Ain't War Hell?
By: Maximillian von Fischgeist
Chapter Seventeen
Resignation
Clever girl,
thought Bludd as he made his way (at a normal pace, so as not to betray his urgent
errand) through the twisted bowels of Cobra's underground New York City base (the largest of
two in the state, and the second largest of the five east of the Mississippi). Indeed, he'd always
likened the decaying complex (comprised in part of long-forgotten subterranean passages and
long-unused sewer canals) to the labyrinthine intestines of a dead man. A cobra was feared for its
poison and this place was poisonous, if only in an aesthetic sense. Well, actually, Bludd wouldn't
be surprised if everyone stationed here was slowly dying of latent poisons left over from when
these corridors were in use for the public's greater good. But his thoughts at the moment were not
of his surroundings. They were of Wildcat. Clever, traitorous, backstabbing girl.
______________________________________________________
Continued in Part Eighteen!
But Bludd's anger wasn't really focused on the girl. She was the scapegoat for his self-reproach.
She had done what was necessary, and the simple, embarrassing, dangerous fact was that he
hadn't been prepared for such an obvious possibility. He cursed himself for his laziness in this
matter. This highly-important matter. Why had he trusted her so implicitly? Had pride exposed in
him so large a fault? What was the basis of this pride? Sexuality? Had he considered himself
superior in ability and intellect because he was a man and she wasn't? Did he think that her being
female required her to carry out his male commands? Or was it more sinister? Had the girl planned
this ahead? Had she been leading him on? Using him to further her own career?
No, now he was definitely bending to the easiness of laying blame at the doorstep of sexism. He
was not particularly sexist, at least not any more than was inherent in the belonging to one
particular sex, and discounted his musings as the wild manifestations of his anger that they were.
Focusing inward to that place in himself where he always found FACT (not TRUTH, as the pursuit
of that mythical entity could be quite the dangerous - and unwinnable - game indeed), he came to
the necessary conclusion. Fact: He had chosen Wildcat for her abilities. Fact: He had pushed
Wildcat into a corner. Fact: Wildcat had used her wits to fight her way out of that corner. And that
was that.
"Your ingenue," Destro had growled, using the term as dramatically as possible to spell out Bludd's
bad direction of this scene in what was now a quickly-unraveling Passion play, "has bought her
own life with ours. Your misplaced trust could cost us both our careers, if not our very necks!"
Destro's messianic rise was in serious jeopardy, and Bludd was now in a scramble to avoid being
cast in the role of Judas. And so he was on his way to Odem's cell.
He had pulled, pinched, and plucked every string he had any influence over to arrange the
cancellation of surveillance over Odem, so that it might be possible to free him. Bludd's last
desperate chance was to free Odem (blame could be manufactured later if the gamble was
successful), making it possible for the Commander's plans to be thwarted quite conventionally.
Bludd's pace slowed upon realizing that his influence, potent as it may be, was no match for the
true puppetmaster of Cobra Command. He turned a corner, the last before coming upon Odem's
cell, and saw that he was expected. Two of the Commander's men, easily recognized by their
powder-blue uniforms, stood just ahead in the hallway, facing him. One of them acknowledged his
presence with a nod of his head and a curt address: "Major Bludd." They both stepped aside,
giving Bludd room to pass. After a moment of hesitation, he did so, heading for the cell. He noted
that the door was open. It was now necessary, however, to continue.
Several sketchy possibilities fluttered through Bludd's mind as he approached the cell, and it was a
grim combination of the least-desirable elements of each that he found upon entering. The
Commander (wearing his helmet/faceplate instead of his more casual hood) sat on Odem's cot,
one leg crossed over the other in perfect nonchalance. To his left stood one of his personal guards,
who stared at Bludd with just the right mix of suspicion and spite. To the Commander's right,
crumpled in the corner, was Odem. Dead. He had died quickly, one bullet through the dimple
separating the forehead from the nose. Above him, clinging to the wall and creeping down to the
floor where Odem lay, was that important - now useless - matter that had once been housed so
conveniently in his head. What had given the man life was now splashed most unceremoniously on
display to any who happened into the cell, whether they cared to see it or not. His position wasn't
unlike that of hundreds of other men Bludd had seen shot to death. Not agonized, as were the
many false corpses so prevalent in movies or other such dramatic media. Merely still. Lifeless. It
might have been a dummy, if not for the fresh blood (still red instead of the brown color that it
would become with time) clinging to the expressionless face, the still-lifelike coloring in the flesh
(which would also change with time; he hadn't been dead long).
In the three or four seconds it took for Bludd to intake the scenery, he came to the realization that
he was on his own. Destro had expected this, and that was why he was not here witnessing it.
Bludd was now the picture-perfect patsy for the betrayal, and, like a fool, had delivered himself
willingly into the frame. He alone would be held responsible. Wildcat was Bludd's agent. Her
defection had been a result of the circumstances forced on her by Bludd alone. Destro would deny
having been connected with either of them. Sure, Destro would remain a suspicious character, but
he would offer his crocodile tears and continue to hunt in the swamp among the snakes. While
Destro's leash would definitely be reigned in a bit, only Bludd could concretely be singled out as
the mastermind behind this gross disloyalty to the Cobra Commander. And now he alone would
face the proverbial music. He found himself (oddly possessed by a strange sense of humor)
considering which instruments were ugliest, for it would be those that performed this concert.
The opening strains sounded, conducted with appropriate dissonance by an electronically-filtered
version of the Commander's already-bizarre voice. "You disssapoint me, Major Bludd," he hissed
calmly. "But, though antisssipated, your coming here iss bold. I will give you that, at leasst."
Bludd gave a half-hearted shot at playing naive. "What ever do you mean by that, Commander?"
The Commander humored him (which was most generous, as there was little humor to be had
from Bludd's point of view): "Your agent Wildcat hass bowed out of your camp and entered mine.
She brought with her a sstartling bit of evidence that would sseem to prove you dissloyal to me."
"Oh?" Why Bludd continued to play the fool was beyond him. Perhaps he did it now because it
was the only part left to him to play. (Maybe he had miscalculated before; the part of Judas was at
least more sensational than that of the common fool, more rewarding to the actor and thrilling to
the audience, if in a melodramatic way. After all, was it not the pivotal role to which the great
martyr owed his ultimate power?)
The Commander segued into the next movement of his ominous symphony. "If there wass time to
continue the more usselesss ssegmentss of thiss dissscusssion, I would revel in continuing, but I will
sstick to what iss pertinent." He took a small pause, the equivalent of an orchestra winding up to
crescendo, and then not climaxing, instead leaving the listener to wonder what might come next.
"Wildcat'ss sstory iss believable, and probably iss the truth. But I will admit that her sservisse to
me will never be as usseful as yourss hass been. That iss why I offer you one lasst opportunity to
prove your loyalty to Cobra."
Most unexpected! And, yet, nothing was changed. Whatever this offer might be, Bludd was still at
odds with both Destro and the Cobra Commander. Being at odds with one was dangerous
enough. Being at odds with both was the quickest way Bludd could think of to be marked for
death. But he had to hear the rest of the music, if only to finally catch up with the time signature.
Timing was everything. "How may I disprove these false allegations, Commander?" Bludd asked
with all the humbleness he could muster.
"I like nothing more than groveling, as you may know." The Commander stood. "But, again, we
haven't the time. Tomorrow, the plan goess forward. Forty-three sstrategic pointss acrosss the
country have been chosen for poissoning. It iss your ressponssibility to be sure that all forty-three
operationss are carried out with no hindranssse. If any one of them should fail, I shall hold you
perssonally accountable."
Ridiculous. That was the only way to describe the final measures of this awful symphony. Any
number of things could cause the failure of just one of forty-three simultaneous operations, none of
which Bludd had any tactical information about yet. Of course, the most likely cause of any failure
would be enacted by either Destro or the Commander himself, just to have Bludd out of the way.
This was not a way out. It was only confirmation of Bludd's belief that his days serving Cobra
were at an end. For now, at least. Perhaps it could be possible in the future to... No! Cobra be
damned! He vowed that the serpent, no matter how seductive its offers might be, would never
again tempt him. He felt his hand clench (had they both clenched? Having no sensation in the right,
and not really knowing, he now focused a small portion of his consciousness into making sure it
too was clenched) with resolve never again to reach for the fabled apple.
Bludd cocked his head in a snide imitation of a respectful bow. "Thy will be done," he spat. (It was
quite bold, actually, for a man whose next move was to go into paranoid hiding.)
The Commander nodded slowly. "Desstro will inform you of what iss to be done. Report to him
immediately." Followed by his guard, he walked past Bludd, leaving him alone. Totally alone.
Bludd would not report to Destro. Now was the time for flight.
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