I love stories. TV, Movies, Books, you name it. I like to write my own, too, using the characters from my favorite entertainment venues. Enjoy!
|The Truth Is In There - An X-Files/Popeye fan fiction story by Steve Bierly||Olive The Vampire Slayer - A Buffy/Olive/Popeye fan fiction story by Steve Bierly|
|L'Homme Sledge - A Sledge Hammer/La Femme Nikita fan fiction story by Steve Bierly||Cooking With Olive - An Olive/Bluto/Popeye fan fiction story spoofing various cooking shows on TV. This link takes you to the Olive Fan Fiction page, where there are several other stories featuring my favorite cartoon girl.|
See What's New for details.
Deep in the bowels of Section 8, the most covert anti- terrorist unit on the planet, a briefing was taking place.
The white-haired man known only as Operator cleared his throat and began without preamble. His attractive, but cold, right-hand woman, Mad A. Loon, was at his side.
"This is a newscast from Los Angeles," he said, as computer whiz Louis Berkhoff (a little theological in-joke there, folks!) pushed a button on a console, and instantly a 3-D holographic image of the report appeared in the center of the conference table. Chiquita, Section's top female assassin, and Mikey, Section's top agent of either sex, watched with growing interest. Well, actually Chiquita watched with growing interest. Mikey sat there unmoved with the same blank expression he always had on his face ever since that anvil had dropped on his head during a previous mission.
The reporter in the holograph was saying, "I'm here with Inspector Sledge Hammer, who single-handedly got three members of the infamous street gang, 'Boyz Kan't Spell,' to surrender after they had barricaded themselves in a local convenience store after a botched robbery attempt. Inspector Hammer, how did you get them to give themselves up?"
"Well it was easy," Hammer answered. "I just had the lab boys patch into the store's security system and begin showing old episodes of Lawrence Welk on the screens."
Chiquita muttered, "He's even more heartless than you, Mikey."
"I understand that they came screaming from the store, shrieking that they couldn't take it anymore," the reporter continued.
"Yeah, that was my favorite part."
"And no hostages were harmed?"
"No," Sledge patiently explained, "I don't believe in roughing up the victims. I leave that to the defense attorneys."
"Not a shot was fired in the store?"
"Well," Sledge shrugged, "no operation is perfect. But actually, it's much better to solve things this way. You wait until the maggots are giving themselves up outside the store and then you shoot 'em. Less to clean up that way. One good rainstorm and it's all taken care of."
Operator gave Berkhoff a sign to cut off the hologram. "That's a man our organization can use, especially since Dread Cell is on the move again. I want you two to bring him in. Chiquita, you'll make first contact. No male alive can resist you."
Mad A. Loon gave him a swift kick in the shins and glared at him.
"Er, I mean, except for me, of course! Why, I never noticed your blond hair, deep blue eyes, or cute Australian accent. But, er, Intel informs me of the effect you have."
Chiquita and Mikey stood up to leave. But Operator wasn't finished.
"Remember, we'll be able to tell exactly what you're doing and precisely where you are at all times," he warned. "Except, of course, if you whisper, go out on a date, kiss, or enter into an alliance with forces determined to overthrow me. Then, as usual, our surveillance monitors will cut out." He turned to Mad A. Loon. "Remind me to have that looked into sometime."
Chiquita and Mikey left through the WWII surplus submarine airlock doors that separated Section 8 from the world it sought to protect.
"Interesting assignment, huh, Mikey?" Chiquita asked.
Three hours later, during their flight to Los Angeles, Mikey answered. "Yes," he said.
* * *
Sledge Hammer sat at the bar woefully nursing his drink. He slammed his fist on the table. "I tell you, Doreau, I just can't stand these periods of inactivity. If something doesn't happen soon, I'll go nuts!"
"But, Sledge," his partner seated next to him protested, "we've only been off-duty for five minutes."
"That long?!?" Sledge whined. But he brightened up as he saw Chiquita and Mikey entering the bar. "Oh, boy! This is more like it! Now we'll see some action!"
"What are you talking about, Hammer?"
"Two secret agents just came into the bar."
Dori glanced over. "Those two? Spies? I doubt it! What kind of Top Secret Organization would choose two of the most attractive people around, dress them in leather outfits, give them cool sunglasses, and expect them to be able to carry out a clandestine mission?"
"A stylish Top Secret Organization. But, listen, Doreau, that's the beauty of it! They're calling attention to themselves because they figure that nobody would believe spies would ever do that. What a great cover! I'll bet they drive a hot sports convertible, too!"
Dori raised one eyebrow, "So you're saying that you know they have to be spies because they don't look like spies?"
Dori stood up and shook her head. "I better go powder my nose, Hammer. You're starting to make sense!" She left.
Sledge pulled out his Magnum. "That's what I appreciate about you, Amigo," he said to it. "The only powder you ever need is gunpowder."
Chiquita sidled up to him. "Who are you talking to!" she asked.
"What? Me? Oh, nobody! I was just...you know...Heh, heh." Sledge holstered his weapon.
"Buy me a drink?" Chiquita batted her eyes.
"Well, okay, but only if you tell me all about your secret mission."
"Secret mission?!?" Chiquita was stunned.
Mikey had been standing in back of Hammer. "We don't have time for this," he said softly. He pinched a nerve on Hammer's neck. Sledge crumpled to the floor.
"He had too much to drink," Mikey softly informed the bartender.
"What'd ya say?" that bartender cocked an ear. "I couldn't hear you. Speak up!"
Mikey grabbed the bartender by the lapels. "Ask me another question and I'll kill you."
"Why didn't you tell me who you were?" the bartender asked. Then to the patrons, he announced, "Sledge's brother is going to drive him home."
Mikey and Chiquita dragged Hammer out of the bar. Doreau came back.
All the patrons answered in
unison, "He left with the spies!"
* * *
Sledge awoke lying on a table in a white room. As he regained consciousness, he heard Mad A. Loon's voice saying, "He's coming around." Sledge's eyes focused, he sat up, and saw Operator and Mad A. Loon standing beside the table.
"Inspector Hammer, my code name is Operator. You were brought here because the free world needs you."
Sledge jumped to the floor and stood at attention. "I've been waiting for this moment all my life! I gladly accept the Presidency of the National Rifle Association!"
"Inspector Hammer," Mad A. Loon said gently, "we're with the most organized, anti-terrorist force in the world."
"Like I said, I accept the Presidency of the NRA!"
Operator shook his head. "No, we're a top secret agency."
"Oh, right, right! The spies in the bar and all."
Mad A. Loon coldly stared at Sledge. "We need to run you through a few tests to see if you're really Section 8 material."
"Oh, ask my Captain. According to him, I'm Section 8 all the way."
"I need to ask you a few questions."
Mad A. Loon continued staring. "What's the difference between a bag of rotting garbage and a terrorist?"
"How many terrorists does it take to change a light bulb?"
"75. One to actually change the bulb, ten to take over the embassy where the light bulb's located, and sixty-four to try and stop me as I retake it."
The slightest of smiles passed over Mad A. Loon's lips. "Congratulations, Hammer. You passed."
"Now, on to the firing range," Operator instructed.
They walked down a corridor to a large room where target cut-outs of various types of people began popping up. Sledge fired his Magnum at them all - felon, soldier, policeman, and civilian alike.
"Amazing!" Operator was impressed. "You were able to instantly see through the disguises and discern that even the old lady crossing the street and the little girl were really terrorists. Now follow us to the main level for your first mission briefing." Operator and Mad A. Loon exited.
Sledge said to his gun, "I didn't have the heart to tell him that I just like firing you." He holstered his amigo and followed.
* * *
Doreau was beside herself. "Captain, we've got to do something! Hammer is still missing!"
"I know, Doreau, I know. It's just that, well, I can't stop laughing." Trunk giggled.
"I'm sorry. Look, we've staked out the Sportsmen's Show, the Emergency Room, the No Parking Zones - you know, all his usual haunts. If he turns up, we'll know it."
"But Captain, I believe he was taken away by force against his will!"
"By two thin yuppies? Get serious, Doreau!"
"Oh, Captain," Dori choked up, "the way you said that sounded just like Sledge!"
"Dori," Trunk said gently, "Hammer can take care of himself. It's those around him, like me, who always end up injured. Now go home and get some rest. Try not to worry."
"Yes, Captain." Dori
sighed. As she walked out of the office, she mumbled to herself,
"Sledge, what have you gotten yourself into now?"
* * *
Actually, Sledge was, at that moment, riding in the back of a van with Chiquita and Mikey on his way to a field assignment.
"You know, there's one thing I don't understand," he was saying. "We're supposed to go to Brussels, infiltrate an enemy installation, and capture the head of Dread Cell, right?"
"Right," Chiquita said.
"Well, how are we going to get to Brussels in a van?"
Chiquita shrugged. "It must be a really fast van. It's best not to think about it."
Hammer turned to Mikey. "Say, Pal, you don't say very much do you?"
"Well, I find that refreshing. In the police force, I worked with women. And they are always yakking about something. Recipes, knitting, oh, I don't know what all. I never pay attention. But I don't have to tell you, right? I mean, she's probably the same way." Sledge indicated Chiquita.
"She can rip a man's arm off in 15 seconds," Mikey whispered.
"She can? Wow!" Sledge looked over at Chiquita and let out a wolf whistle.
The van came to a screeching halt.
"Are we there yet?" Sledge asked anxiously.
"No. Must pick up Vic." Mikey could hardly be heard.
"What is this, an assassination squad or 'Doctor Quinn, Medicine Woman'? Speak up, man!"
Chiquita broke in. "We have to pick up Vic. He's an informant who has Dread Cell's trust. He'll get us through the main gate and onto the grounds."
The door slid open and in jumped a guy who looked like a holdover from a 70's disco, gold chains and all.
"Hey, everybody, time to cheer up! Ol' Vic is here!"
Sledge leaned over to Mikey. "Are you sure he's not one of the guards so I can shoot him?"
"Just ignore him. I do."
And Vic ignored the two of them, concentrating instead on attempting to flirt with a thoroughly bored Chiquita. Hammer had started to doze off, when the voice of Berkhoff came through his earpiece. "Approaching the gate now. Be prepared to hit your first mark 20 seconds after gaining entry."
Vic said, "Now, remember, let me do the talking."
Suddenly, dozens of bullets ripped through the van!
"On...on second thought. You do the talking." Vic tried to disappear into the floor of the van.
"It's a trap!" Berkhoff's voice screamed.
"Well, uh duh, Genius!" Hammer muttered.
Berkhoff frantically went on. "Your driver's been shot. Chiquita take control and back the van down the drive. When you get to the village, check into safehouse number 3. Remain there for 24 hours. Then..."
But Hammer ripped the earpiece out of his aural canal. "Nag, nag, nag! That guy's worse than my ex-wife! Okay, I'm going out there and capture me a slimeball! Who's with me?" He pulled out his Magnum.
"Hammer, you'll be killed!" Chiquita protested.
"Trust me. I know what I'm doing." So saying, Sledge yanked the door of the van open amid a hail of bullets. He jumped down to the asphalt, strolled over to the gate and kicked it open as lead rained around him. Sledge punched out one of the guards near the gate and Mikey, who was suddenly beside him, took out another. Bullets kept whizzing around them as they walked calmly across the grounds.
"Hey, you're pretty good, Pal," Sledge said, "but watch this. I'll call my shot. Ricochet off the dumpster, take out the guy on the roof." Sledge fired his amigo. A guard toppled from atop the installation to the pavement. Loud, frantic rock music immediately began blaring from somewhere.
"No-look pass," Mikey offered as he aimed his own gun off to the side without turning his head. He pulled the trigger and a guard fell.
"Okay, how about this? Off the one guard's assault weapon, disabling it, off the asphalt, and into the other guard's arm." Hammer shot with the desired result.
"Between the legs, carom off the jeep, into the fuel tanks, explosion." Mikey twisted his firing arm down around his knee and squeezed off a round. KABLAM!!!
And so it kept going.
Sledge and Mikey were having a good time. Mikey even thought briefly about smiling.
"There's one thing I don't understand. Where's that rock music coming from?" Sledge asked.
"Don't know. Happens every mission."
"It's best not to think about that either," Chiquita said as she came running up to join them.
The three of them entered the main building of the installation. A barrage of shots were heard and then - silence. Sledge, Mikey, and Chiquita emerged, making a defeated man march in front of them.
When they got back to the bullet-ridden van, Vic greeted them. "Well, it's been loads of fun, all, but I've got to run. Ta taaa!"
Mikey put his hand on Vic's chest. "No."
Chiquita explained. "You're coming back with us."
"Aw, does he have to?" Sledge groaned.
"Operator will want to know why we walked into a trap."
"Hey," Vic held up his hands, "that was not my fault. There must be a leak somewhere."
"Yeah," Hammer muttered, "in your head."
Later, as they walked down the corridor that led from the underground garage to the nerve center of Section 8, Chiquita shook her head wearily and held up a computer disc. "The time is now, Mikey. We have to dismantle Section. We need to get this to the mysterious Mr. Smith, the head of Oversight."
"What's the problem? Doesn't he have office hours?" Sledge asked.
Mikey quietly broke in. "Nobody knows who he is or what he looks like. "That's where you come in."
"Sorry, I don't know either."
Chiquita sighed. "We want you to use your police detective skills to find Mr. Smith for us." They arrived at the airlock door. "We'll talk later."
But as they went through it into the nerve center of Section, they found themselves surrounded by other agents with drawn guns. Operator and Mad A. Loon were there, too.
"Why not talk about it now, My Dear," Operator sneered. "You see, we finally worked out the bugs in our surveillance system and now we can hear you when you plot against us. And I'll take that disc, if you don't mind?"
"I thing she'd rather give it to Mr. Smith here." Hammer indicated Vic.
Mad A. Loon let out a harsh laugh. "Don't be absurd. How could Vic be Mr. Smith?"
"How could he not be? It's the perfect cover! Nobody would ever believe that the head of a top secret organization would ever act like such a total idiot. Besides, it's always the least likely suspect! Don't you people ever watch 'Charlie's Angels'?"
"He's right," Vic said simply and then snapped his fingers. Suddenly the agents trained their weapons on Operator and Mad A. Loon. "I am the head of Oversight and I'm well aware of all that's been going on here. In fact, I've notified the police. They should be arriving momentarily to take charge of Operator and Mad A. Loon."
"How did you arrange that?" Hammer asked.
"Well, you see, "I'm also the Police..."
"Commissioner!" Captain Trunk yelled as he burst into the room with a host of officers.
"Im also President of the Screen Actor's Guild, Chairman Of The Board for Time/Warner, an associate of the Billy Graham Evangelistic Association, the United States Ambassador to France, and I was under deep cover in the Clinton Administration as Janet Reno."
Doreau came running in. She spied Vic. "Uncle Harold! What are you doing here?"
"Dori!" They raced over to each other and embraced.
Sledge muttered, "This guy
has more identities than Al Gore."
* * *
That evening, Dori and Sledge were back at the bar.
"It's good to have you back, Hammer."
"Yeah...I guess so," Sledge said glumly.
"You don't sound too happy about it."
"Well, Doreau, I miss being a paid assassin." Suddenly he brightened up. "Hey look! Those two who just came in! They're the answer to my problem! They can hire me!"
"No, political commentators."
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