Salty Service Chapter 6

Morning sunlight beamed through the Venetian blinds of Office 4B, illuminating a room that looked like a cross between a tactical war room and the aftermath of a legendary diner run. Crumpled paper plates, empty foil wrappers, and the subtle, lingering scent of malt vinegar filled the air, standing as glorious mute witnesses to a job well done.

Sergeant Salty sat behind his mahogany desk, a mug of fresh tea steaming near his elbow, looking every bit the victorious commander. Standing around the cluttered office was the full squad of misfits, all looking slightly disheveled, entirely satisfied, and utterly unrepentant.

"Alright, people, listen up," Salty grunted, leaning his forearms on the blotter and tapping his pencil against a fresh notepad. "Official squad debrief. Operation: Bacon Vault is officially in the books, and I need to log the After-Action Report before Headquarters sends down another stack of Form 88-Cs."

The Govna stepped up to the dry-erase board, sipping delicately from a chipped porcelain tea cup. "Allow me, Sergeant. Phase One: Requisition. Two magnificent blondes enter Office 4B requesting high-level tactical intelligence. Salty immediately interprets 'special mission' as a request for toasted brioche with extra bacon. Tactical intuition: one hundred percent accurate."

"Phase Two," Dannyboy interjected, bouncing on his heels near the filing cabinet and wildly pointing at the map. "High-speed insertion! We intercept the signal that Pilot Lucy got blown out of the sky by Syndicate flak. Ejection seat deployed, parachute silk located in Sector 7, perimeter established by hostiles."

Lucy, sitting comfortably in Salty's squeaky leather guest chair with a hot cup of coffee, smirked and adjusted the collar of her flight suit. "I still maintain I could have handled those three guards myself, but your entry was... dramatic."

"Phase Three: Breach and Clear," Whizzley chimed in from the corner, his smoke-stained night-vision goggles resting upside down on his forehead. "Heavy Operations Unit deployed. Tactical diplomacy applied to timber entry point."

Everyone looked over at Ye Olde Large Lad, who was currently sitting on a tiny wooden stool in the corner, holding a tiny screwdriver and attempting to reattach the office door hinge that he had pulverized twenty-four hours earlier.

"Door was stubborn," Large Lad grunted softly without looking up. "Door got solved."

"Phase Four: Asset Recovery," McFinleyyy said with a swagger, leaning against the doorframe and flipping a silver coin between his knuckles. 

He flashed a devastatingly handsome grin over at Lucy. "McFinleyyy executes a textbook fireman-carry, transporting the primary flight operative to safety while maintaining maximum charm under direct threat."

Lucy rolled her eyes, but the bright pink blush on her cheeks betrayed her completely. "You carried me like a sack of spuds, McFinleyyy. Though I'll admit, your tactical speed wasn't terrible."

"And finally, Phase Five," the lead blonde bombshell purred, stepping out from the shadows beside Salty's desk. She wore an ivory silk blouse that caught the morning light, her golden hair tied back in an effortlessly chic ponytail. She reached down, gently resting her manicured hand over Salty's shoulder. "The Syndicate vault breached, the decryption key delivered, the royal emeralds recovered, and the ultimate bacon feast served in the penthouse."

"Don't forget the sea salt chips," Salty added smoothly, giving her a slow, smoldering look from under his dark brow. "The chips were a critical mission parameter."

"The chips were exquisite," her platinum-haired partner agreed, stepping up on Salty's other side and placing a gentle, lingering kiss right on the edge of his jawline. "Just like the Sergeant."

The room erupted into a chorus of whistle-catcalls and quiet laughter from the crew. Salty didn't even blink; he just casually took a sip of his tea, accepted the applause like the seasoned veteran he was, and drew a thick red line across the top page of his notepad.

I'll let you have that one, 

"Final summary," Salty said softly, a rare, genuine smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Syndicate dismantled, pilot rescued, misfits fed, emeralds returned, and the squad remains undefeated. Outstanding work, everyone."

The two bombshells leaned down in unison, whispering a promise of dinner later that evening into Salty's ears before gliding out the door with a synchronized wave that left the room momentarily breathless.

McFinleyyy offered Lucy his arm, which she surprisingly accepted with a soft laugh, leaving the rest of the crew to argue over who was paying for the afternoon round of tea.

Salty leaned back in his chair, watching his crew file out into the hallway. He slid Form 88-C into the bottom drawer, clicked his pen shut, and looked out the window at the sunny city skyline. Just another day at the office for Sergeant Salty.