"The Golden Calf Obligation" - Chapter 32

[seymoure]

No Hidden Agenda Anymore

 

“Invincibility lies in the defense; the possibility of victory in the attack.”

                           -Sun Tzu

 

 

How I got in the middle of a Bruce Willis movie I don’t even want to know. But here I was, with more ballistics sailing madly all around than it had been my displeasure to experience in quite a few years.

My first thought was, “Damn, if Jason were here they would regret not being covered head to toe with that Kevlar. He could put one through each eye.”

My next thought was, “Damn, that was close! I’d better put it through their eyes!”

I saw Hugo fall first. This was one time when being the biggest target was not an advantage.

Curled on the floor, he didn’t stop shooting, so I knew he wasn’t dead.

These guys were not very good shots! With all their accoutrements, they still were amateurs, just blasting away. They had done a lot more damage to the walls and furniture than to us.

Harry brought down the first of what seemed to be about seven of them. He realized that among their vulnerable spots were their feet. He shot one in the ankle and the blast flipped the man in black right over. He gave out a barrage of obscenity that was as loud as any of their bullets.

This all took place in the first three seconds of the assault.

Len hit one of the guns. The vibration was so violent that the guy couldn’t hold his weapon. Then Len followed up by hitting the chump in the wrist. He screamed and turned to run, just in time to become a wonderful shield for the rest of us. He had been point man and they knocked him around and then onto the ground.

I hit one in the forehead, which seemed to have some kind of armor, but the concussion itself was enough to put him out.

Hugo looked up, fired a couple of rounds and dropped a chandelier onto a couple of them and Max continued to blast them so well that their confusion caused them to drop their guns and try to escape.

About this time some of the sheriff’s men in their SWAT outfits came bounding through the door and nearly got shot by both sides.

Someone shouted, “Heaven!”

Then the seven men in black fell, as one, to the ground.

A couple of random rounds went off before everyone realized the battle was over.

Some glass somewhere in the room cracked, one of the windows fell into shards and then hit the ground.

“Get a doctor,” I shouted, “Or two. Or three.”

The sheriff’s men scattered to do just that, while I moved to Hugo.

“How bad is it, Big Guy?”

He was bleeding from his leg, but he was holding pressure on the wound.

“Hell, I’ve cut myself worse shaving. Is everybody else okay?”

No one had more than a few nicks and bruises. My cast was broken, but it might have stopped worse injury.

At that moment on of the tables just gave up the ghost and ceased to be a solid object.

Len sat on a chair that fell apart.

Harry viewed the surroundings and mused, “I hope this place has some really good insurance.”

 

© C. Wayne Owens

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