March 8 update! Woohoo! Finally! 
Associated Press said:
Mysterious Cloud Cover in Nova Scotia
February 6th, 2003. Associated Press - Staff Writer James Calhoun.
Meteorologists and scientists are baffled by a cloud cover over Nova Scotia, which resists high winds, and persists through storms and seeming clear weather in the bordering provinces, and even over the neighboring section of the Atlantic.
Most baffling of all is the increase in temperature in this normally cold province.
Samples of the cloud cover have also returned interesting results, with water particles interspersed with sulfur, and high amounts of carbon. The baffling scientists is the fact that there is no apparent reason for the makeup of the cloud, which closer resembles smoke than a normal cloud.
Associated Press said:
Canadian Prime Minister Appoints New Defense Minister
February 8th, 2003. Associated Press - Staff Writer James Calhoun.
Canadian Prime Minister d’Gorthar appoints General Raymond Sharkey as the new Defense Minister. General Sharkey is well known for his outspoken views on the threat posed by American policies. America’s ambassador to Canada expressed her disapproval of the appointment, but was told that it was Canada’s business, and she should stick to her own country. Vice president Cheney issued a statement condemning d’Gorthar for his words, and expressing hope that America and Canada will remain strong allies.
“That’s it… This sumbitch is really startin’ ta push my buttons.” President Bush’s aides fidgeted nervously, as he paced the Oval Office. “What the hell did I ever do t’him? Huh? I want someone checkin’ out his family… see if we’ve killed ‘r imprisoned any of his cousins, ‘r his favorite moose… mebbe Jeb shot a beaver he took a fancy to.” He glared at his top aide, and enunciated to the best of his ability, “I. Want. To. Know. What. His. Problem. Is. Do you unnerstand me?” His aide, Michael, tried to keep his eyes on his boss’ eyes, “Yes, Mr. President. The investigation will be underway…” he glanced at his watch, “…by thirteen hundred hours, sir. I guarantee it.”
Bush looked at the clock, looked at his watch, closed his eyes, and seemed to be considering something. “That’s… three? Three hours? Three hours. Get on it, then. An’ I don’t want any sloppy work. Find out what his problem is. And do it, quick. Y’all’re dismissed.” Bush picked up his phone as his aides were walking out the door, he cleared his throat, “ahem… uhm… Mr. Ashcroft?” Michael closed the door behind him.
Elsewhere…
Colonel Harland called in sergeants Jackson and McEvoy for debriefing. After interviewing them individually, and then together, the colonel seemed satisfied that he had the whole story.
“Sergeants,” the colonel said, “I want you to get checked out by captain Holmes, ASAP, then I want both of you over in Delta three Bravo, immediately afterward, and I mean doubletime.”
Jackson and McEvoy stood at attention and held their salute, “Yes sir!”
The colonel saluted, “carry on, gentlemen.”
The sergeants moved out to the infirmary to be checked out by captain Holmes. The infirmary was strangely empty, except for the captain, and corporal Wolfham, who were both waiting for the pair. Captain Holmes gave them a full checkup, then gave all three of them a shot, and sent them on their way. The three of them hustled over to Delta three Bravo, and were instructed to take seats.
Three men in white lab coats came in to the room, and started checking the men out. An assistant lowered the lights, and the men pulled eyelights out, to check their pupil responses. The eyelights began strobing, and the men felt instantly nauseous, and weak…
Colonel Rehne watched through the one way glass. “You know. We’re going to have to give him back his stripe.”
General Harron mumbled an affirmation. “Yeah… Do it. I’ll push the paperwork, and keep it quiet.”
February 11, 2003
McEvoy woke up, groaning. He looked around the hotel room, confused, and lost. And hungry. After availing himself of the facilities and drinking from the faucet, he looked out his window to the beach, below, and tourists in bathing suits, and bikinis.
“What the hell…?” He picked up the phone, and dialed 0, for the operator.
“Front desk, how may I direct your call?” came the male voice on the other end.
“Uhh… Yeah… I’m … confused, I think. Where am I?” McEvoy asked.
“Sir, your call is coming from room 614. Do you require medical assistance?” he asked.
“No… no. No medical assistance… Uhmm…
Where am I? Hotel… City… Where?” the sergeant asked.
“Sir… you’re in room 614, at the Honolulu Hilton Hotel, with strict orders to not disturb you before you awoke.” The desk clerk was beginning to sound concerned.
McEvoy was thoroughly confused, now, “Honolulu? … No… we were in Tikrit… Is there a Charles Jackson registered here, as well?”
“Hold, sir…” the desk clerk put him on hold, and he could hear some Elvis Presley song on the phone for a moment… “Yes, sir. Mr. Jackson is registered in room 616, there is also another Marine, a sergeant Eric Wolfham in room 615. The computer shows that the three of you registered at the same time. Is there some other way I may assist you, sir?”
“No. No thank you. I’m okay, from here.” McEvoy hung up the phone. He looked around, and found the keycard for the room on top of the dresser. He put it in his breast pocket, and walked into the hall. He walked past room 615, and knocked on 616. He waited. He knocked again, harder, and kept knocking until he could hear movement from inside.
Jackson opened the door, looking bewildered… “What? Where the hell are we? … This isn’t Tikrit…”
McEvoy snickered, “You noticed, eh? Hawaii. Honolulu Hilton, to be exact.”
“What?” Jackson looked stunned, “How the hell did we end up in Honolulu?”
“You’re the gunny… Gunny.” McEvoy said, “You tell me, and we’ll both know.”
The sergeants stared out the window at the beach, below.
Elsewhere…
Deirdre Jones rather enjoyed life on an American Military Base. As something of a special government agent, she enjoyed many privileges, and very few responsibilities, other than typing essay-like reports regarding Canadian military changes in the past several months, any political conversations she’d been privy to, and outlining any of her special training that might be helpful to the country to which she now pledged her allegiance without hesitation.
She enjoyed being in an underground complex, though the lights were always kept too high for her taste, and she normally kept her quarters unlit, except for the clock face, which she dimmed. She kept her dark shades with her, for those frequent times she’d receive a visiting officer who had thought of some question or other that wasn’t in the files, and would come down and speak with her, in person.
Deirdre was scheduled for an MRI, and a CAT scan, later that day. The doctors told her they wished to see if there was something
wrong between her brain and her eyes that made her so susceptible to bright lights. Her own thought was that they wanted to see what was different that allowed her to see in the dark without the use of night vision equipment, and see if it was able to be duplicated in their own ranks. She did not, of course, voice this opinion, and simply responded with a “Yes, sir” when the
request was made of her.
She had been reading the news reports regarding the goings on in Canada with interest, and was particularly interested in the fact that a Defense Minister had been appointed within a day of the noxious cloud cover over Nova Scotia. She voiced this to the base commander, in passing, to gauge his reaction, but made no more mention of it, when it was apparently ignored.
Deirdre Jones had met General Sharkey on a number of occasions, and she was somewhat unsettled by his odd questions regarding things about her physiology that she had told nobody. She always got the impression that he knew more about her than she did, and he always gave her a case of the creeps. This was doubly unsettling in that nobody else that she had encountered had that effect on her.
Deirdre mainly kept to herself. She was usually in her quarters writing reports as her workday, but could be found in the rec room watching the news, or reading newspapers and periodical magazines, in her off time. Recently, a young soldier working under the Quartermaster had been sitting himself at the same table with her, and even striking up small conversational topics regarding what was going on in the news, or things he’d overheard other soldiers gabbing about. He had also been trying to keep up with her during the running portions of PT, but had found that she was surprisingly fast; and quite nimble when she took time to run through the training obstacle course. Deirdre had also been considering inquiring of the base commander if she would be allowed to qualify with weapons for the American Military. After so many years carrying a sidearm, at least, she felt naked and vulnerable without anything of the sort, now. But that was for later.
To be continued…
