[Story] Griffin & Phoenix: Secret War

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Siege
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[Story] Griffin & Phoenix: Secret War

Post by Siege »

The prologue to a story I'm working on. This replaces the previous G&P story, because I realized that was threading ground I'd gone over multiple times already.

--

The year is 2015, and the cold war never ended. In the wake of the tumultuous resolution of the Russian Crisis it has become apparent that factions within the American establishment are conspiring to bring about a terrible New World Order of their own abominable design. President Helen Skye has vowed to rid her nation of these seditious elements, only to find out the roots of this conspiracy run far deeper than she thought.

Now the United States of America are gripped by a secret conflict as federal agencies, intelligence services, the Department of Defense and other governmental organizations silently struggle for supremacy in an ever-shifting morass of betrayal, misdirection, and blackmail. It is a war fought in the hallways of the Pentagon and the U.S. Capitol, a war fought by senators and generals, and occasionally it is a war of assassins, as DoD wet-teams face off against CIA ultra-assassins.

At stake is the very nature of the United States and, possibly, the fate of the free world itself...


Griffin & Phoenix


With a growl of revving engines the Humvee pulled off Stephenson Avenue and rolled onto the tree-lined avenue leading up to the main gate of Hunter Army Air Field, Savannah, Georgia. The driver idled the engine, causing the heavy military vehicle to roll leisurely up to the secure gate where it came to a stop in front of the concrete watch house and steel sliding fence constructed in the middle of the road. Through a narrow slit in the fortification someone trained a heavy Browning machine-gun on the vehicle – a sign of the times if ever there was one – and a trio of bored but alert looking soldiers approached the Humvee. A man with sergeant's chevrons on his fatigues approached the side door whilst two Privates remained a few yards behind in order to cover their superior with stocky M4 carbines.

The Sergeant bent slightly and peered through the driver window, and struggled not to let surprise show on his face. The driver of the Humvee was not only female, but also higher ranking than he. She was tall and handsome; a wealth of not-quite regulation length blonde hair cascaded down from underneath the green Army beret canted at a jaunty angle atop her head. Aviator sunglasses with reflective purple glasses rested on a Greek nose. Double silver bars on the rank slide of her fatigues identified her as a Captain, the Velcro name patch on her chest made her name out to be 'Talford'. “Hello Sarge,” she drawled with a thick Louisiana accent. “How's it going?”

The Sergeant – his own patch confirmed his name to be 'Carpenter' – made an attempt at a salute, a gesture that looked slightly awkward because of his hunched pose. “Good morning ma'am. Uh, name and identification please.”

“Hokay, sure,” the woman presented a plastic ID card and stuck it out through the window. “Captain Kate Talford, 3rd Battalion, 77th Military Intelligence Group, escorting Colonel Devereaux of the same.” She ever so slightly accentuated both ranks, then pointed her left thumb over her shoulder. On the back seat of the Humvee sat a man dressed in the same type of combat uniform as the driver. Unlike her however his rank patch showed the eagle clutching three arrows of a full-bird colonel. Both wore the sword-and-flower insignia of the US Army Military Intelligence Corps on their collars.

The Sergeant held the ID card next to a hand-held scanner and frowned. He leaned toward the window and looked at the man on the back seat. “It says here you're not due to arrive for another hour, sir.”

“Last minute thing, Sergeant,” the man in the back explained calmly. “As it turns out they get things done a lot faster in Fort Stewart than I'd expected, and we got lucky on the I-95.” He casually pulled a black mobile phone out of his fatigues. “But if you want I can get Colonel Teague on the line to wave me through?”

Sergeant Carpenter flinched. Colonel Thaddeus Teague had a vicious reputation: every soldier knew that drawing the attention of the base commander for anything unimportant was a surefire way to get assigned latrine duty for a month, chevrons or not. “That's quite all right sir” he replied hastily. “Your papers seem in order, so why don't you drive up to the main base?”

The Colonel smiled warmly and tipped his beret. “Thank you for your cooperation, Sergeant. Talford, let's get a move on.”

The Sergeant talked quickly into his radio and the gate barring the road onto the Army base slid open. The turbocharged eight-cylinder engine revved growling and the camouflage green Humvee pulled through on its way into the base. Behind them the soldiers disappeared back into the guardhouse and the green gate slid shut once more.

“'Let's get a move on'?” remarked the woman who wore the BDUs of Captain Talford. The Louisiana accent was suddenly gone. She raised an eyebrow and eyed her passenger in the rear-view mirror. “Seriously?”

“Let it go, Phoenix.” The man in the back of the Humvee leaned nonchalantly on his seat. Underneath the green beret his black hair was streaked with gray. A rakish mustache dominated his upper lip and laugh lines were carved into the corners of his leathery face. “I totally sold it to those guys. Come to think of it, so did you. That was a nice touch with the accent there.”

Victoria Phoenix snorted. “The cloned RFID chip didn't hurt either, Griffin.”

“Bah, details.” Norman Griffin waved away the comment. A deep Texan accident seeped into his voice as he slipped out of the 'Colonel Devereaux' character. “The chip's nothing. You've got to sell the act, make it look real. And I made it look real, didn't I?”

“Better make it real quick too.” Victoria turned her attention back to the road, which came up to a series of low, white-washed barracks with roofs of red tile. The Humvee passed one building and two groups of marching Army grunts and a heavy MRAP with a minigun on the roof, then swung right onto a smaller secondary road. A pair of black helicopters buzzed low overhead. “You heard the man. The real Devereaux will be here in an hour. That means we have less than that to find out where they stashed Hawkins.”

“Plenty of time.” Norman Griffin folded his arms behind his head. “Come on, Vicky, relax, this is the fun part.”

She grumbled something unintelligible and swerved the Humvee onto the base's central parking lot, dominated by rows of SUVs, sedans, and the occasional pick-up or delivery van. The vehicle came to an undignified halt between two aging military trucks. Norman threw open the armored trunk and retrieved an innocent-looking black briefcase. Victoria followed, lifting a large and heavy-looking gym bag from the boot and slung it over her shoulder with surprisingly little effort. “Go over the plan one more time?” she asked.

Norman sighed. “You take administration, I take the hangar. In and out, no 'funny stuff' as you put it. We meet back here in...” he looked at his watch. “Twenty-five minutes.”

“And I'm serious about the 'no funny stuff' part, Griffin,” she warned. “Don't think I forgot the crap you pulled in Costa Rica. This is an Army base, if we screw this one up we're dead. And I do mean dead.”

“Will you chill out?” Norman shook his head. “Ours is a good plan, and it will work just fine. We'll be out of here before these guys even know what hit them.”

Victoria glowered but didn't reply. Instead she turned around and jogged off toward the base administration center, a green-roofed three-story building half-hidden behind tall evergreens in the heart of the base. Norman shook his head and sauntered off in the other direction, handsomely returning the salutes of the groups of enlisted men he passed on his way toward the concrete airfields in the back of the base. There were an unusual number of men afoot – Hunter Air Field was no Fort Stewart, but it was an important DoD bulwark in the war of assassins that gripped the continent, and a staging point for the elite 201st Night Stalkers. The large numbers of troops were also an excellent decoy however: none of the men at arms looked twice at the colonel who briskly made his way to the airstrips and rows of hangars at the back of the base.

The first hangar Norman checked was empty. In the second, a group of technicians was working on an Apache helicopter gunship. But in the third he found what he was looking for: a trio of MH-60K Black Hawk helicopters, painted in murky black SOAR camouflage, stood parked under a giant American flag. A gas generator and storage cabinets filled with tools lined the far wall, otherwise the hangar was empty. Whistling a jaunty tune under his breath Griffin entered, made an ironic salute at the stars and stripes, then climbed aboard one of the three helicopters. He quickly opened his briefcase and retrieved a PDA which he plugged into the helicopter's flight computer. As numbers began to scroll across the screen of the small hand-held computer he picked four bricks of what looked like clay putty from the briefcase, and secured two to the belly of each of the other two Black Hawks. Then he snatched the PDA from the cabin, tossed it into the briefcase, and was about to leave when a harsh voice interrupted him.

“Hold it right there. Who are you and what are you doing here?”

Norman slowly turned around. At the hangar door stood a tall man in the black fatigues and body-armor of a Night Stalker. The man held a hand on his SCAR rifle. Griffin's mind raced. A special operator. A military man. That required a military approach, something the soldier would buy. He stood up, turned around and paced briskly toward the man, chin held high. “My name is Colonel Devereaux, son,” he barked, slipping seamlessly into character. “77th Military Intelligence Group. This is a surprise inspection... Lieutenant.”

“Inspection?” Norman could see a trace of confusion ripple across the man's face. The soldier obviously didn't trust him – soldiers of an elite DoD unit on the forefront of the secret war weren't likely to trust outsiders – but the Night Stalker was clearly taken aback by the brash manner and the rank of the man in front of him. “We weren't told of any-”

“That's why it's called a surprise inspection, Lieutenant.” The 'colonel' glowered at the soldier. “And let me tell you something, your security has more holes in it than a sieve. I could just waltz right up in here. Ya wanna explain that, son?”

“I... It won't happen again, Colonel.” Now the man was simply fumbling. Even after all these years it was still surprising, the con-man would reflect later, how even elite stone killers could be reduced to gawking yokels with nothing but a uniform and an attitude.

“You better make damned sure it won't,” growled Norman. Then, inspiration struck him. “Look, son,” he continued, and he conspiratorially dropped his voice. “I don't want to bust your chops. I'm just here to do Teddy a favor.” He could almost see the gears of the man's mind start grinding the moment he mentioned Colonel Teague's first name. “Apparently he got word, I don't know how, but a Red Cell team is going to come down here two weeks from now to probe the defenses here. Looks like the higher ups want to make sure this place is locked down tighter than a Texas bull's asshole. You know, what with your guests, and everything.” He winked at the soldier and walked over to the three helicopters. “So Teddy asked me to do a quick review of base security, just to see if there was anything he missed.” He reached under the nearest helicopter and retrieved one of the blocks of plastic explosives and tossed them to the startled Night Stalker. “I'm guessin' there was, 'cause how else was I supposed to place these?”

The man sputtered some vague apologies as Norman detached the other three charges. “It's fine, son. Here, you take these to the armory so I can to brief the Colonel.” The soldier nodded and saluted, prompting Norman to give him a brisk salute in return. He smiled as he watched the man jog off, retrieved his briefcase and doubled back to the parking lot, where Victoria was already waiting for him.

“Everything go according to plan?” She asked. “Did you get it?”

Norman smiled and took the PDA from his briefcase. “Piece of cake.” He pointed the small box toward the sky and pressed a button, sending the burst transmission burning into the sky to a communications satellite overhead. “I had to bullshit a guy into helping me with our distraction though. You?”

“I convinced a soldier to let me use the base computer. You know, like I do? Nothing a few weeks of revalidation won't fix though. Hawkins is locked in an unused building near the barracks that they're using as an improvised prison.” She looked at her watch and frowned. “We've less than thirty minutes left, so we better get moving.”

The Night Stalkers' makeshift prison turned out to be a two-story structure that used to serve as a mess hall and recreation center before it was decommissioned. The two infiltrators crouched behind a pair of MRAP Cougars parked no more than thirty feet away. The prison building stood only a stone's throw from the barracks where the majority of the troops on the base were stationed, which had the upside of being in close proximity to the hangars, but it had the downside of being, well, located next to the barracks. Steel bars had been installed on the windows, and little camera globes unobtrusively hung from the walls. Two Night Stalkers in black camouflage uniforms, helmets and full body-armor stood guard at the doorway into the building. It was quite clear that whatever was going on inside, the 201st didn't want anyone to know about it.

“Hawkins should be in the second story of the west wing,” whispered Victoria. She gestured at the two guards. “That's the only way in. Think you can talk your way through the door?”

Norman started, then thought better of it and shook his head. “Not all the way through. It's time for you to do that thing you do.”

They casually walked out from between the Cougars and approached the door to the prison building. The guards immediately took wary notice of the two officers lackadaisically walking up to the front door, readying their assault rifles as the man with the colonel's insignias took the first of five steps up to the door. The man only then seemed to become aware of the two men pointing rifles at him. “Afternoon, gents,” he said, a hint of a smile on his face. “Ain't this the commissary?”

One of the Night Stalkers was about to bark an impolite answer but never got around to utter it. Victoria Phoenix blurred into action, dropping the heavy bag she was carrying, scaling the steps inhumanly fast and grabbing hold of the nearest soldier before he even had time to utter a surprised yelp. She grabbed his rifle and brought the but abruptly up against the man's jaw. There was an audible 'crack' and the man began to collapse. His comrade was only just beginning to react to the sudden, vicious, assault; he swung his carbine toward her, but Victoria easily stepped out of the way and brought a fist up in a motion that registered as little more than a vague smudge on Griffin's retina. The uppercut connected solidly with the man's jaw, actually lifting him off the ground two inches and knocking him out cold before his equally unfortunate comrade had even hit the ground.

The whole fight had taken less than three seconds from start to decisive end.

Griffin blinked his eyes as the second man sunk to the floor with a clatter of metal on concrete. “No? Well, I must be mistaken then.” He looked at Victoria. “You know, it always kinda freaks me out when you do that.”

She looked at him, her expression unreadable. “Help me get these bodies inside where the camera's can't see them.”

“Right.”

They quickly dragged the two unconscious spec-ops soldiers inside the building, and Norman produced an electronic key from the pockets of one of them. “We better hurry,” he said. “It won't be long before they notice the guards are gone.

Victoria had grabbed one of the stocky M4 carbines off the guards. She smiled thinly and checked the magazine and safety. “No need to state the obvious.”

Norman eyed the rifle. “You think that's really necessary?”

She shrugged. “No need to take chances either.”

He nodded. “Lead the way then.”

They quickly made their way up to the second floor, encountering no further resistance until, upon reaching a set of swing doors, Victoria held up a hand. She peered around the corner with one eye, then looked to Norman. “Two guys in front of a steel door at the end of the hall. That must be where they're keeping Hawkins. More cameras, too.” She hadn't said it, or a siren began to wail somewhere not far away. Moments later a second joined in, and then a third.

Griffin looked up. “Looks like we've been made.”

“No more reason to stay silent then.”

He looked at the rifle in her hands and sighed. “So crude.” Then he shrugged. “Well, they're the bad guys I guess. So, go ahead. Uh, make your day.”

She simply rolled her eyes, slung the M4 over her shoulder and unzipped the heavy bag she was carrying, drawing out an oddly shaped revolver with an oversized cylinder and a long and narrow barrel. She thumbed the safety back, gripped the weapon in one hand and supporting it on the wrist of the other. Then she stepped into the hallway, brought up the revolver in a single too-fluent motion that looked almost like something from a Russian ballet. Victoria lightly fingered the trigger and the gun coughed lightly. A single dart-like projectile zipped across the hallway in under a heartbeat, catching the nearest soldier in the narrow open space between his helmet and neck guard, piercing his skin and injecting a powerful artificial neurotoxin into his veins. The soldier had time to slap at his neck as if he'd been stung by a bug before his eyes glazed over as the toxin disabled his muscle control. The man began to fall and Victoria nimbly took two steps to the right to bring the other soldier into her scope. But the second Night Stalker reacted exceptionally fast, ducking with lightning reflexes as he brought up his rifle, causing the second dart to narrowly miss his head, instead punching into the wall causing a puff of dust and splinters of concrete to erupt into the hall. The spec-ops soldier shouldered his own rifle and loosed a burst of fire at his attacker, but Victoria pivoted nimbly out of the way and into cover behind the far wall on the other side of the doorway. She muttered something profane under her breath. “Can't believe I missed him...” She reached into the heavy bag and drew out a grenade, pulled the pin with her teeth, then looked at Griffin. “Close your eyes.” She tossed the grenade around the corner, hard.

The concussion grenade detonated somewhere halfway down the corridor, blowing out several windows and sending a pressure-wave of force down the two-way hall. The Night Stalker was forcibly lifted off his feet and slammed into the far wall, crumbling into a dazed heap. Victoria rounded the corner, brought up the gun, and put a tranq dart into one of his legs for good measure. “All clear,” she said and tossed the revolver back in the bag. She looked at her partner in crime. “I know how you loathe to kill people, so I brought an alternative.”

“Nice,” Norman smiled, then frowned. “But couldn't you have thrown the grenade first?”

“And missed a change to impress you with my marksmanship?” she picked up the bag. “Not a chance.”

“Fair enough.” Norman started forward. “Let's get this over with.”

A swipe of the scavenged key-card proved enough to open the electronically locked steel door the two now-unconscious men had been guarding. The inside of the cell was dark, and reeked of sweat and physical abuse. A single steel chair was bolted to the floor in the middle of the room. On it sat a single man, hunched over against the chains and cuffs that tied him down. He was obviously in a bad way. His USAF uniform was torn, and even in the half-light Griffin and Phoenix could make out the blue of bruises on his arms and neck. Runnels of dried blood ran down his face. The man groaned and hauled himself upright with a visible effort. He looked on their uniforms and scowled. “Military intelligence?” Screamin' Jason Hawkins spat on the floor. Blood flecked his spittle. “Save your energy. You'll get nothing from me.”

“Relax colonel,” Victoria produced a worried smile as she did a quick inventory of the man's injuries. “We're here to get you out.”

Colonel Hawkins of the 25th 'Fighting Falcons' Special Tactics Squadron looked at them. According to official records he was on 'extended administrative leave' from his command. Unofficially the loyalist commander had been held for two weeks by the renegades now. Suspicion flickering in his eyes. He coughed, and blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. “Is this some kind of trick?”

“Not really. President Skye sends her regards. She told us to tell you, uh...” Norman frowned, and his voice trailed off.

Victoria sighed, not for the first time that day. “Golf Tango Eight Niner Hotel Oscar,” she recited the loyalist pass-phrase. She took a pair of bolt cutters from the bag and began cutting Hawkins free.

The colonel blinked in surprise. “You don't look like special ops.”

Victoria winced and cut through the last of the chains. “That's because we're not. We're, uh...” She was briefly at a loss to explain their employ to the colonel.

“Civilian freelancers,” Norman finally supplied.

Hawkins raised an eyebrow and massaged his bruised wrists. “Oh. It's going that badly, huh?” He tried to stand, dizzily, and had to lean on Norman to remain standing. Then he turned his head as if listening. “Are those sirens?” The Colonel shook his head. “We'll never get out of here now.”

“You know, he's right,” the con-man nodded thoughtfully. “You know what we need?” He smiled and retrieved a remote detonator from his pocket. “A diversion.” He flicked the protective covering on the detonator and pressed the single red button underneath.

For a second or two, nothing seemed to happen. Then a dull rumble sounded somewhere not too far away. The sound was cut off by a heavier explosion, and an even heavier one, one explosion following on the next, until the whole building shook with the roar of detonations. Dust shook free from the concrete ceiling and the light flickered. The explosions kept coming. Victoria looked at him, eyes wide, disbelief on her face. “What did you do?

Norman shrugged. “Told a guy to take the plastic explosives to the armory. I suppose I didn't tell him the detonators were buried inside.” He smiled. “I think I just blew up an ammo dump.”

Colonel Hawkins produced a hacking, wheezing laugh. “We better be Oscar Mike,” he grinned, almost feral amusement etched on his face. “They're gonna be real pissed now.”

Chaos reigned outside the prison. The chain of explosions had still not died down, and a thick cloud of smoke mushroomed away above the far side of the base. Occasionally tracers or billowing flares of orange fire shot through it as ordinance went up. Soldiers streamed from the barracks, both in the black of the Night Stalkers and in the digital urban camouflage of the regular Army, milling in confusion or hurrying toward their duty stations. Some were carrying rifles and moving around as if they expected an imminent attack. Few of them paid much attention to the three figures moving toward the back of the base, one leaning on the shoulder of another. They had thrown the black BDU of one of the unconscious guards on Hawkins, masking the worst of his wounds as well as his blue Aerospace Force uniform. Whenever a group of soldiers came near, Norman made sure to gesture wildly and shout, “base security has been breached! Arm yourselves!” or, “secure the prisoner! Double-time!”

They reached the edge of the air fields without being interrupted. Here there were fewer soldiers, and Hawkins took a moment to gather his breath, leaning against the wall in the shadow of a hangar. He looked speculatively from Norman to Victoria. “You've done this sort of thing before.” He concluded.

Griffin looked at his co-conspirator and grinned. “A few times. We make a good team.” Despite herself Phoenix smiled in return.

The colonel nodded and looked around. “Well, this is all great fun, but sooner or later these assholes are going to notice I'm gone. How do we get out of here?”

“Patience, patience,” said Griffin, running his eyes along the horizon. “Ah, there we go!”

The HH-60 Pave Hawk swung low over the tree-tops surrounding the base, the downdraft whipping branches and leaves into a frenzy. The helicopter wore dark brown-green camouflage instead of the indigo camo of the Black Hawks, but it was close enough to appear similar. Victoria drew a green flare from her bag of tricks and tossed it onto the concrete in front of the hangar and, recognizing the signal, the helicopter swung toward it. “Let's go.”

They rushed toward the descending Pave Hawk – and were almost instantly interrupted by a sharp 'halt!'. Griffin wheeled around and stared into the face of the same Night Stalker Lieutenant who had interrupted him earlier. Shit he thought, but his mouth worked automatically. “We're under attack!” he shouted and motioned toward the continuing series of explosions and the black cloud that hung over the base. “We have to evacuate the prisoner!”

The Stalker began to turn, then looked at Griffin and narrowed his eyes. “Hold on, I recognize you.” The special operator began to lift his carbine. “Kiss the-” That was all the soldier managed to get out before Victoria blurred into motion, slapping the barrel of the rifle effortlessly out of the way and pressing a Taser into the man's neck. The Stalker sputtered something incomprehensible and collapsed twitching to the tarmac. “No time for niceties,” she scowled. “I'm getting sick of these guys and their guns. Let's get the hell out of here.”

The three hurried toward the Pave Hawk, berets washed away by the storm conjured up by the helicopter's blades. Crewmen hurried out, dressed in USAF uniforms and the insignia of the Fighting Falcons. Their eyes glittered as they recognized the colonel, helping him aboard whilst surreptitiously looking at the man and woman who had brought him to the helicopter. In seconds they were all aboard and the helicopter was lifting off above the base, swinging away from Hunter Field toward the east at high speed and treetop height. On the roads below civilian fire trucks and police vehicles could be seen rushing in the direction of the base, where several buildings were now on fire.

“How long before anybody figures out we stole one of their own IFF codes?” wondered Victoria.

“Too long,” Norman said confidently. He pulled a slightly rumpled Cuban cigar out of his breast pocket, then looked at the colonel. “If you don't mind?”

Hawkins smiled. “Burning the crops of communists is at worst the most minor of sins, Mister...”

“Griffin,” Norman supplied. “This is Miss Phoenix.”

“Griffin and Phoenix,” the Colonel smiled gratefully. “Nice. Well, I'm not really sure how you did it, but I'm damned glad you got me out of there. It was getting quite uncomfortable for a bit.”

“Just glad to do the free world a favor, colonel.” Victoria actually managed to say it without the faintest trace of cynicism.

“Indeed,” added Norman, and he sounded enormously self-satisfied. “Another job well done for the side of freedom fries and apple pie. He looked at Victoria. “You know what we should do to celebrate? I know this place in Tahiti that serves drinks with little parasols, and-”

He was interrupted by the co-pilot, who had turned around in the cockpit to look at them. “Mister Griffin, Miss Phoenix, I'm receiving a priority-one radio transmission.”

“Who is it?”

“Someone calling herself Savage. She's asking for the two of you specifically.”

The two special agents looked at each other. Victoria rolled her eyes. Norman brought the lighter to his cigar, lit it, and briefly allowed himself to enjoy the taste of the Cuban cigar. Then he sighed wistfully. “So much for Tahiti.”

SECRET WAR
"Nick Fury. Old-school cold warrior. The original black ops hardcase. Long before I stepped off a C-130 at Da Nang, Fury and his team had set fire to half of Asia." - Frank Castle

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Shroom Man 777
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Re: Griffin & Phoenix: Secret War

Post by Shroom Man 777 »

Love it! Griffin and Phoenix! Take these to the armory. Man, Griffin, what a shyster! And Phoenix, what a kickass babe! You love blondes that can asskick six ways to Sunday, dontcha Siege?

And the Secret War. Wonderful. I really dig how you're making the United States of America go crazy and fucking eat each other! It's just as fucked up as what's going on in the Soviet Union! Worse!
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Re: Griffin & Phoenix: Secret War

Post by Booted Vulture »

Awww. I liked the old G&P.

Although this is certainly an action packed first segment. I look forawd to seeing where this plot is heading.
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