“Whoa, what? Stripper what?” Lee blurted, firing an inquisitive eye at Danny through the webcam. “Girlfriend who?”
“Oh he didn’t tell you?” she cooed.
“Maaacccc!” Danny warned.
“Apparently not,” said Lee, “which is funny considering that, oh,10 hours ago, we had a lengthy conversation chronicling all the many loves of Danny’s life these days.”
“And he didn’t mention Solstice?”
“Nope.”
“Her name’s not Solstice, damn it,” Danny grunted. “It’s Salest, and she’s not my girlfriend… not anymore, anyway.”
“Awwww,” Mac whimpered. “Little Danny couldn’t take it that he wasn’t the only one touching her lady parts every day?”
“Okay, seriously people… she was an exotic dancer, not a prostitute, alright? And for that matter, she wasn’t even a real stripper because she refused to work at an all-nude place.”
“Which makes her a what?” Mac snickered. “A classy hooker?”
Danny raised a brow. “I’m sorry, Princess, but how bad do you need that wedding date again? Because right now I’m staring into my little crystal ball here, and as it stands, ‘stag and pathetic’ is about all I’m seeing in your future.”
Annoyed, she shoved a hand over her webcam.
“Let’s be real here, Danny,” said Lee. “You dated a stripper… did you honestly think you’d get outta this without takin’ at least a little heat from your friends?”
“What do you people got against strippers?” a gruff voice interjected as Link Baxter’s pale face appeared in Lee’s monitor, smiling devilishly through the thick black whiskers of his goatee. “I’ll have you know those young ladies work just as hard for their money as anyone else in any other profession,” he proclaimed, “and damn it, they deserve your respect for the endless hours of hard work and tireless dedication that they pour out on that stage—year after year and night after night—all across this great nation of ours! God bless ‘em, I say! And god bless America!”
“Inspiring words from a man who rents his dates by the hour,” Mac sniped through giggles from Lee and Danny. “Seriously, Link, it’s too bad your career in politics flamed out. Between your taste in sleazy women and your ability to deliver a speech, you were born for the Hill.”
“Yeah, well,” Link deflected.
“Link, we were just weighin’ in on the new love of Danny’s life,” said Lee. “Apparently she’s a… dancer,” he concluded with a pair of air quotes.
“Really?” Link replied, impressed. “Danny, my boy! Finally decided to step up out of the Badge Bunny Bush Leagues and swing for the fences! I’m proud of you, man!”
“Relax Short Round, I’m not seeing her anymore.”
“Oh, whatever, Danny,” Mac groaned. “I’ve seen this girl. She’s hot, blonde, and exactly your type. Don’t lie to us just to try to save face over the fact that your new quickie-dial option happens to make her living sliding up and down a pole.”
Link snickered darkly.
“Truthfully, it wasn’t her job that bugged me,” recalled Danny.
“Let me guess,” said Link, “it was the uni-brow! Or maybe the knife wound… or the monstrous C-section scar from her fourth kid! That was it, right?”
“Woooowww,” Mac groaned. “That was just plain wrong, dude.”
Link dismissed her with a wave. “I hear what you’re sayin’ over there Mac,” he balked. “But seriously, how great looking can this girl be? With all due respect Danny, I’ve seen what passes for exotic dancers down there in the Panhandle, and believe me, it’s a far cry from the Cheetah, ya dig?”
“Link?” Danny said calmly. “5-4, 115, tan, blonde hair to the small of her back; and oh, by the way… she’s a yoga instructor on the side.”
Link’s eyes went wide.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” Danny concluded. “The defense rests.”
“Okay Danny, for the sake of discussion, I’ll play ball,” Mac said. “If it wasn’t the job that ran you off, and we’ve clearly established that it wasn’t a uni-brow, then what was it? I mean, was she just a little bit more than your usual brand of crazy or what?”
“No, she was fine,” he said grudgingly. “To be honest, she was actually pretty cool. Great taste in music, big sports fan, got along with the guys… the whole nine.”
“Soooo… what then?” Lee prodded, and Danny pursed his lips.
“It’s just that… well… she had a kid—a three-year-old son.”
Evidently no one had expected this response because the line fell silent for a moment after that.
“Okay… soooooo, what?” Lee’s voice hung with the question. “So she had a kid. I hate to break it to ya, partner, but you ain’t gettin’ any younger, and it kinda comes with the turf that a lot of the girls your age are probably gonna have those.”
“I know, I know. I just… I just don’t do the kid thing, ya know? I mean, it’s one thing if I date a girl and things go bad—”
“Which is pretty much every relationship you’ve ever been in,” Mac jeered. “Yes, go on.”
“Normally I’d have a remark for that,” said Danny. “But since it further illustrates my point, I’ll roll with it. Anyway, it’s one thing if things go south between me and her. Even if it ends nasty, we’re both adults. We deal with it, and we move on. But kids? Kids don’t have that perspective. All they understand is that yet another guy—who they may or may not have gotten attached to by that point—has just bailed on them like every other guy before him, including their dad. So I’m sorry. I might be a self-serving, promiscuous a-hole, but at least I’m honest about it.”
Surprisingly, no wisecracks followed his explanation, not that there was much opportunity for one.
“ALRIGHT, WANKERS!!!”
Lee winced as a loud baritone voice, drenched in a thick Scottish accent, boomed through his earpiece.
“Everybody can relax! The Big Man has arrived and he’s ready to chew bubblegum and kick arse, and he’s all out of bubblegum!”
“They Live?” Lee said, rolling his eyes at the round, dark-skinned face that now filled the last corner of the webcam monitor with a wide, toothy grin. “Roddy Piper? Seriously?”
“Aye, and a bloody masterpiece of filmmaking that was. Truly a classic!”
“Holy god, that movie sucked,” Mac murmured.
“Amen to that,” Danny agreed.
“Sorry I’m late,” Hamish apologized. “Got hung up at the shop with a last-minute appointment. Some pansy with his knickers all in a twist because his sportster, and I quote, ‘sounded funny.’ His sportster!” Hamish grimaced with disgust.
“What was wrong with it?” Lee asked.
“Absolutely, nothing!” the Scot bellowed. “Aside from being in dire need of a basic tune-up, it was perfectly fine. But Mr. Fancy Pants in his prissy red leathers wasn’t about to accept that. Oh no, no! In his expert opinion which, mind ya, was probably derived from American Choppers reruns, something was very wrong; and thus, he demanded in his infinite wisdom that we run over every cubic inch of the engine until we could diagnose the problem. Whatever, just more money for us in labor… bloody sportster,” he huffed, retrieving a bottle of oddly labeled beer from a nearby mini fridge. “What self-respecting man with a halfway detectable pair of testicles rides a sportster, I ask ya? I swear… I hate posers.”
“Whatcha got there, Hamish?”“ Mac wondered aloud, leaning into her monitor to inspect the unfamiliar bottle.
“Oh right, sorry. I call it Iron Highland Ale,” he said proudly, holding the bottle up to his webcam. “I made it ma-self.”
“What, you brewed it?” she asked, impressed.
“Aye, I picked it up as a hobby about a year ago and have been tinkering around with it ever since. It took me a while to perfect the recipe, but I think I finally have it where I want it.”
“What’s it taste like?” Link asked.
“It’s smooth—a lot like a Pilsner b
ut with more body and flavor,” he relied, regarding the dark gold beverage with obvious satisfaction.
“So like a domestic light or something?” Danny guessed, never much of a beer connoisseur.
“Aye Danny, kinda like that… only it doesn’t taste like urine!”
Amused at Lunley’s usual disdain for domestic brews, Lee couldn’t help but chuckle. Then with a final swallow from his water bottle, he picked up the E-42 briefing packet that he’d finished compiling early the previous week and began thumbing through the pages.
“Alright, now that everyone is present and accounted for, take a seat and let’s get down to business.”
****
In line with Mako Assault’s “team sport” philosophy, each player was required to select a Military Occupational Specialty (or MOS) prior to beginning E-1. By default, Lee’s background in military history made him a shoo-in for the team’s lead strategist, and while the others always played a part in organizing their various missions and objectives, it was usually up to Lee to sort through the intelligence, evaluate each piece of information, and construct the oftentimes intricate details of their environment strategies. Inevitably, his ability to not only assemble a solid battle plan, but also make snap decisions in the field, earned him the MOS of Squadron Commander, though poring over data and analyzing maps was far from his only asset to the team.
After spending the bulk of his summer downtime in the Mako’s flight simulator, and in large part because of his lifelong fascination with aviation, he quickly rose through the ranks as not only the most skilled fighter pilot in their squad, but also one of the highest-scoring players in the MA record books with confirmed aerial kills. Quickly known for his unorthodox maneuvers and innovative piloting style, he took the name of “Daredevil” as his call sign—a moniker befitting of his prowess in the cockpit, though it was actually derived from a comic book he’d loved as a kid, centering around a blind superhero whose inhuman instincts and intuition in combat earned him the title of “The Man Without Fear” among the criminal underworld.
To her credit, Mac eventually proved to be quite the competent pilot herself, often times flying along Lee’s wing, though her primary MOS was that of Communications Specialist, or Com-Spec for short, a tech-savvy position that made use of her real life love for computers, and more times than not, her skills as a hacker. Still, as much of a slam dunk as Lee’s call sign had been, the selection of Mac’s proved to be a bit more challenging. After considering a wide array of possibilities, ranging from “Jet City Woman” to “Smurfette,” she recalled a story from college in which the others—having overindulged on the night’s drink special at the bar—had rousted her from bed at the obnoxious hour of 3:15 a.m. for an emergency ride home. Under normal circumstances, this would’ve been little more than an inconvenient nuisance for her; but as fate would have it, this instance just so happened to have fallen on the eve of a potentially nasty final exam—the outcome of which would probably determine whether or not she passed the course. Irritated beyond belief, though knowing full well that none of them were in any shape to drive, she threw on sweats and a t-shirt, pulled her hair into a loose ponytail, and headed for the bar. Once back at the house, Mac helped the others carry an all-but-incapacitated Hamish inside, where they collapsed him down on the living room sofa that let out an ominous crack under Lunley’s mountainous form. Watching him for a moment to make sure he wouldn’t be sick, Mac inspected his glazed eyes and contorted expression before finally deciding it was safe to leave.
“Ma… Maaccccc?” he stammered as she turned to go—his breath reeking of Scotch—his accent, having been dulled somewhat by 10-plus years of living stateside, unmistakably thick and pronounced as it usually was when he was either drunk or highly animated. “Ya’re like… Ya’re like… our very own… Northern Star, ya know that?”
“Right Hamish, Northern Star. Got it… You’re not gonna hurl, are you?”
He shook his head and rose to his feet to face her, wobbling for a moment before resting a large paw on her small shoulder to steady himself.
“Aye, Northern—” (hiccup) “—Star. Because no matter where we are… or whatever childish mischief we manage to get ourselves into… ya’re always there to guide us home, safe and sound.”
As furious as she’d been with them prior to then, Mac couldn’t help but smile at the sentiment. Granted, there was no denying that he was horrendously trashed, but even still, she could see in his broad, smiling face and glossy brown eyes that he sincerely meant what he said and she was grateful for that. As such, when the time finally came to select a call sign for her character, “Northern Star” was the unanimous pick.
In contrast, Danny Tucker—who took the call sign of “Hurricane” for his south Florida roots—never had much interest in the game’s arsenal of ships and fighters. Aerial combat had never been his thing, but having spent a considerable amount of time training with his agency’s S.W.A.T. team while in law enforcement, he found himself much more enamored with Mako’s litany of guns and infantry weapons; though his real passion came with its hand-to-hand combat elements. An avid fan of MMA and various forms of martial arts (but never having found the time to master any of them beyond an amateur level), Danny immersed himself in Mako’s close quarters combat module and by the time their squad was officially deployed on its first mission, he was already developing a reputation as one of the game’s fighting elite. This, combined with his ever-growing knowledge of urban warfare, made him the perfect complement to Lee, whose expertise focused on the more aerial, and by their third mission, he had cemented himself as Lee’s second in charge as the group’s Assistant Commander, Ground Operations.
Next there was Link, call sign “Jester” for his cocky attitude and lifelong fear of clowns, a mysterious loathing he’d had since childhood and one that, to this day, he’d refused to elaborate on. Having grown up on Star Wars as a kid, his favorite character had always been Han Solo, the cocky captain of the Millennium Falcon and a self-proclaimed scoundrel at heart. Personality similarities aside, Link always preferred the bulkier, bruising style of Mako’s larger crew-manned vessels, his favorite being the SB-40 Tuskan Starbomber, a heavily armed fortress of an aircraft he’d long described as “a really pissed-off AC-130 in space.” Unlike Lee and Mac, who opted for the high-performance speed and precision of Assault’s fighters, such as the signature SF-13 Mako, Link had always said his fondness for the bigger ships stemmed from their brute-like strength, awesome firepower, and overall durability in a firefight—not that this explanation ever pacified the others, who claimed he was just overcompensating for his small stature… among other things.
Outside the cockpit, Link was nothing short of a lethal marksman. His years of hunting with his father in the forests of Colorado made him an excellent shot with a sniper rifle, and he quickly adapted to Mako’s myriad environmental and technological options for the role. But beside the technicalities of his craft, there was just something about the sinister nature of it that appealed to Link’s twisted sense of humor. Therefore, since there was no official title in the game for “professional smuggler” or “trash-talking captain,” Link took on the role of “Reconnaissance Specialist,” in line with the stealthy nature of the job.
Finally there was Hamish, call sign “Wulver,” a name he’d taken after an old Scottish legend about a morally noble werewolf who would leave fish on the windowsills of the poor who couldn’t otherwise afford to feed their families. Much like the mythical beast for which he was so aptly named, Hamish was a friend to both all who knew him, and all who didn’t. His infectious Scottish charm and immensely extroverted personality never allowed anyone to be a stranger for long, and generally, this translated to newfound friendships wherever he went. By the same token, Hamish Lunley was by no means one to be crossed, and on the rare occasions when that happened, his monstrous physique alone made him a force to be reckoned with. So when the time came to fill the slot of Engineering Specialist with an extra emph
asis on heavy ordinance, the choice couldn’t have been clearer. In short, Lunley’s job was to either fix things, or blow them up with as much violence, horror, and fiery spectacle as was humanly possible, and he did both with a smile. In the air, as was often the case in real life, he usually served alongside Link, most times as a navigator onboard the Tuskan—or in cases of combat—from the bomber’s primary, rear-deck gunnery chair. No matter the stage, real-life or virtual, the duo was a team all their own. Always had been, always would be.
Finally, once their call signs had been designated, and their MOS assignments had been identified, all that remained was for the five to choose a moniker that, henceforth, would forever define them as a group in the massive digital universe of Mako Assault. After tossing around a number of quasi-serious options, like the “Merchants of Death” and “Blade Runners,” plus a few corny ones, the consensus favorite being “The Imperial Guard of the Chocolate Star Fish,” they eventually settled on “The Renegades,” an homage to their alma mater of Florida State, whose mascot was the Seminole Indian, and a salute to their not-so-by-the-book style of gameplay. Shortly thereafter, Mac had even gone so far as to design them a custom squadron patch. Featuring a classically styled, shield-shaped crest with a distressed, battleworn surface, the golden insignia was split down its center by a brilliant flaming spear and capped with a garnet banner which read simply, “Renegades: Never Divided.” Upon her initial unveiling of the masterpiece, the design itself drew rave reviews from the others, largely in part for its sleek look and intricate detail work. However, the logo itself paled in comparison to the meaning of the banner, a fact which each of them made it a point to note. Once the name had been verified with the PGC servers, the logo was submitted and the group was officially clear to begin what they were certain would be a historical campaign of online terror and carnage against a ruthlessly brutal imaginary foe.
Mako (The Mako Saga: Book 1) Page 6