Anger Not Those Wild Wyldewood Boys Chapter 2
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Anger Not Those Wild Wyldewood Boys...Chapter 6 free porn video
Now he tells us! Marsha's a prisoner of a certifiably crazy lady while our idiotic Sheriff is trying to fill the entire hilltop full of lead! Christmas was her code word to say while she was inside Carrie's if she felt that she was going to be in danger. She'd been held a prisoner all night and no one had told me a damned thing! I made a note to myself to have some serious words with Joe and do some major league ass-kicking on the asshole or assholes who were giving him his orders.
"Did the Sheriff know that she was trapped in there before he sent Oliver in and ordered the SRU yahoo's to go gun happy?" The Deputy nodded. Christ!
"Ok, go tell the fucking asshole to rein in his cowboys or I'm going to go John Wayne all over his stupid fat ass. Get the guns away from the small children and let me see if I can get Oliver and Marsha out of there in more or less one piece." The Deputy smiled and ran off to start restraining anyone would listen to reason. The family members would listen at least ... unless they already had higher orders not to. That thought seriously disturbed me. Others I was sure wouldn't give me or him the time of day. A few of the Sheriff's nastier assclowns on the SRU, being 'outsiders', would only take their orders from the guy signing their paycheck. I made another mental note to myself that once we rid ourselves of this current Sheriff a good purge of non-family or retainers from the department might be a real smart idea. I grabbed Lindsey's arm.
"Take out your gun and go over there and rehabilitate the Sheriff if he doesn't get his men under control and make them hold their fire. There's a hostage inside the house with them. A widow lady named Marsha Wilder who shops and cleans for them and runs other errands a couple of days a week. They've been holding her prisoner since last night — the Sheriff knew about it and started shooting anyway! Get them to stop shooting ... I going to get up there and try to rescue her and drag Oliver out of the line of fire. If you've got some guns with a bit more heft, now's the time to shake the dust off of them."
Lindsey for the moment only had her sidearm out, a standard Secret Service issue Sig-Sauer P229 firing .357 SIG, but she undoubtedly had some juicier stuff locked in the back of her SUV but hadn't had the time to bust it out yet. She nodded her head and ran for her Tahoe.
Great minds think alike ... you don't bring a knife to a gun fight, or use a pistol when a long rifle is needed instead. The P229 is an ok gun — far better than a 9mm anyway, and its .357 SIG cartridge has some serious high velocity penetrating power, being designed to take out car engines and shoot through thick windshields. Still, I'd rather have an old Army .45, but for what the Secret Service does the .357 SIG penetrates like no .45 ACP can. Watching her perfect tight ass cheeks move I could think of a different kind of penetration I'd much rather be doing.
With that cheerful thought I loped up the hill in a crouch, dodging gunfire from both sides. Funny what you remember from basic training twenty years later when your ass is on the line and your life depends on you not running in a straight line! I made it the last 50 foot or so to the porch in a flat crawl, my nose and ass as low to the ground as I could make them. I'm positive I felt at least one incoming heavy round pass within an inch or two of my head. It wouldn't have surprised me at all if it originated from a .38 Chief's Special revolver. I was going to have to do something about that fat bastard.
Reaching Oliver, I risked a look backwards to see that the luscious Lindsey was getting the wild boys more or less under control ... largely by the expediency of holding a small FN P90 submachine gun an inch from the Chief's head. She had also slipped on a protective vest of her own. The P90 is a fun tiny little toy made by the Belgians and designed as an ultra-compact and easily concealable full automatic weapon. About the size of a lady's evening clutch bag, it's designed to fire proprietary 5.7x28mm ammunition, designed for greater penetration of body armor than virtually any pistol ammunition. In a pissing match, her gun would make Swiss cheese out of their protective vests while hers would more than likely stop all of their rounds. The Secret Service replaced their Uzi's for these some time ago. I saw a few Aussies with these in Iraq but never got a chance to handle or play with one.
In case no one got the hint that she was ready to kick some serious ass, she had a larger Heckler & Koch MP5 submachine gun slung across her back with her other hand firm on its grip, ready to swing it into action in the blink of an eye. Where had this woman been for all of my life?
Small or not, it certainly did the job. Soon cries were finally being heard for the SRU team and the remaining Deputies to cease their firing, that there was a hostage inside the cabin. Well, better late than never.
Oliver looked like he was probably going to be alright; he had a strong pulse but was unconscious. Probably due to a large bloody gash on the side of his head where a piece of buckshot had glanced off of his skull. There were some bleeding near his groin and both upper thighs, but not enough to suggest a dangerous femoral artery wound, and a brief check indicated that all of his important private parts were still completely attached. If I could drag him out of here reasonably soon, he ought to be just fine later. Getting Marsha out of there alive and in one piece was going to be a different matter entirely.
In the mean time, I was going to borrow Oliver's .45 M1911 series semi-automatic pistol. A most worthy weapon; the Army should never have abandoned them for the shinier but feebler Beretta M9 9mm. If you're going to go through all of the trouble of shooting someone, you might as well do the job properly in a manly sort of way. I don't care about the statistic that whomever gets shot first, loses the gunfight about 90% of the time. I've never had to shoot anyone, but if I did have to I don't want to just wounded them ... I want them to fall 10 feet back on their ass and stay shot. With Ollie's Colt in hand, at least now I wasn't going to be entirely naked out here. I was going to have to use poor unconscious Oliver as a bit of a shield too, but at least he had the ballistic vest on! He could complain about being used as a human shield later from the hospital. If I lived, I'd properly apologize later.
Since I didn't have any kind of previously thought out plan for this situation, I settled instead for blunt deviousness. Being old and treacherous beats out younger and crazy every day of the week ... and sometimes twice on Sundays.
"Carrie!" I called out in an outraged tone of voice. "The Vampire Lords are angry! Lord Dubya is crying for your blood ... but you can appease him! Send out the longhaired big titted wench that he may feed upon her and his fearsome wrath against you will be assuaged! Give us the woman and we will leave you in peace!"
In the movies or some silly novel, this approach would never have worked, but I'd gotten a pretty good read on a few of Carrie's fears, and being attacked by gothic undead bloodsuckers was pretty high on her 'Oh Shit!' list. Spot on. What I had not counted upon was Carrie's main lover Eddie deciding it was time for him to become heroic and 'save' his beloved from the big bad Vampire Lords.
Eddie came bursting out of the shredded remains of the front door, dragging a helpless Marsha in front of him as a shield and waving about a cheap Chinese SKS knockoff of an AK-47 rifle in a wild manner. He hadn't seen me yet, lying behind Oliver's prone unconscious body, but that wouldn't last for long. Either Eddie was going to start shooting at something soon, or the Sheriff's bullyboys were going to go back on the warpath again. An AK is strictly spray and pray for the unwashed masses not manly enough to learn how to fire a proper rifle like an AR-15/M16 series, but there was no way at this range he was going to miss me. There was only one thing that I could do.
"Marsha! Christmas! Drop!" I shouted ... and it actually worked. Marsha went boneless and dropped herself onto the porch as flat as she could manage. Surprised, Eddie fired off a randomly aimed group of shots that blew off part of the roof overhanging the porch, but not before I had fired off a tight group of three .45ACP rounds into his now exposed and protected chest. Oh well, so much for my perfect streak of never having to fire a gun in anger.
The late unlamented loverboy Eddie dropped backwards into the wreck of the doorway while a new hail of gunfire resumed from the Sheriff's men now once again shooting up the entire house and hillside. Leaving Oliver for a moment and desperately pretending for a moment that the last two incoming rounds from the Sheriff's men hadn't passed in-between my legs, I crawled over towards the porch steps close enough to grab Marsha by a hand and literally drag her down the steps to me.
Running back to our forces would have been suicidal with the gunfire that was now going off inches above our heads. At least it was keeping the return weapon fire from the cabin quick and unaimed. I could hear dad's old shotgun going off, also at least two other rifles. One probably another SKS and the other something louder, maybe an old M-1 or FN-FAL firing .308's. Funny how those wacky Belgians seem to make the world's best guns. Yes, apparently also the crazy bitch did have an arsenal of additional other weapons, and now they were starting to use them.
I gave Marsha a slap on her luscious ass and told her to crawl kissing the ground as fast and low and she could manage it. She gave me a dire look that suggested that we would be having some words later after she got to safety, probably for the earlier "big titted wench" comment. She might not have been too happy about being kept hostage by a cabin full of nut cases either. It was very unlikely that Marsha was going to be baking me a pie, or anything else for that matter, for quite awhile.
Undoubtedly when this was all over, everyone else would get in on the bandwagon and blame me too for this clusterfuck. Well they could all just wait in line. I gave Marsha another slap on her ample ass and told her to get it moving if she didn't want it to get shot up. I refrained for mentioning that I had much better uses for it. She gave me another eat shit look but she did get her lovely butt into gear. It did wiggle rather nicely as she crawled ... there were definitely things I'd like to insert into that sweet ass if we could keep it lead free for another few minutes.
Crawling back myself while hanging onto Oliver, it seemed to take me hours to inch the hundred feet or so to safety. Bullets of all calibers whizzed all around us and frankly I had just about decided that we weren't going to make it when Lindsey ran up and leapt out in front to cover us and unloaded two full clips of her MP5 at the cabin. She grunted once as her vest stopped one incoming round (fired from the cabin fortunately) but she was unharmed. This kept everyone's head down just long enough for us to each grab Oliver by an arm and scamper behind the closest tree cover, where other helping hands soon met us and grabbed Oliver to rush him into a waiting EMS truck.
He'd be fine, I was told. Good, that would make about one of us in total. Marsha was seriously pissed and was trying to leap upon the Sheriff to give his hide a good pounding but was being restrained from doing so by Lindsey and another Deputy. The tug of war match was surprising even, but eventually Marsha relented and was frog marched off to another waiting EMS tech to be looked over and taken into County General for a complete checkup. Mercifully the only thing hurt was her pride. I made a mental note to myself to enquire why I was attracted to 'excitable' women.
I sat down behind a large tree and began to contemplate other Counties where it might be healthier for me to live in after today. Perhaps the French Foreign Legion needed a railroad supervisor. Probably not — they undoubtedly still used camels, plus my high school French really sucked.
Lindsey wandered over after a few minutes and sat down next to me and gave me a pat on the shoulder. Well at least one woman around here might still like me after today!
"Don't get too comfortable." She said in a conspiratorial tone. "The B and C teams are also on the way. Maybe also the D, E and F ones as well if they can find someone to hold their hands." I blinked a few times and then understood the message. The DEA, FBI and ATF were also on the way here. The shit storm of alphabet soup assclowns and cowboys was now about to get much worse.
Makenna
- 23.02.2021
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Anger Not Those Wild Wyldewood Boys Chapter 5
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Anger Not Those Wild Wyldewood Boys Chapter 8
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