Chapter 6 — Lucy’s First Mission Briefing
Chaos, Camaraderie, and… Coffee?
Salty gathered the squad in the main briefing room — a big word for a space that was technically a storage container with chairs, a dodgy projector, and a whiteboard permanently stained with the words DO NOT PRESS RED BUTTON (AGAIN).
Lucy sat proudly in the front row, her newly laminated “Solider” badge clipped to her jacket, slightly crooked but worn with honour.
Sarah whispered to Susan,
“She looks adorable.”
Susan whispered back,
“She looks prepared. God help her.”
Salty slapped a folder dramatically onto the table.
“Aight misfits — today’s objective is simple…”
He paused.
The room leaned in.
Even Ron Beefmaster stopped folding his arms long enough to care.
“…we’re getting coffee.”
The squad exhaled the collective sigh of people who expected explosions and espionage, not a caffeine run.
The Govna raised his hand.
“Sir, permission to clarify: is this a tactical acquisition, or merely a procurement operation?”
Salty wagged a finger.
“No no, Govna — this is serious. The local café has introduced a new limited-edition caramel-shot-super-foam Saltyccino.”
WhizzAir Winky gasped.
“THE ONE WITH THE CHOCOLATE SHAVINGS?”
“Aye,” Salty nodded gravely.
“And they only have ten left.”
That was all it took.
The barracks transformed into a frenzy of excitement and mission readiness.
Lucy’s First Real Assignment
McFinleyyy handed Lucy a headset.
“For communication purposes. And flirting. But mostly communication.”
Lucy giggled.
“You guys really take coffee seriously.”
“Oh honey,” Sarah said, placing an arm around her shoulder.
“We’ve started wars over less.”
Lucy looked around the room —
the buzzing squad, the Leopard2 tank warming up outside, Salty pacing like a commander preparing for the invasion of Carb-Free Diet Land —
and she couldn’t stop smiling.
She belonged here.
A Briefing to Remember
Salty flicked on the projector.
A blurry JPEG of a coffee cup filled the screen.
“Right troops: Operation BEAN STORM. Lucy, as newest Solider, what’s your speciality?”
Lucy stood.
Her voice was confident.
“Logistics. Planning. And… apparently shouting ‘shotgun’ faster than anyone.”
The misfits clapped.
Ye Olde Large Lad gave an approving nod.
“That’s a vital skill here.”
Salty pointed at the tank diagram behind him.
“You’ll ride shotgun in the Leopard2. It’s good luck. And it scares away cyclists.”
Lucy pumped her fist triumphantly.
“Yes!”
On the Move
Minutes later the Leopard2 tank rumbled out of Salty HQ.
Lucy sat in the shotgun seat like she’d been born for it, headset on, mic at the ready.
“Salty,” she said, “this is incredible. You actually take a tank… to buy coffee?”
Salty grinned as he shifted the controls.
“Aye. Loyalty card, hazard lights, and 72 tons of persuasion.”
Sarah and Susan were in the back, brushing their hair in the reflection of a shell casing.
WhizzAir Winky provided overly dramatic announcements:
“Commander, we have eyes on the café—repeat—eyes on caffeine central.”
McFinleyyy lit a breath mint to warm up his flirting skills.
Funji Squallshy was singing the mission soundtrack (off-key but passionately).
Ron Beefmaster was complaining loudly about traffic laws.
And Lucy —
Lucy felt alive.
The Moment That Sealed It
As they approached the café, Lucy leaned close to Salty.
“This… is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever done.”
Salty smirked.
“Lucy… that means you’re one of us now.”
She squeezed his arm.
“Good. Because I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”
And the Leopard2 tank pulled up outside the café like a royal motorcade arriving for afternoon tea.
Operation BEAN STORM had begun.
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