MIDDANGARD (A Lord of the Rings Fan Fiction)

Chapter 11: Plans, Decisions and Pussy Cats

The four men headed back to their safe-room. The empty corridors in that section of the building made for a quick return. In the background, they could hear gobler troops on the move. Hundreds of shuffling steps marked the preliminary stage of the battle that would soon commence in the Reception Hall.

Once back in the secret room, they conferred with Tomaso and Snowflake.

Carmellita asked, tentatively, about the cause of the alarming vibrations that could be felt even inside the soundproof room.

"The fight will begin shortly," Snow replied, in an off-handed way, as if announcing that supper was almost ready.

"Nice blade work," Bobio commented in an appreciative manner. Bobio, a good man with a bat, was the only Abbotamarco, besides the missing Alfredo, who took an interest in and studied swordsmanship. JohnsonX had begun training the young man about a year before. Thus Bobio was still basically a novice.

"Perhaps we should have given that creep more time to answer our questions," Rabbi Gandolfini politely suggested.

"That would have been a waste of time, friend," Fredo countered, as he leaned up against the padded wall. "We already know the time, the place and the route of his attack."

"We know the route?" Snowflake asked, as she looked supportively towards Bookman.

"It’s a military thing," her father confided. "It’s the bridges, Dumpling. The only way they can hit Brooklyn is across the Verrazano Bridge. As for Queens, the Bronx Goblers hold both sides of the WhiteStone Bridge. Thousands of Goblers must have been gathering here in Staten Island for weeks. The forces of Mor-dura, larger still, will be infiltrating into Queens County from the Bronx, as we speak. We know Saturday is the day and we now know that the Chinese Communists Goblers are working, however reluctantly, with the Bronx Goblers. We have to warn the clans as soon as possible!"

"I see Daddy, but... please don't call me Dumpling."

"Fair enough, sweetheart."

GrayBeard nodded his head.

"That is clear and logical thinking. Therefore, there was no need to waste more time on 'Master' Smaug, who was intent on stalling in any case.  Quick and decisive action called for and delivered... my compliments."

As the conversation continued, Luke watched the events taking place in the meeting room, on the other side of the one-way mirror. Feing Schue dropped to the floor, holding his guts in both his hands. He had a panicky look on his face. Luke kept switching his attention from the action in the conference room to the conversation between Graybeard and Fredo.

"Unfortunately," Bookman continued, "our way back to Brooklyn is blocked by thousands of troops. In addition, there are vicious looking guard dogs being handled out there. We can't go east, back towards the Verrazano Bridge. We can't go north either, not because the Bayonne bridge is shaky and about to collapse [which it is] but because, logically, that is where these Asian Goblers had to have come from. We have to assume that it too is crawling with unfriendlies."

Fredo nodded in agreement. His brown hood accentuated the affect.

"Very logical, Master Bloomfield," Fredo agreed.

Luke paid close attention. This was high class stuff! Generals planning strategy! This was the kind of material a healthy Russian boy could sink his teeth into. Though still young, Luke was born to become a military leader. He had grown to early manhood in a world gripped in a five year life and death struggle. For him, listening to these seasoned commanders was like being enrolled at West Point.

 Looking back into the other room, he noticed a slimy mess sliding out and away from the half kneeling, half leaning figure. Master Smaug held in his hands a large brownish thing, possibly his liver. Luke turned his head back to the military discussion.