Next thing I know some English dummkopf Karl Buckingham recruits me into this crazy outfit, I jump out of many aircraft with him hunting Der Baron von Eisenblut to slot his crazy ass back to da Middle Ages, along with the 'Black Major' (really Karl's second cousin once removed or something, but I didn't tell you that).
All this war make me real crazy despite my Ph.D's in Counter-Terrorism, Low Intensity Conflict, Post-Conflict Security Management, Dostoevsky and the Existentialists: Whither the Anarchism?, and a book on Elegium Pro Britannia: The German View (with C. Buckingham and Jonesy), keeping me real rational and focused while I walked through all those shrecklich swamps looking for Shads, not to mention that beaut M-16 / M-203 Grenade Launcher combo that I lost after blatting various Laser Exterminators and Red Laser (verdammt samurai sword and shurikens would have made nice ornaments too for the SAS Force regimental mess while I remember it) on Op Bloodhound in '83 (or voz it '84? See BAF for further details), why did Palitoy not issue it as standard, that's vot I vont to know.
Anyway, in 1985 something happened I still don't fully understand. Our war went real deep cover, counter-intelligence referred to Cobra instead of Shads, we were pensioned off without a proper farewell, although we kept fighting the Shads on the quiet.
Spent the last 20 years wondering what happened in between continued bouts of resurgent Shad activity. Sometimes I seem to be in a military psycho-therapeutic unit with doctors telling me there were no battles in the Galapagos, none in the Argentinian pampas, none in the Highlands, that there were not even any Krakens found wandering lost when Cobra pensioned them off, not to mention Skeletrons and confused Mutons accosting members of the public asking for directions to the nearest Action Force high-value target.
Sometimes I wonder vot we fought for.
