Post by kingrat on Mar 21, 2011 6:24:21 GMT -5
The Armadillo Annihilator
Episode 9 – The Zombie Beaver Encounter
Close enough now to get a clear view of The Inland Sea, El Jefe raised the AR-15 to his shoulder and peered through the cardboard tube of the MDTLD at the electronic display housed within. Leeboat’s magical electro-autonomical circuitry - discovered during his brief matriculation at the University of Gregarious Asshats (UGA) – and later perfected during his more recent work on the ill-fated “midnight beer retrieval goggles” - transformed the weakest surrounding optical radiation into a display easily viewed by the human eye.
"We own the night.” Thought El Jefe to himself as he began to get a clear view of the surface of the sea and the otherwise undetected activity playing out within his field of view. He gingerly adjusted the MDTLD's magnificating knob to get a close-up view of whatever was causing ripples on the otherwise calm surface, and let out a muffled yet blood curdling gasp audible only to the apprehensive Kingrat, who was standing as still as a statue at his shoulder.
“What do you see, pray tell, El Jefe?” whispered Kingrat; expecting the worst while wishing for something else.
El Jefe couldn’t believe his eyes. He suspected for a moment that the MDTLD was showing him some pre-recorded image of a Japanese horror film monster, conjured up late in the evening after the Asian cartoonists had consumed vast quantities of cheap sake and even cheaper psychedelic drugs. The image of the beast shown on MDTLD's display screen was absolutely, positively, gut-wrenchingly, coyote ugly. Dreadfully long, revoltingly yellow teeth protruded from its narrow pointed mouth and gnarly fur, matted with caked-on mud and remnants of its last meal covered its back. This creature looked nothing like the cute pictures children see in their story books. This was not Bucky Beaver.
Not only was it ugly, but it was big. Hippopotamus big! Battleship Captains would surely yield the right of way to this monster if encountered on the high seas. Despite its enormous size, the critter was nimble in the water. With the speed of a nuclear powered torpedo and the grace of a ballet dancer, the beastie chased its prey and remained focused on its mission – to the exclusion of an awareness of its surroundings – and near-fatal ignorance of El Jefe’s imminent assault. Tonight, however, fate would favor the beaver.
“Well, it shore ain’t little yellow duckies, Kingrat,” came the reply. “There's nothing as ugly as this beast in my memory banks. Well, there was that one girl Leeboat brought home once from UGA, but this thing is in a totally different league. While I’ve never seen one, this critter fits the rumored description of the dreaded Zombie Beaver, and it looks like he’s hot on the trail of something to eat or mate.”
After making this report to Kingrat, El Jefe slowly released the gasp of air he’d taken and jerked the firing lever of the AR-15. Internal mechanisms slammed together and ignition occurred within the powerful .22 ounce projectile cartridge. These were the only sounds emitted, however, because the FART system operated flawlessly in absorbing the sound of the explosion within the bang chamber of the bullet belching tube, and none of the burnt chemical odor was emitted – although no one would have noticed at this point anyway; with Kingrat’s soiled skivvies in such close proximity.
Although El Jefe had managed earlier to clear the AR-15 of its mangled parts following the armadillo encounter, he’d had no time or tools to deal with the mis-aligned MDTLD. At this point he didn’t even know this flaw was present because there wasn’t time for thorough examination of the system. He knew he'd missed the armadillo on his first shot but suspected - as unlikely as it was - that human error (his own) was to blame. Sure enough, the beaver was frightened by the impact of .22 ounces of depleted tritanium as it slammed into the water near his snout, but he was uninjured and not about to let a little distraction interfere with his pursuit. Had El Jefe's equipment been operating properly, this would have been the fatal undoing of Mr. Beaver.
El Jefe cursed under his breath, remembering only now the misalignment problem with his weapon and readied himself for another shot, since the beaver had not changed his direction of travel. The sight picture displayed by the MDTLD was once again centered on the enormous beast and El Jefe adjusted his aim to compensate for what he now figured must be a misalignment of the MDTLD. The Instincts of a battle-proven combat veteran again took over and El Jefe jerked the firing lever once more.
This time, just as with his attempted second shot at the armadillo, the mechanism did not make its usual sounds. This time there was no powerful chemical explosion upon which the FART system could work its odor and sound muffling magic. This time there was no .22 ounce depleted tritanium slug ripping through the air toward Mr. Beaver. This time, as earlier with Mr. Dillo, El Jefe's opponent lived to fight another day and El Jefe's ego suffered as badly as Kingrat's skivvies. He had come, albeit unknowingly, ill-prepared to do battle; and heads would roll at the AK Bunker headquarters campus when he found out why.
Had the beaver been merely on a recreational midnight swim, instead of a more serious pursuit, El Jefe and Kingrat might well have become the objects of his wrath. Instead, Mr. Beaver dove into the depths of the Inland Sea at the exact same moment a second projectile from the AR-15 would have arrived. While it was impossible for El Jefe and Kingrat to know what happened just then under the surface, in the cold murky waters, they had firm suspicions that a battle for survival (or something) was being waged between the Zombie Beaver and an unfortunate juvenile Croc-a-gator. Only the keen eyes of submerged night creatures would see this battle, and they would stay well clear of the action.
As El Jefe and Kingrat gathered up their gear for the trek back to the pink trailer, the events of the evening began to coalesce in their respective memories. The long trek back was conducted mostly in silence, with each making private mental notes on how to correct the system flaws they'd observed and who to hold responsible for the near-death experience both had endured with the armadillo earlier in the evening. Both also began to contemplate what special equipment and tactics would be needed when they once again visited the Woodland facility for more field trials. They also knew that the armadillo was not their biggest concern. They wondered if Admiral Dirtrider had known about the other vicious predators lurking within the confines of his facility, and if he did, why had he not warned his old friends about the beavers and 'gators. These were among the myriad of things to which they would both require answers.
Meanwhile, with their adrenaline subsiding back to normal levels, and their spirits raised in thanksgiving for being spared from the evils of this night, El Jefe and his faithful companion, Kingrat broke out in the traditional marching chant of the AK Bunker RAT team:
Yeah though I walk
(two, three, four)
Through the valley
(two, three, four)
Of the Shadow of Death
(two, three, four)
I will fear no evil
(two, three, four)
For I am
(two, three, four)
The meanest sumbish in the valley.
(Singin' do, wah, diddy, diddy, dum, diddy, doo)
What will The Admiral say when asked about the beavers and croc-a-gators? What plans will be made for a return trip to the Navy's facility? What's for breakfast? Tune in to the next episode for all the news that's fit to print.
Episode 9 – The Zombie Beaver Encounter
Close enough now to get a clear view of The Inland Sea, El Jefe raised the AR-15 to his shoulder and peered through the cardboard tube of the MDTLD at the electronic display housed within. Leeboat’s magical electro-autonomical circuitry - discovered during his brief matriculation at the University of Gregarious Asshats (UGA) – and later perfected during his more recent work on the ill-fated “midnight beer retrieval goggles” - transformed the weakest surrounding optical radiation into a display easily viewed by the human eye.
"We own the night.” Thought El Jefe to himself as he began to get a clear view of the surface of the sea and the otherwise undetected activity playing out within his field of view. He gingerly adjusted the MDTLD's magnificating knob to get a close-up view of whatever was causing ripples on the otherwise calm surface, and let out a muffled yet blood curdling gasp audible only to the apprehensive Kingrat, who was standing as still as a statue at his shoulder.
“What do you see, pray tell, El Jefe?” whispered Kingrat; expecting the worst while wishing for something else.
El Jefe couldn’t believe his eyes. He suspected for a moment that the MDTLD was showing him some pre-recorded image of a Japanese horror film monster, conjured up late in the evening after the Asian cartoonists had consumed vast quantities of cheap sake and even cheaper psychedelic drugs. The image of the beast shown on MDTLD's display screen was absolutely, positively, gut-wrenchingly, coyote ugly. Dreadfully long, revoltingly yellow teeth protruded from its narrow pointed mouth and gnarly fur, matted with caked-on mud and remnants of its last meal covered its back. This creature looked nothing like the cute pictures children see in their story books. This was not Bucky Beaver.
Not only was it ugly, but it was big. Hippopotamus big! Battleship Captains would surely yield the right of way to this monster if encountered on the high seas. Despite its enormous size, the critter was nimble in the water. With the speed of a nuclear powered torpedo and the grace of a ballet dancer, the beastie chased its prey and remained focused on its mission – to the exclusion of an awareness of its surroundings – and near-fatal ignorance of El Jefe’s imminent assault. Tonight, however, fate would favor the beaver.
“Well, it shore ain’t little yellow duckies, Kingrat,” came the reply. “There's nothing as ugly as this beast in my memory banks. Well, there was that one girl Leeboat brought home once from UGA, but this thing is in a totally different league. While I’ve never seen one, this critter fits the rumored description of the dreaded Zombie Beaver, and it looks like he’s hot on the trail of something to eat or mate.”
After making this report to Kingrat, El Jefe slowly released the gasp of air he’d taken and jerked the firing lever of the AR-15. Internal mechanisms slammed together and ignition occurred within the powerful .22 ounce projectile cartridge. These were the only sounds emitted, however, because the FART system operated flawlessly in absorbing the sound of the explosion within the bang chamber of the bullet belching tube, and none of the burnt chemical odor was emitted – although no one would have noticed at this point anyway; with Kingrat’s soiled skivvies in such close proximity.
Although El Jefe had managed earlier to clear the AR-15 of its mangled parts following the armadillo encounter, he’d had no time or tools to deal with the mis-aligned MDTLD. At this point he didn’t even know this flaw was present because there wasn’t time for thorough examination of the system. He knew he'd missed the armadillo on his first shot but suspected - as unlikely as it was - that human error (his own) was to blame. Sure enough, the beaver was frightened by the impact of .22 ounces of depleted tritanium as it slammed into the water near his snout, but he was uninjured and not about to let a little distraction interfere with his pursuit. Had El Jefe's equipment been operating properly, this would have been the fatal undoing of Mr. Beaver.
El Jefe cursed under his breath, remembering only now the misalignment problem with his weapon and readied himself for another shot, since the beaver had not changed his direction of travel. The sight picture displayed by the MDTLD was once again centered on the enormous beast and El Jefe adjusted his aim to compensate for what he now figured must be a misalignment of the MDTLD. The Instincts of a battle-proven combat veteran again took over and El Jefe jerked the firing lever once more.
This time, just as with his attempted second shot at the armadillo, the mechanism did not make its usual sounds. This time there was no powerful chemical explosion upon which the FART system could work its odor and sound muffling magic. This time there was no .22 ounce depleted tritanium slug ripping through the air toward Mr. Beaver. This time, as earlier with Mr. Dillo, El Jefe's opponent lived to fight another day and El Jefe's ego suffered as badly as Kingrat's skivvies. He had come, albeit unknowingly, ill-prepared to do battle; and heads would roll at the AK Bunker headquarters campus when he found out why.
Had the beaver been merely on a recreational midnight swim, instead of a more serious pursuit, El Jefe and Kingrat might well have become the objects of his wrath. Instead, Mr. Beaver dove into the depths of the Inland Sea at the exact same moment a second projectile from the AR-15 would have arrived. While it was impossible for El Jefe and Kingrat to know what happened just then under the surface, in the cold murky waters, they had firm suspicions that a battle for survival (or something) was being waged between the Zombie Beaver and an unfortunate juvenile Croc-a-gator. Only the keen eyes of submerged night creatures would see this battle, and they would stay well clear of the action.
As El Jefe and Kingrat gathered up their gear for the trek back to the pink trailer, the events of the evening began to coalesce in their respective memories. The long trek back was conducted mostly in silence, with each making private mental notes on how to correct the system flaws they'd observed and who to hold responsible for the near-death experience both had endured with the armadillo earlier in the evening. Both also began to contemplate what special equipment and tactics would be needed when they once again visited the Woodland facility for more field trials. They also knew that the armadillo was not their biggest concern. They wondered if Admiral Dirtrider had known about the other vicious predators lurking within the confines of his facility, and if he did, why had he not warned his old friends about the beavers and 'gators. These were among the myriad of things to which they would both require answers.
Meanwhile, with their adrenaline subsiding back to normal levels, and their spirits raised in thanksgiving for being spared from the evils of this night, El Jefe and his faithful companion, Kingrat broke out in the traditional marching chant of the AK Bunker RAT team:
Yeah though I walk
(two, three, four)
Through the valley
(two, three, four)
Of the Shadow of Death
(two, three, four)
I will fear no evil
(two, three, four)
For I am
(two, three, four)
The meanest sumbish in the valley.
(Singin' do, wah, diddy, diddy, dum, diddy, doo)
What will The Admiral say when asked about the beavers and croc-a-gators? What plans will be made for a return trip to the Navy's facility? What's for breakfast? Tune in to the next episode for all the news that's fit to print.
