Blood, Bullets, and Broccoli: Issue #7
Welcome Back Killstache
Combat Log# 7
Saturday: 0300hrs.
Mustache: Muscular
Note to self: Get mole checked
Bulk Barn: Cashews. Chick pea pasta. Almond flower.
Mood: Never Going to Give You Up.
It’s late, or is it early? I’ve been up since midnight sitting by the window gazing up at the moon questioning life and everything in it. A real, hello God, it’s me Remington moment. Really, the moon gets it’s power from the sun reflecting off its stupid face. I shout out the window, “You don’t fool me moon. You show off. You big phony.”
“Caw. You’re not really angry at the moon, Remington,” a black silky raven says. Sitting beside me on the window sill drinking from a glass of fifty year old Glenfiddich the raven says, “Caaw. You’re projecting.”
I say, “You’re right. I’m not mad at the moon. It’s about Charlie and his idiotic powers. I’m feeling inadequate for the first time and it’s pissing me off.”
The raven says, “Click clack cluck quork. Caw! Caw!”
I laugh and say, “Absolutely.”
Because Nomad Division trains ravens to speak multiple languages the agents are trained to be fluent in their language. Mostly clicks and clacks and caws. The hardest part is getting the phonetics just right. It’s an ugly language. Nomad Division sent the raven. Code name: Melvin. I suspect the top brass is checking to see if I’m fit for duty. To make sure my mustache is growing in on schedule. Let’s just say if they were handing out awards for most muscular mustache, I’d win. She’s a thing of beauty. Thick. Soft. A natural shine.
Surely Melvin is bugged and ordered to report back to Central. The raven’s devotion is legendary so there’s no use in trying to reason with him. What I say and do will be recorded and sent back to Central and if I try to interfere with his mission that will also be documented. Nomad Division techs literally train the parasites living on the ravens to communicate as a backup just in case a raven’s loyalty is compromised. Nomad Division has enough of my life already. They’re not exactly the most trusting group of people on the planet. So jokes on them, I’ve put a fast acting antiparasitic in Melvin’s drink. Melvin is pretty hammered. Ravens might be smart but they’re infamously light weights when it comes to booze.
“It’s almost time, Remington,” the voice from the mustache says.
“I know, Judith.” Staring up at the moon I say, “I’m trying to enjoy the calm before the inevitable storm.”
Judith says, “Are you sure you want to do this? There’s still time to back out.”
Melvin looks my way. He’s either preparing to throw up or anticipating my answer. Melvin dips his beak into the Scotch and then a bowl of peanuts with one eye focused on me.
I say, “There’s something sinister happening in Williamstown and I can’t sit back and watch it happen, and if I’m going to get involved I need resources. Plus, I’m double dipping as a contractor and with my pension it’s worth the stretch. I’ll be able to afford a backsplash for the kitchen finally. I just replaced the hot water tank. The truck needs new shocks and struts. Home ownership is a bitch. My entire career I lived out of hotels and foreign prisons and never had to worry about foundation cracks or landscaping. How in the hell do you put up a ceiling fan?”
Judith says, “I need final confirmation Ian.”
I pause and say, “I missed you baby. Let’s rock and roll.”
Judith says, “I’ll proceed with the final link.”
Melvin is making a mess of the peanuts. He’s pecking the window trying to pick up a nut and chipping the paint. I reach over and close the window so Melvin doesn’t fall out. Something catches my eye. Two shadows moving below. I have a two story house, and the shadows haven’t noticed me sitting up in the window. Even with the idiotic moon giving away my location. Rookie mistake. I slowly draw the curtains just enough for me to peek through the slit. The shadows are smoking cigarettes. Two more shadows appear smoking cigarettes. What’s with bad dudes and cigarettes. They can’t get enough of them. Two more shadows show up smoking cigarettes and finally three more, which are, you guessed it, smoking cigarettes.
I say, “That makes nine. Should be a fair fight.”
Judith says, “They’re trying to infiltrate your home, Remington. Heat signatures show four more bodies just inside the property line. Infrared detects automatic weapons. For now, my scan radius is only twenty meters so there could be more. Ten minutes until I’m fully operational. You can’t take them all on without my help.”
“Wanna see me try?” I say.
Melvin says, “Caw. Let me out, Remington. Caw. I’ll peck their faces off. Click clack.”
“Melvin. You’re hammered, man. You couldn’t peck your own pecker right now. Just chill out here.”
I grab my cell phone and text Charlie.
ME: Charlie, Level 10 situation here.
…..
Charlie: What’s a Level 10 again?
ME: Multiple targets infiltrating my house with dangerous intent.
…..
Charlie: Dude, I’m in the bath smoking a big doobie. I’ve used that lavender bath bomb you suggested and I’m in total relaxation mode. I couldn’t move even if I wanted to, dude.
I throw the phone on the bed and say, “Goddamn, Charlie. Something tells me this has something to do with you.”
Judtih says, “Seven minutes until I’m fully operational.”
I open my closet door and push my clothes to the side revealing a pin pad. I type in my security code, (Nice try. I’m not that stupid.) Another door slides open with military grade Kevlar body armor inside.
Judith, my combat mustache announces, “All targets have surrounded the premises.”
I go into the bathroom and open the medicine cabinet. Another pin pad. I punch in a code and the whole medicine cabinet flips up. Inside are knives and explosives. I strap a big fuck you knife to each leg and one to each arm. I take six grenades, three blinding and three explosive and clip them to the front of my Kevlar vest. Next I go to the spare room and open the door. Behind that door is another metal door with hand print and optic identification. I place my hand on the computer pad and look through the peephole for an optic scan. The door beeps, clicks and then opens. On the wall to the left is every type of shotgun lined up and secured on a vertical gun rack. The next wall has two AK-47’s an AK-103, two M16’s, an AUG, FN SCAR, three MP5’s, an UZI, FN P90, MP7 and a UMP. Two Barrett M82 .50 caliber sniper rifles and an AS50 sniper rifle. Four different types of bazookas sit on a display rack that hangs from the ceiling with puck lights highlighting each one. Beside the bazookas are two flame throwers each connected to a cylinder pack you strap to your back. On steel shelves are metal boomerangs with a razor sharp edge. Throwing stars. Nun Chucks. In the corner a large metal rack exhibits a jet pack with spot lights above. There’s a wardrobe filled with hand guns, mostly Magnums and a Desert Eagle .50. There’s multiple cabinets lined along the last wall with every type of ammo you can imagine. Some legal, some experimental.
“Remington,” Judith says, “five minutes until fully operational.”
I slip two Magnum .44’s, one in each side of my shoulder holster. I throw an AK-47 over one shoulder and a FN SCAR over the other. A window shatters downstairs. I turn to leave but stop and walk back to grab a rocket launcher with a shark face at the end.
I say, “Ok, ready.”
Judith says, “Four minutes until fully operational.”
“Oh, shit,” I say, running back into the bedroom. “I almost forgot.” On my beside table is a pair of sunglasses. Standard issue designed for nighttime assault. A more practicable night vision substitute instead of the bulky kind you see in action movies. And they look super cool. Nomad Division is sponsored by Oakley Military Research and Development.
I put the sunglasses on and say, “Down boy!” Making a snapping sound and pretending to whip my erection.
“Three minutes, Remington,” the voice says.
I say, “Okay, Melvin, hang out in here, bud. Have a nap, keep drinking, but no matter what you hear, stay in this room.”
Sitting on my bed Melvin says, “Click, clack. You be careful Ian.” I wink, and give him the guns with my fingers and Melvin throws up on my pillow. I close the door to the bedroom and walk downstairs ready to have a conversation with fists and bullets.
“Two minutes, Remington,” Judith says.
When I get to the bottom of the stairs four shadows surround me.
“What are you assholes doing here?” I say. “You’re trespassing.”
The shadows are dressed in black and wearing balaclavas. One of them says, “We want him.”
I say, “I knew it. Charlie, you bastard.”
A different shadow says, “Where is he? We know you have him here.”
I say, “Best if you guys turn around and get the hell out of here. I’d say you have about one minute before I lose my patients.”
“One minute until the link is complete Remington,” Judith says.
“And there you are gentlemen. You have exactly one minute to skedaddle. After that I’m not going to be so understanding.”
The shadows laugh and then the eye holes in their balaclavas begin to glow.
I say, “Where we at on time?”
No response from my combat mustache, Judith.
Five more shadows walk in with white light shooting out the eye holes and a white mist forming around their fists. The group of shadows spewing white light walk toward me. I back up shouting, “What time we at?” Five more shadows join. White light pours out from their mouths. The group reaches for me and I hear a crisp hi-resolution woman’s voice say, “I’m back online Ian. Confirm lethality.”
I Shout, “Extreme.”
The voice says, “I need confirmation Remington.”
I say, “Give’r. And welcome back, Killstache.”
Killstache says, “As you wish Ian.”
I feel each connection inside my brain and nervous system snap into place. My senses are amplified by a thousand. It’s as if hundreds of fiberoptic cameras are feeding me data at an alarming rate. Breathing feels better. Movements are exact. I stumble backwards not able to cope with the sensations. Killstache says, “Careful Remington, your vitals are off the charts. Blackness invades narrowing my vision. I say, “I need help.” Last thing I hear is, “Auto pilot engaged.”