Log Title: Supply Run
Location: Cobra Consulate Building, Manhattan, New York City
Date: April 10, 2011
Summary: The Cobra agents holed up in the Consulate building gather supplies as they ponder their next move.
Cobra Consulate Building - Manhattan
The Courtyard is abandoned.... The Doors are chained and locked...
It seems someone has gotten the Generator online, as the Reception/Security Desk is operating. The displays at the desk show a view of the streets around the Consulate, and all possible approaches, via security cameras. Sitting at the desk, is Anastasia DeCobray, bandages covering her wounds, but it doesn't appear that anyone with much medical knowledge has, as yet, checked her out.
Major Bludd perches on the corner of the desk, his left arm out of his bomber jacket sleeve and sporting a bandage around the bicep. He frowns at his sidearm as he changes out a mostly-empty clip for a full one. "Any ammo in this joint?"
Interrogator has removed the robe and used some of the bottom hem to patch his chest wound. He watches the monitors, and shakes his head.
Baroness frowns slightly, "Have to check the old Ammo Stores. There is a Locked room on every floor, as an Armory, Locked to Retina Scans. They should be on Generator Backup."
Major Bludd slides slowly off the desk, gingerly putting weight on his left leg, which also sports a bandage around the thigh. He tucks the sidearm back into his shoulder holster and moves carefully off down the hallway toward the armory. "Right. Dunno when those reinforcements are gonna arrive," he says.
Baroness calls out, "Bring me some 9 mm rounds, and some 7.62 rounds, would ya? And if there are any Assault Rifles in the Armory you check, we had better get stocked up.... At least until the reinfocements arrive."
Interrogator follows Major Bludd to the Armory to help carry everything.
"Heh, that's th'kind o' shopping list I like!" Bludd's voice carries back down the hall toward the reception area. He glances aside to Interrogator and the bandage the other man sports. "Oof, what'd ya get?" he asks. "I was busy with that green bloody kid. Didn't see much of the rest of the battle."
Interrogator says, "The man with the ponytail. He was not trying to hit anything vital, or I would not be speaking with you now, Sir."
"Gunshot wound?" Bludd asks.
Interrogator responds, "Yes. I hope the Medi-Vipers arrive soon."
Major Bludd grunts in acknowledgement. "Yeah, tell me about it." He glances over his shoulder toward the reception area as he turns a corner. "She don't look so good, y'know?"
"I do, and while I received some medical training, I do not think I can help her more than she has herself." Interrogator says sadly.
"She'll be right," Bludd drawls, not quite limping as he moves along down the corridor. The emergency lights create an eerie orangish glow which seems to deepen the shadows. "She's survived far worse."
"I hope so. We are all survivors, or we would not be here. I hope Cobra Island does well in our absence." Interrogator says, "Neither Typhoid or Doctor Mindbender have been around lately, so I have been running Research and Development on my own. There have been no problems so far."
"Not even with the Over Kill unit?" Bludd smiles.
Interrogator shakes his head and sighs, "As far as I know, they are still reassembling him. We are lucky there was anything left. I am trying to work on /that/ problem."
Major Bludd nods slowly. "I spent months workin' on it," he says, "back in Colombia." He shrugs. "But I told ya about most o' that already, didn't I?"
Bludd approaches a doormarked 'SUPPLIES' at the end of the hallway. A small round lens is situated above a keypad beside the door.
Interrogator responds, "Yes, and it was helpful. I am starting to think that too many people made too many mistakes creating the various Over Kills." He adds, "It might not be its fault it is malfunctioning."
"Don't matter t'me whose fault it is," Bludd replies, stepping up to the lens. A computerised voice advises him to look directly into the lens. "The fact it's malfunctioning at all is -- ow." Bludd steps back, rubbing at his eye.
"Thank you, Bludd, S., Major. Admittance is granted."
"Bloody retina scans," Bludd grumbles. He glances to Interrogator. "If it's malfunctioning, it needs fixed. The rest, I don't care." The door slides aside and Bludd steps into the room beyond.
"Yes, Sir. I am working on it." Interrogator says as he follows Major Bludd into the supply room.
The room is little more than a closet, filled with office supplies: reams of paper, boxes of pens and paper clips. Bludd squeezes between two boxes of copy paper and slides his hand along the back wall until he finds a recessed button. He presses it and a doorway slides open in front of him. Beyond this new doorway, an even smaller room sports metal shelving full of small cardboard boxes.
Interrogator hangs back in the supply room and lets the Major go into the smaller room, since he seems to know where everything is. He asks, "Are there any M-16's visible in there, please?"
Major Bludd clucks his tongue. "M-16s," he echoes in a low tone. "Y'd do better with an AK," he says, locating a rifle of Inty's choice anyway and handing it out the door, along with a box of rounds for it.
"I know, but I need a free hand to signal with if I ever lose my voice. Because an M-16 has less recoil, I can brace and fire it one handed and still maintain a resemblance of accuracy. Thank you, Major Bludd." Interrogator says.
Major Bludd stares at Interrogator for a moment. "Coming from anyone but you," he says, "I'd say that was the oddest reason for using an M-16 I've ever heard." He goes back into the armoury and rummages for a minute or two. "Nine mil fer me, check," he mutters to himself, grabbing boxes off the shelves and tucking them into his jacket pockets, "nine mil fer her, check. Seven sixty-two." Bludd sticks his hand, clutching a box of rifle rounds, out into the other room and snarls in pain as he aggrivates his gunshot wound. "Seven six two fer her," he grinds out, holding the box out to Interrogator.
Interrogator takes the boxes and asks, "Are you all right, Sir?" He reaches past the Major to grab some boxes of ammunition for his own pistols.
"Yeh, m'fine," Bludd drawls, taking an AK-47 down from the opposite wall. "I'll share, y'know." The box of 9mm rounds looks as though it will fall out of his pocket at any moment anyway.
Interrogator says, "Very well." He tucks the extra ammunition into his beltpouches and waits for the Major to finish.
Major Bludd loads the assault rifle and slings it carefully over his uninjured shoulder. He drops a handful of 7.62 rifle rounds into his jeans pocket and ducks back out into the main supply room, closing the door behind him.
Interrogator backs out of the supply room to give the Major more room and into the hallway.
Major Bludd loads the assault rifle and slings it carefully over his uninjured shoulder. He drops a handful of 7.62 rifle rounds into his jeans pocket. "Here," he calls to Interrogator, "carry a bunch of these." He proceeds to hand three AK-47s out the door, then comes back out himself, closing the door behind him.
Interrogator backs out of the supply room to give the Major more room as he takes the rifles and into the hallway.
Major Bludd walks past Interrogator and back out into the hallway. "Let's get back," he says.
Interrogator nods and says, "I am right behind you."
Interrogator asks, "Sir, should we not also get First Aid kits, food and water?"
Major Bludd stops in his tracks. "Right." He glances to his bandaged arm. "Forgot about that bit." He glares at the retinal scanner beside the door, heaves a sigh, and walks back up to it.
Interrogator shoulders the additional gear he is carrying, wincing as he aggravates the chest wound and prepares to carry the boxes of supplies.
The computer voice repeats its emotionless lines, and after a moment, the door slides open again. "Shoulda brought a shoppin' basket or somethin'," Bludd mutters, ducking back inside.
Interrogator asks, "Perhaps there are bags inside?"
Major Bludd pulls a box labelled "MEAL, READY-TO-EAT, INDIVIDUAL" off the bottom shelf of a shelving unit in the corner of the room. "We can just take some of 'em outta here an' use the box t'put the first aid stuff in," he states. He points to a nearby shelf. "I see a couple kits in there."
Interrogator reaches for the first aid kits carefully, so as not to bother his chest wound and takes a few.
Major Bludd removes a few handfuls of MRE packets and sets them back on the shelf. He reaches out for the first aid kits Interrogator's holding.
Interrogator hands the kits to the Major.
Bludd takes the kits and arranges them, more or less neatly, in the box, shutting it and picking it up. "Eh, water," he grunts. He scans the shelves nearby. "Take a look over there." He points across the room.
Interrogator moves to look where he pointed, and finds a few gallons of water. He picks them all up, and says, "I found some."
"Anything we forgot?" Bludd asks. "We're carryin' 'bout all we can, I reckon."
Interrogator thinks and says, "Not that I can think of. The Baroness should be content with this...unless there is armor here also?"
"I dunno." Bludd frowns. "We can come back an' have a look later," he decides. "Maybe the Baroness will know."
Interrogator says, "Yes. Hopefully there is some for you."
Major Bludd raises his eyebrows, nodding. "Yeah." He gazes at the bullet hole in his jacket sleeve. "I hope so."
Interrogator leaves the room so his companion has room to move out as well, saying, "I am glad I had a disguise that allowed me to wear mine."
Major Bludd steps back out into the hall. "Yeah," he says. "Didn't expect so much of a party t'break out."
"I know. I suppose we should have checked the area for alarms before we went over the fence." says Interrogator "But we can not think of everything. I wonder what G. I. Joe will do now?"
Major Bludd shifts his grip on the box in his arms and starts down the hallway. "Surely they've got the place cordoned off," he says. "If we so much as poke a little toe out of this building it'll get shot off."
Interrogator nods and says, "Yes, we can tell that much from our cameras. I wonder if they might decide this is too much trouble to catch the three of us and let us go. This must be causing quite the international fuss."
Major Bludd shakes his head. "Never. Pass up a chance to catch the Baroness? An' the US government'd love t'get their hands on me, too." He chuckles. "Hauser chased me all over Italy not so long ago. Nah, they'd not back down now."
Interrogator says with a sigh, "I only have to worry about Borovia if I am exposed, and they supposedly want me for questioning. All the others they 'questioned' in positions of power under the old regime are dead or serving life in prison, though."
Major Bludd nods, turning a corner. "They catch me, they'll put me /under/ th' jail." He shrugs. "Not like it ain't been that way for a long time, though."
"Sometimes, I want to take off the uniform and dare them to catch me. But I made this choice a long time ago and must handle the consequences." admits Interrogator.
Major Bludd smiles. "That's life, eh? Y'make yer bed, then y'gotta lie in it."
"Truer words have never been spoken, Major." chuckles Interrogator.
"Special delivery," Bludd quips as he and Interrogator step back into the reception area. He sets the box of MREs and first aid kits on the ground near the desk.
Interrogator finds an extra 'live' outlet and plugs in his recharging cord. He plugs the other end into his helmet.