(no subject)
Time: March 2, 2003?
Place: Lower Tadfield military base and Tadfield Manor
Status: Public (War, Loki) - Complete
Summary: War's arrival in usual style
The soldiers were, she had decided, like soldiers everywhere. Tell them you outranked them and they salute, say "Sir yes sir!", and wave you on through. In her case, it had been no different, except for the fact that they replaced "Sir" with "Ma'am". That, and there was a distinct tightening in the trouser area. Seems they weren't used to Generals who were also curvy female redheads who just happened to be dressed in tight leather.
As the senior officer on site, General Waugh was, naturally, allowed free access to all the buildings in the military base. Much as the swords and guns, her physical weapons, gave her a tingling thrill, she wasn't afraid to move with the times. The tech they had here was beautiful. Nothing dangerous in itself, unless you counted the several thousand volts coursing through the circuits, but it was so wonderfully efficient. It was like a giant curved sword that, when she swung it, would reach round the world and touch everything on it. It was so elegant, so simple. Sometimes, she had to hand it to humans, just for being so damn inventive.
She wasn’t here to set it off though. No, she was just here to admire and play. Sometimes, the anticipation, the knowledge of the potential, was better than the reality. Besides, if they set this whole lot off, there probably wouldn’t be any humans left, or, if you came down to it, any world to put them on. No particular barrier to her, but she’d grown fond of this place and these people. She’d grown especially fond of their whiskey.
Mouth twitching in a smile, she put down the controller she’d been using to navigate the glowing screens, and stood up from her chair as she spun it round. Walking over to the door, she tapped the young private on guard outside on the soldier.
“Any place to get a decent drink round here?”
He looked momentarily confused, then said “There’s the mess, ma’am.”
She wrinkled her nose. “You mean the place where they serve slops and watery stuff that tastes like rat’s piss?”
Seeing the fleeting panic on his face - what if this was a test of loyalty? - she smiled slowly. “Don’t worry, not a test. I’m just in need of a proper drink. Whiskey - Bunnahabhain, or at least Glenlivet.”
The private relaxed. “Nowhere on base, ma’am, but there’s a hotel up in the hill. There’ll be a bar there, I’m sure. Would you like me to radio through for a car?”
“No need.” She grinned, seeing something in the distance. “I’ve got my own transport.”
War strode across the hard standing to the tank - a brand new, top secret Challenger 2, if she wasn’t mistaken. She wasn’t, of course. When it came to weapons and military tech, she never was. Vaulting lightly up the side, she slid down inside, and set it in motion towards the gates. Seeing her approach, the guards saluted and swung open the gates. Whatever the General did must have authority, after all.
As she made steady process down the roads and lanes, she hummed to herself. It was a bright clear day, and this was one of the more entertaining ways to travel, if not the fastest. The roads withstood the tracks fairly well, but the hedgerows on the narrower lanes were less lucky, and somewhat scalped after she passed.
Through an external camera, she saw a sweeping curve up round the side of the hill, leading up to a big house - more of a manor than a house. This, presumably, was the hotel. Gentle roads, however, were for careful drivers and sissies, and War was neither of these. Going full throttle, she drove the tank straight up the hill, over the grass and the edges of a couple of flower beds which were stupid enough to get in her way, and parked, in the loosest sense, outside the large front door.
She pushed the hatch open, jumped out, walked the short distance and pushed the door open.
“Any chance of a whiskey?” she asked the seemingly empty hall.
Place: Lower Tadfield military base and Tadfield Manor
Status: Public (War, Loki) - Complete
Summary: War's arrival in usual style
The soldiers were, she had decided, like soldiers everywhere. Tell them you outranked them and they salute, say "Sir yes sir!", and wave you on through. In her case, it had been no different, except for the fact that they replaced "Sir" with "Ma'am". That, and there was a distinct tightening in the trouser area. Seems they weren't used to Generals who were also curvy female redheads who just happened to be dressed in tight leather.
As the senior officer on site, General Waugh was, naturally, allowed free access to all the buildings in the military base. Much as the swords and guns, her physical weapons, gave her a tingling thrill, she wasn't afraid to move with the times. The tech they had here was beautiful. Nothing dangerous in itself, unless you counted the several thousand volts coursing through the circuits, but it was so wonderfully efficient. It was like a giant curved sword that, when she swung it, would reach round the world and touch everything on it. It was so elegant, so simple. Sometimes, she had to hand it to humans, just for being so damn inventive.
She wasn’t here to set it off though. No, she was just here to admire and play. Sometimes, the anticipation, the knowledge of the potential, was better than the reality. Besides, if they set this whole lot off, there probably wouldn’t be any humans left, or, if you came down to it, any world to put them on. No particular barrier to her, but she’d grown fond of this place and these people. She’d grown especially fond of their whiskey.
Mouth twitching in a smile, she put down the controller she’d been using to navigate the glowing screens, and stood up from her chair as she spun it round. Walking over to the door, she tapped the young private on guard outside on the soldier.
“Any place to get a decent drink round here?”
He looked momentarily confused, then said “There’s the mess, ma’am.”
She wrinkled her nose. “You mean the place where they serve slops and watery stuff that tastes like rat’s piss?”
Seeing the fleeting panic on his face - what if this was a test of loyalty? - she smiled slowly. “Don’t worry, not a test. I’m just in need of a proper drink. Whiskey - Bunnahabhain, or at least Glenlivet.”
The private relaxed. “Nowhere on base, ma’am, but there’s a hotel up in the hill. There’ll be a bar there, I’m sure. Would you like me to radio through for a car?”
“No need.” She grinned, seeing something in the distance. “I’ve got my own transport.”
War strode across the hard standing to the tank - a brand new, top secret Challenger 2, if she wasn’t mistaken. She wasn’t, of course. When it came to weapons and military tech, she never was. Vaulting lightly up the side, she slid down inside, and set it in motion towards the gates. Seeing her approach, the guards saluted and swung open the gates. Whatever the General did must have authority, after all.
As she made steady process down the roads and lanes, she hummed to herself. It was a bright clear day, and this was one of the more entertaining ways to travel, if not the fastest. The roads withstood the tracks fairly well, but the hedgerows on the narrower lanes were less lucky, and somewhat scalped after she passed.
Through an external camera, she saw a sweeping curve up round the side of the hill, leading up to a big house - more of a manor than a house. This, presumably, was the hotel. Gentle roads, however, were for careful drivers and sissies, and War was neither of these. Going full throttle, she drove the tank straight up the hill, over the grass and the edges of a couple of flower beds which were stupid enough to get in her way, and parked, in the loosest sense, outside the large front door.
She pushed the hatch open, jumped out, walked the short distance and pushed the door open.
“Any chance of a whiskey?” she asked the seemingly empty hall.