Mercenary Story Rewrite (Contiuned) - Page 28

Swordfish941 · #**271** 09-29-2010, 10:53 PM

Here's more from my book:

"Chief, for Christ's sake, will you hurry with the charts?"

"Johnny, please, will you hold your horses? I got the charts." said Chief. Chief was a british man in his mid forties with a slight cockney accent and a military tradition. His grandfather had fought in World War II, his father had fought in The Falkland Wars, and he had served two tours in Barsa. He had gotten his knowledge about boats from his years as a fisherman. He was a fisherman until the economy took a downturn. Now he had a cozy little job looking after the ship. He had a full beard with signs of graying and burly arms. Chief walked over to the table with an armful of charts.

"Now, we have just passed Slangkoppunt about fifteen ago." said Chief pointing at the tip of South Africa on a map with an unsharpened pencil. "I say if we increase the speed to 20 knots, we can arrive in Cape Town just in time for breakfast."

"Hold on a second. Greg said that we would arrive in Cape Town in four hours."

"Well, I guess mathematics wasn't a subject that Mr. Archer excelled in." Chief said lighting his pipe. Johnny pulled a Zune out of his pocket and put the headphones in. He started to search through his music library, looking for something to listen to. He decided on The Pixies. Johnny found it funny that an alternative rock band was named after a creature you'd find in a fairy tale.

The ship was old, but had been modified with modern technology. They had installed an automative drive system so that the boat didn't have to be manually operated all the time. The boat's weaponry was simple. It consisted of twin .50 caliber Browning machine guns mounted on the bow and a 40mm Bofors cannon mounted on the stern. Johnny turned the autodrive off and began to steer the boat, occasionally taking a sip from a styrofoam cup of coffee.

Swordfish941 · #**272** 10-04-2010, 12:09 AM

I decided to give Greg a second .45 for the Somali job. It's a custom Colt Mk IV Series 80 fitted with a compensator, Pachmayr grips, Commander style hammer, extended beveled magazine well, three hole trigger, and loaded with 8 round CMC magazines.

Swordfish941 · #**273** 10-04-2010, 01:42 AM

Here is Ares's Desert Eagle:

Here's Sean's Hi-Power:

And last, but not least, Will's .38:

Swordfish941 · #**274** 10-06-2010, 06:27 AM

Katie silently entered her cabin, trying not to wake Lynn. Lynn was one of the ship's three engineers, the other two being Rocco and Todd. She placed her Walther on her nightstand next to a larger handgun, a Sig Sauer .45. Katie began to dress, putting on fresh undergarments, followed by a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and a pair of tennis shoes. She laid down on her bed and picked up a book. It was Less Than Zero. She felt a connection to the book's characters. She was once a party girl like them. She would go to the "it's happening" place, get drunk, smoke a joint or two, and usually pass out. That was before she had meet Greg. She was a medical school graduate and in a relationship with a man name Paul Dieter. At first he seemed like a nice guy, but he was a cocaine addict and would beat her while he was all strung out.

She had meet Greg while they were both living in Pretoria. The night they had met was a dark one, but rather humid. She was walking home, her mind a million miles away. She was suddenly grabbed by the collarbone and thrusted back into an alley. She felt cold metal on her neck.

"You fucking shut your mouth bitch, or I'll slit your throat." said a gruff voice. The man placed her against a wall and she got a better view of him. The man The man was an albino with a shaved head and dilated eyes. Another man was behind him. The second man had his nose, eyebrows, ears, and lips pierced, and his eyes where also dialated. "You give us your money and we'll let you go. If you make a peep, we'll cut your belly open. Do you understand?" Katie was too scared to answer. "Do you fucking understand, you fuckin' bitch?"

"Now is that any way to treat a lady?" a third voice said. The skinhead turned around and got jabbed in the face. The man grabbed the knife, stabbed the skinhead in the back, and delivered a second punch to the face, this time leaving it bloody. The man with piercings grabbed a wooden board and attempted to hit the man, but the man grabbed it from his hands, bashed him over his head, and delivered a heel kick to the chest, knocking him into a row of trash bins.

The man approached Katie. She could see a better view of him, with his dark brown hair and seductive hazel eyes that seemed to twinkle at her. "You're lucky that you don't live in Johannesburg." he said. "Compared to Joburg, this place is basically Pleasentville. Anyway, please allow me to introduce myself. My name is Gregory, but I prefer to be called Greg. You have a name?"

"My . . . my name is Katie."

"Is there anything I can do for you, Katie? Do you want something to eat? Something to drink?"

"A drink would be nice."

"Good. I know a bar where they serve first rate drinks. I'll buy."

Swordfish941 · #**275** 10-09-2010, 12:29 AM

He lead her from the alley and down the street. After twenty minutes of walking, they entered a beaten up building where dull neon lights colored in yellow spelled "The Hot Spot" on top of the building. The inside was much better. It was lit brightly and a fascinating aroma to it. On the left side of the room was the bar where an aged Zulu man was tending bar. To the right were a few booths along with a jukebox and a cigarette machine. A snooker table was in the back where two men played.

Greg approached the bartender with a friendly grin on his face. "Charlie, my main man, how's it going?" he said. Charlie acknowledged with a nod. "Let's see. Um, I'll have a mojito made from Bacardi White Label and, um, Katie, what do you want?"

"Anything with vodka in it."

"Vodka tonic for my lady friend here."

Charlie quickly fixed up the drinks and handed them to Greg, who in turn payed him with a five rand coin. The man and the woman sat down at a table. Katie could now see Greg's attire. He wore a dusty and beaten up brown leather jacket with a bulge on his left side, a navy blue cotton button up shirt, denim jeans, a leather belt, and a pair of loafers. He had a three day stubble beard and slightly chapped lips.

"Don't you want to tell me about yourself?" Katie remained quiet. "Alright, if you won't break the ice, then I will. I was born and raised in Cape Town. My dad was a police officer and my mum worked at a pharmacy. I graduated from high school and served a year in the army. After that I was enlisted in Recces. Most of my operation took place in northern Uganda, usually sabotage missions against the Lord's Resistance Army. I was kidnapped and held hostage by a militia loyal to the LRA for three weeks."

"What did they want in exchange for you? Money?"

"They could have cared less about money. They wanted three of the LRA's top leaders released. Stupid bastards should of captured a whole squad hostage instead of just me. That would have served as better leverage."

"What did they do to you? Did they torture you?"

"No. I was placed in a pitch black room, nothing to see. A single guard was placed at the door armed with a FAL rifle. The rarely fed me and my body started to eat away at my fat. I started to lose count of days and it all began to blur together. I decided that the only way to escape was to fake injury. I broke my left hand by slamming it against the wall. When the guard came in to check on me, I strangled him to death, bandaged my hand with his shirt, and took his rifle. I killed the rest of captors and eventually met up with a humanitarian group. They help get to the Kampala High Commission who then transferred me to the embassy here in Pretoria. I spent a month in a hospital with a tube down my throat feeding me slush. I then spent another two going through physical therapy."

"That's one hell of a story."

"If you want to know some personal information about me, I love music. Mainly Chet Baker and Edith Piaf with a little bit of Phil Collins and Elvis Costello."

"Really? I love Phil Collins!"

"Any personal favorites?"

"Sussudio."

"Christ, whenever I hear that song, I always think of Christian Bale screwing two call girls."

She laughed at his remark. He smiled back and took a sip of his drink. He then took out a packet of cigarettes and offered her one.

"I don't smoke."

"Well I do." he said taking one out for himself.