UPF INTELLIGENCE BRIEF
SUBJECT: Transcript of a speech delivered by The Supreme Commander during his weekly staff meeting, outlining his latest plan.
Gentlemen, once again, we have been thwarted in our attempts to conquer the world by the infernal meddling of the United Peace Force. Once again, we have been driven back into seclusion to regroup and rearm. This I’m afraid has become part of a predictable and all too humiliating pattern: I devise an ingenious plan, we begin preparations and when the time comes, we execute, only to have our machinations crushed shortly after being set in motion. On our more fortunate days, we come within minutes, sometimes seconds, of victory before a multi-national strike force intervenes. For too long we have fought on the losing side of this war, but now I say enough! No more shall we suffer the all encompassing shame of defeat, for I, your Supreme Commander, have crafted a plan so foolproof, so imaginatively clever, so staggeringly brilliant, that it is sure to succeed.
This plan, gentlemen, can be summed up in one word, squirrels. Yes, you have heard me correctly, my loyal minions, squirrels. I have recently engaged the services of one Dr. Alverez, a renowned and, fortunately, avaricious expert in the field of animal behavior. Dr. Alvarez assures me that give enough time and resources, he can deliver an army of whatever animal I choose. And I have chosen squirrels.
Now, I imagine some of you are wondering why I would choose such a lowly and non-threatening creature. Why not choose gorillas? Or tigers? Why not get clever and teach the gorillas to ride the tigers? Surely a cavalry made up of tiger mounted gorillas would be a truly formidable force, perhaps even invincible. I assure you that this has indeed crossed my mind, but the gorilla tiger army presents a few ultimately, unsolvable problems. First, and most important, a proper army would require many thousands of soldiers, though with animals of abundant ferocity, this number could be reduced to mere hundreds. Even so, I fear that finding gorillas in sufficient quantity would prove difficult, as well as exceedingly costly. Even if I were, by some fortuitous circumstance, able to acquire the animals in sufficient quantities, I would then be left with the quandary of where to house the beasts. And I would require that the animals be properly cared for, as I would need them to be in top physical condition and find animal cruelty so distasteful. The second major problem is stealth, or rather, lack there of. I’m sure that I don’t have to tell you that it would be rather difficult for a gorilla riding a tiger to move about a major metropolitan area inconspicuously. Within minutes of deploying such a force, both the media and the authorities would be alerted. While I’m confident that the tigers and gorillas could dispatch any interference with ease, I fear that the delay would allow our target time to prepare for out arrival or retreat, thereby wasting thousands of hours of preparation. No, I fear that an army of gorillas and tigers is simply unfeasible.
Now squirrels, however, do not present so many difficulties. First, they are abundant and can be acquired cheaply. If we spread out our collection efforts around the country, we could easily build an army of formidable size and strength without arousing the suspicions of the UPF. Given squirrels’ reputation of being a nuisance among those who have taken up bird watching or gardening, we might even turn a small profit by collecting them under the guise of a pest control company. Also, due to their compact size, it would be possible to house the entire army in one or two warehouses. Dr. Alverez has also informed me that the cost of care and feeding of squirrels is nominal.
The true advantage of squirrels though, is in their stealth. You see, since squirrels are ubiquitous on this continent, most people, even the ever-vigilant security personnel who have proven to be troublesome in the past, hardly notice them. Our army could travel silently through the city, infiltrating even the most tightly secured bases. Imagine the possibilities for our standard abduction missions. Normally, we would spend months observing our target, arranging for one of our men to join the security detail, and preparing an assault, only to be thwarted at the last minute. With squirrels, the prep time is greatly reduced, as is the risk to our people. I estimate that a pack of twelve highly trained squirrels could easily dispatch a security detail, as they are very quick and have extremely sharp teeth. Once the security detail has been dispatched, the squirrels could then drive the target towards a designated spot where our retrieval crews will be waiting in disguise. I predict that our preparation times will be reduced by seventy-five percent and that our rate of success will greatly increase.
Gentlemen, our day of victory draws near. Soon your hard work, and sacrifice shall be rewarded and you shall reap the spoils of our global domination. Until that day, keep up with your duties and watch for squirrels. We will soon be launching a bonus program for the delivery of live squirrels. H.R. is still finalizing the details. They have been overwhelmed ever since the last UPF raid destroyed our servers. Until next time gentlemen, that is all, good day.
ESTIMATED THREAT LEVEL: 0-1
SUGGESTED ACTION: Continue to monitor development of the program in case it produces technology worth acquiring, or we need to thwart a plan to secure our budget.
Meanwhile, Our Hero strolls among the summer tourists who have come wearing bright, ill-fitting clothing and bearing expensive cameras to explore the city’s rich heritage. The fathers and mothers pose their children with actors dressed in period clothing and take pictures. The children, for the most part, smile obediently, although some scowl and demand to know when they can go home, or to the gift shop. Our Hero smiles as he passes the good children and frowns at those who are recalcitrant. Perhaps, if trouble should arise, he will only save the good children as a reward for their behavior. Our hero dismisses the idea immediately. It is not his place, he tells himself, to decide who is worthy of saving. If there is a need and it is within his power, he will save all children, although he might scold the petulant ones after the danger has ended. Our Hero, satisfied with his plan straightens his posture and puffs out his chest, before turning onto a narrow cobble stone street that leads to a civil war memorial.
When he is halfway down the street, he hears someone calling to him from behind. “Excuse me,” a male voice says, “Sir, excuse me.” Our Hero turns around and sees a middle-aged man dressed in khaki shorts and green polo shirt. He is sweating rather heavily and his face is red. Our Hero wonders if this man is suffering from some kind of cardiac distress, and chastises himself for not reviewing his CPR and first aid training materials before leaving the house. He tries to remember the basics as he sprints towards the man. There was a song, he had read, that provided the perfect rhythm for chest compressions. Our Hero remembers it was a disco song, a hit. “Dancing Queen?” No, he remembers that the title was appropriate given the circumstance in which one would be performing CPR. “I Will Survive?” Again, no, why would the one performing CPR worry about his own survival? Our Hero furrows his brow. He must remember the song soon. He will reach the man in a few short steps at which time he will be too busy assessing the situation to sort through the greatest hits of the disco era.
As Our Hero comes to a stop, the man inhales deeply and holds it for a couple of seconds before exhaling through slightly pursed lips, as if he were extinguishing the candles on a birthday cake. The vast majority of air hits Our Hero in the face. He can tell that the man has recently consumed a hot dog, or possibly a bologna sandwich and topped with onions. Our Hero takes a step back and is momentarily disoriented.
“So you noticed me?” The man says, his breathing now stable. “I’ve been chasing you two blocks!”
“I see,” Our Hero says calmly though he finds the discovery of a gap in his constant, all encompassing vigilance disturbing. Had this distressed citizen not been ambulatory, he might not have ever come into Our Hero’s awareness. For the second time in as many minutes Our Hero has found a lapse in his preparedness. He makes a note to undertake vigorous training as soon as he returns to his apartment. In the meantime, he has a citizen to assist.
“How may I be of assistance?” Our Hero asks.
“Assistance!” The man laughs as he shakes his head, “God, you’re in character and everything. I knew this place had period actors, but I haven’t heard anything about heroes. So, which one are you?”
“Which what?”
“Which Hero?” The man shouts with a level of excitement that makes Our Hero smile. “You must be one of the new ones. I’d recognize you if you were one of the classics.”
“I’m Mr. Justice,” Our Hero says as he places his fists on his hips and raises his chin. While he holds the pose, he thinks, this man knows of other heroes?
“Fantastic,” says the man, mimicking Our Hero’s stance momentarily, still laughing a little. “Hey, if it’s not too much trouble, could you take a picture with my family?”
Our Hero ponders this request. It would throw off the timing of his rounds, and would be a breach of protocol, but this man had run for two blocks, potentially risking his life for a snapshot. Providing one was the least that Our Hero could do. Also, it would give Our Hero an opportunity to learn more of these other heroes. “I would be honored sir,” he says while bowing slightly.
“Great,” the man says, “They’re over by the statue of Washington.” He turns and begins walking back towards his family. Our Hero follows after him for a few strides before catching up. “My name is George, by the way,” says the man, while offering a sweaty hand to Our Hero.
“A pleasure meeting you,” Our Hero says shaking the man’s hand, thankful that he chose to wear the Gauntlets of Justice despite the warm weather. Then, thinking of no other way to broach the subject, says, “You know of other heroes?”
“Oh sure,” says George, “I used to be a real comic fan. When I was a kid, I used to spend hours in my room reading comics.”
“Ah,” Our Hero says, somewhat disappointed, though part of him remembers his own days spent in his room with comic books, “So did I.”
“I tried to get my son into them,” George says, apparently not hearing Our Hero, “but he’s only interested in video games and truly terrible music, but maybe if he meets a real super hero, he’ll change his mind. Maybe I can pick up a few of your books for the ride home to get him started. So what are you, Marvel or DC?”
“Neither, I’m a real hero.”
“Oh, I gotcha. Gotta stay in character.” George winks. “I’ll play along. I’m sure they’ll know at the comic shop anyway.”
Our Hero prepares to correct George again, but before he can speak, George suddenly runs over to a scowling woman and a boy who looks to be about twelve. Our Hero deduces, correctly, that these are the rest of George’s family. The woman brightens up a little after George speaks to her and gestures toward Our Hero. The boy, however, rolls his eyes and sinks into a deep slouch. George leads them both over to Our Hero. “Eileen, Peter,” He says, “This is Mr. Justice.”
“Nice to meet you,” Eileen says before smiling wide and saying, “Mr. Justice.” Peter grunts something that might have been “hey.” George produces a camera from one of his pockets and begins giving directions. First, he has Our Hero pose by himself, then with Eileen, then Peter, then both Eileen and Peter, then, after switching camera operators, with George, then George and Peter, then, after another Camera switch, George and Eileen. Finally, George asks a passing stranger to take a picture of Our Hero George, Eileen and Peter all at once. After instructing the stranger to take one more for good measure, George retrieves his camera and places it back in his pocket. Our Hero relaxes his pose and rubs his cheeks, which have become sore from smiling.
“Thank you very much, “ Says George before taking Our Hero’s hand and placing a folded twenty-dollar bill in it.
Our Hero looks down at the bill and then attempts to give it back. “Sir, I cannot accept this.”
“Of course you can! It’s the least I can do,” George says as he backs away.
“But a hero does not seek financial rewards for his deeds.”
“Right, right, character, I get it.” George takes another step back before turning away. As he walks away with his family, he calls back over his shoulder, “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.”
Our Hero turns the folded bill over in his hand a couple of times before tucking it into one of his gauntlets. He decides that he will donate the money to a worthy cause, something that supports public safety, once he has finished his patrol. Perhaps he will spend some of it on a beverage of some sort. He has walked quite far for such a warm day and proper hydration is, after all, very important. He resumes his patrol, half jogging to make up for lost time. As he reaches the spot where George first caught his attention, he suddenly remembers the song for CPR. “Of course!” he says aloud, “Stayin’ Alive!” A few pedestrians glance his way, but Our Hero does not notice.