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Message: <blockquote data-quote="ledded" data-source="post: 1709333" data-attributes="member: 12744">[PLAIN]We were like gods once... [The few versus the many][/PLAIN]……  England, several days later… John, Moose, and Hank were laughing and playing cards while Smitty sat on a bunk nearby having a smoke and looking at a pin-up mag, smiling and nodding his head appreciatively to the Glen Miller Band blaring from Frogbot’s chest speaker. Frogbot sat, back erect, and smiled his not-quite-real smile at the others, occasionally opening his mouth to emit a forced ‘ha ha ha’ sound when someone made a joke and the others burst into laughter, often several seconds after the men’s laughter died down. Maybe it was camaraderie, or his proficiency in slicing, well, pretty much anything he felt like to tiny bits, but the team had taken to the construct and treated him, if not like just another one of the guys, as a fellow member of the team, despite his strangeness. “No, no, no Moose… see, when you don’t have a good hand, you need to bet *high* you see, then you can bluff me and Hank right out of the game. Here, try again”, John said soothingly to a concentrating Moose, as Hank just nodded, smiling. “Um, okay dere, um, instead of folding I bet another… 2 bits?” Moose said, brow furrowed in concentration. John waved him off and continued, “Are you sure? See, if you go a bit higher, well you might just scare us off? Sure you don’t wanna raise?” “Okay dere, I’ll raise ya. That’s a dollar to you Hank”, Moose announced, smiling triumphantly. “Dingdang ol’ sheeeeooooot Moosey baby, that-thar’s dingdang too dang rich fer my blood”, Hank rattled off and tossed in his cards. Moose smiled expansively, and folded his hands behind his head, leaning his huge frame back tenuously in the chair as it creaked in protest. John took on a look of studied worry, and tapped one finger against his teeth.  “Hmmm. I dunno, that’s a lot of cash in there”. He blew out a deep breath, collapsed his cards into his hand and made as if to toss them face-down on the table. Moose grinned and leaned forward, his hand stretching out to draw in the pot. John stopped, took a quick look at his cards, and put a hand out towards Moose. “Whoa there, big fella, lemme see… yeah, I’ll see that dollar. Call.” Moose looked at him for a second, confused, then turned over his cards. “I got a pair of the little prince guys.” “Jacks, Moose. They’re called jacks”, John helped patiently. “Yeah. Dem. Got two of 'em.” John sucked in a breath through his teeth and shook his head.  “Dang Moose, that’s not bad. See, I was sitting here holding just a couple sevens”, John said as he tossed a couple cards onto the table. Moose smiled again and reached for the pot, but John interrupted him. “But then I said to myself, ‘John, did you look at those right? Seems like there was, oh yep, here they are… I almost forgot these *other* two sevens’ ”, John said with a straight face, tossing another couple sevens next to the two already on the table. “I musta had ‘em upside down and thought they were ones. Ya know, got mixed up a bit. Tough break Moose.” Moose looked crestfallen. “Yeah, that happens ta me sometimes too John, dontcha know, don’t worry about it” he replied as John scraped in the pile of money. John gave him a reassuring pat. “Hey, don’t worry Moose. See, you’re *learning*.” Hank giggled a little and immediately took a long swig off of his beer to cover for it. “Jesus Moose…” said Smitty, shaking his head and smiling at the big Canadian. “What? Hey dere Smitty, I’m learnin’”, Moose shot back at him defensively. “Oh, you’re *learnin’* all right, boyo”, Smitty replied, laughing as the others joined in, Hank spitting a little beer foam onto the table. “Ha. Ha. Ha.” said Frogbot, flatly, as his head swiveled mechanically towards the sounds of mirth. Moose looked wounded, obviously not quite getting the joke but perceptive enough to know that he was on the blunt end of it. John gave him another slap on his considerably wide back.  “Don’t worry about it buddy, since I won, the beers are on me.” “Um, hey dere, don’t they give us the beer here?” Moose replied, suspicion dawning on his child-like face slowly, like the sun crawling over the horizon after a 10 hour sentry watch, or a 12 hour drunk. “Hey, that’s right Moose, you don’t miss a thing! And we’re just about out. Why don’t you go get us some more while you’re up?”  Hank shook his empty beer glass appreciatively and nodded his head like that was the best idea he’d heard all day.  “Okay dere, another beer would be nice, dontcha know. Maybe some more grub too!” said Moose as he stood and stretched, face brightening at the prospect. Smitty just shook his head and rotated the pin-up, letting out a low whistle. Smith and Smythe entered the room briskly, the team sitting there in there various stages of recreation. They were followed by the ESS’s lead researcher, Dr Elliot Zanders, or called Dr. Z or just “Z” for short. “Ten-hut, we have ze officers entering ze room!” called Frogbot as they strode into the room. Moose turned and saluted as Frogbot sprang erect and saluted with mechanical precision, ‘the Star Spangled Banner’ and ‘God Save the Queen’ softly playing simultaneously from his chest speaker. Hank slowly slid his leg off of the arm of the chair and stood languidly, giving a lazy salute. John gave a slightly annoyed half-salute, then quickly gathered his winnings and stuffed them into his shirt as he stood up. Smitty gave a glance, then just sat there and kept looking at his pin-up.“At-ease there, old beans, hope you’re feeling a bit better. We’ve got a few things we ought to tidy up. You remember Z, righto boys?” Smythe pratted in his Londoner’s brogue. Smith picked up when Smythe paused. “Dr Z wants to test you a bit more, and go over a couple things that may help you”. “ ’ello, ‘at’s right boys. Tip-tip, cheerio, and all that. Bloody good to see you back in one piece!” the British doctor spoke up in his cheerily academic way, bouncing slightly from heel to balls of his feet with his hands clasped behind him. Smith glanced at him, and continued. “Well, since you are now officially commissioned in the ESS, you’ve all been placed in a division according to your talents.” “We have two types of teams here. Basically, research and support teams, and then field teams.” Smith turns to a blackboard and writes on the board. “Dr Z heads up the TITAN teams: Talent Intelligence Transfer and Abilities Notification. They gather information, research, scout out new talents and ESSes, and report back anything they can find about what the Jerry’s are up to. They also find support uses for those talents who, for some reason, only manifest one thing; jinxes, singletons, whatever you wanna call them, he finds a way for them to contribute. The twins that flew us out of Arnhem are two of them.”  “You boys will work with Dr Z anytime he needs you; he may seem like a limey fop”, Dr Z looks askance at Smith then acts as if he didn’t hear the remark, “but he knows more about this Enhanced Talent business and a whole lot more than anyone else. He’s our go-to guy on supers and new technology. Listen to him, and he may just save your life one day.” Smith writes on the board some more, then turns to continue. “However, most of the time you’re gonna serve us in the field. You’ll be the latest of our field teams, called Team SPAARTANS: Super Powered Allied Assault, Recon, Talent Neutralization and Suppression. Actually, our main team.” John spoke up. “Excuse me sir, what happened to the previous SPAARTANS teams?” Smith face takes a dark, grim cast as he hesitates for a moment, as if searching for the right words. He then underlines a word on the board and continues, his voice low with a desperate edge to it. “Son, just like the Spartans at Thermopylae, we too are the last hope. We are the few that stand against the many. The Nazi’s outnumber us, outflank us, and are ahead of us in ways we don’t even begin to understand. Just like that narrow pass, our job is to stand and stem the tide until such time as the world can catch up and throw back the hordes of the Huns. With our strength, our courage, our honor and our blood, we must stand, we must never balk or turn.” Smith pauses in the silent room. “And pray to God that we can hold them back long enough, because without us Hitler’s Umbermensch will be in every city of the world within a few years, and the streets will run with blood, the gutters overflowing with tears”. Frogbot speaks up, quietly. “Oui. It eez true, mon ami. I have seen it.” The room is silent for a moment, then Smitty pipes up. “Heck, Cap’n, all I wanna know is what a Ther-mo-pile is”, nodding at the board, “and what the hell that has ta do with us?” There are a few snickers in the room before Smitty puts down the pinup, grinds his smoke out on the floor, and looks Smith directly in his one angry, good eye. “Cap’n, you just tell us what needs doin’, and it’ll get done. Save all that flag-wavin’ for the greenhorns off the boat; I’ve had enough smoke blown up my ass to last me the rest of this war.” Noting the tension, Dr Z then steps forwards, rubbing his hands together. “Ok, very well then, um, lets see… I have a few things I want to go over, especially with you Hank, but first there is a matter of your code names. We don’t want to refer to you by your actual names, lest Nazi agents back across the pond do things to distract you such as hurting your loved ones, which could be doubly inconvenient since those selfsame loved ones bloody well think you’re all dead. That is why Smythe asked you to pick out something for yourself a couple days ago before we destroy your personnel files and create new ones for you.” “Don’t you think that ‘code names’ are a bit, well, silly? Jeez, it’s like a comic book or something”, John interrupts. “I kinda like comic books, dontcha know” rumbles Moose under his breath. “Oh, I believe it’s all a bit stylish, don’t you? All cloak and dagger and what-not!” pipes up Dr Z, happily oblivious to Smitty’s flat stare and Hank’s rolled eyes. “So, what’ll it be, gents?” Dr Z says expectantly. John Brighton looks up, his ice-chip eyes eerily catching the afternoon sun. “Arctic Wolf.” Hank is the next to speak. “Well, ding-dang ol’, I jus’, well, aw hell you ken call me ‘EMF’, ya know, like one o’ them thar ‘Electro-Magnetic Force’ thangs”, Hank sputters proudly. “Ghost” replies Smitty. They all turn to look at Moose, who looks from face to face for a moment. “Um, I kinda like Moose, dontcha know? Izzat all right?” “Hmm. Well. Yes, that will be fine. Appropriate. And Frogbot, well, ‘Frogbot’ will do just fine for you also. I would just love the chance to study your internal workings a bit better. Would that I had a diagram, or a schematic…” Z trails off, lost in that place that technical people go, where the sun is always shining, where everything has a plan, and always works, and every flat space is covered in something shiny and interesting and eminently useful and all covered in little wheels and spiky bits and big red buttons that only they know the use for. And beautiful women are very, very interested in those that have that understanding, and sit quietly in adoration while you explain it. Maybe even rubbing your shoulders… Frogbot pipes up proudly. “Oui monsieur! I am quite skilled in ze drawing of engineering schematics! I would be happy to draw some up!” Dr Z, snapped back to the present, looks at Frogbot incredulously.  “You could?!? Provide me drawn schematics of yourself?!? Why, the possibilities…” he sputtered as he began a slow slide back into that ‘place’. Yes dear, it *is* fascinating… “Oh, no, monsieur! Nothing zat complicated! They would be of maybe ze toaster, or ze blender…” “What is that, like your mother and father?” Smitty interrupts sardonically to the uproarious laughter of the other SPAARTANS members. QUERY: ‘Smitty’ unit statement requires response to maintain successful human emulation. CHOICES: 1) Take offense and storm off.2) Join others in camaraderie-building laughter.3) Act like unit did not understand ‘joke’.4) Deploy claws, tear Smitty flesh-unit to shreds and dance on his squishy water-based entrails. Laugh loud. And long. ANSWER: 4… no INCORRECT… 2. Yes, 2. Query unit: 4 not a programmed response? Source? No matter. Answer is 2. “Ha. Ha. Ha.” “Very well team SPAARTANS, you boys relax a bit and I’ll be back to go over a few things with you tomorrow”, Dr Z tells them as they break down into back-slaps and good-natured jibes. As Smith, Smythe, and Z turn to leave, Smythe turns back to them. “Oh, and boys… enjoy the time off while you can. You may not get any more for a long time”. “None of us may…” he finishes softly, the new team SPAARTANS too busy tossing friendly banter at one another to hear him. ……</blockquote>

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