by Tom Golabek
Twenty minutes had passed, and the nocturnal blanket of night had spread over the countryside. My watch read 8:30. I stuffed out a butt, picked up my shotgun, and climbed out of the car. It was time to move.
The barn and house were a good quarter of a mile down the road on the opposite side. A large treeless field surrounded the two shabby buildings. The crisp night air cut into my lungs. Clouds filled the sky. Not rain clouds, but billowy ones that hid the brightness of the quarter moon above. The area was deserted…the road was deserted…the whole damn region was deserted. This was a wasteland.
I crossed the road. My feet ground into the pebbles as I walked on the soft shoulder. A light from far down the road appeared. It came closer and closer resembling a bug with two glaring eyes. The eyes became brighter the closer they came. I jumped into a ditch at the side of the road. The bug with its two glaring eyes became a car with headlights beaming. It passed me. I waited until it was out of sight, and I then jumped back onto the shoulder.
The field was filled with three-foot high grass, and other indistinguishable weeds. I stepped off the side of the road, and into the jungle of weeds. My feet sloshed through the soft earth beneath them. The reeds rustled as they scraped against my body. I was about a hundred and fifty yards from the barn now. A faint light cut its way through the crevices between the deteriorated wooden slats. I stopped, and listened for the betraying sounds of a guard. It was still a long way to the barn, but as I said before, “Caution never killed anyone.”
The walking through the field reminded me of my time in Viet Nam. Instead of donning a blazer, I wore a drab Army camouflaged uniform. Instead of a shotgun, I carried an M-16. I recalled walking through a field on the edge of a rice paddy. The memory became clearer and clearer. My company was dropped, by chopper, into a well-laid Viet-Cong trap, and we were being demolished. Kids I had spent months of training with were slaughtered before they could hit the ground. Only a few of us had managed to scatter and get away…maybe twenty of the original forty-five of us. I had four men with me, and the three stripes on my arm made me in charge.
We were twenty long miles behind enemy lines, and “Charlie” knew we were there. The damn Reds were chasing us down, and closing the distance between us. It was useless for us to try to outrun them. It looked like it was just a matter of time before we were cut down, or taken prisoner.
I had to pull something they didn’t expect. We jumped into a thick cluster of brush and trees. The VC were hot on our trail. They were just a few minutes behind us, and they were about twenty-five men strong. We were able to set up two Claymore mines at the edge of the thicket, one aimed up, and one aimed down the trail. As they passed by, I set off one of the mines with my “clacker.” The explosion sent hundreds of steel balls into the kill zone, cutting into and through the bodies of the enemy infantry. Cries of pain and agony filled the moist jungle air. A half dozen Cong met their immediate death. A half dozen others were now bleeding on the soft, black soil, maimed for life. One of my squad lit off the other Claymore with his handheld firing device, sending a second devastating round of lethal metal pellets into the ranks of the VC.
My army of five then opened up with all our firepower. We tossed grenades, and shots rang out from every direction. It was kill, or be killed. The bullets flew, and death followed their trail. I shot off one clip after another. My fingers guided a hand-grenade into the middle of a clump of Charlie. The blast sent flesh and blood across this part of the jungle. I repeated my action on another cluster of enemy. The blast roared, and more blood and flesh spread through the air. They scattered in retreat, and I looked for my comrades.
I found four injured Cong, took out my bayonet, and slit their throats. Blood gushed from their necks, and I smiled with a vengeance as they gurgled their last breaths. MADDOG Murdock was born.
My small army had grown smaller. Three were dead, and the other was wounded in the arm. When I saw the three lifeless bodies of my friends, I turned back to the remains of the dead Cong, and decapitated every one of them. I wanted the lousy Commies to know that the American Cavalry were warriors to be feared. The enemy believed that if they died with their heads disconnected from their bodies, they would never reach their so- called paradise.
I scanned the area around me. Over twenty bodies lay dead. We turned our noses southward, and headed home. We trudged through jungles, fields, and tall grass. Finally, late the next night we were approached by friendly troops.
Yeah, I remember those days. They say history repeats itself. If it did there were going to be some headlines tomorrow about some headless bodies in Hastings.
Pushing thoughts at Viet-Nam out of my mind, I found myself about seventy-five yards from the house. Again, I stopped, and listened. The only sounds heard were the singing of the crickets, and the steady thumping of my heart. The rickety farmhouse ahead of me hid part of the barn located behind it. The moonlight struck through the clouds for a second, and then disappeared again. I stood at the edge of the field. In front of me was a large brown oak. I skirted up to it, and glanced at my watch…9:00.
No light came from the farmhouse. I crawled from the trees to the side of the deserted structure, and took in a full view of the barn. It was no more than fifty feet away. I saw a faint outline of a figure at the front of the barn by the door. My body hugged the ground, and I crawled to the side, then to the rear of the barn, unnoticed by the looming figure. An old door hanging on one rusty hinge was the only exit at the rear of the barn. A light flowed from the crack in the door. I snaked up to it, and looked through the slit.
Three kerosene lamps burned around four men sitting on wooden boxes, playing cards on an old crate. Two more were sitting against the wall idly smoking and mumbling. Lola wasn’t in sight, nor was Dragon. They could be there though. Much of the inside of the barn was out of my line of vision. A group of empty stables blocked out the whole left side of the barn from my sight. Just then, Dragon walked toward the group playing cards, buttoning his pants, and said, “Whose next?”
One of the card players got up and said jokingly, “I wouldn’t blame Murdock for being a Maddog if he found out all seven of us banged his broad.”
My eyes saw flames. I pictured Lola going through a torture…a torture of seven men, one after the other, violating her. Hate came to me in waves, and the waves got bigger and bigger. I wanted to charge in there now, and mutilate every one of those sons of bitches. Those lousy vultures. Seven men on one woman! I put my ear to the door and listened. I let them speak their last few words. Dragon had his mouth open and snickered, “That babe has a beautiful body. Murdock has some fine taste. Did you notice she is a bleached blonde?” They all laughed at that. I let them laugh. I savored over the thought of them laughing in front of me with a .45 rammed down their throats. They all had had their last woman.
The sound of a dry branch breaking under a man’s foot made its way to my ears. I ducked into a shallow hole beside the barn, and leaned against the wall. The shadowy figure appeared and came toward me, but couldn’t see my body. I could hardly see myself. He stopped, peeked through the same slit in the door, and humorously yelled, “What’s going on in there? Is Butch getting seconds? When he finishes, tell him to come out here and relieve me. I’d like to hit that ass again.”
Everybody laughed. The asshole eased away from the door, and walked past me. The punk almost stepped on my hand. I jumped up, and brought my right forearm tightly around his neck before he could make a sound. Then my left hand pushed his head forward. A snap broke the silence of the night, and his head hung loosely from his shoulders. This guy was lucky to die fast and clean. If I could have, I would have made him suffer a slow and horrible death. His corpse lay on the ground like a sack of rags.
I moved back to my position at the door. One down and six to go! Those six were thinking that I would be dead within half an hour. Maybe they were planning to make my deat
h slow and agonizing. I looked at my watch, 9:20. Five minutes before Matt was to drive up to the barn.
The sound of a door opening inside the structure reached my ears. The worm called Butch had finished his turn with Lola, and rejoined his twisted friends. He said, “Ah, that babe humps like a dead frog.” One of the other mugs replied, “What do you expect? You’re the ninth one tonight. I got her second. I love it when they fight. The little bitch squirmed for me, and bucked like a bronco.”
I felt like jumping in there now, and tearing their insides out. I heard a, “I’d like to bump that broad again, but it’s about time for Murdock to show. I’ll go out, and keep Bingo company.”
He got up, and headed out the door at the front of the barn. Little did he know that Bingo was lying on the ground with a snapped neck. A call speared through the night, “Hey Bingo where you at?” No answer. Again, the same call. This time I yelled, “In the back. Come’ere and look at dis.”
I ambled up to the side of the barn squeezing my body against the coarse weather beaten wood. The rustle of footsteps grew louder. My hand reached for my knife, and I worked the shiny button that extended the blade into position. He must have been about four feet away. I jumped out from the darkness, my right hand covering his mouth, while the left swept across his thick muscular neck with a swift clean stroke. The thug’s head tilted back, and his body followed it to the ground. Blood gushed from the long slit above his Adam’s apple. His body twitched from muscle convulsions. It reminded me of an eel wiggling when out of water. I laughed silently to myself. Two down and five to go!
I turned around, and saw a pair of headlights streaking its way toward the barn. Matt was coming down the driveway. I yelled out in my best Butch impression, “Hey boss, here he comes.” My hand clasped around the sawed off shotgun. It felt like it was thriving for some action. I paced silently to the side of the barn where I could see the front door. The portal squeaked open, and three men came out. None of them was Dragon. I adjusted the barrel of my cannon to aim at the center of their backs, and waited for the right moment.
My car stopped about thirty feet from them, and silence loomed over the area. Death was in the air, only they didn’t smell it. I leveled the shotgun against my shoulder. Matt climbed out of the car, and stood behind the driver’s door as planned. The darkness concealed his features. I heard one of the gunmen whisper, “This guy doesn’t know what he’s in for.”
The fact was that they didn’t know what they were in for.
My finger itched to squeeze the triggers. The three thugs were about twenty feet from me, and started walking towards the car. Now was the time. My finger squeezed one trigger. A blast of fire and smoke spilled from the muzzle, and one of the hoods flew into the air. He landed three or four yards from where the slug had hit him. I pulled the second trigger. Another shot echoed through the night. It hit the second one in the chest. A loud thump from lead hitting bone sounded.
Suddenly bullets came flying my way. They landed above and below me. I dropped the shotgun, and backtracked to the rear of the barn. Before I did, I noticed a lump on the ground by the side of my car. It was Matt’s body. I ditched into a little gully bordering the barn. The sounds of footsteps were all around me. There were three of them, and one of me. My .45 was in my hand. I saw a dark figure jump from the front of the barn, and into the gully to the right of me. Lead flew from his pistol. Four times, I fired without a hit.
The sound of feet broke the silence to the left of me. I fired three more times. The feet were still moving. I had missed again. My paw reached into my pocket to get my second clip, but it must have fallen out. I cursed as I threw the empty .45 into the darkness. My hands reached down to release the Beretta taped to my leg, but it was too late. I slipped my pants back over the gun and got up. From the depths of the night, Dragon and his goons emerged to my side. He smiled and said, “So you tried to pull a fast one. See where it got you?” Then he turned to his boys and mumbled, “Get him into the barn. Were gonna show him where it got him.”
They pulled me out of the gully, and shoved me to the front of the barn. Three lifeless bodies lay on the ground. One of Dragon’s boys had his part of his lung hanging out of his chest cavity. It looked like a large piece of stew meat. The other one had a six-inch hole in his belly. A grotesque smirk covered his face. I was pushed through the door, into the decaying structure. Dragon had a broad grin on his face. His boys pushed me into a corner, and sat me on a wooden crate. Their rods were aimed at my midsection. Dragon stiffened up and said, “Search him you fools. This guy isn’t any punk off the street.”
One of them got up, while the other kept his gun trained on me. Unfortunately, he came across the Beretta on my leg. He smiled to himself as if he was a smart cookie, and continued his search. From my pocket, he pulled out my blade. He shoved both of them into his pocket, and rejoined his buddy. The other Beretta was still in the holster in the small of my back.
Dragon spit out an order to get a rope and tie me up. They tied my hands behind my back, and pushed me towards my arch enemy. I was in front of him face to face. His hand reached up, and it smacked me across the mouth. A very brave man I thought to myself. I felt a trickle of blood ooze down my lip. A smile crossed my face showing him that I could handle anything he could dish out.
Dragon turned around, walked a couple of steps, and said, “Remember what you did to my brother? Well the same thing is going to happen to you. First, I want you to see what your woman looks like. He walked into the little workshop in the corner of the barn. The goons behind me pushed me towards it until I shook them off, and walked by myself. As I entered, the smell of semen reached my nose. Lola was tied to the floor. Both her legs were tied to stakes in the ground, her arms to two others. I looked at her naked spread-eagled body lying on the dirt floor. Blood flowed from between her legs. Scratches and bruises riddled her thighs and abdomen. She was conscious, but in a daze. Dragon saw the hate grow on my face. I tried to kick him in the groin, but he eluded it and laughed. The two goons grabbed me again, and pulled me out the door as Dragon followed, closing it behind him. I was thrown into an old wooden chair. The mugs were on each side of me. Dragon walked over carrying a shiny object in his hand. I knew what it was…my knife.
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CH 16 The Tables Are Turned. Who is “Mr. Big”?
