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"Baker's Dozen"


Prologue
Baker's Dozen

By Bill Schott

 

Naked and dirty, covered with sweat and evergreen needles, Ben Baker staggered out of the pine forest and fell to his knees on the dirt road. The nine millimeter pistol, hanging from a boot lace, which girdled his midsection, swayed about. The eight rounds in the magazine had not been fired. The weight of the hand gun, and the way it was worn, had caused the boot lace to chafe his hips to bleeding. The unsheathed fighting knife, which he had to carry in his hand, often brushed against his body and made small cuts.

It was impossible to believe that it had only been a day since he had accepted the proposal from the Doom Domers. One day and a thousand miles later, he was running and searching for people to kill.

Yesterday, a million years ago, he had been presented with the take-it-or-leave-it option of being executed for treason, or to accept this challenge. No defense lawyers or juries were to be bothered with. The Chief of Staff  would simply shoot him in the back of the head with his .357 automatic, which he wore proudly in his shoulder holster. The only other possibility would be to play a hunting and killing game. He would be dropped off in the northern woods and have to find and kill twelve other people who had the same challenge.

Shivering as he stood back up, he wondered if the secretary would have really shot him-- right there in the White House. This situation was proving, however, that nothing was above or below expectations now.

Looking at the list of names that had been printed on his forearm with indelible ink, Ben realized that each person had been a former friend of the President . They were all pitted against each other as a punishment in which only one could survive.

He knew if he followed this road it would lead to the encampment. Whoever was there he would kill. There were only a few rounds in his gun, so he'd have to use the knife, or improvise another way to get the task done. He WOULD kill them though. He would kill them all.




 






 

Author Notes Image from Google

Reposting this to make foundation to continue.


Chapter 1
Angles and Bends

By Bill Schott

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of violence.
Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

In the prologue, Ben Baker, as punishment from the Chief of Staff of the White House, has been dropped into a wooded area in the northwest. He has a list of a dozen people on his arm he must find and kill. With a hand gun and knife, totally naked, he must search the forest and eliminate everyone, or be executed.



The helicopter took off from the rural D.C. airport without authorization or a flight plan. On board were the pilot, seated in the right seat in front, and the Undersecretary of Cabinet Affairs, Rusty Pipes. In the center of the vehicle were Tyler Angles and Tim Bends.

"We're nearing the drop zone, you two." shouted the White House adviser. "Check your parachutes and get ready to jump."

"This is a hell of a way to go out, Tim."

"You can thank the Chief of Staff for this, Ty. He sold this BS to the President and now we're going to have to kill each other."

"Don't forget about ten other schmucks as well."

"Yeah, that's some bullshit alright." Bends inspected his parachute again. The only other things he had were a nine millimeter with a trigger lock installed, a fighting knife sans sheath, a boot lace, and a plastic bottle of water.

"Why in hell do we have to be naked?" asked Angles again.

The Undersecretary simply smiled and said, "There's always the bullet in the head. Mr. Connor let me borrow his .357, in case either of you wanted to choose the other option."

"Thanks, Rusty," said Angles. "Keep it in case you're next."

"I'm not a rat fink like the two of you."

"We didn't do anything; at least I didn't." said Bends.

"I was set up," said Angles. "I'm pretty certain it was Connor."

"Why would the Chief of Staff give a rat's ass about a low-level turd like you, Angles?"

"Look at me, butthead! I'm getting ready to leap out of a frigging helicopter -- naked! That's a bit much, DON'T YOU THINK!"

"Okay, okay!" shouted Pipes. "After you jump, pull that ripcord immediately. You've just got enough height to break your fall and land safely."

"Where do we put this pistol and knife?" asked Angles.

"Shove 'em up your hoo hoo, dummy!"

"What about the trigger locks?" asked Bends.

"Oh, yeah, I forgot. The key's in your water bottle."

The Undersecretary of Cabinet Affairs pulled open the side hatch and stepped back. "Out ya go!"

Spinning around to face Tyler Angles, Bends shoved his knife deep into the man's rib cage. He expertly passed between the bones and punctured the left lung. Before Angles could utter a sound, a second jab pierced his abdomen, splitting his muscles and assuring he could not draw another breath.

Pipes shoved the dying man into Bends and both men fell through the hatch, plummeting downward.



 

Author Notes Thanks to William Runcie for use of his apt art photograph.


Chapter 2
Plop! What a Relief.

By Bill Schott

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of violence.

Ben Baker has been dropped into a wooded area in the northeast. He has a list of a dozen people on his arm he must find and kill. Two others have been dropped into the area now, one dead, and one already a killer.

The encampment lay at the clearing of the woods. The firebreak road, which bisected the three hundred acre section of forest, led right to it. Baker had been told by Rusty Pipes that he was to try and make it to this site as quickly as possible. There would be supplies and tools that would allow whoever arrived first a significant advantage over the others.

Ben had been walking quickly down the dirt road carrying his loaded, nine mil Smith and Wesson, carbon bladed fighting knife, and, under his armpit, a half-empty plastic water bottle. He had drunk some of the water earlier in the morning and pulled the trigger key out to free his pistol for use.

Suddenly, sounding like a dud artillery round pounding into the ground in front of him, a body slammed onto the road. Blood shot out and up from the man, who had either exploded on contact with the ground, or had been perforated before taking a big step out of a plane.

Ben ran for cover off the road and looked at the pile of flesh with disbelief. Looking up, as if to see where the got-to-be-dead man came from, he saw a parachute with what would have to be another participant attached.

Seeing that the skydiver was going to land far into the wooded area, Ben ran up to see what was what with the sack of humanity on the ground. He saw right away that it was Tyler Angles, assistant to the Chief Justice of the United States. He'd apparently been pre-killed and thrown from a helicopter like HE had jumped from. The body had no accessorizing pieces like gun, knife, or water. He may never have had these items, or they may have landed separately.

Leaving Angles’ body where it landed, Baker searched the woods within a hundred feet of the corpse. After completing a circumference of the drop spot he did find a bottle of water with a key inside. Nearby, stuck in a stump like Excalibur , was a K-bar. He continued reaching into the tall grass and under logs until a notion occurred. Following his hunch, Ben hurried to Angles' body and rolled it over. There, like finding a black pearl of great price, he saw the pistol.

Not knowing who might be dropping in next, Baker ran into the woods and found cover. Immediately he opened the new bottle of water, turned it up to drink, and allowed the key to slip out into his teeth. After removing the trigger block from the second weapon, he inspected the magazine.

In a stroke of field expedient ingenuity, he drank the water from both bottles and began fashioning holsters out of them with his knife. Once completed, he strung the boot lace through both bottles and wore his pair of pistols on his hips like Wyatt Earp.

He figured that whoever was parachuting in would end up a mile from where he was now, so he got back on the road with his two pistols and knives and began trotting in the direction of the encampment. It was then that he heard the growling. Looking back he saw the wolves.


 

Author Notes Thanks to cs144 for use of the photo art.

Nine mil (9 millimeter automatic pistol, similar to a .45 caliber)
K-bar (fighting knife)


Chapter 3
Flashback

By Bill Schott

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of violence.
Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

Years before Ben Baker had been dropped into a wooded area in the northeast, the framework for this ordeal had been laid out in the humid, deadly fields of Vietnam.


North Vietnam DMZ 1973

POW interrogation

Two Viet Cong interrogators, two VC guards, and two American soldiers stood or kneeled in the center of an elevated grass hut. A captured American soldier, Corporal G.I. Joseph, crouched before a flimsy wooden table. His arms were tied together behind him and attached to his ankles. He was naked, other than an assembly of leaves woven on his head. Guards were spread eight feet apart, the width of the hut, while two interrogators sat in flimsy chairs on each side of the soldier. Directly in front of him was another soldier. He was dressed in a t-shirt and trousers. His name was First Lieutenant C.C. Connors.

An interrogator on his left spoke first, "Ban ten gi?"

Lt. Connors leaned in. "He asked your name, soldier."

"You speak their lingo, el tee?"

"Just answer, dipshit, before he kills you."

"Corporal Gregory Ira Joseph. United States Army. Serial number 37 --“

"Cut that bullshit, corporal," said the lieutenant. "Just your name. Now, which unit are you from?"

"Who's askin' questions, sir? You or these zips?"

The interrogator on the right asked, "Ong tu dau den?"

"He wants to know your unit."

"This is horse shit, Lieutenant. I ain't tellin' them nothin'!"

" You will soldier," said the officer.

"You're collaboratin' with the enemy, Lieutenant."

"Actually, Corporal, they're helping ME. I'm leaving this hole in one piece -- as a hero. Turds like you will end up here."

The corporal spit on the floor, "I'll eat fish heads and sit in a cage 'til we kill all these devils."

"No, Corporal," said the Lieutenant. "They've got a game for you to play. If you win, you go free."

"What game?"

Smiling, the company grade officer knelt down to the other man's level. 
"They'll send you and a few other prisoners out with a bayonet or a machete to kill each other. The winner goes home with me."

"That some crazy VC game?" asked Joseph.

"Actually, it was my idea. We played something like it at the academy."

"You killed each other at the academy?"

"Not for real, Corporal Joseph. That's why it wasn't much fun. Here, the winning is real, and the losing is for keeps."

"You're bat shit crazy and a traitor, Lieutenant. I'll survive this and see you shot."

"I know I'll survive, soldier. My plans are to be a politician. I'm going keep this war going for twenty years."

"Why?!"

"Peace is for queers, Corporal."

Corporal Joseph hardened his expression. "I ain't tellin' them nothin' and I ain't playin' your friggin' game!"

The lieutenant sighed and stood. Nodding to the guards he said, "Lam ngon tay cua manh." (Do his finger.)

With that, the guards grabbed the corporal's hands and isolated his smallest finger. Pushing it down on a table, a knife point was placed above the quick on the nail and pressure applied. The corporal screamed and defecated.

The lieutenant kneeled in again. "That was a tiny point on a little spot, hero. Tell me everything you know, or even suspect, or they will make that pain seem like a feather tickle."

"Go to hell!"

"Okay Joseph," said Connors. "When they're done with you, you will have told them where everyone is and where you buried your pet hamster when you were ten years old."

Three hours of torture revealed nothing.

Finally, the lieutenant had them stop. "Anh ta khong biet ga ca."
(He doesn't know anything.)

The guards dragged the corporal out of the hut and threw him down into a rice paddy. A heavy object landed next to him wrapped in a sateen shirt. It was a bayonet.

"Len duong binh an," said the lieutenant. (Have a good journey.)

"Where do I go?" asked the weak and trembling corporal.

"Head south, soldier. In about an hour, you'll meet up with someone like yourself. He'll be expecting you. You'll kill him or he'll kill you. Whoever is still alive will get a nice cage to sit in and all the worms you can dig up."

"I'll find you lieutenant and you'll pay."

"You'll find me in the White House, Joseph. I'll be your damn President."



 

Author Notes Image from Google and Wikipedia.

Vietnamese derived from Google app. Pronunciation markings were removed.


Chapter 4
Encampment

By Bill Schott

Ben Baker is trying to survive this life or death punishment given to him and others by the President of the United States' Chief of Staff, C.C. Connors. All men thrown into the challenge have been given a pistol with seven rounds and a knife. Any other help would be found at an encampment that is supposed to be where the fire break opens into a large clearing. Everyone is headed there to gain advantage over the others. 

Having heard wild growling behind him, Ben looked back in horror to see three wolves ripping at the body in the road. Angles' intestines had burst from his body on impact and were now being yanked and strewn about. Ravenously ripping at the carcass, the creatures were seemingly unaware or totally uninterested in the other man down the road. He turned and ran as fast as he could remember ever running at any time in his entire life.

The encampment could only be seen from up close. Camouflage netting shielded the site from both visual and electronic detection from above. The thirty-meter width of the concealed area capped the firebreak mouth into a clearing. The breadth extended another thirty meters into the otherwise open area. There were several banded crates in the middle of the enclosure. The crates were placed around a single cot. A rolled sleeping bag, sleeping mat, and case of Meals-Ready-to-Eat rested on the cot.

Running first to the crates, he found the banding was heavy gauge nylon. His knife cut them easily and then it was used to pry open the first wooden box. Inside was one M-16A2 semi-automatic rifle and thousands of individual rounds. There was, however, no magazine to be found.

"Connors!" he screamed, then grabbed a single bullet and chambered it.

He noticed now that there were twelve crates in all. Going to the next nearest crate, he went through the same entry procedure. In the box was what looked like a net laundry bag filled with grenades.

'Terrific. They're probably all duds and I'll have to just throw them at son-of-a-bitches like rocks.' Thinking to leave the hand-toss explosives there, he proceeded to the next crate.

The third box contained a poncho, poncho liner, dozens of pairs of military issue socks, and a black wool cap. He pulled them out and immediate donned the poncho, cap, and two socks on each foot. He poked three holes in the toes of another pair and pulled them onto his hands. His holster was repositioned onto the outside of his new garment.

Nine more boxes seemed like a daunting task. He was wired with adrenaline, but also exhausted. Trying to think how to defend against others who would come, he considered the crates he'd already opened. An idea occurred to him in respect to the grenades, which he acted on before loading a sock full of M16 ammunition, picking up the sleeping bag and mat, and running back into the woods to hide and rest.


 


Chapter 5
Bauxers and Breefs

By Bill Schott


FLASHBACK
 
Years before Ben Baker had been dropped into a wooded area in the northeast, the framework for this ordeal had been laid out in the humid, deadly fields of Vietnam.


North Vietnam DMZ 1973

POW interrogation

Two Viet Cong interrogators, two VC guards, and two American soldiers stood or kneeled in the center of an elevated grass hut. A captured American soldier, Corporal G.I. Joseph, crouched before a flimsy wooden table. His arms were tied together behind him and attached to his ankles. He was naked, other than an assembly of leaves woven on his head. Guards were spread eight feet apart, the width of the hut, while two interrogators sat in flimsy chairs on each side of the soldier. Directly in front of him was another soldier. He was dressed in a t-shirt and trousers. His name was First Lieutenant C.C. Connors.

An interrogator on his left spoke first, "Ban ten gi?"

Lt. Connors leaned in. "He asked your name, soldier."

"You speak their lingo, el tee?"

"Just answer, dipshit, before he kills you."

"Corporal Gregory Ira Joseph. United States Army. Serial number 37 --“

"Cut that bullshit, corporal," said the lieutenant. "Just your name. Now, which unit are you from?"

"Who's askin' questions, sir? You or these zips?"

The interrogator on the right asked, "Ong tu dau den?"

"He wants to know your unit."

"This is horse shit, Lieutenant. I ain't tellin' them nothin'!"

" You will soldier," said the officer.

"You're collaboratin' with the enemy, Lieutenant."

"Actually, Corporal, they're helping ME. I'm leaving this hole in one piece -- as a hero. Turds like you will end up here."

The corporal spit on the floor, "I'll eat fish heads and sit in a cage 'til we kill all these devils."

"No, Corporal," said the Lieutenant. "They've got a game for you to play. If you win, you go free."

"What game?"

Smiling, the company grade officer knelt down to the other man's level. 
"They'll send you and a few other prisoners out with a bayonet or a machete to kill each other. The winner goes home with me."

"That some crazy VC game?" asked Joseph.

"Actually, it was my idea. We played something like it at the academy."

"You killed each other at the academy?"

"Not for real, Corporal Joseph. That's why it wasn't much fun. Here, the winning is real, and the losing is for keeps."

"You're bat shit crazy and a traitor, Lieutenant. I'll survive this and see you shot."

"I know I'll survive, soldier. My plans are to be a politician. I'm going keep this war going for twenty years."

"Why?!"

"Peace is for queers, Corporal."

Corporal Joseph hardened his expression. "I ain't tellin' them nothin' and I ain't playin' your friggin' game!"

The lieutenant sighed and stood. Nodding to the guards he said, "Lam ngon tay cua manh." (Do his finger.)

With that, the guards grabbed the corporal's hands and isolated his smallest finger. Pushing it down on a table, a knife point was placed above the quick on the nail and pressure applied. The corporal screamed and defecated.

The lieutenant kneeled in again. "That was a tiny point on a little spot, hero. Tell me everything you know, or even suspect, or they will make that pain seem like a feather tickle."

"Go to hell!"

"Okay Joseph," said Connors. "When they're done with you, you will have told them where everyone is and where you buried your pet hamster when you were ten years old."

Three hours of torture revealed nothing.

Finally, the lieutenant had them stop. "Anh ta khong biet ga ca."
(He doesn't know anything.)

The guards dragged the corporal out of the hut and threw him down into a rice paddy. A heavy object landed next to him wrapped in a sateen shirt. It was a bayonet.

"Len duong binh an," said the lieutenant. (Have a good journey.)

"Where do I go?" asked the weak and trembling corporal.

"Head south, soldier. In about an hour, you'll meet up with someone like yourself. He'll be expecting you. You'll kill him or he'll kill you. Whoever is still alive will get a nice cage to sit in and all the worms you can dig up."

"I'll find you lieutenant and you'll pay."

"You'll find me in the White House, Joseph. I'll be your damn President."
 
=====================================================
 
PRESENT DAY

 
The President's Chief of Staff has a way of eliminating traitors to the president. He sends them on a fight or die, capture or kill mission where they will most likely fail. The participants are being added hourly.


"Orr! Do you think he knows?" asked B. B. Bauxers, Assistant to the Assistant Secretary of Agriculture.

"I hope not," replied the Assistant to the Assistant of the Communications Secretary.

The two men scurried down the hallway in the left wing of the White House. They were headed for a meeting with the Chief of Staff , C.C. Connors.

Reaching Connors' door, they met up with the Undersecretary of Cabinet Affairs, Rusty Pipes.

"How's it hangin', Orrin?" addressing the Communications Secretary.

"Give you a hint -- I lost a leg in Bosnia."

Both men began laughing as Bauxers stared blankly at Pipes.

"Why are we here?" he asked.

"Right to it, huh?" replied Pipes, half grinning as he reached back for the door knob. "Let's chat."

The three men entered the office and were startled to find two other men standing face to face. The Chief of Staff was holding a spoon in his right hand and running it down the left side of the other man's face. In profile, Connors looked like a skeleton with skin and muscle painted on his frame. His alopecia and sickly pale skin gave him the look of Death himself.  He didn't really look like a man of seventy.

"Oh!" he said, smiling with a toothy grin that tightened sphincters all over Washington.
Addressing the nearer man, "You must be B.B. Bauxers."

"Orr Breefs," he corrected."

"Suddenly I'm thinking of dancing fruit," said Connors, continuing to grin as if practicing making his clenched teeth seem friendly.

Looking back to the other man, standing naked with a Colt 45 caliber pistol in his hand, he snapped his fingers. The man turned and walked to the far corner of the room and sat on the floor.

Returning his attention to the new guests, "You might recognize Mr. Post. He works for the Gazette."

Orrin Breefs did indeed recognize the man. He had passed some vital intelligence about the President's connection to a drug cartel in Mexico. There was no smoking gun, put some bodies piling up who MAY have been contract killings.

"I've never met Mr. -- er -- Post? Was it?" said Bauxers, lying with the grace of a barf bag.

Connors turned to face Bauxers. "Well, BB, here's the thing -- we have pictures."

"What do you want from us, Mr. Conners?"

For the next thirty minutes, the Chief of Staff told a story of ascension. It was his own trek from the killing fields of Vietnam, through the failed attempts running for the House of Representatives.

"You need balls, gentlemen. Balls, connections, spiel, and looks. If you're short one of those four elements, you'll need to use the others to your maximum advantage."

"What are you doing with Post?" asked Breefs.

"I'm considering sending him with you two on your trip," he replied.

Bauxers and Breefs gave each other a questioning stare.

"Yes! He'll go with you."

"Where are we go --"

"Please let me go!" said Post, suddenly crying and moving towards the group. It was now evident that he had several bruises on his ribs and chest. There were also dark rings under his eyes with dried blood under the left.

"Post!" said Connors, smiling, seeming unperturbed. Post returned to the corner.

"I have been demonstrating how to defend oneself with a spoon. Post has taken several jabs to the ribcage and abdomen. I even showed him how to dislodge an eye from its socket with a little pressure in the right area. We got it back in though.”

"What in the name of --"

Conners cut Breefs off with a raised hand.

"Look fellows. Rusty here is going to drive the three of you up north a ways. There's a government facility where Congressmen go to hunt and fish. There's a world class golf course, tennis courts, and hot and cold running influence peddling."

"We're going fishing?" asked Bauxers, trying to understand how this would be punishment.

"No, BB. You're going hunting."





 

Author Notes Image from Google


Chapter 6
Hard Landing

By Bill Schott

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of violence.

 
In previous flashback, Connors’ origination of the game was established, introducing the character, Cpl. G.I. Joseph. 

North Vietnam DMZ 1973

Corporal Joseph sloshed through the rice paddies with both exhilaration and trepidation. Connors seemed to have released him to decide his own fate with a one-on-one battle elsewhere.

He was mostly naked, except for a faded, green, military-issue shirt with which he had diapered himself.

The bayonet, which Connors had thrown him, was proving useful on this journey to his destiny. Within the first hour of travel he had disturbed a nest of snakes. He was bitten only twice, though he could feel an effect on his breathing. He snatched one off his right calf muscle and managed to separate its head and glands from the body. It became his sustenance as he picked up the pace in the slow-moving fields.

After a second hour, to his reckoning, and as the sun was passing lower in the sky, he saw a grass hut. It was two or three times larger than any such lash up he'd seen on patrols, and stood as if a gateway from the fields to the jungle.

From within the hut, Joseph heard a wild shriek, as though the person within was being tortured. He squeezed the handle on the bayonet, expecting he would be fighting for his life in mere seconds.

Suddenly, a man came bursting through the wall of the hut. In his right hand was a bamboo stick, sharpened to a knife point but held backwards, as if grabbed in a hurry. On his left arm, huge and flopping about, was a crocodile.

"Oi chua oi!" screamed the Vietnamese. (Oh my God!)


Blood ran from the man's arm, as he went from running and falling in the foot deep water, to being on his knees. The full-grown reptile had pulled the man to a prostrate position with his head bobbing up and down below the water's surface.

Joseph acted instinctively and rushed to the man's aid. Throwing himself onto the six-foot demon, he buried the bayonet in its skull, between and behind its eyes, with the force that drove the blade through its brain. Pulling the knife out, he tried repeating the blow, only to find he did not have the strength.

Sitting down in the water, which covered his midriff, he could only watch the scene in front of him. The man who had been potential crocodile food, rose to standing. His entire left side was red with his own blood, and his lower arm was in tatters. He walked past the corporal and back to the hut.

Barely conscious, Joseph saw the blurry image of the man in front of him, who kneeled down and pulled the bayonet from the corporal's pliant hand.

Managing to muster a bit of clarity within the venom-tainted haze he was in, Joseph muttered, "Didi mao."
(Make it quick.)
 
===========================================
PRESENT DAY
 
Ben Baker has arrived at the encampment and left to rest. B.B Breefs, Orrin Bauxers, and a reporter from the local paper are enroute to the operational area. Tyler Angles died from stabbing and a fall as Tim Bends drops into the danger zone.

Tim Bends' day was not going well at all. After being caught leaking information on impeachable and treasonous events involving the President to a supposed news source, he found that it was a trap to catch leakers. The President's Chief of Staff, C.C. Connors, had a way of punishing people like Bends, which involved mortal combat with other undesirables. Initially, he tried to blame a colleague, Tyler Angles, but that only managed to get him included in Bends’ punishment.

Later, naked and about to be pushed from a helicopter, Tim killed his friend with a hunting knife. It didn't stop his being ejected from the chopper, but it did eliminate one of the dozen others he was supposed to have to kill later.

Falling from a helicopter was no joke. Bends had to flatten out quickly, pull the ripcord, and hope that his descent, naked as a jaybird, wouldn't involve a lot of trees. He dropped into the center of a forest.

The first impact with the top of the tree was jarring. His skin was severely shredded as he drove down through the limbs of the tall and limber pine. Half way down the tree, still fifty feet from the ground, he was stopped on the first sizable bough. Still conscious, he released the harness and began climbing down the rest of the way. Unfortunately, on a day of misfortunes, he slipped and slid down ten feet of the tree, rasping his face, chest, belly, thighs, and genitals against the unforgiving bark. He lasted another twenty feet, before passing out and completing the final twenty feet hitting the remaining limbs in his path to the forest floor.

Waking later in the darkness, he was several minutes trying to remember why he was there. Slowly remembering everything up to the parachuting, he realized that he had lost the pistol, knife, and water bottle.

Aching, covered in dried blood, and beginning to shiver with the night air, he could only move through the darkness hoping to go in the shortest direction to the encampment. Driven by pain, fear, and cold, he was unaware of the jagged roots and stones beneath his feet. He was growing weaker as he moved along. Feeling his moist stomach, he realized he was still bleeding in his lower extremities. Finally reaching his groin, he was shocked to find he had no testicles.

Tim finally stopped and fell to his knees. His one thought was to fold his legs up under him and hope that he could keep from bleeding to death.

In what seemed like only a few seconds, the dawn had arrived and he awoke. Blurry-eyed, he tried to focus on something moving in front of him. He hoped it was a deer or a friendly local out for a morning constitutional in the deep woods.

As the apparition moved closer, it became more defined as a human being.

"Morning."

Bends couldn't form words. He began shaking and uttering indistinct sounds. Looking down he saw that his lap was a goo of congealed blood. He had only one useful eye; the left was compromised from his fall. He could feel that his nose was only drawing air in from the right nostril. He knew his entire left side was raked to raw meat.

"You must be one of Conner's bad boys."

Bends could only guess whether he was dreaming or awake.

"My name is Greg.  You could use a mercy bullet right about now."

Bends could only look at the pine needles in front of him and pray the bullet was coming soon.

"The camp is about a hundred yards straight that way. If you recover, you may find what you need to survive."

The stranger walked past the naked, bloody, and shivering man, leaving Bends alone again.

Bends waited what seemed like hours, then began crawling on his hands and knees in the direction of the encampment.


 

Author Notes Image from Google


Chapter 7
Flashback 2

By Bill Schott

Ben Baker will fight for his life against a dozen others who are bound to kill him or be killed. 
Chief of Staff, C.C. Connors, has orchestrated this dangerous game to punish and quash anyone who endangers the President’s agenda.
In previous flashback, Connors’ origination of the game was established, introducing the character, Cpl. G.I. Joseph. 


North Vietnam DMZ 1973

Corporal Joseph sloshed through the rice paddies with both exhilaration and trepidation. Connors seemed to have released him to decide his own fate with a one-on-one battle elsewhere.

He was mostly naked, except for a faded, green, military-issue shirt with which he had diapered himself.

The bayonet, which Connors had thrown him, was proving useful on this journey to his destiny. Within the first hour of travel he had disturbed a nest of snakes. He was bitten only twice, though he could feel an effect on his breathing. He snatched one off his right calf muscle and managed to separate its head and glands from the body. It became his sustenance as he picked up the pace in the slow-moving fields.

After a second hour, to his reckoning, and as the sun was passing lower in the sky, he saw a grass hut. It was two or three times larger than any such lash up he'd seen on patrols, and stood as if a gateway from the fields to the jungle.

From within the hut, Joseph heard a wild shriek, as though the person within was being tortured. He squeezed the handle on the bayonet, expecting he would be fighting for his life in mere seconds.

Suddenly, a man came bursting through the wall of the hut. In his right hand was a bamboo stick, sharpened to a knife point but held backwards, as if grabbed in a hurry. On his left arm, huge and flopping about, was a crocodile.

"Oi chua oi!" screamed the Vietnamese. (Oh my God!)


Blood ran from the man's arm, as he went from running and falling in the foot deep water, to being on his knees. The full-grown reptile had pulled the man to a prostrate position with his head bobbing up and down below the water's surface.

Joseph acted instinctively and rushed to the man's aid. Throwing himself onto the six-foot demon, he buried the bayonet in its skull, between and behind its eyes, with the force that drove the blade through its brain. Pulling the knife out, he tried repeating the blow, only to find he did not have the strength.

Sitting down in the water, which covered his midriff, he could only watch the scene in front of him. The man who had been potential crocodile food, rose to standing. His entire left side was red with his own blood, and his lower arm was in tatters. He walked past the corporal and back to the hut.

Barely conscious, Joseph saw the blurry image of the man in front of him, who kneeled down and pulled the bayonet from the corporal's pliant hand.

Managing to muster a bit of clarity within the venom-tainted haze he was in, Joseph muttered, "Didi mao."
(Make it quick.)

Author Notes Image from Google


Chapter 8
To the Ground

By Bill Schott

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of violence.
Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

Previously, Ben Baker, Ty Angles, Tim Bends, and others, had been dropped into a large, northeastern, wooded compound. Part of a maniacal White House cleansing, they must battle each other to the death for a chance to be the one survivor.

"Strip down!"

The three men looked at each other wondering if Rusty Pipes meant what it sounded like.

"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Orrin Breefs.

About to object to what he was hearing, B.B Bauxers turned to Woody Post, who mirrored his quizzical expression. Turning back he witnessed Pipes quickly slap Breefs across the left side of his face, then step in with a right elbow smash to the man's mouth. Breefs dropped to his knees.

Post was immediately unfastening and tossing off his clothing. Bauxers knelt to check on his acquaintance. There was a nose bleed and a definite dislocated jaw. Tears poured down Breefs' face as the pain was quickly turning his stomach and causing his breathing to become erratic.

"Leave him!" barked the Under Secretary of Cabinet Affairs. "He might just luck out and die where he falls."

Post was totally naked and holding his hands over his crotch.

"Shit, Post! You're a disrobing wonder. Now grab those three tote bags to your left on the deck there."

"I think you cracked his neck when you sucker punched him," said Bauxers, as he stood and began unbuttoning.

"Now he knows what strip down means. Now get naked and take this dipshit's clothes off too."

"It's just you and your pilot, Pipes. I think I'll kick your ass and have your boyfriend take me home."

It was then that the helicopter rotor shifted gears and the vehicle lifted off the ground. Pipes withdrew a .357 Desert Eagle from his jacket holster and casually pointed it at Bauxers.

"Someone at home waiting on you, B.B.?" asked
Pipes, smiling.

"None of your friggin business, asshole."

"Your faithful wife, what's her name, Feather? She keeping the pushin' cushion warm for ya?"

"You keep my wife out of this, you despicable cretin!" Bauxers now roiling and ready to charge the gun-wielding man.

"She's waiting for you on the ground where we're going, B. B.. She's been there for two days. Didn't you miss her?"

Bauxers’ mind was spinning as he believed the grinning jerk was telling the truth. Having quietly separated from the former and future Ms. Feather Waite, he hadn't been in touch with her in days.

"Oh yeah! She and Breefs’ homo-hubby are runnin' round naked and free in the forest. We heard you and he like discussing your affairs with them, so they were invited along."

Bauxers’ brain was racing as he contemplated killing the goon with his bare hands, damn the gun.

"What about these bags?" asked Post, almost diffusing the issue.


Pipes, grinning wildly, flicked the safety off his pistol with his thumb and aimed it center mass on Bauxers' chest. "Grab a bag, hero. Get your butt buddy's clothes off, and listen to what I say from here on out. If you give me one friggin iota of shit, I will just ventilate the three of you right now."

Over the next thirty minutes, the three prisoners became naked and each in possession of a forty-five caliber Smith and Wesson semi-automatic pistol, magazine installed with seven rounds, a K-bar without a sheath, a boot lace, and a bottle of water.

"Okay, boys. You're going to land somewhere in the center of the compound and you'll need to move north. There's a huge firebreak, like a wide road, that runs north and south. Find it, follow it to an encampment. If you've got any luck at all, which you sure as hell do not, you'll beat the others there and get a leg up on your competition. Remember, those nine others, that's including your 'death 'til we part' honey wah and Breefs Cryin' Game gal all need to kill you. You may think those significant others won't, but I'm here to tell you they sure as hell will."

"Where are we landing?" asked Post.

"As a matter of fact, we are landing. I normally push dead meat out at blossom level so their chutes open, but our pilot, God bless him, forgot to load the damn things. Remind me to kill him later.”

The helicopter descended to a clearing in the center of the huge wooded area, and hovered without landing, twenty feet above the ground. Pipes pulled open the hatch.

"You're jumping out here," said Pipes. "Step up and bail out."

"We'll break our legs from this height, Pipes!" yelled Bauxers. "Breefs will break his neck."

Pipes laughed. "You're probably right." With that, he pulled Breefs up to the hatch, put the gun to the man's temple, and shot him. The force carried the dead man out and down to the field below.

Bauxers exploded and attacked Pipes as he stood in the hatch. With a palm strike to the man's nose, he then wrapped his body around the arm with the gun, quickly straightened the arm, and over-extended the elbow. It snapped.

Pipes, screaming through gnashed teeth, spun around to launch B.B. out of the opening. Post leapt up to grab the pistol from Pipes' hand, only to meet with resistance enough to pull the trigger and fire a round.

Trying to tighten the grip he had on the pistol, Pipes discharged two more bullets into the chopper. Both found a target in the pilot’s back. The controls left the dead man's hands and the vehicle spun wildly as it fell quickly to the ground.

Before crashing, both Bauxers and Pipes were thrown from the hull. Post remained inside to hit the deck.

Slamming into the tall grass and soft ground, the titanium rotor blades chopped ferociously at 480 rpms as they excavated a large circle of land. Within a few seconds, the engines blew and all became silent.

Woody Post found himself on top of the dead pilot, whose body had apparently borne the brunt of the impact, leaving Post with what felt like broken ribs, a jammed index finger, and a thousand small cuts all over his naked body.

The hatch was facing the ground, so, after trying different pieces of heavy metal parts that lay about, he smashed through the cockpit shielding and escaped the downed chopper.

To his right he saw a long stretch of level field that seemed to turn back into forest. Tall pines were in front of him and to his rear. Something on his right was appearing far off and moving in his direction. It looked like it could be people. They appeared to be moving quickly toward him. His heart, which he didn't think could race any harder, began causing him to hyperventilate. He fell to his knees as bullets punched holes in the fuselage behind him and dug divots out the ground in front of him. He could only close his arms around his face and top of his head and wait for a bullseye to take him out.

"Who are you?!" screamed the woman who now stood before him. "Who are you, damn it?! And where's my husband?!"




 

Author Notes Thanks to William Runcie for use of the photograph.


Chapter 9
Reunion

By Bill Schott

CHARACTERS:

Ben Baker     low-level White House worker forced to fight others as Presidential punishment
CC. Connors President's Chief of Staff
Rusty Pipes  Undersecretary of Cabinet Affairs
Tyler Angles Assistant to the Assistant Secretary of the Interior
Tim Bends    Assistant to the Assistant Post Master General
B.B. Bauxers Assistant to the Assistant Secretary of Agriculture
Orrin Breefs  Assistant to the Assistant of the Communications Secretary
Feather Waites former wife of B.B Bauxers
Ivan Zaroff    husband of Orrin Breefs
Woody Post Journalist
Cpl. G.I. Joseph Connor's adversary in Vietnam
==============================================================

The story so far...

Ben Baker, for some reason not yet disclosed, has been sent by Chief of Staff, C.C. Connors, to a secret five-hundred-acre compound somewhere in the American Northeast to find and kill a dozen people.

Rusty Pipes, another White House staffer, is aiding Connors.

Tyler Angles, Tim Bends, BB Bauxers, and Orrin Breefs, other White House low-level staff, have also been sent to fight.

Feather Waites and Ivan Zaroff are the spouses of Bauxers and Breefs and likewise sent to the compound.

Since arriving, two have already died.

At this point Baker is sleeping in the woods preparing to kill the others. Angles was killed by Bends, then ejected from a helicopter. Bends parachuted, naked, into the forest and was gravely injured.

Breefs was killed prior to a helicopter landing and Bauxers and Rusty Pipes were ejected before the vehicle crashed.

Woody Post has survived and is now being threatened by Feather Waite and Ivan Zaroff.


==============================================================

Ben Baker heard something crawling through the brush behind him. Still in his sleeping bag, covered by defilade, he tried to twist slowly inside the cloth shell to see what was making the sound. Finally in his line of sight, through the dead leaves and limbs of his camouflage, he saw the hideously disfigured form of a man. Covered entirely in dirt and what looked like glistening tar, a person was slowly dragging himself in a direction that was leading him to Baker's position.

Meanwhile, at the crash site, Feather Waite shouted again at Woody Post, who knelt naked and trembling before her.

"Where's my husband?!"

"He's not a Doom Domer, Feather," said Ivan Zaroff, husband to Orrin Breefs. "I think he's a reporter."

"Feather!" came a yell from the other side of the downed helicopter.

"Bobby?!" she screamed, then ran to the naked man, who was on his hands and knees.

"Good Lord!" yelled Ivan, looking at the two reunited. Then, smiling, he shouted for his husband.

"Orrin! Where are you?! Orrin! It's Ivan, Babe! It's Ivan!"

With no answer and after circling the downed chopper, the only other person visible was Rusty Pipes. He lay on the ground, face up, but twisted slightly at the hip. He was staring at the sky, though his eyes slowly moved from left to right, as if taking in his situation.

"Mr. Pipes. Where is my husband?"

"I can't move," said Pipes, softly, not looking at Ivan. "Can't feel my legs. Do I have legs?"

"Tell me where Orrin is and I'll help you find your legs."

Pipes moved his eyes back and forth, as if remembering how he got to this point. He slowly moved his right arm off the ground towards his chest. His fingers were somewhat numb, but he could feel the holster under his ripped coat. Empty.

"Ivan!" called Feather. "Ivan! It's Orrin!"

He ran over to her with an anticipatory smile, which turned to a shocked and disbelieving stare. Under the massive hull of the helicopter was the crushed body of his husband Orrin Breefs.

Running to him, he held the faintest hope that all he saw was worse than what was real. His husband may merely be trapped. However, the eyeball burst in Breefs' skull, which immediately seemed to be the exit for the bullet hole above his ear, dashed all those hopes.

Returning sadly to the others, he looked at them for some clue that all of this was a horrible dream.

Finally, Feather spoke up. "We have to get out of here and get to the encampment. They will probably come here once the helicopter fails to return and kill us all outright."

"What about Pipes?" asked Woody. Then turning to Ivan, "He killed Orrin."

Ivan looked to the three, though he wasn't seeing them. A thousand thoughts ran through his head as he relived his entire life, including boyhood, military school, work, meeting Orrin, and his and Feather's kidnapping. The more he mused, the further his face sank to an emotionless mask.

"B.B.?" he asked. "Need some clothes?"

"We got ours from the two shits that brought us here," said Feather.

"I guess they figured we weren't dangerous enough to be watched constantly," said Ivan, without expression.

"So I grabbed this one guy’s hand and snapped his wrist," said Feather. "I learned that in self-defense class. Damn if it didn't work like a charm. He dropped to his knees. He was very obedient after that and lay right down on his belly."

"Mine didn't survive the throat punch," said Ivan.

"What about the one on his belly?"

"He's naked, wrapped around the trunk of a tree with boot laces tying his hands to his feet."

"You should get Pipes' clothes, B.B." said Ivan, calmly pulling a fighting knife out of its scabbard. "His back is broken, or I'm certain he'd help you."

"We have to clear out fast," said Feather. "Just grab his pants and shoes. Get his jacket, too."

"You want to kill him, Ivan?"

"No. I want him to live the rest of his life in this field."

Bauxers got the trousers, shoes and coat; Woody pulled off the man's underwear and shirt. They all ran back to the trees.

Rusty Pipes lay silent on the ground the rest of the day. Falling asleep, he was awakened by what he thought was a dog's snout in his face. Then came the snarling, the teeth, and the pain.


 

Author Notes Image from Google


Chapter 10
Choices

By Bill Schott



CHARACTERS:

Ben Baker low-level White House worker forced to fight others as Presidential punishment
CC. Connors President's Chief of Staff
Tim Bends Assistant to the Assistant Post Master General
B.B. Bauxers Assistant to the Assistant Secretary of Agriculture
Feather Waites former wife of B.B Bauxers
Ivan Zaroff husband of Orrin Breefs
Woody Post Journalist
Cpl. G.I. Joseph Connor's adversary in Vietnam
==============================================================
The story so far...

Ben Baker, must find and kill a dozen people in a secluded, government-operated, forest compound.

Rusty Pipes, aiding C.C. Connors, President's Chief of Staff, has been killed.

Tyler Angles and Orrin Breefs have also been killed.

Tim Bends has survived, but is barely alive.

BB Bauxers, Feather Waites, Ivan Zaroff, and Woody Post, likewise sent to the compound and are working together.

=======================

Baker could see right away that the mass of crawling hamburger was the Assistant to the Assistant Post Master General, Timothy Bends. Looking at his own arm, he saw that Bends was on his list. Moving out of his concealed sleeping position, Ben approached the human debris cautiously.

"You have had it, man."

Bends could only move his head a bit to make eye contact with this person talking to him. He tried to speak. "Gun?" came out of his half shredded mouth.

Baker gave it a bit of thought.

"I should just hit you over the head and be done with it. It's a courtesy that you dragged your way here for assassination."

Bends, who had somehow kept from crying through it all, produced a tear. His one-eyed gaze stared through Baker and hit a nerve. "Why?" asked the half-dead man.

"Wait a second," said Baker, wondering if the dying man thought he might be joking, as though he was in a hurry and wouldn't 'wait a second'.

Returning with a nine millimeter handgun, Baker pulled the hammer back and placed the weapon in Bends' hand.

"There's one round in the chamber, Bends. All you have to do is pull the trigger."

With that said, Baker grabbed his other gear and turned towards the encampment. He heard a click behind him. Turning around, he saw that Bends had indeed pulled the trigger. The barrel was pointed at Baker's back.

"Now you know -- why."

Baker retrieved the pistol, which was empty, loaded it with a full magazine, and continued gathering his equipment. He left Bends on the ground to suffer through to the end. He was no threat.

Meanwhile, B.B., Feather, Ivan, and Woody arrived at the encampment. B.B. saw the box of MREs on a cot and tossed a bag to each person in his group.

"What's this?" asked Ivan, looking at the bag with disdain.

"Food. Eat it."

B.B. took his ex-wife's knife and split open his MRE bag. "Just tear open what's inside and eat it."

The others got the knife, which seemed to be the only one they had, and did as instructed. Bauxers looked at the open boxes and realized that others had already been here.

"Get down behind the crates. Low. They could be targeting us right now."

"Who B.B.?" asked everyone.

"I don't really know. Get your weapons ready to shoot and blast anyone who isn't us."

Bauxers ripped open a meal package and squeezed what tasted like cold spaghetti into his mouth. After swallowing that, some crackers, and squirting a gob of creamed cheddar cheese from a pouch into his mouth, he moved on to the other crates.

Socks in one, rifle ammunition in another, and a laundry bag of what looked like hand grenades in the third. There were nine other crates still sealed.

"Each of you grab a couple grenades; put them in a pocket or somewhere."

He then ran to another unopened box. After cutting the banding and prying it open, the crate contained dozens of empty automatic rifle magazines. Digging through them did not reveal a weapon to use them in.

"Ivan!" he yelled. "Grab a bunch of these magazines and fill them full of bullets."

Bauxers moved to another crate and got it open. Inside were nearly a hundred short arrow shafts. After a moment he shouted, "One of these crates has a crossbow in it! Let's get them all opened now!"

Using the knife she had taken from her kidnapper, Feather pried open another crate. It was filled with pints of bottled water.

Woody opened a crate with a knife he had found at the crash site. It had been hidden from the others until he knew who to trust. He lifted the lid and turned to inform the others of what was inside. Instead, his chest exploded.


 


Chapter 11
Aiming Point

By Bill Schott


CHARACTERS:

Ben Baker low-level White House worker forced to fight others as Presidential punishment
CC. Connors President's Chief of Staff
Tim Bends Assistant to the Assistant Post Master General
B.B. Bauxers Assistant to the Assistant Secretary of Agriculture
Feather Waites former wife of B.B Bauxers
Ivan Zaroff husband of Orrin Breefs
Woody Post Journalist
Cpl. G.I. Joseph Connor's adversary in Vietnam
==============================================================
The story so far...

Ben Baker, must find and kill a dozen people in a secluded, government-operated, forest compound.

Tim Bends has survived, but is barely alive.

BB Bauxers, Feather Waites, Ivan Zaroff, and Woody Post have reached the encampment.


End of the previous chapter...
He then ran to another unopened box. After cutting the banding and prying it open, the crate contained dozens of empty automatic rifle magazines. Digging through them did not reveal a weapon to use them in.

"Ivan!" he yelled. "Grab a bunch of these magazines and fill them full of bullets."

Bauxers moved to another crate and got it open. Inside were nearly a hundred short arrow shafts. After a moment he shouted, "One of these crates has a crossbow in it! Let's get them all opened now!"

Using the knife she had taken from her kidnapper, Feather pried open another crate. It was filled with pints of bottled water.

Woody opened a crate with a knife he had found at the crash site. He lifted the lid and turned to inform the others of what was inside. Instead, his chest exploded.

====================

Ben Baker pulled another round from his sock and shoved it into the M16 chamber. He could only do this by dropping it through the ejection port, then shaking the weapon to get the bullet to drop in. His first shot at the group in the encampment had been well aimed. After tying his former holster-holding bootlace to the front strap swivel of his rifle, knotting the other end to a sock, and completing a makeshift sling, he was able to assume a tight aiming position in the prone. The human target was hit between the shoulder blades in the back. He was an easy mark at a hundred yards and wearing a white tee shirt. This next shot would be more difficult.

Meanwhile, Bauxers rolled in the direction of Post's bloody corpse. His breast bones were protruding from the exit wound of what was likely an AR 15 style rifle. Pushing the body off the open crate it lay on, he discovered what Post had -- a collapsed crossbow. While reaching in for the weapon, he called to his ex-wife. "Feather! The shot came from that direction. It was one round, but not that far away. If that was an M16, he would have likely kept on shooting. That means he either doesn't have any more rounds, or has to load them separately."

"That is a wild assumption, BB," said Ivan.

"Yeah, well, there may be other reasons, but if it were me, I'd keep shooting until the gun stopped working."

"We have to get out of here, Bobby!" shouted Feather, almost screaming.

"These other crates need to be opened." he said, trying to find calm in the chaos. "Standing and moving just makes you a better target. We have to hang here and improve our odds. Now let's get these friggin crates open!"

Ivan returned to the open crate with the laundry bag of grenades. "These are the only things that are ready to use, BB. I'm going to make a break for the trees and defend a position in there."

Before Bauxers could respond, Ivan had yanked the bag full of explosives out of the crate. He felt a point of resistance which immediately gave way. Looking back into the crate, he saw a detached grenade pin. Ivan's life passed through his mind again. Someone hollered the word 'Grenade', it may have been him. He thought of all the scenarios of grenade defense he'd ever heard or witnessed. As he ran out of the netting, carrying the bag of grenades as far from his friends as he could, he hoped that he would somehow save the day and live to tell about it.

Baker heard the explosion and smiled.
========================================
 
End of previous flashback chapter...
 
Barely conscious, Joseph saw the blurry image of the man in front of him, who kneeled down and pulled the bayonet from the corporal's pliant hand.
Managing to muster a bit of clarity within the venom-tainted haze he was in, Joseph muttered, "Didi mao." (Make it quick.)

===============================

Flashback  1991  Kuwait City

An Do moved quickly from building to building. A streak in the night, barely sensed, then gone; he had lived a life of midnight intrigue and secret situation altering, which had created change within a shadow world.

Armies had finally all arrived and had been staged in Saudi Arabia. The invasion orders would soon be given for the allied forces to wedge through the miles of land mines laid down by the Iraqis, and attack the multiple targets on the other side.

An's job was to silence any Republican Guard operatives who might have information that would compromise what was about to become Desert Storm.

On the northern end of the city, Greg Joseph pulled his K-bar out of the Iraqi soldier's kidney. The second slice across the throat would quicken the process. Another loose end had been neutralized, and the bait and switch, shock and awe would begin.

Having seen the Kuwaiti bodies suspended from light poles, entrails hanging six feet from the severed abdomens, there was little mercy in his veins tonight.

Both An and Greg had been hired to do the silent secret work that even the CIA and special forces found too risky or plain impossible.

Both men were around forty years old, but looked and moved no differently than when they had first met almost twenty years earlier, in Vietnam. They had saved each other's lives back then, and had worked together, off the grid, ever since.

It was just after midnight the seventeenth of January; the rapid dominance operation would begin at three a.m.  An and Greg were scheduled to meet up in Green Island as soon as the major bombing subsided. They could enter the bay there and find a way across the twenty-five miles of water to Failakah Island east of Kuwait. Extraction had been arranged from that vicinity unless their mission changed.

Everything went according to the United Nations' plan and within a week, the major fighting was over and months of slow negotiations had begun.

An and Greg lived among the ruins on the island. Ancient stone temples were to be housing, and stranded Kuwaiti tourists, runaway Iraqi soldiers, and some Pakistani workers were the only other occupants. 
"Ban van con no toi mot ngan do la." (You still owe me a thousand dollars.)

"C'mon, An. I must have paid that debt off twenty times by now." 

"Cau da lam the nao vay?"  (How did you do that?)

"I taught you Arabic."

"Ana balfel 'atakalam alearabiati. laqad ealamatni kalimat qudhrat fi 
alsarianiati. shukraan ealaa lashi."  (I already speak Arabic. 
You taught me dirty words in Syriac. Thanks for nothing.) 

"I introduced you to your first wife."

"Noi va hoan van."  (Talk about payback.

"Okay, listen, An.  I have a new gig coming up in the Clinton Administration. I can toe-nail you in, no sweat-i-dah."

"Clinton?  No way! Dis easy war makes Boosh goot for four ma yeez."

"Hey, An.  Ain't you heard?  It's the economy, Stupid."
 
"Bain van con na toi mat ngan Ao." (You still owe me a thousand bucks.)

 
 
 

Author Notes Image from Google


Chapter 12
Flashback 3

By Bill Schott



End of the previous Baker chapter...
Looking back into the crate, he saw a detached grenade pin. Ivan's life passed through his mind again. Someone hollered the word 'Grenade', it may have been him. He thought of all the scenarios of grenade defense he'd ever heard or witnessed. As he ran out of the netting, carrying the bag of grenades as far from his friends as he could, he hoped that he would somehow save the day and live to tell about it.
Baker heard the explosion and smiled.
==============================

End of previous flashback chapter...

 

Barely conscious, Joseph saw the blurry image of the man in front of him, who kneeled down and pulled the bayonet from the corporal's pliant hand.
Managing to muster a bit of clarity within the venom-tainted haze he was in, Joseph muttered, "Didi mao." (Make it quick.)
===============================

Flashback  1991  Kuwait City

An Do moved quickly from building to building. A streak in the night, barely sensed, then gone; he had lived a life of midnight intrigue and secret situation altering, which had created change within a shadow world.

Armies had finally all arrived and had been staged in Saudi Arabia. The invasion orders would soon be given for the allied forces to wedge through the miles of land mines laid down by the Iraqis, and attack the multiple targets on the other side.

An's job was to silence any Republican Guard operatives who might have information that would compromise what was about to become Desert Storm.

On the northern end of the city, Greg Joseph pulled his K-bar out of the Iraqi soldier's kidney. The second slice across the throat would quicken the process. Another loose end had been neutralized, and the bait and switch, shock and awe would begin.
Having seen the Kuwaiti bodies suspended from light poles, entrails hanging six feet from the severed abdomens, there was little mercy in his veins tonight.

Both An and Greg had been hired to do the silent secret work that even the CIA and special forces found too risky or plain impossible.

Both men were around forty years old, but looked and moved no differently than when they had first met almost twenty years earlier, in Vietnam. They had saved each other's lives back then, and had worked together, off the grid, ever since.

It was just after midnight the seventeenth of January; the rapid dominance operation would begin at three a.m.  An and Greg were scheduled to meet up in Green Island as soon as the major bombing subsided. They could enter the bay there and find a way across the twenty-five miles of water to Failakah Island east of Kuwait. Extraction had been arranged from that vicinity unless their mission changed.

Everything went according to the United Nations' plan and within a week, the major fighting was over and months of slow negotiations had begun.

An and Greg lived among the ruins on the island. Ancient stone temples were to be housing, and stranded Kuwaiti tourists, runaway Iraqi soldiers, and some Pakistani workers were the only other occupants.

 
"Ban van con no toi mot ngan do la." (You still owe me a thousand dollars.)

"C'mon, An. I must have paid that debt off twenty times by now." 

"Cau da lam the nao vay?"  (How did you do that?)

"I taught you Arabic."

"Ana balfel 'atakalam alearabiati. laqad ealamatni kalimat qudhrat fi 
alsarianiati. shukraan ealaa lashi."  (I already speak Arabic. 
You taught me dirty words in Syriac. Thanks for nothing.) 

"I introduced you to your first wife."

"Noi va»? hoan va»n."  (Talk about payback.)  

"Okay, listen, An.  I have a new gig coming up in the Clinton Administration. I can toe-nail you in, no sweat-i-da."

"Clinton?  No way! Dis easy war makes Boosh goot for four ma yeez."

"Hey, An.  Ain't you heard?  It's the economy, Stupid."

 
"Bain van con na toi mat ngan Ao." (You still owe me a thousand bucks.)


 

Author Notes The flashback has leaped ahead to 1991. Desert Storm. An Do is the unnamed character from Flashback 2.

"It's the economy, Stupid." Refers to Bill Clinton's catch phrase for why Bush was being beaten in the polls leading up the the election which denied Bush 41 a second term.


Chapter 13
Flashback 4

By Bill Schott


End of the previous Baker chapter...
Baker fell back on his butt and looked for his other pistol. From the rear, someone grabbed the shaft sticking out of his back, and pulled it the rest of the way through. Then a fist smashed him at the base of his skull. Darkness.
==============================
End of previous flashback chapter...

Everything went according to the United Nations' plan and within a week, the major fighting was over and months of slow negotiations had begun.
An and Greg lived among the ruins on the island. Ancient stone temples were to be housing, and stranded Kuwaiti tourists, runaway Iraqi soldiers, and some Pakistani workers were the only other occupants.

===================

Flashback 1991 Failakah Island east of Kuwait

It was March. The initial strike had crippled Iraqi forces tremendously. Their communications and radar abilities were eliminated. Generals with troops and impressed farmers as soldiers were without orders. Generals didn't dare make individual decisions for fear of being seen as traitors. They merely sat and became the targets of artillery fire and aerial  bombing. 

On Failakah Island, An Do walked the beach with only a brief loin cloth as apparel. Greg Joseph swam just off shore. He had been using a hand-held net to snag some yellow fin sea bream which were swirling in large schools just off shore. He'd found an old ruck sack he used to keep his catch in. The net he had confiscated from a runaway Iraqi soldier who wouldn't be needing it any longer. He waded back in with a full bag. He wore shorts which were the remnants of his last pair of trousers. The legs were cut off up to the top of the inseam.

 
"Them ca? Co gi khac ngoai kia khong?"  
(More fish? Isn't there anything else out there?)

"I looked for a dog or cat, but no luck." 

"Nge oi vui tinh. Lam the nao ve mot con cua hoac mot vo oc xa cu?"  
(Funny man. How about a crab or a conch shell?)

"If they swam by in groups of hundreds like these guys, 
I'd snag you a couple.  Maybe you could take a dip and grab a few. 
Look for a stick of butter and some lemons too."

An cracked a rare smile. Then, looking past his friend, he saw what 
appeared to be a helicopter. 

"Hey, G.I. Joe!  Tack a luke at dis."

"Is that a Huey?  We still fly them?"

"U.S.?  No.   Buh  any ahhso con buy one!"

An's words preceeded a barrage of bullets that came from a 50-calibre 
machine gun. The rounds pounded foot-round craters into the ground 
within ten feet of where the two stood.

The old helicopter began circling.  After a second pass, without firing, 
the chopper came down and landed about a hundred feet from the 
duo.  

 An, who had already worked out the death of all aboard and the 
confiscation of the vehicle, was surprised to see a uniformed soldier 
emerge from the passenger side of the copter. 

Greg, seeing the man walk toward them, felt a sudden pain in his little 
finger nail.  His hair stood up on his neck, and he felt his heart 
pounding behind his eyes.

Removing his hemet, which bore the one-star insignia of a brigadier 
general, both An and Greg could see a ghost of Vietnam. He actually 
looked like a ghoul from a horror film, complete with sunken eyes; 
gaunt, skeletal countenance; and a hairless head and face.

"Gentlemen -- where did we leave off?"
  
Both An Do and Joseph recognized CC Connor. Eighteen years had not left a noticeable mark on him. Perhaps he was an immortal nemesis, traveling through the battlefields of time, searching for warriors.   More likely, there was not much on the man TO age.

Behind the general, six more men emerged from the helicopter. Each was well-armed and ready to take on a dozen opponents. Both Joseph and An Do knew they needed to strike first or die.

Both men rushed at the general. He laughed as they veered to each side and completed a figure eight around him. Joseph took out the first of the six henchmen with a sweep of the legs. As that man fell, a second leaped over him to land on Joseph's frame. He missed, as the assassin had already spun out of that position and sprung to grab a third opponent's weapon.

Meanwhile, An Do had dived to the supine and popped up with handfuls of sand. These grains of pulverized rock left his hands with seemingly guided precision to the eyes of his first combatant. As that man fell back, An Do snaked around him and grabbed another's automatic weapon. With the trigger engaged and bullets whipping in a semicircle, the two men twirled to the ground. An Do leapt to his feet with the magazine of the weapon in his hand.  He smiled as a third attacker slashed at him with what looked like Bowie knives in each hand. The first missed slash was the last, as the now off-balance opponent's neck was up for adjustment. It was twisted quickly and a muted snap preceded the dead man's collapse. The second man he had wrestled had found another magazine and inserted it into his weapon. This was accomplished a second before his fellow henchman's huge knife, hurled by an Asian expert, split his adam's apple in two. An Do wrested the weapon from the dying man and walked to the first man he had encoutered.

Looking over to Joseph, he saw that the other three fighters had been eliminated. Seeing that, he simply aimed and released a three-round burst into the last, blinded assailent.

General Connor, still smiling, stood with the confidence of a man who felt he was in no danger at all.

"You seem to be confident that you're in no danger at all, Connor," observed the former army corporal.

Connor stopped smiling and turned to An Do.

"Mot tam tri san sang."

An Do's face went blank.  His gaze was to a spot at another place and another time.

"An!  What's wrong?!" called Joseph. 

Then Connor spoke again, while pointing in GI Joe's direction.

"Loai bo!"

There was no need to interpret any longer. An Do dropped the automatic weapon and pulled his fighting knife from its scabbard. Peering at Joseph, as if deciding the best approach, he gently walked in the direction of his surprised  friend.

"It's amazing how long a suggestion can last -- when it's embedded properly." said Connor, starring at Joseph as An Do inched closer.

Joseph aimed the weapon he had taken from an opponent at the general.  "You'll die first, dipshit."

"Kill me then, Joseph; if you can."

He tried pulling the trigger, but his finger refused to contract. He threw the rifle down and grabbed the remaining Bowie knife off the ground.

An Do continued approaching, projecting the passionless cool of an assassin.



 

Author Notes The Bell UH-1 Iroquois (nicknamed "Huey")


Chapter 14
Show Down

By Bill Schott

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of violence.

CHARACTERS:

Ben Baker low-level White House worker forced to fight others as Presidential punishment
C.C. Connors President's Chief of Staff
Tim Bends Assistant to the Assistant Post Master General
B.B. Bauxers Assistant to the Assistant Secretary of Agriculture
Feather Waites former wife of B.B Bauxers
Ivan Zaroff husband of Orrin Breefs
Woody Post Journalist
Cpl. G.I. Joseph Connor's adversary in Vietnam
An Do   Mercenary
==============================================================
The story so far...
Ben Baker, must find and kill a dozen people in a secluded, government-operated, forest compound.
Rusty Pipes, aiding C.C. Connors, President's Chief of Staff, has been killed.
Tyler Angles and Orrin Breefs have also been killed.
Tim Bends has survived, but is barely alive.
Woody Post, journalist, recently killed
BB Bauxers, Feather Waites, and Ivan Zaroff, likewise sent to the compound and are working together.

=======================

End of the previous Baker chapter...
Looking back into the crate, he saw a detached grenade pin. Ivan's life passed through his mind again. Someone hollered the word 'Grenade', it may have been him. He thought of all the scenarios of grenade defense he'd ever heard or witnessed. As he ran out of the netting, carrying the bag of grenades as far from his friends as he could, he hoped that he would somehow save the day and live to tell about it.
Baker heard the explosion and smiled.

=================================

Feather and Bauxers hugged the ground and waited for the explosions to stop.  The first grenade must have affected two or three more, as the successive explosions occurred within a few seconds, there was no expectation that Ivan survived.

Feather picked up the crossbow and rolled over to the crate where the bolts were.

"I'm going to send a few shots toward in the general direction this bastard is shooting from. How about checking these other boxes out for a flame thrower or something."

" Sure, Babe."  Bauxers was remembering why he had loved Feather once. She was a hard case with a nasty disposition, but he was glad she was with him now. When it came to fighting, she was who you wanted on your side.   

He crawled quickly to one of the last five crates yet to be opened. Prying was easier with two knives and the lid came off fast. Inside were thousands of what initially looked like nine millimeter ammunition. Within a few seconds he realized it was too big. It was a box of loose and useless forty-five caliber bullets. Digging through the crate he hoped to turn up a weapon. Nothing.

"This whole crate is garbage to us!" he yelled.

Feather launched a bolt into the woods. She immediately reloaded the platform barrel and pulled the cocking stirrup to set the string; fired again. She had a sudden realization that this weapon had a place to attach a scope.  She rolled over to the crate with the bolt shafts and dug in between them. In the bottom, to her delight, she found a factory-bagged scope. 

Bauxers lifted another crate lid to discover it was filled with entrenching tools and body bags. Someone would probably have to bag and bury the dead. He could only picture Connors in one of those, or at least in a hole.

Meanwhile, Baker moved closer to the netted area. Whoever was shooting the arrows was aiming too high to hit anything lower than a nesting owl.  Ten more feet and he would be in a good position to shoot effectively.

Out in the open field, on the other side of the encampment, just a few steps from the wood line, Ivan Zaroff opened his eyes. He had spun and tossed the bag of grenades as far from him as they would fly, before the explosions. He'd hit the ground when the first blew. The second and third must have sailed in opposite directions. They each went off almost simultaneously on either side of him. Amazingly, aside from being peppered with dirt and rocks, having what felt like a dislocated shoulder, and apparently having lost consciousness, he was alive.

Bauxer opened the tenth crate to discover it filled with dozens of disassembled forty-fives. There were trigger assemblies, housings, bolts, and all the many pins and springs. He was almost at a point of smiling at the evil genius of that son of a bitch Connors. Shooting that bag of bones with one of these put-together-puzzles would be a great victory.

Feather attached the scope and pointed out to the suspected area of the shooter.  It wasn't adjusted, and couldn't guarantee an accurate point of aim, but she could search for and find a target.

The eleventh crate lid came off and inside was something that made Bauxers quiver with excitement. It was an M72 LAW, light anti-tank weapon.

"Holy Moses, Feather!  We have got a friggin bazooka!"

"Don't tell me," she yelled back, "it's only missing a trigger!"

Bauxers had already pulled the weapon out of the crate, released the pin and stretched it out to its three foot length.

It was then that Baker's aim found him. The bullet entered behind his right ear and exited taking his lower left jaw.  His finger pulled the trigger on the powerful shoulder cannon, sending a 44-millimeter, tank-killer round, through netting, past the tree line, and straight into the chest of Ivan Zaroff, who was literally blown to bits

Feather was still trying to figure out what had just happened, when another shot blasted the corner of the crate she was behind.  She quickly turned back towards where the firing came from and looked through the scope as she scanned the trees for the shooter.

Baker was trying to reload when an arrow pierced his left shoulder through and through. The power of the strike knocked him to his back.  He grabbed the bolt and pushed it the rest of the way in, hoping to yank it out from the rear. He couldn't reach it.

Knowing she'd hit her target, Feather jumped from her protected spot and dashed towards the shooter. The 9 mm in her hand was firing every three or four steps as she neared the killer.  She arrived, ready to finish the job, when Baker produced his own 9 mm and emptied seven rounds into her chest.

He fell back on his butt and looked for his other pistol. From the rear, someone grabbed the shaft sticking out of his back, and pulled it the rest of the way through. Then a fist smashed him at the base of his skull. Darkness.




 

Author Notes Image from Google


Chapter 15
Intermission

By Bill Schott

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of violence.

In this story, Baker's Dozen, there are already fourteen chapters posted. Since few people will go back and read those previous chapters, I will summarize that content as briefly as possible here.

Prologue: Ben Baker has been dropped into a hidden retreat somewhere in the northeast of the United States. He is naked and has a pistol and knife. He must find and kill twelve others. The President's maniacal Chief of Staff, CC Connors, is responsible for this deadly game.

Chapter 1: Tyler Angles and Tim Bends are sent on the same mission on the same day. Bends kills Angles before they even leave the helicopter and Rusty Pipes pushes both out.

Chapter 2: Baker finds Angles' body then heads for an encampment.

Chapter 3:  FLASHBACK  to Connors in Vietnam, 1974. He is a double agent for the Viet Cong and torturing GI Joe.    Conners lets him live and sends him off to fight for his life.

Chapter 4: Baker finds the encampment and leaves with an automatic weapon, ammo, and food.

Chapter 5BB Bauxers, Orrin Breefs, and Woody Post are sent by Connors to the same installation as Baker.

Chapter 6: Bends is badly injured in his dive and must crawl through the dark, cold forest.

Chapter 7:  FLASHBACK    GI Joe meets An Do. Instead of fighting, they save each other's lives.

Chapter 8:  The helicopter crashes and the pilot, Pipes, and Breefs are killed.

Chapter 9: Feather Waites and Ivan Zaroff meet the survivors at the crash site.

Chapter 10: Baker finds the injured Bends and lets him live, expecting he's dying anyway. Later Baker kills Woody Post.

Chapter 11: Zaroff accidentally pulls pin on genade and rushes away from the others but survives.

Chapter 12: FLASHBACK  GI Joe and An Do fight the Republican Guard in Kuwait , 1991.

Chapter 13: FLASHBACK   CC Connors catches up with Joe and Do in Kuwait

Chapter 14: Baker kills Bauxers, Waites, and Zaroff but is knocked unconscious at the end.

Chapter 16:  Will be a final flashback to GI Joe and An Do. Then on to a conclusion in three chapters.


 

Author Notes The names in red are characters who are dead.


Chapter 16
Flashback 5

By Bill Schott

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of violence.

CHARACTERS:

Ben Baker low-level White House worker forced to fight others as Presidential punishment
C.C. Connor President's Chief of Staff (formerly double agent for China)
Tim Bends Assistant to the Assistant Post Master General
Cpl. G.I. Joseph -- Connor's adversary in Vietnam
An Do -- Mercenary

=======================================================
The story so far...

Ben Baker had to find and kill a dozen people in a secluded, government-operated, forest compound. He has survived and found an encampment where provisions are available to assist whoever gets to them first.
Thomas Angles and Tim Bends were dropped from a helicopter, high enough to survive a parachute jump. Bends killed Angles before they left the copter and both were shoved out by Conner's operative, Rusty Pipes. Angles fell straight to the ground while Bends had an horrific landing and is barely alive.
BB Bauxers, Orrin Breefs, and Woody Post were sent on a helicopter as well; however, Pipes executed Breefs onboard, sparking an attack from Bauxers. The pilot was killed by an errant bullet, leading to a crash. Pipes was severely injured and eventually killed by wolves.
Feather Waites and Ivan Zaroff, likewise sent to the compound, join Bauxers and Post at the crash site.
All meet up at the encampment where Baker eventually kills the other four. He is then knocked out from behind.


In FLASHBACKS, Connor's double agent status is seen as he, though a lieutenant in the U.S. Army, assists Vietcong interrogators as they torture a captured corporal, Gregory Ira Joseph (GI Joe). When the corporal proves he has no relevant information, Connor sends the soldier away to defend himself in a killing game he devised in military school. This is the beginning of the death sport that Ben Baker is involved in at present.
Joseph's opponent, An Do, is attacked by a crocodile and Joseph saves him. The two become friends.
We see them again in Kuwait, eighteen years later, at the beginning of Desert Storm. They are mercenaries working for an unknown government organization. They find safety once the assault on Kuwait begins, but are cornered by General CC Connor.


xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

End of the last Flashback chapter:

The old helicopter began circling. After a second pass without firing, the chopper came down and landed about a hundred feet from the duo.

An, who had already worked out the death of all aboard and the confiscation of the vehicle, was surprised to see a uniformed soldier emerge from the passenger side of the copter.

Greg, seeing the man walk toward them, felt a sudden pain in his little finger nail. His hair stood up on his neck, and he felt his heart pounding behind his eyes.

Removing his hemet, which bore the one-star insignia of a brigadier general, both An and Greg could see a ghost of Vietnam. He actually looked like a ghoul from a horror film, complete with sunken eyes; gaunt, skeletal countenance; and a hairless head and face.

"Gentlemen -- where did we leave off?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Both An Do and Joseph recognized CC Connor. Eighteen years had not left a noticeable mark on him. Perhaps he was an immortal nemesis, traveling through the battlefields of time, searching for warriors.   More likely, there was not much on the man TO age.

Behind the general, six more men emerged from the helicopter. Each was well-armed and ready to take on a dozen opponents. Both Joseph and An Do knew they needed to strike first or die.

Both men rushed at the general. He laughed as they veered to each side and completed a figure eight around him. Joseph took out the first of the six henchmen with a sweep of the legs. As that man fell, a second leaped over him to land on Joseph's frame. He missed, as the assassin had already spun out of that position and sprung to grab a third opponent's weapon.

Meanwhile, An Do had dived to the supine and popped up with handfuls of sand. These grains of pulverized rock left his hands with seemingly guided precision to the eyes of his first combatant. As that man fell back, An Do snaked around him and grabbed another's automatic weapon. With the trigger engaged and bullets whipping in a semicircle, the two men twirled to the ground. An Do leapt to his feet with the magazine of the weapon in his hand.  He smiled as a third attacker slashed at him with what looked like Bowie knives in each hand. The first missed slash was the last, as the now off-balance opponent's neck was up for adjustment. It was twisted quickly and a muted snap preceded the dead man's collapse. The second man he had wrestled had found another magazine and inserted it into his weapon. This was accomplished a second before his fellow henchman's huge knife, hurled by an Asian expert, split his adam's apple in two. An Do wrested the weapon from the dying man and walked to the first man he had encoutered.

Looking over to Joseph, he saw that the other three fighters had been eliminated. Seeing that, he simply aimed and released a three-round burst into the last, blinded assailent.

General Connor, still smiling, stood with the confidence of a man who felt he was in no danger at all.

"You seem to be confident that you're in no danger at all, Connor," observed the former army corporal.

Connor stopped smiling and turned to An Do.

"Mot tam tri san sang."

An Do's face went blank.  His gaze was to a spot at another place and another time.

"An!  What's wrong?!" called Joseph. 

Then Connor spoke again, while pointing in GI Joe's direction.


"Loai bo!"

There was no need to interpret any longer. An Do dropped the automatic weapon and pulled his fighting knife from its scabbard. Peering at Joseph, as if deciding the best approach, he gently walked in the direction of his surprised  friend.

"It's amazing how long a suggestion can last -- when it's embedded properly." said Connor, starring at Joseph as An Do inched closer.

Joseph aimed the weapon he had taken from an opponent at the general.  "You'll die first, dipshit."

"Kill me then, Joseph; if you can."

He tried pulling the trigger, but his finger refused to contract. He threw the rifle down and grabbed the remaining Bowie knife off the ground.

An Do continued approaching, projecting the passionless cool of an assassin.







 

Author Notes mot tam tri san sang. = a willing mind.
Loai bo = eliminate

Thanks to William Runcie for use of the picture.


Chapter 17
Wake Up Call

By Bill Schott

CHARACTERS:

Ben Baker low-level White House worker forced to fight others as Presidential punishment
C.C. Connor President's Chief of Staff
Tim Bends Assistant to the Assistant Post Master General
Gregory Ira Joseph (GI Joe)-- Connor's adversary in Vietnam
An Do -- Mercenary
=======================================================
The story so far...

Ben Baker had to find and kill a dozen people in a secluded, government-operated, forest compound. He has survived and found an encampment where provisions are available to assist whoever gets to them first.

Tim Bends, one of those whom Baker must kill, had an horrific landing after parachuting from a helicopter and is barely alive.

A helicopter has crashed, which should soon be obvious to those who dispatched it.

Baker has killed all those whom he knew were in the compound with him (except Bends who should die from his wounds).

In FLASHBACKS, Connor's double agent status is seen as he, though a lieutenant in the U.S. Army, assists Vietcong interrogators. This is the beginning of the death sport that Ben Baker is involved in at present.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
End of the last present day chapter:
He fell back on his butt and looked for his other pistol. From the rear, someone grabbed the shaft sticking out of his back, and pulled it the rest of the way through. Then a fist smashed him at the base of his skull. Darkness.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx


A translucent blur slowly blossomed as Ben Baker regained consciousness. He tried to force his mind to comprehend faster and his vision to sharpen. The pain in his neck and his shoulder were becoming more noticeable as he began sensing his environment.

"Enjoy your nap?"

The question came from a fuzzy ghost in front of him.  He half hoped it was Connor bringing him a prize for surviving. That would hopefully be presented as a 'Get out of execution free card', or other facsimile acknowledging he was done with this and able to leave.

He knew it wasn't Connor though.  The voice sounded gravelly and timbres. Connor's voice reminded him of Skeletor; high pitched and penetrating.

He tried to form a question, but his mind resisted communicating until he received more input. His last memory was of his heart pounding as the woman rushing him with guns blazing caught a bunch of rounds from his pistol. That's when the lights went out.

"What's your name, killer?"

The voice from the amorphous form before him was either trying to test whether he knew his own name, or didn't actually know who he was.

"You have a list of names written on your arm."

This fact helped him focus on reality. He touched his forearm and tried to recall the names.

"That your kill list?"

Baker examined the question and his possible response. The right reply in this circumstance was hardly one that anyone could rehearse ahead of time. 'That your kill list?'

His vision was quickly coming around. The figure before him became a rough-looking older man. His stoic countenance projected a sense of intensity that wasn't apparent in his voice. Perhaps years of controlling the tensions around him with a measured tone had brought this level communicating style into play. The calm, firm tone of the voice belied the time and weather-worn form before him.

"Who are you?" asked Ben.

"My name's Joseph; G.I. Joseph."

Ben supressed a chuckle. He wasn't certain if the man was joking or not. Perhaps he was still asleep and dreaming being rescued by the iconic action figure.  Worse yet, the man was serious, and off his nut.  

"I know what you're thinking, son.  Why couldn't you wake up to Barbie?"

"I guess I'm glad to wake up at all," said Ben.

"So what's your name?" asked the stranger.

Hesitating for a moment, he answered, "Robert Butcher."
 
Joseph looked at the recently revived man before him, then exhaled with a sound of a sigh, and a hint of a question.

"What names you got on your arm?"

Looking at his arm, he realized that he knew a few of the names, but not all.

Joseph waited a minute and asked, "You got my name on your arm -- Butcher?

Looking at the names, he saw 'GI Joe' printed second from the bottom.

"You don't need to say it, uh, Robert.  I peeked at the list while you were napping."

"I don't know half these names.  The men from the White House I knew, but only saw one up close to recognize him."

"Was that Angles?" he asked, getting a look of surprise from the survivor.

"How did you know?" he asked.

"So happens I got a list of all the poor slobs that's been sent here. It's pretty long. Connor's been doing this shit for thirty-some years."

"Thirty years!  How does he get away with it? He's only been in the White House for two years."

"I'd tell you his biography if I had a couple days and a fifth of JD. We don't have that luxury though. Let's go over those names."

Joseph extracted a small memobook from his woodland issue camouflage jacket.

"I got Angles and Bends. That's kinda funny, if they wasn't both dead." said Joseph.

"I saw Angles. He must have fallen from a helicopter. He was dead. He had erupted on the ground. A real mess."

"Yeh, I found him. The wolves had found him first though.  I also found Russell Pipes next to that downed chopper.  Wolves had some sport with him as well."

"I knew there was a crash, but I didn't know what it was or anything.  I've heard of Pipes though. I saw the wolves when they got to Angles. I just ran away as fast as I could."

"That would be prudent, for certain," said Joseph, with a slight smile on the left  side of his face. "Orrin Breefs was there too. He was dead a half a dozen ways.  Shot, fell, had a helicopter land on him, and, as the coopdee grass, wolves ate him.  Nothing left but to have  a boulder land on him." 

They both chuckled, conservatively.  The strange, gallows humor of the military seemed to allow it.

"I knew Breefs, and his husband, uh, Igor."

"His name was Ivan. Ivan Zaroff." said Joseph.

"Ivan was here too? "

"Tyler Bends is here.  B.B. Bauxer -- and his wife as well."

"I saw Bends. Oh man! That guy has got to be dead by now. He looked like barfed up spare ribs."

"I haven't seen him. Probably under a bush somewhere  collectin' ants.  You managed to kill Bauxers' wife though."

"Was that the woman rushing me?  I had no choice. I emptied the magazine on her."

"Well, you did alright with the others. Woody Post had his spine in his chest, Bauxers' skull was ventillated, and I'm guessing it's Zaroff blown to mulch out in the open field."

"I rigged the grenade bag to yank a pin if it were pulled out of the crate.  It must have been him."

"Maybe.  There was an empty LAW sitting next to Bauxers; he might have shot Zaroff."

"I've got more names on my arm."

"There were two guards I found near the maintenance road.  They'd been killed in a fight, looks like. That your work?" asked Joseph.

"No. Who were they? Do you know?"

"Likely, a couple of Connor's flunkies. One was Sergeant Chase Bank."

"What!?  Who was the other -- Capital Juan?"

"Willis Fargo."

"I've just got a G1 and G2 on my arm."

"Likely they were interchangeable. Whoever was in the barrell that day was expendable."

"That just leaves one. Number twelve  --  Ben Baker."

"Don't you know that guy?" asked Joseph.

"Just a name on my arm."

"Who wrote those names on your arm?"

"I don't know.”

"How'd you get here?  Jump out of a helicopter?"

"I don't remember. I just remember talking to Connor and then -- I was here."

"So you're Bob the Butcher."

"I'm Robert Butcher. I work at the  -- "

"You're Ben Baker. He works at the White House. When you're here though, you're Bob the Butcher."

"Ben Baker is on my arm," Baker said, looking at the appendage, and the list on it, with a dull, open-mouth stare.

"You're Bobby Do, kid. The Butcher of Baghdad.  And this ain't your first rodeo."











 

Author Notes What!?!
I think you'll like this.


Chapter 18
Robert Butcher

By Bill Schott

CHARACTERS:

Ben Baker low-level White House worker forced to fight others as Presidential punishment
C.C. Connor President's Chief of Staff
Tim Bends Assistant to the Assistant Post Master General
Gregory Ira Joseph (GI Joe)-- Connor's adversary in Vietnam
An Do -- Mercenary
=======================================================
The story so far...

Ben Baker had to find and kill a dozen people in a secluded, government-operated, forest compound. He has survived and found an encampment where provisions are available to assist whoever gets to them first.

Tim Bends, one of those whom Baker must kill, had an horrific landing after parachuting from a helicopter and is barely alive.

A helicopter has crashed, which should soon be obvious to those who dispatched it.

Baker has killed all those whom he knew were in the compound with him (except Bends who should die from his wounds).


In FLASHBACKS, Connor's double agent status is seen as he, though a lieutenant in the U.S. Army, assists Vietcong interrogators. This is the beginning of the death sport that Ben Baker is involved in at present. When last seen, in flashback Connor was a brigadier general. He is currently chief of staff for the President of the United States.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
End of the last present day chapter:

"My name's Joseph; G.I. Joseph."

Ben supressed a chuckle. He wasn't certain if the man was joking or not. Perhaps he was still asleep and dreaming being rescued by the iconic action figure. Worse yet, the man was serious, and off his nut.

"I know what you're thinking, son. Why couldn't you wake up to Barbie?"

"I guess I'm glad to wake up at all," said Ben.

"So what's your name?" asked the stranger.

Hesitating for a moment, he answered, "Robert Butcher."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx


Joseph looked at the recently revived man before him, then exhaled with a sound of a sigh, and a hint of a question.

"What names you got on your arm?"

Looking at his arm, he realized that he knew a few of the names, but not all.

Joseph waited a minute and asked, "You got my name on your arm -- Butcher?

Looking at the names, he saw 'GI Joe' printed second from the bottom.

"You don't need to say it, uh, Robert.  I peeked at the list while you were napping."

"I don't know half these names.  The men from the White House I knew, but only saw one up close to recognize him."

"Was that Angles?" he asked, getting a look of surprise from the survivor.

"How did you know?" he asked.

"So happens I got a list of all the poor slobs that's been sent here. It's pretty long. Connor's been doing this shit for thirty-some years."

"Thirty years!  How does he get away with it? He's only been in the White House for two years."

"I'd tell you his biography if I had a couple days and a fifth of JD. We don't have that luxury though. Let's go over those names."

Joseph extracted a small memobook from his woodland issue camouflage jacket.

"I got Angles and Bends. That's kinda funny, if they wasn't both dead." said Joseph.

"I saw Angles. He must have fallen from a helicopter. He was dead. He had erupted on the ground. A real mess."

"Yeh, I found him. The wolves had found him first though.  I also found Russell Pipes next to that downed chopper.  Wolves had some sport with him as well."

"I knew there was a crash, but I didn't know what it was or anything.  I've heard of Pipes though. I saw the wolves when they got to Angles. I just ran away as fast as I could."

"That would be prudent, for certain," said Joseph, with a slight smile on the left  side of his face. "Orrin Breefs was there too. He was dead a half a dozen ways.  Shot, fell, had a helicopter land on him, and, as the coopdee grass, wolves ate him.  Nothing left but to have  a boulder land on him." 

They both chuckled, conservatively.  The strange, gallows humor of the military seemed to allow it.

"I knew Breefs, and his husband, uh, Igor."

"His name was Ivan. Ivan Zaroff." said Joseph.

"Ivan was here too? "

"Tyler Bends is here.  B.B. Bauxer -- and his wife as well."

"I saw Bends. Oh man! That guy has got to be dead by now. He looked like barfed up spare ribs."

"I haven't seen him. Probably under a bush somewhere  collectin' ants.  You managed to kill Bauxers' wife though."

"Was that the woman rushing me?  I had no choice. I emptied the magazine on her."

"Well, you did alright with the others. Woody Post had his spine in his chest, Bauxers' skull was ventillated, and I'm guessing it's Zaroff blown to mulch out in the open field."

"I rigged the grenade bag to yank a pin if it were pulled out of the crate.  It must have been him."

"Maybe.  There was an empty LAW sitting next to Bauxers; he might have shot Zaroff."

"I've got more names on my arm."

"There were two guards I found near the maintenance road.  They'd been killed in a fight, looks like. That your work?" asked Joseph.

"No. Who were they? Do you know?"

"Likely, a couple of Connor's flunkies. One was Sergeant Chase Bank."

"What!?  Who was the other -- Capital Juan?"

"Willis Fargo."

"I've just got a G1 and G2 on my arm."

"Likely they were interchangeable. Whoever was in the barrell that day was expendable."

" All I have left is someone named Gmang and --"

"That one's gone already." said Joseph.

"You take him out?"
 
"You can just scratch him off," said Joseph.

"That just leaves one. Number twelve  --  Ben Baker."

"Don't you know that guy?" asked Joseph.

"Just a name on my arm."

"Who wrote those names on your arm?"

"I don't know.”

"How'd you get here?  Jump out of a helicopter?"

"I don't remember. I just remember talking to Connor and then -- I was here."

"So you're Bob the Butcher."

"I'm Robert Butcher. I work at the  -- "

"You're Ben Baker. He works at the White House. When you're here though, you're Bob the Butcher."

"Ben Baker is on my arm," Baker said, looking at the appendage, and the list on it, with a dull, open-mouth stare.

"You're Bobby Do, kid. The Butcher of Baghdad.  And this ain't your first rodeo."





 


 

Author Notes Yes, I know it's coup de gras (coo de gra) but it's funnier the way he says it.


Chapter 19
No Man is an Island

By Bill Schott

FLASHBACK 6
CHARACTERS
:


C.C. Connor General in U.S. shadow Army
G.I. Joseph -- Connor's adversary in Vietnam
An Do -- Mercenary

=======================================================

G.I. Joseph and An Do are in Kuwait at the beginning of Desert Storm. They are mercenaries working for an unknown government organization. They find safety once the assault on Kuwait begins, but are cornered by General CC Connor.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

End of the last Flashback chapter:

An Do dropped the automatic weapon and pulled his fighting knife from its scabbard. Peering at Joseph, as if deciding the best approach, he gently walked in the direction of his surprised friend.

"It's amazing how long a suggestion can last -- when it's embedded properly." said Connor, starring at Joseph as An Do inched closer.

Joseph aimed the weapon he had taken from an opponent at the general. "You'll die first."

"Kill me then, Joseph; if you can."

He tried pulling the trigger, but his finger refused to contract. He threw the rifle down and grabbed the remaining Bowie knife off the ground.

An Do continued approaching, projecting the passionless cool of an assassin.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

As An Do made increasingly exaggerated steps back and forth, Joseph also shifted his weight from foot to foot, anticipating a fight to the death. Meanwhile, Connor turned and casually walked back to the helicopter, boarded, and sat in the pilot's seat.

An Do leapt from ten feet away and landed on one shoulder, rolling back to his feet behind Joseph. With a slight motion by Joseph, the fight was on.

Connor smiled as he fired up the helicopter and prepared to lift off. The wash from the blades pushed the fighting men around with hurricane winds. They tumbled about, each parrying a knife blow or blocking a kick as they were buffeted by the cyclonic force.

Joseph thought of many things as he unconsciously defended and attacked An Do. Their first meeting in Vietnam was, ironically, a scene of mutual rescue. An Do had been highly trained for his assignments as an assassin, but his trainers had found that brainwashing and deep-set suggestion made his determination to win at any cost more probable.

Being attacked by a crocodile had apparently released him from the directive to mercilessly kill the man he saw. After being saved by Joseph, killing the crocodile, he helped the soldier survive his snake bite poisoning and exhausion.

A slash at the shoulder brought the old soldier out of his reverie to see that he had made a couple nuissance holes in his opponent's chest and thigh. Both men thrust knives and puncturing digits at each other in what seemed like an example of the immovable object and the irrestible force at odds.

Connor's helicopter had pulled away and was slowly leaving the area. Joseph watched it ascend and move off, monitoring how often it circled back to witness the fight and perhaps the results.

A blunt force to the head brought Joseph's attention back to the man trying to kill him. The blow would have been effective had it been an inch lower, probably causing enough disorientation for An Do to issue a lethal wound. Instead, he feigned the vacant face of one with a scattered awareness of his location, which gave An Do the notion to lunge. This was met with a round house kick which put the assassin on the ground with the vacant look on HIS face.

Recalling again, in this few heartbeats respite, Joseph saw himself introducing An Do to his first and second wives.  The first didn't work out as she was a Russian sleeper. This faux pas, and the untidy termination of that marriage, made it more difficult for Joseph to introduce An Do to another woman. The second one, however, was a hit, and An Do settled down for a few years. It was the growing threats in the Middle East which brought him back out to the fray. This also caused his wife to leave him, taking their son.

Like a tiger attacking a grizzly bear, An Do sprang to life with the aggressive nature that had kept him alive for forty-five years. Joseph tried to counter every blow with limited success. The 'you're definitely dead' thrusts were kept from hitting their targets, but the 'that'll leave a mark' jabs and slices were mounting up.

A final look at the helicopter, shrinking into the horizon, gave Joseph the confidence to shout, " La rajul jazira!"    (No Man is an Island)

An Do stopped.  He pondered the ground for a moment. He looked at the fighting knife in his hand. He slowly returned it to its sheath on his rear right hip. Looking over to Joseph he yelled, "
Uwtsh!"

"Ouch is right, you old back stabber."

"Sho glad fur do bekkip coed."

"Yeah. I had to wait until Connor was beyond seeing to bring you out. You are a genius, An.  Who'd have thought to put a failsafe behind a psych-trigger?" 

An Do reached over and took the Bowie knife out of Joseph's hand. He looked around, seeming unsure of what was occuring. He felt a darkness coming over him. The programming, apparently, had its own failsafe. The need to kill was beginning to fill his mind. 

"Didi mao!"  he screamed, as he shoved the huge knife under his chin, up through his sinus cavity, and into his brain.
 
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

End of the last present day chapter:

"How'd you get here? Jump out of a helicopter?"

"I don't remember. I just remember talking to Connor and then -- I was here."

"So you're Bob the Butcher."

"I'm Robert Butcher. I work at the -- "

"You're Ben Baker. He works at the White House. When you're here though, you're Bob the Butcher."

"Ben Baker is on my arm," Baker said, looking at the appendage, and the list on it, with a dull, open-mouth stare.

"You're Bobby Do, kid. The Butcher of Baghdad. And this ain't your first rodeo."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"You've got the wrong man, Joe," said Baker.

"It's Greg."

"What's Greg?"

"My name."

"So you're G.I. Greg?"

"Listen, Ned --"

"My name's Robert."

"Right. You're Robert Do."

"Please!"  yelled Baker, looking at the old soldier with the open mouth of anquish and the furrowed brow of confusion.

"Sorry, Bobby."

"Robert."

"Okay, Robert. How's your mom."

"If you touch my mom I'll --"

"What about your mom?"

Baker tried to remember the woman's face. Her name wasn't clear.

"Do you know who your father was?"

"My dad is --"  Baker hesitated.

"You are a one dimensional character, Robert.  You only exist here."

Baker looked intently at the speaker.

"Ben Baker works back at the White House. He has some flunky post that can be run by any high school dropout who's as smart as a rock.  Robert Butcher works here. He is what little Ben Baker is, and everything that Bobby Do is. Bobby is the only real person between you."

"I don't feel well." said Baker, seemingly shrinking.

"Well, we don't have the time for that. You just keep on thinking you're Robert Butcher. He's done damn well her all three times he played."

"Three?"

"Yeah.  You're Connor's best player.  The others have backgrounds to make them contenders, but Bobby Do -- is a world class assassin."

"Why don't I feel that?"

"My best guess is that Connor has some sort of governor on you. He wants you hobbled, mentally, so the competition will last longer.  If you were here on a real mission, a dozen combatants wouldn't break a sweat."

Baker rose from a squat and took in a full breath.  "How do you know so much about me?"

"I'm your godfather."

Baker smirked and shook his head.  "Well, of course you are. That must make Connor, Lex Luthor.  The helicopter was the Yellow Submarine and we're just a green acre woods away from the land of Oz."

"Cha cua bạn la mot ke hen nhat."  (Your father was a coward.)

"Im mieng!"     (Shut your mouth!)

Baker stood, stunned.  "Who am I?"

"Listen.  We do not have time for this right now. Connor must have sent someone after the helicopter didn't return. He is likely on his way or here now. We have to prepare for an all out assault from whoever he thinks he needs to beat you."

"Why me?  He sent me here to do this. He sent me to kill everyone."

"Right. Sometimes though, when you let loose the dogs of war, you have to remind them whose hand not to bite.  I wager he'll be coming loaded for bear."


 

Author Notes La rajul jazira! (No Man is an Island) Arabic
Didi mao (Make it quick.) Vietnamese


Chapter 20
Up to Date

By Bill Schott

CHARACTERS:

Ben Baker ???Robert Butcher???Bobby Do???Butcher of Baghdad???
C.C. Connor President's Chief of Staff
Tim Bends Assistant to the Assistant Post Master General
Gregory Ira Joseph (GI Joe)-- Connor's adversary in Vietnam
An Do -- Mercenary
=======================================================

The story so far...

  • Ben Baker had to find and kill a dozen people in a secluded, government-operated, forest compound. He has survived and met an old man named G.I. Joe.
  • Tim Bends, one of those whom Baker must kill, had an horrific landing after parachuting from a helicopter and is barely alive.
  • A helicopter has crashed, which should soon be obvious to those who dispatched it.
  • Baker has killed all those whom he knew were in the compound with him (except Bends who should die from his wounds).
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

End of the last present day chapter:

"How'd you get here? Jump out of a helicopter?"

"I don't remember. I just remember talking to Connor and then -- I was here."

"So you're Bob the Butcher."

"I'm Robert Butcher. I work at the -- "

"You're Ben Baker. He works at the White House. When you're here though, you're Bob the Butcher."

"Ben Baker is on my arm," Baker said, looking at the appendage, and the list on it, with a dull, open-mouth stare.

"You're Bobby Do, kid. The Butcher of Baghdad. And this ain't your first rodeo."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"You've got the wrong man, Joe," said Baker.

"It's Greg."

"What's Greg?"

"My name."

"So you're G.I. Greg?"

"Listen, Ned --"

"My name's Robert."

"Right. You're Robert Do."

"Please!"  yelled Baker, looking at the old soldier with the open mouth of anquish and the furrowed brow of confusion.

"Sorry, Bobby."

"Robert."

"Okay, Robert. How's your mom."

"If you touch my mom I'll --"

"What about your mom?"

Baker tried to remember the woman's face. Her name wasn't clear.

"Do you know who your father was?"

"My dad is --"  Baker hesitated.

"You are a one dimensional character, Robert.  You only exist here."

Baker looked intently at the speaker.

"Ben Baker works back at the White House. He has some flunky post that can be run by any high school dropout who's as smart as a rock.  Robert Butcher works here. He is what little Ben Baker is, and everything that Bobby Do is. Bobby is the only real person between you."

"I don't feel well." said Baker, seemingly shrinking.

"Well, we don't have the time for that. You just keep on thinking you're Robert Butcher. He's done damn well her all three times he played."

"Three?"

"Yeah.  You're Connor's best player.  The others have backgrounds to make them contenders, but Bobby Do -- is a world class assassin."

"Why don't I feel that?"

"My best guess is that Connor has some sort of governor on you. He wants you hobbled, mentally, so the competition will last longer.  If you were here on a real mission, a dozen combatants wouldn't break a sweat."

Baker rose from a squat and took in a full breath.  "How do you know so much about me?"

"I'm your godfather."

Baker smirked and shook his head.  "Well, of course you are. That must make Connor, Lex Luthor.  The helicopter was the Yellow Submarine and we're just a green acre woods away from the land of Oz."

"Cha cua bạn la mot ke hen nhat."                    (Your father was a coward.)


"Im mieng!"                                                           (Shut your mouth!)

Baker stood, stunned.  "Who am I?"

"Listen.  We do not have time for this right now. Connor must have sent someone after the helicopter didn't return. He is likely on his way or here now. We have to prepare for an all out assault from whoever he thinks he needs to beat you."

"Why me?  He sent me here to do this. He sent me to kill everyone."

"Right. Sometimes though, when you let loose the dogs of war, you have to remind them whose hand not to bite.  I wager he'll be coming loaded for bear."

 










 

Author Notes Vietnamese:
"Cha cua b�??�?�¡�??�?�º�??�?�¡n la mot ke hen nhat." (Your father was a coward.)

"Im mieng!" (Shut your mouth!)

"Listen, Ned --" (inside joke)


Chapter 21
Revelations

By Bill Schott


CHARACTERS:


Ben Baker
???Robert Butcher???Bobby Do???Butcher of Baghdad???
C.C. Connor
President's Chief of Staff
Tim Bends
Assistant to the Assistant Post Master General
Gregory Ira Joseph (GI Joe)
Connor's adversary in Vietnam

=======================================================
The story so far...
Ben Baker had to find and kill a dozen people in a secluded, government-operated, forest compound. He has survived and met an old man named G.I. Joe.  This man told Ben he is actually Bobby Do, an assassin, brainwashed to believe he is Ben Baker.
Tim Bends, one of those whom Baker must kill, had an horrific landing after parachuting from a helicopter and is barely alive.
A helicopter has crashed, which should trigger C.C. Connor's response with enough force to secure the area.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
End of the last present day chapter:
"Connor must have sent someone after the helicopter didn't return. He is likely on his way or here now. We have to prepare for an all out assault from whoever he thinks he needs to beat you."

"Why me? He sent me here to do this. He sent me to kill everyone."

"Right. Sometimes though, when you let loose the dogs of war, you have to remind them whose hand not to bite. I wager he'll be coming loaded for bear."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Joseph and Baker returned to the encampment to gather up whatever would work in defense of the expected force coming for them.

Baker made a quick inventory.  "I have this M-16 and, finally, lots of magazines and ammunition. There are grenades out in the field around where the hamburger guy is.

"This crossbow has a scope," said Joseph. "No wonder she tagged you from here."

"That hurts a lot, by the way. Thanks for yanking it out." said Baker.  "I don't know why it was necessary to kick me in the head though."

"Better safe than sorry," answered Joseph, before continuing the inventory. "Now there's water, half a box of MREs, .45 caliber rounds, and a 'put-your-gun-together-game' here."

"These e-tools might be good in a fight," said Baker.  "I've heard of that." 

"Here's a one-time use LAW we can re-task as a ball bat, I guess, after the battle. Maybe start a scrub game."

"How can you find humor in this?" asked Baker, staring at the old man, wondering who he really was and why this was all really happening.

"Your dad and I did this kind of --"

"What!?"  My dad!?  Who's my dad?!" Baker stood, heart pounding fast as he wracked his brain for some glimpse of his father. There was no Mr. Baker, no mother, or family. He felt trapped under a mystery, like being below water trying desperately to reach the surface.

"Calm down, pal.  Sit and I'll give you the Readers' Digest version of your life."

Baker sat on a crate and listened.

Joseph recounted how he and An Do had met and worked together as mercenaries. Both had gone off the grid in Vietnam and were presumed dead. That status made them untraceable and valued by the entities who employed them.

They eventually hired on with a shadow military organization which sent them into highly unstable environments to tip the scales of outcomes one way or another. They were always successful and highly rewarded.

Then, An Do decided to retire and start a family. Having no allegiances, except to Joseph, he did so, and had a baby boy.  His name was Bobby.
An Do trained him from birth to be a fighter. By the age of ten he could best any opponent, having only to lose the final stricture keeping him from being the greatest fighter he could be.

Compassion was a wall which separated many warriors from their full potential as a weapon. It was not something to be eliminated, but made to be shut off like a switch. The assassin needs compassion to survive and remain sane, but he must also not be hesitant to perform the cruelties required of an agent of death.

When An Do returned to the assassin field, his son went off to West Point. His entire life had been reworked so he could pass all background checks. He never graduated, but disappeared, never to be found.  

"But I found you, Bobby."

"This is some kind of bullshit."

"You had been grabbed by a covert operation that was aware of your abilities.  They knew you were capable of the kind of surgical destruction they required." 

"How would they know?"

"Somewhere, somehow Connor had grabbed your dad. He underwent some super-effective brainwashing and psychological mining. He must have revealed your abilities. They released him, but then you were taken."

"Where is my dad now?"

"He’s gone, Bobby.  Died by his own hand."

"Why?!"

"It's a long story, but he had a self-destruction suggestion planted in his deep subconscious. If he failed a mission, or was captured, he would terminate himself."

Baker stood again. His calm manner was as obvious as his earlier hyperventilation.

"Connor is responsible for all of this?"

Joseph stood as well.  "He is, and he has obviously messed your mind up in ways that gets him the biggest bang for his buck."

"What do you mean?"

"He has an assassin that he can keep in top-notch training by pitting him against opponents on a regular basis, at government expense.  His killer doesn't even know he is one. He's Clark Kent, mild-mannered under-flunky in the DC puzzle palace. Then he's someone else here, a Brand X version of who he could be, if he was in control of his faculties."

"Are you suggesting that this whole operation is for me?"

"I think you're one of many. He may have an army of men and women like you. What I do know is that you would be the best of the lot."

"Wait!" yelled Baker, "I hear wolves!  They're barking -- coming this way!"

"Those aren't wolves!  They're dogs!  Connor is here!"
 
Joseph and Baker scramble to the crates to gather weapons.  They would have to defend from this spot. Grabbing the crossbow and a clutch of bolts, Joseph set up a firing post kneeling behind a crate.  He fashioned a grenade holder out of a sock and hung it on the end of the bolt.  He slipped another sock through the loop of the arming pin, knotted it, and tied it off to the body of the weapon. In theory, the grenade would go and the pin stay. "Welcome to the neighborhood, fellas."

Meanwhile, Baker loaded the M-16 with a full magazine. Other full clips were stacked beside him.  "I never got a chance to crack open that twelfth crate. Could be a rocket launcher or cans of tuna fish."

"Those dogs seem to be getting further away, rather than closer. If I'm not going nuts, they seem to be coming from the back on the fire break."

Baker noticed it too.  "It's like they went right past us and are coming back in the opposite direction. Impossible!"

"Get that crate open and get that tuna fish. We can throw the damn cans at them."

Baker leaped over a pile of body bags that had been pulled out of one of the boxes, landing next to the final crate; he quickly pried it open with two knives.  Just as the lid came off, the sting of what must have been a monster mosquito pierced his shoulder.  He immediately felt a rush of heat to his face as his vison blurred. Turning, he saw that Joseph had already fallen to the ground, a four-inch dart in his neck. 

 
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When Baker's eyes opened again, his first sight was that of C.C Connor. The man stood facing away, looking at the still-sleeping Joseph, who, like himself, had plastic ties binding his wrists.

"This one's awake, sir," said one of the twenty or more men forming a circle around him.

Connor turned, perpeptual grin on his face, and stepped nearer.

"Dream up a way out of this, Bobby?"

"Bobby?  My name is --"

"Save it.  I know Gomer Pyle  here has already told you who you are."

"You killed my father!"

Connor seemed to grin even more broadly. "I heard he took his own life."

"You messed with his mind -- with mine!"

Joseph had awakened.  "Where's all the dogs?  Why are we still alive, Connor?"

"That's a long story, Corporal Joseph. One which I will happily reveal to you once we've run the red ribbon."

With that said, the armed men scattered out away into the wide opening of the cleared area. Each ran individually towards separate postions. When they were more than a hundred feet away, Connor turned and walked toward the recently opened crate.

"You probably noticed the reel-to-reel tape deck in here, Bobby."  

"That figures," said Joseph. "Just when I had my taste buds set for tuna fish."

Connor stared at the old soldier, not getting the joke, but grinning anyway.  Then, turning to the crate, he fastened a small, six-volt battery to the power cord of the tape player.

"This is your favorite song, Bobby." 

With that said, Connor switched on the device and the music began.  The shout of 'Whammer Jammer' was followed by loud harmonica riffs which were broadcast throughout the compound.   The effect on Baker was immediate. He leapt to his feet and yanked at the wrist ties until his bloodied hands pulled free.  He darted past Connor, hurtled Joseph and ran towards the armed men. 

Each soldier aimed his weapon and attempted to fire at the charging Baker. 

Connor looked at Joseph and giggled.  "They don't have firing pins.  Poor saps."

As the soldiers realized they couldn't fire, each pulled a fighting knife or bayonet to take on the advancing assassin.

The music got louder as Connor increased the volume on the player. Looking to Joseph he said, "This is where the dogs came from too.  Keeps the wolves at bay, cowering in the deep woods."

Baker met each soldier and easily killed them.  Finger jabs to the throat, or disarming them and using their knives against them, the young killer made lightning slashes to vital arteries and organs.  By the time the music ended, the last of twenty-four combatants had dropped dead to the bloody forest floor.

"Now THAT'S entertainment, Joseph. You have to admit it."

"I hope he's coming for you next," said Joseph.

"He's coming for one of us, corporal.  I like my odds."




 

Author Notes Image is from Google


Chapter 22
Whammer Jammer

By Bill Schott

CHARACTERS:

Ben Baker ???Robert Butcher???Bobby Do???Butcher of Baghdad???
C.C. Connor President's Chief of Staff
Tim Bends Assistant to the Assistant Post Master General
Gregory Ira Joseph (GI Joe) Connor's adversary in Vietnam

=======================================================
The story so far...

Ben Baker had to find and kill a dozen people in a secluded, government-operated, forest compound. He has survived and met an old man named G.I. Joe. This man told Ben he is actually Bobby Do, an assassin, brainwashed to believe he is Ben Baker.
Tim Bends, one of those whom Baker must kill, had an horrific landing after parachuting from a helicopter and is barely alive.
A helicopter has crashed, which triggered C.C. Connor's response with enough force to secure the area.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
End of the last chapter:
"Are you suggesting that this whole operation is for me?"

"I think you're one of many. He may have an army of men and women like you. What I do know is that you would be the best of the lot."

"Wait!" yelled Baker, "I hear wolves! They're barking -- coming this way!"

"Those aren't wolves! They're dogs! Connor is here!"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx


Joseph and Baker scramble to the crates to gather weapons.  They would have to defend from this spot. Grabbing the crossbow and a clutch of bolts, Joseph set up a firing post kneeling behind a crate.  He fashioned a grenade holder out of a sock and hung it on the end of the bolt.  He slipped another sock through the loop of the arming pin, knotted it, and tied it off to the body of the weapon. In theory, the grenade would go and the pin stay. "Welcome to the neighborhood, fellas."

Meanwhile, Baker loaded the M-16 with a full magazine. Other full clips were stacked beside him.  "I never got a chance to crack open that twelfth crate. Could be a rocket launcher or cans of tuna fish."

"Those dogs seem to be getting further away, rather than closer. If I'm not going nuts, they seem to be coming from the back on the fire break."

Baker noticed it too.  "It's like they went right past us and are coming back in the opposite direction. Impossible!"

"Get that crate open and get that tuna fish. We can throw the damn cans at them."

Baker leaped over a pile of body bags that had been pulled out of one of the boxes, landing next to the final crate; he quickly pried it open with two knives.  Just as the lid came off, the sting of what must have been a monster mosquito pierced his shoulder.  He immediately felt a rush of heat to his face as his vison blurred. Turning, he saw that Joseph had already fallen to the ground, a four-inch dart in his neck. 
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When Baker's eyes opened again, his first sight was that of C.C Connor. The man stood facing away, looking at the still-sleeping Joseph, who, like himself, had plastic ties binding his wrists.

"This one's awake, sir," said one of the twenty or more men forming a circle around him.

Connor turned, perpeptual grin on his face, and stepped nearer.
"Dream up a way out of this, Bobby?"

"Bobby?  My name is --"

"Save it.  I know Gomer Pyle  here has already told you who you are."

"You killed my father!"

Connor seemed to grin even more broadly. "I heard he took his own life."

"You messed with his mind -- with mine!"

Joseph had awakened.  "Where's all the dogs?  Why are we still alive, Connor?"

"That's a long story, Corporal Joseph. One which I will happily reveal to you once we've run the red ribbon."

With that said, the armed men scattered out away into the wide opening of the cleared area. Each ran individually towards separate postions. When they were more than a hundred feet away, Connor turned and walked toward the recently opened crate.

"You probably noticed the reel-to-reel tape deck in here, Bobby."  

"That figures," said Joseph. "Just when I had my taste buds set for tuna fish."

Connor stared at the old soldier, not getting the joke, but grinning anyway.  Then, turning to the crate, he fastened a small, six-volt battery to the power cord of the tape player.
"This is your favorite song, Bobby." 

With that said, Connor switched on the device and the music began.  The shout of 'Whammer Jammer' was followed by loud harmonica riffs which were broadcast throughout the compound.   The effect on Baker was immediate. He leapt to his feet and yanked at the wrist ties until his bloodied hands pulled free.  He darted past Connor, hurtled Joseph and ran towards the armed men. 

Each soldier aimed his weapon and attempted to fire at the charging Baker. 

Connor looked at Joseph and giggled.  "They don't have firing pins.  Poor saps."

As the soldiers realized they couldn't fire, each pulled a fighting knife or bayonet to take on the advancing assassin.

The music got louder as Connor increased the volume on the player. Looking to Joseph he said, "This is where the dogs came from too.  Keeps the wolves at bay, cowering in the deep woods."

Baker met each soldier and easily killed them.  Finger jabs to the throat, or disarming them and using their knives against them, the young killer made lightning slashes to vital arteries and organs.  By the time the music ended, the last of twenty-four combatants had dropped dead to the bloody forest floor.

"Now that's entertainment, Joseph. You have to admit it."

"I hope he's coming for you next," said Joseph.

"He's coming for one of us, corporal.  I like my odds."







 

Author Notes Link to youtube to hear Whammer Jammer

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2gdvgjLvi6c&list=RD2gdvgjLvi6c&start_radio=1&t=4


Chapter 23
Termination

By Bill Schott

CHARACTERS:

Ben Baker ... Butcher of Baghdad
C.C. Connor ...President's Chief of Staff
Tim Bends ...Assistant to the Assistant Post Master General
Gregory Ira Joseph (GI Joe) ....Connor's adversary in Vietnam
=======================================================
The story so far...


Ben Baker had to find and kill a dozen people in a secluded, government-operated, forest compound. He has survived and met an old man named G.I. Joe. This man told Ben he is actually Bobby Do, an assassin, brainwashed to believe he is Ben Baker.
Tim Bends, one of those whom Baker must kill, had an horrific landing after parachuting from a helicopter and is barely alive.
C.C. Connor's came with enough force to secure the area, but Ben Baker killed them all.
.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
End of the last chapter:


Baker met each soldier and easily killed them. Finger jabs to the throat, or disarming them and using their knives against them, the young killer made lightning slashes to vital arteries and organs. By the time the music ended, the last of twenty-four combatants had dropped dead to the bloody forest floor.

"Now that's entertainment, Joseph. You have to admit it."

"I hope he's coming for you next," said Joseph.

"He's coming for one of us, corporal. I like my odds."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Baker finished off the last of Connor's men and trotted back to the encampment. His eyes were clear and his will was his own.

"I can't believe I did that. It was as though I was possessed by a lunatic."

"That's not the half of it, Bobby," said Connor.  "You have other abilities and physical properties that make you the perfect soldier."

"Bobby!" shouted Joseph.  "Kill this son of a bitch now! He can't be allowed to go on!"

"He can't hurt me, corporal," said Connor, almost laughing. "He would kill himself before touching me.” Then, turning to face Joseph, "You can't harm me either. So, the fighting is done for now."

"What are we doing here, Connor?  Why put me through this if you know how I'll do already?"

"You have other properties that we are testing.  Such as your ability to heal. Your cells are enhanced to repair themselves quickly. Even now your arrow wound is healing faster than any human being alive."

"What you're saying is impossible, Connor," shouted Joseph.

Connor stared at Joseph smiling, then laughing out loud.

"Look at me, corporal.  Look at yourself. Why are you able to do these things in your seventies?  We are, all of us, genetically programmed to endure pain and starvation, while lasting twice as long as other people. We will live to two hundred years. Maybe longer."

"That's great," said Joseph.  "So you'll be bringing these sheep out here to be killed to keep Bobby sharp?"

"I actually had another agent in the mix, but he must have been taken out early. He can't be located." 

"Who was that?" asked Baker.

"Tim Bends."

As if summoned from the dead, from beneath a mound of body bags, the pitiful specter of Tim Bends rose to his knees. His body, blackened in dried blood and soil, with one eye peering out like a diamond in a ghastly statue of coal, trembled and fought to remain erect.

"Holy shit!" yelled Connor.  "Is that you Bends? Boy, you are a marvel!"

Bends, using whatever supernatural strength his body still retained, lifted a crossbow and rested it on a crate. Before another word was spoken, he pulled the trigger and sent a bolt straight to the chest of C.C. Connor.  

Connor had but a moment to realize he was shot, and that the bolt had attached to it, a grenade.  In that few seconds a lifetime of memories flew through his mind: Posing as a prisoner of war after the Vietnam conflict ended, and finding his way into the House of Represenatives. A close, secret alliance with China and the United States, which he used to create his super assassination teams. His finding Gregory Ira Joseph and sending him through his torture scenario to test his programming, securing his alter ego in the idea that he was a regular soldier, and not Connor's weapon. The eventual meeting with An Do, a highly organized clash to cement the two together for the next twenty years. They would never know that their secret assassination team was run by him. 

Connor grabbed both the stunned Baker and Joseph by their sleeves, as a huge smile crossed his skeletal face.

Wolves, just then moving out of the deep woods to investigate what might be huge meals, were startled by a lone explosion, followed by silence. The night eased in as the pack moved forward.






 

Author Notes Image from Google hexus.net


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