Just a Little Taste...

LT. McMichael 
Entry 1

With the transcription of pen and ink to pixels complete, and two scenes edited so far, I wanted to give everyone a taste of what to expect from TR 893, more commonly referred to as Thomas Overholt. The second story in a series of six, the Green Coyote continues the saga where Victor Briggs left off.

What follows is an excerpt from the first scene. To set the scene: It is the present day, on a train headed north from the border toward California. Overholt and Teresa Aberdeen (a Lady J) are in the process of locating a shipment of cocaine when Tom stumbles upon the bodies of Amtrak guards stripped of their uniforms. He has Teresa call in the bodies to the authorities on the train, and has made his way onto the roof to avoid the legitimate guards. To his surprise, the imposters also took to the roof, but they are unaware that he is making his way toward them...

=+=

            "Hold on a second." Tom pulled out one of his peacemakers, taking careful aim at the center guard.  The hammer cocked back, rotating a new round to the barrel.  He squeezed the trigger.

            *‘No!’*  Tom’s bullet went wild, slapping the train roof between the man’s legs.  *‘Was that a gunshot?’* 

            “I told you to hold on a second!”  The three men returned fire, peppering the metal around him.  He took a second shot dropping one of them, before slithering to the gap behind him.  Safely behind cover he turned his attention back to the Lady J.  “Thanks for that, now they know where I am.”

            *‘If it makes you feel any better, I think I found the drugs.’*  Tom ducked as another storm of lead passed over his hiding spot.

            “Not really, but I’ll manage.”  He lifted himself up only to drop again, forced to keep down as more bullets came his way.  “Fuck this!”  Tom slid the door to the car open and walked inside brandishing his pistols.  The passengers screamed at his sudden arrival amid a gunfight.  “This ain’t no stick up, and I ain’t no terrorist.  I’m in the middle of stopping a cartel from shipping a hell of a lot of coke north.  Now if you’d please move to the side of the car, I gotta get up there to get these bastards.”  They pressed themselves against the windows, screaming as he ran past to the end of the car.

            Tom opened the door and glanced up in time to see one of the impostors kneel down at that particular gap.  Without a second thought he shot the man, stepping aside as the lifeless body tumbled into the doorway.  “That’s an Amtrak Guard!  He’s killing the guards!”  The hysterical woman clutched at her children, squeezing them as Tom turned around. 

            “No ma’am,” Tom’s talking skull only furthered the woman’s anxiety.  “You see, him and his buddies are the ones who killed the guards.  I’m just killing them for killing the guards.”  She screamed again.  “It’s not like that!  I am doing a public service, like taking out the trash and such.”  The back door of the car slid open, revealing a mass of legitimate Amtrak police.  “Shit…”  Tom holstered his weapon, putting his hands in the air.  “Hold your horses now boys,” he began to back away, stepping over the body until he rested against the door.

            “Freeze scumbag!”  Four guards had their pistols aimed at the Reeferman while their superior addressed Tom.

            “Listen, I’m on your side.”

            “I said freeze mother fucker!”

            “This just isn’t gonna work for me,” Tom put his hands down.  “I mean, you come in here guns drawn, passengers are already freaking out, and you go and start cursing like that.  I mean seriously, what the fuck.  There’s no decency in the world anymore.”

            “Put your hands up!”

            “No.”

            “Do it or we’ll shoot!”  Tom threw his hands up in exacerbation.

            “Car full of people,” he turned around, “and this dumbass is gonna start shooting shit.”  Tom flung the door open to everyone’s surprise.  “I’m out of here, there just ain’t no manners anymore in this country.”  He slammed the door shut and disappeared from the porthole.  No one moved until the car lurched, bringing the Amtrak officers back to reality.  They rushed for the door, opening it to find that the Reeferman had disconnected the cars.  The head officer stepped out onto the platform.  As he raised his gun to shoot Tom he heard the slide of a pistol smack shut.  He looked up to see the last impostor aiming down at him.  A gun fired.

            “Holy shit,” the officer exhaled as the would-be assailant fell backward onto the roof.  Looking ahead on the tracks, he could see Tom spinning his peacemaker before sliding it into the holster.

            “I told you,” Tom yelled, “I’m on your side."

=+=

Sadly, something happens to our operatives at the end of the scene that changes Overholt, sending him down the road of vengeance.

I must admit it is a relief to have the hardest part of the process behind me, and I look forward to bringing this Reeferman to life and to your eLibrary in the coming month or so. Until then, keep checking in for new posts and news.

Prelude (Short Story)

TUESDAY, JANUARY 31, 2012                                                 3:13 A.M. E.S.T.  
SORTIE 1 OF THE DAY  
PILOT F. Irish S/A  
EQUIPMENT Commodore Barry   


ENTRY 1

     Let's try to get something done here, a beginning to those short stories I've been putting up. A beginning so to speak, to give you a background.

GH HIT!

     I have been waiting a long time for this day, having put my heart and soul into my one glorious creation. Through trial and error I had successfully accomplished a goal that I had been joking about for a while now. "Liberty," I whisper, "I have actually grown Liberty." I took a seat on a large rock, the gray stone in stark contrast to the lush emerald green of the grass. A gust of wind blows past, presenting me with the sweet, intoxicating smell of my plant, the lone survivor of five hybrids. I glance at the egg sized flower I just retrieved, admiring the beauty. Small amounts of a bright green break up the otherwise blue bud, thin red hairs cover it, all under a layer of crystals that gives the whole thing a glaze of white. I had birthed a plant that produced red, white, and blue buds. Now I could sit back and enjoy the fruits of my labor.

Nipping at the Heels (Short Story)

THURSDAY, JANUARY 26, 2012                                              3:02 A.M. E.S.T.  
SORTIE 2 OF THE DAY  
PILOT F. Irish S/A    
EQUIPMENT General Wayne  
 
ENTRY 1
     
     I want to write another short story, I like being able to create an entire world that I am in command of, with a cast of characters that I for the most part control. We shall see how this plays out. Hope it is a good one.

GH HIT!

     The rain falls in sheets as I watch the carriage road melt into a near impassible trap. General Wayne is moving our regiment to the river, in an effort to resupply from our naval forces after the battle a few days prior. We may have inflicted damage to our enemy, but they remained at large in the countryside, pillaging the small farmers and tradesmen we were charged with protecting. As added defense, the general posted my small unit, one man short from our last engagement, as the rear guard. To give us some real strength I was allotted the use of a squad of riflemen, and a platoon of light infantry, units that I was more than happy to receive. Now, with the light infantry cradled behind a stone wall, and the riflemen scattered in the wooded hill above the road, we wait. And from the sounds of it, we won't be waiting long.

What I Would Do To A Woman (from the actual Flight Log)

Short Story Time

MONDAY, JANUARY 23, 2012                                                 2:22 A.M. E.S.T.  
SORTIE # OF THE DAY
PILOT F. Irish S/A    
EQUIPMENT General Wayne 


ENTRY 1


     This entry is going to be a short story, one that will need some explanation before hand. My bowls are named after militarily historic figures, so when I write a short story like this, the characters are usually related to the bowl's name. General Anthony "Mad Anthony" Wayne was a Revolutionary War hero, who mostly controlled the Continental Light Infantry units. The enemy in this particular story is not that of the British Empire as we would commonly expect when discussing the American Revolution, but that of depression, represented in this story as the Black Guard. But, I hope you will enjoy this short story.

Ghosts in the Snow

GH HIT!

     Cannon fire rolled like thunder through the snow covered woods. I stopped to try and gain my bearings, but it was impossible in the cold air of the night. The sounds seemed to come from every direction. My nine soldiers continued past me, picking their way across a small stream as their blue and buff coats shifted in the pale moonlight. The extreme left wasn't the best place to be in this fight, but it was much better than the center, where the enemy cannon turned the open field into a grinder. The sergeant held up his closed fist and the men hugged the frozen bank, two of the riflemen trained their long rifles down range. I snaked across the small obstruction and slipped in beside the Sarge.