THE RETURN
Chapter Six - *****'s Sticky End
"FIRE!"
Heat surges through the cockpit. Blinding green light floods everything a split second after I watch *****'s eyes get as big as dinner plates. The shrill sound of the laser screeching against
Patriot Way Shitkicker's metal fills my ears.
Gotcha.
The sound cuts off and the light disappears. My eyes begin to adjust. C.A.R.L speaks up.
"Direct hit, sir. Energy reserves at two percent. Assessing opponent damage now."
Smoke fills the air, thick and pungent. I can't see shit. But Shitkicker isn't beating the crap out of my mech at the moment so I assume The Deal Is Done - my last-resort, one-off, close-range trump card weapon - has done it's job.
***THE PATRIOT WAY IS INVINCIBLE. YOU WILL PAY FOR THIS UNPROVOKED ATTACK. MATT CASSEL WILL RETURN***
Oh shit. It didn't work.
"C.A.R.L?"
"It appears the weapon simply burned off a lot of outer plating on his armor, sir. I'm reading zero effect otherwise.
Shitkicker appears to be running at 97 percent operational efficiency. I'm afraid we have nothing left to stop him with."
God dammit, Nick.
The smoke clears.
Shitkicker stands over
Warpaint Hellustrated, victorious. *****'s cockpit is open. I can see him sneering, grinning ear to ear, as if he just signed a free agent castoff from a Parcells-run franchise.
Shitkicker raises one arm, aiming a huge laser cannon directly at me.
"Reading huge energy buildup from enemy mech, sir."
A loud whine builds in my ears as *****'s cannon begins to charge. The tip begins to glow an angry green. I close my eyes.
Suddenly, something drowns out the cannon charge. Buzzing noises. Far overhead. Getting louder. Closer.
"Sir, reading multiple airborne objects entering the vicinity at high velocity. They appear to be headed straight for us."
"More hostiles?"
"They do not appear to be armed, sir. Scanners indicate they are cargo planes."
I open my eyes.
Shitkicker's cannon is pointed up. ***** stares skyward, puzzled. I look up.
There must be dozens of planes, over a hundred. They're all carrying enormous loads of cargo. The lead plane is a 747 with a huge, distended belly. A banner flies behind it.
FIRE AT *****, BENCH CASSEL - WWW.SAVEOURCHIEFS.COM
The radio crackles.
"THIS IS SKY MARSHAL ERIC GRANELL. POWER DOWN THE MECH AND EXIT THE TRUMAN SPORTS COMPLEX IMMEDIATELY, SCOTT *****. ANY OTHER COURSE OF ACTION WILL RESULT IN IMMEDIATE COMBAT RESPONSE. WE WILL NOT HESITATE TO USE LETHAL FORCE."
Shitkicker raises it's other cannon-arm skyward.
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
***** begins to pepper the incoming fleet with lances of green energy.
"SKY MARSHAL GRANELL TO RED GROUP - ALL WINGS, DEPLOY PAYLOAD!"
Dozens of bomb bay doors open and tiny, rectangular specks fly out by the millions. Miniature bombs? Nanobots? Chemical warfare? It's impossible to tell at this range. The specks turn into thick dark clouds, dotted with flecks of orange, yellow and blue.
*****'s laser blasts incinerate giant holes in the mysterious clouds, but he can't fire fast enough. The clouds envelop his mech, clogging his cannon barrels, gumming up air intakes, swamping his cockpit, jamming his sensors.
A single
SNICKERS bar wrapper lands on my instrument cluster. Fresh, sticky and beautiful.
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
*****'s scream cuts the air like a hail mary pass headed for a crossbar. A tornado of sticky, gummy, nasty SNICKERS, M&Ms, MARS, KIT-KAT and SKITTLES wrappers swarm his mech, turning it into a giant garbage heap of a robot.
Shitkicker's arms flail wildlly. Smoke pours from it's exhaust.
The cockpit is filled with candy wrappers almost to the brim. A bald head pokes out, it's brow furrowed.
"YOUUUUUU MOTHERRRRRRRRRRRRRFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUCKERSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
The mech is off balance, out of control. It stumbles violently. Tips to one side. One of the legs explodes.
Shitkicker topples backwards, weighed down and ****ed up by a billion candy wrappers.
*BOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM*
***** is down.
The radio crackles.
"Target has been neutralized. Outstanding red team, outstanding. Get you a case of beer for that one.
Hellustrated, do you require further assistance?"
"Everything looks good here, capone. That was one hell of an entrance, you really saved my ass. Thanks."
"Don't mention it,
Hellustrated. SOC Fleet, form up on my wing and prepare to return to base. This is Sky Marshal Granell, signing off."
All that cutting-edge technology, taken out by a bunch of candy wrappers. You couldn't write a better ending to this nightmare. I smile as I unstrap and climb out of the cockpit.
The air smells sweet and smoky. Like candy. Like barbecue. Like a Sunday morning where everything is right at Arrowhead. A Sunday morning without Scott ***** or Matt Cassel.
C.A.R.L speaks up.
"Sir, the enemy is down but..."
"But what?"
"I'm reading a massive power buildup at the center of mass. His propulsion systems are offline, but this is something else. One moment, sir. Scanning."
*****'s mech begins to glow with blue energy as steam vents from every crevice. This doesn't look good.
"Sir it...it appears ***** has started an explosive countdown on the warhead within the large rocket fixed to
Shitkicker's aft fuselage. I've scanned the rocket and it appears to house a B.E.L.C.H.E.R type warhead at it's core."
"Oh god, no. Not a B.E.L.C.H.ER. missile."
"I'm afraid so, sir. It will destroy everyone and everything in Kansas City if it detonates."
To be concluded...