Original Work The Unwelcome Sign

Thank you Sir...

You are going to have to kill them guys

just so they can get some rest...

 

Zen,
I really like the sounds of your plans for Book II and III. But, it'll have to include a greater geopolitical scope, and knowledge of WTF happened, who done it, and the status of ... dare I say it... WWIII? I mean, the things you outline would be impossible, in today's world without a global conflict in progress, the US Navy wouldn't just sit back and watch the US Virgin Islands be invaded by ... Venezuela?
However, I truly, really, honestly hope you and me are still here long enough for you to write them, and not be living in that world...
I mean, Putin warned us to keep hands off Syria, and what does Dear Leader do? Bomb Syria. What would he do if Putin simply torpedoed one of our 'aggressor' carriers... and then pretended like he doesn't know anything about it... kinda like a passenger liner that was shot down by... somebody.
Assad is Putin's ally and gas is the game. Keeping the Qataris from building a gas pipeline to the Med through Syria, that'll compete with Gazprom?...
'nuff said.

 

If all the 'high tech' stuff is fried…an old triple expansion steam powered ship could still get around…rodeo won't work, but so what…we gave a bunch of these to South American countries. Old Liberty ships and such…could get around if someone on board knew how to shoot the stars and plot a course using maps instead of GPS and such.

And while you're at it…where is that toad…be wanting that ball bag of his for a coin purse and sheet ;-)

 

Sarge talked to a half a dozen men and they dropped what they were doing, the relief evident even at this distance. They picked up their rifles and made their way through the trees, there now being enough room for people to get by. They paused on our side, as if unsure what to do next. They looked back and Sarge made a ‘shooing’ motion. They turned back towards us and started moving forward.

Looking over the selection, I settled on a gang banger all the way in the back, closest to the curve. At two hundred and seventy five yards I held the red dot of the Aimpoint on his forehead, took up the slack and then broke sear. Rifle back down from recoil, I eased my index finger until the trigger reset. My man had crumpled in that space of time.
Then all hell broke loose.

I worked on those farthest from us. Trying to prevent their escape. As I picked targets I got a fractured image of the battle. Some stood stock still, frozen in indecision. I passed them over. Some dove for weapons, frantically trying to fight back. I found one who had just run his gun dry after dumping a full mag harmlessly over our heads in a four second spree. I didn’t give him a chance to reload. I kept servicing targets as I found them.
Going for the harder targets, those further away and often moving, I was missing a bit more than I was hitting. My bolt locked back and I stabbed the mag release with my trigger finger and reached for a fresh magazine. Eyes up and out while performing such a routine function I made a quick assessment.

My people tore up the group that was on our side, and I counted four bodies on the road. That left two, and I had no idea where they were.
Mag in, thumb depressed the paddle sending the bolt home. Back to work. Sarge and a couple other boss types were rallying the troops, urging them to retreat. They didn’t need to be told twice and they ran in mass.

The problem with having so many easy targets is focusing on one. It’s hard to pick one, and when you do, your eye catches the movement of another and you think about that one, and stop concentrating on the one you are currently engaging.
Which is a good way to miss.
Bodies were dropping, but many were getting away too.

My forearm was aching, probably aggravated by the chainsaw. It was another distraction from my marksmanship. I tagged one fellow, he staggered and I thought he was going to go down, but he caught his balance and ran on. I sent another round after him, with no effect.

The firing tapered off as we ran out of targets, the last of the gang bangers having made it around the corner. There was a moment of silence which was soon broken by the metallic sounds of weapons being reloaded and checked over. We sat, waiting, behind our rifles to see what happened next.

We’d spanked them hard and they had to be smarting from it. I could see a dozen or more bodies lying around. “Okay. What next?” I asked myself. I was having trouble thinking.

Frank slide in next to me, having sprinted from his position across the road. We looked at each other without saying anything. He took a drink from his water bottle and offered it to me. I shook my head and reached for my own.
The almost hot water washed the grit I hadn’t noticed down my throat, and unstuck my tongue. I could almost feel the cells in my body plumping back up from their dehydration. Digging in a pocket I came out with two peppermint hard candies. Frank accepted on and I unwrapped mine, struck by how noisy the crinkling of the wrapper was. Stupidly I was worried that others would hear it. A teacher’s voice in my head said “did you bring enough for everyone?”
I giggled to myself, drawing a concerned look from Frank. I waved him off and clamped down on it before the giggle turned into uncontrollable laughter.
“Battlefield pick up?” He couldn’t wait any longer for me.
I shook my head. “No. Let’s go. This one has served it’s purpose, it won’t hold them back again, not for very long, and not if they do something clever.”
“What are the chances of that?” Frank said dismissively.
I shrugged my shoulders. “They may not be experienced, or have a depth of knowledge, but don’t make the mistake of thinking that they’re stupid.”
Now it was his turn to shrug. “You’re the boss.” He stood and I followed, slowly, slowly unbending my back.
We slowly gathered in the middle of road, first one, then another joining us from where they’d been hiding and fighting.
“Everyone OK?” I looked around and got a lot of nods and murmers and mumbles that sounded postitive. “We’re moving out, now. On to the…”
I watched as the face of the person I was looking at distorted and then sort of popped and then kind of sagged as if pressure had been released. It was Lyle’s man that had fought with Sadie and me. The sound of full auto fire made it through my consciousness and bodies started falling. I turned towards the shooting but it was taking me forever. As I made my way around I had a glimpse of Virgil flying into Sadie, both going to the ground.
My eyes met those of the gang banger. He was only twenty yards away. He must have been one of the group that had come through. While my body was trying to drag the muzzle of my rifle up, my mind was working out that he must have been playing possum.
I wasn’t going to make it. His rifle was coming around, aided by the muzzle climb. He held the butt of his rifle on top of his shoulder, flat, so the rifle was sideways. The idea being to have the recoil move the gun as it fire to cut a horizontal swath through a group or crowd. I’d only seen that one other place…
One, two, three, angry bees went past my head and then it was quiet.
He’d run dry. Shot his wad.
I was almost there, almost on target, when he was stitched from the point of his right hip to his left clavicle. He slumped and sagged and drooped and died.
“WHERE’S THE OTHER ONE!?” I screamed so the gunshot deaf people could hear me. Or because I was scared.
Frank transferred his attention from the person he’d just turned into a corpse to the edge of the road on his side. I took the other side. Muzzle and eyes tracked together, scanning. There! A gang member stood, unarmed, hands up.
I shot him in the face. He flopped, stings cut, and I puked, the peppermint not a good accompaniment to the bile. I started shaking, but held it off by pumping a round into everybody I could see, and firing the rest of the magazine at the curve in the road.
Again Frank was there with the water. This time I took it. Swished a mouthful and spit it out, drank a bit and handed it back. Frank waved me off.
Hell of a time to get all dainty.
I finally did what I’d been dreading. I turned to look. Not wanting to know. Sadie was on the ground but sitting up. Virgil was next to her. She had her hands near his crotch which I thought was inappropriate until I saw her pull the tag end of the tourniquet tight and start cranking on the windlass. My eyes slid past the deflated head of the man I fought next to but didn’t know his name, or anything else about him, and moved on to see Denise kneeling over a prone body. Everyone else seemed to be OK, and were slowly getting back up.
“Zed” Frank said it quietly. I got it.
Deep breath, look at what I have to work with and what needs to be done. “Frank, Lyle, provide security.” I pointed at a couple of others who I didn’t know. “we need four saplings, eight feet long, two inches in diameter. Go!”
“How bad?”
Denise didn’t look up from her work. She ignored me for a moment. “Sadie, is that arterial?”
“No, venous. I’ve got it stopped.”
That seemed to satisfy her. “through and through of the upper arm, and a round through the neck. Jugular and carotid are OK, I think the spine is too. Esophagus is compromised. I’ve run an airway.”
“Can she be moved?”
“You got a way of moving her?”
“I will. You got a poncho?”
She nodded to her pack on the road next to her. I opened the flap and dug around until I found it. I added it to mine.
A shot rang out. Outgoing. I looked. A body flopped on the road and scrambled back behind the curve on two arms and one leg.
The pole party was back. They watched as I used two of them and my poncho to make a stretcher and copied my example. I took mine to Virgil who was well enough that he could scoot himself over onto it. “This thing going to hold me?” He gave me his best skeptical safety nazi look. “it better not break or dump me on the ground.”
“I’d worry about who we’re going to get to carry your fat ass.” That earned me a sour look until I laughed at him and he returned the favor.
I helped lift the wounded woman onto the other stretcher. “What about him?” Denise looked at the corpse.
“He’ll have to wait.”
“It’s not right”
“We’ll be back for him. I promise.” Sadie donated her poncho and we used it to wrap the body. We carried it over to the side of the road into a shady area and hid it as best we could.
“We’re moving out! Let’s get one person on each corner!” People rushed to find their place.
“On three! One, two, three!” the stretchers came up off the ground and held. Something I was worried about considering the slip shod construction done in a rush.
We headed west, a slow walk the best we could manage.
“Wait!” I handed by corner to Lyle and ran the fifty feet to where the saw lay. Running back I put it on the stretcher and took my corner back.
“mean no why you duz whan dat mash up machine meh sohn.”
I wasn’t in the mood. Until I looked at Lyle. Then the giggle came back.

Stretcher pole in my left hand I pulled the radio out with my right. Keying up I tried to get HQ. Still a no-go. Lavell caught the transmission. In terse terms I told him what happened. He reported that there had been no movement on his end.
“Call HQ for me. Have them send the drone out again, I need to know if they are still sitting there. I also need the ambulance. I also need them to stop at my house. I left something by the gate that I need. They’’ll see it when they get there. Zebra out.”

 

It's been wisely said; "Be proud of your enemy, they hate you and want to kill you and will do their best to fulfill that mission." So, our job is made easier…we don't let them! Duty is action, fight or die…and as was said in "Starship Troopers" 'if you don't fight, I'll kill you myself' ;-) Be loving this story, reminds me of some of my own mistakes…life can be a bitch, death is worse!

 

Thanks Zen.

 

I think Zed's strategy is to keep incompetent gangbanger leaders alive, so that their poor tactical leadership will continue to get gangbanger soldiers killed more easily and efficiently. Killing incompetent leaders only increases the opportunities for competent leaders to rise to the top as a consequence of natural selection.

Zed is using classic area defence tactics of trading space for time and opportunities (by ambushing and limited counter attacks) for causing the gangbangers attritional casualties at minimal risk and cost to the defenders. The art of a fighting withdrawal, is not allowing oneself to get decisively engaged thereby impeding one's freedom of action and movement.

 

Even stupid leaders learn…if their 'poor ways' don't get them killed by their own men…fragging comes to mind! Cowardly and ineffective but terrorizing to poor leaders anyway…leading to too much caution to get the job done. Besides, it be time to poison a bunch of these rats…I'm thinking Risen made from wild castor bean plant…little heat and pressure and incorporated in a food de toads be favoring…dey all gonna die if they eat a little of it. Yep, that be called 'feeding the problem' and sheet ;-)

 

Thank you again Sir...

 

We trudged along, alone with our thoughts, which were pretty dark considering. We were still ‘winning’ as far as my plan to trade territory for bodies. But our eyes kept drifting back to the bodies on the litters that hung from our arms.
We weren’t making very good time, maybe a mile an hour. Didn’t matter, we needed to create distance and keep moving. We rotated sides fairly often to give our arms breaks, carrying with the left for a while, then putting the stretchers down for a minute and switching to the right arm.
Everyone but me that is. No way was my right arm ready for that.

I tried to ignore the hell that was my left arm being pulled out of it’s socket by thinking through the next couple of stages. We needed to get to the next abbatis. I hoped we’d be able to drop the trees. I tried to come up with alternatives, but the best I could come up with was withdrawing all the way back to our neighbor and it’s established positions.

I really didn’t want to do that. It wasn’t time, We hadn’t bled them as much as I liked. But if we couldn’t get those trees down, I didn’t see an alternative.

“Car!” Frank alerted us.
“Off the road, Left!” I ordered. We were caught in the open and grabbed what little cover we could find, bringing rifles up to the ready. I heard it then, engine and road noise from the west. Looked like my ploy worked. I managed to distract myself long enough by thinking about our problems.

A few seconds later Doc’s truck came into view. Frank stood so they knew where to stop. Wilford was driving with Doc in the passenger seat. We loaded Virgil and the woman quickly while Denise filled Doc Shoemacher in on the injuries had been sustained and what she’d done to treat them.

Everyone climbed into the bed. Frank held out his hand to me to help me up, but I shook my head. Doc was in the back with his patients, leaving the front seat open. Rank hath it’s privalages, and I sank into the padded seat and leaned back against the headrest.
Heaven.
Wilford got behind the wheel and started us off slowly, mindful of the payload behind him.
“You bring what I asked for?”
“Yeah Zed, it was right where you said.” He pointed down at the floor. I reached down and grabbed the spare bar and wrench for my saw.
“Thanks.” I managed.
“Gas is in the back.”
I nodded. I gathered myself. “Keep the drone up to the west. I need to know what that group is doing. If they attack again, and probably more importantly, if they leave.”
“Will do, Zed. Daniels and I are sending it out every ten minutes. That’s about as fast as we can turn it around. And batteries are going to be an issue soon, and we’ll have to slow down the turnarounds.”
“Understood. Do the best you can. You know the equipment better than me, so use your best judgment. But the next hour or two are critical.”
“We’ve been working the schedule, massaging it for optimum time aloft. We’re on it.”
“ I know you are” and offered him a fist which he bumped. “Here, this is good. Drop us.”

Wil pulled over and we piled out. I wasted no time grabbing the saw and gas and working on swapping the blade. Frank came over and stood next to me, waiting. I glanced up at him then back at the saw. “Start people in their positions. I’ll know in a couple of minutes whether the saw will work.”
“If it doesn’t?”
“Then it’s back to the upper chicane.”
“nothing else we can do?”
I shook my head, “I was too clever, leaving the trees up and only partially cutting them in preparation. I wanted to maintain free passage for vehicles.”
“Good thing you did.”
“Yeah” I agreed sadly.
“Could we shoot the trees down? You’ve already cut them most of the way.”
I paused to think about it, remembering times past, attempting to cut various things with bullets.
“No. We’d use up every bit of ammo we have. Speaking of which,” I reached down the front of my shirt pulling out several empty magazines, “Could you get these filled for me?”

He took them and left, telling people what they needed to be doing. Left alone, I had the side plate off and then old bar and chain. I replaced them with a shorter set. Trading power for reach, I thought I’d still have enough length to get the job done. One tree wouldn’t be an issue, the other, larger one I might have to cut from either side .

Sadie came over and held out a piece of jerky. I opened my mouth, took a bite and twisted my head to rip a piece off.
“How you holding up?” I got the first question out, pausing in my struggle to chew the dried meat into submission.
“Fine. I worried about you.”
“I’m OK”
She didn’t reply.
“Really. I’m OK. I’m mean considering all the shit going on. You know. I’m doing as well as any non psychopath would.” She was standing next to me and I leaned against her leg to make contact.
“What can I help with?”
“Take this bar and the gas when I’m done filling the tank.”

She watched as I snugged the cover, cranked on the tensioner, pulled on the chain to check I had it right, and finished tightening the nut holding the cover in place. Standing in stages, letting my back get used to the idea of standing, I picked up the saw and went through the starting procedure. The engine caught and I reved it. At first the blade didn’t move. On the third, larger blip of the throttle, it moved a bit and by the fifth and six it was running smoothly the oiler having had a chance to do it’s work. I moved to the larger tree and started work. As I thought, I had to work from either side of the cut, being careful to not do too much from either side, resulting in the tree twisting as it fell, putting it in the wrong place.

I pulled the bar out of the kerf just in time to hear a loud snap. I stepped back quickly, following my pre arranged exit, watching the top of the tree as it slowly, and then faster and faster, started it arc down to it’s meeting with the ground.

The second tree was a non-event, dropping easily in its place. Done, I surveyed the ground. This spot wasn’t quite as good as the last. The uphill section while steep, was traversable. We’d have to keep an eye on it. The drop off was every bit as precipitous as the previous location and didn’t concern me.

I moved back and found Sadie and flopped down next to her. I leaned against he and she put an arm around me. I closed my eyes and put my head on her shoulder, soaking up the love and support. Opening my eyes I saw several people watching me. I sat up, on my own. “Same thing as before people, except this time they know what to expect. They know we’re here, and they know we’ll wait and let them commit before we open fire on them.
They’ve been pretty good about learning and adapting. We can expect they will handle the next attack differently. Be ready for it. Be flexible. Keep an eye on the hill, they may try to flank us.”

“I’d set fire to the trees” Lyle offered an example of a different approach the gang bangers could take.
“They may very well try, but the trees are green and the small branches closest to them are spread apart. It would take some work to get t them to burn. Good thinking.”
“They could use gas or something as an accelerant.”
I nodded. “That would help. They could get the fire started and run back behind cover, and let the fire do their job.” I thought for a moment, “ Ok guys, If you see evidence that they are going to try and use fire, don’t let them. I know we’ve been letting them get pretty far with the cutting, but we can’t afford to let them get a fire started.”
I looked at each of them to make sure they understood. They did.
“Drink. Eat. Then drink some more. We may be here a while. Take advantage of the break.”

I followed my own advice, choking down some more jerky and found a comfortable way to lay back in my fighting position. My eyes stung so I closed them to give them a break.

Sadie gently shaking my shoulder brought me out of my unintended nap. I looked at her, angry as I always am on getting startled awake. Before either of us could say anything the noise grabbed my attention. I brought my rifle up from where it had hung from it’s sling over my neck. Butt in shoulder I looked over the top of the sights to see what the enemy had in store for us.

While it made perfect sense, it was totally unexpected.

The engine noise was different, a large diesel engine, and only one of them. The rumbling, deep growl got louder and then, there it was.

The armored car stopped as it came around the turn and saw the trees. Well shit. We were in no position to deal with something like this. For a span of seconds I contemplated calling for an immediate retreat. My mind ran through the gamut of scenarios, of how the enemy would use his armor and what we could do about it.
The trees were still a problem he needed to deal with. How would they handle it?

I got my answer. Two men appeared from behind the armored car and ran forward, holding a thick rope between them. One started tying an end to the bumper of the truck, the other wadded in a short distance and tied his end to some small branches. He’d barely tied the know when the driver started backing up. The tree didn’t even think about moving. The branches breaking under the stress.

There was some brief humor as the truck moved forward, driving over the rope and the man gesticulating to have the driver move so he could get it free. Realizing his mistake, the rope man weaved his way farther and farther into the tangle of branches, getting down to the trunk where it was big enough to hold the strain.

I shot him. For some reason this startled the other rope man, who froze, looking in my direction. I shot him too. Then splattered a round on the glass in front of the driver’s face. He panicked and backed away quickly, dragging the rope behind him.

He wasn’t gone long. I wondered what plan B was. It didn’t take long to find out.

They drove directly into the trees.

The armored car made some progress as the small branches bent and snapped. The further the truck went, the more resistance they put up. The tires, now on the branches rather that the pavement, spun, providing less and less traction.

Still the driver pushed ahead. The truck’s forward progress was measured in feet, then inches, and then the dual wheels on the rear axle started spinning. The driver reversed and rammed it forward, gaining another couple of yards, but in doing so, got up on the main trunk and became high centered. He wasn’t going anywhere now.

That didn’t stop him from trying though. After a minute of fruitless spinning he gave up, defeated. As I watched it sitting there, It reminded me of a scene from World War II. And suddenly I had an idea.

I ran to Frank what I had planned and put him on armored car watch. I gathered everyone around and told them what I was looking for. They scattered, searching. A few minutes later they started coming back to me with their treasure. Soon there was a small pile of beer bottles and Styrofoam food containers. I set them to tearing the styro into small pieces and stuffing them in the bottles, filling them as much as they could.
A new engine noise alerted us to a change in the situation. A Chevy Suburban rounded the curve and came into view.
“STOP THEM!” I yelled to Frank. The words were barely out of my mouth before he was sending rounds down range. He was lucky or good, and I was leaning towards good. The SUV slowed and turned into the hill, coming to a stop. Frank was putting deliberate fire into the side that was now exposed to him.

Frank had the SUV controlled so I went back to my project. I fished a hank of para cord out of my pack, hastily measuring out three to four foot sections, one for each of the five bottles I had. One of the searchers had found a ratty old pair of jeans and I used my bowie to cut some strips about eighteen inches long and three or four wide.

Many hands makes light work and by this time the group had shredded the stryrofoam. Efficient Sadie put a couple people to shredding and a couple to stuffing, getting the work done in record time. Taking a deep breath to steady my hands, I started pouring gas from the saw’s tank into the bottles. Lyle saw me struggling and he scooped up a plastic soda bottle, cutting it in half, inverting it over the mouth of a bottle as a funnel. That not only sped things up, but reduced slop. We only had what was in the saw.

I left a couple of inches in each bottle. Putting my thumb over the mouth, I shook each one in turn. Seeing the gas dissolve the styro, I finished filling the bottles from the can of motor oil I used as bar and chain lube.

The SUV started making noise again, I looked up to see it rocking like a van in a bad teen age exploitation movie. Frank resumed his firing, but despite that the Suburban started moving again, and soon was back around behind the curve.

Back to the bottles, I rolled up a few inches of the end of the cloth strips to the diameter of the opening at the mouth of the bottle. I wanted a tight fit. Inserting my cloth corks carefully, I was almost done. I made a slip knot in a section of para cord and put it around the neck of the bottle and pulled tight, trapping the cloth against the bottle with a few inches of cloth free. I added a more secure knot around the neck and then put a figure 8 knot on the free end, two feet from the bottle. I completed the process four more times and sat back, done.

“I understand the Molotov cocktail, but what’s with the string, Zed” Lyle asked.
“That’s so Frank can play David against the armored car’s Goliath.” I grinned at his perplexed expression. “Come on, I need two more bottle just filled with water.”

Frank fired four more rounds, this time at single people trying to come around the corner. One lay in the road twitching. Another ran back, clutching his arm.

Grabbing the Bic lighter from my fire kit, I scooped up a handful of para cord, dangling seven bottles from my hand.
“Come on” I told Lyle, and ran forward to where Frank was. We stopped on either side of him and I quickly explained what I had in mind. Frank didn’t question why I chose him, we all knew why.

I handed him the string with water bottle and we moved forward. I let him pick the launch site.

Frank stopped and without hesitation started twirling the bottle on the string. He stopped, and then started again, getting a feel for it. After four revolutions he let the bottle fly. I soared up in an under hand trajectory. We watched it reach perigee and come back to earth ten feet behind the armored car.

Wordlessly I handed Frank the second one. Lyle’s attention was divided by us, and the corner behind which the enemy hid.

Another four revolutions, less tentative and the bottle landed a dozen feet short. Both shots were right on the money for windage.

I selected out another bottle, handing the string to Frank. “If you could get a tire involved, that would be cool.”
He didn’t respond, just waited for me to flick my Bic.

The armored car driver was finally putting the pieces of the puzzle together. Seeing the gas soaked cloth flare up was the last clue. He put the car in gear and furiously spun the wheels to no avail. He was well and truly stuck.

The bottle now made a ‘whooshing’ sound as it made it’s revolutions. Frank released it and it burned a comet’s path through the sky, flying the intervening fifty yards in just a couple of seconds. The distance was good, but the bottle missed the truck by several feet to the side. The branches cushioned the landing and it didn’t even break, just hung there like a lantern.

Another bottle lit and twirling and on it’s way. The sheet metal covering the back of the truck made a deep, dull thud as the bottle impacted, shattering, goopy gas mixture slowly spreading over the box that was the back of the armored car.

We ducked as several rounds whizzed by much closer to our heads than I was comfortable. I shot Lyle a stern look but he was too busy making up for his lapse. He fired once, then again, and a man jumped up from behind a rock, holding his leg. Lyle fired a third and final shot.

“The truck!” I warned Lyle. Neither Frank nor I were in any position to do anything. The driver was opening the door, ready to take his chances with us. Lyle put some rounds near the door and changed his mind. Which was a good thing, even if it just prolonged the inevitable.

The action must have focused Frank’s attention for the next bottle hit right on the edge of the cab, above the driver’s door.

We had to duck again as a couple of gang bangers shot around the corner at us. Lyle suppressed them quickly. “We need to finish this up guys” he needlessly reminded us.

“Give me both!” Frank demanded. He held a cord in each hand and I lit one. Before I realized what he was doing, he ran forward.
With nothing else to do, I picked up my rifle and put a couple of prophylactic rounds just past the corner, springing the last one off the road surface for dramatic effect.

Frank switched to an over hand spin, lighting the second bottle before letting the first go. The over hand throw shortened the distance but increased the accuracy. Or should have, the first bottle flew right over the hood of the truck, missing it by inches.

The self anger and disappointment was evident, as was the determination. He switched the last bottle over to his right hand, and with only one revolution, sent it into the fender just over the tire. He turned and ran right past us. I watched the corner as Lyle joined Frank.

A few seconds later Lyle fired a round to let me know it was cool, and I turned and ran back, knowing I was covered.

We watched, fascinated, as the fire spread. Slowly at first, and then more rapidly. Frank had delivered and the tire I wanted involved was burning fiercely, a plume of jet black smoke rising straight up, full of particulate matter. The nearest branches were starting to catch too, and that’s what snapped me out of my pyromanical fascination.

“LET’S Go! GoGoGo!” Lyle and I watched the corner while the others donned packs. We ran a few rounds past nosey noses that were peeking around the corner. Packs on they took off. I fired a few final rounds and followed closely after them.

 

O'h dang, we be having roast toad for breakfast ;-)

 

And thank you again Sir...

 

Time for another special forces type of hit team to go after the head of the snake…I mean toad! About to run out of gasoline for all dis stuff…what to do, what to do? ;-)

Way back when: we would take five gallon containers of gasoline, mix chunks of foam rubber in/or charcoal briquettes if we had them…apply a bursting charge with a WP grenade attached to the primer cord…mix in a 'silver polish' powder to cause the gas to gell…and then drop them from small Bell helicopters…on boats, people…and such things…worked great and that foam rubber or briquette would stick to whatever it was and burn, burn, baby, burn!

 

Thank you Zen for the story, and the multiple chapters this week.

 

I'm thinking that there is a big diesel engine in that armored truck that needs keeping…sheet…it burn on oil and any oil (almost) will do…maybe cook down the fallen heroes of the toad king…and throw in the one in the 'hole' for all the burnable lard content…yes, recycling is definitely a good thing during hard times…(did I mention that I love the story?) KG, Esq.

 

Thanks for posting this, I'm looking forward to buying it when it's published.

 

When you take this tome into print would you please have the artist that does the cover show a little sensitivity when he/she paints a toad head on a pole…after all…just a head won't say much but if there is a piece of back bone hanging down from it…mouth agape with swollen tongue, broken teeth and blow flies swarming around the empty eye sockets might be effective…all in stark crimson and black colors with…O'h, never mind, it's your book and cover, you all be figuring it out. ;-)

Three man teams acting alone and independent of command control beyond first indoctrination and orders…have proven to be effective…in de bush and all dat sheet. It's a pyramid and someone can sleep while there is security, etc., and in a fight…well, hail, three guns be better but three knives will sometimes have to do.

 

Just had to do a reread from page 1. Hell of a story. How about an update for the weekend?

 

Must have pictures and maps…no toads please!

 

It's all available just a few mouse clicks away....

St. Thomas, Virgin Islands - Google Maps

St. Thomas Images - Vacation Pictures of St. Thomas, U.S. Virgin Islands - TripAdvisor






Smiling Lizard Research: Virgin Islands Amphibians