Coach's Formula, The

Dramatic Interlude.


By Shade

Somewhere in the desert in the Western United States…

The lady walked calmly through the large hanger, walking neither too fast nor too slow. Everything had to be just right. Always. Including her pace.

Several of the air force personnel working in the hanger watched her as she walked by, whistling occasionally and murmuring in appreciation when she thought she’d walked too far for them to hear her.

She knew what they were doing, but she ignored them.

The lady knew she was hot. But she wasn’t easily distracted. She strolled from the open hanger into the enclosed corridor like an ill wind, without a thought for those servicemen behind her, nor for the personnel before her. She registered everything as she passed, but she never once turned her head and she seldom blinked. Her presence was ominous and people moved out of her way to avoid this five foot six inch woman in the dark grey business suit and skirt who looked like she could be a Victoria’s secret underwear model.

The lady was dangerous.

But it was the kind of danger that even a smart man couldn’t avoid.

You see, the lady was addictive.

She made hard men humble and humble men hard. And she was on a mission.

When she got to the door she took a split second to compose herself. It was only that infinitesimal amount of time, she needed no more. But anyone who knew her well would have noticed it. No one knew her that well.

The lady was excited.

One the other side of the door Lt. Colonel James Fraser sat behind a large metallic desk. It was a remnant of the 1950s and wouldn’t have looked out of place as a prop for a film from that era. Lt. Colonel Fraser was a man who had been handsome in his early twenties, but whose looks had hardened with the passage of time into a deep, etched ruggedness. But he kept his body in shape and men twenty years younger than he would have envied his conditioning.

Sitting in front of the desk was Dr. Taylor Bradford, a handsome, if quirky, young man. He was a prodigy out of Harvard Medical School in the field of genetic research who had been secretly tapped for the CIA. If the United States Government would have let him publish his papers, he would have been a household name by now. However, the lady didn’t care about fame and she didn’t work for the CIA.

Standing to the Lt. Colonel’s left was Captain Christopher Quinn, with his arms folded across his defined, muscled chest. He was actually an officer in the United States Marines, but he was seconded to this project under the Lt. Colonel. He had broad shoulders and a stunning face, his hair was black as coal and the lady thought, not for the first time, that he looked a little bit like Clark Kent. She already knew that ten years of extreme strength training had given him a body like Superman’s. And the Captain was only twenty-five. She casually gave him another glance as she sat down and lit a cigarette. So many possibilities.

“Report,” she asked, her tone was casual, but the men in the room knew that it was a command.

“Operation Excelsior was terminated three year ago, Ma’am,” said the Captain.

“I know that Captain Quinn,” she said, cutting him off, her words coming in such a manner as to suggest to the three men that she didn’t have a lot of patience this morning. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

“A warehouse full of the Niodex product, believed to have been destroyed, may have survived.”

“How do we know this?” she asked, this time the Lt. Colonel felt the weight of her stare and he took an involuntary breath. He also popped a boner. There was something about this woman that was both intoxicating and toxic. She made him more afraid than when he’d had to face the daunting odds in Vietnam that had left twenty of his men dead and earned him the Medal of Honor.

He could never tell if he pleased her or not.

“Reconnaissance Ma’am,” he told her.

He handed her a copy of a report, which she took with determination and scanned through very quickly.

“Doctor, what is your assessment?” she asked, “What is the threat level?”

“Unknown,” the Doctor responded quickly, “The cans were believed to have been destroyed when the funding for the Operation was cut. The effects were not 100% predictable and there was only limited and superficial testing on humans. The problem was that the effects when they occurred with exercise, were permanent. As you know there would have been no way to control the subjects once they had begun doses of the formula. It has the properties of an advanced steroid, without any of the ill effects. But with increased muscular growth came increased testosterone levels. If taken by a subject who didn’t have the proper conditioning, he might choose to use his new strength and power for his own ends. The new formulas that we’ve developed under Project Pegasus are much better; the addictive properties of the serum also allow us control over the subjects.”

“I see, Doctor,” she said, then after a pause, “So, gentlemen, what would you suggest?”

“A tactical mission Ma’am. We’ll observe the subjects we believe to have acquired the Niodex formula and we will evaluate them. We can determine a course of action at that time.”

“Yes,” she said, eyeing the Captain again. “And Lt. Colonel, I expect you to cross reference anyone who worked at the Niodex facility three years ago with anyone who currently lives within 100 miles. We need to know who the source of this problem is and we need engage in full containment. I want a full briefing in eight hours.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” said Fraser. His boner was raging by this point and making him feel very uncomfortable. He hadn’t felt this way since he was in high school.

The lady turned to leave, but before she did she said, “Oh, and Captain, I require some assistance. Please come follow me.”

The Captain looked uncomfortable too, but he dutifully followed her out the door. It closed behind them with a horrible sort of finality. •

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