by H. L. Valdez
“Quiet. Maintain silence,” Marco whispered, watching the group.
“Where’s the next delivery, Sasha-san?” the schedule keeper asked timidly.
“This time we’ll use the massive Port of Long Beach, California on San Pedro Bay,” she answered as he bowed reverently, stepping back.
“How do we get the shipment in this time?” the logistical manager asked.
“This is a large shipment, so split it in two. First, put heroin inside the bodies of dead servicemen leaving Vietnam and being flow to Travis Air Force base near Frisco. Second, ship the product with frozen squid. We’re timing the delivery around the upcoming dock strikes taking place from Seattle to San Diego. All shipping will be backlogged. Once the strike ends, they just want to move containers off the dock. This is our window of opportunity. Also, eliminate the team in Saigon and organize a new team,” she ordered the security specialist, while being distracted by the caged wolf dogs growling and barking frantically in their wire cages.
“We still have another shipment for tonight,” the load supervisor informed her.
“What is it?” She asked, gripping her weapon.
“One hundred kilos of heroin and one hundred kilos of morphine.”
“Not bad, load it up.”
“Right away,” he answered, holding his arms at his side and bowing.
“What’s wrong with those dogs?” She shouted agitated, looking at the cages.
“I guess they’re spooked at something,” the load supervisor answered.
“Go ahead, get moving,” she ordered dispassionately, waving him away. “Yoshida, I need to do a perception check.”
“Yes, Sasha-san?” He answered, respectfully bowing slightly.
“Did I do the right thing just now?” She asked softly, putting her hand on his massive shoulder.
“It needed to be done. You’re the only person authorized to do it. You did your job. Besides, I was suspicious of him too,” he replied, seriously.
“Well Jesus H. Christ!” Sasha yelled, waving her weapon, turning to the barking dogs with an angry face. “If the mutts are spooked, check it out! That’s why they’re called guard dogs,” she screamed.
“What should we do?” A low ranking soldier asked.
“Are you dumb or stupid?” She shouted. “Release the mutts! Let them do their job. And you go with them! Maybe they’ll teach you something!” She hollered, pointing her pistol at him.
“Release the dogs!” Yoshida ordered the junior soldiers.
“Release the dogs!” Junior yakuza soldiers repeated, running up to the cages.
“Pay attention here. We’ll meet at the next transfer site!” She instructed the Schedule Keeper, shouldering her weapon. “Put some product on my plane. Keep it moving! Just shove off!”
“Here’s a pistol for the pilot,” a young yakuza assistant said rushing up to Yoshida.
“Arigato,” he replied, quickly checking the chamber and watching the junior soldiers release the dogs. “Sasha-san, here’s a weapon, Miki can keep this.”
“Good work,” she said, quickly accepting the black 9mm Beretta with black matching shoulder holster, inspecting it closely. “The dogs are spooked,” she said, looking up, handing the pistol to Miki.
“For me?” Miki gasped, wide-eyed, clutching the heavy weapon.
“For you. Put this on and don’t take it off. Wear it in the toilet,” she suggested assessing the unfolding situation, and then began reloading her weapon staring toward the bluff, with her second-self mumbling to herself, observing the bleak surroundings.
“Miki, get in the plane, turn it around. Keep the engines running,” She ordered abruptly, sensing danger, checking her weapon. “Take some product with you, hurry up!”
From the bluff, Spanky growled at the dogs below as ground crews loaded the planes and a boat, hurriedly making preparations to leave.
“They’re pretty busy down there,” Rita observed.
“Seems like they’re leaving,” Justin said, adjusting the focus on his goggles.
“The dogs are out of the cages!” Velvet shouted, peering through her binoculars.
“Good God! Are we downwind?” Primo asked suddenly.
“Come to think of it, the wind is at our backs,” Rita acknowledged.
“Why?” Velvet asked.
“The animals are spooked. They picked up our scent,” Primo replied.
“Are you wearing that Patchouli oil crap?” Justin asked.
“Hell no! It’s Spanky. He smells like crap. He’s filthy and dirty,” Primo responded, defensively.
“Spanky is clean, don’t pick on him. If you’d stop passing gas, maybe the dogs wouldn’t be chasing you.”
“Here they come!” Rita shouted, as the panting mad dogs ran up the steep bluff.
“Okay, we’ll play, we’ll play,” Sasha muttered, firing her weapon repeatedly toward the bluff. “Reorganize! Reorganize! Sasha yelled. “Join your team!” She ordered. “Team One, guard the other plane!” “Team-Two, get up that hill!” “Team-Three, get to the riverbed!” “Team-Four finish loading the planes and the boat!” “Let’s go, move it!” She shouted with tactical awareness, as more dogs were let loose.
"The mounds, Butch," Marco ordered, calmly pointing to a prearranged row of damp weeds and grass that Butch quickly began to set on fire.
"I'll fan the fire. You lead the group," Butch advised, waving a palm leaf in front of the mounds, creating a dense smoke screen for their escape through the thick bamboo forest. On the other side of the billowing smoke, youthful smugglers quickly loaded slingshots with fat round rocks and readied their automatic weapons.
"Thud!" “Whap!” echoed high performance steel balls, flung from powerful hunting slingshots, walloping Justin's body and head.
"Oh shit!" Justin shouted, tripping and falling to the soggy ground. “Damn!” he agonized disorientated, feeling the bleeding bulging knot on his head. Turning, Rita rushed to his side snapping smelling salts under his nose.
"How do you feel?" Rita asked as he shook his head, pushing her away.
"Not good. I can't focus," he answered dazed, shaking his head as steel ammunition whizzed by smacking trees with a loud thud.
"Quick, get on your feet before they break out the guns and go at it for real," she shouted, helping him wobble into the bamboo forest. Spanky howled in pain as he was hit in his head and ribs.
"Damn!" Butch shouted, with rocks bouncing off his legs and arms while dashing into the thick forest. Primo lagged behind lying on the damp ground, scanning for legs behind the clouds of smoke, and recalling the aborigines deeply rooted father-to-son traditions about throwing a boomerang. Withdrawing a swan-necked wooden club from the kangaroo-skin pouch, he remembered throwing lessons taught by Fly and Bone. With familiar mastery, he hurled the boomerang with all his strength as the deadly spinning stick zoomed at sixty miles an hour maiming and cutting a deadly three-foot swath as it ricocheted off skulls standing behind the smoke. Again, he flung another throwing stick leaving him with twenty-three small boomerangs.
“That’ll slow your asses down,” he smirked.
"Through here!" Marco shouted, quickly leading the team further into the bamboo grove. Within moments, heavy razor sharp star shaped shurikens whistled menacingly by Primo's head thumping into trees.
"Aaaghh, gaaah," Primo grimaced in pain, grabbing his arm. Startled, Rita raced back to help him.
"Everyone keep moving!" Marco shouted feverishly, as the bandits sounded their conch shells, releasing the third round of bloodthirsty wolf dogs into the night.
"Get down! Where are you hit?" She yelled, yanking him to the ground.
"My arm," he grimaced in pain.
"Roll over on your stomach, hurry!" She directed, lying beside him, examining the razor sharp weapon protruding from his triceps. "Let it bleed!” She suggested, pulling the shuriken from his thick muscles. "Come on, let's catch up!" She recommended, standing anxiously. With his durability and physical toughne
ss, Primo nodded his head in agreement, pulling out his pistol and firing randomly to his rear.
"Feel better?" Rita laughed.
"I feel better," he replied smirking, quickly zigzagging his way through the tall thick bamboo trees. Closer and closer panting wolf dogs were nimbly twisting and threading their way through the dense bamboo.
"I hear dogs growling," Primo shouted.
“Stop running,” she said instinctively, turning and drawing her .357 colt magnum, searching for the shine of the dogs’ eyes, while Primo stood at the ready, listening, watching, waiting.
"Aim between the spots!" Rita yelled, firing in rapid succession at the attacking dogs.
“Don't think! Shoot!" She screamed, shooting four dogs immediately. The daughter of a national fast draw champion, Rita had a natural, deadly accurate, shoot from the hip style with pistols and shotguns. She could assemble weapons blind folded and reload empty revolvers with contest accuracy and speed.
"How many more?" Primo shouted.
“I can’t tell,” she hollered. “We need strategic shooting! I’ll fire my revolver then reload. Then you fire your weapon and reload. While I’m reloading, you’re firing. Then switch to shotguns. I’ll fire and load, then you fire and load!”
“Got it!” He shouted confidently, admiring her focus and grace under pressure.
“Ready. Begin!” She ordered, kneeling on one knee, carefully aiming and shooting the vicious crazed animals. Sleeping monkeys awoke screeching in fear, startling tree nesting vampire bats into flight. The air abruptly became thick with bats swarming on dead and wounded dogs drinking their blood.
“What a mess,” Promo shouted. “Let’s go!”
“Don’t turn your back. Shoot walking backward!” She yelled, firing from the hip.
“Got it,” he answered, waiting for her to finish shooting.
“Your turn!” She yelled removing bullets from her ammunition belt as an unstable atmospheric condition began producing a light rain created by a heavy damp air mass flowing into the Pacific chain. From behind broken clouds, the moon partially emerged, illuminating the edge of the bamboo forest and a dry riverbed leading to the ocean. Within hearing range, the pounding surf smashed against the beach as colossal five hundred pound marine turtles waddled ashore, laying eggs in the sand scrapes.
"Hold the line here for a moment," Marco directed. “Give Rita and Primo time to catch up,” he suggested, stopping to assess the distance to the hidden rubber boats. Standing next to Butch, Velvet listened to him discuss strategy, while observing the sea turtles’ natural order of life in their perpetuation of the species.
"There's a lot of open space to cover," Butch said. "Maybe we can use those turtles to our advantage."
"We'll have to make a run for it," Marco advised. "Just stick with the plan.”
“Here they are,” Velvet interrupted, spotting Rita and Primo emerge from the edge of the forest.
"Listen!" Butch bellowed. "Taiko Drums! It's a battle march to inspire them on."
“Taiko drums? I don’t get it?” Velvet questioned.
“We’re in trouble. These guys are serious criminals,” Butch replied. “Fight for your lives!” he said turning toward the drum sounds.
"You need stitches," Rita told Primo, examining his blood soaked arm.
"Not now, Doc, maybe later," he replied, preoccupied with the escape.
"Hold on cowboy, let me put gauze into that opening to prevent it from sealing," she suggested, quickly packing gauze into the wound. "I have to give you a tetanus toxoid shot, then we’re done," she stated, as Justin sat on a log, resting his face in his hands. Spanky, his head bleeding, wobbled up to Primo, sniffing his boots, then raised his nose, sniffing toward the forest.
“Okay, check your ammo and spare clips,” Marco hastily directed. “Remember, stay close, and keep moving. Run, hide and shoot. Our objective is to capture that seaplane. Butch, you bring up the rear. Rita, get behind me, Justin, follow Rita, and Velvet, in front of Butch," Marco ordered, turning cautiously, and moving forward.
"We're running!" Marco shouted, running and shooting, diving behind a massive turtle, followed by Rita. Justin and Velvet were firing their weapons while plunging for shelter behind one of the forty-year-old sea turtles. Watching the team escape toward the surf, the Yakuza bandits released dozens of caged, hungry weasels, racing to devour anything with warm blood.
"Weasels!" Butch screamed from the rear as Spanky barked frantically.
"Use your shotguns!" Marco yelled firing a 14" barrel shotgun. With precision, Butch fired an incendiary bomb into the trees, causing small fires and splattering hot chemicals onto the drummers, warriors, and weasels. Justin and Velvet were rapidly firing their shotguns while making their way to the small rubber boats. Rita, taking careful aim, was quickly shooting one weasel at a time while keeping an eye on the large sea eagles swooping down on the wounded and dead weasels. In a moment of courage, Justin raced toward the next strategic spot tripping over a turtle’s massive flat flipper as it suddenly moved. Rocks, shurikens, arrows, and bullets zinged by Justin as he fell.
"I'm hit!" He shouted, slamming into the sand.
"Rita!" Marco shouted, stoically pointing toward Justin. Butch, bringing up the rear, crouched, firing his machine gun as Rita ran for cover behind the next turtle.
"Should've stayed low," Rita shouted, diving next to Justin while sharp-edged arrows wedged into the thick dark green shell of the plodding tortoise.
"It kind of stunned me. I knew it happened, but I didn't want to look down," he replied in anguish, as bullets were hitting the sand around them.
“It’s deep, but it didn’t hit any vital spots. I have to clip that up,” she assessed, pulling the shuriken from his hipbone, and staring at the vibrating red and white cells and pulsating pink tissue.
“Maybe jail would’ve been the better option,” he laughed, as she clamped the wound.
“Yeah, you could be reading comic books right now. But we have to move. I'm giving you my special amphetamine-analgesic combination that will speed you on your way," she said with clinical detachment, injecting him with a disposable syringe.
"Get to the boats!" Marco shouted, as they began racing toward the camouflaged rubber dinghies. Butch, firing his machine gun, made his way from turtle-to-turtle as a bullet shot his hat off.
"Everyone get to the boats!" Marco yelled holding up his Stoner rifle and unleashing the wrath of 800 rounds against the bandits’ position, providing cover for the team.
"Velvet, make a run for the boats, hurry!" Butch shouted firing his shotgun as Rita fired her shotgun while supporting Justin limping toward the rubber boats.
"Get in and start paddling! Hurry!" Marco screamed furiously firing his weapon with cannon like effect at explosives previously rigged in bamboo trees. Swiftly, Spanky jumped into Marco’s boat, barking at everything that moved.
"Rita, Velvet, come on, get in. Let's go!" Butch demanded, watching a second wave of wolf dogs jump through thick swirling smoke being fanned by the Pacific wind.
"Come on Butch, come on! Run, Run!" Marco yelled, firing his weapon at the hungry dogs racing toward him. Kneeling in the bobbing boat, Rita calmly shot the wild animals.
“Go! Go!” Butch excitedly waved him on.
“Rita! Help me! Help!" Marco screamed clinging to the boat, as a frenzied dog plunged his powerful jaws into his leg, pulling him back into the water. Spanky clenched Marco’s bulletproof vest yanking him back into the boat. A nightmare became a reality as both animals savagely pulled Marco in opposite directions.
"Bang!" echoed one shot from Rita's .357colt magnum, instantly killing the frenzied wolf dog as Marco grimaced in pain. Rita, gripping the animal’s jaw, wrenched its mouth open, freeing Marco, revealing deep bleeding puncture wounds in his leg.
“Get in the boat!” she said brusquely, hauling him in by his vest.
“Thanks,” he said modestly. “Good job, Spanky. Good boy,” he praised, patting him on the hea
d.
“Let me look at the bites,” she said detached, quickly cutting open his trousers with her knife.
“We don’t have time. Forget it.”
“You need aqueous zephiran and antirabies serum. You also need stitches and a tetanus shot, hombre,” she advised, looking at the black clouds suddenly covering the moon, creating an eerie darkness and a steady rain.
“Later, later,” he replied anxiously, glancing over at Velvet who was emptying 40-rounds from her M-12 9mm Beretta at approaching Yakuza soldiers, and wolf dogs who were running full-tilt toward the boats. Changing ammunition clips, she began firing another 40-rounds, watching Yakuza soldiers and dogs fall into the sand.
“I’m hit!” Velvet hollered, falling violently backwards into the boat.
"Everyone keep paddling, don't stop!" Butch shouted distressed, crouching low, feeling the heat of a tracer bullet zinging past his ear.
"Come on, let's go!" Marco snapped, rowing the boat with all his strength as Justin frantically continued his base of fire.
Black clouds covered the moon, creating an eerie palpable darkness. Rain steadily fell on three-foot swells that gained in gravity as the sea's lush vegetation, rich in plankton, swayed against the ragged coral. The salty black current flowing at two-to-three knots helped push the team far out into the inky sea as bullets zinged into the water hitting single-cell algae producing a brilliant luminescent trail of excited organisms. With each paddle stroke a bioluminescent trail of glowing white light made them easier targets to spot and kill.
"Justin," Marco yelled sharply. "Get in that plane and fire an illumination flare. Everyone else lay down a base of fire." Within minutes Justin was inside the seaplane, firing the illumination parachute flare as the explosive velocity sent it skyrocketing into the air, creating a long flaming tail until it exploded into a flying lantern near the shore. Justin intently watched the drift of the flare, evaluating the wind direction and velocity.
"Primo!" Marco yelled, turning his head.
"Talk to me," he shouted confidently.
"Shoot toward the shore," he ordered. “Rita, help him! Start shooting." He shouted, as the Japan Current was steadily pushing the rubber boats away from the plane. Quickly refocusing his concentration, Marco surveyed the abyss.