| General Fiction posted November 28, 2018 | Chapters: |
...12 13 -14- 15... 
|
  |
Forces meet and death is dealt.
A chapter in the book Baker's Dozen
Show Down
by Bill Schott
The author has placed a warning on this post for 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.
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.
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.
 Recognized |
Image from Google
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. 
You need to login or register to write reviews. It's quick! We only ask four questions to new members.
© Copyright 2024. Bill Schott All rights reserved.
Bill Schott has granted FanStory.com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
