"Elvis versus the Hippies"
From the Personal Files of Dirk Brunswick

A ticket is thrust into my hand and I'm told to report to Special Agent in Charge Charles Winchester at Anchorage. Egypt isn't my scene but I'm in no position to argue.

The plane touches down after what seems like a short flight, Alaska, fuck.

The address is a large abandon warehouse down on the front; it has a small sign outside saying "FBI Evidence Response Unit" this must be a joke, it sounds like a crèche for losers and pansies. Inside it still looks abandoned; just four desks under a port-a-cabin office hanging from the ceiling. The rest of the team are already here. One look at them tells me the real story, Evidence Response my ass, just a cleaver cover for an elite covert team, the best of the best to a man (possibly except for Dawson, he looks like a fat accountant).

I go up and meet the boss. The captain eyes me up and down, I can see the grudging respect of a seasoned campaigner in his eye, I return the look and toss my standard issue pea-shooter on his desk, asking for a man's gun. He orders me two Colt A1 M1211 man stoppers with laser sights and a silencer; we're talking the same language already.

The other member of the team is Bud Stone, demolitions. He's already busy building up our meagre supply of grenades, mines and explosives with some home-brew, bingo.

Our first case comes in, and it confirms that we are the elite. Valuable artefacts have gone missing from the Elvis-O-Rama museum in Seattle, you fuck with the king and you fuck with me baby. We are on the first cheap flight over there. The Captain says it's because of "budget restrictions", but I can read between the lines; we're going in quiet, this guy's a pro.

The museum has been worked carefully, no prints, nothing on the cameras. Not inside anyway, one small mistake is all we need from our opponents, and they make that in the shape of footage outside of two kids and a car.

We follow the car on the cities traffic cameras down at the local cop station. I'm not cut out for this desk work and leave it to the others. I ask around about the two kids and get lucky, one of them is known, a small time no-one who lives with his momma. We decide to go over and shake him down.

The house is shitty, just what I'd expect. The Captain and the rest of the team take the front door; I slip round the back to cut off any escape. My instincts are on the money again, little punk slips out the back door while his momma holds the team up. I take him down, hard. As he tries to climb over the back fence I put his face through it. He cries like a little girl and tells us his friend made him do it, we get the name and address, and send the kid to a cell. Nice try but no dice this time junior.

The friend shares a flat with his sister, pervert. She fancies herself as some sort of equal rights PC militant tree hugger, and only the captains soothing words stop me plugging her on general principle. We lie in wait for her brother, and he walks right into our trap. This one has a bit more steel than the last kid, and doesn't cough straight away. We drag him down the cells to loosen him up. He gets mouthy so I have to focus his mind by removing a few of his teeth. He's soon giving us what we want. He's been working for a small gang down in the 'burbs.

We load up and take a ride, the captain stays back to co-ordinate, clever. The house is nothing special, no signs of trouble so we bang on the door and get ready to bust some heads. The guy that answers looks like a hippy, and talks about as much sense. He's not co-operating and decides he wants to start some trouble, no problem, now this is my scene. I let him have two rounds from my Colts to let his friends know I mean business, but he doesn't drop. Now I can see what's going on, it's a drug factory and he's too high on STP, LSD, MPP, SFT and Reds to feel the pain. I'm going to have to take him apart. The guys got a punch like Tyson and I almost blackout from his first swing. It takes three more rounds to drop him, by this time his friends are pouring out to get at us. I keep emptying clips into them, but they're all too high to get the message.

Nine down and I've only got one clip left, time to leave. Dawson and Stone don't look to clever so I cover them while they pull out and get the car going. The drug haze from the cookers in the house is clouding my judgement, all the hippies look the same and I can't see any bodies. My last round puts one on his back foot and I put all I've got left into reaching the car. The drugs are really messing with me now, I'm seeing flying cars and all sorts of weird crap. I dive through the passenger window and we scream out the street, thank god they are too stoned to give chase.

The Captain reviews our progress and decides that information will win this war. Dawson and Stone are sent to watch the house and look for any weaknesses. The hippy bastards are wise to this, and plant half a ton of C4 under the surveillance van. Dawson and Stone are also on the ball and get out just before it blows. Under cover of the explosion Dawson somehow manages to get into the hippy nest and get the Elvis artefacts back. This is the last thing I expected from the fat fuck, but he must be better than I gave him credit for.

In the morning the Captain and I head over to the house to try to get some answers, but the hippies have cleared out. There's nothing left and the local cops are crawling all over it. We bluff our way past them and find a trail in the cellar, but it's lost when the local FBI pen pushers get in the way and destroy the tracks.

You're out there somewhere hippies, and I've got plenty of time to hunt you down.

We return the artefacts and wait for the medals to roll in.

Another case closed by Dirk Brunswick.