EPISODE LIX - DO MY COMBAT BOOTS CLASH WITH THIS LACE THONG?
Triple J recovered his senses enough to regain his feet and, with treasured SKS in hand, sprinted to a position of relative safety behind several crates marked "ACME Snap-On replacement
Cockpit". He now understood why the Wyzenhymer fighters seemed so frail in combat, coming apart at the slightest turbulence.
He checked himself for potentially useful equipment.
One SKS, slightly used, with one thirty round magazine. Check.
One 10 Megawatt Phaser Pistol. Check.
12 packs of chewing gum. Pause.
He regarded this last find with no small amount of internal conflict. Finally, he added two packs to his already bulging mouthful, and tossed the rest to the floor.
Two squads of standard issue Wyzenhymer Squid Troopers were moving toward his position at a trot. Triple J assumed his best John Wayne combat stance, perfected over the years by numerous hours of practice
in front of the mirror. He thumbed off the safety on his ancient weapon and stepped into the open. He braced the weapon against his hip, gave the trigger a manly yank, and cut loose on his sworn enemies
with a burst. The mighty SKS, chosen weapon of of ancient warriors, harbinger of painful death, recoiled three times in rapid succession, and then lay quiet in his hands.
Unshaken, he pulled the trigger again. And again. And again, with no results. Deflated, he immediately sat back down behind the crates, regarding the weapon dubiously.
Aboard the nearby Space Fleet frigate, things were in much the same condition.
"Game over, man.", Krashaki muttered quietly as the vessel slammed onto the deck of the Wyzenhymer flagship. He sighed heavily and sat back in his seat. "That welcome party looks a little
hostile.", he said, pointing to the oncoming Wyzenhymer troops.
Stauch peered over his shoulder, sizing up the force. As necessity is the mother of invention, Stauch formulated a drastic, if not suicidal plan.
"Krash", he said as he strode toward the back of the ship, "see if you can rouse that lump of
smoldering crap, and get some of these systems back on line." He motioned for Broski to follow
him. "We're going to try and buy some time, but there won't be much."
The two commandos moved to a hatch located mid ship. Stauch disengaged the locking mechanism, pushed open the door and stepped into the escape pod, Broski on his heels. They strapped themselves into
the two front seats.
Broski looked over at the sergeant. "This looks like it could be fun", he said smiling, "like back home when I rolled off the roof in a 55 gallon barrel."
Stauch eyed the corporal skeptically. "Corporal, I'm going to tell you the truth.", he began, "I have no idea what's going to happen when I hit this button.", he explained as his hand hovered
over the jettison button.
Broski cinched his belt a little tighter, his grinning face beaming back at the sergeant. "You're going down in history, man."
Stauch cocked an eyebrow. "For killing myself and a subordinate by bailing out of an already downed vessel?"
"Nah", Broski replied, "for inventing a new form of commando recreation." He paused smiling. "'Bowling for Squids' is going to be real popular back at the barracks."
Stauch couldn't suppress a smile of his own as he punched the large, flashing, red button.
Triple J was roused from his disappointed revelry by a thunderous blast of chaos to his right. He watched as a portion of the downed frigate violently detached itself from the main vessel, plowing over a
dozen squids, and barreling into three parked fighters, before coming to rest in a swirl of smoke across the hangar.
Several of the Squids troops rushed the wreckage of the escape pod, crowding around it curiously. To their dismay, the hatch blew, throwing fire and shrapnel in every direction, creating a scene of carnage
beyond that of any other episode thus far. The cockpit hatch itself shot twenty feet in the air before coming to rest atop three struggling Squid troopers. Stauch and Broski stepped out of the pod,
surveying the damage, noting that two squids still stood at either end of the vessel.
Stauch took aim at one, Broski the other, and sent them to their Wyzenhymer maker.
"Spare?", Stauch queried, taking cover behind the wreckage.
"Technically.", Broski allowed as he joined him.
With the loss of so many of their troops, what little organization still existed within the Wyzenhymer ranks evaporated. The remaining squids scattered behind whatever cover they could find, self preservation
overcoming any loyalty they felt for their Wyzenhymer Sister land.
Triple J, began to make his way toward the two hunkered down commandos, although they were currently the center of the main Wyzenhymer assault. They were obviously part of some bigger and better thought out
plan than his own, plus they just looked like his kind of people. He wished he still had some chewing gum to offer them.
The hangar had suddenly became deathly quiet, save for the klaxon horns, and the crackle of flames, and the commandos took the opportunity to exchange ammo batteries and collect themselves. Broski flashed
his head up curiously only to be drive down by a barrage of enemy fire.
"Wow!", Stauch muttered blandly as incoming fire continued to ricochet amongst the wreckage they were currently using for cover.
"Think they know we're here?", Broski asked sarcastically.
Stauch only nodded, deep in thought.
"What's on you mind, Sarge?", Broski queried politely, raising his rifle over the berm to unleash a volley at the opposing force.
"Those hangar doors", Stauch replied, "if they decide to shut them, we're pretty much S. O. L. Otherwise", he continued, "you and I are going to have to play tag with the grenukes.
Again.", he added dryly.
Broski pulled his pack closer to himself. "This time we use your cup, though."
"That won't be necessary.", Stauch said reaching into his own pack, "I've got something I've been saving for a rainy day."
Stauch made no reply. Instead he produced a hand-molded ball of greenish, gray material, and held it out for Broski's approval.
"Groovy!", Broski exclaimed. Then in a more reserved tone asked, "what is it?"
"Well", Stauch said with a devious smile, "its a combination of blast wads and boom putty. I scrounged it from a guy in the demolitions corps. Then", he continued excitedly, "for good
measure I mixed it all together with a batch of Grandma Stauch's Composition Six Self Immolating Jello. Old family recipe.", he finished, beaming with pride.
"Sarge", Broski replied, wiping away tears with his sleeve, "you ain't such a bad guy after all."
Stauch clapped the corporal on the back. "Alright, you cover", he told the corporal, "and I'll try to throw this crud onto the control box. Then one of us is going to have to nail it with
a phaser round." He looked meaningfully at the corporal, "that's your job."
"Gotcha, Sarge", Broski agreed, getting back to the task at hand, "but then what?"
"Romeo, lima, hotel.", Stauch replied.
Broski was familiar with both the phonetic alphabet and plan, "Run Like Hell", and nodded his agreement.
"NOW!", Stauch barked.
Without hesitation, Broski rose from his position and launched a horrendous return fusillade at his antagonists, unphased by the Wyzenhymer rounds striking around him. Stauch took two steps for momentum,
and heaved the wad of explosives toward the control box some seventy yards away. It struck the intended target dead center, fell to the deck and rolled into a corner three feet away.
"Damn!", Stauch exclaimed as he and Broski ducked back behind the wreckage.
"What?", Broski asked urgently.
"It's been in my pack so long that it dried out.", Stauch informed him.
"It's in the corner a few feet away, but it should still do some damage."
He looked at the corporal. "Can you hit it?"
Broski made no reply, but sat down bringing the rifle to his shoulder. He aimed carefully while Stauch did his best to draw the fire from the Wyzenhymer forces. The commando corporal uttered a silent
prayer, held his breath, and slowly squeezed the trigger.
Triple J had managed to move undetected to the fighter wreckage nearest the two commandos. Although he still held the SKS, his mind was locked on getting to their position rather than returning fire.
He pause to catch his breath which rasped heavily within his helmet. He peered down at the weapon clutched uselessly in his hands. Chewing mercilessly on the wad of gum in his mouth, the truth crashed
in on him with all the momentum of the morning sun over the horizon.
This...thing. This useless hunk of wood and metal in his hands was nothing more than cheap copy of an already cheap rifle. It had been used by a social system which had become as defunct and useless
as itself several decades after its manufacture. It was a weapon of LOSERS.
Mentally exhausted by his uncommonly deep revelation, Triple J flung the rifle over the wreckage in the direction of the blast door, hoping to lose it forever in the space beyond. Rather than the clatter
of metal upon metal he had expected from its ballistic demise, the resultant explosion knocked him to the floor with such force that he swallowed the wad of gum within his maw. Shocked, he wondered if perhaps
the SKS had been designed with some other sinister, yet useful characteristics.
His thoughts were interrupted by the two commandos sprinting past his position toward the grounded space transport. He wasted no time, filling in behind them in their headlong flight to relative safety.
Broski looked over his shoulder as they ran. "Who the hell are you?"
"Jennings...", Triple J said breathlessly, "Space...Fleet."
Broski reached back and grabbed the pilot by his flight suit, propelling him forward into the waiting ship. He and Stauch dove in behind Jennings, Stauch slamming his fist on the control mechanism.
The hatch closed behind them with a "swoosh". They lay breathing laboriously on the floor as the transport lifted, turned, and under full thrusters, blasted into space. Triple J got to his feet, took
two unstable steps, and fell over the still catatonic form of Siddons.
"What the hell is that?", he asked.
Broski grinned as relief washed over him. "Fire extinguisher.", he muttered, then burst into a dark fit of laughter.
