[pshrynk]

Lt Col Edwards took careful aim at the face in front of him and gave the trigger a slow squeeze. A gratifyingly large hole appeared in FDR's forehead as dust filled the room. He heard yelling coming from the hallway and ignored it. This was the by God Army and if you couldn't dodge a 45 slug that had been slowed down by two plaster walls and the occasional filing cabinet, then you should have signed up for the Coast Guard. Similarly, if they didn't want him to do target practice indoors, then they would not have insisted on putting a portrait of the president on his wall. Sure the guys over at Navy liked him, but who cared about a bunch of squids? Someone had once suggested that a .22 with reduced charges would cause less structural damage. Pansies.

A nameless secretary dashed in, dropping off the foreign dispatches and her resignation. Some day they would take his recommendation and have his office manned only by Rangers, but until then, he had to put up with the offended memos that occasionally got sent around by HR. He picked up the top dispatch and skimmed through it. From Biggles, who had managed to turn an exile posting to Panama into a disaster beyond even the comprehension of the War Planning Department. What bit of wild fantasy was the boy reporting now?

He stopped cleaning his pistol after the first paragraph. He stopped pouring the coffee after the second. After the third, he actually put on his reading glasses. The buggers! How could this have happened in his United States of America? Then he remembered. The report was from Biggles. Just about anything could happen.

"PORKEN!" he screamed at the top of his lungs. Intercoms were another thing for sissies in Lt Col Edwards' world.

A thin faced second lieutenant peered around the corner of the door, a haunted looking his eyes. "Yes sir? By the way, the last secretary in the typing pool has quit, so we're going to be doing our own for a few days."

"Porken, I need you to get a few financials for me. And have them put the next portrait on the other wall."

"Directly into my office. Yes, sir. I understand the Air Corps has some new flak jackets they want to try out. I shall requisition one for myself. What, specifically do you need the financials on, sir?"

"Flak jackets are for pansies! Learn to duck! Have them find out how much we can allow for catering and floral arrangements!"

"Yes, sir. I believe I shall get some sand bags for my desk as well. Any particular region to get the quotes from?"

"Long Island, for some reason. And get my Mess Dress to the cleaners! I've got a wedding to go to!"