The Battle for Brookside Drive
Marty Connors crouched down hiding behind the metal trash cans that showed their age from abusive garbage men over the years. This Vietnam War veteran remained motionless as he watched the area. His intense stare focused on. The bitter February wind cut into Marty's goose down jacket while he fought through shivers and chills. At any moment the enemy would emerge from the front door, leaving the warmth and protection of their home to be overwhelmed by the arsenal of snowballs tightly packed by this brilliant military strategist.
"Think you can bombard my sedan with snowballs and get away with it? Well, you drew first blood against the wrong soldier, fellows", Marty mumbled. The McCarthy boys always drew the ire of Marty for small infractions he cold never bring himself to say anything about. Like the times they rode over his front lawn to take a shortcut to their driveway just so they can save an extra ten feet of pedaling. Marty never allowed the tire marks that left matted down trails on his thick lush lawn bother him. He never said a word.
He just sighed and endured all along as his wife comforted him saying "They're just boys. Jeez Martin you were one too". But there was something that spurred the McCarthy boys on to make this sudden bold move. Maybe his inactions made them think they could get away with more, Marty thought to himself. Their brazen and heinous act will not go unanswered. Did the lack of confrontation make the McCarthy boys think he was weak? The first snowball that made contact with his prized sedan signaled war was declared. The McCarthy boys represent a clear and present danger that must be opposed without question.
The violent display of force was an intentional act to claim an ascension to becoming a new world power. Or at least, the new 'block power'. There is no choice but to launch a full scale assault against this new tyrannical regime thought Marty. So, the grizzled 'Nam Vet continued watching, waiting, for the enemy to come into sight and begin the campaign.
"I'll give 'em everything I've got. Go at 'em hard and fast. I hope to be successful and come home a hero this time, unlike the last". The front door opened and they were with shovels in hand to toss away last night's light dusting of snow. The McCarthy boys bent over slightly, and Marty heard the crunch of their shovels as they dug into the snow. Marty sprang from behind his blind, snowballs cradled in his left arm ready to fire in rapid succession as he plowed ahead. He began to hurl snowballs in a wild spray of gunfire-like velocity. Still in excellent physical shape, the snowballs left Marty's hand like a laser.
The first deadly shot struck one of the boys in the backside as he bent over unaware still shoveling out. He spun around to see his attacker barreling down at him and tried to yell out as another sniper shot nailed him in the head knocking off his wool ski cap. The second brother whipped up his shovel to protect his face only to get riddled with pounding blasts in his chest. Marty returned focused on his first target. With his ski cap off and powdery snow marks clinging to his hair and cheek bones, the eldest McCarthy boy dove behind the front hedge for cover. It was desperate attempt to shield himself from the fury of the one man army.
It didn't work. Marty quickly saw the sloped roof over the cowering soldiers. He remembered it sleeted first before the snow and that meant the layer of snow resting on the roof was lying on a sheet of slippery ice. Marty frantically hunted through the last few rounds of ammunition and selected the largest one left. With a tight grip, he hurled it just under the roofline at the gutter which hit with a forceful jolt. The blast was powerful enough to dislodge an avalanche of snow that came crashing down on the backs of the enemy. Wild eyed and with his fist pumping in the air triumphantly, Marty let out a "Yes!" deep from his diaphragm. He stood and watched as the targets remained motionless.
Targets: terminated.
Mission: completed.
Return to HQ for further assignment.
