, is, we get a bunch of demented loons who've never watched the Sky at night, one of whom spent time chasing snow mice and cleaning his arse with his own tongue, then allow infiltration by demoniac six foot birds and Nazi rocket jockeys and pour over the resultant entrails in the hope that something makes fucking sense?”
The adjutant sighed, “In a nutshell, yes, we're logistics, the Sisters militant will be security and entrail sorting, is above our pay grade.”
“Gods shrivelled gonads, this has FUBAR written all through it.”
He took another swig of whisky,
“Right then this can’t be mainland, find me some god forsaken little rock that we have at least a chance of isolating when it all goes tits-up, rustle up some remote surveillance and see if you can wangle a Royal Navy frigate to be in the area in case the cleaning up needs to be a bit more than the Sister act with flame throwers, and then hand it over to the ladies, oh and make sure lieutenant whatsisname’s name is all over it, damned idiot couldn’t make a good cup of tea if you put his cock in a vice, at least if it is a debacle we can shuffle him back to the para’s what?”
Poll