Finish the Fiction Story Contest - Week #40 - @bananafish

Hunt Down the Bananafish
by @theironfelix

Boots clamor with the machinery humming. Iron walkways, under stomping feet, ache despite losing the senses a while ago. Grunts echo and bounce off the marble-walls and iron-ceiling. The grunting marchers ache for purpose, as they can stand no more of their shoulders’ acidity caused by hauling a crate so long.

"Hush, we near the Colonel-"

"Bob, we’ve been on the USSS Milky Way for how long? It’s pronounced ker-nel - not co-lo-nol."

"Keep your peace, Jerry. Anyways."

Raised arms, Bob’s hands knocked three knocks, every knock so polite yet firm. His legs, being precautious, retreated; doors squeaking due to leaving their closed state, the Colonel with a pipe and cocked hat steps out. Steadying the shades, the pipe soon found itself hugging the floor.

"Master-Sergeant Bob, how’d you... oh He would be very proud, yet let’s not yammer on about that."

"Indeed, and we tracked the coordinates-"

"Coordinates! I’ll patch you in sonny. Please yank that box in now. Tell me, how’d you got this potassium-skin?"

"I’ll take this one Bob, go input the coordinates. Colonel, the details matter not, but our white gloves are still white. Anyways, coordinates should be in now. Say, when does that bounty expire?"

"I still cannot believe it, we’ll be rich! We’ll have the Bananafish finally in our hands and the bounty just renewed and quadrupled its payout!"

Frothing came racing out and spreading about the Colonel’s mouth, Master-Sergeant Bob’s and Jerry’s eyes picked up on the bubble-infection. Bob’s hands signaled to Jerry if now was the time to act, but that time to act was inappropriate as Jerry’s hands signed. Bob’s ears, hearing the awkwardness, compelled the voice-box to utter.

"Would you like to do the honours of telling the other ships?"

"Ah, sorry. Anyways, the coordinates are already sent - now just an announcement... Ahem... Attention crew, this is the Colonel speaking. Right now coordinates have been uploaded and you may have a question. My answer: we found the Bananafish and we’re going to hunt! I repeat, we’re hunting down the Bananafish... I muted my mic, but do you hear that Master-Sergeant?"

"Ecstasy."

"And a hero, for that’s what you and your platoon are. When we’re back, I’ll make sure you get your due honours."
Bob’s and Jerry’s eyes deadlock together on the other, lips arching high and their minds ridding of any misdeeds. Turning their heads to the ship’s front view, the image of starry seas became interrupted as the view warps to a tunnel of passing light spires that raced with the ship. However, the moment was fleeting and the armada of spacecraft found themselves floating above the Bananafish’s home.

"Master-Sergeant’s Platoon, come ‘ere. You’ll be my personal convoy ‘til the mission is over. So sit in your own Orbital Drop Pods and await blastoff."

Sat they were, their armour covered with more weapons than plating and a soldiery hoorah echoing. The clock ticked, yet they were ejected soon and all saw the Nature below.

The hunt has begun.

My Entry:

The Orbital Drop Pod landed on the tropical shore. The door opened to pleasant sunshine radiating off the cool blue seawater. Palm trees rocked gently in the breeze as the soft white sand yielded to the black jack boots of the Colonel.

The entire Platoon armed to the teeth ready to lay waste to anything that stand in their way in pursuit of the Bananafish; their fearsome black armor stealing the life force from around them. They knew themselves as the threat to the Universe.

“Colonel.” Said Master-Sergeant Bob.

“Ker-nel!” Insisted Master-Sergeant Jerry as he threw his free hand into the air, the other hand clutching a semi-automatic assault rifle.

“What!?” Rasped the Colonel exhaling smoke from a new pipe.

“KER-NEL,” Master-Sergeant Bob pronounced slowly, his free hand pushing down then moving out to sooth the tension, while his other hand rested on the trigger of a bazooka. “An advance scout approaches with news of what awaits us in the hunt for the Bananafish.”

They could see a man with black hair wearing royal blue surf trunks running along the shore with three identical beautiful blonde women wearing yellow two piece bathing suits, the waves rolled in erasing their footprints in the wet sand.

Bob and Jerry were clones with different personalities yet both took a special interest in the triplets running their way.

“Lt. Elvis, what in the name of Holy Gods in Demonville are you doing out of uniform with these women!”

“Sorry Colonel,” said Lt. Elvis in a bluesy voice as his lip curled into a charming grin. “These are the native inhabitants of the planet. They know about the Bananafish.”

“We’re Bananafish Hunters!” All three of the blonde beauties announced in unison.

“O really!” The Colonel snarled as he began to froth at the mouth again. “Lt. Elvis join me in my Orbital Drop Pod so we can discuss your adaptation of local attire. Master-Sergeants, send these three to their creator at once, and destroy everything in sight. The bounty’s the same for the Bananafish dead or alive!”

Bob made a hand signal asking Jerry if they should act. Jerry signaled that they should. Bob karate chopped the Colonel’s knee cap sending him forward onto the ground. Jerry took one step forward, raised the assault rifle, and unloading a bullet into the Colonel’s head.

Thank you,
Cyrus Emerson

Also, available from the Author:

Fear and Loathing in the State of Jefferson - ebook
https://read.amazon.com/kp/embed?asin=B079R5KLPN&preview=newtab&linkCode=kpe&ref_=cm_sw_r_kb_dp_GsURAbAVDYNEM

Lost Angel – Introduction with Ray Manzarek of The Doors
https://www.downpour.com/lost-angel?sp=249812

Red Roses - audiobook
https://www.audible.com/pd/Fiction/Red-Roses-Audiobook/B07F2LWHPN