Frank Kurns Boxed Set

by Natalie Grey

  Peter and Akio moved the crate to the bench and Dan walked over. John looked at Dan, who shrugged. “No, I don’t know either.”

  The men piled around the box to see what Dukes had manufactured. John pulled on the simple master lock, but it held.

  Jean said, “Oops” and reached into her pocket to pull out a key ring.

  Jean was going through the keys when she heard someone say, “No worries” and metal snapping. She looked up to see John moving a broken lock and set it to the side.

  As she stared at the man, she realized no one truly understood the power these guys had. Then, she looked them all over and decided someone, or many someones, was going to have a very bad night indeed.

  “Ok, I’m officially claiming Bethany Anne as my Queen….again,” Peter said as John started pulling out a rifle. “Scott!”

  Scott reached over, and John put a special made tactical railgun rifle in his hands. The grips were stipple-textured on both sides, as well as having deep-cut grooves, both front and back straps, and a beavertail for prolonged firing.

  “Oh, my. That is long enough,” Akio said, admiring the rifle in Scott’s hands.

  Peter looked at Jean. “How many shots?”

  “Seventy-five,” she said. “Bethany Anne wanted to make sure you enjoyed your evening. The rifles have three settings: normal, which will push out the rounds at typical velocities, then twice-normal, and ten-times-normal for when you seriously want to fuck something up. They are coded to your biometrics, so don’t leave them around, but no one will be using them against you. Any Queen’s Bitch can use any gun, but she did have me put your names on each one.”

  Jean glanced at Darryl, who had received his rifle. “Darryl, she told me to tell you that yours is a quarter-inch longer so your ego wouldn't take a hit.” Jean winked, waved, and turned to leave. “Have fun, boys!”

  “God, she even makes size jokes! Can there be a more perfect woman?” Darryl asked.

  “Who?” Akio wondered. “Bethany Anne or Jean Dukes?”

  “Yes,” Eric agreed. “Either. Have you seen the way Dukes caresses her railgun barrels? You would require a cold shower afterward, I promise.”

  John reached in. “Dan?”

  “Yes?” He turned from examining at Eric’s rifle.

  John pulled one more rifle from the box. “This one has your name on it, with a note.”

  Dan grinned as he held his rifle, opened the note, and read it.

  “Hey!” Darryl said. “Don’t make us ask here.”

  “She says she knows that I’ve got too much to do tonight, but that she fully expects me to be free on other occasions should I want to go,” Dan finally supplied.

  John grinned. “Sign you up?”

  “Hell, yeah!” Dan grinned. “I’m up for Bitch’s Night Out Part Deux when it happens. Count me in.” He handed a box of incendiaries to John. “These are for you.”

  “Thanks,” John took the box. “Looks like we have a shitload of ammunition in here. I wonder how the hell she was able to carry it all?” John mused and looked back down the hallway where Jean Dukes disappeared.

  “Interesting,” he thought out loud.

  Chapter 2

  QBS Polarus, Bridge

  “Now, what I am about to tell you, Fred, is based on our twenty-year relationship.” Captain Thomas spoke patiently, hoping the commander of the aircraft carrier strike force twenty miles away would listen. “I’m about to launch six very small craft, and they are going to go over your position very fast. Don’t be alarmed, and for God’s sake, don’t try to attack them.”

  Captain Thomas walked over and sat down in his chair on the bridge. “Sure! If you want to try an intercept, I’ll even say ‘go’ for you.” Thomas laughed. “No, it won’t make a difference, Fred. I’ll tell you what: if you guys want a look-see, I’ll talk to my boss for a second and confirm she doesn’t have a problem. I’ll give you five minutes to put your birds in the air and get to thirty thousand feet. Have them hold position like they are planning an air raid on ISIS in Iraq.”

  Thomas looked at his operator, who held up another line. “Hold one, Fred, other line. It might be who I’m going to try to get permission from.” He clicked the mute button, held out his hand for the second phone, and put it to his ear. “Boss? Thank you for letting me interrupt. I would like to allow some people I know in the US Navy a chance to witness the Black Eagles flying past a set of F-18s—although, I’d be surprised if they didn’t have at least one E2D Hawkeye up there for radar intercept.”

  Thomas listened for a moment. “Ok. Which do you want to do, show we don’t have to be ugly or show them the ridiculousness of competing?” Thomas listened again. “Well, they will want the technology no matter which way we do it. I’m sure France has already provided specs on your episode.” Thomas laughed. “Well, I found it funny as hell, so personally I’m glad you did it.”

  “Yes, I would like to give them a chance. I’m guessing they already know or surmise most of the capabilities. Mmmm, no, I don’t think we’ve used the flying interfaces yet with the Black Eagles. The Bitches can certainly think fast enough to make it happen.” Thomas grunted. “Ok, so I have your permission, and you want me to tell John they should ‘have fun?’ I can do that. Appreciate it, ma’am. Talk to you later.”

  Captain Thomas hung up with Bethany Anne and tossed the phone to his comm specialist, then un-muted the other before putting the receiver back to his ear. “Fred? Yeah, sorry about that. Ok, I’ve got two doors. What’s behind the door depends on how well you follow directions, or we might get door number three. That would be really, really bad for both of us.”

  Thomas listened. “Well, you’re the top dog over there, so I’ll give you the scoop and you tell me. I’ve got six of our men heading out, and they have been told to ‘have fun.’ Now, I can ask them to come up and ride with you guys and maybe do a couple of things, but they are not in good spirits after the bullshit being tossed our way. If you can put levelheaded fighter jocks up top, we have a chance to share some cool shit with permission. If not? Well, they aren’t real patient right now, and there isn’t anything on an F-18 that can catch them or pull them down. So, level heads and everyone has a little fun together. Assholes and it is just a fly-by, if you are lucky. Sore losers and we have an international incident that won’t go over very well.”

  Thomas listened for a few seconds. “Yes, I know ‘levelheaded fighter jock’ is an oxymoron, but there have to be some Gooses up there. They can’t all be Mavericks. Mmmhmmm. Works for me. If it helps, tell the guys going topside to watch the news for strange attacks in Iraq tomorrow morning. If this goes well, I’ll share some personal footage we all want to see. All right? That works. Bye, Fred.”

  Thomas handed the second phone to the comm specialist as he went to find John.

  The waves were about four feet as the guys walked out to the deck. John turned around when he heard his name called and scanned the area for a moment before realizing he was hearing footsteps up the port side of the boat. He waited a few seconds for Captain Thomas to appear out of a side hallway and make his way to where his team was loading a boat to transfer to the Ad Aeternitatem.

  Captain Thomas held out his hand. “Good to see you, John.” He nodded to the rest. “Guys!” They all greeted the captain, and he turned back. “I’ve had a request from a Navy buddy who is heading the group in charge of shadowing us. He would like a nice, polite fly-by to see what we have. Bethany Anne is ok with it, since there isn’t a chance they can do shit with it before we are out of here.” He stared intently at John. “I want to make sure they understand they want us as friends, not enemies. I’ve warned Fred not to send up an ass, but you never know what will happen. Bethany Anne says to go manual if you want.”

  John considered the request. “I won’t accept potshots at us, Bartholomew.”

  Captain Thomas got the message. John didn’t use his first name unless it was personal. He would do this for him personally, but there was o
nly so much he was willing to take anymore. “I’ve told him as much, John.” He held out his hand. “Give ‘em hell tonight.”

  John shook the proffered hand. “Who?”

  Captain Thomas looked at the six men. “Everyone.” He winked and started walking back toward his bridge. “Oh, and Bethany Anne says, ‘Have fun!’” He waved before disappearing around the side.

  Buenos Aires, Argentina

  Tabitha walked into the library and put a hand on the chair Michael used to read in. She ran her fingers across the back, enjoying the texture.

  Stepping over to the books, she walked down the shelf, running her hands across spines before going to the chair across from Michael’s and sitting down.

  She crossed her legs and took a moment to stare at the emptiness of the chair, which mirrored the feeling in her heart. She had told Bethany Anne she couldn’t take being at the funeral; that if she went, she would have to believe he couldn’t come back.

  Come back from a small nuclear explosion.

  “You know that you are my father now.” She spoke into the quiet. “The man I finally looked up to, the one who allowed me to be me; the one who respected me for my talent, not my tits.”

  She sniffled.

  “So now I sit in this big house, talking to myself with only mute memories to remind me of your awesomeness.” She heard the doorbell and simultaneous knocking on the front door. She stood up. “We aren’t finished yet, you and I. I don’t believe you’re gone. I won’t.”

  Tabitha wiped the tears out of her eyes and straightened as she went down the stairs. She was the owner of the home now, and she would be damned if she would sully the house by acting immature. It was time to be an adult and climb above her fears.

  She nodded to the mute memories as she stepped to the door and opened it. Three men stood there, all wearing dark suits. “Yes?” she asked, puzzled.

  “I am Francisco,” he turned to point to the two men with him, “and these are my compatriots Santino and Mateo.” Francisco was a dark Hispanic man with medium-length black hair and brown eyes. “May we come in?”

  “No, I don’t believe so, gentleman. It won’t go well,” Tabitha replied. “I’m in no mood for company.”

  Francisco turned his head. “Well, our benefactors are expecting to be able to enter the house this evening, so you had better get ‘in the mood’ very quickly.” Francisco’s smile turned dark, his eyes losing their charm as he placed his foot to stop her from shutting the door easily.

  Tabitha shook her head. “Seriously? You three… You know what?” Her voice hardened and her eyes turned darker, her anger due to her pain rising to the surface. “Why don’t you come in?” She opened the door the whole way as she turned to stride determinedly back down the hall, leaving the three men on the porch.

  Francisco turned to Santino and Mateo, who shrugged. “Women!”

  The three men moved into the house slowly, and Mateo turned to close the door behind them. While there wasn’t another house even remotely close by, her screams might carry for quite a distance.

  The door clicked and Mateo turned back around, a dark look on his face.

  The three men found Tabitha in the middle of a large circular room with two staircases going up the sides. “Just up there,” She pointed above them, “is the library I’m about to go back into. Up here behind me,” their faces followed her gesture to a railing, “was where Bethany Anne had her last kiss with Michael. And now Forsaken are listening to rumors of Michael being gone, and they want something from his house? HIS HOUSE!” she screamed at the three men, momentarily startled by her anger.

  Tabitha’s voice went deadly quiet. “She might be letting me weep in peace, but there is something your benefactors should have thought about, which is: my Queen doesn’t leave her people undefended. So, let me introduce you to my two mute memories of Michael.”

  She held out her left hand like she was about to show off a beautiful car. “His name is Hirotoshi.” A previously unseen man all in black separated from the wall. “And his name,” she moved her right arm as if indicating another beautiful car, “is Ryu.” A second man, again all in black with his head covered, separated from the wall to the surprise of the three men. They noticed the gleaming and very deadly-looking katanas by Ryu’s and Hirotoshi’s sides.

  She continued talking. “They have been here suffering with me as I try to pull myself together. You are the third set of idiots who have come through the door. Well, I’ve decided that it is impossible to teach the Forsaken anything with patience. These two are from the Queen’s Elite. They are mute not because they can’t speak, but because they are honoring me. They also honor me by drinking blood from a mug.”

  Tabitha’s eyes grew dark. “Now they will honor me by drinking from your necks!”

  Francisco had started out slightly concerned, but he latched on her last comment and smiled as he looked at his two guys. “Necks?” He turned his head back toward her. “Like vampires? Señorita, it is light outside. No vampires are going to…” He pulled his gun, and as he lifted it, the vampire on his right moved so fast Francisco barely registered movement before his wrist screamed in pain. He watched in disbelief as his hand separated and flew to the floor five feet away, blood spurting out from his wrist to the marble floor, gun still in its grip.

  “Unfortunately for you…” The first man spoke to Francisco in highly accented English. The three men saw that his eyes had turned red and fangs were growing out of his mouth. “We only need two!”

  Francisco felt the sword pierce his neck, then flick to the side.

  Francisco’s body slumped to the floor, and Santino and Mateo screamed in horror as the vampires came toward them. Tabitha just stood and watched what she had wrought, and she felt peace in her soul.

  Unfortunately for the two men, the house was too far away from anyone so no one could hear them scream.

  Chapter Two

  South Atlantic, Fifty Miles North by North East from QBS Polarus

  Six F-18s were in position at thirty thousand feet cruising at three hundred knots. That was a good speed for the F-18s, and about forty knots faster than the typical cruising speed for an E2D Hawkeye.

  The planes flew in a V formation, with one plane hanging back slightly in the middle. The Hawkeye was stationed five hundred meters to the left of the group.

  Their hope was to get the planes, or “Pods,” as they called them, to slow down enough so that the advanced radar and other sensing equipment could get a fix on them, allowing the military to get enough data to tweak their systems so they could better tell when the Pods, or whoever used this new coating technology, were in the area. When you are the world’s most advanced superpower, it was a kick in the sensitive parts to find out that someone else was significantly more advanced.

  America was not fond of playing catch-up.

  In the middle radar desk of the three on the Hawkeye, Radar Operator Robert “Styles” Griffin looked at his readings, blinked, and looked again. “Uh, Captain?”

  “Go,” a voice returned over his headphones.

  “Sir, we have approximately thirty aircraft rapidly approaching our vector.”

  “Say again, was that three-zero?” his captain’s voice came back.

  “Yes, sir. Wait one. Now I have six zero approaching. They will arrive in… HOLY SHIT!”

  “Styles! Can it; keep it professional.”

  “Uh, sir, you will see them coming up very, very quickly.” Styles barely managed to calm his voice.

  “What?” There was a break, then, “Never mind. Styles, didn’t you say sixty?”

  “Yes, sir! Radar is showing sixty, as in six zero contacts.”

  “Ok, because visual is six,” the captain called back. “From a few hundred meters away.”

  “Im-fucking-possible,” Styles murmured to himself. “Sir, can you confirm six again?”

  “Yes,” came back quickly.

  “Sir, they are spoofing their signature, and they are all o
ver the place. Can you tell me where they are?”

  “Wait one for Mark-One Eyeball. They are sitting about ten feet above our six birds flying upside down, taking pictures with cell phones. One idiot is using a flash.”

  “Sir, I have nothing. I repeat, there is nothing showing near our birds,” Styles finally managed to get out.

  An unrecognized voice interrupted their conversation. “This is Black Eagle One. We will be leaving in a few seconds. I will count down from ten. When I do, we will take off in this same direction, although we will adjust a few hundred feet up so our disturbance doesn’t affect your flight. I propose someone takes off when I start counting. The rest is up to you guys. We will not be attaining top speed. Have a nice day.”

  “Ten,” said the deep voice again. Styles saw the first jet fire its afterburners. “Nine…” A second pulled out. The voice got down to one when the last plane fired its afterburners and started rapidly leaving the E2D behind.

  Suddenly, six blips appeared where their Pods had been seconds before. They jumped up five hundred feet in altitude before…

  They simply disappeared within two seconds from his screen.

  “Holy…Fuck…” Styles let out, not realizing he still had an active mic.

  His captain came over the radio. “For once, Styles, I concur.”

  “Well, that was a fun start to our little Bitches’ night out. Where is our first stop, John?” Eric called over the comm.

  All of the men were playing with the capabilities of their helmets. They gave them complete spatial awareness in a globe around their craft, and also pointed out items in the upper atmosphere or anywhere they chose to look.

  “We are going to Iraq. ISIL has been killing all sorts of people, but specifically, Christians. They crucify them and put the videos on the Internet. They have multiple oil refineries pumping for the money.”

  “Bombing run?” asked Peter.