“Camping site C,” Velma held up the piece of paper, “And
I think we may have a problem.”
“I don’t think the ‘Shore Patrol’ are part of the coast
guard,” Daphne said quietly so they weren’t overheard.
“Come on,” Fred said, “If they aren’t the Coast Guard,
then who are they?”
“Like I agree with Daph,” Shaggy said, “My dad is the
brave police captain and his people are always hauling me in to the PD to drug
test me. These guys are nothing like
that.”
“They are Coast Guard,” Fred tried to defend them, “Not
police.”
“You know that red head with the K-9 that grabbed me out
of school right before graduation?” Shaggy asked.
“Yeah?” was the collected response, “She was Navy Shore
Patrol and her friends were Army MPs and Coast Guard Shore Patrol. They were nothing like these people. They remind me of the Special Forces guys
they hire for SWAT teams.”
The thing clicked in Daphne’s head, Stark had part of a
tattoo peaking from under his rolled up sleeves, the red arrow head with a
black dagger hilt both outlined in gold.
That was one of a few different designs for Special Forces units. Red and black with gold outlines was probably
the Army’s 160th Special Operations Air Regiment unit logo. Stark had called Colbert ‘sergeant,’ not
Petty Officer.
“Yeah,” Daphne agreed with Shaggy, “These guys are
impersonating Coast Guard. Question is
why?”
“So why are they here?” Fred asked.
“Well the public reason is,” Velma took a deep breath and
started relaying what the old woman in the town hall had told them.
*
A short time later Shaggy and Fred were finishing putting
up the tent for Daphne and Velma. Velma
was getting antsy, wanting to serve her Mistress and get her brains fucked
out. Daphne could tell but was keeping
cool about it. She guessed the Catwoman
in her was giving her the mentality of a dominatrix and the self-control to
tease her human sex pets.