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"It's Captain Wilheld, sir, and I'm not so sure I would say that he is 'in command', per se..."

 
“Aw crap! Not Wilheld! I should have never approved that experiment in anarcho-capitalist nuclear sub command. DAMMIT!"

President Dleg turned and looked out the window for a few seconds, pondering what to do.

"Admiral, see if you can contact the Chucktown and then keep them in contact. Advise Wilheld that he needs to prepare to execute Emergency Plan Whiskey Tango Foxtrot, and to stay in contact for further orders."

"Yes Mr. President!"

Dleg turned and sat back in his desk chair, and keyed the intercom: "Snickerd? Get me Secretary of State Frazil. Tell her I need an immediate meeting of the Security Council, right here in the White House central command bunker."

"Oh, and could you bring me some coffee while you're at it? Make sure it's hot this time!"

 
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On board the Chucktown, Petty Officer First Class Dexman made his way through the piles of dirty laundry, beer cans, burrito wrappers, and drunken sailors to the teletype, which had just finished printing out a long set of instructions.

"Get the hell out of my way seaman Paul! Let's see what they want this time... uh huh.... mmm hm .... HOLY SHIT! CAPTAIN! CAPTAIN!"

Dexman turned and tripped over a comatose sailor and landed face first in three bags of garbage, narrowly missing the periscope shaft with his head.

"Paul! Do you have any idea where the Captain is?"

"Go to hell! I can't find my bong!"

Dexman pushed his way past, stepping over garbage, laundry, and bodies, making his way for the game room.

"Lieutenant Ble! Where's the Captain!"

"Where the fudge do you think he is, Dex! He's in the game room playing wii bowling with Commander Flyer!"

"Do you know if he's in charge today?"

"Well how the fudge should I know? He's been in there for three days. No one's said shit to me about anything. Now get to hell out of my way, I've got to get to the reactor. Some alarm or something was going off yesterday, and I need to see if it's still on so I can disable it and get some sleep."

 
Petty Officer Dex shoved his way past a male and female sailor copulating in the narrow passageway, and knocked on the locked game room door.

"What the fudge do you want! We're busy in here!" came the muffled reply, followed by the sound of a strike.

"CAPTAIN! I have orders here from CENTCOM!"

"Oh, well, put them in my inbox and I'll check them later" This response was followed by muffled giggling and the sound of two beer cans being opened.

"But Captain, They're ordering us to begin executing Plan Whiskey tango Foxtrot!"

There was a moment of silence, then the sound of someone stepping hurriedly through a pile of empty beer cans, and then the door opened. "Let me see that!" Captain Wilheld, unshaven in a stained t-shirt, looked the orders over and then looked Dexman in the eye with a look of horror: "Holy shit! We - we - we need to do something! Dex! You need to do something! uh, uh, do something!"

"Uh, OK sir, shall I call the crew to their posts?"

"NO! No, that would just alarm them. We need to give them a chance to sober up. OK, here's what you need to do: Get to the Con and clean the place up a little. Tell whoever's awake that I need to see them in there because.... because there's a beer ship ahead and we're stopping for more beer!"

"OK sir!"

"And Dex, tell Lt. Ble to make his way to the forward torpedo room and begin arming the Mark 69. I'll send Flyer to monitor the radiation levels."

Commander Flyer lowered his beer and with a look of indignation said "Hey! It's my job to arm the Mark 69!"

 
Back at the White House, heads of the nations composing the security council had gathered in the basement of white house, or were present via secure videophone. Secretary of State Frazil waited patiently for Snickerd and the rest of the White House staff to complete serving tea and Coffee, before standing and recognizing the entrance of President Dleg.

"Distinguished leaders and representatives, I welcome you and thank you for coming on such short notice. We are faced with an emergency of unprecedented proportions, so I will cut the pleasantries short and get straight to business. But please, feel free to grab a donut - they're really quite good. I had Snickerd pick up two boxes from the Winchell's down on 18th street. Hey HEY! hands off the powdered sugar one there, Dmitri, that one's mine!"

 
"Gentlemen.."

Ahem...

"... and ladies" Dleg corrected himself, "I have some very bad news. We have lost control of the package."

The room immediately filled with commotion and shouting and objections, so much so that no one could be heard.

"Gentlemen please! one at a time!"

The room quieted and the French President stood and said "How can this be! We gave this mission to the United States because you assured us that these two could not escape from you!"

The Prime Minister of India interrupted "Do you have any idea of what this could do to the world economy! Oh my goodness gracious, if these two are able to get on the internet, it would destroy India in a day!"

"OK, Calm down everybody, and allow me to fill you in on what we know" said president Dleg, looking a little sheepish. "I, too, was confident in the ability of our crack team, under Captain Lindeberg, to transport these two to the containment facility. And I still have every confidence in him. But the fact is, someone got on board the PPI and sabotaged it!"

Everyone in the room gasped.

"Now I would like to think that it was none of us in this room, because we had an agreement, but at this point I cannot take any chances. I have had to put the U.S. Military on full alert. If any of you know anything about this, please speak up!"

The various heads of state glanced around the table. Even the heads of state on videophone. But no one knew anything.

"We know nothing about this President Dleg!" Shouted the Russian President. "having these two turned loose on the world would hurt us just as much as it would hurt you. Why would anyone in this room want to do that?"

The room muttered in agreement. Except for the Queen of England, on videophone, who cleared her throat to get everyone's attention.

"Excuse me! Excuse me please! Great Britain may have, oh shall I say, an idea of what might have happened."

 
All eyes turned to the image of Queen Elizabeth II on the videoscreen. A look of immense sadness crossed the elederly monarch's face as she started her tale.

"A long, long time ago, in the depths of the Cold war, I approved a crazy, crazy idea, which I never thought would have worked, to genetically engineer a team of super-annoying engineers, who would be grown and raised as Soviets at a secret facility in Iceland, and then planted in various critical positions within the Soviet government, where they would, completely unknowingly, destroy the Soviet Union from within."

The Russian President turned red in the face and sputtered something, but was cut off:

"Oh I'm so terribly sorry, Dmitri, but it was war and all, you know. At any rate, the Berlin Wall came down while the three were still just school children. We terminated the program immediately. But, they were just children! I could not just have them destroyed!"

President Dleg rubbed his forehead "So, you had them sent here? What the Fudge, your Highness?!"

"Oh, I am so sorry, dear Dleg! Our scientists assured me that their training was not advanced enough for them to become the trained weapons we had intended, and that they would most likely turn out to be ordinary citizens, albeit incredibly annoying citizens. But Parliament refused to budge, so I had to send them somewhere. Oh, I hope you will be able to forgive me!"

The room looked on in stunned silence.

After a moment, President Dleg finally stood up and said "Well, I guess there's nothing we can do about that for now. But it still doesn't answer what happened to the PPI and Captain Lindeberg! Does anyone in here have any useful information??!!!"

 
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It had been a long night, but finally the thin man had stopped shivering and had fallen asleep, naked against the hairy chest of Cutiepie, together under the space blanket. Cutiepie looked up at the glow of the Aurora Borealis and thought back on the events which had brought him to this point. He wondered why things always seemed to go wrong for him. Why his wife didn't like it up the pooper. Why he tried and tried but could never bring home the fatty cash. Any now, here he was, with some bitter, neo-fundamentalist stormwater engineer naked agaisnt his chest. What was wrong with this crazy world?

It was then that he caught a glimpse of something reflecting the Aurora light off to his left. He looked into the darkness, and between the swells, he saw what looked like a pole sticking up out of the water with something shiny on top, perhaps a piece of glass. Then he saw the phosphorescence of a wake - it was moving! And it was moving straight toward them!

 
The pole was rising, too, and was soon followed by an enormous black shape rising up from the sea.

"Wake up! wake up naked dude! there's some thing cumming our way and im not sure but it looks like some kind of kickass submareen! that is so kick ass if they would have let me command a sub i would have stayed in the national guard but i cuddent take halfing to sit there and take shit from some washed up football player yelling insults at me but if they would have given me command of a sub that would have kicked ass and i might have considered staying in and WHOA!!!!"

The lifeboat suddenly lifted out of the water and fell sideways, spilling the two onto the upper surfaces of a gigantic black submarine. A row of floodlights switched on at the top of the sail, illuminating their naked forms.

 
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Things were suddenly quiet. The submarine was so large that it was hardly moving with the waves, and the two naked engineers came slowly to their feet, and looked up toward the bright lights.

A voice called down from the top: "Is one of you a Mr. Phouk Tard? And is one of you a Mr. Pierce One?"

They looked at each other, shrugged their shoulders, and responded "Yeah, that's us!"

A hatch on the deck behind them suddenly opened, revealing a wide, dim staircase leading into the submarine. "Go down the stairs! I'll meet you inside!"

 
The security council remained silent.

"I'll ask again, don't any of you have any information that would explain what happened to the PPI and Captain Lindeberg? Not now, secretary Frazil!"

"But Mr. President, sir, did the Queen of England say there were THREE?"

The Queen sighed and looked down again on the video monitor. "Yes, I did say three."

The members of the security council looked nervously around at each other.

"Well, do you have any idea who and where the other one is"? asked President Dleg, clearly aware that he was losing control of the situation.

The Queen sighed again. "Yes and no..."

The room filled with murmurs which were quickly shushed by Secretary Frazil.

"I had so much hope for the third. We placed him in an apprenticeship position with a heating, ventillation, and what do you Yanks call it? Air conditioning shop, yes I believe that's it. He did quite well and even got into your country's top engineering school, graduating at near the top. He got offers from several of your country's biggest car manufacturers, but he refused all of them and set up his own company.

I was confident that he was not a threat, until about two years ago, when MI-6 picked him up on the internet, tearing apart a number of lesser engineering forums."

Dleg rubbed his forehead again and sat heavily in his chair. "I know this man."

 
"I know you do. You were there when he first appeared, as was I"

"You were there? "

"Yes, I worried that this day would come, so I registered on Engineer Boards to keep watch. We defeated him then, but I am afraid we only made things worse"

"Wait a minute, who are you??"

"Why Dleg, don't you realize, I am Mary!"

The security council let out a collective gasp.

 
Dleg was flabbergasted, but recovered quickly. "Well, what happened to the guy?"

"GT_ME disappeared off the internet and devoted himself to his work. His HVAC company was so profitable that he was able to buy an entire island off the northwestern coast of Russia. He set up his operations there, inside an old submarine pen abandoned by the Soviet Navy."

All eyes turned to the Russian President, Dmitri. "What? Like you wouldn't have done the same thing? The guy was loaded with cash!"

"Dmitri, you didn't sell him a submarine, did you" Asked Dleg.

"Sell, no. But, uh, how to say, we traded for one."

"What did you trade, Dmitri?" Said Dleg, horrified.

"Hey, don't everybody be blaming me, now! this is all Queen Elizabeth's fault! We knew nothing of this man's terrifying capabiility! Hold on, I must phone Russian navy right now..."

Everyone in the room was looking at Dmitri.

"Oh Okay, I will tell. We gave GT_ME submarine base, and one fully operational Typhoon class nuclear ballistic missile submarine. Eh" he shrugged :dunno:

 
The entire security council replied, in unison, "DMITRI!!!"

"Tell me you weren't stupid enough to give him any nukes, Dmitri. TELL ME!" Shouted Dleg.

"No, we were fortunately not that stupid. We learned our lesson from that Osama guy. Did I just say that?"

Everyone in the room glanced at each other nervously.

"Nevermind, we'll deal with that later" said Dleg, "is there anything else we should know about your deal with GT_ME?"

"No. But I do not think it was GT_ME who sank the PPI."

 
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Back on board the Chucktown, Captain Wilheld stood before about one half of his crew in the control room, with an unbuttoned khaki shirt partially covering the stained undershirt, and said:

"OK guys here's the deal. We're not going to get more beer.."

He was interrupted by groans and one extremely loud "BULLSHIT!"

"Now now listen up, OK? We actually have to do something here. Some serious shit is going down, and I need everyone to sober up and do their jobs for a while."

"But Captain, you said we didn't have to do anything unless we felt we were being paid what we were worth for it!" "Yeah! and I feel like I'm being screwed here! " The whole crew started muttering "yeahs" and "up yours" and other statements of disgust.

"I know I said that men, and I still mean that. I am confident that we can successfully run this submarine on the anarcho-capitalist model. I will set up Dex here with a pile of contracts and we will once again bargain for what you feel you are worth. But be advised, again, that I will only pay what I agree you are worth."

The crew grumbled.

"OK, I need akwooly on sonar. I need to know what's happening around us. There are a lot of threats out there, and we've got to start taking this seriously."

"Fudge you man, I ain't touching that sonar shit again unless you pay me $500,000 a year! Supply and demand, Motherfudger!"

"All right Seaman Wooley, you have a right to bargain for your services. But I don't have $500,000 a year to give you."

"Well then Fudge You! I'm going back to my bunk!"

"I can give you $50 an hour with an added $100 for every legitimate contact you locate."

"Now you're talking!"

And so it went for the next 2 hours, as Captain Wilheld bargained for the services of his crew.

 
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Soon things were humming along fairly smoothly. All of the trash was removed to the compactor room, the laundry was loaded, and most of the beer cans were picked up. akwooley sat intently at the sonar and occasionally communicated something to Seaman PaulS, who would then make a mark on the glass tracking board.

"So what have we got?" asked Captain Wilheld.

"Well, we've got what sounds like a pod of Sperm whales about 5 miles to our north northeast, a crab boat due south, and what sounds like an empty life raft bobbing in the waves about a mile from here...

"Are you sure it's empty?"

"Pretty sure, Captain. I did my thesis on empty life rafts. But there's one other thing, and I don't think you're going to like this one."

"What is it?"

"It's a Typhoon class nuclear ballistic missile submarine. And it's right behind us."

 
A long tube began to slowly extend from the front of the Typhoon, headed straight for the stern of the Chucktown.

"Captain, I can't be sure, but it sounds like there's something extending from the Typhoon, headed straight for our stern!"

Just then a metal screeching was heard, reverberating throughout the pressure hull, and then a click like a door latch opening.

"Oh shit!" said Captain Wilheld. "They're entering us from the rear!" He lunged for the intercom "Lt. Ble! Get back to the stern and lock the inner hatch on the AG 1N1 Mark V boarding tube!"

"The intercom crackled to life: "You mean the VAGINA?"

"No! I mean the AG 1N1 Mark V!"

"Same thing!"

"Just do it!"

 
A metallic clang rang through the hull and the sub lurched forward, throwing everyone to the floor.

"Captain! We've lost all control of propulsion!"

Wilheld pulled himself back upright and keyed the intercom, addressing the entire crew. "All right fellas, this is it! Everyone grab a weapon and take cover! In a few minutes foreign seamen are going to come spewing in through our back door!"

The rifle cabinet was opened and everyone started passing around carbines.

Petty Officer Dex looked up at the Captain "But sir! We're at 2000 meters! Won't it be dangerous to use our guns down here?"

"Shit, you're right! Men, put those guns back! Set tasers to "hurt"!"

 
"Captain! They're cutting through the inner hatchway now!"

Everyone tensed, and aimed their tasers for the hatchway as showers of sparks rained into the main passageway.

 
The sub shook and the sound of an explosion was heard over the intercom. Then silence. Captain Wilheld keyed the intercom "What the hell is going on out there! I need a report!"

"Captain, it's ... it's... "

"It's what!?"

"It's female storm troopers! And they're hot!"

"Goddamnit Ble! Do not lower your guard! Everyone knows stormtrooper armor can be molded in any shape!"

But there was no reply, only the muffled sounds of sailors making cat calls and saying "hey baby!"

"Lieutenant Ble! Order your men to back up and open fire! They are not what you think they are!"

"Fudge you Captain! You don't pay me enough to warrant that type of loyalty! Besides, what could go wrong? They're ..."

 
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