Bring On The Tank
still, very good!
"Get sacrificed! I don’t subscribe to your religion!" – Ringo
Poor bastard…the FDO’s got in your head! Awesome stuff, keep it up!
Ah, curse your sudden but inevitable betrayal! ~ Hoban "Wash" Washbourne – Firefly
Keep it up!
SynapticJam on Toast – hhhmmm… tastes like chicken (aka PUVJK) #3 in crack hits (Special? Ain’t I just)
You know you’re a junky when, on night you struggle to sleep because of images in your head from the Siglerverse.
Forgive my mixture of English and American spelling.
This is a first draft, I wonder if we can go anywhere with this kind of fiction, having the FDO read the story would of course be fantastic but for now it’s enough just to share with my fellow junkies…
Bring on the tank by Darren Wall
There was something about the restricted view and the mechanical breathing sound that made Keith want to say "I am your father" every time he donned the suit. This time it was different, as the last seal hissed he turned to his colleague. "Where is Padamame?" he growled. Steve turned to him and feigned a concerned look.
"I’m afraid you killed her." he croaked.
"Noooooo" Keith cried, lifting his arms as high as the suit would let him. One of the technicians shook her head. The final seal on Steve’s suit locked shut. While the suit had a positive pressure it also had a vent, consequently you could fart and not choke in your own stench.
The two men stepped up to the compressor and one picked up a large chrome gun. The gun was simple in design, a long barel, with a minute hole in the end, attached to the compressor by sevral feet of steel braded tubing.
Steve hit the green button and the compressor kicked into life. He squeezed the trigger and a mist appeared from the end of the gun.
"We ready?" he asked.
In a control room overlooking the hanger stood a shiny headed man, donned in military reglia. Business suits stood around him. Looking through the mirrored glass, a gloved hand of the military man gave a slight signal. "We’re ready" replied one of the suits into a concieled microphone.
Sat in the middle of the hanger was a tank. As tanks go this was pretty small, only a little larger than a Hummer. Every last piece of the tank was mat black. So perfectly painted as to make the tank look like a chalk board.
The two men approached the tank, pulling with them the running compressor. Again Steve operated the trigger on his spray gun and the mist formed at the end.
Watching from above the military man smiled as he saw the paint start to cover the black undercoat. "Yessss" he hissed with a maniacal grin.
One of the suited men slowly shook his head. "Why?" he mouthed to one of the others. The general saw the motion reflected in the glass.
"STOP!" he bellowed, "You want to know, why?" the general asked the now shaking man.
"General I.. well we… it’s just that…" did the general have eyes in the back of his head? Was no one else in the room, in this whole project not wondering this same simple, three letter question?
"Out with it?" bellowed the general, "I like to think I can handle a little constructive critisism!".
Was he serious? Did he really want to know what his minions thought? The suit foolishly relaxed and let his guard down.
"General, I just wanted to know, why plaid?".
Where the mist of paint had fallen on the tank, rather than black, it was now a rich mesh of colors making up a plaid patern.
"General we’ve spent millions of dollars developing a one coat plaid paint which could have been better spent on building a bigger, more powerful tank. We could have painted the tanks plaid in the traditional way with muliple applications of different colors, forcing those we capture in to slave labor!"
The general sneered. Looking around the room he took note that none of the others had sided with this rebel. Suddenly dropping the sneer General Siglerisimo smiled and waved a finger in the man’s face. "You know you’ve got a point." tension broke in the room. "You know, I’ve had this dream of plaid tanks rolling over all the continents of the world, spreading the word of Siglerism and as I’ve bought junkies on board not one has had the strength to stand up to me, toe to toe and ask why the plaid paint has to be applied in one single coat. You, are the first to suggest to me a more efficient way of doing it.
Go down to the tank, go have a close look at the finish of that paintwork and tell me if you still think that forced labour could do a job like that in the time." As the man in the suit left the control room the smile dropped from General Siglerisimo’s face, he drew his thumb across his throat and in the shadows, someone nodded and whispered orders into his sleeve.
The two painters waited patiently by the tank, was that the end of the demonstration? They’d intended to show how the system could paint the entire tank in less than five minutes, now it was a black tank with less than a quarter of it painted plaid.
A door opened in the middle of a huge, white wall. There was no sign at all that there was a door there before it had been opened, a lanky man in a pin striped suit came bounding through. As he got to about twenty feet from the tank there was an electronic crack.
"Is this thing on? Can, can he here me down there now?" It was the voice of the general. The man in the suit stopped and looked up to the mirrored glass of the control room. "Oh he can? You sure? So like he can here me now? Oh OK so, yeah I see, he’s looking up here. OK." The general was clearly talking to one of the technicians. "STOP" bellowed the general. Though the bellow was distorted some by the public address system.
The turret of the tank turned to point at the man. "What?" the man was confused. "OK now I know you’re crazy. At this distance I can simply side step," which he did, the turret laboriously followed. " and we can do this all day! Sure at this range the muzzle flash alone would most likely kill me but dude, firing that thing in here would bring down the building and kill everyone here," he turned to face the control room, "including you general!" slowly the two painters stepped back. "Are you really that stupid?"
The general smiled and gave a wink. There was an almighty roar, a mixture of tiger and gasoline and the tank lept onto the suited man, just the way that tanks don’t leap, squashing him flat.
"Now" said the general, "anybody else want to ask me why?". Keith passed wind, but due to the air conditioning of the spray suite, he didn’t smell it.
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