Post by kingrat on Mar 9, 2011 7:45:55 GMT -5
The Armadillo Annihilator
Episode 7 - Discovering the Zombie Beaver
With El Jefe perched on the second limb of the tree, screaming and clutching its trunk in a bear hug, and Mr. Dillo's claws shredding off bark just a few feet lower, Kingrat had decided to jerk the firing lever on his trusty Pig Power 45mm repeating pistol, thus ending the impending hand-to-hand combat for better or worse. At that very moment, another weapons system failure, normally fatal - or at least disastrous - for those in the immediate vicinity of the business end of the Pig Power’s bullet belching tube, instead saved the lives of both El Jefe and Mr. Dillo.
The red saran wrap covering the lens of Kingrat's flashlight came loose and floated away on the night breeze, allowing several million candlepower of bright white light to illuminate the scene completely. Enough lumens spewed out of the $4.00 Duracell to light up the night as if the sun had gone nova. Three sets of eyes were temporarily blinded by the shift from dim red light to blindingly white - effectively freezing all conscious mental activity and causing an instantaneous relaxation of all voluntary muscle groups. As the complete scene began to register in the mind's eye of each participant, relaxed muscle groups had various effects on the participants.
When he became unable to control his claw muscles, Mr. Dillo lost his precarious grasp on the remaining bark of the tree trunk just below the first limb and skidded down to the ground; landing with a thud. Completely startled by the blinding light, he imagined that the entire helicopter assault squadron of the Mississippi Air National Guard had converged on him, and hastily initiated a retreat from the scene at something close to the speed of light. This particular ‘dillo had faced a pack of howling MS ANG rednecks once before near Route 4, Liberty, MS, and barely escaped alive, but with his armor-plate seriously shattered, and had no desire to repeat the encounter.
El Jefe quit screaming and watched jubilantly from his perch on the limb above as the 'dillo began to pose a quickly diminishing personal threat. Fortunately, his arms were still locked involuntarily around the trunk of the tree and his perch on the second limb held fast, allowing him to climb down in a more gentlemanly manner than had befallen the terrified 'dillo. He knew, however, that his survival in this first round of the fight merely meant that he'd have to meet Mr. Dillo once again and he had no desire to go through that kind of mortal combat a second time. Mr. Dillo had to be stopped here and now - for the good of mankind.
Kingrat had been the most surprised of the three when the night suddenly turned into blinding daylight. During the fleeting moment it took for the 'dillo to clear the area, Kingrat suspected that he might become the object of the beastie's wrath and had tried to shift the aim of the Pig Power downward from the tree limbs to a point near his feet. Surprising him further, Kingrat realized that the 'dillo was headed away from, instead of toward him, and the extreme, exquisite relief of this realization resulted in an immediate and complete relaxation of his sphincter. "Oh well," thought Kingrat, "if soiled skivvies is the worst damage done tonight I'd say we we're all lucky as hell." Kingrat was brought back to reality when he heard El Jefe screaming again.
"Hell's bells, 'rat," barked El Jefe, "don't just stand there holding your nose; shoot that thing! Don't let him get away!"
While he was breathing a sigh of relief, Kingrat had been mildly overcome by noxious gases seeping skyward from around the waistband of his 7-11 tactical dungarees, however, and was unable to swing the Duracell around to the direction of the 'dillo's retreat; much less re-focus the sights of the Pig Power. By the time the scene had re-focused for Kingrat, the Pig Power's computerized aiming apparatus had become overloaded by the quickly shifting azimuth data and change in the intensity of background light. It's firing solution computers had entered a gridlock condition and refused to send the signal required to release the safety mechanism.
With all weapons at least temporarily inoperative, and the armadillo in hasty retreat, there was nothing left for the fearless warriors to do but gather their equipment and begin the long trek back to the pink trailer.
“Perhaps,” they both thought, we'll get there in time to have some breakfast before Admiral Dirtrider eats every last serving of the Huevos Rancheros” - as he did the previous evening with the remaining pouches of PRE.
El Jefe was anxious to grab a quick nap and then begin the examination of why his trusted AR-15 had malfunctioned and why the one shot it did get off was wide of the mark. Kingrat yearned for an even longer nap and explanation of why the saran wrap had disengaged from the Duracell and begin the debugging procedure of the Pig Power's firing solution computer software. Amid the confusion caused by a battle that started and ended so quickly, and burdened by carrying more than his share of the equipment because El Jefe was still fretting over the failure to dispatch Mr. Dillo to possum heaven, Kingrat started the homeward trek in the wrong direction.
After several hours of trekking through the darkened wilderness without encountering a familiar landmark, Kingrat paused to get his bearings and reconnoiter the immediate surroundings. With the red saran wrap hastily, but securely, re-attached to the Duracell, he made his way stealthily along a game trail hoping to find something recognizable and praying he wouldn't encounter a marauding recon patrol of the Armadillo Army. Suddenly, the dim moonlight bounced off a mirror-like surface ahead, instead of dense forest, and Kingrat realized they were on the wrong trail. Turning his concern over being lost into fear of another 'dillo encounter, a splashing noise alerted Kingrat to the fact that he and El Jefe were not alone in this part of the wilderness.
Hastily, Kingrat made his way back to the small clearing where he'd left El Jefe muttering to himself about systems failures and replenishing his adrenaline supply after the 'dillo encounter earlier in the evening. While he was waiting for Kingrat to get his bearings, El Jefe had used the time to field strip the AR-15 and re-tighten the fasteners on the MDTLD. He had no illusions that this would be a permanent repair, but didn't like the idea of being totally defenseless in light of the computer failure on their only other weapon, the ill-fated Pig Power 45mm. His attention was diverted to muted thrashing on the game trail and soon realized that Kingrat was returning from his geographical investigation mission.
"El Jefe," whispered Kingrat, "there's a large body of water over there a ways and I think an armadillo or two are swimming around in there hunting for Croc-a-gators. I made out some splashing noises and overheard some guttural conversation between the two hunting beasties. I couldn’t rightly translate their words but it sure sounded like ‘dillo-talk to me."
"Oh NO! This may be the end of the world as we know it. Armageddon for sure," whispered El Jefe, "that was not an armadillo. We know that 'dillos can't swim but there are rumors of a few specimens of a closely-related species here on the Woodland facility known as the Zombie Beaver, and their language, Beaver lingo, has a North American dialect very similar to 'dillo-talk. I sure as hell hope that's not what you heard, but we'll have to go immediately to investigate."
Cold chills ran up and down Kingrat's backbone. He nor any of the AK Bunker expeditionary forces had ever encountered the Zombie Beaver nor the Croc-a-gator, but the Navy's elite spy team - Naval Intelligence - code named oxymoron - had begun a dossier on these two critters when some had been spotted in the creeks and lowlands of the Woodland facility. Nothing in the Navy's database threatened the peace and tranquility of the Republic as much as the Zombie Beaver – not even the dreaded Croc-a-gator. Admiral Dirtrider had elected not to inform his superiors of this discovery, for fear of a panic at the Polygon. He had decided to quietly develop effective anti-beaver/croc-a-gator special weapons and tactics (ABCSWAT) so that counter-measures could be revealed at the same time he announced the threat. In fact, this project - unknown even to his old friend, El Jefe, was the reason he was in attendance at these field-trials of the MDTLD/AR-15.
Is the Zombie Beaver real, or is it just another Loch Ness Monster or Sasquatch? What makes the Croc-a-gator so mean? Does The Admiral have a plan? Do El Jefe and Kingrat make an eye-witness sighting of these beasties? Stay tuned for more episodes of The Armadillo Annihilator to learn the facts. Just the facts, M’am.
Episode 7 - Discovering the Zombie Beaver
With El Jefe perched on the second limb of the tree, screaming and clutching its trunk in a bear hug, and Mr. Dillo's claws shredding off bark just a few feet lower, Kingrat had decided to jerk the firing lever on his trusty Pig Power 45mm repeating pistol, thus ending the impending hand-to-hand combat for better or worse. At that very moment, another weapons system failure, normally fatal - or at least disastrous - for those in the immediate vicinity of the business end of the Pig Power’s bullet belching tube, instead saved the lives of both El Jefe and Mr. Dillo.
The red saran wrap covering the lens of Kingrat's flashlight came loose and floated away on the night breeze, allowing several million candlepower of bright white light to illuminate the scene completely. Enough lumens spewed out of the $4.00 Duracell to light up the night as if the sun had gone nova. Three sets of eyes were temporarily blinded by the shift from dim red light to blindingly white - effectively freezing all conscious mental activity and causing an instantaneous relaxation of all voluntary muscle groups. As the complete scene began to register in the mind's eye of each participant, relaxed muscle groups had various effects on the participants.
When he became unable to control his claw muscles, Mr. Dillo lost his precarious grasp on the remaining bark of the tree trunk just below the first limb and skidded down to the ground; landing with a thud. Completely startled by the blinding light, he imagined that the entire helicopter assault squadron of the Mississippi Air National Guard had converged on him, and hastily initiated a retreat from the scene at something close to the speed of light. This particular ‘dillo had faced a pack of howling MS ANG rednecks once before near Route 4, Liberty, MS, and barely escaped alive, but with his armor-plate seriously shattered, and had no desire to repeat the encounter.
El Jefe quit screaming and watched jubilantly from his perch on the limb above as the 'dillo began to pose a quickly diminishing personal threat. Fortunately, his arms were still locked involuntarily around the trunk of the tree and his perch on the second limb held fast, allowing him to climb down in a more gentlemanly manner than had befallen the terrified 'dillo. He knew, however, that his survival in this first round of the fight merely meant that he'd have to meet Mr. Dillo once again and he had no desire to go through that kind of mortal combat a second time. Mr. Dillo had to be stopped here and now - for the good of mankind.
Kingrat had been the most surprised of the three when the night suddenly turned into blinding daylight. During the fleeting moment it took for the 'dillo to clear the area, Kingrat suspected that he might become the object of the beastie's wrath and had tried to shift the aim of the Pig Power downward from the tree limbs to a point near his feet. Surprising him further, Kingrat realized that the 'dillo was headed away from, instead of toward him, and the extreme, exquisite relief of this realization resulted in an immediate and complete relaxation of his sphincter. "Oh well," thought Kingrat, "if soiled skivvies is the worst damage done tonight I'd say we we're all lucky as hell." Kingrat was brought back to reality when he heard El Jefe screaming again.
"Hell's bells, 'rat," barked El Jefe, "don't just stand there holding your nose; shoot that thing! Don't let him get away!"
While he was breathing a sigh of relief, Kingrat had been mildly overcome by noxious gases seeping skyward from around the waistband of his 7-11 tactical dungarees, however, and was unable to swing the Duracell around to the direction of the 'dillo's retreat; much less re-focus the sights of the Pig Power. By the time the scene had re-focused for Kingrat, the Pig Power's computerized aiming apparatus had become overloaded by the quickly shifting azimuth data and change in the intensity of background light. It's firing solution computers had entered a gridlock condition and refused to send the signal required to release the safety mechanism.
With all weapons at least temporarily inoperative, and the armadillo in hasty retreat, there was nothing left for the fearless warriors to do but gather their equipment and begin the long trek back to the pink trailer.
“Perhaps,” they both thought, we'll get there in time to have some breakfast before Admiral Dirtrider eats every last serving of the Huevos Rancheros” - as he did the previous evening with the remaining pouches of PRE.
El Jefe was anxious to grab a quick nap and then begin the examination of why his trusted AR-15 had malfunctioned and why the one shot it did get off was wide of the mark. Kingrat yearned for an even longer nap and explanation of why the saran wrap had disengaged from the Duracell and begin the debugging procedure of the Pig Power's firing solution computer software. Amid the confusion caused by a battle that started and ended so quickly, and burdened by carrying more than his share of the equipment because El Jefe was still fretting over the failure to dispatch Mr. Dillo to possum heaven, Kingrat started the homeward trek in the wrong direction.
After several hours of trekking through the darkened wilderness without encountering a familiar landmark, Kingrat paused to get his bearings and reconnoiter the immediate surroundings. With the red saran wrap hastily, but securely, re-attached to the Duracell, he made his way stealthily along a game trail hoping to find something recognizable and praying he wouldn't encounter a marauding recon patrol of the Armadillo Army. Suddenly, the dim moonlight bounced off a mirror-like surface ahead, instead of dense forest, and Kingrat realized they were on the wrong trail. Turning his concern over being lost into fear of another 'dillo encounter, a splashing noise alerted Kingrat to the fact that he and El Jefe were not alone in this part of the wilderness.
Hastily, Kingrat made his way back to the small clearing where he'd left El Jefe muttering to himself about systems failures and replenishing his adrenaline supply after the 'dillo encounter earlier in the evening. While he was waiting for Kingrat to get his bearings, El Jefe had used the time to field strip the AR-15 and re-tighten the fasteners on the MDTLD. He had no illusions that this would be a permanent repair, but didn't like the idea of being totally defenseless in light of the computer failure on their only other weapon, the ill-fated Pig Power 45mm. His attention was diverted to muted thrashing on the game trail and soon realized that Kingrat was returning from his geographical investigation mission.
"El Jefe," whispered Kingrat, "there's a large body of water over there a ways and I think an armadillo or two are swimming around in there hunting for Croc-a-gators. I made out some splashing noises and overheard some guttural conversation between the two hunting beasties. I couldn’t rightly translate their words but it sure sounded like ‘dillo-talk to me."
"Oh NO! This may be the end of the world as we know it. Armageddon for sure," whispered El Jefe, "that was not an armadillo. We know that 'dillos can't swim but there are rumors of a few specimens of a closely-related species here on the Woodland facility known as the Zombie Beaver, and their language, Beaver lingo, has a North American dialect very similar to 'dillo-talk. I sure as hell hope that's not what you heard, but we'll have to go immediately to investigate."
Cold chills ran up and down Kingrat's backbone. He nor any of the AK Bunker expeditionary forces had ever encountered the Zombie Beaver nor the Croc-a-gator, but the Navy's elite spy team - Naval Intelligence - code named oxymoron - had begun a dossier on these two critters when some had been spotted in the creeks and lowlands of the Woodland facility. Nothing in the Navy's database threatened the peace and tranquility of the Republic as much as the Zombie Beaver – not even the dreaded Croc-a-gator. Admiral Dirtrider had elected not to inform his superiors of this discovery, for fear of a panic at the Polygon. He had decided to quietly develop effective anti-beaver/croc-a-gator special weapons and tactics (ABCSWAT) so that counter-measures could be revealed at the same time he announced the threat. In fact, this project - unknown even to his old friend, El Jefe, was the reason he was in attendance at these field-trials of the MDTLD/AR-15.
Is the Zombie Beaver real, or is it just another Loch Ness Monster or Sasquatch? What makes the Croc-a-gator so mean? Does The Admiral have a plan? Do El Jefe and Kingrat make an eye-witness sighting of these beasties? Stay tuned for more episodes of The Armadillo Annihilator to learn the facts. Just the facts, M’am.