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Twenty-Two Days

December 2, 2020 / / 0 Comments

At the beginning of the month, The Wife was informed that her position was being eliminated. Almost twenty years with the firm. No warning. No reason. We could understand if it was a business decision – need to cut costs or something along those lines. Nope. Our best guess is The Wife and her team were the collateral damage in a fight and/or horse-trading among the senior leadership. This was a huge blow. We just committed to buying a house. Hell, a half-hour after she was told she was losing her job, we were on the phone with the mortgage people for a scheduled call.

Twenty-two days. That’s how long The Wife went from being let go to having a new offer in hand. She spent every day like a work day. Except her work was finding a new position. She was amazing to me. I couldn’t be more proud of how she handled herself.

Monday Fiction – Zombie Strike – Part 6 – Chapter 47

November 30, 2020 / / 0 Comments

Skull Island, South Pacific, 25 July 2010, 0315 Hours Local: Countdown: 1 Year, 3 months, 6 days

Slim and his driver, Michael, bounced back into the Zombie Strike compound. Michael slid the ATV into the laager where the other hunting teams were waiting. They were the last team to return. Slim smiled as he dismounted. It had been a successful operation. None of the teams were lost, and by best estimates, the teams bought Zombie Strike two or three hours. Frank Pierre, the compound’s lead engineer was putting that time to good use. Outer buildings were being torn down to build a wall surrounding the old hotel. The hard packed rubble rising into some semblance of a barrier made Slim imagine he was in a Post-apocalyptic world, like Mad Max. He wondered if he would ever be able to watch The Road Warrior again.

Zombie Strike should have had a proper wall surrounding the compound. Something fifteen feet tall and made of reinforced concrete. It was one of those things everyone knew, but there were always other priorities. Besides, the heavy chain fence kept the odd zombie tangled if it managed to get a little close to the compound, and there were never more than a hundred of the buggers within five miles of the compound anyways. If things got a bit tense, there was always the heavy stuff and the helos. The idea that the compound could be cut off and swarmed never really entered anyone’s minds as a possibility. Not even Slim’s. Sure it could happen, but so could an earthquake or a nuclear strike. Now, he was just hoping they lived through the oncoming siege.

"Okay everyone, good work out there," The Steve said to the hunting teams, "You bought us time. Security people, Gunny is gathering you by the entrance. Everyone else is to report to Pierre for work. Slim, Sport, I need you two to come with me." Slim and Sport traded looks. It was unnerving the first time they had heard The Steve refer to himself in the third person. Now, it frightened them more that he wasn’t. The three men walked through the barricade. The Steve stopped to chat with some of the workers, mostly to give them some encouragement or ask a quick question. Once in the hotel, The Steve ushered the two into an elevator. Slim was surprised when the car went up. The command center and all of Zombie Strike’s facilities were below ground. No one spoke as the elevator zoomed up before stopping at the eighth floor. Slim and Sport fell in behind The Steve as the team medic stormed into Collin’s room. The strong breeze slapped the three as they walked into the room. Slim saw the glitter of glass shards littered across the carpet. The sitting room was destroyed. Not the damage of dozens of people lugging footlockers of weapons and ammunition out of the room. This looked like there had been a fight. As Slim examined the room, he noticed Quentin sitting on bed with a blood-soaked bandage wrapped around his upper arm. Quentin saw the three. He stood up and walked out of the bedroom. Quentin clutched his warhammer in his right hand. Black and grey slime coated the hammer. Slim felt his stomach plunge.

"Stacy didn’t make it," Quentin said in a low rumble. The Steve nodded, as if he expected the news.

"What the bloody hell happened?" Sport asked his eyes wide in astonishment.

"Gollum came crashing through the window," Quentin answered, in a flat emotionless tone, "Landed on one of the cooks helping drag out the weapons Collin left us. It tore her to pieces. God, I hate those things. Managed to keep it busy while everyone ran. Then took it down. It didn’t go quietly into that good night." There were very good reasons Quentin was the team’s leader in gollum kills. Sport let out a colorful string of curses.

"So why warn us if he was just going to stab us in the back?" Slim asked, thinking about the message Collin had left. Quentin and Sport looked around uncomfortably, but The Steve pushed the question aside.

"Doesn’t matter," The Steve said sharply, "What matters is Collin’s info has been spot-on. Which brings me back to the two of you." The Steve’s evil grin chilled Slim to the bone. He had never seen that look on The Steve’s face, and hoped he never did again. It looked so horrifically wrong.

"There’s a minion out there," The Steve said, looking out the shattered window, "He sent his best killer to cripple us. We’re going to repay him with interest." The Steve turned back to his teammates. "You three are going to find that minion and kill him."

Washington DC, 26 July 2010, 2000 Hours Local: Countdown: 1 Year, 3 months, 5 days

Mateo Cortez jumped out of the FBI cruiser before it stopped. He sprinted through the lobby, ignoring the confused and annoyed looks of the hotel staff. He bounded up the three flights of stairs and then dashed to the room his daughters shared. Jess opened the door with a pained expression on her face. Mateo gave her a reassuring hug and walked into the room. Billy, the spirit wolf pup, padded over to Mateo. Toddling behind the wolf was Mateo’s five-year-old daughter Mercedes. The child’s face was streaked with red from crying. Mateo scooped his daughter into his arms and hugged her tight. A second later, Jess was also entwined with them. Mateo felt a weight lifting off of him as he just stood there and hugged his daughters. They were safe. Kenn led Special Agent Tredegar and Robyn Adams into the room. Billy growled at the fed and the lawyer, but stopped once Kenn introduced them. Sometimes, the wolf acted more like a human trapped in a canine body. The two warily smiled at the large animal, neither sure of what to do next.

"Mr. Cortez, if your ex-wife has been kidnapped by this Ted Roberts, then I am required to notify Metro Police and my agency," Tredegar said. Mateo shot the fed a deadly look. Tredegar visibly recoiled. Robyn Adams stepped next to the agent.

"Mateo, if you’re not going to call the authorities, at least let me bring in M&W security people," Adams suggested delicately.

"No, we’ll handle this in-house," Mateo said tersely, "If the police or M&W get involved, they’re just going to end up dead. The two of you are only here because I couldn’t get rid of you." Adams looked offended, but Tredegar just looked hurt. Mateo didn’t really care about the lawyer, but Tredegar had stuck his neck out to help Mateo. Mateo glanced over at Kenn, who just shook his head. Mateo needed to fix this. Before Mateo could say anything, the unique hunting moans of zombies echoed through the halls outside of the room. Everyone froze for an instant. In that instant came the screeching howl of a gollum. Billy growled and barked at the door.

"Jess, go get the special crate," Mateo ordered. The teen nodded and sprinted to her room. "Ms. Adams, Tredegar, I need you to take Mercedes into the bathroom and stay there until we come for you." Jess came back into the room lugging a black metal box almost as big as her. Mateo entered a combination into the digital pad on the top of the box. The pad beeped once and the sound of mechanical locks clacking opening rang through the room.

"Mr. Cortez, what are you doing?" Tredegar as Mateo lifted the thick lid and slid it to the floor.

"Well, Special Agent Tredegar, anytime we deploy anywhere, there’s a chance everything will go to hell." Mateo lifted a stubby M4 from the metal box. Tredegar and Adams went pale as the three Zombie Strike team members began pulling out weapons and armor from the metal case.

"This is us dealing with everything going to hell."

Zombie Strike Part 6 Chapter 48

Happy Thanksgiving

November 26, 2020 / / 0 Comments

By the time you’re reading this, I’ll be working on smoking a duck as part of our Thanksgiving.

This is going to be a screwed up Thanksgiving for all of us. Probably next year’s will be screwed up too. I’m hoping by 2022, we’ll be relatively back to normal. At least in terms of having everyone back together.

Time To Make The Readers Mad Again

November 25, 2020 / / 0 Comments

Hard Truth #1: Trump Lost.

Biden won. I don’t like it, but that’s the result we have to deal with. There’s an old adage in military tactics of never reinforce defeat. We are wasting resources that we should be using to help out in the Georgia senate races.

Hard Truth #2: Voter Fraud Did Not Cause Trump To Lose.

Was there voter fraud? There’s always voter fraud. Was it material? Not according to Trump’s own lawyers once they get in front of a judge. You know, when they could be charged with little things like perjury and contempt.

Hard Truth #3: All These Attempts To Steal The Election Through Conspiracy Theories Is Morally Wrong.

Remember four years back, all of these conspiracy theories popped up on the left that the Russians stole the election for Trump. Do you remember how mad you were because all of these allegations were preventing your guy from doing all the things you wanted? Yeah. That’s how you sound right now. If anyone asks why I didn’t vote for Trump, what he’s doing right now is a big, flashing banner.

I’m sure that there are Machiavellians out there who think this is a good strategy. Even if you can’t win, you can tie things up. Make no mistake. This is fucking dangerous. Take the loss. Learn the lessons. Be better.

Monday Fiction – Zombie Strike – Part 6 – Chapter 46

November 23, 2020 / / 1 Comment

Skull Island, South Pacific, 25 July 2010, 0230 Hours Local: Countdown: 1 Year, 3 months, 6 days

“Slim” Thomas scowled as he tightened the straps on his armor. He knew he should be thankful the field team’s armor wasn’t in the armory and survived its destruction. Slim should have been ecstatic with the cache of weapons and ammunition the team found in Collin’s room. He probably would have been except for two things: the note and the crush. The crush was easier for Slim to wrap his head around. It had been drilled into his head since he joined MacKenzie and Winston’s Armed Response Team as a zombie-qualified member. It had been reinforced nearly every day Slim worked with Zombie Strike. Crush was the point where the sheer weight and volume of a zombie horde would overcome defensive measures. Things like number of defenders, heavy weapons, defensive positions, and the size of the horde affected crush. The trick was to never let your people try to fight past the crush. Unless you were Mateo Cortez, and Slim wasn’t sure if that man was touched by the divine or just touched in the head.

Then there was the note. Slim was saved from dwelling on that bitter pill by the other British field operator, Sport. Truth to tell, Slim didn’t care much for Sport. The man was too boorish and low-class, but being surrounded by Yanks and colonials forced an uneasy common ground between the two Brits. Especially considering how many times the two were paired up during operations.

“Slim, The Steve wants to know if you’re kitted up,” Sport asked impatiently. “He needs us to put some backbone in the lads.” Slim nodded to his counterpart and swallowed his dislike of the other man. Now was definitely not the time. Slim picked up the Remington 700. The Yanks needed a few more years to figure out how to make a proper bolt gun, but this one wasn’t too shabby. It was modified to accept a five round detachable magazine and had a rail along the top where a fairly decent Bausch & Lomb scope was mounted. It would do for this part of the defense. If the note was right. The two Zombie Strike field operators bounded down the stairs. Slim wasn’t sure if The Steve’s plan would work, but it was the best they had. Slim was surprised by the sudden change in The Steve. The medic’s normally laid-back attitude vanished as the team scrambled to prepare for the oncoming horde. In its place was a serious and aggressive man even Gunny was obeying. It was both scary and comforting at the same time. Slim and Sport strode out of the hotel turned command center. The hunting moans of the horde could be faintly heard in the humid night. Slim took a sip of water as he and Sport walked over to the small group of men loosely gathered around a few ATV’s. Slim recognized a couple of Gunny’s security boys, but most were mechanics, clerks, and even one from the catering staff. About half of them carried bolt guns with nightvision scopes while the rest were armed with pump shotguns.

“Good evening gents,” Slim said in his most upbeat tone, “We’ve been asked to cause a bit of havoc amongst the deadheads.” By the looks on the men’s faces, perhaps the stiff upper lip wasn’t the best route to go. “Shooters, do you understand your job?”

“Slim, there are ten thousand zombies out there,” one of the security boys said, pointing out into the darkness. “How are we supposed to slow down that kind of horde?”

“Carl, that many zombies means a close packed horde,” Slim explained, “Popping the buggers in front causes logjams. Trips them up and breaks up the horde into easier to fight groups. Most importantly, it buys time for our mates here. Make sure to pick out the biggest and meanest ones you can find.” Slim turned to the others.

“Drivers, we’re counting on you to keep us alive,” Slim said with deadly seriousness. “Watch out for deadheads that might have gotten too far ahead of the group and don’t be afraid to move. Much rather have a missed shot than to lose a team. Any other questions?” Seeing none, the shooters paired up with their drivers. Slim’s driver was one of the mechanics.

“So how did you draw this duty, Michael?” Slim asked the diminutive Australian.

“Grew up on a cattle spread,” Michael answered as he started up the ATV, “Hated horses.” The ATV shot out into the night before Slim could decipher the man’s terse response. As the ATV bounced outside the compound’s lights, Slim lowered his nightvision. The horde spanned the horizon. As expected, the horde moved like an oncoming glacier. Michael slid the ATV into a stop just under eight hundred meters from the horde. Michael drew a pump shotgun and scanned the immediate surroundings. Slim slid off the ATV into a crouching shooting stance. He worked the smooth bolt action. He gave a small prayer of thanks for the lack of wind. Exhaling, Slim pressed the trigger.

His was the first rifle to crack through the chorus of moans from the horde. The .300 Win Mag round crossed the open ground in an instant. The zombie’s head disintegrated as the bullet shredded it and shot out the rear. A second zombie, a few yards behind the target caught the still speeding bullet through the lower jaw. The bullet didn’t destroy the zombie’s brain, but it managed to sever the spinal cord before exiting the zombie’s body and landing harmlessly in the chest of a third zombie. The second zombie dropped to the ground. Several other zombies tripped over the two unmoving corpses. Slim didn’t even take a moment to see what his first shot caused. Even before the second zombie fell, Slim was taking aim on another zombie. A second shot roared in the night. More zombies down. The horde’s line became ragged in the small hundred meter arc. Slim fired three more times before slithering back up onto the ATV. The two men roared across to the next firing position. As the ATV bounced across the ground, Slim keyed his radio.

“Mountain here,” answered The Steve from the command center.

“He was telling us the truth,” Slim said, not able to keep his disgust out of his voice, “At least as far as the rifles go. This one was set up perfectly for me. First firing position a success.”

“Worry about survival,” The Steve said, “Revenge will have to come later.”

Washington DC, 26 July 2010, 1930 Hours Local: Countdown: 1 Year, 3 months, 5 days

Mateo Cortez stormed out of the police station. Special Agent Tredegar of the FBI struggled to keep up. The agent waved his badge a few times to clear a path for the seething Mateo. Kenn Blanchard and a dark haired woman were waiting outside on the street.

“I’ll get my vehicle,” Tredegar said as he darted to the parking lot. Kenn and the woman stepped up to Mateo. Kenn was still dressed in the dark blue suit he had worn to testify to some Congressional subcommittee. The woman was dressed in a severe dark gray suit with her hair in a tight bun. She practically screamed lawyer.

“I was just about to come get you Mr. Cortez,” the woman said, with a smile that would have been charming under other circumstances, “I’m Robyn Adams with M&W’s legal staff.” She held out get hand.

“Not to be rude Ms. Adams, but we have a situation,” Mateo said, giving the attorney a perfunctory handshake. Kenn’s face went neutral as he saw the seriousness on Mateo’s face.

“What’s up Matt?” Kenn asked.

“You remember Ted, my wife’s new boyfriend?” Mateo asked, his voice deadly calm, “He’s a minion.” Mateo laid out what happened in the interrogation room in a few sentences.

“Let me call M&W,” Robyn said, “We can have one of our security people detain him.”

“Not a chance,” Mateo snapped, “That man is with my daughters. Not about to let someone I don’t know take him down.” Robyn was stopped from arguing as Tredegar bounced his Crown Vic onto the curb.

“Get in,” Tredegar said. Mateo, Kenn, and Robyn got into the car. Tredegar shot a questioning look at Mateo, but the Zombie Strike field commander waved it away. Kenn made introductions around as the car sped through the streets. Mateo sat quietly as his mind raced through the scenarios. At the moment, he wished the cell network was back up. Mateo didn’t even notice he had uttered the last thought.

“Here,” Tredegar said, handing Mateo a bulky sat phone. “Dial 1-1-202 and then the number.” Mateo decided not to look the gift fed in the mouth and quickly punched in Jess’s phone number.

“Matt, where are you?” Jess asked as she picked up the phone. The fear in her voice terrified Mateo.

“Ten minutes out,” Matt said, “Listen to me, Ted is a –” Jess cut him off before he could finish.

“Yeah, he’s a minion,” Jess interrupted, “I know. He tried to snatch Mercedes. Billy didn’t let him.” Mateo’s terror lessened a bit at the thought of the spirit wolf protecting the girls.

“Have you secured him?” Mateo asked, falling into the role of team leader.

“No,” Jess answered. Mateo could hear the tenseness in Jess’s voice. “Just before we could take him, Maria came into the room. Matt, he grabbed her and left. Ted has your wife.”

Zombie Strike Part 6 Chapter 47

New Pattern of Behavior? Well, Then New Tax!

November 19, 2020 / / 0 Comments

Deutch Bank AG’s research arm decided to advocate for a new tax. Because, according to this article from Bloomberg Wealth, “Choosing to earn a living from home once the pandemic ends is a privilege that you should pay for.”

The team propose a 5% levy for those who work from home on a regular basis and not because of a government lockdown mandate. Such a measure could raise $48 billion a year in the U.S. and about 16 billion euros ($18.8 billion) in Germany, they say, to fund subsidies for low-income earners and essential workers who are unable to work remotely.

Snip

The proposed levy would be paid by the employer if they don’t provide their employee with a desk, whereas if the worker decides to stay home based on their own needs, they would be taxed for each day they work remotely, according to Deutsche Bank Research. In the U.S., the strategists calculate, such a tax could pay for a $1,500 grant to the 29 million workers making under $30,000 a year and unable to work from home.

Let’s address the basic bullshit of this tax proposal, and pretty much all tax proposals. They always assume that people will not react to minimize their tax burden. For instance, if this tax was somehow adopted, how many employees may become contractors? How many businesses would simply reduce employee compensation to pay for this tax, resulting in loss of income tax?

All of this also ignores that those of us who work from home haven’t stopped spending money. We’ve stopped spending money in areas of the economy where we spent it before. Businesses who send their people to work from home haven’t stopped spending money. They’ve stopped spending it on the things they used to spend it on, like commercial real estate. Let the shift happen and let the new economies emerge.