These are short stories put up each Friday that you can read for free. By the next Friday the post will be taken down and a new one will go up.
“I said…kill me!”
The soldier gritted his teeth, clenched his M-16, and charged.
“Aaahhh!” he yelled, rushing full-tilt towards Grunt, his harder-than-life base camp instructor.
Grunt narrowed his eyes and watched the raw recruit, gauging the distance, judging his speed, determining his will, expecting his…
“Hey-ya!” Grunt shouted, turning just as the soldier was inches from him.
Grunt jerked around while the recruit was still barreling forward, the lad aware of what had happened, surprised by it more than anything, but unable to check his forward momentum. Grunt had been counting on it.
He whipped his left hand out and snatched the soldier’s collar, while at the same time throwing his right hand forward to latch onto the handle of the bayonet affixed to the gun.
“Aaahhh!” the soldier yelled out for the second time in as many seconds.
Grunt jerked him back, threw him down, wheeled him around, and had him facing the other ten or so recruits staring wide-eyed and open-mouthed at what’d just happened. A moment later the cold, hard steel of the bayonet blade touched up against the sweating skin of the soldier’s throat, a moment before his pants became wet.
“Good job, son,” Grunt said as he pulled the gun away and offered the soldier a helping hand, “now why don’t you get up and hit the showers, eh?”
“Yes…sir,” the soldier said, red-faced but otherwise alright.
“That goes for the lot of you!” Grunt called out.
The men took off at a run, heading toward the door of the small training gym of the naval base’s acoustic wing.
“And don’t forget we’ve got another run after chow tonight!” he called after them. “I want all of you–”
BREEP! BREEP! BREEP!
Grunt stopped in midsentence as the base’s alarm system sounded, as did the recruits heading for the door. They looked at him expectantly.
He smiled. “Change of plans, boys! To the armory!”
“What was that!” Thrasher shouted.
“The alarm, Torch said. “Now let’s get that box open and get out of here.”
Buzzer pulled his chainsaw up and started the beast running. If the alarms were going there was no need for silence. He sheared off the box’s outer lid and then reached inside.
“This is it!” he said, a look of disgust on his face.
“It’s the right box,” Torch said as he looked at the small cloth bag in Buzzer’s hand, a bag that to him looked like a something for dice or an expensive bottle of liquor. “What’s inside?”
Buzzer put his chainsaw down and emptied the contents into his hand.
“Chips,” he said, “computer chips.”
“Tomax and Xamot,” Ripper laughed. “They’ll die for that rubbish!”
“The let’s get it and–”
“What happened?” Thrasher shouted out as he saw Zanzibar rush back into the room.
“He got away!” the pirate shouted.
“He got…” Torch trailed off, then shook his head. “Boy, you’re more hassle than you’re worth, mate!”
Zanzibar frowned. “Yeah, well at least I–”
Zanzibar was cut off as gunfire filled the air and quickly began to rattle off the walls of metal boxes behind them.
“Get down!” Monkeywrench shouted as he dove to the floor.
“I doubt it, Ripper,” Buzzer laughed. “Probably just some poorly-trained greenhorns!”
“You didn’t get your training from no sissy, so get in there!” Grunt shouted.
“Yo!” the soldiers yelled back, then started down the hallway.