Dave Goes to Europe Chapter 5: A Watched Plot Never Foils

Belgium may not have been the best idea. As Dave pulled into the customs office, it was clear Belgium was a far cry from neighboring France. A brown duck in a guard's uniform waved them aside, a Walther submachine-gun slung over the duck's shoulder. Dave pulled over. Dr. Weisehund stirred and awoke as Dave lowered the driver side window.

The duck spoke French. This was not the elegant, romantic French of Paris or Calais, but a more reserved and officious French. Ah, to be caught between France and Germany. Dave had an ear for language, but French eluded him. Luckily, Weisehund was fluent.

"He wants to see your papieren. Your passport."

Dave fished out the required documents, careful as to not make any untoward motions that would prompt the Belgian duck to action. The duck looked over the passport, looked closely at Dave, then the passport again. He spoke more French.

"He wants to know why you are coming to Belgium," interpreted the doc.

Heightened security made sense. In hindsight, Dave should have known all along to avoid this border. France was for tourists. Belgium was industrial. The ports of Brussels and Antwerp shipped German and Belgian tech to the British isles. Shipments of that nature could very well lure a certain kind of criminal. Dave was not exactly subtle in his Bugatti. "Inform him as best you can," said Dave.

Weisehund shot him a questioning glare.

"Tell him whatever. He'll likely search the car. Might as well tell him who you are. You have ID, right?" asked Dave.

The light of recognition flashed in her eyes. She nodded curtly, then spoke with the duck. Dave assisted in handing over her documentation. Suddenly the duck's attitude grew more polite. He waved them in with a fond farewell.

"The Institute has several offices in Belgium. They hire a good deal of personal security as you have seen."

"Best not bite the hand that may sometime in the future feed, eh?" said Dave with a wink.

"You observed my tone. I made no suggestions that we were looking to hire."

Dave nodded. "Nor did I suggest you did. He must really hate his job if he is looking at every suit as a potential employer."

With that, Dave took back to the road. There was some drive ahead of them yet. Weisehund admired the Belgian countryside, mostly farms this far inland. Eventually the lull of the engine put her under a spell. She drifted off into slumber. Dave pressed on, his injured ankle throbbed. His ribs hurt. The pain just reminded him he was alive, so very alive. Dave switched his CAF player to New Wave. Duran Duran's "Chaffeur" came on as if some omen. If only a different woman had claimed the passenger seat. Dave pressed on the gas and shifted to a higher gear.

( Part 2 ) Baretts first Kill: The Hunt

Barett hunkered down in the dirt, this new event changed everything, at the same time it changed nothing. His father had often said about combat, "There is no predictability when it comes to men with guns that want to kill you, that is the only predictability." He was often taught by his father that your ability to change what you were going to do, and how you did it was the sign of a good leader. It was taught to him and his Brothers that to be rigid in your plan could lead to failure or death, you had to be flexible and remember what your real objectives are, the first being not to get yourself or your men killed, Barett was trying to remember that, even though his emotions were trying to convince him to do other more rash things.
The warmth of the afternoon sun was begining to burn off the morning mist, and make his extra layers of clothes uncomfortable. Sweating was bad, sweating made your scent stronger, and if it got your cloths wet enough, you lost heat and wasted energy. A plan began to form in his mind, not the most original thought he'd ever had, but againest these common thugs it might just work. Easing himself back into the forest cover, the warm blanket of green and brown, pressing his body againest the moist dirt as he moved ever so slowly around the barn and towards the upper trail he had spotted earlier, he started to work out the details in his mind. It always amazed him how dense the dessert forests were, even though they only held small plots of land in the vastness of the rolling hills, they gripped savagely to their barren holds, hosting a wide variety of life. Moving ever so slowly and opening your senses to the surrounding view it was amazing how many things were in motion, how much of nature was in constant change, and much less static than it appeared from a distant car or motorcycle.