Ron's Worst Nightmares

Last Caress

By Pat Squared

WARNING: NOT POLITICALLY CORRECT
Vasilii Boiarskii found other reason to hate the shits.

Looking through his USMC-issued Steiner 8 x 60mm field glasses, he noted that the local militiamen were taking a break and smoking the local version of cannabis.

Effing druggies – What kind of fucked up dip-shit smokes pot and yet can't have a single drop of anything good to drink?

He hated them. He hated the fact that they did not take the business of hunting down the great Vasilii Boiarskii with great seriousness.

Vasilii did not kind whether to be offended by the slight or be honored by the fact that they had to smoke the rope to gather the courage to face him.

Did they think that because Boiarskii was just one guy, that they would have an easy time hunting him down. He was not an effing dik-dik (miniature African deer) or cockroach to be snares by little lengths of twine. God Almighty and the United State Marine Corps had anointed Private Boiarskii with thee talent and skill to terminate a human life at five hundred meters.

They were only two hundred fifty meters away. It would be a tough head shot, but here in Africa a chest shot was just as fatal.

The Shits, or as Vasilii personally dubbed the Sudanese, especially the militia were smoking the rope like spies did in the movies before they were taken out to the firing squad.

Too bad I don't have any effing blind folds today, but it does not really matter.

The hard part for Vasilii was choosing the first Shit to exterminate.

The leader or the guy carrying the Ruchnoy Pulemyot Degtyreva.

The choice was easy. The RPD was the only real threat. The locals waved around AK-47's like shamans waving around their magic sticks.

Vasilii's inner demons twisted the lyrics of an old Misfits song.

I got something to say;

I gut your poppa today;

It don't matter;

As long as he's dead;

I got something to say;

I'll kill 'lil Junior today;

It doesn't matter;

As long as you're dead;

Sweet lovely death;

Waiting for more flesh;

Sweet lovely death;

They've one last caress.

Killing never felt so right.

Many men have wasted their lives seeking their purpose in life. Not Vasilii. Vasilii was born, bred, and trained as a perfect killing machine. Otherwise, how would god almighty justify the crap that Vasilii endured.

God had the KGB second directorate separate him from his family so that they did not soften him with love.

God had sent him to the Stoppable family so that Mr. and Mrs. Stoppable can instill the demons of anger and toughen him up to pain.

God hooked him up with the red-head bitch so that he would be in position to be touched by the mystical monkey powers. The bitch taught Vasilii that soft flesh was not to be trusted. While soft flesh can be extremely pleasurable, that it was there to be uses and then throw away before it became a liability. He may one day bred with a bitch, but he would never allow one to come so close to his heart.

God had him bump into the Marine recruiter so that he could go throughout God's cursed earth as God's avatar of vengeance.

When he returned, Vasilii vowed to become the perfect killing machine. Even if he did not earn a medal, the Corps would not deny him a chance at Marine Recon. Between the Corps, the ninja school at Yamanouchi Mountain, and his life experience, Vasilii Boiarskii would have the skills to teach the world what evil truly was.

All he had to do was earn his slot by killing the dozen or so shits in front of him.

Maybe then one day, he would show the red-head bitch what rape truly was like.

Somewhere inside Ron Stoppable was pretending that he was still the good boy.

Ron Stoppable ... Weak, pathetic, almost as pitiful as a slug just before you pour salt on its body.

Ron Stoppable could not destroy him.

Ron Stoppable needed Vasilii Boiarskii as much as Vasilii Boiarskii needed Ron Stoppable.

Vasilii Boiarskii was the embodiment of all the qualities that made mankind the pinnacle of nature. Kill or be killed. Fight, Win, Prevail, and then slay your opponents. Ron Stoppable was the construct of a society that was unworthy of having Vasilii in their midst. He was the collective that weaken the will. Ron Stoppable was the sheepskin that Vasilii the Wolf wore as not to spook the flock.

For the past seventeen years, Ron Stoppable held Vasilii back. He learned to be the whipping boy. Now it was Vasilii's time to dominate the body they shared. He would be a whipping boy no more.

Vasilii lined up the crosshairs and started breathing as the marksmanship instructors taught him a lifetime ago at San Diego. Lovingly he caressed the trigger. Four muscles ... three and a half pounds ... Breathe ... Relax ... Aim ... Sight ... Squeeze

Bang.

Vasilii stop thinking and went on autopilot. His body was performing the tasks as Vasilii's consciousness took in the lovely grey and pink mist. A perfect head shot … fitting proof the he was doing God's work.

Already the body was lining up another object lesson on why one should not be high in the middle of a combat zone. This time it would be a chest shot.

Bang.

Vasilii could felt the slap of the bullet entering the target's torso. It was a sound that no civilian could ever appreciate.

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

Three more object lessons fell to the dusty earth.

They were waving around their AK's like magic wands, hitting everything but Vasilii Boiarskii.

Boiarskii dashed leading the survivors on a chase. He carefully stepped over the trip wire that he prepared half an hour ago.

The claymore finished the chase. Vasilii heard that there were six hundred sixty six steel ball bearings in a claymore mine. 666 – The number of the beast ... The number of Vasilii Boiarskii.

Vasilii went to view his handiwork. One of the shit's had an interesting weapon. It was an AKS-74U. Use by Russian Spetsnaz, or Special Forces unit, it was a submachine gun using assault rifle ammunition. It was the favorite weapon of Osama bin Laden, and the perfect answer to Vasilii's need for a close in weapon. The Shit did not need it anymore. One of Vasilii's match grade 30-caliber bullets top the skull ensured that point.

Vasilii searched the bodies. Other than three topped off magazines for the AKS-74U. There was nothing else that he or intelligence could use.

Vasilii took in a deep breath, taking in the now familiar coopery order of spilled blood. He reached into the chest pocket of his BDU's and took out a pencil and a green notebook. Like all good Marines, he immediately wrote up an after action report ... no opinions, just the facts about the ambush and the outcome.

"Oh ... Shut up Ron."

Ron was trying to throw up. Weak, pitiful, but necessary Ron. He soon will learn to leave the hard decisions up to Vasilii. It was easier that way for the both of them.