Operation: Pacifica, Getting There Is Half the Fun.
by Malaclypse the Seeker, Evil Geniuses for a Better Tomorrow


 "Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet?"  --Bart and
  Lisa Simpson


EGFABT HQ
MT. BLANCA, CO


 I stepped off the transmat platform, fresh from the TRES HQ
  briefing room up north. Since there wasn't much time to waste, I slipped my
  glasses into mirrorshade mode and began to review the information on
  Pacifica as I walked down the halls to my quarters.


 "Hmm, the fact that this thing can disappear and reappear at will,
  so to speak, means that whoever's in charge doesn't want it to be found." I
  mumbled to myself. "Which means that since we've found it, it's not hiding
  anymore. That's very bad. Somebody wants us to go to Pacifica. And if it's a
  POW camp, that's *extremely* bad..."


 I continued muttering in this nice and pessimistic vein until I
  nearly slammed into my door. Once inside, I tossed my labcoat off, pulled a
  suit of CVR-3 out of my closet, along with my denim jacket and Lucky Hat.
  That hat had been with me all through Operation Phoenix, including my
  "death" and "rebirth" in San Francisco. It had not failed me up to that
  point. I hoped it wouldn't this time...


 After donning my standard field uniform of CVR-3, denim and hat, I
  grabbed my Duffle of Many Things(tm) and walked down to the motor pool,
  where my wheels awaited.


 The pool was dark, since the budget didn't have enough to get
  proper lighting for the damn thing. Vehicles of all shapes, sizes, and
  colors were parked haphazardly through the interior. It looked remarkably
  like an explosion at a GI Joe factory.


 "Oi!" I called, "who's down here tonight?"


 A voice yelled back from the far end of the chamber. "Stymie
  Lipschytz, from Weapons! Whaddya need?"


 "I need the Citation! Make sure it's fueled and ready, wouldja?"


 "Sure! Hold that thought!"


 A few minutes and several clankings sounds later, one of the oddest
  creations in the EGfaBT arsenal rolled up beside me. This is going to take a
  bit of explaining. Take one 1983 Chevy Citation, a car noted for it's
  complete uncoolness. Now, pull out the engine and replace it with a fusion
  turbine. Then add four five-foot high truck tires and rework the drive train
  and suspension to match. Finally, add laser/minimissile launcher rigs in the
  headlamps, a battle computer, and a very large railcannon mounted on a
  collapsible turret on the roof.


 What you get is Hell's Used Car, the ultimate anti-cool car, and
  one of my personal favorite vehicles.


 Lipschytz stuck his head out the driver's window. "She's all set.
  Turbine's primed, weapons are all fully loaded, and the computer says all
  systems check out. Lookin' good, if I do say so myself."


 "Thanks much, Stymie." I climbed (literally) into the cab and
  turned the key.


#"One Vision" Queen, _A Kind of Magic_


 The fusion turbine coughed to life, then spun up to a healthy low
  roar. Ah, what a wonderful sound.


 Stymie yelled over the din of the reactor. "Hey! Mind if I ask
  where you're going with that?"


 I grinned and yelled back. "Frisco!" Throwing the thing into
  forward, it rocketed off towards the exit ramp at a speed that shouldn't
  have been attainable by something as ungainly looking.


 The drive out of the mountains and up the Front Range to Cheyenne
  and points west was pretty tame. A few cops tried to bag me for speeding
  while I was traveling north from Pueblo, but I think the tires and the
  general "Don't fuck with me" look Hell's Used Car radiates kept them from
  pulling me over, although I did notice the helicopter escort all the way
  from Denver to the state line... ;)


...


SOMEWHERE IN WYOMING


 Driving through the great state of Wyoming has to be one of the
  most boring pastimes in the history of mankind.  Still, being able to get
  across the state at a speed of some 120 miles per hour helps a lot.  After
  getting out of Colorado I hit Interstate 80 and kept the Citation pointed in
  the general direction of California, since I-80 was the best direct road
  route to the team's rendezvoux point in San Francisco.


 The trip was mostly uneventful as I sped through the brown rocks
  and empty waste of southern Wyoming. However, as the Citation and I
  approached Little America, the only human habitation along I-80 between
  Cheyenne and Salt Lake City (I shit thee not --Mal), there seemed to be much
  more traffic on the interstate than usual. Either there was a nasty traffic
  jam somewhere up the line, or unpleasant things were afoot at Little
  America.


 "Hrm, this does not bode well. Centurion, give me a tactical
  readout on those trucks up ahead."


By your command... checking....
WARNING: Vehicles ahead are armed!
*Automatic weapons
*Possible surface-to-surface weapons


RECOMMENDATION:
1. Increase Speed
2. Launch Surface-to-Surface Weapon
[[ALERT!]]
[Subject vehicles are targeting surface-to-surface weapons and decelerating!]
[ACTIVATING ALL WEAPONS SYSTEMS]]


 Up ahead, the trucks began to slow down and swerve across the road,
  blocking the path about two miles ahead. Dozens of little and not so little
  gunports opened up along the sides, with an equal number of brightly-colored
  muzzles sticking out of them.


 "Shit!"


#"Dare to Be Stupid" "Weird" Al Yankovic


 "Centurion! Open up that road!" I cried as several thousand rounds
  began to bounce off the armor. A few rocket shells whizzed by overhead, too
  poorly aimed to actually hit anything. Through the pinging bullets, I could
  hear the railgun humming. The car slowed by about twenty mph with a loud
  CLANG! just as a large section of tractor trailer suddenly vanished in a
  hail of debris. "Allright! That's ten points!"


 The remaining sections of the block responded with extra force, and
  the hail of bullets on armor increased its volume. Again, the railgun
  CLANGed, and half of the second truck splintered and tumbled down the road
  in little itty bitty pieces. "Woohoo! Twenty points!"


 The Used Car from Hell plowed through the remnants of the two
  semis. What little remained of the blockade's troops scattered out of its
  path, or got smooshed under the monster truck tires. "And that's an extra
  thirty points for Roadkill Bonus! Thank you for playing Jihaddi Road
  Warrior!"


 Just a mile or so ahead was Little America. Several acres of
  parking lot surrounding a decaying tourist trap. In the parking lot were
  about a zillion purple and green jeeps. When I got within a hundred yards of
  those jeeps, spoungin flooded out of the tourist trap, each one grabbing a
  jeep and screaming off after me. I didn't *see* much of this, mind you, I
  was moving too quickly. However, a glance in the rearview let me know that
  several dealerships worth of jeeps were on my tail.


 "Great, just great. Car chase along I-80. Just what I've been
  looking for all these years." I switched on the autopilot, letting Centurion
  keep the car between the lines while I spun the railcannon so it was facing
  the small armada of spoungin jeeps.


 "EAT DIRT, FOUL DEFILERS OF JUSTICE!" It was like a video game. The
  railgun WHANGed, and with every WHANG a jeep would suddenly become one with
  the road, quite literally. Brightly-colored debris and sponge flesh flew
  everywhere. It was quite a sight.


 Within a few minutes, the last jeep had been dispatched. Behind me,
  for a distance of at least twenty miles, the Interstate was littered with
  the remains of a very ineffective ambush. And I was getting hungry.
  Massacring a first strike force tends to do that, y'know.  Thankfully, Salt
  Lake was only a half-hour or so ahead, which meant I could get a quick bite
  to eat before heading out again.


...


BONNEVILLE SALT FLATS


 The desert west of Salt Lake City is one place that everybody
  speeds through. That's because unlike Wyoming, which is merely empty, the
  desert is both empty and inhospitable to most forms of life. And there's no
  scenery to be found, either. Just a big expanse of white salt flat.


 So it will come as no surprise that I was pushing the accelerator
  on the Citation even harder than in Wyoming. The flats were no place I
  wanted to be for any appreciable amount of time.


 Despite the speed, I was decked out for maximum relaxation. I had a
  foot up on the steering wheel, and my seat was reclined almost completely
  horizontal. "Centurion, status report, please."


By your command... checking...
Current speed: 149 mph
ETA San Francisco: 3.35 hours current speed
Threat board is green....

[[ALERT]]
Unidentified aircraft approaching from north!
Aircraft is armed with .50 caliber machine guns!

Recommendations:
1) Increase speed
2) Evasive maneuvers
3) Launch surface-to-surface weapon


 I groaned. "Jeez, you would've thought that they'd figured it out
  the first time..." I flicked on the radio, just on a lark, to see if they'd
  communicate. "Unidentified aircraft, this is Hoek One.  Please respond. Hoek
  One to unidentified aircraft, please respond.  Over."


 The radio crackled a little, then an uncertain voice came back.
  "Um, Hoek One, this is the LuvPlane. We, um, we're looking for a, um, group
  of Jihaddi, um, that we're supposed to shoot and stuff. Over."


 I couldn't help but smile a little. If this was the caliber of
  people they were send up against us, no wonder that first ambush was such a
  disaster. Sheesh.


 "LuvPlane, this is Hoek One. I haven't seen any groups of Jihaddi,
  but this is a Jihaddi vehicle. If you wanna shoot at it, please feel free.
  Over."


 "Oh, really? Thanks, Hoek One! Thanks a bunch! Over!" The plane
  stopped circling and began a strafing run. "Oh, Hoek One, by the way, DIE
  YOU JIHADDI SCUM!!"


 The plane rushed overhead, the strafing run having missed by a
  country mile. I chuckled. "Ah, sponge-minions. So polite, so charmingly
  naive, so cute..." I tabbed open the minimissile launcher.  "So completely
  and utterly doomed."


 I hit the button. Two small missiles raced out of their launch
  tubes in the front of the car, and Roboteched their way towards the hapless
  LuvPlane, which was trying to come in for a second run. The missiles struck,
  not causing much damage, but forcing the plane into the salt flats by the
  side of the road.


 I sighed, put another CD in the player, and resumed my relaxed
  pose. "Well, that was fun. What's for dinner?"


...


SAN FRANCISCO, *FINALLY*


 It took me long enough, most of the day, actually, and two attacks
  by completely clueless sponge minions, but I had finally reached my
  destination. San Francisco, one of my favorite towns.


 Apparently, I had managed to beat the TARAVs into town. So, I went
  to the nearest Burger King, picked up a Whopper and Coke, and drove around
  town doing the tourist thing, all the while listening to the local traffic
  reports waiting for news of "a military convoy" moving in from Oakland or
  other points east. After all the excitement of earlier in the day, it felt
  good to be able to just wander aimlessly for a while. I had a feeling it
  would be a long time before doing nothing was high on my priorities list.

TO BE CONTINUED