Ranger Fics

a/n One of my fanfic readers told me, "At least your fics don't have fart jokes and Hobbits." And then , darn, my friend Cat wanted a Hobbit fic. So here it is, no real Hobbits, tho, you guys are safe. Just Anthony playin' the bad guys....enjoy
.....

Not Spies?

Maybe this wasn't such a good idea....

Whap! The bearded man in Islamic dress smacked me on the side of the head.

I shook off the pain and replied to Anthony, It was the only way we could get inside.

Yes but....

We were in a damp basement somewhere in ...well, somewhere. My stealth brother and I were stripped down  to our boxers and duct taped to old wooden chairs.  For some reason the tangos had left us our socks...subtle torture to sit here almost naked wearing soggy socks?

I smiled.

Whap.

We had no time for subtlety on this op, no infiltrating the terrorist cell. We had to get inside their compound. Fast. So Anthony and I had allowed ourselves to be captured and now these guys were working us over, wanting to know who we are.

I'm not sure they knew we are Americans, though Anthony's Hawaiian print  underwear with the Ralph Lauren logo waistband was perhaps a dead giveaway.

The  interrogator smacked me again. I turned my head with the blow to protect my nose. The man assumed the gesture showed fear or cowardice and he aimed a vicious blow at my duct taped midsection.

"Ow!" The idiot stepped back shaking out the pain in his hand. Anthony and I tried to hide our grins.

"Rock hard abs, dude," Antonio told him in English. So much for passing ourselves off as...

As what, bro?

Israelis? Russians.

heh heh heh.

Our host stalked over to the stack of firewood against the far wall. Earlier he had his men chopping the wood and stacking it inside here.

What if he like burns us up?

He won't, I replied. At least  not with kindling. And I don't see any gas cans, do you?

No, they exported them all to New York, they have a shortage.

Funny.

True though.

The man returned with a long sharp knife. He showed it to both of us. We nodded agreeably.

"I am Faramir al Shaheem! I am in charge here."

We nodded again. Anthony added, "No problemo, Faramir."

"You will answer my questions!" Faramir yelled.

?

"Why are you here! You are spies?!"

"Dude, I keep tellin' you, we are NOT spies. No how, no way."

Anthony's surfer shtick in Arabic was a little odd and the man frowned hugely. He stood over Anthony and yelled, "Well, if you're not spies, then who are you?"

Another man entered the small damp cell. "What is the problem here, Faramir?"

Guess Faramir isn't as in charge as he thinks.

"I interrogate! Yet they remain silent.''  Faramir sighed and sat down on the extra chair. He laid the knife across his knees and glared at us.

The new guy told him, ''You must do more."

Faramir leaned forward and screamed,  "Speak! Or else!"

?

?

"Mahmud here will torture you severely! He enjoys it!"

Mahmud snarled, his version of an evil grin.

Anthony told them, "Frodo Baggins is my name and this is Samwise Gamgee."

"These do not sound like American names. You are lying."

''Nope.  We are Hobbits of the Shire."

''Where is this shire place located?''

''California, my man. I'm in manufacturing.''

Faramir gestured to me, "And who is this?  Your bodyguard?''

"His gardener," I interjected. "I remove unpleasant things from Mr. Baggins' world."

Bro, I can remove my own shit, ya know?

Shhh.

The two tangos retired to the woodpile corner and conferred.

Then, "You are rich?"

''Dude, yeah. Totally."

''What is it you manufacture? Useful items like surveillance materials? Weapons, bombs?''

''Uh no....no, I uh, I am an inventor, a developer. I designed an iPad app that lets little kids practice their violin lessons on their tablets AND/ or their phones. Moms fuckin' love it. No violin needed, just an iPhone. Big seller, my man, mega. Huge. Really."

The two men stared at us. Then the nameless leader said, ''Kill them. Now."

''Hey!...''

And the door crashed in, my ops crew having followed the signal of the listening devices we had sewn into the waistbands of our shorts.

.......

The Senate anti-terrorism subcommittee had listened silently to the tape of our capture, torture, and rescue. Now the chairman punched the pause button and said, ''Was it wise to put the tracking device in your clothing? You might have been stripped naked.''

Next to him, Senator Alicia Matterman, Republican, Utah, licked her lips and fanned herself with a manila file. Geez.

I said, ''Terrorists always leave you your underwear, we figured...and it worked.''

''Next time...''

I stood up and the group all leaned away. Idiots.

I said, "Keep second guessing me and there won't be a next time."

''Wait! Where do you think you're going?!''

''Home. In case you guys didn't notice, tomorrow is Thanksgiving.''

And I went home.

the end.

Election Day

"My Fellow Americans..."The large screen TV was filled with images of happy people waving tiny American flags. The man in the less than wonderful navy Brooks Brothers suit, the winner---stepped up to the rostrum. The crowd respectfully quieted and he spoke. "....And so tonight we have reached the end of of a long campaign, the end of ten long years of war...."

 ''Dude, we're unemployed."

"No problem,'' replied Ranger.

"...we are entering a new era of peace and prosperity...''

"We were gonna be obsolete anyways, bro. Drones. The future lies in drones. Killing machines, just like us. Only like you know...broader sweep."

" Less specific," said Ranger.

Anthony gulped his beer and nodded. "Exactly. But still...."

"Hmmm." Ranger passed out fresh Coronas with limes in the longnecks. ''Drones?" he mused.

"Yeah. Awesome right?"

"Only if you if you invested us in the drone producer." One thing about Ranger, he always put profit ahead of ego.

"Absofuckinglutely, dude.''

"So. No problem. Lke I said."

"None at all." The two young mercenaries clinked beer bottles, leaned back on the black leather sofa and switched to a rerun of the 1987 World Series. Their feelings weren't hurt. They were perfectly happy to stay home in the USA and watch their money grow.
.............................

few days later, at the White House


"Sir."

"Colonel Manoso." The two men shook hands. The atmosphere was polite not cordial.

The newly re-elected President looked faintly puzzled, said, " ...ah, where is Mr. Stewart?"

He's mopping up the beach  you neglected to visit or send aid to after the hurricane, thought Ranger.

Out loud he said, "He was otherwise engaged."

The guy looks miffed, but fuck 'im. The south shore of Long Island still has no power or gas, and this guy didnt' even bother with a fly over. FEMA? WTF is FEMA? And where?

An uncomfortble silence ensued.

"Well, have a seat, Carlos." The president gestured. Ranger waited politely til the man sat, then sat down in the green leather armchair in the working office of the newly elected president.

The man said, "So..."

Ranger figured he should get proactive or he'd be here all day. "Mr. President. You don't need to wallow around firing me...I am very happy to retire. I have three kids, a wife...."

"Four Porsches...," mentioned the President, a little resentfully.

"Yeah, four Porsches unless Steph, oh well, nevermind....And two jobs..maybe three."

Ranger paused, tried to figure out his aliases and personas for a moment then gave up. Added, "Rangeman has plenty to handle with domestic antiterrorism contracts. Plus the bank, the world economy-- I'll keep busy, sir. As will Major Stewart."

"You'd think so, agreed the President. "However...."

Uh oh. Ranger quirked a brow. "What, I'm not fired? Made redundant, so to speak?"

"No." The president leaned into his intercom, said, ''Please send in General XXX.''

The General? My General?

"Shit."

the end