TEOTWAWKI (An Original Novel - Episode 51)
Trouble in The Middle East
Shelby stopped talking and looked out over his audience. They were all silent and looked at him with fear, or perhaps pity, in their eyes. He had to agree it was a pitiful story, but he didn’t like the way it made him feel when they looked at him with those basset hound eyes.
“That was about it for a good number of years” Shelby reluctantly continued. He didn’t know how much longer he could take their looks of pity.
“Elvira and I were locked in my body. We couldn’t do one thing. Not even give the world the finger. We were like the thirty year old millennial who lived in his mother’s basement and watched the world thru the screen of his computer monitor. It was exactly like that. We watched the world around us thru the eyes of bugs.”
Shelby took a long drink of Old Oil Change and ruminated a minute. He’d told them that he’d tell them his story but it was taking an unexpected emotional toll. He hadn’t thought about what had happened to him much. It sounded pretty bad when he told them about it.
He needed to take a break.
Then it occurred to him that he wasn’t the only one with a story. Truth to tell there were others among the tribe who had suffered as grievously as he had. They had a story to tell as well. He could listen to them talk while he regained his composure. Who should he choose to be the goat?
Ah...the very thing. He chose the Ogres..
“For the next few years it was more of the same.” he continued “Very boring. Not much to tell. It occurs to me that just about then our two sawed off buddies had a little bit of difficulty their own selves. “
This could be fun. He grinned like an alligator spying a skinny dipping swimmer.
“I’m talking about you two!” he said maliciously. “Marc TwoFeathers and Captain Parmalee, tell us YOUR story. Tell us about your life!”
Shelby toasted Marc and Captain with his open bottle of beer then he sat down.
All eyes turned to the two Ogres. They stared back at the assemblage with ‘dear in the headlight’ eyes. Public speaking wasn’t their thing.
Until now.
Captain elbowed Marc hard enough that it would have caved in the ribs of a normal man. Marc barely noticed. “You first”
Marc nodded numbly. He knew exactly what that old coot, Shelby Winslow, the ArchMage was doing. The problem was that it made a lot of sense. They were all family. Family doesnt’ keep secrets even unintentionally. He had a story to tell, might as well tell it now.
“Okaaaay” he rumbeled. His voice sounded like a boulder rolling down a hill.
Working for the Man

Me and Captain here had been private security for an Evil Oil Companytm overseas. The two of us had been on patrol when our luck ran out. Our job had been to protect an oil pipeline. Lately the Jihadists had taken to blowing up pipelines. That had gotten to be a real pain in the butt and a bit expensive for the Evil Oil Companytm. Our jobs were to see to it that it didn’t happen too much. We were on patrol in a nifty keen little combat car. One thing about working for Evil Oil Companiestm was that we got to play with all the latest toys.
“Sector three. Someone’s climbing the fence” Dispatch had informed us over the radio. ”Make that several someones.”
“You’d think they’d learn.” Captain had yawned. “After that ass whuppin we gave them last week. Fire it up and let’s go check it out.”
“Roger that.” I replied. I did a bootleggers turn, put the pedal to the metal and peeled out. Like I said, that car was Sahweeet! It kicked out a rooster tail of gravel from all four wheels and took off like a scalded cat. I replied to Dispatch over the radio. “We be gone.”
“I copy, ‘you be gone’.” Dispatch replied “You’re the closest. Back up is already rolling.”
We rolled. Unfortunately someone had loose lips. Either that or there was a quisling in Ops. We rolled straight into a trap. We were ambushed. A hidden jihadist shot us with an RPG. We were caught off guard too, totally surprised. It happened miles before we reached the supposed break in. We were just cruising along, fat dumb and happy, not expecting any trouble yet.
Mistake, almost a fatal one.
This wasn’t your garden variety roadside RPG either. This was a top drawer copper clad explosively formed projectile , shaped charge. The grenade hit the side of the car just right. If it had hit us anywhere else it would have killed us and the car right then. End of story. As it was, when the rocket hit the car a penetrating projectile was explosively formed which went through our lightly armored combat car sideways at knee level. It burned a hole in the drivers door by my left knee, crossed over and burned an exit hole through the passenger’s door, by Captain’s right knee. It barely harmed the vehicle but it amputated our legs in one swell foop. Lucky for use it cauterized them at the same time or we would have died right then and there. As it was, we heard an earth shattering kaboom, felt a sharp jolt of pain, then it was lights out Irene.
Over to you Captain” Marc smiled maliciously at his buddie. Captain hated public speaking even more than he did. He’d share the pain.
“I woke up to pain.” Captain said. He’d deal with Marc later. Now wasn’t the time or place. He grudgingly admitted it made a lot of sense though even though he purely hated to speak in public. “Family, he thought. I’m speaking to family”
I was in lots and lots of mind deadening pain. I squirmed and wiggled like a worm on a hook on that operating table. I heard one of the orderlies complain as he tightened my restraints. “Damn but this guy’s strong. I could use a little help here.”
“Can’t help you, I got problems of my own. This one is strong too!” Another orderly said. Marc was doing the same thing on another operating table nearby. Me and Marc had both been seriously injured. We had almost been killed. In fact it was a miracle that we were still alive. The chances weren’t good that either of us would remain alive much longer. The two medical teams were working frantically, I’ll give em that much.
“Not going to be able to save those legs.” I heard one of the surgeons muttered.
“These either.” Another surgeon said. “Something really did a number on both of them. Not much of their legs left to cut off really. I think I can save this guys arms though.”
“Oh shit. He’s flat-lined.” The other surgeon called out, “Crash Cart, NOW!”
“Crap! Mines crashing too!” The surgeon working on me grabbed an
orderly. I heard him say “Get the Crash Cart from ER2, MOVE IT! Damn, you’**d think these two were twins.”
We learned later from talking to nurses that the surgical team moved like a well oiled machine. They were well trained, very competent, and had all the supplies needed including a fully equipped operating theatre. State of the art drugs were administered, as needed. Both mine and Marc’s heart had been electrically jump-started several times, as needed. The surgery continued. Parts of us were sawn off, new parts were installed, as needed. There wasn’t really anything else to do.
The Evil Oil Company had a choice. It was either try to patch us op or let us die. Oddly enough Private Security Companies don’t much like to lose their ’assets’. They didn’t abandon their people or let them die if they could do anything about it. They did their best for us contractors. Otherwise, supply and demand being what it was, they’d find themselves short on people with our rare skill-sets. No one would want to take the job.
Unlike governments, Evil Oil Companies couldn’t draft people when they used up the old ones up so they didn’t treat their people as expendable.
We were treated well, paid well and given the most advanced medical care possible when necessary. Unfortunately, sometimes that just wasn’t enough.
YOUR turn buddy.” Captain nodded to Marc. This was actually kind of fun. Tag Team story telling.
“Well don’t you look cute?” I said to Captain. It was weeks later and we had just received our new legs. We were in the patient lounge trying them out. “I like those legs. They’re all chrome and black.”
“You’re one to talk!” Captain gritted his teeth at me. His legs didn’t fit just right. They rubbed him the wrong way and they probably hurt. “You’ve got a pair just like mine. Except yours are white and mine hurt like hell.”
“Yeah... I noticed that too.” I replied. “Mine don’t fit really well either. Do you suppose they mixed them up? Perhaps they were color coded or something. Maybe you got mine and I got yours?”
“Ya think?” Captain asked me. “That would be too simple, nawwwww that couldn’t happen, could it? I mean, Really?”
“One way to find out.” I patted the couch. “Sit down beside me here and we’ll see.”
We did that. Me and Captain swapped out our legs right then and there. The other patients were tickled, most of them were also missing parts. The staff, not so much. They were not amused. Me and Captain couldn’t care less what anyone else thought. Oddly enough, that’s exactly what had happened. We had been wearing each other’s legs.
Fixed that problem.
“Over to you” Marc waved his glass of beer at Captain.
“So what are we going to do now white man?” It was weeks later when I asked Marc. We had been medically retired and were walking through an airport terminal. We had just disembarked from an airplane returning us to the good old USA. Our prosthetic legs had driven the TSA crazy.
“I dunno. Whatever it is let’s don’t take anymore airplane rides.” Marc told me. “I don’t know if I’d be able to restrain myself next time. Someone really needed to die just now.” I gritted my teeth at that. He was exactly right. The TSA numb-nuts had required that he remove his legs. Security they had said. Checking for possible explosives they had said. What they had done to me had been even worse. Marc would have laughed at me it not been so pathetic and humiliating. I had NOT been amused.
“Roger that” I said. “I felt like killing that moron myself. When he said bend over for a body cavity search I couldn’t believe it. I’ve had just about enough of security theatre. What a bunch of pathetic, inept, incompetent fools.”
“They ain’t real smart neither.“ Marc nodded. “We were inbound. We were already off the damn plane, I guess those micro-cephalic nincompoops couldn’t tell the difference between coming and going. I pity the poor fools if anyone with half a brain was serious about blowing up an airplane. Lucky for the TSA that the Jihadi’s mostly aren’t any smarter than they are, mostly.”
‘Mostly’, was right. I thought. Mostly. Some of the terrorists had brains enough and knew how to use them. Mine and Marc’s missing leg’s were testaments to that fact.
“Your turn” I nodded to Marc and took a deep swing of beer.
I nodded. I was getting into this story telling thing too. It was actually kind of fun. “Days later, in a rented room I was using my laptop computer to search Lloyds List, a Security Contractor job listing, for employment. I had another window open to the news. The news got my attention.”
“This is Sweet Cheeks Butt-Hurt for the Communist News Network with an exclusive interview. I’m speaking to Ms. Kamiko Akiyama. Er, Ms. Akiyama I understand you are the Mayor of Flint Island?” A TV journalist read from a teleprompter.
“Mayor isn’t exactly the term we use.” The very attractive elderly oriental lady said. “But I suppose it will do for now.”
“Um, yes. Well. Is it true that you’ve fired your entire police force?” Sweet Cheeks asked.
I was laughing it was too cute.
“What the hell are you doing?” Captain had asked me. “Can’t a guy get a nap around here without having to listen to you braying like a jackass?”
I hit pause “HA! I’m searching Lloyds List tm looking for a job, while you sleep and you complain. Don’t you want something to do? I know we don’t need it. We got money enough, but I’m BORED! Searching the list wasn’t any better. It was so damn boring that I had a window open to the comics, er, I mean the news. THAT didn’t help. It was so DAMN boring that I was running a spoof program just to brighten it up some. I overlaid a random word substitution program just for giggles. Some of the stuff it comes up with is so accurate that it’s hilarious. Communist News Network for example, what a hoot!”
“I don’t see anything funny about that.” Captain said “that’s very descriptive of CNN.”
“Yeah it is... ain’t it just... but Sweet Cheeks Butt-Hurt? That’s funny.” I told him.
“Well yeah. I suppose it is, that’s pretty funny. Tone it down a bit. Okay?” Captain grumbled then rolled over to face the wall. He pulled the sheets up over his ears. “I’m trying to get some sleep.”
I switched the sound to my bluetooth headset. Then flicked it off pause. I’d try to be quieter stifle my laughter, some. Poor old Captain needed his beauty sleep. The interview continued, the Mayor that claimed to not be a Mayor said, “We were having difficulties with our Police Force. We didn’t like the way they were acting. They seemed to think that they were the boss rather than working for us. They were being petty tyrants actually. I decided to embark upon a grand experiment. We could hardly do any worse.”
“What type of experiment would involve getting rid of your police force?” Sweet Cheeks Butt-Hurt asked “Aren’t you concerned that you will be unprotected?”
“Well no. We are all well armed on the Island. We see to our own protection. The police mainly just filled out forms and filed them away after any incidents. They were actually just rude file-clerks with guns and really bad shots at that. They were also very arrogant file-clerks, petty tyrants and bullies too. That was the problem. They didn’t seem to realize who they worked for. They worked FOR us and not the other way around.” She said rather vehemently.
“They were also damned expensive, them AND their union were a pain in the butt. They seemed to think that we could always raise taxes anytime they needed more money. They caused, and lost several civil lawsuits by being bullies and left the taxpayers on the hook. We began to question if they were a good return on our investment. We decided that they were not.” She said.
“Don’t even get me to started on civil forfeiture. That’s just robbery no matter how you look at it. It’s against the fourth amendment. I can read. I don’t give a damn what any court says. We won’t have that in my town.” She was almost frothing at the mouth. “However, I’m glad you mentioned the so called “protection’ thing. The Supreme Court has previously ruled that the police have no inherent duty to protect us, so we won’t be losing anything in that regard, we were paying for something were weren’t getting anyway.” The mayor that wasn’t a mayor said. She grinned. The trap was set. Would the poor ignorant reporter take the bait?
“It has?” Sweet Cheeks Butt-Hurt said “I’m not aware of that. Is that new?”
The poor fool took the bait. She revealed how ignorant she was on broadcast television, not that she was special. The mayor actually felt a little bit sorry for her. It was similar to engaging in a battle of wits with an unarmed opponent. Oh well...
“Yes, just recently.” Kamiko said wryly, the stoopids. “Warren v. District of Columbia (444 A.2d. 1, D.C. Ct. of Ap. 1981), about forty years ago. It’s breaking news. I’m surprised that you missed it.”
Sweet Cheeks Butt-Hurt blinked. She knew something had just happened but she wasn’t exactly sure just what it was.
“HA!” I had laughed “I LIKE that old gal.”
Captain mumbled and pulled the sheets up higher. He clutched them tighter to his head.
“I’m a retired empirical social psychologist” Kamiko continued. “I’ve done a lot of work in the field of crowd psychology. There are reams and reams of evidence regarding the way people act, and oddly enough no one has paid much attention to it. I have some ideas and I convinced the city council to give them a shot, so to speak. Instead of having a traditional Police Force I persuaded them to try something else. We are currently looking for that something else. We need suitable private security contractors. The key word would be “suitable””
The interview got boring after that. I turned it off when Butt-Cheeks said “rent-a-cops” derisively.
Hmmm, had the old gal said Private Security Contractors? I said to Captain “I think I might have found us a job.”
Captain snored.
To Be Continued
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The Hobo Picture is a Public Domain image from
Samantha at the Worlds Fair
by Josiah Allen's Wife (Marietta Holley)
Illustrated by
Baron C. De Grimm published by
Funk and Wagnall's Company 1893
Unless noted
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