“Our quarry today will be that rat bastard Jimmy Meale and his associated clan of Southern hunters.” So said my father over the loudspeakers after the alarm was sounded. “Good luck and be on your toes. This one can be tricky. Anything goes, even a firefight or a trap-ambush.” We got our stuff and this time the special armor our scientists had designed and experimented with for years. Now we would put it to use in the field for the very first time. The armor we had on was head to foot and a protective bulletproof glass on our faces to protect us from all angles of shot and harm, even our feet. We felt better now and went out through a small tunnel to the awaiting buses, which we sometimes had taken instead of our cars and SUV’s. These buses were great and modified for speed and armor, which no bus in the world could compare to. We were bulletproof and grenade-proof, and only a cannon at close range could kill us now. Our earphones over the helmets would direct us to our quarry once we were dropped off at an unknown area, known only to our superiors and Andrew and my father, Peter Sr. Our sound amplifiers would pick up the enemy over three to five miles away and let us know when they were coming our way… We promptly put back our helmets securely on our heads and departed the said buses. In single file, we were told over the headphones how to deploy our numbers and units with Andrew directing us to heavy trees in a forest area where we spread out and took our positions. Sure enough, as we waited in silence, the quarry we wanted came closer and were all talking this day of good sunshine and no clouds overhead. “Perfect for an ambush,” I said to myself. “We’ll really get these guys before they know what hit them.” From over five miles away, they came chasing all the animals of the forest in our direction, killing several, but most did get away, thank God and Satan. They spoke as if someone was with them, and we all picked that up on our intercoms. “They’re not alone,” my father’s voice rang in my ears over the intercom set. “Be ready for anything, men and women. This could be it!” he concluded, knowing one day we could be up against tanks and other armored vehicles. And still they came, killing as they went from five to three miles out to within range of us all, just waiting for them in ambush. How we wanted these murderers once and for all. They came to us with police of SWAT well ahead of each hunting party. We saw them and picked them off with our silencers of our pistols and threw knives at them too. All were accounted for and the hunters came on. So did the deer, squirrels and bear. As they passed us, we waited patiently for our quarry to get closer and closer. All the police of SWAT were well ahead of the pack and we hid their bodies in the leaves and underbrush. None got off a shot or cried for help. We had done our job well. Now down to business with those we really wished to kill – the hunters of that rat bastard Jimmy Meale and his followers, who loved and adored hunting. We held our fire as everyone selected a target and the command came over the intercom. “Fire at will!” my father’s voice rang out in my head. I slew over two dozen myself before we cut them to pieces and attacked to finish them off to the last man. “Take them as you may.” I recognized Andrew’s voice and he fired and reloaded, as did we all before we charged them in the heavy forest. They tried to organize and fire back, but were too few to give us any trouble. Then came a wave of soldiers right behind them, firing at us in vast numbers. We held our ground and poured it into them, firing through trees and even through their armored suits. This went on for several hours until they retired, bloodied and broken by our superior firepower of our ROAKAH repeating rifles that fired garlic-coated bullets like all our guns did. Finally, after hours of shooting, we had won the day and charged them in a fanned-out line abreast, and not one of us was wounded or killed. Their losses: hundreds of them killed and wounded by our volleys from our terrible rifles of ROAKAH. We took a count of the police and military which outnumbered us. The rat fink Jimmy Meale we found dead with a single shot through his forehead and took his head for our trophy room. Nearly a thousand dead in all, once we had an account of the blood spilled and those we wounded who managed to get into a car or truck and died soon after of our weapons’ garlic-coated bullets, which brought blood poison to its victims in the event the huge bullets didn’t do the job. We took their weapons and their money and left them there out in the sun to be found the next day by the authorities, either police or by the military. Our fight was not personal any longer. The police and military wanted us badly and we knew it when we returned to the complex bunker and heard the ante of the reward for our heads had risen in the billions of dollars over and over again. How they wanted an informer and a traitor to come forth and help them find our hideouts, so they could move in and catch us napping and take as many of us prisoner without too many committing suicide. We all agreed the lump sum of the governments was breathtaking, but we had no takers – thus far.
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