In the wake of Brexit, UNATA and the United States had worried about a potential schism in commitment to the task force. It was why Michelle was tasked to make sure that commitment was still there. Successes in Venezuela, Greenland, South Korea, Japan, Venice, and even in Dover were enough to assuage the folks at TFL HQ.
The phone rang as she sat down still in her British Army dress uniform.
The text messages were clear as day as to the sender, "Hey boo! I heard the good news! A 'jolly good show, old bean!'"
She grimaced while typing, "That was painful even for you, Decker."
"Maybe. Hey, I was reading your notes about the 'programme.' What's with the weird spelling?"
She scoffed, "It's correct English as if you Yanks knew anything about it."
"So what you're saying boss is if you go to the deli do you order a 'hamme sandwich?'"
"Oh Christ..."
"Is it 'day-e-licious?"
"Decker..."
"Is the deli at the town guard...I mean sentry...erm centre?"
"One more and I'm done with you."
"Okay boss...I guess I need to cheque myself lest I wreque myself."
"Goodbye."
And that was enough for one day. The Yank was lovable most of the time but nothing quite rustled her like the constant barrage of word play at the expense of her nationality. There was enough rubbish going about within the UK in the wake of Brexit she didn't need any more of it. Her vote was her own and she told no one.
After the irritating text barrage, she slumped down on the chair and closed her eyes, her classical music playing from her phone beside the warm cup of Earl Grey she always liked to have. Closing her eyes, she let herself drown in the music.
Unbeknownst to her, the hotel door slowly clicked and opened. The music had drowned any creaking out. That was good for the unexpected entrant.
Her target was right in front. Being ever so vitriolic, she wasted no time closing the door and brandishing her combat knife. She knew stealth was of the essence, dealing with some "amateur" British Army bitch. Creeping closer, her arm raised up in a stabbing motion. If Britain was going to leave, she was going to make sure that Europe would remember even in the smallest way.
She was within striking distance but wanted to be sure she was fully capable of striking. Out of nowhere, a police siren blared right outside the window from the alleyway. It startled Michelle.
"Oh bloody hell, right when I was about to get some sleep..." she then noticed the knife-wielding blonde facing her, "Oh bloody hell..."
The woman hissed something foreign and jumped at Michelle. She was strong, barely contained by the Brit's wrists with blade menacingly attempting even the slightest stabs to the forearm.
"Time to die, Limey!"
http://orig05.deviantart.net/5cd3/f/201 ... a8ny5h.jpg
"Limey?!?" Michelle grunted while struggling to hold the woman's hands, "You realize those...are...fighting words?"
The woman hissed something back in another language. She was stronger than she looked, despite the glasses, smaller height, and slightly wirey arms.
"Drop the knife..."
"You...betrayed...Europa...is your fault in first place!"
"Bollocks..."
"Sooty..." the word, albeit heavily accented, was also clear as day.
The cat was out of the bag there. Now all that was left was trying to disarm the woman. The serrated edges poked through Michelle's gloves, almost breaking the skin. But Michelle was trained for this. She just had to get the right leverage. Using her training, she pulled the woman closer in and with the right angle presented, lifted her knee directly in between the legs of the attacker. That grunt of surprise pain was all she needed.
Her right leg swept the woman's left from underneath and her left leg followed suit by helping force the woman on her back. There, legs crossed and now the uppity infiltrator found herself in between steely British legs that would've put Emma Peel to shame. Hands desperately tried to loosen the grip but Michelle grabbed the right hand and pressed it on the woman's leg, baleful gaze at the woman who found herself choking on her own slew of foreign curses.
"You quite done? I've run track for twelve years...these legs of mine have all day."
http://orig12.deviantart.net/0f96/f/201 ... a8lelg.jpg
It didn't take long before the woman started to lose all her strength. Michelle caught the slightest notion that perhaps this woman was also sickly enjoying the view between her thighs. Even more annoyed, she applied just enough pressure to really hear the choking noises and feel the hands trembling. Thirty seconds, later, she was out.
"I told you my legs have all day."
Laying the woman flat on her back, the cup of her bra revealed some sort of dog tag. Wasting no time stripping the woman of her top, Michelle discovered it was the tag of a COEM soldier, Adrijana Prcic, hailing from Serbia and twenty-six years old. Figures, COEM had to have something going on in the midst of this British chaos. Michelle surmised many felt Britain was betraying Europe judging by her language, despite the clear irony in the racist message behind many supporters on both sides.
That didn't matter at this point. What mattered was dealing with this idiot who tried to kill her. Scooping her up in her arms, she proceeded to the bedroom, "Thought I was some posh clerk, did you? Stupid git."
http://orig15.deviantart.net/fbab/f/201 ... a8lelb.jpg
Michelle resigned herself to the task once she set the Serbian upon the bed. A long sigh was followed by a slow and deliberate removal of her British Army blouse and the quick removal of her belt. The pumps were cast to the side and her pantyhose would soon follow. Somewhere in her mind her American friend would have paid for this kind of display. The light chuckle of realization was replaced by a hint of procedural duty.
It was time to declare independence from her stuffy garments.
"Right. Time to get to it, for Queen and Country."
http://orig02.deviantart.net/527a/f/201 ... a8lekz.jpg
