Mer Rouge (Part 63)

The half a dozen or so wooden boxes of dynamite sat atop the flame retardant grass. Chaz sat them a safe distance away from the Honcho before his horrid death. But the bullets whizzed overhead. The squad car could only provide so much protection. DuPont considered his options under the mounting heat and gunfire.

“I think we’re dead, folks,” he announced to the others.

“You son of a bitch!” Oren said.

“Chill!” called the priest. “C’mon Mo. We gotta do something here.”

Moses remained flattened to the ground next to Hutch. He briefly lifted his head. “Respectfully father, you can go fuck yourself,” he said.

Another flaming arrow whizzed from the sky and blew the priest’s cossack right off his head. “My cossack!” he screamed.

“It’s a hundred fucking degrees out here! Why are you even wearing that?” DuPont asked him.

“The arrows are coming from the second floor window!” Hutch cried out.

Arrows and shurikens were quickly hurled towards Hutch and Moses and the two climbed to their feet and rushed toward the crowded back end of the squad car. Everyone was trapped. “We at least got to try to get to the dynamite,” the priest said.

“Fuck that!” Moses yelled.

“Mo! What other option do we got?”

“Surrender!”

“Are you stupid? They’ll kill us no matter what and you know that!”

“We need to get to the boxes before they start shooting at them!” DuPont said. “If we’re all gonna die, let’s at least die together!”

“What’s the plan then?”

“There’s not much of one. When the tracers stop, I’ll unload the shotgun in their direction. You, father, direct your fire toward the second story window. The rest of you grab as many dynamite sashes as you can before things get too hot and then bolt it towards the other end of the house. We’ll give you fire cover the entire time. At least until we run out of bullets and shells. Goddamn, I wish I had some lemon frags!”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Mer Rouge (Part 62)

The ancient mansion was eerily silent. Only thunderheads in the faraway distance could be heard. The honcho rolled up first. Chaz slowly pulled up to the gaudy entrance and parked. The squad car was far behind. Oren parked it by the honcho and stepped out. DuPont climbed off of the bed, flame thrower still strapped on, and approached the building. Oren scratched his head. “It appears to be deserted,” he told the sheriff.

“No,” DuPont said. “There’s no way they’d desert this place.”

Chaz climbed out of the driver’s seat and nodded to Oren. He put his hands on his hips and looked the old home up and down. “I’m inclined to agree with Mr. Waites,” he said. “You reckon we ought to turn this over to state police?”

DuPont spat. “And tell them what, Chaz? That we slaughtered an entire sheriff’s department because they’re hiding the fountain of youth? Use your head, son.”

“I dunno,” Chaz said. “It might be useful for scientific research.”

“Fuck that noise!” the Priest butted in. He climbed out of the squad car’s backseat and waved his finger. “Let’s get in there and blow it all to hell!” he shouted.

“It’s a trap,” said the Sheriff.

Oren nodded. “You’re right. It was too easy.”

“So what now?” asked Chaz.

DuPont thought. “I’m gonna smoke em out.”

Everyone backed away from the structure and the sheriff readied the flamethrower. “Everyone ready?” he asked. They looked at one another and nodded. “Alright,” he said, “here goes nothin.”

Before he could squeeze the trigger, a flaming arrow rained down and lodged itself into Chaz’s neck. “Jesus Christ!” DuPont yelled. The others took cover behind their vehicles and Chaz’s head erupted into a gigantic fireball and his body collapsed into the grass. The sheriff ducked behind the rear of the honcho. The priest and Oren behind the squad car. “What the FUCK was that?” DuPont yelled.

Tracer rounds began pelting into the squad car. One smashed into the engine and ignited a fire. “Hutch! Mo! Get the hell outta there!” Oren screamed. Realizing the calamity, they climbed out of the passenger’s side and laid flat in the grass.

“Tracer ammunition!?” yelled DuPont. “Where the hell is it coming from?”

The priest peeked his head from behind the car. A round whistled past his head and he jumped back. “From the treeline behind the house!” he called out.

“But what about that fuckin arrow?!”

“It seems like we fell into a coordinated ambush, sheriff!” the priest called back.

Another arrow rained down and struck into a gas cylinder on DuPont’s back. He quickly stripped it off and bolted towards the squad car. The cylinder exploded, briefly launching the sheriff into the air and the honcho erupted into a raging flame. DuPont recovered and finished crawling toward the others. “Sorry about your truck. Again,” he said to Oren.

Hutch lifted his head from the grass and gazed upon the burning honcho. “It looks like that piece of shit finally bit the dust!”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Mer Rouge (Part 61)

Dirk stood shirtless in front of the old baroque mirror. His many tattoos faded. The mirror itself was gifted to him by John Pemberton in 63. It was just before their defeat in Vicksburg. The sheriff closed his eyes and considered the old General. Nothing came to mind. All their adventures and campaigns faded into abstraction and the general’s face was nothing more than a scrawl on white canvas. This was also true of Pizarro. And Cortez. And…

He threw on a fresh sheriff’s button up and slicked back his hair. He turned around and noticed the Eunuch standing in his doorway. His arms were crossed and his face sullen. “They broke through the perimeter,” he said.

“I figured they would.”

“The Judge demands a plan of action.”

“Don’t worry,” Dirk said. “I have the butler on standby.”

“The butler,” the eunuch smirked. “Ah yes, the butler”. With arms still folded, he turned around and his guffaws echoed down the hallway. Dirk finished up and proceeded down the stairs. He found the butler standing motionless underneath the front awning in formal attire. Not a bead of sweat present on his brow. “Are you ready for this?” the sheriff asked him.

The butler looked across the barren field and squinted. He took a deep breath and soliloquied with his thick British draw. “I found the Norsemen on the edge of River Ouse,” he began. “First came the arrows. Then came the charge. As they advanced across the shallow waters, their screams were as the howling winds of hell. It wreaked havoc in our ranks. Men were trampled underfoot and the ground thickened into a sea of mud, shit, and blood. Those who weren’t killed in the retreat were mercifully slaughtered by the spears and swords. But they saved the damned for the axes. They hacked at the men and the bones and limbs of the dead were strewn across the field and protruded from the mud. The land I once recognized became a holocaust wrought by some forsaken god. So you see sherriff, I’ve already witnessed hell. And I’ve carried those harrowing screams with me everyday since.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Mer Rouge (Part 60)

Hutch and Moses jumped out of the bed and scrambled towards the squad car. Oren was slow to follow. He pulled the sheriff aside and lowered his voice. “Do you think you might be overdoing it?”

“What do you mean?” DuPont asked.

“I mean you just lit two deputies on fire. That’s a bit much.”

“No no no,” the sheriff chuckled. “You see, those guys were castoffs from hell. Cursed to roam the earth forever. I was doing them a favor.”

“A favor?”

The priest overheard the conversation and butted in. “The sheriff is right,” he told Oren. “If they drank from the cursed spring then their souls were already damned.”

“How do we know they did?”

“Well,” the sheriff backtracked, “they worked for Judge Castor. It should go without saying.”

“Agreed,” said the priest. “Don’t worry. Our conscious is totally clear.”

“But you drank from the spring, priest,” Oren retorted. “Do we need to do you a favor by lighting you on fire?”

“B-b-b-b-b-but that’s different.”

“No it isn’t.”

“I’m a man of the cloth, ya see.”

Oren rolled his eyes. DuPont shut the conversation down. “There’s no time for a discussion on ethics,” he said. “We gotta destroy that spring no matter the cost. I reckon we’re only a mile or so away.” He looked toward Moses and Hutch who were digging through the inventory of shotguns and revolvers left in the vehicle. “Do you boys think we’ll run into heavy resistance at Castor’s place?” he asked them.

“Hell, we’ve eliminated every deputy in the parish Sheriff!” shouted Moses from the passenger’s seat. “Except for that shitheel Fornier. It’s probably just him and Dirk left.”

“Well, them and a butler and a big hairless dude,” chimed in Hutch. “But they ain’t shit.”

DuPont nodded. “Good. They seem to be outnumbered then.”

The sheriff climbed into the bed of the Honcho. Chaz remained in the driver’s seat while Oren and the priest joined the others in the squad car. “Chaz and I will lead the assault,” announced DuPont. “Once we secure the house, we’ll blow up that spring and send the others back to hell.”

The rest of the gang nodded. The sheriff slapped the top of the cab and the truck moved forward. The police car, driven by Hutch, closely followed. And as the wind swept through the trees, the vehicles passed by the smouldering pile of ash that was once the deputies and the waning flame clutching for survival was huffed out forever.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Mer Rouge (Part 59)

They were the last standing deputies of the Moorhouse Parish Sheriff’s Department. They saw the smoke rising above the treeline and leaned against the squad car. “What the hell is goin on?” one asked the other.

The other pulled a big nasty boog from his nose, looked at it, and then flicked it into the grass. “God knows,” he said. “I’m sure Frank and the boys have it taken care of.”

A faint roar echoed through the woods and down the gravel road. One deputy glanced in its direction and scratched his ass. “Reckon we outta call it in?” he wondered aloud.

“Fuck it,” said the other.

Both deputies planted their ass against the squad car and let their own minds wonder. The sun hung high in the sky. One pushed back his Stetson and wiped sweat from his brow. When he did, the Honcho came tear assing down the dirt path. Neither budged. “Who the hell are these guys?”

The Honcho pulled up and Sheriff Fornier rolled down the window. “Howdy boys,” he greeted. “We’re here to see Sheriff Dirk.”

“And you are?”

“Oh come on. You know me. I’m the sheriff of West Carroll Parish.”

The deputy looked at the three men in the bed of the truck. One of them shot. “Does Dirk know yur comin?” he asked.

“Hell. I don’t need to make a reservation to meet a fellow Sheriff!”

“Well I don’t know if you noticed sir, but we’re kinda on lockdown.”

“Oh I noticed.”

“Okay, but we’re gonna need to see some identification first.”

“Sure thing buddy.”

Fornier climbed out of the Honcho and reached into the bed. “Now you fellas hold tight,” he told the deputies. He lifted out the flame thrower and strapped the canisters to his back. The officers did nothing but spit.

“Is that your identification?” one asked.

“Sure.”

The sheriff finished strapping it on and turned the nozzle. A small flame puffed from the firing mechanism. “We just need to see your badge,” one deputy said disinterestedly.

“Aw pig shit,” Fornier said. “Give me a second.”

“No worries sheriff. Take your time.”

“Do you boys mind stepping away from the squad car first?”

The two men shrugged and stepped towards the middle of the dirt road. Fornier pulled the trigger and unleashed a dazzling flame on the deputies. And as they were set ablaze, a puzzled look fell over their faces and they collapsed to the ground and were subsequently consumed by fire. Afterwards, Moses stood up in the bed still clutching to his bullet wound and shook his head.

“Goddamn. Those guys were stupid,” he said.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Mer Rouge (Part 58)

The Honcho came to a complete stop at the property entrance. Rifle shots lit it up until DuPont and the others sprung up from the brush to return fire. They raced toward the Honcho unleashing bullet after bullet until their guns were depleted. Hutch carried Moses to the bed of the truck and climbed inside. Oren and the priest were close behind. The sheriff, with the chamber of his .38 empty, pulled out the .44 and fired. The sniper was in clear view. The bullet struck the sniper on his cheek, blowing it clean off and exposing his teeth, and he recoiled. DuPont climbed into the cab and ordered Chaz to step on it. It was probably three hundred yards from one side of the field to the other. The sniper attempted to readjust to hit his moving target but he gave himself up. Everyone in the bed of the truck saw him shift closer to the road. “I’m out of bullets!” Oren yelled.

Moses, struggling with his gun wound, saw the sniper and thought. “I can hit him,” he shouted. “Gimme something sharp!”

Oren looked past the mounds of dynamite and found a discarded harpoon. He didn’t know how it got there. “Here!” he said, handing it to Moses.

Moses stood up in the bed and cocked his left arm with a harpoon in hand. The sniper swiftly shifted into a kneeled position and placed the scope squarely on Moses’ head. He was too late. As the Honcho sped past, Moses hurled the harpoon and speared the shooter right through the chest. The object hit him with such force that it blew him back several feet into the brush.

“Goddamn old man!” praised the priest. “How did you learn that trick?”

“Just saw Apocalypse Now,” he said.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Mer Rouge (Part 57)

Hutch grabbed his downed comrade and pulled him into safety. The others were all hidden behind the treeline. “I’m alright! I’m alright,” Moses reassured Hutch.

“A rifle round went clean through your shoulder! I gotta stop the bleeding!”

“Don’t worry about it!”

Squatted behind a tree, the sheriff reached for his .44. He peeked out through the sweltering heat waves and scanned the flat grassland. “Did anyone see anything?!” he shouted.

“Man I didn’t see shit!” Hutch yelled.

DuPont squinted harder and deduced that the shooter had to have been posted up in the treeline on the other side of the field. He shook his head and spat. “I should call in an airstrike,” he said.

“That’s not an option,” Oren told him. “Radio Chaz. Tell him we’re calling it off.”

“No!”

“Sheriff, between the explosion and rifle shots, they already know we’re here! We should abandon this route and find another way in!”

“There’s no time.”

“Sheriff,” the priest interjected. “He may be right. That rifle shot was from a Mauser SP66. There’s only one man I know of who uses that weapon.”

“The nine?” Oren asked.

“You betcha.”

“I don’t give a goddamn if it’s Lee Harvey Oswald up in them trees,” said the sheriff. “This is the only way in!”

DuPont poked back out from his position. Rifle rounds rained down on him kicking up mounds of dirt and grass. He swiftly took cover. “Fuck!” he yelled.

“We appear to be trapped here, sheriff,” the priest said while gnawing on a carrot.

“We ain’t trapped here!”

DuPont looked away from the direction of the sniper and towards the east just off of the judge’s property. He could see the cloud of dust barreling towards them with the beat up Honcho leading it. He had seconds to think. “When Chaz rounds the corner,” he said to the others, “fire every round you have towards that treeline.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Mer Rouge (Part 56-I’m just trying to get through this story)

The deputy walked a few yards from the road and stepped behind a tall southern pine. He barely managed to get his pecker out before a knife slid across his throat. Piss and blood sprayed every which way. DuPont let the body drop and he knelt down. The five remaining deputies were facing the opposite direction. The priest meanwhile, covered in camouflage from head to toe, drew his Walther with a silencer. He fired one shot and it barely grazed his target’s ear. “The hell was that?” the deputy cried out. With little time to consider his options, the priest popped out of the bushes and ripped off three shots at the officers. All of them landed and killed their targets. The priest was shocked. The remaining two scrambled to reach for their weapons before DuPont hurled his Bowie knife into the back of one. He screeched and collapsed dead to the ground and the last man hopped into the squad car and squealed away.

“Fuck!” DuPont shouted.

The priest lowered his Walther and closed his left eye. The vehicle was a hundred yards away. “Fire goddamnit!” urged the sheriff. The priest pulled the trigger and the bullet smashed through the rear window. A car ramp was inexplicably on the side of the road and the vehicle went up it and into the air and crashed upside down in the grass.

Then it exploded.

“That was close,” DuPont said.

“That was one hell of a shot!” Oren shouted to the priest as he climbed out of the brush.

“Where the hell did you get that Walther, padre?” asked Moses. “What the hell else are you hiding under that cassock?”

“It always helps to be prepared,” said the priest.

Oren glared at DuPont and spat. “One hell of a body count you’re stacking up, sheriff,” he said.

“There’s no time for justifications,” he barked. He pulled out his walkie talkie and radioed Chaz. “All clear,” he told him. He reholstered the radio and placed his hands on his hips. He glared at the car explosion. “It’s only a matter of minutes before they see the smoke.”

Then a rifle shot rang out and struck Moses on the shoulder.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Mer Rouge (Part 55)

The gravel road was about a hundred yards away. It’s entry point was guarded by a half dozen deputies. DuPont lowered the binoculars and radioed to Chaz. “Stand by,” he ordered. Hidden in the treeline, the priest threw on his camouflage smock. “Is that standard issue in the Orthodox Church?” Oren asked him.

The priest nodded. “Yes. Strangely,” he said.

DuPont met with the men huddled together in the wood. He pulled out a .44 Magnum and checked the cylinder. “There’s six guards,” he announced. “We’ll maybe have a minute to take them all out before the other deputies are alerted. Chaz is on standby with the dynamite.”

“If attacking them don’t alert the others, that .44 sure will,” the priest said.

“Will we have to kill em?” Hutch asked.

“Oh yeah,” said the sheriff. “BIG time.”

Oren shook his head. “Hutch and me never killed no one. So you guys go on ahead.”

Moses slapped him on the head. “Fool! And you think I have?!”

“Oh I know YOU have,” the priest interrupted.

Moses thought. “Ohh yeah. I’ve killed a lot of people actually.”

“Alright, the Priest and I will take the lead. The rest of you follow,” DuPont declared. “Remember, this is like Loc Ninh. Keep your eyes peeled and your weapons ready.”

“None of us were there, sheriff,” Oren said.

“Shit, I was,” the priest told him. “Got my testes shot clean off. Of course, that was last year though.”

“Enough,” DuPont barked. “We’ll ride the treeline then take cover in the grass,” he said. Then he unsheathed his Bowie knife and gave it a long hard look. “I’ll take out the first guard. Once first blood is shed, you must move quickly. No hesitation. If you hesitate, you’re dead.”

“Except for me and Moses,” the priest said. “But yeah, the rest of you would be fucked.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Mer Rouge (Part 54)

The two deputies sat on foldout chairs and whittled away at small sticks with their pocketknives to pass the time. It was almost midday. While the sun cast down an intolerable heat, one reached into an old Coleman cooler then dug through the ice. He pulled out a Miller then cracked it open and drank. Then he spat. “This is some bullshit,” he bitched to his partner.

“Beats the hell outta workin.”

“For you maybe. I’d rather be at the house.”

“Pokin the wife?”

“At least I got somthin to poke.”

A slight wind swept through the trees and kicked up a flock of crows. The men looked up. Seconds later there was a cracking of dead brush and two men with shotguns appeared through the wood. The deputies leapt up from their seats to get a better look. One called out. “Halt! This is private property!”

The two men changed directions and slowly approached the deputies. Decked in camouflage, it was apparent to the officers that these men were hunters. Feet away, one of them apologized. “Forgive me. We didn’t realize we was trespassing,” he said.

“Well, you are. So you best turn right around.”

“Mind if I ask who the owner is?”

“Yes I do mind.”

“Shit fellas. We was just chasin a buck. Didn’t mean to cause no trouble.”

“If you don’t go back the way you came, there’s fixin to be trouble.”

The hunter nodded. Him and his buddy turned around and walked back toward the tree line. The deputies drew their service pistols and followed them. Not a word was exchanged during the escort until the other side of the treeline was reached. A deputy gave his final warning. “Come back through here and I’ll put a bullet in ya. Ya hear?”

Three more men with daggers appeared from the rear of the deputies. They plunged them into their backs and their attackers swiftly covered their mouths to muffle the screams. They collapsed to the ground. Two of the attackers dragged the bodies away and the hunters wiped away the camouflage from their faces. They weren’t happy with the other three.

“I think you went a little far there, Sheriff!” Oren yelled.

DuPont resheathed his dagger and waved him away. “There was no other option,” he explained. “Two dead men means two less guns we have to face. Now we just have to find a way to get that dynamite inside.”

TO BE CONTINUED…