The Spearman

love it
 
Originally posted by Chingis Khan
The spearman looked up suddenly, "Ah, they come." He bounded from couch, grabbing his spears, and ran through the door.

The tank rumbled it's way up the mountain pass. Almost seventy tons of steel death, with it's powerful engine and it's huge main gun. Two machine guns were mounted on the top; one for the commander, and one for the loader. The powerful beast lumbered around a corner, and halted. For in it's path, sat a scrawny old man, with a huge, long beard, and a handful of spears.
Commander A.S.Shole grinned, "Run him over, boys."
Riko groaned again, "Sir, we can't just run him over. He hasn't done anything."
Shole grimaced, and then addressed the driver, "Rueben, are you a real man? Or are you a pussy?"
Rueben called over his shoulder, "I'm a real man, sir. But Riko is right. I'm not just going to run him over, sir."
Shole swore softly under his breath, then he looked up, "Maybe we 'didn't see him' sitting there", he made finger quotaion marks as he said that.
The crew all said, in unison, "NO, SIR!"
"Fine, fine, I was just testing you guys, anyway", grumbled Sholes, obviously disappointed. "Well, we can't go on with him in the way, go around him."
The seventy ton tank jerked into motion as it tried to go to the right. The old man moved to block it. And again as the tank tried to go left.
"Damn, this guys good. And quick", muttered Sholes. Riko shook his head in frustration. "Sir, it's not that hard for a man on foot to outmanuver a tank. Maybe somebody should go out and move him?"
"Yeah, good idea. Who's the lowest ranking... Rueben! Get out there and move that old man."
The driver grumbled as he crawled out of the tank to face The Spearman. He spoke in halting tones, "Um, excuse me. Um, Sir, could you please, you know, like move, or something?"
An evil twinkle entered the Spearman's eye and he started forward, spear twirling in the sunlight. Rueben began to scream. He screamed like a little girl. Like a particulary wimpy, small girl. A girl so small and wimpy, that you would be forgiven for thinking she had some kind of disease. In fact, Ruebens' girlish, wussy scream was so pathetic, that even his crewmates were a little ashamed of him.
Commander Sholes sat very still in his seat, as he watched what happened to his driver with wide eyes. Riko and Ashby also watched with that same, disbelieving expression.
"Holy geez..."
"Did you see that?..."
"Oh, that's not right, man..."
"I think I'm going to be sick...."
"Is that even possible? .. damn.."
"Wow, look at that spleen fly!"
"Hey, did you see his stomach rip open?"
"Yeah, I think I saw some French Fries in there..."
After the slaughter was over, and the little pieces of Rueben had finished flying all over the place, Shole said, "Well, who's the next lowest ranking? Ashby! Get out there and avenge your friend."
Ashby's eyes grew wide, "You can't be serious? With all due respect, sir, screw you!"
Shole said, "Hmmm, well in that case, can we run him over now?"
Riko stared at Sholes in astonishent, "Sir, you just sent our driver to his horrible, horrible death. I don't know how to drive this thing, sir."
Shole said, "Ha! I do! I've watched Rueben at the controls quite a bit. Get outta my way."
The American main battle tank lurched forward at the old man, but The Spearman leaped nimbly out from the tank's path and lept to the side. A *tink, tink* noise came from the hull.
"What the hell is he doing?"
"I think he's attacking us, sir!"
Sholes looked into the driver's periscope and he saw the old man dancing around the tank. Was that... ballet? The old man performed pirouttes and leaps as graceful as any the commander had ever seen. Every now and then, The Spearman would leap forwards and stab at the tank's armor plating.
Shole had had enough, he went to his hatch and poked his head out, "Hey! I said HEY! What the hell are you doing down there?"
The old man paused in mid-twirl, "What does it look like I'm doing, you peabrain? I'm doing the 'dance of death'."
Sholes was taken aback. "The dance of death? Well, it looks like ballet to me."
The old man stopped. "You damn people! You don't appreciate anything, do you? Have you ever performed 'the dance of death'? Well, have you? I didn't think so. I have killed countless people and destroyed many things. I think I am qualified to perform 'the dance of death'. don't you?"
"Umm, sure, I guess. But would you mind not hitting the tank, son? You're scratching the paintwork.... yikes!", the commander hurriedly ducked back inside to avoid the spear hurtling towards his head.
"Okay, crew. I guess we can't run the nimble little bastard over. Ashby, get up there and shoot him with the .50 cal."
The hatch opened once more, and Ashby climbed up to man the gun. He fired a burst that stitched a line along the ground towards the old man, but the old guy leaped into the air, somersaulting end over end. Ashby corrected his aim and fired again, and again, and again. But The Spearman cartwheeled, flipped and leapt from the path of the deadly bullets each time. Then, just as Ashby thought he had the old guy, The Spearman jumped high up over the hull, and just ...kind of hovered in front of Ashby. His hands were raised above his head and off to the sides, and his legs drawn up, as if he were about to kick out (autor's note: You may think that this is just a shameless hack from a certain movie, however, as you may notice, the old man in my story is obviously kicking with his left leg. Therefore, it is not a ripoff, and completely original. *ahem*, well, mostly original. Alright, alright, it's a shameless ripoff! Do you think you could do better? Do you think it's easy coming up with story writing material? DO YOU? You damn readers, you sit out there in your cosy chairs, reading the stories that I PROVIDE! DO YOU WANT THE TRUTH?!? YOU CAN'T HANDLE THE TRU....damn. I just did it again, didn't I? Oh well, back to the story. Now where was I? Ah yes...) . He was just ... hanging there, motionless. Ashby stared in confusion, blinked, and stared some more. "Hey, guys, get up here! You should really see this!" Riko and commander Sholes emerged from the other hatch. They stared in amazement at the motionless, hovering figure.
"Woah, dude! Check it out!"
"Damnshame he didn't stop like that on the ground, I could have run him over for sure!"
Ashby rubbed his eyes, yet again, "I really don't think that this is possible. I mean really, it's like something from a bad movie!"
Shole screamed, "I don't care what it is, just shoot the little sumbetch!", with that, he and Riko went back down and closed the hatch. Ashby shrugged and lined up the machine gun. Just as suddenly as he had paused, The Spearman surged back into motion. His foot kicked out and bent the barrel of the .50cal, Ashby stared, slackjawed as The Spearman landed lightly in front of him. Ashby screamed, and fell back into the tank. The hatch slammed shut after him.
Riko wrinkled his nose, "What is that smell?"
Commander A.S.Shole looked in disgust, "It smells like somebody crapped his pants!"
Ashby muttered sullenly, "Shut up! You would too if that wierd old man was facing you...."
Click to expand...
 
Finally a story about crazy old men who control the world who has a spear, there's a huge demographic for that!
 
Shole was not in the best of moods. The old man had piled rocks in and around the tank's treads, immobilizing the great beast. In addition, he had damaged the antenna during his 'dance of death', so Shole couldn't radio for help. And to top it all off, there was the smell.
Ashby sat in the far corner of the cramped tank. Commander Shole and Riko sat on the other side, T-Shirts pulled up to cover their mouths and noses, staring at Ashby with hatred.
Ashby tried again, "C'mon guys. It would've happened to anybody! I mean, that old man... I don't think he's human! His eyes are all crazy and stuff. And that thing where he hovered in front of me! And bending the machine gun? C'mon guys. You have to admit, it's all a bit wierd. And another thing, when he jumped in front of me, I got this wierd sensation. Like he was menacing, yet friendly. Mean, yet nice. And it went on and on. You know, really descriptive, and stuff."
Riko spoke in a muffled voice, "I got some descriptive words for you; stinky, crappy, sh*tty, choking, noxious, toxic... You STINK. Look, even a fly got in here! And this tank is supposed to be sealed up airtight against chem warfare!"
A new voice came from behind Ashby. It spoke with kind of a Mexican accent. "Aaaayyyyy! Wherever there is sh*t, there is The Fly! And let me tell you, this is gooooood sh*t. Trust me, I am not just saying that either. I mean, if there is one thing I know, it's sh*t, and this is good sh*t. I wouldn't sh*t you guys. Heh heh, get it? That's a little fly humour."
Riko stared at Shole in horror. "Umm, sir? Did that fly just talk to us?"
The Fly buzzed angrily upwards, "Aaayyy , man. You do not have to talk like I am not here. I mean, I know that I do not have the big human ears, like you guys. But I can hear pretty good, you know. I heard this guy crap his pants from two hundred yards away, didn't I? I mean, I do not have to take this sh*t from you guys! Heh heh heh. Get it? That's another fly joke, you know, heh heh."
Ashby said, "That fly is definately talking, sir!"
"Shut up! There is no talking fly in this tank! None! It's just... it's just tha smell going to our heads. Yeah, that's it! It's like a mass hallucination!", Riko smiled as he had it figured out.
Shole shook his head, "Screw it, Im going for a smoke. Ummm, anybody got a light?"
Riko said, "Nope. I don't smoke, sir."
Ashby said, "I have a lighter, ummmm .... it was in my back pocket though, and, well, you know..."
The Fly said, "You know, speaking as as expert in the matters of all things fecal, you probably should not have, like, an open flame in this area. I mean, I seen this one time, this guy tried to smoke while taking a crap. And when I say he was taking a crap, that is the understatement, you know. I mean this guy was pumping out some grade-A, real quality sh*t! But I digress, anyway, he lit up the cigerette... BOOM! He blew his ass clean off, man!"
Shole sighed, and opened the hatch to go outside.
 
The Spearman watched warily as the top hatch opened once more. The commander poked his head out and looked around. He spotted The Spearman watching him from his perch, on a pile of rocks. "Hey! I don't suppose you have a lighter handy, do ya?"
The old man tilted his head sideways, his eyes narrowed, "Maybe, do you have any cigerettes?"
Shole lept from the tank with a big Texan whoop, "Yeeehaaaawww! Damn it's good to get some fresh air. Do you mind if I sit next to you, partner? Thanks."
The Spearman found himself shoved halfway across his comfortable rock, and was about to say something, when a cigerette was thrust under his nose. He smiled with pleasure as he took it and lit it up with his lighter.
The old man took a long drag, and sighed contentedly, "Thank you for the cigerette. I don't get out much, you know, gaurding the mountain and all", his eyes narrowed again, "I'm still going to kill you, and destroy your tank, you know."
Shole took a drag of his smoke, "Sure, sure. Whatever. It's just good to get out of that damn tank. It really stinks in there! You made one of my boys crap his pants", he chortled, "the stink was so bad, we thought a fly was talking to us! Can you imagine? A talking fly!" Shole broke off as laughter racked his body.
The Spearman went still, "Did this 'talking fly' speak with a heavy Mexican accent, kinda like Cheech, from the 'Ceech and Chong' movies? And did he talk about poop a great deal?"
Shole laughed even harder, "Yeh! Hahahaahaaa, said he was a... a... hahahaaahaaa...said he was a fecal expert HAHAHAHHAAAAAA!!!"
The spearman said nothing, he just kept his face carefully blank until Shole had finished laughing.
When Shole had finally calmed down, he looked over and saw a book hanging out of The Spearman's robe. He grabbed it before The Spearman could stop him. "Hey, what is this? The Culture Flip? What kind of stupid name for a book is that?"
The Spearman went red in the face, "I don't know, it's just a book that I'm... reading. That's all", he mumbled.
Shole read through the book for a few long moments. Every now and then he would shake his head and laugh. He lit up another cigerette and handed one to The Spearman, who took it.
After a while, The Spearman asked, "Well? What do you think? Do you like it?" His expression was fairly hopeful.
Shole looked up, "Well, I have stuidied warfare for some time, and I have to say, there are some really dumb things in this book."
The Spearman looked crestfallen, "Like what?"
"Well, for example, the German army in plate mail and with greater numbers getting slaughtered by a bunch of peasants armed only with sticks? C'mon, man! I mean, seriously! And as for that Jon guy getting together with Joan! Ha! I would've kicked her ass for what she did!"
The Spearman grabbed his book back and closed it with a snap. "Fine, you don't like my....er, the book, then don't read it!"
"Hey, calm down.."
"You calm down! I think you're just an ignorant barbarian who should get the hell offa my rock, and back in his tank!!!" He paused, and then added in a quieter voice, "But you could leave some of those cigerettes, if you don't mind?"
Shole stared at the old man for a second. Then he threw down the pack of smokes, and stomped back to his tank. He called back over his shoulder, "It's on, now, old man!"
The Spearman barely heard him. Ignorant fool! Let him spend three thousand years working on a book, only to have it ridiculed by a stupid fool! Well, The Fly liked it! He stared at the book for a moment, then threw it over his shoulder. He resumed watching the tank. How to break through all that armor....
 
There is a fine line between Genius and Insanity...

Chingis managed to squeeze himself into the crack between them... the whacko ;)
 
Later that night, The Spearman went back to his cave, still pondering how best to finish the tank. Mike was still up, writing notes; for his article in CNN that he would surely write, no doubt.
Mike looked up as The Speaman entered, "So, how did it go?"
The Spearman walked to the fridge and grabbed a beer, "Oh, not bad, not bad. I reduced the tank to one bar of health. I just need to finish it off. It'll wait till tomorrow."
Mark chewed the end of his pencil, he decided not to ask about the 'bar of health'. The answers he got from the old man just confused him. He tried a different approach, "You know, you could probably get hold of rocket launcher, or something. It would make fighting tanks a lot easier."
The Spearman sank into his laz-e-boy and took a long pull of the beer, "You really don't pay attention to anything I say, do you, you simple creature. I told you that I need to be upgraded to become anything stronger then what I am. Besides, I do alright against pretty much anything." He leaned forward in his chair, and a gleam entered his eye, "Did you see the moves I pulled on that tank today? I was awesome! Like... like Bruce Lee, or something! When I jumped and kicked the machine gun! That was sooo cool, man. Did you see it bend? Ha! I was in the zone my friend. Oh yes, I was good, damn good." He set his beer down and jumped up, leaping high in the air and performing a triple spinning back kick to demonstrate his talents. He let out a series of 'Bruce Lee' noises as he did so. "Yeah, beeyatch, take that, hiyah!... and that, wiooiiooo! He spun and kicked again. He caught his foot on the desk lamp, sending it flying as the old man lost his balance, and collapsed onto the floor.
Mike looked over the edge of the table to where The Spearman lay in a heap. "Are you okay?"
The old man groaned, "Aaaaargh, I think I broke my hip! Arrrrgh, MEDIC! Man down..."
Mike sighed, and sat back down to continue writing, interrupted by the occasional exclamations of pain emenating from over the table...
 
Shole opened the hatch and started to climb back into his tank. Voices drifted up to him,
"So, explain about the fragrance again?"
"Okay, okay. It is like this, some crap smells like good sh*t, well, I mean all sh*t is good, but some crap just smells gooood, you know. Now, take like, a deep breath, okay? Smell that sh*t? It is good, right?"
"Yeah, it does smell kinda... good, I suppose."
"That is what I have been telling you!"
Shole scrambled into the cramped interior, "What the hell? Were you two guys talking to that...that fly?"
Riko had his head down near Ashby's but. He jerked up to attention, and smacked his head on the roof. Ashby answered without meeting Shole's eyes, "Um, no sir. We weren't talking to anybody."
"I heard voices, goddamit!"
Riko pulled himself up, rubbing his head, "Um, we...we had the radio on, sir. You probably heard the radio."
Ashby gave a relieved grin, "Yeah, that's right, the radio."
An angry buzzing noise was coming from under Ashby's cupped hand, and a muffled voice with a Mexican accent, "Aaaaayyyy man! Let me out of here! You don't want to pizz me off, man! I know, like, Karate and stuff!"
Shole sighed, "Look, did you guys manage to fix the antenna while I was out smoking?"
"Sure did, sir. We have contact with the home base."
"Good, call in backup. Tell them to send in 'The Stack of Doom'."
Riko and Ashby looked at each other in mutual confusion.
"The stack of what, sir?"
Shole rubbed his forehead, "Umm, I'm not sure. I think that crazy old guy is rubbing off on me, or something. Look, just call in for help, okay?"
"Yes sir!"

Mike woke early the next morning. He noticed that The Spearman had already left. Wanting to catch a liitle of the action, he followed. He found The Spearman busy trying to light a fire under the tank by vigorously rubbing two sticks together.
Mike walked over, "Hey, why don't you use your lighter? Or is that one of your wierd 'upgrade' rules again?"
The old man's head whipped up angrily, "The only weird thing around here, is you. You damn one-man-freakshow. If you must know, the tank commander guy stole it."
"What, your lighter?"
The Spearman threw his hands up in exasperation, "No, you moron, my virginity! What the hell do you think?" He grabbed his sticks and started rubbing them together even faster, muttering to himself, and rolling his eyes from time to time.
Mark decided to leave him alone for the time being. He strolled along the mountainside, enjoying the early morning view. He had to admit, the scenery from way up here was quite fantastic. The valley floor, far below, looked as though it had been painted with long golden streaks of sunlight. The occasional cluster of vegetation looked plush, and green. The odd group of wildlife, scattered here and there. The sunlight glittered beautifully from the column of modern armor cruising towards the mountain pass. The rock formations out in the.... wait a minute! Column of tanks! Mike rubbed his eyes and looked again. Twenty or so tanks were steadily making their way up the mountain pass.
The Spearman had finally gotten a thin plume of smoke to rise from the pile of sticks he had gathered under the tank, and a little patch of glowing red indicated his iminant sucess with fire. He shook his fist up at the mighty iron beast, "Ha hahaa haaa, see how you like this!"
Mike came skidding around the corner, tripped on some loose shale, and manged to tumble head over heels straight into The Spearman, who, in turn, fell face first into his pile of twigs. He jumped up and spun to face Mike, brushing at the hot twigs that were caught in his beard, "You idiot! What the hell are you doing, simpleton? Do you have any idea how long I spent getting that fire to smoulder?"
Mike ignored the old man's tirade, "There's a bunch of tanks heading this way. Lots of tanks. I mean, a lot of tanks."
The Spearman regarded him with a cool expression, "I know."
"What do you mean, you know?!?"
"I am kind of like a God, you know. Besides, I sent for reinforcements of my own. You don't think I am all by myself do you? I do belong to a civilization of my own, you know. In fact, my reinforcements should be heading up the other side of the mountain as we speak."
Mike caught his breath, he noticed a thin trail of smoke coming from the old man's huge beard. "Oh. Well, I suppose everything's okay then."
"Oh yes. My civ is quite advanced you know", a touch of pride entered his voice, "we were the first to invent chivalry, you know."
Mike scratched at the stubble that was beggining to grow on his chin. "Well, that's good. I suppose I'll just go sit over here then?"
"Good idea, moron."
Mike turned to walk away, "By the way, that fire you are trying to start?"
"Yeah?"
"You can probably use you beard to light it."
The Spearman looked down to see a small fire had ignited, and was steadily growing larger as it worked it's way towards the Spearman's chin. "Aaaaarrrgghhh...."
 
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