Ya Never Know...do Ya?
Copyright© 2015 by Old Man with a Pen
Chapter 6
A blue Dodge Townwagon pulled up to the Monocoupe D-145 and an Airforce Sergeant dismounted and motioned for me to, "Get the fuck outta the way."
"Sergeant," I peered at his name tag, "Townsend, If I could, I would."
"The Colonel needs this runway cleared ... get that piece of shit outta here."
"Sergeant, the only reason I'm here is because this was the first ... and only ... place I could find to land. You need it moved ... move it."
So, he reached up and grabbed the propeller to start the engine. The blades turned so easy he hit himself in the back of the head with the far blade. He'd been expecting the engine needed primed and was going to crank it through. Anyone who'd ever watched a B-17 or B-24 prepping for startup knows what a chore it is to pull one of those engines through.
There was no resistance and he had spun the blades very hard.
Since this was the height of the Cold War ... and Montana; a reasonable assumption made by anyone watching from the control tower would be, He's been shot! RUSSIANS! followed by the military definition of clusterfuck.
Half a million Air Police showed up in seconds ... well ... minutes ... half an hour? ... with an M561 multi-purpose 6 wheel drive abortion called a "Gama Goat."
What looks like a 4x4 with a trailer is actually an articulated six wheel. There are times when one marvels at the thinking of High Command. The Gama Goat removes all doubt that the words, "Military Intelligence," were over used the first time.
By this time, Sergeant Townsend was sitting up and feeling around the back of his head. It was wet.
It goes without saying that there are those who faint at the sight of blood and there are those who faint when the realization that the blood on the hand is their own blood. Sergeant Townsend represented the very best example of the latter.
Half a million M-1911.45 acp Colt semi-automatic pistol slides drawn and slammed home chambering half a million 11.43x23mm Remington full metal jacketed cartridges is a sound that I'll never forget. The only sound more ominous was a 12 gauge pump being racked at midnight; there is nothing that says Who are you and what are you doing in my watermelon patch better.
To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account
(Why register?)
* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.