Talk:Where Legal Eagles Dare: An Opco Boone Adventure: Difference between revisions

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Algernon gunned the Kawasaki.
Algernon gunned the Kawasaki.


The detonation timer on the dash ticked down. The KPI explosives were primed. ''5:45 and counting.''  
The KPI explosives were primed. The detonation timer on the dash ticked down.''5:45 and counting.''  


Boone wrestled with the wheel. The rig groaned and screamed under the collossal Gs as it re-vectored agonisingly to the north. ''Come on, you brute, come on ...''. The rig leveled up. The Gs eased off. Five clicks yonder, Boone could see Operations outpost in the crosshairs, shimmering in the hot desert air. ''Your chickens are coming home to roost, my operational friends.''
Boone wrestled with the wheel. The rig groaned and screamed under the collossal Gs as it re-vectored agonisingly to the north. ''Come on, you brute, come on ...''. The rig leveled up. The Gs eased off. Five clicks yonder, Boone could see operations outpost in the crosshairs, shimmering in the hot desert air. ''Your chickens are coming home to roost, my operational friends.''


Boone stomped on the metal. The monstrous diesel turbines screamed. The rig jolted.
Boone stomped on the metal. The monstrous diesel turbines screamed. The rig thundered forward.


The timer ticked past 5:00.  
The timer ticked past 5:00.  
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'' So … little … time …''
'' So … little … time …''


A bloodied fist grabbed the running board. Operations Officer Kurzweil hung on for his life: at first, it was all he could do just to keep his hold and stop himself being swept under the semi’s monstrous wheels as they thundered against the dirt inches away from his ear. He clenched his buttocks as the brutal dirt roadway grated and pummeled him all over.
A bloodied fist grabbed the running board. Operations Officer Kurzweil hung on for his life: at first, it was all he could do, just to keep his hold and stop himself being swept under the semi’s monstrous wheels as they pounded against the dirt, inches from his ear. He clenched his buttocks as the brutal dirt roadway grated and pummeled him all over.


But slowly, he hauled himself back into the game. He executed a daring switch-grip, squirrel-jumped onto the grille, dragged himself up and established a firm boothold on the chassis. Like a limpet, he clambered up and edged around the towards cabin door.
But slowly, he hauled himself back into the game. He executed a daring switch-grip, squirrel-jumped onto the grille, dragged himself up onto the hood and established a firm boot-hold on the chassis. Like a limpet, he clambered up and edged around the towards cabin door.


The CB in the cabin pinged. Capcom sounded rattled. Hey, Kurzweil do you read? We see your vector heading north. What’s going on? Is everything in order?
The CB in the cabin pinged. Capcom sounded rattled. “Hey, Kurzweil do you read? We see your vector heading north. Please account for the deviation. What’s going on? Is everything in order?”


Boone picked up the receiver. “Ah, capcom all is in order. We are just seeing some interference — routine, totally routing stuff, you know, so — er — we are re-routing to approach from the north-west. Ten four, over.”  
Boone picked up the receiver. “Ah, capcom all is in order. We are just seeing some interference — regular, totally routine stuff, you know, so — er — we are re-routing to approach from the north-west. Ten four, over.”  


“Heinrich, is that you?”  
There was a pause before capcom clicked back in. “Heinrich, is that you?”  


“Er, yeah, of course it is. ''Ja'', I mean. ''Ja'', hier ist Kurzweil.” Boone winced.
“Er, yeah, of course it is. ''Ja'', I mean. ''Ja'', hier ist Kurzweil.” Boone winced.


“But you seem to be heading straight ''at us''. This manoeuvre isn’t in the playbook, Kurzweil. My line manager say this is ORI material —”
“But you seem to be heading straight ''at us''! This manoeuvre isn’t in the playbook! My line manager say this is ORI material —”


“No, no, Maxine, it is all routine, and cleared with Commander, um, Commander Scheisskopf. Hey listen, the channel is getting a bit choppy, okay? We are struggling to maintain secure connection. Everything in order. Repeat: everything in order. Going dark, over.”  
“No, no, Maxine, it is all routine, totally normal. We do this sort of thing all the time. I cleared with Commander, um, Commander Scheisskopf. this morning.” Boone re-winced. “Hey, listen: the channel is getting a bit choppy, okay? We are struggling to maintain secure connection. But rest assured: everything in order. Repeat: everything in order. We got this. Going dark, over.”  


“Heinrich? Heinrich?”
“Heinrich? Heinrich?”
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The timer ticked past 4:30.
The timer ticked past 4:30.


Boone pressed down on the metal.
The rig roared. Kurzweil traversed along the running board, edging with his toes, keeping his head beneath the overhang, below Boone’s sightline out of the window.  
 
Kurzweil traversed along the running board, keeping his head below Boone’s sightline out of the window.  


Boone’s comlink crackled. “Heads up Boone: you got company,”
Boone’s comlink crackled. “Heads up Boone: you got company,”
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“Not me, Boone! On your cabin! Eyes right!”
“Not me, Boone! On your cabin! Eyes right!”


But it was too late. With a single fluid motion Kurzweil vaulted up, leant through the window, baffed Boone across the jaw, and grabbed the wheel. “''NOT … ON … MY… WATCH … BOONE''”
Boone looked out but it was too late. With a single fluid motion Kurzweil vaulted up, leant through the window, baffed Boone across the jaw, and grabbed the wheel.  


Boone spat a string of blood. The taste of copper filled his mouth.
Boone spat a string of blood. The taste of copper filled his mouth.


Kurzweil came again, but this time Boone was braced for him. An elbow to the cheek knocked the operations commando back, cracking his head against the stanchion. Boone clamped him, but the Operations man kept swinging. He got Boone by the throat: ''chokehold''. He gripped like a vice.
Kurzweil came again, but this time Boone was braced for him. An elbow to the cheek knocked the operations commando back, cracking his head against the stanchion. Boone clamped him, but the Operations man kept swinging. He got Boone by the throat: ''chokehold''. He gripped like a vice. “''NOT … ON … MY… WATCH … BOONE''”


The rig veered and fishtailed.
The rig veered and fishtailed as they struggled.


The timer ticked past 4:00.
The timer ticked past 4:00.


As his air-flow constricted, Boone felt himself going light-headed. He scanned the windshield blearily. ''Where were the dirtbikes?''. He tried to reach for the wristcom to call them, but Kurzweil’s reach was too long. Kurzweil baffed him again, and somehow hooked a boot on the latch. The door swung wide, with Kurzweil on it. He hauled out Boone by the throat.  
As his air-flow constricted, Boone felt himself going light-headed. He scanned the windshield blearily. ''Where were the dirt-bikes?''. He tried to reach for the wristcom to call them, but Kurzweil’s reach was too long. Kurzweil baffed him again, and somehow hooked a boot on the latch. The door swung wide, with Kurzweil on it. He hauled Boone out by the throat.
 
Boone couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t speak. There was no sign of George or Algy ''anywhere''. His muscles slackened. Huis peripheral vision blackened. Kurzweil doubled down on the clamp. Boone swung limply at him, but he found nothing but air: the big man’s reach was too great. The door swung back. Kurzweil booted Boone in the face. Boone lost grip on the wheel, Kurzweil pushed it back round.
 
The rig ground around back towards the western vector. Kurzweil lined up the Legal Settlement. The cross-hairs locked and flashed and beeped. On the cabin floor, Boone groaned. As at last he passed out his last thought was, ''where the hell are you?'' He slipped into unconsciousness with the hopeless image of Algy hearing his broken plea.
 
The counter ticked past 3:30. Kurzweil clocked it and realised there were precious seconds to lose now. If he was to get all the way to the Legal Final Settlement, and make it out intact before the payload blew things would have to be perfect. There was no more room for error. Even now, there was no way he would make it out of that forensic rat hole on foot. Kurzweil knew: this might be his Waterloo. ''I do this for the cause'', he thought. ''For all operations people, everywhere''.
 
A horn sounded behind. He caught a glimpse in his wing mirror: the remaining COO Gunship was roaring back into view. Suddenly there was a path out of this. He could escape! He waved at the gunship, urging them forward.


Boone couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t speak. The air started to go black. Kurzweil doubled down on the clamp. Boone swung at him, but he found nothing but air: the big Dutchman’s reach was too great. The door swung back. Kurzweil booted Boone in the face. Boone lost grip on the wheel, Kurzweil pushed it back round. As Boone passed out his last thought was, ''Algy, where the hell are you?''
He threw the rig in a high gear and jammed a brick on the pedal. The motor screamed.


The rig ground around back towards the Legal Settlement.
Boone moaned and shifted woozily. Kurzweil baffed him again, Boone collapsed.  


The counter ticked past 3:30.
Then, at 70mph, on a desert track heading straight into the jaws of destruction, Kurzweil had an brilliant idea. ''Yes. This is right. This we should do.''


snap out of the fantasies of the playing fields of Rugby which filled his empty head far too often, and notice the grim fight to the death occurring mere inches in front of the cargo hold.
“Cover me, George!” barked Captain Algernon Farquhar, B.S.C, D.S.O, Acting Deputy Captain of Eagle Squad, ripped hard on the Kawasaki’s throttle. The bike surged forward, ran fast up a narrow ramp in the sand and jetted across the trailer. He kicked out of the stirrups, let the bike go, and back-flipped onto the trailer. He shinned down the access ladder and slipped into back door of the trailer.  


Captain Algernon Farquahar did hear. Putting his head through the British Army blanket that hung down between the seats and the hold, an improvised shield at best, he reversed the Webley in his grip. The old Webley that had belonged to his father during the First War.
The Kawasaki flew executed Putting his head through the British Army blanket that hung down between the seats and the hold, an improvised shield at best, he reversed the Webley in his grip. The old Webley that had belonged to his father during the First War.


Coldly, he struck Kurzweil across the side of the head.
Coldly, he struck Kurzweil across the side of the head.
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“Got him, Boonie – but are we too late?”
“Got him, Boonie – but are we too late?”


Boone looked at the countdown timer. 3:41. The sweep hand mocked him with its relentless spin.
Boone looked at the countdown timer. 2:15. The sweep hand mocked him with its relentless spin.


“You know what we need to do,” he said.  
“You know what we need to do,” he said.  
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