Anti-aircraft bullets whizzed past Duckman’s slightly overgrown beard as holes began to appear in the wings of his second favorite pre World War II biplane.
“Curses,” Duckman muttered under his breath. “I guess it’s time to
bail,” he thought. He gripped the side of the pilot’s chair and
launched himself out of his seat. He plummeted towards the Earth and
pulled the ripcord on his parachute approximately 750 feet from the
ground. He pulled off his parachute, surveyed the scene, and came to a
terrible realization. He had not, in fact, landed on the sandy beaches of
the Bahamas, but had gone slightly off course and was now relatively 10 miles north
of Moscow, Russia, sitting on the frozen tundra. “Guess I better change
out of my swimming trunks,” Duckman thought, looking down at his shivering,
half naked body. His satchel slammed
into the landscape just six feet to his right.
He walked over to the satchel, reached inside, and pulled out his
favorite pair of trousers. Duckman put
on the satchel, and looked at the rising sun to decide which way he should go.
Deciding south would probably be the best way to travel, he began trudging
along a winding dirt path, heading toward the capitol. He finally reached the sidewalks of
civilization and was carefully trying not to step on any of the cracks when he
heard small, muffled sniffles from behind a small bush. Alarmed, he walked toward it, and peeked over
it. A small girl, not yet 10, had her
head buried in her hands, and was weeping and shaking uncontrollably. Duckman
pulled a blanket out of his satchel, and soothingly questioned, "What is
wrong, my child?"
The girl, not even looking up,
quivered uncontrollably and tears streamed down her face. Duckman wrapped the blanket around her.
Sitting quietly with her, Duckman tried to comfort her. She unclenched her fists, and a crushed paper
fell out. Duckman, suddenly thankful for those 2 forced years of Russian in
high school, flattened it out, and began to read.
"By order of the Spetznaz:
Makarov Dostoevsky has been liquidated for his High Crime of spreading Western Propaganda." Duckman's eyes began to well up with
tears.
"How long ago did this
happen?" He asked, praying the little girl understood the importance of
this question.
"About four hours ago,"
she sniffled. Duckman scooped her up and
brought her to one of his many safe houses. He quickly made her some hot
chocolate and ensured she was comfortable.
He handed care of the girl over to one of the members of his syndicate.
Duckman hopped on his snowmobile,
and punched "Russian work camp" into his Garmin. The device pinpointed the camp at about 23.2
miles north northwest of Kazakhstan. He
engaged the thruster boosters and the auto pilot and dozed off.
The Garmin gently awoke him, and
Duckman looked around. The snowmobile
was just coming to a stop and Duckman could see lights coming from a small
settlement. Duckman got off the
snowmobile and trudged toward the settlement.
As Duckman neared, he heard drunken laughs coming from the house closest
to the only gate of the walled-in settlement.
He snuck past a guard at the entrance and peeked inside the door. Men were laughing and drinking large amounts
of alcohol. Two of the fifteen had goiters. AK-47's lined the wall and Duckman
stepped a little closer to get a better view. As his foot reached forward, he
slipped on a vodka bottle and fell face flat on the ground. The startled men
reached for their guns and took aim at Duckman.
"Well what do we have
here?" a voice bellowed from the back. The men strafed to the side to make
way. "Do you think you can just
come in here uninvited?" he mocked.
Duckman looked at him.
"Yuri, I presume?" Duckman
guessed, knowing Yuri was a common Russian name. The leader walked up to him and spat in his
face.
"No, my name is not Yuri. My
name is Boris. And you, you are trespassing, an offense punishable by
death," Boris spat. Duckman knew he
would have to act quickly. He picked up
the vodka bottle he had tripped on, and whipped it at the wall. The men buckled over, partially because of
the noise, but probably more because they were drunk. Duckman sprinted out and was stunned by the
horrible sight he saw. Over 100 people
were slaving away in the cold with minimal protection from the elements. Duckman
suddenly realized his own dire situation and bolted toward the only opening the
fence, hockey-checked the guard at the entrance, jumped on his snowmobile, and
sped away. He looked back. No one
appeared to be following him, so he stopped over near the cover of some trees
and built a quick shelter. He also began
to start a plan to free the prisoners.
He realized the best way to free them from bondage would be to blow out
the back wall, and cover the prisoner's exit while they escaped. He pulled a
long range telephone out of his satchel, and began phoning in some favors. He was promised a predator drone, 14 full
sized vans, and "assistance".
Just before he was about to set out for the mission, the
"assistance" arrived in the form of a parachuting monkey named Bilbo. Bilbo fashionably sported a top hat, a
monocle, and the top part of a tuxedo, with a gold chain coming out of one of
the pockets. Bilbo nodded at Duckman,
who nodded back, and the two set out.
They snuck to the back of the camp and looked up at the skies. Just barely, they saw their drone circling
the area. He looked behind him, where 14 full sized vans were idling, waiting
for the coming prisoners. The prerequisites fulfilled, Duckman set the plan
into motion. He grabbed Bilbo, as was agreed earlier, and hurled him over the
wall, to warn the prisoners of the coming missile and prepare them for the
escape. Duckman waited precisely 5
seconds, pulled the laptop out of his satchel, and commanded the predator drone
to drop a Hell Fire missile into the back of the wall. The missile thundered toward the ground. Guards began to yell, some even for their
"мать”. It blew out the back wall
and a rush of prisoners flooded out of the camp and into the waiting the vans.
Although they all tried to pile in, all but two could fit. Two burly men looked
at the wretched souls outside.
"Here, take my spot," one
said.
"Mine too" the other
quickly added. The two men got out and looked around. Duckman slammed the door shut on the van and
all the vans closed their doors and sped away.
"We are going to have to cover
their tracks. Quick, help me blow up
these balloons good sirs," Duckman said, as he pulled out 140 prisoner
shaped balloons, "and please, grace me with your names."
"Well my name is Yuri and this
Vladimir," Yuri spoke, picking up a balloon. Bilbo grabbed a few balloons and started
filling them up. Once they were all
blown up, Duckman tied them to his back.
He pulled out two modified Segways with chains on the tires out of his
satchel and threw them to the men. The
men hopped on and revved the 8 cylinder engines.
"Follow me," Duckman
commanded and took off running. They
followed and the faint sound of barking began to assault the party's ears. The whir of helicopter blades also erupted as
one took off from the camp. Duckman looked for cover, and found it in the means
of a coniferous forest, one of many in Russia. The group sped into the forest,
with the attack dogs gaining ground.
Without warning, the alpha male attack dog overtook Duckman, jumped at
him, and began reaching and snapping for his neck. Duckman reached for the
dog's neck, but missed, and the dog took advantage of this chance. Suddenly, a
furry entity ripped the dog off Duckman.
Duckman looked over at his savior and realized he was just delivered by
a Siberian Tiger, one of just 343 existing in the wild. He was about to thank the tiger when it
turned around.
"Fly, you fools!" it
rasped, and then took out another attack dog.
Duckman, taking his words quite literally, pulled a remote out his
satchel, punched in the secret pass code, and gazed at the balloons. They began inflating more, and the two men
looked at Duckman questioningly.
Duckman held up his hands like he
was about to say something profound and explained, "Helium". He grabbed the two men just as the cases
holding the helium fell off and the balloons whipped into the air. The trio
soared into the air – right into the firing range of the waiting Kamov Ka-50. The helicopter began spinning up its guns
right as Duckman handed Yuri to Vladimir. Duckman quickly ripped his trusty
Strela-3 out of his satchel and locked on to the helicopter. The bullets from
the helicopter began tearing through the balloons when Duckman fired the rocket
out of the launcher. The helicopter
exploded in a fiery mess and Duckman quickly looked up to survey the
damages. He had lost 1/4 of his balloons
to the gun and the trio was descending quickly. Duckman steered the company
toward the border and touched down just 500 feet into the border of
Mongolia. Duckman herded the men into
his waiting gold plated stretch limo.
"Wow, Duckman, I was getting a
little worried. Back there with the
helicopter, I thought I might be adding to Russia's population decline. Got
anything else in that satchel of yours?" Yuri jokingly asked. With that
question, Duckman pulled out three ice cream cones.
"Here you go boys, and good
work," he joked as he handed them the delicious treat. Duckman began to doze off when he was
suddenly gripped by a terrible awareness: He had forgotten Bilbo.
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