"That's more or less how it works, yes," Sonja said with a smile, though inwardly she groaned. She didn't mind being a celebrity, but Barclay-Hoffmeyer had some overenthusiastic PR people. She'd have preferred the entire world didn't know the exact source of her magic- anyone would half a brain would be able to figure out ways to attack and undermine her using that information.
She heard Volt's question, and cocked her head. "You know, that's a pretty good question. I mean, teamwork is valuable, we all saw that today. But is this supposed to be an active or reactive group? I mean, are we going to make first strikes on threats or just run out the door every time a bank gets robbed? I don't know."
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Sonja Simpson
"Wait, I know you," Sonja said to the newcomer. "You're Hot Rod, right? Out of Texas? I think I saw you at the induction ceremony." She put aside the legendary (to Missourians, at least) rivalry between Missouri and Texas long enough to give the man a warm handshake. "Nice to meet you! Sonja Simpson. The Spirit of St. Louis, if we're being official. But we're all off the clock at the moment, right? Hey, tell the bartender you just got into the League, he'll give you a drink on me."
She laughed off the question about her and Volt. "No, not a date. Just getting to know my teammates." She patted the empty barstool next to her with an inviting smile. "Join the fun!"
Sixgun
"Padre, can you make it louder?"
"The usual phrase is 'turn the volume up', Ben," the priest observed as he fiddled with the remote control. The Phoenix news station came through louder as the anchors excitedly reported on the events in Chicago. Hostages freed from a bank and a shopping mall, several dangerous supervillains behind bars, the League more than doubled in size. Ben Brady, formerly known as Ben Black, watched with interest. Though the idea of seeing and hearing people in Chicago even as they spoke confused him a little, television was one thing he had readily adapted to. It was good to know what was going on in the world.
"A lot of the lawmen down at the saloon were wagging chins about this," Ben said reflectively. "Wasn't sure, myself. But this might be a force for good in the world, Padre."
Father Julio Ochoa, handsome and dignified with a touch of gray at the temples, arched a single eyebrow at Ben. In lieu of ever throwing a punch, that single arched eyebrow was Ochoa's best move, capable of stopping most men in their tracks. "Or it might be an ego-driven publicity exercise."
"Even if it is, Padre, they still did some good today. Folk in that bank or that big ol' general store wouldn't alive if not for this here League," Ben pointed out. "Might be worth checking out. I tell you what, I'm going to get tickets on the next train to Chicago and look into joinin' up."
"The next train?" Father Ochoa asked. "Wouldn't it be better to take a plane?"
"If God intended man to fly, He would have given us wings, Padre," Ben said. "Trains I know. Rode on plenty, robbed my share of them. Train it is."
"Just don't rob this one, Ben."
"Those days are behind me Padre," he said as he hauled out a suitcase. "Got to look forwards now."
"Wait, I know you," Sonja said to the newcomer. "You're Hot Rod, right? Out of Texas? I think I saw you at the induction ceremony." She put aside the legendary (to Missourians, at least) rivalry between Missouri and Texas long enough to give the man a warm handshake. "Nice to meet you! Sonja Simpson. The Spirit of St. Louis, if we're being official. But we're all off the clock at the moment, right? Hey, tell the bartender you just got into the League, he'll give you a drink on me."
She laughed off the question about her and Volt. "No, not a date. Just getting to know my teammates." She patted the empty barstool next to her with an inviting smile. "Join the fun!"
Sixgun
"Padre, can you make it louder?"
"The usual phrase is 'turn the volume up', Ben," the priest observed as he fiddled with the remote control. The Phoenix news station came through louder as the anchors excitedly reported on the events in Chicago. Hostages freed from a bank and a shopping mall, several dangerous supervillains behind bars, the League more than doubled in size. Ben Brady, formerly known as Ben Black, watched with interest. Though the idea of seeing and hearing people in Chicago even as they spoke confused him a little, television was one thing he had readily adapted to. It was good to know what was going on in the world.
"A lot of the lawmen down at the saloon were wagging chins about this," Ben said reflectively. "Wasn't sure, myself. But this might be a force for good in the world, Padre."
Father Julio Ochoa, handsome and dignified with a touch of gray at the temples, arched a single eyebrow at Ben. In lieu of ever throwing a punch, that single arched eyebrow was Ochoa's best move, capable of stopping most men in their tracks. "Or it might be an ego-driven publicity exercise."
"Even if it is, Padre, they still did some good today. Folk in that bank or that big ol' general store wouldn't alive if not for this here League," Ben pointed out. "Might be worth checking out. I tell you what, I'm going to get tickets on the next train to Chicago and look into joinin' up."
"The next train?" Father Ochoa asked. "Wouldn't it be better to take a plane?"
"If God intended man to fly, He would have given us wings, Padre," Ben said. "Trains I know. Rode on plenty, robbed my share of them. Train it is."
"Just don't rob this one, Ben."
"Those days are behind me Padre," he said as he hauled out a suitcase. "Got to look forwards now."
I'm still here, El Guapo!
If it's any consolation, Free, I run a business and have to sneak this into my off hours.
I'd like to hear more.
Yeah, the eye's a joke on my username, which is based on my old MMA nickname "Cyclops".
Darn.
Fort Leonard Wood is located deep in the Ozarks. What few towns are nearby have such picturesque names as Devil's Elbow and Big Piney, which really should have tipped Danny Crowley off as to what he was getting into with this one.
Actually, the chaplain reflected, the nickname Fort Lost in the Woods should have done the trick.
It had looked like the usual kind of hoodoo case. A dark-haired woman in a red dress staring through the perimeter fence, tears streaming from her eyes, seemingly disappearing when called to. A lot of people on-base talking about ghosts was bad for morale, of course, so the MPs asked for a CID specialist. And so, as always, Danny Crowley was called to have a look around, to figure out whether they were dealing with ghosts or simply a disturbed woman. That meant combing the woods for any sign of her, which meant a few more pairs of eyes, which meant a few low-level MPs with him. Which meant grumbling and whispering as they hiked through humid, itchy woods.
Danny didn't care.
"What kind of trees are these? These are very pretty," he called back to the men following him. The question was met with shrugs. "I'll have to look that up. Beautiful country around here." He touched the very slight amount of perspiration on his forehead, as compared to the other dripping men. "God has blessed us with a gorgeous day," he said with no discernible trace of irony. "Even if we find no trace of this woman, just this nice walk in the woods makes it all worthwhile."
He turned as the peaceful Missouri summer day was interrupted by the sound of someone crashing heavily through the brush towards the group. While the rest of the men tensed in confusion, Crowley merely smiled. Maybe that would be their mystery woman, in which case they would have very quick results.
However, rather than a weeping woman in a red dress, it proved to be a rather out-of-breath woman in ACUs waving a sealed envelope. "Captain, sir," she panted. "Message for you, sir. Confidential."
"Well, it's a good thing you were able to catch up to me, then. Thank you," Crowley said casually and pleasantly as he took the sealed envelope from the corporal. Tearing it open, he pulled out the tersely written letter within and looked it over. The messenger and MPs noted a split second of confusion and possibly shock on his face, but he recovered well. He always did.
"Well, then," Crowley said absently as he finished. "I suppose you should all report back to base. She'll lead you back through the woods," he said with a wave to the messenger. "My replacement should be taking over tomorrow and the search will resume."
"Your replacement, Captain?" one of the MPs asked quizzically.
"It appears I'm no longer serving in the United States Army," Danny Crowley said. With a shrug, he removed his tan beret and wandered off into the trees. "God's plan, I suppose."
* * *
The last few days had been a whirlwind. A flight from Waynesville to St. Louis, then from Lambert to Minneapolis. It didn't seem right to continue wearing his uniform, so Crowley had taken the time to buy a few changes of his other uniform: black pants, black shirt, white tab collar. He was no longer Captain Crowley, but he was quite satisfied with being Father Crowley.
And now, here he was, sitting in the briefing room of an agency he didn't know existed two days ago with a bunch of strangers. He listened to their introductions with interest, making a mental note about each person and paying close attention, before eyes settled on him. Smiling beatifically, Father Crowley stood.
"Hello. My name is Father Daniel Crowley. I was formerly a chaplain in the Army Rangers," he said with a nod to the woman who had mentioned she had been a Sergeant First Class. "I also spent a year or so in CID, working on cases of a somewhat suspect nature. I feel very blessed to be included on this team, and I look forward to getting know each of you. With your permission, I would like to lead us in a brief prayer." He bowed his head, waiting to see if anyone would follow suit.
Actually, the chaplain reflected, the nickname Fort Lost in the Woods should have done the trick.
It had looked like the usual kind of hoodoo case. A dark-haired woman in a red dress staring through the perimeter fence, tears streaming from her eyes, seemingly disappearing when called to. A lot of people on-base talking about ghosts was bad for morale, of course, so the MPs asked for a CID specialist. And so, as always, Danny Crowley was called to have a look around, to figure out whether they were dealing with ghosts or simply a disturbed woman. That meant combing the woods for any sign of her, which meant a few more pairs of eyes, which meant a few low-level MPs with him. Which meant grumbling and whispering as they hiked through humid, itchy woods.
Danny didn't care.
"What kind of trees are these? These are very pretty," he called back to the men following him. The question was met with shrugs. "I'll have to look that up. Beautiful country around here." He touched the very slight amount of perspiration on his forehead, as compared to the other dripping men. "God has blessed us with a gorgeous day," he said with no discernible trace of irony. "Even if we find no trace of this woman, just this nice walk in the woods makes it all worthwhile."
He turned as the peaceful Missouri summer day was interrupted by the sound of someone crashing heavily through the brush towards the group. While the rest of the men tensed in confusion, Crowley merely smiled. Maybe that would be their mystery woman, in which case they would have very quick results.
However, rather than a weeping woman in a red dress, it proved to be a rather out-of-breath woman in ACUs waving a sealed envelope. "Captain, sir," she panted. "Message for you, sir. Confidential."
"Well, it's a good thing you were able to catch up to me, then. Thank you," Crowley said casually and pleasantly as he took the sealed envelope from the corporal. Tearing it open, he pulled out the tersely written letter within and looked it over. The messenger and MPs noted a split second of confusion and possibly shock on his face, but he recovered well. He always did.
"Well, then," Crowley said absently as he finished. "I suppose you should all report back to base. She'll lead you back through the woods," he said with a wave to the messenger. "My replacement should be taking over tomorrow and the search will resume."
"Your replacement, Captain?" one of the MPs asked quizzically.
"It appears I'm no longer serving in the United States Army," Danny Crowley said. With a shrug, he removed his tan beret and wandered off into the trees. "God's plan, I suppose."
* * *
The last few days had been a whirlwind. A flight from Waynesville to St. Louis, then from Lambert to Minneapolis. It didn't seem right to continue wearing his uniform, so Crowley had taken the time to buy a few changes of his other uniform: black pants, black shirt, white tab collar. He was no longer Captain Crowley, but he was quite satisfied with being Father Crowley.
And now, here he was, sitting in the briefing room of an agency he didn't know existed two days ago with a bunch of strangers. He listened to their introductions with interest, making a mental note about each person and paying close attention, before eyes settled on him. Smiling beatifically, Father Crowley stood.
"Hello. My name is Father Daniel Crowley. I was formerly a chaplain in the Army Rangers," he said with a nod to the woman who had mentioned she had been a Sergeant First Class. "I also spent a year or so in CID, working on cases of a somewhat suspect nature. I feel very blessed to be included on this team, and I look forward to getting know each of you. With your permission, I would like to lead us in a brief prayer." He bowed his head, waiting to see if anyone would follow suit.
Back. Exhausted. Must sleep. Will try to post tomorrow.
Word of warning, folks- I've been called on an unexpected business trip over the weekend, so might be a little while until I can get something up.
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