Fear of Denim

[unscratchedfoot]

Fear of Denim

Part of the Michael & Peter adventure series


Our story begins with the white men all angry and frustrated over raids being carried out by the Aztecs as revenge for the diseases spread by Peter.

Aztec warriors well armed, well trained and well fed are doing hit & run insurgency attacks on the 'white heathens' installations, wagon convoys and wedding parties. This takes us to Bob's Paradise, the capital of the whites, where the reverred leader and founder Michael has decided to put his foot down and destroy the indian raider teams.

Michael sets out in a kayak upstream through the river and creek network to try and catch the raiders transiting between attacks. Apparently the indians are using canoes to move about quickly rather than hiking through the thick jungle foilage on land.

Further upstream....

A war canoe full of happy natives celebrates their latest humiliation of the white man. There is much delightful banter.

"Woohoo! 4.5 seconds to remove that sentry's heart. Best time yet!"

"Ahhh no, the halves round up to the next second so you tied the record."

"Like hell it rounds up!"

"So what you got an okay heart removal time. I totally one-upped you with my idea to cave in the mine entrance trapping the rest of the heathens underground. How about that huh!?"

"Whoa!!!" shouts the paddle leader standing at the front of the canoe. "Enemy in sight. Hard right and block!"

The huge war canoe brimming with 2 rows of warriors hairpins left with impressive speed and tact. Within a couple of seconds, the paddlers have lodged the boat across the river with the ends stuck in fallen trees and boulders. The current of the river holds the boat firmly in position blocking the river before the oncoming kayak.

Michael paddles up and orders the natives in a bored voice, "Drop your weapons, get out of the canoe and lie face down on the rocks with your hands behind your heads."

The paddle leader shouts, "Stand! Right face... antler!" The warriors, all bristling with weapons and war apparel, stand and face Michael in two lines with spears and clubs all held in defensive poses, the well proven 'antler formation'.

Then the raider leader asks, "So where's your gun heathen?"

Michael shrugs his shoulders and says, "I accidentally rolled over in my kayak going through some rough waters. My gun's in the bottom of the river somewhere. I still got my balls though." He holds up a bag of musket ammunition. "Anyways, you better get to doing what I ordered you."

"Arrogant white pig has no gun and soon no heart."

"Alrighty then. You savages think you're pretty tough. Wait'll I get my pants off." Michael takes off his boots and then starts to strip off his blue jeans.

"I'm gonna put a hole in that idiot's head." says one warrior and swaps his spear for a slingshot. "Who's got the pebbles?"

"Ready for this?" says Michael and he dunks his jeans into the riverwater and then rolls them up. While the natives have a confused discussion, Michael slips his bag of steel musket balls into the folds of the pants. "Wet jeans weigh like 150 pounds or something. Enjoy." Michael heaves the heavy package at the middle of the pack of warriors. Their athletic conditioning and reflexes are superb and they easily dodge the low velocity projectile.

The jeans plunk into the water on the other side of the canoe where the water is dammed up to the brim of the boat. A column of water splashes over the natives and in a instant the spraying water is replaced by fountains of blood, severed limbs and brave veteran warriors behaving like a gaggle of hysterical, screaming schoolgirls.

Michael backs up kayak to avoid all the blood squirting in the air and after a moment or two he realizes a very large, hungry piranha has entered the canoe. The canoe tips over during the panic and the rest of the school of piranhas feasts on Aztec meat. Michael sits back and enjoys the grisly show until only one surviving native drags himself onto the rocks of the riverside with a pirahna jumping out to take one more chunk out of him. The wretched man has lost an arm, half his face and one leg has been skeletonized. The river behind him is completely red, and skulls, ribcages and various other bones stripped snow white wash up into the rocks along the shore.

Michael carefully docks downstream a ways and walks up to the surviving Aztec dying on the blood covered rocks. He takes off his shirt, rips it up and applies tourniques to the warrior's wounds. "You drag yourself to your chief and tell him what the white man does to raiders. Tell him to expect only more horrible, grisly death for anyone who attacks innocent settlers. Now get!"

Michael isn't sure if the wretch will make it back to his village, but whatever happened, natives in the next few weeks seem to be abnormally scared of jeans. The jean shops in Bob's Paradise sell out within an hour or less of restocking. Taking advantage of the booming jean market, a new shop starts up by a chap named Lee who is vying hard for market share sells a record 501 pairs of jeans in one hour so they add the number to their name.

Anytime a raid is initiated by natives, the white settlers simply strip and hold out their jeans to ward off the demons of the forest. This tactic continues like a charm until word gets back to Montezuma about it. He calls a meeting of the elders to gather around his cot in the sick bay. His many diseases from Peter make speaking difficult and he slurs badly but the rest of the elders are also riddled with disease as well so no one minds. Montezuma carefully examines the facts of the river massacre and announces that jeans are only a kind of naval weapon and are useless on land. The sick leader scolds the Aztec warriors for fearing something which is nothing but a piece of clothing. Montezuma refers to the settler's use of jeans in land encounters as 'using a fishing rod to fight off a bear'.

That solved, the Aztecs renew their raids with viscious abandon. Much damage is done and settlers are killed. Although the settlers have muskets, the Aztecs use sneak attacks and deadly ambushes with great effect. Again this problem is addressed by the elite leader of the white man. Michael again declares that he will 'put his foot down and end these evil attacks'.

Michael packs his lunch and goes tromping through the forests hellbent on putting down the raiders. After several hours of hiking through the hot, humid jungle rife with insects and cool sounding birds, Michael hits the jackpot. A raider party is parked off in the shade of a gigantic redwood tree. Michael approaches and orders them to disarm and prepare to be arrested. When they rise with weapons in hand, he issues a warning, "Now let's think about this gentlemen. What's better: a character building life of slave labor on a starvation ration or dying here in this jungle for no purpose other than to preserve your ego?"

One Aztec mutters, "White man talks stupid again. Let's see how long his heart beats in my hand. I bet the weak man's heart only goes for 2 beats after removal."

"I bet 3." offered another.

"Four." enters a third gambler.

"The price of a dozen eggs?" asks the first.

"It's a bet."

While the natives discuss the wager, Michael has spent the time well by removing his boots and jeans. The natives look at him standing there in his underwear and hairy, skinny legs. Michael holds up his jeans, and as reported, the natives completely ignore the weak gesture.

"Wa Wa Wa!!" screams Michael and he jumps up and down waving the jeans around. But it gets nothing but a sneer from the warriors.

"Let me give you a reason to scream." says one warrior as he clubs Michael hard in the ribcage.
Michael squeals and bends over in excruciating pain. "You bastard!"

Another club wallops him across the thigh and Michael drops to his knees with a yelp and gets another thump across the back. The warriors play with their prey and let him stand again before continuing the beating. But Michael is no pushover. He swings the jeans around like a baseball bat and scores a couple of sloppy hits on the warriors but for little effect.

A warrior jeers, "White man is funny. That is why we will keel him slowly."

They club Michael a few more times here and there so his face is a grimace of pain and he whimpers from the terrible pain of the blows. Adrenal alone keeps Michael on his feet and he makes a determined swing at one warrior with a overhead swing of the jeans. The jeans get caught on a big branch overtop of the Aztec and a panther falls down on top of him. Blood sprays up immediately and the fearful warrior is reduced to a screaming waste of pulverized manhood. The other warriors try to engage the panther but the animal is way too fast and powerful for them to focus an effective attack. There is much blood, screaming and flesh rendered to pulp as the panther continues his work.

At one moment during the engagement, the panther is busy working over one Aztec while another warrior levels a spear at the big cat and prepares to run the animal through with it. Michael swings his jeans and wraps them around the spearman's face and yanks backwards. It is all the break the cat needs to swap to butchering the backstabber-to-be.

When the panther has finished cleaning up, he looks at Michael and Michael looks back. A bond of sorts has been formed during the fight and a life for a life exchange has been completed. Michael says "Hey kitty kitty." and elects not to push his luck by patting the panther. Instead, he puts his jeans back on and walks off while the cat licks his paws.

Word of this massacre gets back to Montezuma. The great leader is enraged. He orders the best Aztec doctors to collect herbs, ointments and priest to do whatever they can to cure his diseases. while the treatments reduce the severity of the sickness, he still cannot leave the sick bay for more than a short time. "I wanted to fight this legendary white man myself to prove to the nation he is nothing but a worthless heathen. Instead I will delegate this duty to a warrior from the elite Jaguar clan. I trust they will select one of their best to humiliate and punish the heathen."

So a Jaguar of particular repute is assigned to fight Michael if the challenge will be accepted. A messenger under white flag is sent and Michael accepts the challenge apparently with hardly a thought. "Mmmmm fight to the death? Ya sure. Why not?"

The messenger returns to Montezuma to report the good news. Montezuma orders his staff, "Prepare the fighting area by checking everywhere for any sign of animals. Kill every last ant and mousquito in the whole area and scrub it down with boiling water. All the people attending the fight must be clad only in flapshorts and cannot carry in any luggage. And have the fighter prepared with massages and herb ointments. Instruct the priests to perform sacrifices so the gods will favor us."

Michael travels to Tenochtitlan to fight the warrior. It will not be easy fighting in the Aztec capital with the enemy having home field advantage. But Michael is a brave leader whom many depend upon.

Michael is received with respect normally reserved for a king or queen. Though he is their hated enemy, the Aztec admire, almost worship, warriors who demonstrate courage against impossible odds. While being led through the city, Michael is astonished at the strangely but beautiful architecture and keeps repeating, "I want one of those... and one of those too..." Men, women and children line the streets to bow before the brave white man who has the power, unarmed and singlehandedly, to massacre war parties of veteran warriors.

"Please join us at a banquet." offers a stunning, exotic hostess.

"Cool."

"May I have your name?"

"Michael. You can call me Mad Mike."

In a grand building, with a view over the amazing city, a huge, long banquet table is prepared and Michael sits at one end. He looks over his food and sees potato stew, a bowl of green peas and chocolate almonds for dessert. "Ummm ya I don't like green peas so can you take them away?"

"Of course Mad Mike." says the hostess and takes away the offending bowl of vegetables.

Michael pops one of the chocolate almonds into his mouth and gags on the crumbly, bitter taste. "Uhhh what is this stuff?

The hostess answers, "You just ate a deer poop. It's very nutritious because deer only digest the nutrients their bodies need so most of the vitamins and amino acids in the plants they eat pass through in their poo."

Michael spits out what he has't yet swallowed. "I hope this potato stew is normal."

"Yes it is. But there are no potatoes in it. Those are kneecaps from some of our best warriors who died of disease a few days ago."

Michael backs up a few steps wide-eyed, "I didn't know Aztecs are cannibals."

"We aren't. Only fighters who have proven their valor are allowed to eat body parts from those who have fallen. Are you not honored? After all, you did wipe out 2 whole parties of our warriors by yourself."

"Ah ya, I'm honored. Anyways can I have that bowl of green peas back? Actually, can I have 2 bowls of green peas?"

"My, your diet sure changes quickly. I suppose I should tell you that these peas are specially grown for the ruling class. You are lucky to receive such high quality food."

Michael's skepticism went into high gear. "Uhhh okay what's wrong with the peas?"

"Nothing. The vegetable plants are fertilized with chopped up, pureed flesh from dead people. It is the..."

"Okay I'm gonna pass on dinner. Let's get on with this fight I'm supposed to do."

Michael is led into a log building filled with hundreds of people only wearing flapshorts. In the middle of the room, a circle of Jaguar warriors is standing with spears pointing into the circle where a large, muscular, well painted man with a intense look on his face is waiting. The big, mean man is holding a war club in one hand and a small shield in the other. When he sees Michael he issues a bloodcurdling scream leaving Michael with no doubts at all that this dude is really to rumble.

The crowd and warriors part to allow Michael into the circle. An Aztec band, though likely very skilled in playing native music, fumble with some captured fiddles to try and to give Michael a fair welcome to the fight. Michael could see Montezuma and his cronies standing behind the warriors defining the fighting area. One of the cronies gives Michael the finger.

Michael takes off his jeans and then faces the big, mean guy, and a referree with the size and stature of a bear steps up and growls, "Okay gentlemen, I gave you the rules in the locker room. Are there any questions from the Aztec? Are there are any questions from the heathen? Alright then, fight hard, fight clean, fight fair. Go back to your corners and come out fighting when I give the signal."

"So what are the rules again?" asks Michael.

The bearman answers, "If you lose, your head gets chopped off and used as a soccerball. If you win your life will be spared and your people will no longer be referred to as 'heathens'."

"Okay I got it."

The bearman bellows, "Are you ready?" to each fighter and then swings his arm down, "Let's get it on c'mon!!"

The brute comes running out yelling and swinging his club with great intent. Michael dodges a couple swings and then takes a heavy wallop to his left side. The power of the blow is considerable and almost knocks Michael to the ground. Using his jeans as a shield, he blocks a another big swing but then takes a blow to one shoulder nearly crushing it. The fight continues and Michael manages to wap the the brute with his jeans across the face but he shrugs it off like nothing happened. Meanwhile Michael continues to take brutal punishment from the club. Michael gets tired of the battering and uncorks a big swing of his own but it smacks into one of the wood beams providing support for the roof and down comes a python on top of the brute.

There was a beast versus beast wrestling match with the Aztec finally getting himself wrapped up by the python and slowly squeezed to death.

Montezuma yells, "I ordered this area to be checked for animals! Why is this snake here?"

A staff member answers, "We thought you were going to fight on the Pyramid of Blood where captives usually fight for their freedom. We exterminated every bug, ant and grasshopper within 500 meters of it."

"Why is there a python in here?"

"The python keeps thieves out at night time. We feed him in the morning and he gets hungry around this time of evening."

Michael is declared the winner and is allowed to return home with honor while the servants are prepared to satisfy the gods. Jeans enjoy a fad for a few years until replaced by new fashions. In the late 19th century, jeans make a comeback when a schoolboy threatened for his lunchmoney, takes off his jeans to fight and accidentally smacks the butt of a horse tied to a nearby tree which kicks back and busts a kneecap on one of the bullies. Proven again, jeans stay in style as the prime choice of casual legwear for centuries after.


The End

 

[unscratchedfoot]

The Battle of Jackass Creek



While Michael enjoyed his adventures in Central America, Peter was starting up small towns throughout Southwest America. One day he was busy sharpening up his personal knife collection when a man on horseback approached him.

"Sir you really gotta help us. I come all this way from Jackass Creek where ma buddies're parked off with a pack of Apaches getting ready to do us up."

Peter sighed and looked with boredom at the young man on his exhausted horse. "Uh huh and...?"

"Well sir, my pals about nine or so of us if you count Paul, took 3 wagons out for a bit of Sunday fun with a hooch of gals along for the ride if you know what I's a meaning. We done didn't reckon no injuns would come ta crash the party."

Peter mumbled with extreme disinterest, "So you wankers went out to get drunk and laid and now you want me to go rescue you from a few drunken natives."

"Ah no sirs, they ain't no drunken injuns. You sees these are them mean and merciless Apache warriors and they ain't gonna give us no quarter. Please sir, you gotta help us. You being so smart and strategic and all I's thought..."

"Yeah yeah yeah, geez go soak your head or do something to de-stress a little. When I get done sharpening my knife set I might think about your situation."

"Ah sir..."

"Go go go get out of here."

A couple of hours later, reinforcements arrived at the 3 wagons which were set in a line right up against a narrow, deep ravine out in a desert. Unfortunately the 'reinforcements' were only one man. The men under siege were just a little disappointed.

"Oh sheeeeeeiiit. Just like Peter to shaft us again. We beg for help and he sends us one lousy dude to join the trouble."

"Hey this ain't no one lousy dude, dude. This be the most rootin-tootin, SOB badass, jack-of-all-beatdowns Brian."

"Jack-of-all... what?"

"Whatever shut-up. I tell ya though, this be Peter's own dad."

"Huh!? So he wants his own dad to get scalped out here or what?"

"Mmmmm not likely. This dude can hit a silver dollar at 50 yards on a snapshot and he's killed more natives then all of the townsfolks put together. And he can reload and fire faster than you can blink using them paper cartridges with the powder and balls all prewrapped and what not. He runs the blacksmith shop where everyone buys their musketballs from. I heard he can lift a 300 pound chunk of steel and not even grunt."

"The question then becomes... does Brian have any balls of his own?"

"That'll be good to find out. Word is, he's gone all soft and runs a theatre with his wife Jackie doin skits to entertain people with in the evenings. Apparently he likes acting."

"You jackasses done with your girly gossiping yet or should I wait?" interrupted Brian. His horse was loaded up with boxes and rifles while Brian was wearing a backpack and a belt full of cartridges and a pistol.

"Uh ya, sorry Brian. We just shootin da sheeiit. Thanks for uhhh helping us if you can at all."

"You boys pretty dumb coming out here and getting yourselves hogtied like this. So you can't move on because of the ravine and the indians can outpace your wagons. Ain't that right?"

"Ya they been just hooting away out there like they are savouring the kill or something I tell ya. Anytime we try to move down alongside this ravine they come in real close like they's gonna attack us or something."

"Well get everyone armed up while the women reload you and try to dig up a trench and make a pile of dirt down infront of the wagons and we can try and get some fortifications worked up before they..."

"Sir they be coming at us now! Let's do them!" yelled a man on lookout.

Brian took 4 rifles and 4 boxes of ammo from the horse he had been riding. He went behind a wagon and set up for firing.

"Where are the other 3 gunmen?" quipped a young man who was holding 2 pistols with a gal by each arm with bags of gunpowder and musketballs.

"I'm all four. I got another big bag of gunpowder and balls in my backpack too." said Brian with a grin.

"You need a woman or 2 to load those rifles while your firing?"

"It would be nice if they could move my ammo boxes for me. Hey do you know why are the indians kicking up so much dust? How many of them are there?" The open plains ahead were rumbling and a massive column of dirt was swirling up into the sky.

The lookout replied, "They're using buffalo sir!"

Brian took a deep breath and looked at the ravine just behind them. "And buffalo like to run into ravines."

"Well sir, they do when a horde of Apache are all screaming and shouting behind them. Looks like they're gonna run us into the ravine with them buffalo."

Brian didn't look worried at all. Maybe he kept his fear inside or maybe he just didn't have any fear. "Okay listen up everyone! Here's the plan. You all are gonna shoot down them buffalo as fast as you can. I'm gonna pick off the natives on horseback riding up behind them. Hopefully our shooting and the lack of incentive behind them will make the buffalo turn around before they reach us."

"Wooha!!" yelled the men all together.

The incoming buffalo felt like an earthquake going on. Shots were fired, people yelled, indians hollared. A few buffalo went down but the gunfire was having no apparent affect on the huge herd coming at them. Many of the shots were ineffective fleshwounds in the sides of the big beasts or the musketballs simply bounced off their thick skulls.

Brian was reloading and cracking off shots like an assembly line in full production. With each shot he took two steps away to see around the smoke for the next shot. Indians fell from their horses one after another but there were many and the volumn of their fanatical yelling never let up a decimal. Brian fired with such rapidity that he had heated all his rifles to the point of drooping and he was into his last case of ammo when the buffalo finally overran the wagons crushing the defenders or pushing them over the cliff for a very long, terrifying fall into the rock-strewn gorge.



The sides of the ravine were smooth, water-carved sandstone which bulged and dipped so those falling bounced about the ravine on their way down to finally crumple upon the rocks below. Buffalo and man together all fell in an orgy of bellowing, thrashing limbs and pain. It took less than a minute for the final drama to finish up and quietness to fall over the desert. The indians rode up to the ravine at first curious at the results. Once assured of the white settlers' destruction they rode around in circles hooting and hollaring in savage delight.

"Many brothers fell by the guns of the whiteman today. But vengence has been had and the invaders of the sacred land have been punished by the land itself." announced one Apache. He was wearing a larger, more splendidly decorated headress than the rest of the pack. "The buffalo slain are many. We must hurry to preserve them."

The chieftain looked over the edge of the ravine again to see the buffalo lying in heaps at the bottom with the bodies of stricken white people in amongst them. Just then a lasso whipped up and caught the chieftan about his neck and in a blink he was yanked over the side of the cliff. "Eeya gagaaaaaa... crump!"

The rest of the natives all lined up along the side of the ravine to see where the lasso had come from. A shot and puff of smoke gave that info in full effect with another native grabbing his face screaming and he went for a violent plunge into the gorge. Brian was holding onto the root of a tree that had forced it's way through the sandstone on the side of the ravine. He quickly reloaded his musket pistol and dropped another native before they wisely pulled back from the side of the ravine. Brian's position was just below a big bulge running alongside the cliff so he had to pull himself up to see over the bulge to the top of the cliff.

The indians had a huddle about what to do. "Let's roll rocks over the side and try to hit him."

"Don't be stupid. He'll just hide under the lip of the bulge."

"Well #%^*! You suggest something then hotshot."

"I say we all get into a tight pack with spears all ready and all go to the edge and throw them at the same time. He can only shoot one more of us and we'll get him for sure." The majority of the warriors grunted approval and the tight formation was arranged. The let out a whoop and stepped up the edge of the cliff together.

Brian had been peeking over the edge of the bulge and ducked down as several spears skimmed his hairline. A hand popped up with a gun and took a blind shot at the natives hitting one in the knee.

The indians discussed their next move while the guy with the bad knee had a screaming fit.

"He's gonna hide there so we can't hit him from here."

"Spotted Tail, climb down and smoke him out."

One warrior held a knife in his mouth and climbed down to where they had last seen Brian. The warrior climbed over the edge of the bulge and all that could be heard was "Agah! Oof!! Eeeeyyyyyyaaaaaaaa!!"

A few seconds later a bag came flying up from where Brian was hiding and it landed behind the pack of natives standing at the top of the cliff. The tremendous blast of dynamic overpressures created by the exploding bag of gunpowder from Brian's backpack blew almost the whole lot of Apache over the side of the ravine. Brian hunkered down behind the bulge as a hail of angry indians went screaming past him bouncing around the sandstone ripples in a truly torturous manner on their way down to the heap of bodies below.

Such were the numbers of dead animals and humans below that they actually cushioned a few of the Apache enough to prevent their deaths. Brian used some rounds from his belt to load his musket with and finish off the survivors.

His work done, Brian climbed up to the top of the rock bulge he was behind and moved sideways along the bulge about 50 yards just to be safe before climbing up to the top of the cliff. Once on top he saw 2 surviving Apache. Brian held out his pistol as he approached them. "Okay boys, over you go!" Brian gestured towards the ravine.

One Apache started walking to the ravine but the other stopped him, "Hey wait! That musket pistol he's holding only has one shot in it. If we both charge him only one of us dies."

"You nuts? You seen that bugger reload and fire? He could shoot you three times before you could pick your ear."

The brave warrior whispered, "Not if we run full-out at him. C'mon, let's do this the warrior's way. Not like some poosy."

The scared one agreed and together they sprinted towards Brian. As planned, a shot was fired and the scared guy was the one to get it in the eye. The surviving warrior lunged for Brian's leg and caught onto it. He used his bodyweight to try and take Brian to the ground but the wild gunman sprawled his footing wide to defend the takedown attempt. Brian tried to counter with a guillotine reverse headlock to choke the native out but the wiry warrior sniveled out of the hold and went to stand-up again.

The two fighters faced off in boxing positions. Brian moved in intending to deliver a few crushing punches to the face and body but the Apache lay down on his back and held up his legs like a whore getting ready to do business. Brian sighed and took out his pistol, "I can reload this and end this the easy way if that's the way you want it."

The Apache stayed on his back and gestured for Brian to come, "No, no, I've studied Brazilian jujitsu and fight better in this position. Bring it!"

Brian looked with disgust at the Apache. The Apache continued his taunts, "Your momma moaned good and loud for me last night. She said she wished her son was as much of a man as I am. How about that whiteman?"

Brian wound up and drove the heel of his boot straight into the open groin of the Apache with maximum exertion. With nothing but a thin pair of flapshorts between the hard bootheel and his balls, the Apache was reduced to a squealing ball of worthless indian.

"You don't sound like any man I've ever heard." said Brian as he took hold of the Apache's ankles and then starting swinging him round and round in a circle gathering momentum each revolution. Brian heaved him with all his might and aimed him at the ravine. Brian finally let go of his ankles. "Fly like an eagle you perverted creep." The Apache certainly flew high and far. So far in fact, he landed on the other side of the ravine.

Brian took out his pistol and reloaded it. The Apache moaned out, "No, no! Let me go out the honorable way." He searched for his knife but could not find it. Brian took out his own knife and threw it over the ravine to the Apache who went right to work removing his own scalp. While waiting for the Apache to finish scalping himself, Brian looked about for his horse.

"I'm done!" called out the Apache and he held his bloody scalp up for Brian to see.

"Good work. Now throw it to me." ordered Brian.

The native put a rock in the scalp and threw it to Brian but he was too weak from the kick to his nads to throw it far enough and it fell into the gorge. "Oh, I'm so sorry Mr. Whiteman!"

"I want it. Go get it."

The Apache was bent over in half fetal position has he staggered to the ravine and after a moment of pathetic climbing into the gorge, he fell the rest of the way to join his mates in death.

Brian found his horse about half a mile away where it had run to escape the buffalo. He rode home to report no survivors from the party and one Apache war band exterminated. With that mixed result, the adventures of Peter and Michael went on. Who knows what kind of trouble they would get into next. Do we even want to know?

The End

 

[unscratchedfoot]

Family Holiday


One evening, Brian and Jackie were on a day off from their theatre work and enjoyed the mild evening under the stars with Peter at a picnic table in a meadow. The night crickets creeked and fireflies danced in the moonlight.

"Ahhhh what a lovely evening." said Peter with an exaggerated sigh.

"You know I think we should take a break from all this colonizing and go on a holiday." suggested Jackie. "You two have caused enough problems for the local natives and deer population to last for awhile."

"Damn good idea if I ever heard one." said Brian. "Where ya thinking a goin ta?"

"I heard Australia is a wonderful place." she said. "And there's no one there except for a few criminals exiled from England. And let's take a proper luxury liner, not one of those filthy merchant ships that sink all the time in the ocean storms."

"Sounds like a plan. You in Peter?"

"Yeah whatever."

So the family took a ship from Texas down to Bob's Paradise and hooked up with Michael and the 4 of them got on a liner going to Australia with brief resupply stopovers in South America and New Zealand.

The ship was a big one with many other families along for the ride. Most wanted to go to Queensland beach. But not all.

In the ship's dining room...

Waiting staff rushed about with carts filled with plates of meat, potatoes and vegetables. In the bottom of their carts were little, chilled cuboards filled with bottles of juices, wines and milk.

"Where ya headin ta anyways there son?" asked a middle-aged gentleman at the end of the large dining table.

Michael said, "We ain't no softies wanting ta lie on a beach somewhere getting red like the injuns. We's aheadin to da rugged outback for some hiking and what not."

"I hear ya son. when I was a young, strappling fellow like yourself, I used to be an adventurer too. Had a good fun life I did... until I got me self hogtied in the ole ball and chain." He gave a slight nod towards his wife and she returned a murderous glare.

Jackie changed the subject, "You know it's so nice to be away from the constant indian raids on our town. It'll be a relief to go 6 months without seeing a single one of them. That's the main reason we wanted to take a holiday." Brian looked at her with a puzzled expression.

A young lad sitting next to the angry wife spoke up, "You're that guy aren't you?" He pointed to Brian. "The guy who shoots dozens of indians everyday for sport."

Brian smirked. "You been hearing some wild rumors there son. I'm a blacksmith and an actor. That's all. Shooting... ya it's my hobby."

"Are you packing firearms right now mister?" the boy was almost jumping out of his chair with enthusiasm.

Brian said nothing. Before the boy could blink, there was a pistol in Brian's hand. "Oh wow! I couldn't even see it move! Can you do it again?"

Brian kept redrawing and putting back his pistol so fast no one at the table could see it move. he kept doing it over and over until Jackie protested, "Alright enough Brian please! He does everytime we meet new people."

"Oh that was so cool!" said the boy and his mother hushed him.

"Oh ya like so cool." said a dreary, bored girl sitting next to the boy. She was a bit older and going through that unpleasant rebellious stage kids tend to go through.

The boy asked, "So how many indians have you killed so far?"

Brian said, "I don't know maybe 2 or 3 hundred."

"Cool! Were they all Aztecs, Apaches, Incas or what?"

"I can't say for certain but I'll tell ya this... Apaches, Aztecs, Hindus, Kaffers, Pakis... they're all the same to me at 50 yards."

A very loud 'tsk' came from the angry wife of the other family and her husband snickered a little.

Brian continued. "Anything the color of manure is fair game in my books."

The angry wife stood up on a fury, "Now you listen here mister! I will not have my children listening to your racist remarks!"

Brian looked a little ruffled at that, "Ma'am, do you still talk like that when savages are..."

Jackie interrupted, "So how long does it take to sail to Queensland from here? Does anyone know?" Everyone took the hint and simmered down.

"I don't know, about a month or so." said the gentleman. "They can never say for sure with the unpredictable wind and storms and what not."

Jackie said to the rebellious girl, "I'm sorry dear did I kick you under the table?"

"Uhhh no?" the girl looked at Jackie as if she had just come from Mars.

"Okay I just thought I kicked something soft but it must have been a table leg." Jackie looked embarrassed.

Peter knudged Michael's side. "Hey move over. I can barely move my legs."

"Me too. I think Brian's taking up too much space on the other side." replied Michael.

Brian shook his head. "You boys should've grown up in my family. There were 15 of us and only... what the???"

The table itself lifted up and crashed to one side so all the plates and dinner paraphernalia slid ontop of the people on Michael and Peter's side. Five fired up and ready to rumble Apaches armed with spears and clubs stood there with malignant grins spanning their sunbaked faces. "Ha ha!! You cannot escape the wrath of the Apache! We followed you all the way from America. Now you white pigs will pay for the massacre at Jackass Creek!"

Just then a waitress had been pushing a serving cart past the table and the doors in the cuboard on the bottom popped open. A contorted Apache crunched into a tight ball inside called out, "Hey guys help me! I can't get out of here. Why couldn't I have gone under the table too?"

The leader said, "There wasn't enough space dimwit. You heard the guests complaining about not having enough leg room." He turned to look back at the startled dinner guests. "Yes, we must provide the best service possible for the customers. Knock off the weak ones first! Be quick!" He slammed a club over the head of the rebellious girl while another speared the angry wife.

Peter and family went into action and there were several moments of brutal violence including punching, stabbing, a gunshot rang out but only managed to take the wig off a man at the next table, and much use of kitchen utensils as improvised weaponry. When it was over the survivors stood gasping for air and doing a quick damage assessment.

Jackie was still holding onto a fork in one hand and a spoon in the other, both with flesh and hair stuck on them. "Well... gasp... I think.. we won. Whew!"

Michael said, "Cool we all made it. Too bad our new tablemates didn't fair so well."

"Don't count me out yet." the gentleman pushed an Apache off himself and got up. "The big fellow... Brian is it?... he suplexed that savage right on top of me during the melee. I finished him off though with a choke."

"Hehe sorry about that." apologized Brian. "I tend to get carried away during these affairs."

"Hey look I got one!" The boy struggled out from the pile of bodies, chairs and stuff and pulled a steak knife out of indian. "I'm so good."

Brian and Michael quickly scalped the 5 Apache while Jackie and the boy tortured the one still stuck in the cuboard. "Apparently he doesn't like broken wine bottles." mused Jackie.

Brian asked a waitress, "Do you have a courier service from the ship?"

"Yes sir we do. The mail goes out at 2pm everyday."

"Great. Could you package these up and and send them by overnight express to Montezuma?" Brian held out the five scalps all dripping blood.

The voyage continued and eventually they arrived in Queensland. Peter and family bid farewell to the gentlemen and boy and headed inland for a hopefully relaxing holiday.


To be continued.

 

[unscratchedfoot]

The Natives Strike Back
Family Holiday Part II


Peter and family headed into the Outback for a relaxing camping trip to forget about the worries of running colonies and savage natives. Or so they hoped.

One night in a small opening in the middle of a thick forest, they unrolled their bedrolls around the campfire and got ready to tuck in. Peter started to kick dirt over the dying embers.

"Let's leave the campfire going. It's so dark tonight." suggested Jackie.

"Yeah it is pitch black, especially with no moon at all." said Michael. "And this forest is pretty thick. You don't want me taking a piss on your while you're sleeping do you?"

"I can't see a thing either. Let's put one more load of wood on it." agreed Brian.

Peter sighed, "Alright children. I'll leave your nightlight on so you can go pee-pee safely."

So off to sleep they went with the fire still lighting up the small clearing amongst the heavy forest. But Brian, being a very light sleeper, didn't slumber for long. He knew a fire was a tremendous beackon in the blackness making it visible as far as any eye could see. Who knows what might come knocking in the night?

Brian was barely aware of a small rustle and slowly propped himself onto an elbow and looked at the flickering light on the trees. Then he saw it. Many pairs of eyes with only the whites visible among the dark foilage. His rifle lept into his hands! And a shot bellowed forth. BOOM!!

The whole family was instantly in prone positions assuming a tight circle, rifles at the ready, with their backs to each other. A native fell like a tree facefirst out of the treeline. Then all hell broke loose. Such was the rapidity of fire put out by the family into the trees that anyone passing by would surely have thought it was a string of fireworks going off. Hands moved in a blur taking cartridges from the ammo boxes to reload the rifles. Tree limbs cracked, a thrashing occurred all around in the bush and many a scream from beyond the flickering firewaves made it seem like they had awoke in Hades itself.

Then Peter stopped after firing only a dozen rounds or so. "Hey guys... ummmmm people! They're gone. Stop shooting!" But the gunfire was too loud. Brian was reloading and pumping out fire in an impressive rhythm, his face a contenance of extreme concentration. Michael and Jackie were putting out their fair share of gunfire as well. They were firing blind through the thick smoke and trees.

After a short while the ammo boxes ran dry. Michael and Jackie wiped their brows and simmered down while Brian keep dry firing his rifle over and over at the trees and sparks were flying off his flint. Moans came from all around in the darkness from wounded natives in the trees.

Michael looked at Peter with disgust. "Loser, why didn't you keep firing? Scared of a few skinny natives?"

Peter spoke slowly as if addressing a ******ed child, "Did you even notice that they never fought back, and ran away after the first shot Brian took? Most of your rounds hit nothing but trees."

Brian stopped his dry firing. "Them varmints are the same everywhere."

"You know Peter, you might have a point there." admitted Michael.

"Michael, go finish off the wounded." ordered Brian. Michael took out his Kbar combat knife and headed into the trees.

When Michael came back he was propping up a native who had a gunshot wound in his back. Brian instinctively snatched up his rifle and dry fired at the indian's face, but Michael held up his free hand and said, "Woo wait! This one's got something to say."

The indian was weak from his wound but managed to speak. "Please don't hurt our people. We are the aboriginals of this land and we only desire peace with our white neighbors. Australia is big and we can all share this land. The whiteman has taken the beaches and primelands where he can get his resources and crops, while we live in the rugged interior. Often they order us to leave an area so they can build a new farm or chop down a forest and so we leave. But we are happy that we can live in peace together. Please let us be."

"Oh, we're sorry." said Brian and he put down his rifle.

The wounded aboriginal continued, "You must be new colonists. These misunderstandings happen sometimes. Let us forget this sad event and continue to live in peace."

"That is sad. We're really sorry." said Jackie. "Please don't tell your people about this or they may want revenge. We don't want any more of your people to get hurt."

"Oh don't worry madam. I will just say we happened upon some Tasmanian wolves during mating season. My people will understand."

So the family thanked the man for his kindness and dressed his wound. They even gave him some of their precious beef jerky before sending him on his way.

As a word of parting advice, Brian said, "Hey pal, next time you sneak up on some folks camping at night, smile so we can see you." There were some groans from the others listening but the aboriginal smiled at the joke.

Michael scolded his family, "See I told you we should have stayed in town for a few days to get to know the local folks. You can learn a lot of good information by just hanging around in the pubs and picking up gossip."

"Ya ya whatever. And who's the one who kept shooting at unarmed people running away?" retorted Peter.

So the family hiked back to town, and to start with, they decided to get some official information about the area. They stopped by the governor's office building and were let right in to visit.

The mayor of Sydney was a typical big bellied, gray haired politician in a well worn suit sitting behind a big oak desk. He gave them his official smile and asked, "Welcome to our town. What can I help you fine newcomers with?"

There was a brief pause as nothing had been planned so Brian spoke first. "Um, do you need anyone killed?"

There was a moment of dead silence in the room. Then the mayor shouted out, "Security!!" He had barely got the order out when Michael sprinted up behind him and held his combat knife up to the mayor's thick neck.

Peter, Brian and Jackie stood by the sides of the of door so that when it bursted open, half a dozen guards were engaged in a confused melee. Rifles were yanked from hands, butts clipped temples, knees thumped into solar plexus, and bayonets knicked arms while being reversed upon their owners. With the guards disarmed and knocked down in a heap, and with the mayor at knifepoint, everyone took a moment to sort out what was going on.

Everyone looked at Brian and shook their heads in disgust. Brian was embarrassed and for a defence only managed to bawl out a "Whaaaat?"

Michael growled at the mayor who's life he held in his hands, "Tell your guards to pack up and leave. Say everything is fine and there was just a misunderstanding. We're not here to cause trouble."

"Okay men do as he said." ordered the mayor and the guards picked themselves up looking frazzled and confused. Their guns were returned and off they went.

Michael eased off and put his knife away. The mayor looked like a scared, overfed mouse. "You... you possess considerable combat skills. I may have underestimated your abilities."

Peter replied, "Our dad sometimes is less than diplomatic. Sorry about that."

The mayor tugged on his collar and brightened up. "To tell you the truth mate, I just might have a need for your skills. Are you mercenaries?"

Michael answered with a proud smile, "Actually Peter and myself are governors in the Americas, and our parents run a theatre. We're just here on holiday and that thing about killing someone is just my dad's weird idea of humor." Michael shot Brian a quick, angry glance to make sure he didn't say anything more.

"Ho ho ho!" the mayor was lightening up. "Well then, welcome to Australia. Most of the colonists here are exiled criminals from Europe along with their families as well as some business people here to take advantage of the mostly untapped local resources. Then of course there are all the laborers and merchant staff that go along with that. We trade in cloth, rum, cigars, pelts, coats, preserved meats and what have you. I do hope you enjoy your stay."

The mayor continued, "However, we do have one problem which could definitely benefit from your type of expertise."

"We're listening."

"There is another unsettled land to our east. A little distant but it's a very large island and looks to have much potential for colonization. We have already named this land, perhaps a little optimistically, as New Zealand. You see, there are no white people living there, only natives of the most brutal and violent type you could ever imagine."

Brian said, "We've seen our fair share of those."

"Good, then I'm sure you know of a way to... invoke an understanding among these pests. Do you have any particular strategies or techniques in dealing with dangerous indigenous species?"

Brian said not a word. Instead, he yanked out a pistol at such speed the mayor jerked a little in suprise.

Michael asked, "What have you tried so far? Don't you have an army to deal with these kinds of problems? Being mostly from England you must have experienced men of arms."

The mayor answered, "Yes we have tried repeatedly to make landings on New Zealand but were always repulsed with tragic loss of life. Our militia is small and enlistment is voluntary. Although Sydney is a fast growing colony, most people are too interested in their surfing and trading to want to join the army. They'd much rather make money and have fun than risk their lives. And the losses we have suffered just scares away potential recruits. Add to this the problem of low funds. Our tax on commercial transactions is a mere 2% customs tax and I am powerless to raise that amount for the people won't allow it, and our few federal enterprises are still in the development stages and not turning a profit yet. For heaven's sake, I only want to expand the economy and colonial opportunities, but I have no support in this endeavor from anyone other than a few close associates who are just as baffled as I am. And we feel the need to avenge the deaths of our brave men lost in the fighting. We can't give up now."

"Tell us about the attacks you've done so far." suggested Brian.

"After a diplomatic attempt using a pair of missionaries who were tortured to death, we tried a couple of beach assaults with dreadful losses and we failed to secure a beachhead. Each time about 120 men assaulted from boats rowed in from offshore merchant ships. One of the ships provided support fire from two cannon which are all we have. The problem is New Zealand is a rough, mountainous island with few beachs to land on so the defence of which is simple and logical. The indians had dug spikepits and carefully camouflaged them as well as built a series of tree forts from where they can rain down the arrows, spears and slingshot fire upon our men disembarking on the beach. Warbands run up and counterattack our men pinned down on the beach. They wear red plumes of feathers from the tops of their heads to make them look taller and more fierce. And their skill with weaponry indicates diligent, daily training. There is no place to take cover and moving anywhere just ends one up in a spikepit. The support cannonfire managed to hit a few wooden treeforts and the defenders fell out to be shot to death but it wasn't enough because the assault force was pinned on the beach. In the end our men retreated by boat with only a handful of survivors left."

"Did you try landing on some secluded, rocky shoreline where they wouldn't be expecting an attack?" asked Brian.

"Yes we did. Using small craft, we landed 50 men with plenty of provisions and packmules into a hilly area with lots of forest cover. They travelled inland to try and reconnoitre and possibly inflict by ambush some losses on the natives. The last thing the ship waiting offshore heard was a fierce battle somewhere in the hills ending with a loud explosion which signified the munitions being destroyed in the event of being overrun. The ship waited a few more days for survivors but none returned. We can't afford these terrible and sad losses of good men. I'm afraid we no longer have enough of an army to mount another assault."

Michael chirped up, "Hey I got an idea! Why don't you land on the beach again but bring in a boatload of animals to run around and spring all the pit traps so the soldiers can see them. I don't think natives kill animals unless for food and hides. And before that, use a ship to bombard some other area for a few days so the indians all move to the wrong place to defend."

"Tried it. We had a schooner firing a light cannon at another beach for 5 days prior to a landing elsewhere. The landing dropped off 2 boatloads of kangaroos first to spring traps and also to spook the natives who had never seen that animal before."

"So what happened?" asked Michael.

The mayor explained, "When our men landed, they were taken under heavy fire and still ended up falling into unsprung traps. The kangaroos ran rampant all scared and panicky, and even sliced up a native or two with their hindclaws, but they only triggered one or two traps at most. We couldn't figure that one out. And we think the diversionary bombardment actually made the indians move away from the diversion beach to the one we were going to attack."

Brian spoke. "Sounds pretty obvious to me why the kangaroos failed. The kangaroos were originally caught using pit traps under their trails right?"

"Yes they were."

"Well animals seldom fall for the same trick twice. And animals have perception way beyond ours so they knew where to go on that beach."

"By golly you just might have a point there sir." admitted the mayor. "So what do you reckon we do mate?"

"Wait for us to saddle up with plenty of ammo and beef jerky and just wait for the shooting to end." said Brian with steely confidence.

"Uh no, I'll be checking out the local hooters." said Peter.

"I'm gonna try some surfing." wimped out Michael.

Jackie scolded him, "Brian, if 120 riflemen couldn't do it, you sure can't. Be realistic."

Brian turned to the mayor, "Mister, let me tell you a thing or two. Me here and my son Michael each have single-handedly destroyed entire warbands of elite indian warriors. And I ain't never seen any savages more skilled or dangerous than what we put down in the Americas."

Jackie protested, "Brian, we are supposed to be on holiday, not conducting beach assaults against heavily fortified positions."

The mayor intervened, "As much as I'd like to see you try, I have to agree with your wife. You'd be biting off more than you can chew. We need a different approach. Something new and creative."

Peter had seemed to be spaced out the whole discussion and he finally spoke up. "We need to think out of the box here. Mayor if I can guarantee that you'll be in control of New Zealand in 6 months, will you pay us 1000 gold pieces plus a 6% royalty on all future sales of crownland sold in New Zealand?"

"Peter.. what!?" asked Jackie.

"Mom, trust Peter. He has an idea." said Michael.

"How can you guarantee it?" asked the mayor. "What's your idea?"

"Just agree to my terms or not." Peter was firm. "Is New Zealand worth 1000 gold pieces to you and a measley royalty fee you otherwise would not have received anyways? And no more indian problems to go with it. It is a pittance really."

"Well our treasury is very low right now but if it could really be done we might be able to scrap up that payment over the next 6 months. So yes."

"Write it up. All parties sign it and then we'll be off." said Peter.

So the mayor took out two pieces of parchment, a jar of ink and a feather and penned a contract. Everyone signed the copies and the meeting was concluded. The accord was agreed to by all but only one had any inkling of how it was to be carried out. The mayor had his doubts but there was little to lose in the deal as he would only pay if he got what he wanted. Maybe Peter was just bluffing to steal the gold somehow or to create a face-saving way out for his father. Or perhaps he was relying on some freak occurrance of luck to make things go their way as it had so often favored them in the past. But luck always favors the prepared mind, a prepared mind means having an excellent plan, and an excellent plan tends to reap an unexpected solution.

 

[unscratchedfoot]

Campfire Games


At one of the many excellent campgrounds in the Australian Outback, night had fallen and happy people parked off around their campfires singing, swapping tales, swigging ale, and fighting off mousquitos.

One such camping lot was a bit different. Only half the members were Aussies having a whooping good time with outrageous laughter and bellowing fueled by copious loads of rum in their bellies. The other half were hogtied aboriginal men and women awaiting the next step in their ordeal of humiliation and pain. The whitemen always were the most creative and passionate with their cruel games when they were maddened by drink.

"Heeeeeyuk yuk yuk!! Okay ladies and gentlemen, our next event for the evening will be a game of 'Injuns, Squaws and Chugs'. How it works is, we go around the circle repeating 'injuns, squaws, chugs' but whenever the word chugs is said, you must point to a random person around the campfire who then keeps going from 'Injuns...etc.'. Any mistake or hesitation requires a penalty. Us white folks will take a swig of this 78% proof alcohol, and for you native folks, we cut off an ear. Once a necklace of ears has been made or all the white people have passed out, the game is finished. You can consider it a team sport if you like."

Another rowdy Aussie shouted, "Phukin A man! This game is gonna rock like Ayers!"

"Ho man you are one corny basturd when you're sloshed! Anyways, any questions anybody?"

"Can I play too?" a deep, gravely voice came from the darkness behind the merry lot of drunk Aussies. They turned around to see a stocky aboriginal man dressed in a traditional robe with long shaggy hair. The light of the campfire flickering on his dark, freaky face showed no sign at all of emotion.

"Hey well why the hell not? Join the party pal. What's your name anyways?"

"Koorong... Koorong the Sweatback."

"Ahahaha! Sweatback!? What kind of phukkin stupid name is that?"

"I work hard for my people building houses. I sweat a lot when I work." The stranger named Koorong dragged his feet past the rowdies and sat heavily on a log along with the other natives. He looked oddly calm and comfortable despite the nature of the game to be played, most probably because he was drunk out of his mind too.

"Oki doki, let's start then. Injuns!" "Squaws!" "Chugs!" The third Aussie thrust his arm out indicating an aboriginal woman to continue. But she hesitated for a tiny, tragic moment.

"Ahhh... injuns! I'm sorry. Please let us practice one time." she begged.

"Ha ha! You lose an ear! Hold out your head. Or you and me can go have ourselves some steamy action in the bushes just over there. Which is it gonna be?" the Aussie took out a nasty looking knife while another pointed a rifle at her. She started crying and held out her head for an ear to be cut off. The other aboriginals were moaning and pleading in vain to the whitemen. The knife was sharp and the chop was quick. She wailed away and her friend held her long shirt up to the wound to stop the bleeding. People in the neighboring camplots stopped their singing and looked over to see what all the despair was about. A wave of a rifle in their direction ended their nosiness in a hurry. The man who did the chopping put the ear on a leather sting and laid it on a stone near the fire to dry out.

"That wasn't very nice." said Koorong the Sweatback.

"Ya? Well talk to the rifle." the heckler pointed his rifle at Koorong while all the Aussies laughed like hyenas. "Nothing more to say? I didn't think so!"

A rowdy started up the game again. "Injuns!" "Squaws!" "Chugs!" The last one jabbed a finger at an aboriginal with an evil grin to go with it.

The natives continued on their side of the campire... "Injuns!" "Squaws!" "White trash!"

The mood went dead silent and grave. It was the kind of mood in which only death, misery and the gnashing of teeth could follow forth from. Koorong sat there with his finger pointed with such vehemence at one of the Aussies, that had there been a stonewall between them, surely that finger would have crumbled it.

"You screwed up. Hold your head out sweaty man." The Aussie took out his knife, still wet with the blood from the woman's ear earlier.

"No screw up. From now on we use white derogatives. The next two words will be Caveman and Roophuker. Continue." ordered Koorong.

The rifle was pointed at Koorong and an ultimatum issued. "Your ear or your life stupid injun."

"What? No option to have some steamy action behind the bushes?" complained Koorong.

"We're gonna bury your smartass behind the bushes!"

Witnesses say it was too fast for them to see clearly what happened next. They say Koorong backhanded the barrel away so that when it fired it missed him and unfortunately took out another native sitting on the log next to Koorong. Koorong then kicked the man in the stomach and took hold of the rifle to wrestle the Aussie into the fire. The rest of the Aussies suprisingly did nothing but sit and looked scared while their comrade screamed and thrashed about in the flames. While this was going on, the big indian went over to their supplies and found the gunpowder and musketballs. When he finished reloading the gun, he ordered the Aussies at gunpoint to prepare for a new game by standing in line.

Koorong took the knife from Aussie who had done the chopping and used it to cut off the ropes from the aboriginals. Then he said to them, "I need you to go and collect all the firewood you can find. The bigger the size, the better." They rushed off to the campground firewood supply bin and came back with armfulls of branches and chopped up wood. "Good. Now make the fire nice and big. You white trash can stand in a line with your backs to the fire."

When the Aussies were all lined up backs to the fire, Koorong took off his necklace with a jade pendent on it. "I like this jade a lot but it's not good for it to be in a fire. I'm gonna accidentally drop this into the fire somewhere under the wood and the first one of you to fish it out and give it to me gets to leave here alive. No looking when I drop it! And no pulling the wood out of the fire or you get pushed in. Any questions?"

"That doesn't sound too hard. We just gotta snatch it out real quick right?" said an Aussie with a quivering voice.

"Yup, but ya gotta find it first. And you boys are pretty drunk to be doing that kind of dangerous work." Koorong took 2 bottles of the 78 proof spirits and went down the line with both bottles pouring the superdry liquid over each man in turn. "As you know, alcohol and fires are good friends. They get all excited when they meet each other. Good luck. You can start now."

And into the fire the lot of them went. They were hesistant at first and as their arms caught on fire, they rushed in to be the first to get the pendent out and be saved before they were burned to death. Koorong asked one of the aboriginal ladies to go and fetch a bucket of water from the nearby river so she wouldn't have to see the cruel show.

In a few moments all the Aussies were burning, screaming, and jumping around in the huge campfire. The neighbors from the other camplots overcame their qualms about being nosy and formed a crowd a small distance away to watch the goings on. Finally, one of the Aussies broke away from the fire and rolled himself over and over in the grass trying to put himself out. Koorong took the bucket of water the woman had fetched and threw it over the man leaving him lying on the ground smoldering with the necklace and pendent in one hand.

Koorong looked down at the winner. "You just barely made it mate. You can keep that necklace as a souvenir and go back to your people and tell them what happens to bullies in the Outback. Go on get the hell out of here." As the man stumbled to his feet, Koorong gave him a good hard kick to the behind to get him going.

The man had just made it out of sight down the bending road of the campsite when Koorong bent over in a violent fit of vomiting. One of the women spoke to him in their native language and patted him on the back. Koorong looked at her with the same unemotional, freaky look and handed her the rifle. Then he ripped off the human flesh mask he had 'borrowed' and vomited again. At the sight of it the woman dropped the rifle and shrieked in terror.

"I'm sorry women, but this was the best way to get the message to the white man to respect your people. I had to give the impression that you are strong. My name is Brian and I want to save your people from the whiteman taking over your lands and killing innocent aboriginals. I know what I did was horrific, but trust me, the whiteman who survived will spread that story faster than a wildfire."

The woman still looked incredulous but managed to say, "I... I thank you Brian. Please umm..."

"Don't come again?" Brian guessed with a smile inbetween heaves.

"No I didn't mean that. Just I'm glad someone finally cares about our people. You are welcome here just... just don't wear other people's faces again okay?"

Brian agreed to her terms before he wandered off into the trees.

A few minutes later...

Brian fell to his knees when he made it to his family who had been watching from their hidden spot with guns at the ready. He gasped, "I didn't know it would be so gross. It feels like my stomach is gonna come out."

"I know what it feels like." said Michael and made a face at Peter. "You sure did get your point across although you could have done it before that poor woman's ear was cut off."

Brian heaved some more while the blood of another man dried and caked onto his face. Then he looked up still contorted in agony. "I gotta get to the river and wash off the blood. I couldn't think clearly with that man's face stuck on mine. I'm gonna have nightmares for years after this. That must be the first time anyone ever did a scalping including everything from the scalp down to the neck."

Peter said, "And worn it too."

Michael asked, "So are we gonna keep camping here now or head back and finally do something about that New Zealand situation? We did kinduv make a contract to help them." Hearing this, Peter looked at Michael like he was a ****** so Michael got all frustrated and confused. "What... what!? Why do you always look at me like I'm an idiot and never say anything?"

"You still don't get it do you?" Peter scorned him.

"Get what?"

"Well stick around and eventually you'll figure it out why we are here."

 

[unscratchedfoot]

We'll have to see about this.

 

[s.c.dude]

see about what?

 

[MSTK]

I like it.

 

[unscratchedfoot]

Koorong is Judged

Within but a day at most, news of the campfire roasting scorched its way through the gossip networks to sear the hearts and minds of Aussies and natives across the great land. It was the first real incident where an aboriginal had fought back against abuse by whites using such a calculated, cruel scheme. Newspapers heralded a shift in attitude from `indolent, roll me over anytime you want to, aboriginal lambs` to `pyromaniac beasts delighting in horrific disfigurement and the spilling of entrails.` A popular columnist in the Sydney Herald poo-pooed it off as `just a dimented individual experiencing exceptional irresponsibility as an overreaction to seeing his family and home processed during the noble endeavors of the Australian people to develop these backward lands.`

Whatever it was to them, the numbers of aboriginal beatings by rowdy rednecks dropped in half and wedding parties were no longer held out in the countryside. Not liking these effects, the mayor sent out word requesting Michael and family back in for a consultation.

"What`s the matter mayor? You look like you spent some time yourself in a campfire." commented Brian.

The mayor forced a brief smile and went back to puffing on a cigar. "The campfire roast has got the whole nation burning for revenge and they are expecting me to do the dirty work to put it right. Aussies are the kind of folks that when they get pushed, they gotta shove back as hard as they got. Care for a cigar?"

Brian stepped back to avoid the stick of tobbacco being offered in his direction. "No thanks. We`re a little scared of anything involving flame with all the stories going around."
Then Michael chipped in one of his usual suggestions. "Why don`t you just round up a few dozen abs, drag `em through the streets dangling on ropes from horses and then hang them in public square? Voila. No more outcry for revenge."

Peter looked at Michael as if he were perusing an irritating ******. "Abs?"

"Ya, short for aboriginals. Cool huh?"

"Ya Michael. That must be why no one else uses it."

The mayor waited for their exchange to end and then said, "Thank you for your excellent idea Michael. But the locals will not have their lust for justice sastisfied until the campfire murderer named Koorong has been punished."

"Something we could help with perhaps?" cooed Peter.

Jackie interrupted. "No Peter. We`re supposed to be on holiday and have already promised to invade and conquer New Zealand for them. We`re not going to start taking on bounties..."

Peter looked sideways at this mother with a shut-up-and-let-me-handle-this kinduv look.

The mayor chuckled. "Hehe, you know, that`s exactly why I called for you. Will $100 be enough? Our treasury is bone dry."

Peter gave his standard rejection. "Ummmmm...."

So the mayor added, "We will, of course, consider it a favor. And the goodwill of the Australian government is a valuable commodity to secure."

Peter countered, "We`ll take the $100 and a document with your official seal on stating the favor; plus I`ll need to spend a night with that tasty looking whore who came out of your office just as we walked up. She`s got nice rolls."

The mayor became redfaced and grave. "What are you on about?"

"I saw that peck on the cheek she gave you and the flirty way you called her `honey nipples`.

The mayor`s face went darker shades and he growled, "Now you listen here you sick, perverted creep. That was my wife!"

Peter showed no emotion, just the cold, hard contenance of a ruthless negotiator. "No whore... no deal. Your reputation is on the table with everyone expecting you to deliver justice. What would you rather get raped: your wife or your career? You are too old to handle her by yourself anyways."

With a deep red face and gritted teeth, the mayor looked back and forth from Peter to the window. It seemed he was trying to decide between a headfirst dive out the window or to lunge forth and strangle Peter. Realizing both options were suicidal, he finally decided the best option was to allow his wife to get humped by the `sick, perverted creep`.

"Alright then, I will ink the contract." The mayor glanced up at Peter with pure hatred and muttered, "And you be nice to her. I had to work on her for over a year spending heaps of cash before she agreed to go out with me." He took out a piece of parchment and inked up his pen.

The scratching of the pen on paper was the only sound in the room until Peter said for no apparent good reason, "You do understand I am hard on women." The mayor stopped and squirmed in his chair a bit before continuing.

Peter added, "Particularly on snobs who think they`re good just because they are married to men in positions of power with a few extra bucks to waste."

Brian and Jackie looked at each other and shook their heads at what their son was saying infront of them. Then Jackie said to Peter, "You get to hump his wife. Now please leave the poor man be."

The room went silent again but for the contract preparations. Once the mayor had finished putting his wax seal on the parchment he said to Peter, "Okay when this is all done, you can do our good nation another favor and leave it!"

Peter took the contract and walked out with a cheerful retort, "I`ll be back for the cash and the whore."

"Don`t you need an illustration of the killer?" asked the mayor, still red with rage.

"Nope."

Once the family had left the mayor`s office and close the door behind them, Peter said, "Everybody wait here."

Michael snickered, "You`re a right bastard. What did that poor man ever do to you?"

Peter shrugged and answered, "Hey, I'm just taking care of number one." Then he took Koorong`s scalp and shriveled up face from his backpack. Brian looked at the grisly souvenir and almost vomited from the memory. "Why do you still have that horrible thing?"

Peter replied, "To make some easy cash. I fetched it out of the bushes you had thrown it into at the campsite and dried and preserved it. Easy work for a hundred bucks and a free hump."

Peter went back into the mayor`s office leaving Michael, Brian, and Jackie standing bewildered in the hallway. Peter threw Koorong`s scalp onto the big oak desk. The mayor half fell out of his chair in his panic to back off from the hideous souvenir.

"Wh.... what the hell is that?"

"Koorong`s scalp. Pretty fast huh? We told you we were good."

"How? You S.O.B. You had killed him already and planned all this out. You bastard guy you."

"Pony up the goods old man." The mayor sat there steaming red for a moment and then took some bills out of the safe behind him. Then Peter said in his usual emotionless, bored voice. "I`ll be in the Mead & Feed Pub tonight so you know where to send the whore. Tell her dress skimply if she wants good treatment."

At that the mayor finally snapped. He shouted, "I`ve had enough of you sicko!" and flung a wild punch at Peter who easily avoided it by stepping backwards. Peter was just getting positioned to apply a submission hold when an ear-numbing bang went off and the mayor collapsed on the floor clutching his foot which was gushing blood.

Brian was reloading his pistol in the half-opened door in a cloud of smoke. The sounds of a violent struggle came from the stairway leading up where Michael and Jackie were performing a rear guard action against sentries rushing up to help the mayor. Brian put his gun away and picked up a heavy, wooden bench and carried it off to join the fight against the guards. Shortly after there was an almighty crash followed by screams of pain.

Peter ripped a strip of material from the front of the mayor`s shirt and used it to make a tourniquet for the mayor`s bleeding foot. Peter spoke to him while tying up the foot. "Sorry about your foot. My dad gets antsy after going too long without shooting. However, I still need your wife to come by the Mead & Feed Pub tonight. Think about your other foot."

 

[unscratchedfoot]

A Round Goes to the Natives

Several days passed without major incident. There were the usual antics: a wedding party was ambushed by natives, and at a bar in town, a dozen `chugs` were punched out by rowdies, but nothing worthy of special mention happened.

Then one sunny morning, there occurred an event that would send a ripple all around the world.

Longshoremen were loading cargo to and from ships sailing the rich Jakarta-India trade route. The piers had stacks of crates and barrels on them. Men shouted above the clatter and hustle of the routine work of the port while seaguls squawked and unloaded their own special cargos upon man, crate and ship without bias.

England was still shipping their convicts and riftraft to the colony, and the port was a prime target of these displaced thieves and thugs so sentries were posted aplenty. One of these bored gentlemen had just received a fresh cargo delivered from above.

"Phookin bird! I`m gonna blow that phooker`s head off." The sentry tried to wipe the ugly slop off his uniform but only managed to spread it around some more. "Or maybe I should shoot that old guy on the pier who was just throwing bits of bread to them."

His partner warned him, "The last bloke who shot at a bird got the boot. And this is as good a job as you can get for untrained labor. Best you take the droppings like a man and keep smiling. Consider it job flavor."

"Ya, being shat on is high entertainment for a guard post. I heard them Longshoremen bet on who`s gonna get it next. I see them on their breaks resting under the asses of seaguls perched here and there hoping to win their bets. The seaguls must think they are ******ed."

The other sentry yelled out, "Now that's how to enjoy being shat on!!" A trio of women walking along the beachside walkway looked up at him with disgust.

"Phookin a man."

"Hey this is weird." The sentry who had yelled was looking through a spyglass at a merchant ship a few knots out in the sea."

"What?"

"There`s a ship turning back to port. I know skipppers always reject requests from merchants to come back for forgotten merchandise. They get paid by the shipment not by the amount."

"Ya whatever. I`m too bored to care."

"That kind of attitude is what gets you shat on. There`s a set of signal flags being hoisted up."

"What`s it say?"

"This is cool."

"What!?"

"The ship`s been taken over by pirates."

"Ya! Finally some action. Ferry over the spyglass so I can look."

"Phook off."

A sentry blew a whistle and used hand gestures to communicate to the other guards. They all aimed their muskets at the incoming ship. When it was close to the dock, some natives looked over the side. They were wearing the red feather plumes of the hated New Zealand tribe known as Kiwis. The sentries opened fire just as the natives started diving over the side and into the sea. One native caught a musketball in the forehead and he slumped over the railing while brains pooped out of the hole and plopped into the sea.

Just after the natives had jumped overboard, there were a couple of big explosions on the ship and it was converted to a burning wreck. Some of the crew made it up onto the deck but they were nothing more than human torches by that time and had no chance of survival. The fireship continued on a collision course into the docks with a moderate tailwind providing momentum and extra oxygen for the fires. A pair of cannon on each side of the ship had been rigged for delayed discharges. One shot smashed into a rocky area along the coast for no effect but another put its payload into a crowd of people gathering to watch the drama from the beachside. Bonechunks, limbs and many pints of blood were blasted about transforming the walkway so popular with romantic couples at sunset into a piece of art for the macabre.

On the docks, workers panicked when they saw the fiery monster coming at them. The pier was still covered in crates and a couple of small ships were still docked waiting to be filled up. When the fireship arrived the flames spread over the pier with all its cargo in a rage of cracking heat and destruction. While the sentries were busy trying to shoot the natives who were coming up for air in the sea, two more pirated merchant ships also were set ablaze and sent towards the docks while more natives appeared from inside one of the docked ships and jumped overboard just before it too blew up in a ball of fire. In all, four ships had been set ablaze with Kiwis seen escaping into the ocean from each one. People watching from a safe distance gasped at the destruction and those artistically inclined quickly sketched illustrations of the scene. The sentries kept reloading and firing in a fury to make sure none of the Kiwis could swim away from the phenominal damage they had done.

The fires ravishly devoured the crates and wooden docks and spread to the trading post in an explosive fury. Observers repeated the names of the holy family over and over while backing up constantly from the huge blaze. The trading post was a big building and burned for some time before being rocked by a very rapid series of explosions which decimated each floor one by one. So violent was the fire that chunks of the building blown into the air affected firefighters who bravely but with little effect battled the fires with water delivered from pumps and hoses not designed to handle such a catastrophe. Some of the firefighters standing on a gangway nearest the fire were raked by flaming splinters from an explosion and fell writhing and screaming on the wooden planks.

Firefighters could only try and keep the blaze from spreading to the town but had to give up on saving anything in the dock. During the blaze, both merchants and looters had ignored warnings from sentries and firefighters and ran in to try and haul out some cargo before it was burned. Few of them made it out alive and their screams could be heard coming from the depths of the cruel fire. Within the hour, the entire dock area was a crispy black hell of smoldering fires, roasted corpses and billowing smoke.

People were packed along the beach all day watching the dock being gutted. When the smoke cleared a scream came from within the crowd.

A raven had chipped away the hard, black crust on a corpse and was gorging on eye fluids.

 

[unscratchedfoot]

The mayor could see the fire and smoke and hear the shouts all the way from his office. He hobbled to the window on his crutches and awaited news from detectives already inspecting the disaster sit while the fires were still burning hard. It looked like a large battle had been fought.

Detective Wilber showed up a little later and brought some news to esculate the major`s stress levels even further.

"What do you have for me Wilber?"

"Mayor, the picture we got from witnesses so far is that tribal warriors from New Zealand lightly armed with knives hid in cargo crates and hijacked 4 merchant ships. A fifth ship was also supposed to be jacked but the crew found the lid ajar and nailed the crate shut during inspection and trapped the hijackers inside, though quite unwittingly."

"Are they in custody now?"

"Do you mean the crew or the trapped natives?"

"The natives!" snapped the mayor.

"No. When the crew discovered the would be hijackers trying to bash their way out of crate, they lashed it to another crate containing bowling balls and offloaded the heavy package into the ocean."

"Did you find out anything else?"

"Yes, a couple of the hijackers` bodies washed up in the brine. They had jumped overboard at the last moment and been shot by sentries when they came up for air. I inspected them and found disturbing evidence. They wore red plumes of feathers in the tradition of New Zealand tribals, or `Kiwis` as they are called, but something else didn`t fit. Their hair was matted and scruffy, and the only natives in this part of the world with that characteristic are the Australian aboriginals. The Kiwis have straight, stringy hair which is rather different. We must also consider that it is very unlikely the Kiwi tribals possess ships with open sea capability to transport agents here.

The mayor`s eyebrows furrowed and ripples of sagging, deeply wrinkled skin massed over his forehead. "This doesn`t bode well."

"There is more if I may continue."

"Yes, do."

"The rocks on the shore alongside the pier had burn marks on them indicating gunpowder ignition. Sentries told me an old man was feeding pigeons along the rocks and pier not long before the hijackings in the same area as the burn marks were left. Perhaps those breadcrumbs he was throwing were mixed in with gunpower to create a flammable line up the pier to catch sparks from the incoming burning merchant ships and spread it."

The mayor slammed his fist on his desk. "So that means this was an inside job!"

"There is more strange evidence mayor. It may be advisable to hear my full report before..."

"Yes, yes! Out with it then!"

"Witnesses say the trading post and the docks went up in a series of explosions sounding like a volley of cannonfire."

"It certainly did. I heard it myself. It seemed a rather unusual way for a fire to spread. Hmmm..."

Detective Wilber continued.
"They say as the fire spread, each floor of the trading post blew apart in rapid succession. There is evidence of gunpowder barrels having been placed at regular intervals throughout the dock area and on each floor of the trading post. People working in the trading post say they saw staff wearing Hudson Bay Company uniforms place barrels in various places early this morning and some of the barrels were leaking a trickle of gunpowder onto the wooden plank floor as they were carried along."

The mayor roared, "That damn Hudson Bay Co. will do any slimy thing to beatdown the competition!"

Detective Wilber stayed cool and professional, uninfected by the mayor`s passionate outburst. "Further investigation is needed to establish who is behind all of this. It`s unlikely a major company would perform sabotage using uniformed workers, especially on a port that is regularly handling their own merchandise. Considering the mix of different parties involved and possibly multiple attempts at framing others, we cannot put the blame on anyone at this time."

"So this must be some kind of conspiracy." concluded the mayor.

"I suggest you put a gag order on all the witnesses to prevent innocent parties from becoming targets of revenge. Nothing is worse for business than a tit-for-tat escalation which drags everyone into the melee. Until we find out more, people will direct their fury at the Kiwis which can do no harm here. Name it `The War on Natives` and you can redirect the people`s anger offshore and safely away from our town. You should make a speech to the people explaining this to them which will stabilize the people, fuel support for your native repression, and increase your own popularity mayor. And as a warning to conspirators, add that anyone who aids or provides comfort to a native will be treated the same as a native."

The mayor nodded a bit and then looked down at his shot-up foot. He growled, "I just might know who`s behind all this. Peter and his family of shady mercenaries shot me in the foot, humped my wife and squeezed me for a free $100 when our town is barely keeping out of the red. That much money can purchase a lot of temp staff looking to make a few dollars quick and easy."

"Mayor, I`ve heard a lot of bad things about that family, but the part about your wife being `humped`, as you put it, is news for me. Maybe I can help."

The mayor gave a tired sigh and said, "Wilber, you`re a smart fellow and a trustworthy one. I`ll tell you what happened." So the mayor filled Wilber in with all the dirty details including the contracts.

Wilber was quiet after absorbing all that information so the mayor continued talking. "I was stupid to trust a bunch of self-seeking mercenaries, especially when they lied about being on holiday and greeted me by asking if I wanted anyone killed."

Wilber finally spoke, "You know I`m not one for guessing but it really sounds like that mercenary family is working the other side of the fence."

The mayor glared back in astonishment and kicked his desk with his uninjured foot. "By golly you are right Wilber! I should have consulted with you earlier. That family of mercs is playing me off as a fool and trying to milk our treasury to sap our military budget. I bet they hustled the natives into destroying the port so we lose our tax revenues from trading." He gritted his teeth like a rabid dog. "I`m gonna hire some better guns and get those dirty back stabbing bounty hunters killed before they drive us into bankruptcy."

Wilber advised, "You`d need to send out multiple posses, each capable of outgunning the mercenaries. The port is wrecked so they must still be in the country somewhere. They might be making a run for another port town like Sydney or Perth. I don`t think you can afford the manpower right now for such an operation, especially with the locals all fired up with no way to vent their anger."

"Or those bloody mercs could be sitting right here in town somewhere without a care in the world partaking in a dark ale while thinking of more schemes to hatch. These people aren`t the type you just mosey up to and say `You`re under arrest.` We need to hire more mercenaries of the most professional, meanest kind available. We`ll probably need to hire abroad."

Wilber cautioned, "That`s like borrowing money to pay off a debt. I would say it`s better to keep your guards in town for awhile until the situation stabilizes. Meanwhile require all merchants to pass inspection and register containers each time they move merchandise into town. Have your sentries search for gunpowder and other explosive materials. Any unregistered or suspicious containers seen anywhere in town should be seized and removed for defusing. Post listeners in public areas where people meet to pick up rumors of plots and watch for covert exchanges of parcels. You also should make a law which allows militia to search private residences and places of business without a warrant. And most important, anyone boarding a ship should be strip searched twice before being allowed onboard."

The mayor nodded, "Thank you for your advice Wilber. Your cool logic makes me feel inferior I must admit. I will do everything you have suggested. I`m just worried about those hooligans left loose to run their schemes and shoot down whomever they like. "

"Just let things settle down and then you can focus all your energy on getting them. If you are gonna tackle a difficult problem, it`s better not done with a half-hearted effort. Anyways, I had better return to my investigation so good luck with it all."

The mayor had hardly finished seeing off Detective Wilber and thanking him for his excellent advice when he was searching through the classified ads at the back of the latest Sydney Herald newspaper under the euphemistic heading `Extraordinary Security Services`. Only seconds had passed before the grimfaced mayor inked his pen and circled an ad with the heading `Brutal Axe Murderer`.....


A couple of weeks went by and each day the newspapers were filled with artists` renditions of the port destruction. And all around town the pictures were stuck up on notice boards. The most featured illustration was of the trading post going up in a violent blast of fire and some even included burning people in them for good measure. The mayor eventually had to ban posting any pictures of the disaster to stop the obssession which was disturbing to people who had lost relatives.

Rallies supporting the war on natives were held everyday and no native of any region was safe in town. Most of the urban natives had to hide in cellars to avoid ending up impaled on pitchforks. People in other countries gathered in large demonstrations to voice their support for Australia in its struggle against the natives. Volunteers to enlist in the militia were lined up at the recruiting office in numbers far too numerous for the small military budget to handle so many had to be turned away.

Then one day...

"A letter from the Admiralty, sir." The staff officer put a rolled-up parchment with the royal seal of the King on the mayor`s desk. The mayor broke the seal and read the letter.

It had the usual opening greatings and formality filler. The meat of the letter read....

The hijacking of merchant ships and the destruction of a vital port in the empire's trade network both place a servere strain on the fine balance between funding the growth of a young colony and the as yet small tax revenue income generated by the same. The danger to private merchants may drive away the traders to more stable and established, if more competitive, markets.

 

[unscratchedfoot]

The letter is only partway done.

 

[s.c.dude]

nice story man

 

[unscratchedfoot]

Drama at the Crisco Poles


That was as far as the mayor got in reading the letter when a shady looking character in soiled coveralls who obviously hadn't shaved or taken a shower since he quit elementary school came in the office and took a seat infront of the mayor's desk. The office was filled with a pungency usually associated with wet dogs.

In a panic the mayor reached into his drawer and fumbled for his pistol. Once he had it he pointed it at the stranger's face; he had some words for him. "How'd you get past security? You're an escaped convict?"

The stranger was quite relaxed and purred, "Now actually you are the one who called me in here. Does this ring a bell?" He held up an axe which was about half the size of a regular lumberjack's axe.

The mayor kept the gun up and cringed in suspicion. "Ah yes, the Brutal Axe Murderer. I was expecting someone a little more... professional. And your axe is rather smallish."

"Small but brutal." The hitman chopped a big chunk off the corner of the mayor's desk before continuing. "Call me Jay. And by the way, I've won awards for my killing. This is just Australia. If you wanted someone from say the Skills for Kills Headhunter Group you'd have to import a hitman from England which takes months to arrange from down under. They wear tuxedos, shave and bathe if you can believe it. As for my abilities, I can assure that gun you are pointing at me wouldn't scare a skweemish girl in kindergarten. You'll need more than that against me."

The mayor was not impressed. "How about we test that theory?"

"Okay. There's no flint on it. Pull the trigger as many times as you want to."

"Huh? Oh uh ya. You know, the last time I took this out was when that Peter character and his family were coming in to see me. Crafty bugger must have gone into my desk and removed the flint when I was distracted in the conversation."

"Anyways, can we get on with business? I'd like to get this Peter guy killed and then be on my way to kill someone else. Gotta put food on the table right?"

The mayor looked disgusted but answered, "Yes this pest usually hangs out at the Mead & Feed Pub. There's a whorehouse just backside of it named Crisco Poles and apparently he hangs out there whenever he's in town. Several of the staff have apparently chosen alternative career paths since Peter showed up. You hired guns always such... lovely folks aren't you? I need you to do this job without killing any innocent bystanders. Only Peter is to be killed."

Once the details of the job were disclosed, the Brutal Axe Murderer, or Jay for short, went off on his dark adventure.

When Jay arrived at the whorehouse the front desk woman cringed at the sight and smell of him so she tapped a pencil on a sign which read 'We reserve the right to refuse service'.

"Hey don't worry, I'm just here to visit a friend. Name's Peter. He here?" he asked.

The woman answered with a droopy "Uh huh".

"Good, now you can embellish me with the room number."

The well-worn whore just shook her head with a look of extreme boredom. "Customer information is confidential."

Jay fingered the handle of his axe with the head still inside a deep pocket on the side of his coveralls. But he remembered that killing bystanders was not allowed and he did after all want to be paid for the work.

The front desk whore was spared the axe. Peter, however, would not be spared a gruesome drama. Jay headed up the rickety wooden stairs to begin his search through the sinful inn.

In one of the rooms, a customer chatted with his hired woman. "Tell me woman, what is there for entertainment in this outhouse of a town?"

"Oh ah...the name's.. uh ew ug.. Samantha okay?" The creaking of the overworked bed alone was almost loud enough to drown out the conversation. "You should... ah oh ya uh... try going to... uh ah... Pelican Joe's Bar & Grill..." Moaning aplenty accompanied her words.

"You don't get it woman. Me and my fellow crew are holed up here for a week before our return trip. We's waitin on a cargo and we are plumb bored of the drinkin and humpin routine."

"Oooh ya uh ah... you could try... ah ah ah ah... the theatre... oh ah ew... now there's a play called... ah pah...ee uuu..uh ah taaa... the Great."

"Stupid whore talk properly! What the Great?"

The whore snapped back at him between moans, "Peter!!"

Jay had been cruising the hallways listening around to find out where his target was in the old inn. Finally he heard exactly what he had been hoping for to save him having to barge into each and every room to try and find Peter.

He kicked in the door and ran up to the bed with the hairy ship crewmember on top of the whore. The man just turned his head around when Jay swung his full bodyweight into chopping down the middle of his head. The sound always reminded Jay of a coconut being hammered open. The man's skull spit completely in half and fell away from his jaw leaving his back molars as the highest elevation on what was left of his head. The skull halves spewing brains, blood and eyeballs fell onto the whore and she shrieked in a horrible, ear-splitting cacophony but Jay was used to it.

"You're a loud one aren't ya?" said Jay. "Just give me a second to collect the skull halves to take back to show the mayor for proof and I'll be out of here." Jay picked up the skull halves and put them into pockets on his coveralls. "Say honey, could you grab that eye for me?"

The whore just kept screaming. But not everyone was screaming.

"The mayor?"

Jay spun around to see who had spoken and saw a man who much more resembled man in the drawing of Peter the mayor had given him than the pieces he had picked up. "Sonuvabeech. I done gone and offed the wrong fellow again haven't I? Well easily amended." Jay took out his trusty axe and aimed a vigorous swing at Peter's head hoping for the coconut effect.

Peter reached up just in time and caught the hitman's arm and twisted it around to disarm him while adjusting his stance to follow up with a rear naked choke. This was no normal axe though, and by securing the hitman's swinging arm instead of the axe, the deadly sharp weapon arced down full of momentum and Peter's arm was lopped off. With the loss of an arm, Peter now had to change his strategy from the choke to something more of a one-handed nature.

While the fight between Peter and Jay went on, Micheal who had been covering Peter's back, swooped in like a vulture on Peter's arm and made off with it. While fighting, Peter could hear sounds of action coming from the bed between Michael and the whore. He just hoped Michael was not stealing some sloppy seconds.

Peter knew he had to attack fast and hard before shock from his grevious wound caused him to faint. Jay didn't help much by delivering a strong front kick to Peter's stomach forcing him backwards to crash into the doorjam with a clatter. Peter doubled over in pain while gasping for air. But he had the heart of a lion and as an overconfident Jay approached to continue the attack, Peter lunged forth while still bent over and took Jay down to the floor. Not wasting a second, Peter achieved a full mount position and spun around backwards ontop of Jay to sit over his thighs and used his surviving arm to violently yank up on one leg to snap it at the knee joint. Jay shrieked at least as loud as the whore was and Peter was able to retrieve the axe to finish off Jay before his wound made him collapse.

Barely conscious and lying on the floor with a bloody fountain spraying from where his arm had been lopped off at the shoulder, Peter finally figured out what was going on with the whore. Michael had mounted the whore on the bed, and instead of humping her, he was using Peter's arm as a bat to batter the terrorized woman. Michael was beating her visciously fast. It was obvious no mercy was being metted out to her at all. When the whore finally fell unconscious from the beating which mercifully ended the tremendous screaming, Michael got off the bed and tossed the arm into the corner of the room.

"Michael you idiot. What are you doing?" Peter's voice was barely more than a whisper.

"Um, beating her unconscious with your arm. She was in on this too so..."

"Michael look, she's just a whore. The guy missing most of his head is naked and had obviously been humping her when he was attacked. He was just a customer here."

"So why did the hitman kill him?"

Though close to fainting, Peter still managed his voice he used as if addressing a 3 year old ******. "Probably he mistook him for me. It's not that hard to figure out."

"Right." Michael looked at the hideous remains of the victim's head and said, "I can see the resemblance."

Michael picked up the shirt which the customer had apparently been wearing before partaking in the whore. "Well Peter let's get a tourniquet on that wound of yours."

Some scared looking customers and staff were peeking in the doorway of the room so Michael picked up the bloody axe to wave at them and issued some profanity to disperse them.

"The mayor..." whispered Peter.

"Huh? What's that?" Michael held his ear close to Peter's face.

"The mayor ordered the hit on me. The hitman said..." and Peter passed out.

 

[gurunaknak]

****ing funny. Too bad about the arm. Looks like he'll bee needing a hand now and again eh!
Sounds to me like the whore got what was coming to here. He should have ***** (that is B.I.T.C.H.!!!)slapped her some more. I have been following this from the begining. Bloody good ol' chap. Keep up the good work.

Your fan
Naknak
P.S. Do you write anywhere else?

 

[unscratchedfoot]

Thanks for the kind words gurunaknak. Peter is still in the show. He's got the heart of a lion so the loss of an arm is hardly a flesh wound as they say. For another story check the link in my sig with the cyborg next to it.

 

[gurunaknak]

cool. So do you post at anyother forums. As in other games?

 

[unscratchedfoot]

I posted a heap (some people say 'dungpile') of stories on the apolyton civ3 stories forum. Do a forum search to see them. YOu have to register though to see past the last 30 days of postings there.

 

[gurunaknak]

I tend to find stories that I like and read the aurthors stories on other sites. I find that the good writers dont just write for one game. They write for most games that they like and also some of them write stories outside games too.

 

[unscratchedfoot]

Ya I've written for other games too. I wrote a couple of stories for Hearts of Iron though I only played it briefly. They weren't actually game stories though. Just my own creations. I only played Civ4 for 3 days before freeing up the 4gigs of HD space last Christmas cause I found it was too repetitive and just another linear tech race. The only games that lasted on my comp more than a few days were the awesome Total War games, funky Warlords Battlecry 3 and the classic Steel Panthers.