"Don't Miss," He Said (New romantic Story series)

[romantic_story]

"Judas," my brother sighed. "I know the story. The police report though...more red flags than Rhinos playing soccer." He paused, as though remembering something. "On a lighter note though, how good is Himeko's cooking? I know she can cook for two."

"As far as taste goes, she's better than SoDexHo, if that's what you mean. I think she can handle cooking for three."

Albrecht laughed. "Three? Think she could handle seven?"

"Seven? Oh no...Albrecht...You didn't."

Albrecht reached inside his pocket, and retrieved a shiny whistle. He blew once, loudly, and assumed a more commanding posture.

"Fall in," he called out.

"Oh, God no."

I heard a rustle from the same closet from which Albrecht had been hiding. The door flew open with a bang. From an upper shelf tumbled the bodies of the rest of Able Squad. After a short respite of lying in a heap, Gibalev, Manstir and Peterson lined up in front of my brother at a stiff attention.

"Parade," Albrecht said, pausing for but a second, "rest!"

The men staggered their feet and assumed the more relaxed posture, eyes dead ahead. I edged nervously out of Gibalev's gaze, trying to avoid making eye contact. Albrecht addressed them, saying "men, this is House Rosethorne. These premises will be our temporary base, whilst Peterson recovers from his unfortunate...uh...Head and Groundhog-Hole injury.

Peterson rubbed the side of his head. "I thought it would fit," he said, woefully.

"And I tried to convince you," Albrecht continued, "that there was no tactical advantage to putting your head in a groundhog-hole. Moving along...Manstir, I want you to do a perimeter check, and for God's sake, Gibalev, stop raising that eyebrow at me.

Gibalev locked his gaze again. Albrecht continued, "finally, if things get bad, and with two women around thy might, if things get bad, and we're forced to retreat, this room here is the Alamo. Last one alive blows the bomb. That'll destroy us and our enemy along with any evidence. Then it's an easy one-sheet cleanup. Questions?" Nothing. "Good. One more thing. If I am gone, this man," Albrecht said, as he pushed the whistle against my chest, which I took, "is your commanding officer. Fall out to your assigned tasks.

*************

Sitting there in the house, surrounded by my friends, and Elena, I couldn't have been happier. I looked over at Elena, and she smiled back in earnest. Now that we were together, now that we were all gathered, our lives could begin anew. I told myself there that I would stick by Elena no matter what. Death, terror, and further hardships can be overcome, as long as one has something to fight for. And for me, that something is Elena.

*************

------Well, Alphonse and Elena are all settled in it seems. But, how long will normalcy last? Can they cope with Alphonse's maid, and Albrecht's coworkers, while still finding time for love? And what of these criminals, the captors and the killer, who take the Apostle's names? Will Alphonse ever find the link between them, and possibly solace for his parent's death? It's all in the next installment of '"Don't Miss," he said.': A dirge of loss, An etude of love, a rondo of mystery, and a march of action!

--Kyoketsu Shoge

[romantic_story]

"Don't Miss," He Said Ch. 03
byKyoketsu_Shoge©

Here it is: the next exciting chapter of '"Don't Miss," He Said.' I highly recommend you read the first two chapters of this story before continuing. If you don't, it's like dividing by zero: either your head explodes into many little logical fallacies, or your eyes turn black. The following takes place about three days after Alphonse and Elena moved in together. So, here we go. Alphonse, they're all yours.

*************

"If life ain't just a joke, than why am I laughing? If life ain't just a joke, than why are we laughing? If life ain't just a joke, than why are we dead?" --My Chemical Romance: Dead!

*************

I was getting annoyed.

"I thought it was Foxtrot. You are using NATO phonetics, right," Elena asked.

"Well, it could be, but if there's a heavy machine gunner layin' some death on your 20, and you've got to radio foxtrot for assistance, you gotta count your syllables. Take an extra syllable, and your jaw could be hangin' by a thread. Shot clean off. That's a messy procedure, reattaching a jaw, mind you," Gibalev told her.

"Christ, Gibalev, tone it down. Some of us don't eat off of cadavers," Himeko scolded him.

"Ah, let him talk," Albrecht said, swallowing some more eggs. "This is the first time in months they've eaten at ease."

"First time in a while I've done a lot of things, Staff Sergeant," Manstir said. "Sleeping in separate rooms for once is a blessing."

"That's never stopped you before," commented Gibalev, struggling to cut the thick slabs of bacon. "Don't think we can't here you fapping up there. Not too tactical."

Peterson started graphically chugging his tall glass of orange juice. Himeko started cheering for him as he drank.

"Maybe he wants you to hear him, Gibalev," my brother said.

I put my head in my hands. This was getting too much for me. "Jesus Christ," I sighed into my palms. "What next, a musical number?"

"KILL!!!" yelled Peterson as he slammed his glass into the table, and Himeko and Elena started to cheer and clap. Albrecht stood up from his seat to join the clapping.

"Well done, Peterson! CCK!"

The three men answered similarly, "CCK!"

"Assume the front-leaning rest position," shouted Albrecht, getting down into the same position, suitable for starting pushups.

Peterson, Gibalev and Manstir went down on the floor as well, and they started doing pushups in unison. Then they began singing. "Oh, believe me if all those endearing young charms!"

Again, I was getting annoyed.

"Which I gaze on so fondly today," they continued, very irreverently. "Were to change by tomorrow!"

Albrecht yelled through the singing, "Louder still! With fervor!"

"Or fleet in my arms," they sang, getting louder. "Just like fairy gifts fading away!" They then all rose, and Albrecht picked up his fork from the table, pointing it dramatically down the hallway.

"Retreat! Get inside the Hornburg! They've breached the fucking Deeping Wall!"

Able Squad sprinted out of the room screaming, with Albrecht following them, making more Lord of the Rings references as he went. His fork finally fell back onto the table. "I don't think I can take much more of this, Elena," I finally said, after the front door closed. "Now I realize why they make the recruits eat at attention."

Elena got up from her seat, clearing the places of dishes and silverware as she came towards me. "Don't fret," she said. "They're quite entertaining. It's kind of fun." She passed behind me, grabbed the plate and fork I had used, and planted a kiss on the back of my neck, whispering in my ear, "Plus, he's your brother, and they're with him. We haven't much of a choice."

"What do you think, Himeko," I asked, noticing the far-off look in her eyes. She seemed to shake herself as if from sleep.

"You don't want to know what I think, Alphonse."

[romantic_story]

I looked behind me where she had been looking, and saw Able squad out on the lawn, about thirty yards out, doing more pushups, while Albrecht paced back and forth. By the way his mouth was moving, I assume he was giving them a highly motivating cadence.

I sat at my desk in the study later that day, talking with Peterson, who had his laptop with him. He had spread several files on my desk, which I was perusing. "Are any groups claiming responsibility for this one," I asked, motioning to one document in particular.

Peterson looked down at his laptop and furrowed his brow in thought. He made a few quick keystrokes, then responded, still typing and scrolling, "the attack on BWI? That was a while ago. Let me check it out. Police don't have anything, and local feds shut up about it before the body was cleaned up."

"What was the actual crime? My copy here's blacked out everything but pronouns and articles."

"Single target, single shot. Heavy caliber sniper round. The rifling reminded me of a Barrett, and the round was a .50 cal, but I guess I'm biased."

"Biased?"

"The Barrett .50 caliber, anti-material sniper rifle: I love that motherfucker."

Even I had heard of the badass-ery possible when the weapon was loosed. "Any other information," I asked.

"Well, like I said, local authorities clammed up, but the NSA...They caught something."

"NSA? National Security Agency? But they're external affairs, right?"

"I was skeptical at first, too, but I reason it like this: if it's an international airport, than foreigners can come and go, right? If there are any high-priority targets coming and going, we'd want eyes all over that bitch."

"Go on."

"Well, it turns out that the TSA has its own cameras in the interior. But...NSA's got the exterior taped like a television studio. This is the only picture we have of the assassin."

Peterson handed me an enlargement of the pixel-ridden snapshot I had been provided with in my document. It was a smallish figure, probably no more than five and a half feet tall, hunched over, hefting the sniper rifle. The figure wore a skintight suit with a tactical vest-rig.

"One thing," Peterson said, "it's a woman." "Intriguing. So who's this...bitch's master?"

Peterson thought for a moment, hand running over his high-and-tight haircut. "Well, we don't know. The only clue we have is the shell casing recovered from the rooftop. While the bullet was modified to be a devastator round, quite a trick on a rifle round, the shell casing was standard issue. It was engraved though. It said 'we see your sins', and it had what we believe to be a fish below the text."

"Gospel squad; no doubt about it."

"Now that's a shitty name, like Beauty and the Beast corps. I thought those guys didn't exist. Mr. Rosethorne, are you saying you buy into this Christian Terrorism bullshit?"

"They're not Christian terrorists. And the B&B corps was shit hot; especially if you've got a machine fetish. I also know who Gospel's mastermind is. They call him Judas."

"Jesus Christ...the serial killer?"

I stood up from my seat, and let the files drop into Peterson's lap. "Corporal Peterson," I said, as I left the room, pausing before closing the door, "you may deal in intelligence. But I...I deal in experience."

I left Peterson in the room, and went to find Elena.

She was sitting in the living room with Albrecht. "Hi, Alphonse," she said, seeing me enter. I sat down next to her, and listened as Albrecht finished up his story.

"But when I looked down, I realized it was actually made of chicken livers, and not album covers like I had thought. Five seconds later, we heard the news about the prime minister, but we weren't paying attention, because it was our turn for the roller coaster."

"No wonder she couldn't play soccer after that," Elena said.

"What were you talking about, Albrecht," I asked.

He responded, "I was telling your girlfriend here about the day I met Gibalev."

"Good story," I responded. Albrecht excused himself, and I turned to Elena. "I can't help but smile every time."

"Every time what?"