Author Topic: Rocker - fiction.  (Read 1014 times)

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Offline Richo

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Rocker - fiction.
« on: July 14, 2009, 03:53:23 AM »
The long barrel of the ancient .50 calibre machine gun glowed a wicked dull red as it continuously spat out a wall of hissing death. Spent brass cartridges lay in a tangled heap all over the floor of the battle bus he was the forward gunner on and Blade looked a little bemused at how tough his latest target was. He could hear the rear mounted battery of four .50 cal Brownings arcing up, laying down a tremendous wall of fire at whatever it was that was unfortunate enough to be today’s target. The bitter stench of cordite burned his nostrils and clawed at his eyes.

“Rivals most likely,” he hissed between gritted teeth as he continued to hammer the living shit out of the rear cargo doors of the semi trailer that was desperately weaving all over the road less than fifty meters directly in front of “The Bus”.
“Well it used to be a school bus once,” he thought as he fed another 500 round rotary magazine to his hot and hungry ex air-museum machine gun.

Fifty meters in front of The Bus inside the armored cabin of a highly modified matt black Kenwoth, Rocker coolly flicked lightening glances into his rear view mirrors. They weren’t actually mirrors though, rather highly reflective mirror-polished stainless steel panels. Although not quite as good as real mirrors they were fairly impervious to gunfire and this set had seen some heavy duty action in the last twenty minutes.

Rocker deftly flicked a cigarette from the top pocket of his old leather jacket up into his mouth between gear changes. With a practiced hand, he flipped open an old Zippo to light it up.

 “You wasteland fuckers are gonna need more than that fucking pop-gun to stop me and Kenny”, he growled as he ever so slowly eased off the accelerator to allow the raider scum to close on him.

Blade couldn’t believe just how tough this damned matt black trader truck was. He had just pumped 1500 rounds of military grade ammo into the rear and flanks of its trailer and only now had it started to slow. For the last five minutes he had concentrated all his firepower at the armor plated skirts around the rear wheels, trying to ricochet a few rounds through the tiny gap between the road surface and the bottom of the skirts hoping to blow a tyre.

“Looks like I got me a tyre Cap’n,” he hollered in the slow drawl of an inlander.

“He’s slowing down ………… wooooooo hooooooo, double booty for me …… I got the kill” he whooped ecstatically.

The Bus’ rear gunner swore a mighty oath under his breath.
“Fuck …… look at all those fuckers”, he hissed.

 He whipped the big .50 cal battery wildly around to his left to loose a deadly burst at a light vehicle that was attempting to flank “The Bus”.


“There must be thirty or more of the little bastards”, he grumbled, as multiple rounds of return fire slammed into The Bus.


In the cabin of the kenworth a small jagged smile etched its way along Rockers mouth.
Work Hard, Play Hard, Stay Hard

 

 
Meet my little Baby