Hello there FanFiction! It's been a busy past few weeks and I have been going non-stop. Summer classes ended, I went on a much needed vacation and then fall classes started...when does it end?! Anyway, I finally got a chance to sit down and start writing again. I hope you enjoy reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it.
. . .
"So yah went to tha movies didja?" I asked Rock. He was up on the forward turret, scannin' tha horizon with a set of binoculars.
"Yep. It was really fun, I think she enjoyed it."
"What'd y'all go see? Titanic? Casablanca? They was showin' Gone with tha Wind tha other day."
"Nope. The Terminator, she absolutely loved it. All she could talk about the whole way back was how she wants a computer targeting system implanted in her brain." From behind the binos he smiled at the thought.
"Ha! Ah'll be. So didja git ah goodnight kiss, gonna have a secon' date?"
"Well…it wasn't a goodnight kiss per-see." He lowered the binos an' leaned against tha turret railing. "But I guess you can call it that. There was kissing involved…" I had tah smile at that, rememberin' tha look on his 'n' her faces tha moring after their romp. Ah'd gotten tha airfield's PA system workin' and can hook up ah radio, music player or ah microphone to it. So Ah set it to level ten an' started playin' Reville on full blast. As tha recorded bugle made the windows rattle, tha Twins an' I kicked in their door, hollerin' "Good mornin' campers! Have ah nice night?!" I'd never have guessed human bein's could turn that shade of embarrassed.
"Well good fer you Rock, good fer you." I walked down the deck an' stood next to the turret. We'd taken the Black Lagoon out to an itty, bitty speck of island 'bout three hours outta Roanapur. We was waitin'on our customer to show up but they was late. Four. Hours. Late. Benny had 'em on an' off the phone fer ah while. They insisted they was comin'…soon. Since we hadn't had any other jobs for ah while and I was waitin' on ah part gittin' machined for the B-24, we had no choice but to wait. Revy'd gotten bored in the first half hour but I'd come prepared. I set her up with a copy of "High Noon at Lincoln"; it's about Billy the Kid an' The Lincoln County War. Figgered it'd be up her alley an' there hadn't been so much as a peep outta her. But the doldrums were gittin' to me as well. Well, when entertainment isn't provided, you make yer own.
. . .
"Rock, help me here." Country dropped the gangplank over the side of the PT boat and stepped ashore. The little island had been used as a meeting place hundreds of times and junk littered the beach. Crates, barrels, food wrappers, beer cans, ash from dozens of campfires, spent shell casings, salt-encrusted guns half buried in the sand and even the occasional bleached skeleton here and there along the tree line.
"What's up Country?"
"Git ah barrel an' start rollin'." Country had located a stack of 55 gallon drums sitting empty on the beach. Rock had no idea what Country was up to but decided to play along. 'Country sure has a strange way of doing things…' He thought. They collected four barrels on the aft of the boat by the depth charge launcher.
"Load one of them barrels up, Ah'll be right back." Still curious and bored enough to find out what the deal was, Rock did as he was told. Country came back with a rifle case, a metal ammo box, a chair and a burlap sack filled with sand from the beach.
"What's all that for?"
"Target practice my man! Gonna work on estimatin' range an' long distance shootin'." Country set up the chair on the deck next to the launcher and the sandbag on the rear deck storage chest.
"Okie-dokie Rock." Country loaded a round into his M14. "Gimme ah few clicks on tha launcher an' let 'er fly." Rock hit the release and the barrel flew up and out from the boat, splashing down into the ocean where it bobbed gently like a cork.
"How far do yah reckon it is?"
"Huh?"
"Range, how far out is tha barrel?" Country asked as he sighted through the scope.
"Uh…maybe 200 yards?"
"Ohhh…kaaayyy…200…centered fer 100…drops one 'n' half inch at 200 'cause it's ah heavy bullet…quarter inch per click…tha's six clicks…ten up an' four down…no wind tah speak of…" Country adjusted the scope, turning one of the elevation knobs. He settled down on the gun with the forend of it resting on the sandbag. He breathed deeply in, then slowly out, sitting for a moment with his lungs emptied…and fired. A splash of water jumped in front of the barrel, a miss.
"You was off ah bit. It's called ground shrinkin', its real bad on water. Tha ground looks smaller tha further out yah look so yah think it's closer than it really 're probably at…oh…350 yards." Country readjusted the scope again and fired. Clang! The round hit the barrel and the impact echoed back to the boat. Clang! Clang!...ClangClang! Country put four more rounds into the barrel. He looked over at Rock and asked if he'd like to try his hand at it.
"Me? Oh no, I don't really like guns." Rock explained, trying to not hurt Country's feelings. Country just said "Hmmm…" and peered at Rock over his aviator sunglasses.
"Ah think yer confusin' tha issue." Country picked up the rifle and opened the bolt. "Yah see, there's good folks an' there's bad folks. Bad folks do bad things an' good folks try an' do good things best they can. What truly seperates tha two is their intent an' not tha tools they use to 'chieve their ends…wouldn' you agree?"
"That sounds right I suppose."
"So, bearin' that in mind, we can reason guns ain' bad, right? They're jest tools. No different than knives, hammers, axes or Mizz Sawyer's chainsaw. Ah mean; you can use guns fer ah bunch of things. Huntin' of course, but also competition, targets, trap an' skeet fer shotguns, they even have obstacle course an' Cowboy action shootin' at home."
"Cowboy? You mean, they put on hats and spurs and shoot old revolvers like the western movies?"
"Exactly. They shoot all kinds of scenarios; it's like pretendin' yer Doc Holiday or Wild Bill. They even shoot from horseback; an' more than jest revolvers but lever guns an' shotguns too. It's ah real hoot to watch, let alone participate."
"That actually does sound kind of fun."
"Shall we go gitcha fitted fer ah Stetson an' some chaps when we git back?"
"I think I'll work my way up since I'm an amateur." Rock accepted the M14 from Country and was immediately struck by how heavy it was; it must have weighed nine or ten pounds. He then realized that even though he was constantly surrounded by guns, he had no idea how they worked or how to go about firing one. "Uh…how do I…?" Country chuckled and took the gun back.
"Sit on down an' lissen to mah preachin' fer ah minute." Rock sat on the chair and Country cleared his throat. "Okay, this is an' M14 rifle. In this configuration, it's also known as tha M21Sniper Weapon System. It shoots ah 0.308 caliber round. 0.308 means 0.308 of an inch sized bullet. It's also called ah 7.62mm by 51mm with 7.62 bein' how big across tha bullet is an' 51 bein' how long tha entire cartridge is, its NATO's designation. Now, it uses twenty round detachable box magazines. Take ah look." Country took out the magazine and handed it to Rock to look at.
"That little part on top is called tha follower 'cause if follows tha bullets. Under it is ah spring that pushes tha follower. Now, yah load rounds into it like so…" Country took it back and loaded five rounds so Rock could see. "Make sure yah push tha rounds to tha back, you don' want that bullet tip catchin' on tha mag wall. It'll scratch tha hell outta it an' it could jam up." He put the magazine down and picked up the rifle again. "Okay, this parts ah little involved. These are yer basic parts. Barrel, front sight, rear sight, forestock er fore-end, bolt, bolt handle, firin' pin, breach, sight adjustment, magazine well an' magazine release, trigger, trigger guard, safety, scope mount, scope an' buttstock." Country went over the basic features of the gun, pointing out each one in turn and opening up the bolt so Rock could look inside. "With me so far? Stop me if Ah'm goin' too fast."
"I'm good so far. So…how does it work?"
"First you put in yer magazine like so. Always make sure it latches otherwise it can an' will fall out or yer rounds will git outta kilter an' you'll jam up. Next, yah pull back on tha bolt like this; see how tha follower pushes up tha round? Now, see here tah little groove on tha shell? On tha bolt face is ah little claw that hooks onto that an' helps pull tha round out of tha chamber, right here." Country twisted his arm so he could point out the small extractor and the opening to the barrel.
"So…when the firing pin hits the round…then what?"
"It hits here, on tha primer. Tha primer is real sensitive, like ah Liberal's feelin's. It goes off an' ignites tha gunpowder in tha shell. That powder turns to gas an' pushes tha bullet down tha barrel. Tha's where tha bang comes from, gas escapin' behind tha bullet an' tha bullet goin' supersonic. Now, some of that gas gits tapped through ah hole in tha barrel an' into this tube under it. In that tube is ah piston an' its tail end is attached to tha bolt. So tha piston is pushed by tha gas an' tha piston moves tha bolt back. When it does, it pulls out tha spent casin' an' ejects it." Country pulled back on the bolt until the round flipped out. "And then tha piston hits ah return spring, pushin' everythin' back forward. Tha bolt picks up ah new round, chambers it an' yer good to go again. Now, this version of tha M14 yah hafta pull tha trigger fer each shot, its semi-automatic. Tha original version of this gun, tha full-auto version, did this entire operation 700 times ah minute…perfectly."
"Wow…that's incredible. A lot of engineering went into making this, didn't it?"
"Sure's hell did. So yah wanna try shootin' it?"
"You know what? I do, let's see what happens."
"Alright, turn 'round then, feet little more than shoulders apart. Sit so tha gun'll be 'cross yer body, not at ah 90 degree angle." Country placed the rifle on the sandbag and Rock adjusted his posture. "Take up yer rifle, buttstock in tha crook of yer shoulder, yep, right…no, hey…stop movin'. There. Left hand, hold tha stock here on tha sandbag…good. Okay, right hand here, thumb over, AH-AH-AH! Don' you be touchin' that trigger boy or Ah'm cuttin' that finger off!"
"Sorry! What did I do?!"
"No, Ah'm sorry, it's alright. Ah fergot tha rules. Remember: Always leave yer finger off tha trigger 'till yer ready to shoot. Always assume every gun handed to yah is loaded, check tah see if it is an' treat it accordingly. Never point it at anythin' you ain' willin' to destroy. Always keep it pointed in ah safe direction, even if it IS unloaded. Finally, always know yer target an' what's standin' behind it. Oh, an' never call ah magazine ah clip or vice ah versa or Ah'm gonna beatcha over tha noggin' with one 'till yah git 'em straight."
"Right…I can do that."
"Good. Okay, git settled so yer leanin' into tha gun…good. Fingers here, here…good. Now git ah good weld 'tween yer cheek an' tha stock. Yah want it so you move with tha gun when it recoils. Now, do you have ah full scope picture or is it still dark on tha edges?"
"Still kind of dark…"
"Try movin' back an' forth so you git ah full scope. W'all don' git that close or tha scope'll bonk yah in tha eye an' Ah'll hafta laugh at you an' you don' want that." Rock got himself adjusted and settled into the rifle. Country loaded the magazine and chambered a round for him.
"Now, push tha safety forward 'till it clicks." He did and felt a small click and heard a metallic snap. "Yer weapon is hot, ready to shoot. Breathe real slow now. Count yer breaths, in fer ten seconds, hold fer ten seconds, out fer ten seconds. Squeeze tha trigger with tha last pad of yer finger an' fire with empty lungs. Tha shot should be ah pleaseant surprise. Now, yer sighted fer this range, jest put tha crosshairs on tha barrel an' fire when ready." Rock took his breaths as Country had instructed…in and out for counts of ten. He emptied his lungs, slowly squeezing the trigger, feeling the inner mechanics inside the gun move. He pulled, pulled, pulled…BANG! A split second later there was an echoing Clang! as the bullet hit the barrel.
"Good…good." Country said, nodding in approval. "Now prove it wadn't ah fluke an' hit it again." Rock resettled himself and lined up…squeeze, squeeze, squeeze…BANG!...Clang!
"Again." BANG!...Clang!
"Again." BANG!...Clang!
"Keep it up." BANG!...Clang!
"Sock it to me." BANG!...Clang!
"I think I'm out." Rock said as the bolt held open on the empty magazine.
"Here yah go, twenty rounds." Country held out a full magazine. "Load up an' Ah'll launch another barrel." Rock dropped the empty magazine, laid it on the chest and inserted the new one until he felt it lock into place. He loaded himself a fresh round and was about to fire when Country stopped him.
"Hang on ah secon', Ah've been spoilin' yah. Don' move." Country reached over the gun and fiddled with the mounting brackets, removing the scope from the gun and leaving Rock with open sights.
"Put this post…" Country leaned over and tapped the front sight with his finger. "In tha middle of tha circle of tha back sight here. The barrel is at 200 an' tha's what these sights are set fer. Jest aim right where yah wanna hit." It was a little harder now, the front sight post coverd the barrel. BANG!...Bong?
"Yah jest winged tha left side of it." Rock made a slight adjustment…BANG!...Clang!
"Good. Now hit tha rest." As Rock fired, he was surprised to find himself smiling. The recoil wasn't as bad as he thought it'd be, the rifle thudded into his shoulder with each shot but it didn't really hurt. He could feel the piston snap back with each shot, the bolt cycling to eject and bring up a new round. Each spent shell spun through the air, shimmering in the tropical sun before hitting the deck with a Ping-a-ting-a-ling! as it bounced. It was quite satisfying to hit the barrel each time, hearing the Clang! echo back as the sound of the shot echoed across the water. Once he ran out of rounds, Rock looked at Country who was laughing at him.
"What's so funny?"
"Ah've seen that look ah dozen times but it never gits old. You've got stars in yer eyes an' ah smile big as Texas."
"Well, I never thought I'd say this…" Rock looked down at the rifle. He could feel a little heat radiating from the barrel, the smoothness of the stock, the smell of the oil and spent powder. Holding the rifle Rock would normally felt revulsion, like someone had handed him a snake. But now he felt the power that it could put out in 0.308 caliber doses, the respect a gun carried and the responsibility it demanded from its shooter. It was a new feeling for him and it filled him with excitement. "But damn this is fun." Rock said, his smile spreading from ear to ear. Country reached out for his rifle and Rock found himself reluctant to hand it back.
"Ah toldja so. Go 'n' git Revy, Ah'm gonna set somthin' up. Tell her tah bring extra ammo fer her Cutlasses." Rock went below-decks and headed for Revy's cabin. She was lounging on her bunk, long legs propped against the bulkhead, book in one hand and cigarette in the other. Her eyes were far and away to the sands of Lincoln County, New Mexico.
"Hey you." Rock sat down on the bunk next to her, she didn't even move as she was transfixed on her book. He smiled; glad she finally had a pastime that wasn't planning how to kill everyone in the room. She still hadn't moved so Rock decided to try something. Sawyer had told him about a weakness of Revy's and exactly how to exploit it. He placed both hands on either side of her, just above her hips and below the hem of her shirt. Then, without warning and certainly without mercy, he began to tickle her. The effect was instantaneous.
"Ahahaahaha! What're you?!...Noooooooo….stopitstopitstopit! HAHAHAA!" She laughed, her entire body writhing on the bunk, her book dropped from her hands. She tried to roll away from him but he kept after her. She rolled into a ball, trying to hide her stomach from him but she only made herself a stationary target. "Rock!...stopitstopitstopit…Haaahahaaahaha!...Oh I can' breathe! I can' breathe!" He stopped and she lay panting as she caught her breath. He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead in apology.
"Sorry, but your mind was gone off somewhere and I had to get you back somehow."
"Well you didn't have to go and do that." She sat up and picked up her book. "I was at a really good part. They're about to shoot it out with the U.S. Army! How badass is that?!" She said with genuine excitement, her eyes lit up as she told him about the story.
"You're really enjoying this; you've turned into a real bookworm you know…"
"Hey! Shaddap, I'm no bookworm, it's…this story's just…got a really cool plot is all." She turned pink as she fumbled with her words. "I'm just, you know, 'cause I was bored…" He smiled and hugged her, hardly believing she let him hold her like this. A few weeks ago she'd probably given him a black eye for it.
"It's okay. I won't tell anyone what a huge nerd you are." He whispered and got smacked with the book for it.
"You'd better fuckin' not or I'll have to beat the hell outta you. I have a reputation to uphold dumbass."
'And the scary, terrifying Revy is back.' He thought.
"So what're you down here for anyway? I heard shooting earlier."
"Oh that was Country shooting his M14…and I even shot a few rounds."
"You? Shot a gun?" She swung her feet off the bed and rubbed her face like she was trying to clear her mind. "The world really has gone nuts. Well, let's see whatcha can do Mr. Gunslinger."
. . .
"Kick the can? How old are you really Country? Ten, eleven, no, nine?" Revy asked as she, Rock and Country stood on the beach. Country had scrounged around and found three large coffee cans. He'd set them up fifteen yards out, spaced about ten feet apart.
"Mentally ten Ah suppose. Okie-dokie Rock, here's how this works. Yah git one magazine or in mah case, two cylinders so's fair. All yah gotta do is hit tha can as many times as yah can, fast as yah can."
"Well that sounds easy but I've never shot a handgun either."
"Mizz Revy, he's yer pew-pill."
"Okay Rock, Country taught you the rules right?"
"Always assume it's loaded, finger off the trigger until ready to shoot…"
"Yaddah, yaddah, yah got it. Beretta 92FS, 9 by 19 millimeter, 15 in the mag, one in the pipe. Safety an' decocker, slide, mag release, trigger, business end. It's double and single action, so is Country's revolver. You don't have to cock it to fire, just put a round into the chamber, safety off and fire away. This gun will hold open when you're empty. Just drop the mag, new one in, this is your slide release…" Revy showed Rock the whole process of loading, unloading and how to hold the gun. "Don't hold it so tight like that. It's a gun, not your dick. You just have to let it recoil a bit, lighten up and relax." Revy said as Rock's death grip made the gun shake.
"Just line up the back sights on the can, make this an' this one even and settle the front between the back two…and just squeeze the trigger."
BLAM! The recoild surprised him a little and the gun jumped in his hand, the muzzle kicked up and sent the round three feet behind the can.
"Well, yah didn' hit it but sure put tha fear of God in it though. Try 'er again." Country observed. BLAM! A foot to the left. BLAM! An inch low. Rock was getting used to the recoil, it wasn't too bad now and the gun was settling better in his hands. BLAM! Clank! The can flipped around, spinning in the sand.
"Hit it again Rock." Revy said. BLAM! Clank! The can flipped to the left and Rock redjusted. BLAM! BLAM! He missed twice as the can flipped further away. He hit a few more times and the slide locked open as he ran out of ammo. He looked over at Revy and Country, smiling again.
"Hmmm…not back Rock. Looks like yah got…8 outta 15. Okay Mizz Revy, its yer gallery." Revy cracked a grin as she loaded the Cutlass.
"Yo Rock, watch this." She leveled her guns on her coffee can and opened up. Blah-BLAM! Blah-BLAM! Blah-BLAM! True to her namesake, she fired first with her right and followed up with her left. The can was shredded as it bounced around the beach like a cat on a hot tin roof.
"Now that's how it's done!" Revy boasted, tucking her Cutlasses back into their holsters. "Revy Two-Hands! Baddest motherfucker in the South China Sea!"
"W'all tha's true an' all, but Ah ain' gone yet." Country squared off against his can. His body language changed, feet shoulder width apart, hips out, shoulders back with his hands hanging loosely by his gun belt. "Draw you Got-Damned sum-bitch!" He yelled like he was a cowboy on the plains. The Highway Patrolman cleared leather and Country fired two quick one-handed shots from the hip. The can popped straight up and threw sand everywhere. Country shifted to bring his gun up to shoulder height, fired two more with just his right hand and then swapped the gun to his left. He fired two more shots and then switched to his right again. He popped open the cylinder and shook out the empty shells. He dropped six new ones in from a speed loader on his belt and flicked the cylinder closed. Now he shot with both hands, two right handed, two left and then two right again. The can was was perforated with holes and nearly ripped in half.
"That's pretty good Bumpkin." Revy said as Country reloaded and holstered his gun. "But why do you keep switching hands?"
"Gotta be able to shoot jest as well with either hand. What if Ah git pinged in tha arm? That an' Ah trained to have my knife in one hand or be wearin' mah brass knuckles. Can' shoot too well with them on mah right hand, so I gotta learn to shoot lefty."
"Good points." Rock said. "Hey, can I try a few shots from yours?" Country smiled and drew his gun, spinning it around so he held the grip out to Rock.
"Wondered when yah was gonna ask. It's single or double-action like Revy's. Pull back tha hammer an' fire or jest pull tha trigger."
"There's no safety on it?" Rock asked. Country held up his trigger finger.
"This here's yer safety. 'Sides, double action on ah revolver's ah little harder than ah semi-auto. See fer yerself." Rock accepted the gun and was surprised again how heavy one of Country's guns was.
"How do you walk around with this thing strapped to your leg all day? It's heavy as a bowling ball!"
"Carry it long 'nough an' it don' even feel like it's there." Rock initially tried to hold the gun one-handed like Country did. He found his hand and arm shaking too much from the unaccustomed weight. 'Why are Country's guns all so damn heavy?!' he thought, sighting on his coffee can and pulling back the hammer. Ka-BLAM! The gun kicked a lot more than Revy's Beretta but the weight nullified that a little.
"Now try it double-action." Rock started to pull the trigger. It started off easy but he ran into a wall as the hammer began to come back and the cylinder began to turn. "Havin' some trouble there Rock?"
"Ah…a little." Ka-BLAM! As he'd struggled to pull the trigger, his aim went wild and the bullet splashed into the sand.
"Little harder ain' it? Tha's why it don' have ah safety, it don' need one."
"I guess not. Can I finish the cylinder?"
"Knock yerself out." Rock pulled back the hammer and lined up on his can. It felt really cool to be shooting a revolver. It was just like one of the outlaws Revy was reading about in her book.
"I don't know if I like the kick on this one." Rock said as he handed the Patrolman back. "It's a little too much."
"Tha power's worth it tah me. Watch this." Country went to the nearest palm tree and picked up three fallen coconuts. He tossed them down the beach and pulled his gun again. "Yer gonnna like this." Krak-BOOM! Krak-BOOM! Krak-BOOM! Three shots rang out to their left, each like a clap of thunder. The coconuts exploded from the bullets, sending chunks of their husks all over the beach.
"Dutch! Yah darn show-off!" Country said as Dutch laughed and reloaded his S&W 629. "Yah think ah three-fiddy-seven is bad Rock." Country pointed to Dutch. "Then you don' wanna be steppin' in tha ring with ah forty-four magnum. That'll bust yer wrist if yer not careful."
"That sounds like it would be really painful…I think I'm good for today."
"Good choice Rocky." Revy said, putting her arm over Rock's shoulder. "I need your hands to keep working too yah know." She whispered in his ear.
"Ah'm gonna pretend Ah didn' hear that." Country said as he walked up the gangplank. "Y'all crazy weird. Hey Benny, they gonna be here anytime soon?"
"It doesn't look that way." Benny emereged from below-decks. "I just got off the phone with them again and also took a look at the radar. There's a huge storm rolling in between this island and Roanapur. It's going to just miss us, but it IS three hours across."
"I don't feel like fighting through a monsoon storm unless I absolutely have to." Dutch said as he disappeared down a hatch. "And I always come prepared for these occasions." He grinned as he reappeared and plunked down a cooler full of beer on the deck. "Well, work time is officially over for the day. And, as employer, I shall provide refreshments."
"God bless yer heart Dutch." Country said, plunging his hands into the ice for a beer.
. . .
"Hey…Benny."
Yeah…Country."
"Hold mah beer. I wanna try somethin'." Country scouted around and found another 55-gallon drum and loaded it on the depth charge launcher. With no explanation except a drunken and goofy grin, he kicked off his boots, unbuckled his gunbelt and stripped down to shorts and his baseball cap. He hopped onto the drum like it was a park bench and looked back at the rest of the very confused crew. "Alright! Launch me!"
"I don't think that's a good idea…" Rock said.
"It's not ah good idea. It's ah great one! Let's go!"
"Hell, I'll launch you. Let's see if Rednecks really can fly." Revy smirked as she held her hand over the release. "See yah on the moon Bumpkin."
Fwwhhoooosshhhh!
"Yeeeeeee…Haawwww!" Country yelled as the launcher shot him fifty yards out and fifty feet up. There was a splash of water as he came back down, the barrel landing short between him and the boat. For a moment he didn't resurface and everyone wondered if he'd drowned. Then there was a burst of water and Country popped back to the surface.
"Hot damn! That was fun!" He yelled back, smiling from ear to ear. He swam back, pulling the barrel with him and rolled it back on deck. "Who wants tah go next? Y'all gotta try this!"
"Fuck if I'm getting on that thing." Revy said, causing Country's smile to morph to a fox's smirk.
"Rock…target selected. Git 'er!" Country picked up Revy so that she was slung over his shoulder, almost upside down.
"Put me down! Put me down or I'll beat the shit outta you!"
"Rock! Her guns! Quickly now!" Rock grabbed the back of Revy's holster and slipped it off.
"You give those back right now! I'll cut your nuts off if you don't! Rock, are you even listening to me?!"
"Oh, git tha four by four outta yer ass an' have some fun fer ah change." Country plunked Revy down on the barrel and held her arms so she couldn't twist around and slug him. "Benny! Gimme ah countdown!"
"Five, four…"
"No! Please no!"
"Three, two…"
"Let me go! Let me go right now!"
"One. Ingition."
"Fuck you all!" Laughing like a hyena, Benny punched the release, yelling "Liftoff!" Country sprang back as Revy was launched skyward.
"I'mmm…gonna…kill..yoouuu…" Splash! Revy resurfaced, gasping for air and looking mad as hell. She swam back and got on deck, water puddling around her. She looked like a cat that had been forced to take a bath.
"Hey there Drippy. Have ah good swim?" Country laughed.
"Screw off. You." She pointed at Rock.
"Uh-oh. You're in for it now." Benny said; making sure he was out of the way.
"I'll get to you in a moment Benny. You." She pointed at Rock again. "On the barrel…now."
"I'm not a huge fan of thrill rides…" Rock started to back down the deck, away from an irate Revy. He made it only two steps when he felt his feet leave the deck. Someone had picked him up by his belt and the collar of his shirt.
"Ain' nothin' personal Rock." Country said as he carried Rock aft. "But Ah ain' about tah go against ah mad Revy. Up yah git." Country set Rock up on the barrel and called over to Revy. "Fire in tha hole!" Revy punched the release and Rock found himself airborne. Splash! He came back down after flailing through the air and shot to the surface. As he looked back to the boat, he saw Benny being loaded onto a barrel and swam quickly to get out of the line of fire.
"Okay Dutch, yer turn." Country said, loading a barrel.
"It's actually really fun Dutch." Revy said. She'd gotten over her fear of the launcher and had gone four more times. She and Country started down the deck towards Dutch.
"Don't even think about it." Country and Revy stopped; they knew better not to mess with him.
"Oh…fuck it. What the hell?" Dutch stood, kicked off his boots, dropped his gunbelt and slipped off his flak jacket. He walked over to the launcher and sat down on the barrel. "God, I am an idiot. Benny." He put his hand over his sunglasses to they wouldn't fall off. "Fire in the hole."
. . .
"So how are things coming with the Twins?" Dutch asked as we sat on the deck of the Black Lagoon, drip-dryin' in the sun.
"Ah reckon we're makin' good progress. They sure seem happier, gittin' some color in their faces, put on some weight so they don' look like waifs no more."
"Well that's nice." Revy said, not looking up from her book. "So what do they do in their spare time? Skulk around lookin' for souls to steal?"
"Oh hardy-har-har. Nah, mostly they follow me 'round. It's amazin' how intah everythin' they is. Ah'll be tinkerin' with tha B-24 or tha Corsair an' Ah'll look over tha edge of tha wing an' there'll be two sets of blue eyes…jest starin' at me. Ah'll aske 'em 'Whaddya want? Need somethin'?' They'll jest say 'No. We were just wonderin' what you were doin'.' They'll crawl right up on the wing an' watch me work. Then it's jest non-stop questions. 'What's that? What's this? How does this work? Why do you do this that way? Why is this part shaped so funny?' Jest jabber, jabber, jabber. They like hangin' out with Lotton, he's like ah big brother to 'em. He brings over his game system when he watches 'em an' they'll play fer hours. Mizz Shenhuah don' seem too keen on 'em but Ah don' think she likes kids in gen'ral. They git 'long with Mizz Sawyer real well, Ah think tha's why they play tricks an' games with her. She seems to like hangin' out with 'em, they like ah lot of tha same books an' she'll sit readin' with 'em."
"That's all well and good." Dutch broke in again. "But the big question is how are they doing mentally? We aren't going to have to lock them in a barracks or something like that are we? They haven't been violent or anything?"
"Well…yes an' no. See, they like bein' busy an' havin' somethin' tah do. Ah think they've figgered out that bein' idle is their worst enemy. When they're sittin' 'round, their brains git bored an' start playin' tricks on 'em. They're liable tah git real moody, grumpy an' even start givin' me sass. Worst though's been tha flashbacks."
"Oh no." Dutch groaned. "I was afraid of that."
"I think I've heard of those. They can't be all that bad right?" Rock said.
"They can be anywhere from a minor annoyance to a big fuckin' deal." Dutch explained, lookin' like he was gearin' up for ah story. "When you experience something really traumatic, it fucks with your brain. Best way to describe it is an example. In 'Nam we had a Gunnery Sergeant that'd been in Korea. He'd fought at the Battle of The Chosin Resevoir; the Marines there were surrounded and almost overrun. His platoon was holding this ridge and was really low on ammo when Chinese troops attacked, just wave after wave. When their ammo finally ran out, the Gunny and all his guys started using whatever they had on hand as clubs and their hand-to-hand weapons. Logs, their guns, bayonets, hatchets, bipods, entrenching tools…it got ugly. Gunny said that he wasn't sure of the exact number, maybe five, but the official report says that he beat twenty one Chinese soldiers to death with a shovel. Well that night stuck with him in the worst kind of way. Every now and then he'd snap and think he was back in Korea. He'd start running around, screaming orders to the guys in his old unit and it was really bad if he had anything in his hands because he'd start hitting anyone in arm's reach."
"Did he have a trigger, something that'd set him off?" Rock asked, wide-eyed as he tried to imagine killing one person with a shovel, let alone twenty more.
"Whistles, the same one a football ref uses. The Chinese used them to signal their attacks and coordinate their movements, especially in the dark. So, sometimes if he heard a whistle, he'd go nuts."
"Ah've heard 'bout that. There was ah guy in town who'd go off if there was ah loud bang, like ah car backfirin'. He was in tha Battle of Tha Bulge, one of tha guys surrounded at Bastonge. But so far, tha kids don' seem to have anythin' that sets 'em off. Tha most common thing so far is tha nightmares." Jest thinkin' 'bout the subject made me yawn. They'd had one tha other day an' my sleep cycle was still outta wack. "They'll git to screamin' an' hollerin', usually in Romanian. Occasionally they'll even throw punches an' kicks; Hansel clocked me in tha jaw real good last week."
"You know, that really doesn't sound like an improvement to me." Benny said, tryin' to be Mr. Johnny Raincloud.
"C'mon Benny man, cut 'em some slack. You heard all tha shit they've been through. At least they don' torture small animals in tha basement, pull tha wings off butterflies or haven't butchered me, wrapped me in block paper an' stuck me in an icebox."
"When you put it that way, it sounds like they're coming along quite well." Benny conceded, probably imaginin' himself crammed into tha freezer.
"Thing of it is, Ah'm runnin' outta things fer them tah do. Most of tha buildin's are cleaned out an' ready for refittin'. We took the last few truckloads of scrap to tha junkyard tha other week, tha inside of tha house is spotless; y'all could eat off tha floor. That'n Ah can only have 'em mow tha airfield's grass so many times."
"Oh, I'm sure I could find the little twerps something to do." Revy offered as she flipped a page in her book.
"No Mizz Revy, yer not usin' them tah make liquor runs when yer too drunk tah drive to tha store."
"Well never mind, forget I offered."
"Ah was thinkin' about sendin' them to school, but Ah don' think they're ready fer it quite yet." Everyone nodded in agreement, imagining the ways the Twins'd git expelled fer puttin' some poor kid in tha hospital.
"But they need somethin' tah do an' need tha schoolin' so Ah was thinkin' one of us could do tha main stuff like readin', writin' math an' sech."
"So who do you have in mind?" Benny asked. "Rock? I'm sure he'd do well."
"Nope. Not Rock. You Benny."
"Me?!" He pointed to himself with his eyes wider than ah deer's in tha
headlights. "Why me?"
"Well both you an' Rock is purdy smart but there's ah hitch. See, the Twins need some computer time an' skills too, learn how to type an' use the web. Since yer tha only one with ah rig an' don' let no one else touch it…you've volunteered yerself."
"Well, what if I say no?"
"Then that means someone else is gonna hafta touch yer computer. Decisions…decisions, Benny mah man. Ah'm willin' to pay $10 an hour."
"Only $10 an hour? You're gouging me!"
"Do Ah look like Ah'm Scrooge McDuck with ah pool of gold coins tah swim in?"
"I want $20 an hour."
"Yer smokin' crack man. How's $15 an' you git lunch?"
"Free lunch…hmmm…I set the courses, time, assignments and all that right?"
"Ah'm givin' you full artistic license on this. Ah'll expect progress reports of course but yeah, it's yer oyster." Benny looked over at the rest of the crew, mullin' it over. He looked at Rock and asked what he thought.
"You know exactly what I think Benny." Rock said with ah dead serious voice. "Remember when Gretel was on this boat? You and I had our little chat on deck?" Ah wasn't sure what Rock was gittin' at, but it sure did have an effect on Benny. He almost looked ashamed of somethin', like he'd made ah call that had turned out the opposite of what he'd thought. Maybe somethin' about how tha Twins were doomed to never change? Ah don' know, didn' think to ask. But it seemed to solidify whatever thoughts were in Benny's mind.
"Well, I can hardly belive I'm saying this…" He reached over with his hand fer me to shake. "But you've got yourself a tutor Country."
. . .
"Okay you two, I guess I'm going to be your tutor." Benny said, addressing the two beaming faces sitting attentively before him. They were using one of the Quonset huts as a classroom with map reading tables for desks and even had a chalkboard. Benny wasn't quite sure where to begin, so he decided to type up a test for reference. "This is just to see what you do know and give me a starting point. There's no time limit or anything, just work on it best you can." The Twins picked up their freshly sharpened pencils and started writing. After about half an hour, Benny picked up their papers and dismissed them for the day, no point in doing too much at once. As Benny started going over the tests, he realized that he may have gotten in for more than he bargained for. Benny looked over his notes of what the Twins already knew again to see if there was anything he had missed:
· Literature = Narrow, interested in horror / thriller.
· History = Zero
· Philosphy = Zip
· Astronomy = Zilch
· Computers = Can't even turn it on
· Politics / Social Studies / Current Events = Nada
· Chemistry / Physics = Primitive at best (Explosives do not count!)
· Mathematics = Can add, subtract, multiply and divide…barely
· Anatomy / Physiology = Profound and practical
· Biology = Limited
· English (Lang.) = Mastered
· English (Writ.) = Needs improvement, penmanship looks like they write with their feet
· Reading Comp. = Adequate. Recommend continuing reading sessions with Sawyer and Country
· Misc. and Notes = Knowledge of firearms is impressive, fighting and tactics as well. Physical education pointless, exceptionally strong for age. Intelligent, cunning, resourceful, can be manipulative. Recommend emphasis on history, math, writing, chemistry / physics and social studies / current events. Reading Comp., philosophy and literature will improve with time. Not bothering with bio, astronomy or anatomy. Will have to start computer work ASAP.
"Oh man this is going to be a lot of work." Benny said, looking over the results. "I didn't realize just how lacking they were. Then again, for never having gone to school, this isn't a bad starting point. Well, best get something drawn up for tomorrow. Something easy to start; maybe penmanship so I don't have to interpret everything they write."
. . .
"So how is things comin' 'long with tha Twins?" Country asked from underneath his truck. "It's been ah good month."
"Pretty good, after two days of practice, I could actually read their handwriting." Benny said as he gave his progress report. "Their math skills picked up quickly, I'm just doing addition, subtraction, multiplication and division…maybe some very basic algebra if they feel up to it."
"W'all tha's good. I knew they was smart. Anythin' they're enjoyin' in particular?"
"They really like history, math they're not so keen on. Chemistry has been interesting, they like practical applications and it seems like conceptual lessons bore them."
"Of course, kids always like doin' stuff with their hands. Its easier fer them tah understand. Hand me the five eighths wrench please." A grease-stained hand appeared from under the truck and Benny placed the wrench in it. "Ah never should've tried goin' over that barricade. It bashed tha hell outta mah oil pan an' it's been leakin' ah quart a day. Tell Dutch that was tha last time we ever do tha Sicilians ah favor. Anyhow. So things are goin' good overall?"
"Yes, I think so. Jane has been helping too when we go out on jobs and she has started them on her laptop. They picked up on typing and using the computer pretty quickly. I'm even considering asking them if they'd be interested in programming."
"Now that'd be interestin'. It's all black magic tah me how computers work, but maybe they can make sense of it. Maybe even git 'em ah job someday." Country rolled back on his creeper and looked up at Benny. "Yer doin' ah good thing yah know. Don' forget that education an' havin' ah future is what's gonna really save those kids. Oh, Ah asked Rock tha other day what he meant about 'yer talk on tha boat when Gretel was on it'."
"Oh you did? What did he say?"
"Told me that you didn' put much stock in tha Twins. Whaddya think now?" Benny stood quietly for a minute, leaning against the truck and looked at the house. Hansel and Gretel were eating their lunch on the porch and flipping through a worn history book about the Romans. In the few months they had been staying with Lagoon, the transformation seemed incredible to Benny. They were much better behaved, had less nightmares, violent tendencies had diminished and their interest in new subjects and learning was astonishing. There were still bad days, nightmares and flashbacks. Nothing too serious had happened, just minor setbacks. Benny hadn't thought it possible, but there they were; eating peanut butter and banana sandwiches, reading about Roman aqueducts and laughing like normal kids that had grown up in a normal house with a normal mom, normal dad, a dog and white picket fence. Having nine criminals as their role models may not be an ideal situation but it somehow seemed to be working.
"I'm…well, I don't know how to say it. I guess I'm having crow for dinner tonight." Benny admitted. "I certainly wouldn't have bet on them a month ago." He remembered what he'd said to Rock, feeling guilty for having been so cynical. 'If someone was just a little bit kinder, those kids would have come and gone to school, made friends…talk about eating your words. No point on dwelling on it though.' He thought. "So what're you going to do for the rest of the day once you finish up here? We're going to start into the Middle Ages after lunch."
"Goin' out to hunt up some food. Our budget is shot 'cause of work bein' slack an' we've ran outta meat. Unless we git some work an' soon, we're gonna have issues. Ah sure don' wanna see anyone, 'specially tha kids, goin' hungry." Country crawled out from under his truck and dusted himself off. "Ah'm glad yer doin' this Benny, Ah really am. You got ah real knack fer this sorta thing…yer ah good man."
"Well…thanks I guess. Anyway, I'm going to start class again. Good luck hunting."
. . .
"Rock, must yah tramp about like an' elephant?" I asked as we walked off the road into tha woods.
"Oh, sorry. Am I really that noisy?" Rock asked, looking down at his feet and the first pair of boots he'd ever worn…and the first pair of jeans he'd ever worn too. Dutch had disappeared as was his usual habit, Revy was at the Church playin' cards with Eda, Benny an' Jane were holdin' class and I was not goin' huntin' by myself with Mr. Lin's Rascals out and about. So Rock found himself in the jungle with a shotgun, followin' me in tha search for somethin' called ah Sambar deer I'd read 'bout in tha paper.
"Pick yer feet up when yah walk." I said.
"I am. How else could I walk?"
"No, like this." I demonstrated, lifting my feet a foot off the ground with each step. "Put yer feet down softly, heel first an' roll it forward. That way yah can feel sticks an' what-not under yer feet."
"Oh, okay. Sorry about that."
"An' do yah haftah yell?" I asked as we continued into tha woods. Rock was talkin' like he would back at tha airfield. Normal conversin' is akin tah yellin' in tha woods.
"I'm not yelling!" Rock practically hollered in mah ear.
"Will you please whisper then? Jest humor me."
"Really? I am whispering."
"No, yah ain't. Stand there an' face tha other way." I said an' started walkin' away so I could prove mah point. I got 'bout ah hundred yards away an' asked Rock if he could hear me.
"I can hear you perfectly." He damn near shouted.
"Turn around." He did an' looked surprised by how far away I was. "Sound carries much farther in the woods an' there isn't as much background noise tah interfere with it. So does smell too. Ah can smell lit cigarettes ah hundred yards out, two if tha wind is right."
"Sorry, I didn't know." Rock finally said at an acceptable volume. "I'm not really an outdoors kind of guy."
"Tha's fine, you'll pick up quick. Follow me an' step where Ah step." Rock nodded an' we continued into tha jungle.
. . .
Rock certainly was not an outdoors type of guy. After walking for a few hundred yards, his calves started to smart from the new way of walking. It was an exercise in concentration for him, making every step quiet and trying to stay in Country's boot prints despite their marked difference in stride. It was very humid out with little breeze filtering down and Rock found himself sweating. It was dark in the forest with the thick canopy blocking most of the sunlight. Flies and mosquitoes buzzed around his head, singing in his ears. Slapping at them became too frustrating and he just tried to ignore them like Country did. Country was slipping through the forest like he lived there, moving softly through thickets, over hills and under low limbs. His movements were slow, deliberate and no more than what was necessary. He had his M14 held low, scanning in a wide arc for deer. Rock had a Winchester M97 shotgun on his shoulder and it felt like the sling was digging into his flesh. He shifted the sling on his shoulder, trying to readjust the unaccustomed weight. He hadn't planned on using the gun, but since Country had brought it along and offered, he decided he might as well carry it.
"Hold up. This is ah good spot." Country stopped at the top of a small rise that overlooked a creek and a clearing on either side of it. "We'll sit here for ah bit an' see what we can see." Rock and Country sat down just below the crest of the hill so they wouldn't be silhouetted but could still see behind them.
"So you really like hunting huh?" Rock asked as they scanned the woods for movement.
"Yep, one of mah fav'rite things tah do." Country said, sitting at the base of a tree with his rifle across his lap. "Always nice tah git outside an' back tah nature."
"It is nice out, really quiet…really, really quiet." Rock observed as his ears started buzzing lightly as they strained to pick up any background noise. "So why do you like it, hunting?"
"Well, there's tha obvious which is food, so Ah can feed mahself an' all y'all. That's 'specially relevant when we're hard up on money like we is now. There's tha peace an' quiet an' gittin' away from the noise an' bustle even if jest fer a little while. That an' Ah can jest sit an' think an' enjoy tha wonder of Mother Earth."
"That's a lot of reasons. I only heard food once though; it's not all about killing something then? I'm sorry if this sounds weird, but there aren't a lot of people who hunt in Japan."
"There's ah difference 'tween huntin' an' killin'. Huntin' is takin' only whatcha need an' only when yah need it, not wastin' meat, an' makin' sure tha animal don' suffer. Fer me, Ah don' hafta shoot somethin' tah have ah good day huntin'. Some guys will git all bent outta shape if they don' git ah deer durin' season. Ah could not shoot at ah deer but if Ah watched two squirrels chasing each other, or see ah coyote, maybe have ah hawk land in tha same tree as me or even jest watch tha snow fall in muzzle loader season an' listen to tha silence of tha world fer ah few hours, then it wasn't ah wasted day."
"It sounds idyllic when you put it that way. What's killing though?"
"Killin' is jest shootin' somethin' tah watch it die. From what you've told me 'bout her, tha's what Revy did ah lot of 'fore you came 'long."
"Yeah, she's, well…had a lot of problems. Certainly not an easy life from what she has told me."
"Understatement of tha century. Ah was talkin' tah Dutch an' he mentioned somethin' called Whitman Fever. He said usually when ah new crew member comes on board, she takes ah loony fit an' shoots everyone in her sights. He said she didn' when Ah showed up, very unusual he said." Country took a drink from the canteen he had on his gunbelt and held it out. Rock took a drink of water and replied.
"That is true, now that I think about it. I wonder why?"
"Ah think it's 'cause of you buckaroo. Yer like her counterbalance; keepin' her sane. How's things goin' with you two anyhow?"
"We're doing well, as well as we can anyway. She still has days where she has trouble holding herself together and seems afraid that any moment I'm going to say it was a joke and abandon her."
"So, she's afraid yer gonna up an' leave? Why am Ah not surprised? Ah think you two is gonna turn out fine though. She's real loyal to those she cares about, seems you are too an' you two certainly give ah shit 'bout each other." Country took back the canteen and replaced into its pouch. "At tha very least yah finally got that sexual tension outta tha way. Was so thick Ah'd need tah borrow Mizz Sawyer's chainsaw tah git through it."
"Was it really that bad?"
"Mah God man, you look at her like ah daisy dropped intah ah hog waller an' she looks at you like ah shipwrecked sailor looks at an' island after driftin' at sea fer two weeks."
"Well that's not the way I would have put it…"
"Then how wouldja?"
"Well, I would say…" Rock choked down a laugh to avoid making noise. "It's like how you look at Sawyer." Country looked over at Rock and grinned sheepishly.
"So yah picked up on that huh? She's ah treat ain' she?"
"I dunno; she's real nice but kind of weird. She doesn't talk much, dresses really dark and, well, you do know what she does for a living right?"
"It's always tha quiet ones that're interestin'. Jest because they don' say much don' mean they ain' got nothin' tah say. S'far as dressin' dark, eh, it's her style an' it don' look half bad if yah ask me." Country paused for a moment to look behind him back up the hill. "An' yeah, Ah know what she does fer ah livin'. Ah don' mind none, it's ah hell of a lot better than some other jobs ah girl like her could be doin' in Roanapur. Far as Ah know, she ain' had tah sell her body or work fer that damn pervert Rowan. Even Revy worked fer him once didn' she?"
"Yeah, as a dancer in the S&M show." Rock wasn't sure how he felt about that. He just figured it was what it was and nothing more.
"Maybe Revy'll dance fer yah if yah ask real nice." Country snickered. "Anyhow, Mizz Sawyer's got ah good, steady job she does well an' seems tah enjoy doin'. Ah'm sure she's got ah suitcase full of issues, but who here in this city don't?"
"Amen to that. So do you like her, like her, or is it just a passing thing?"
"Ah dunno." Country shifted uncomfortably at his tree. "Maybe Ah do, guess we'd hafta git better acquainted first, outside of work. Know what Ah mean? She can git talkin' quite ah bit when yah git her wound up an'…oh here we go Rock." Country dropped his voice to a tiny whisp of sound as what must have been a Sambar deer slipped out of a thicket to the left about fifty yards out. It reminded Rock of the deer back in Japan, but it was about twice as large and covered with shaggy, dark hair. It had black antlers at least two feet tall and as thick as Rock's wrist at their base. It didn't seem to notice him and Country and just sauntered nonchalantly to the stream. Country started to bring his rifle up, but stopped and looked over at Rock.
"You wanna take him?" Country asked as the deer ambled about, sniffing at something on the river bank.
"Me? Oh, I, uh…well…" Rock wavered. He'd shot a gun just a month ago for the first time and that was an experience to say the least. But shoot a deer? That was asking a bit much wasn't it? "I don't know Country, are you sure?"
"Yeah Ah'm sure. You can do it, Ah got faith in yah." Country lowered his rifle and slowly slid over to Rock. "Yer gun is loaded up with slugs so you'll hafta aim real careful." Rock hefted the shotgun and lined up the bead sight on the deer. It was only 50 yards away but in Rock's mind it may as well have been a mile. "Okay, see where his leg joins tha torso an' tha little pocket there? Tha's his heart, put tha bead there. Don' forget tah pull yer hammer back." Rock adjusted his aim and pulled the hammer back, feeling it click in place. His body was tingling, his heart had climbed from his chest into his throat and was fluttering a thousand beats a minute, he adjusted his grip on the shotgun, trying to settle down and get his breathing under control.
"Don' over think it man. If yah don' wanna shoot, jest say so. If yer gonna shoot, breathe real slow an' remember tah squeeze tha trigger." Rock managed to slow his breathing and thought about what he was about to do. His first thought was that it would be killing and how wrong it was. Taking the life of this animal would be a significant first to say the least. But they did need the food, having eaten the last store bought meat the day before. Lagoon had hit a dry spell of work, so their money was low and thus their food was low too. Revy ordering take-out and pizza all the time when it was her turn to cook hadn't helped and now the freezer was as empty as their wallets. The deer was massive, at least two hundred pounds and would feed everyone for months. Besides, it wasn't like shooting a deer was going to turn him into a mass murderer or anything. He'd fished a few times off the Black Lagoon while they were waiting for clients and hadn't felt bad about it. Was the fishing rod really any different from the shotgun in that respect? Rock supposed not. As he slowly came to a conclusion, his stomach growled. "Well, I know what you think." Rock thought to his stomach. He adjusted again, sighting on the Sambar's heart, emptied his lungs and fired.
The recoil of the shotgun was much greater than the rifle and Rock felt his shoulder bruise at the shot. The deer jumped straight up, kicking out its back legs and then took off through the , Rock clumsily pumped out the spent round and chambered a new one. He stood up to follow the deer but Country pulled him back down by his belt.
"Don' be runnin' off jest yet. If yah go now, you'll spook it an' it'll keep runnin' clear to tha mainland. 'Sides yer all shakes an' yer liable to blow yer foot off wigglin' like that. Jest settle fer ah minute an' let him go an' lay down. Yah made ah real good shot, he ain' gonna go far." Country smiled at Rock as he sat down, breathing like he'd run a marathon. "So how do yah feel?"
"Oh, oh God, I feel, whew!" Rock sputtered, as his heart continued to race. "I feel a little bad about it, but whoa, I didn't know hunting was this exciting."
"It's called 'Buck Fever' man an' you've got it purdy good. Far as feelin' bad, yah should. You did jest kill somethin' so yah should feel at least ah little bad. But yer helpin' control tha population, did ah good, clean kill an' we're gonna use as much of that deer as we can." Country looked down at his watch and stood up. "Okay, that'll be long 'nough. Let's go find dinner." They walked to where the deer had been standing when Rock shot and found a few clumps of dark fur and a splatter of blood on the bushes. The deer was easy to track; blood had fallen in palm sized drops about every foot. It was bright pink and bubbly, Country said Rock had probably shot a tad high and hit the lungs, still a good, quick and fatal shot. Rock took the lead and followed the blood through the trees, occasionally looking up to survey his surroundings and look for the deer. It had only gone about sixty yards through the underbrush and they found it in no time. Rock approached the deer from behind as Country had instructed and jabbed the deer with the barrel of his shotgun. It didn't so much as twitch.
"There he is. Good work Rock. How do yah feel?"
"Pretty good, I'm good. So…now what?" Country smiled and leaned his rifle against a tree. He drew the eight inch knife from his belt, the blade shimmering in the sun and held it out to Rock.
"Now shootin's tha easy part. Here comes tha work."
"What're we going to do?"
"Is no we. You. Yer gonna gut."
. . .
"At least yah only threw up once." Country said as they drove back to the airfield. "Ah've seen people who couldn't even finish tha job once they made that first cut."
"Right…I can see why." Rock said, still a tad light-headed. He'd taken Country's knife, thinking 'How hard could gutting a deer be?' and made the first cut through the deer's abdomen. The sight of the inner workings wasn't what had pushed him over, it was the smell. A wave of blood, intestinal tract and stale air from the lungs washed over him and he threw up his breakfast and then some. Country took pity on him and did most of the work but left the major cuts for Rock. They'd cut everything free from the heart and lungs all the way down to the entire digestive system. They'd then flipped the deer over so everything would fall out and some blood would drain. Then, Country took some rope and hooked the deer's front legs around its head and they took turns dragging it back to the truck. A passing jeep from Hotel Moscow stopped when they saw Rock and Country trying to load the deer into the truck bed. The soldiers agreed to help them load it on one condition: they wanted pictures. They took turns posing with Rock's deer, holding first the M14 and then the Winchester M97, holding the antlers up and a few more poses. They said some of them had family abroad and wanted to send them pictures that looked like they were off having adventures. Rock and Country were more than happy to oblige.
"Haaallllloooooooo in tha home!" Country called as he stopped the truck next to a tree in front of the house. "We're back!" The Twins shot out the front door and down the porch, Benny and Jane were right behind them. A window on the second floor opened up and Revy leaned out of it, still half-drunk from her poker game.
"What tha hell is you yellin' about yah damn hick?!" Revy asked, drunkenly rubbing her face. "Some people are tryin' to sleep off hangovers!"
"Rock shot us food! Two hundred pounds of it!"
"Shot food? What're you talking about?"
"C'mon down an' see!" Revy disappeared from the window and reappeared out front, her eyes still hazy.
"What the hell are you going on about…" She asked as she rounded the truck and looked into the bed. "Oh. My. God." Revy gasped as she saw the deer in the truck and looked over at Rock. "You shot this?"
"Yep." Rock said, smiling and hiking the shotgun up his shoulder. "And I only threw up once when we gutted it. But yeah, I mean, we needed the meat so…tah-dah?" He said; standing with his arms held out like the deer was a Christmas present. Revy looked at Rock for a moment like he had gone crazy but started to laugh.
"Oh Rock, what am I going to do with you?" She said, putting her arm around him. "First you start shooting and now you're hunting, what's next?"
"He's gonna go to tha garage an' git tha winch, its chain an' ah ladder is what's next." Country said as he handed the Hansel the guns and asked Gretel to get the camera so they could commemorate the moment. Rock got the items from the garage and Country backed up the truck to the tree. He said they had to let the deer hang for a bit and the rest of the blood drain out. They secured the deer with rope, tied the rope to the chain and used the winch to hoist the deer up and out of the truck. Then Gretel came back with the camera.
"Okay, say cheese!" Gretel said and the shutter clicked. Rock was standing next to the deer, shotgun in hand and beaming proudly. The picture printed out and Gretel shook it a few times before handing it to Rock. "Here you go Rock! One trophy photo. Now, there is a photographer's fee you know."
"Oh really? And how much is that?"
"One venison steak per photo."
. . .
Dutch waved goodbye to his ride and walked through the airport gate as the motorcyclist roared away. It had been a productive afternoon and there was only one thing that could make it better. Grrrooowwllll… his stomach complained.
'Man I'm hungry.' He thought, rubbing his stomach. 'I sure hope someone was able to find something to eat. I really don't want to wait around fishing for another hour.' As he walked down the road along the runway, his nose picked up a powerful odor. It wafted through the air and pulled on him, drawing him to the house. The first thing he noticed was the deer hanging in the tree with a lower leg missing.
"What in the hell is that doing here?" He said, wondering where the two-hundred pound deer had appeared from. He followed the smell around the back of the house, it grew stronger and potent.
"Dutch! Where yah been?" Country asked, hacking off a piece of meat from the roasting leg. "Oh, Benny an' Ah welded this up, looks good huh?" Country pointed at the grill behind him, a 55-gallon drum on its side, a quarter cut away, a rod run through a hole at the base and top that skewered the deer's leg and four supports holding it up. Charcoal and cooking rocks glowed cherry red in the bottom of the barrel. Country held out a chunk of meat on the end of his knife to Dutch. He took it and ate. Immediately his stomach clamored for more.
"And who do I thank for this?" Dutch asked as Rock raised his hand, mouth full of food. "You Rock?" Dutch shook his head and laughed as he accepted a beer from Benny. "I'm not surprised by anything anymore and you know what? I don't even care." He cut himself a chunk off the leg and sat down at the table. "So, tell me Deerslayer, how did you bag the big one?"
. . .
I find that when I'm writing the main parts of the story, I get little ideas for other things that could be happening in the breaks between the action. This chapter had a few of those ideas in it. Doing a chapter where there isn't any big shootouts or explosions was new but it was fun to do, relaxing almost. Do not worry though, the fighting isn't over yet! As always, I hope that you give me your thoughts and continue reading! Ah, it's good to be back.