Post by kingrat on Mar 27, 2011 5:59:34 GMT -5
The Armadillo Annihilator
Episode 10 – Breakfast with The Admiral
El Jefe and Kingrat emerged from their trek through the dense forest just as dawn broke over the Navy’s hyper-secret Woodland testing and training facility. Frost had formed on equipment and vehicles parked outside the command bunker known as the Pink Trailer. Inside, Admiral Lawrence C. Dirtrider had just taken his place at the head of the breakfast table in the luxurious wardroom, where members of the AK Bunker RAT team left behind from the previous evening’s mission had been invited to join him. The galley staff had prepared, and was just beginning to serve, large, steaming platefuls of Huevos Rancheros to the Admiral and his hungry guests.
Huevos Rancheros was one of The Admiral’s favorite meals, and the galley crew at the Pink Trailer was renowned throughout the Navy for its 4-star execution of the basic recipe, as well as the private variation which had been developed specially for him by the AK Bunker kitchens during one of Kingrat’s frequent visits to the development sessions there. The Admiral was partial to spicy food in general but he particularly stipulated that Huevos Rancheros served in the Pink Trailer be of the “take it up a notch” variety. Many guests had sampled The Admiral’s mess and gone away screaming into the night - never to be invited back. “Hurry up ice cream!” was an exclamation frequently heard from the head during after-breakfast toilet visits by unsuspecting visitors who had foolishly overlooked the menu option of a milder version most always available.
The Admiral never insisted that anyone else consume his personal version of the dish, but most that chose the kinder-gentler adaptation were publicly berated by The Admiral with a tirade comparing them to the Wimpy Bullpuppys of squadron VFA 69, who had been soundly defeated by Dirtrider’s squadron of Spads during the Navy’s war games of 1907. At the end of the tirade, Dirtrider frequently was heard to bellow;
“Bring the wimps some pablum and Coors Light, and don’t ever waste any of my Huevos Rancheros on these WANKERS again.
Dirtrider was “Old Navy” through-and-through. His use of of the term “WANKERS” was an obscure reference to a failed program tried by the Polygon during the war with the Kaiser in which women were recruited for special duty driving heavily armored lunch wagons for the Seabees. Dirtrider, and most of the traditional Navy brass, opposed introduction of “the weaker sex” into active combat roles, and found ways to make sure the program failed. The acronym was derived from the official name of this program: Women’s Armored Emergency Response Sisters.
The Admiral had testified at the Polygon conference at which the fate of the WANKERS was finally decided. As recorded in the official proceedings of the Department of the Navy; Dirtrider summarized his extensive testimony as follows:
“My fellow Americans; we don’t need WANKERS in this man’s Navy. Send them girls back into the factories to drive rivets in the bombers for the Air Farce. Hell, we already created the Marine Corps so the SeaBees would have somebody to dance with on Saturday nights, and they can damn well drive their own lunch wagons or get the Marines to do it for ‘em.”
Tears streaming down the cheeks of the RAT team members at the wardroom breakfast table gave solid evidence that none had chosen the kinder-gentler version of Huevos Rancheros this morning, fearing the well known tongue lashing and not wanting to start their day with a meal of baby food and panther piss. As the meal was drawing to a conclusion, with team members were lining up at the entrance to the head, a clamor was heard at the Pink Trailer’s entrance. El Jefe and Kingrat were dropping their loads of equipment from the previous night’s mission and were jostling at the door, each trying to get through first in hopes that there still would be some Huevos Rancheros left for them. Trekking through the forest, climbing trees, and metabolizing excessive adrenaline had left them both tired and hungry.
“Admiral,” said El Jefe as he shoveled in some more breakfast and wiped a tear from the top of his cheek, “I’ve got a couple of questions for you as a result of our recon tour last night. Perhaps you could spare a few minutes in private after we finish our meal?”
“Hrumphffff, hrumphfff,” mumbled Dirtrider, “I’ve got an Air Farce plane waiting at the landing strip to take me back to the Polygon. Could we have this little chat some other time?”
“With all due respect, Sir,” replied El Jefe in is most subservient voice, “HELL FREAKIN’ NO! There’s sumthin’ going on around here. I believe you know about it, and you damned sure should have warned me. I deserve to know more about the critters in these parts if we’re going to help you test these new peashooters and fighting contraptions you want us to build.”
El Jefe’s face morphed with rage into a deep crimson color. The Admiral bowed up with indignation, assuming the appearance of a King Cobra ready to strike. Kingrat went pale and made several head-fakes toward the door; trying to find a diplomatic way to remove himself from the vicinity of what surely be a serious confrontation about to erupt.
“Keep your seat, ‘rat,” ordered El Jefe, “you need to hear this and we’re not leaving until this brass plated, stuffed shirt, swabbie comes clean about what’s going on around here. Now, Dirtrider; start talking.”
Will The Admiral execute El Jefe on the spot for insubordination? Will Kingrat soil his skivvies a second time in one night? Will El Jefe’s colon survive the breakfast? Find out in the next exciting episode of The Armadillo Annihilater.
Episode 10 – Breakfast with The Admiral
El Jefe and Kingrat emerged from their trek through the dense forest just as dawn broke over the Navy’s hyper-secret Woodland testing and training facility. Frost had formed on equipment and vehicles parked outside the command bunker known as the Pink Trailer. Inside, Admiral Lawrence C. Dirtrider had just taken his place at the head of the breakfast table in the luxurious wardroom, where members of the AK Bunker RAT team left behind from the previous evening’s mission had been invited to join him. The galley staff had prepared, and was just beginning to serve, large, steaming platefuls of Huevos Rancheros to the Admiral and his hungry guests.
Huevos Rancheros was one of The Admiral’s favorite meals, and the galley crew at the Pink Trailer was renowned throughout the Navy for its 4-star execution of the basic recipe, as well as the private variation which had been developed specially for him by the AK Bunker kitchens during one of Kingrat’s frequent visits to the development sessions there. The Admiral was partial to spicy food in general but he particularly stipulated that Huevos Rancheros served in the Pink Trailer be of the “take it up a notch” variety. Many guests had sampled The Admiral’s mess and gone away screaming into the night - never to be invited back. “Hurry up ice cream!” was an exclamation frequently heard from the head during after-breakfast toilet visits by unsuspecting visitors who had foolishly overlooked the menu option of a milder version most always available.
The Admiral never insisted that anyone else consume his personal version of the dish, but most that chose the kinder-gentler adaptation were publicly berated by The Admiral with a tirade comparing them to the Wimpy Bullpuppys of squadron VFA 69, who had been soundly defeated by Dirtrider’s squadron of Spads during the Navy’s war games of 1907. At the end of the tirade, Dirtrider frequently was heard to bellow;
“Bring the wimps some pablum and Coors Light, and don’t ever waste any of my Huevos Rancheros on these WANKERS again.
Dirtrider was “Old Navy” through-and-through. His use of of the term “WANKERS” was an obscure reference to a failed program tried by the Polygon during the war with the Kaiser in which women were recruited for special duty driving heavily armored lunch wagons for the Seabees. Dirtrider, and most of the traditional Navy brass, opposed introduction of “the weaker sex” into active combat roles, and found ways to make sure the program failed. The acronym was derived from the official name of this program: Women’s Armored Emergency Response Sisters.
The Admiral had testified at the Polygon conference at which the fate of the WANKERS was finally decided. As recorded in the official proceedings of the Department of the Navy; Dirtrider summarized his extensive testimony as follows:
“My fellow Americans; we don’t need WANKERS in this man’s Navy. Send them girls back into the factories to drive rivets in the bombers for the Air Farce. Hell, we already created the Marine Corps so the SeaBees would have somebody to dance with on Saturday nights, and they can damn well drive their own lunch wagons or get the Marines to do it for ‘em.”
Tears streaming down the cheeks of the RAT team members at the wardroom breakfast table gave solid evidence that none had chosen the kinder-gentler version of Huevos Rancheros this morning, fearing the well known tongue lashing and not wanting to start their day with a meal of baby food and panther piss. As the meal was drawing to a conclusion, with team members were lining up at the entrance to the head, a clamor was heard at the Pink Trailer’s entrance. El Jefe and Kingrat were dropping their loads of equipment from the previous night’s mission and were jostling at the door, each trying to get through first in hopes that there still would be some Huevos Rancheros left for them. Trekking through the forest, climbing trees, and metabolizing excessive adrenaline had left them both tired and hungry.
“Admiral,” said El Jefe as he shoveled in some more breakfast and wiped a tear from the top of his cheek, “I’ve got a couple of questions for you as a result of our recon tour last night. Perhaps you could spare a few minutes in private after we finish our meal?”
“Hrumphffff, hrumphfff,” mumbled Dirtrider, “I’ve got an Air Farce plane waiting at the landing strip to take me back to the Polygon. Could we have this little chat some other time?”
“With all due respect, Sir,” replied El Jefe in is most subservient voice, “HELL FREAKIN’ NO! There’s sumthin’ going on around here. I believe you know about it, and you damned sure should have warned me. I deserve to know more about the critters in these parts if we’re going to help you test these new peashooters and fighting contraptions you want us to build.”
El Jefe’s face morphed with rage into a deep crimson color. The Admiral bowed up with indignation, assuming the appearance of a King Cobra ready to strike. Kingrat went pale and made several head-fakes toward the door; trying to find a diplomatic way to remove himself from the vicinity of what surely be a serious confrontation about to erupt.
“Keep your seat, ‘rat,” ordered El Jefe, “you need to hear this and we’re not leaving until this brass plated, stuffed shirt, swabbie comes clean about what’s going on around here. Now, Dirtrider; start talking.”
Will The Admiral execute El Jefe on the spot for insubordination? Will Kingrat soil his skivvies a second time in one night? Will El Jefe’s colon survive the breakfast? Find out in the next exciting episode of The Armadillo Annihilater.