Rough n Rugged: Chapter 3
Chapter 3As I lay undercover, in a bush, I can hear the sound of guns in the distance, two days into my escape from what I can only describe as Hell. My body is weak and covered in sores; my jaws have a ring of infection and pus where a shackle had been a week ago. The claws on my left foot are also infected, having had bamboo shoved under them; walking on it is immensely painful. My tail feels like it is permanently broken, having been twisted in unnatural ways. By now, I have come to the conclusion that I am no longer alive, instead a zombie, a former shell of an alligator. Ad to think that, a decade ago...I guess?....I was with the family, on vacation in California. We went to Disn-Guns cock around me. I then feel a boot slam against my chest. I'm surrounded by tigers. This couldn't be....I was so close to escaping to Thailand....to being extracted, to retur- "FEET!", one of the Tigers roar, kicking me in the head....No, I couldn't go back there.....I would rather them put me out of my misery.....One of the tigers then grabs me by the tail, and begins to drag me along the jungle floor, across rocks, wood, and more pain....my worst fears had come true....I wanted to thrash back and maul them with my jaws, but, I couldn't....I hadn't the energy to....I was helpless.
After hours of being dragged, I was returned to the camp, where I was sure to be beaten again.....the tigers chained me up in a dark, concrete cell, cuffing rusty shackles around already infected wounds. Now chained and helpless, I start to chirp, like a hatchling....calling for- WHACK! I feel the pain of a club against my back....I woke up suddenly, in darkness....I looked around, seeing that I am safe in my bedroom, in 1984, Elvira sleeping next to me. I look over at my clock: 5:00AM. Not like I would be going back to sleep, anyway....I shuffle downstairs, to the kitchen, and turn on the coffee maker; hopefully have a hot cup of coffee and pull myself together. This morning, I would have to drive up to the Poconos, for filming....the coffee began to drip down, steam rising, the aroma filling the kitchen....I grab a mug from the cupboard, and pour myself a nice, hot cup. I turn on the TV, to catch the morning news, before leaving....Spanish military officer gunned down, police officer killed by sniper in New York, Reagan's bid for reelection....why have I been having these recurring dreams about Vietnam? Yesterday, on the flight home from Miami, last night, in bed....I need another cup of coffee....
After having my cup of coffee, I needed to get going, to kill some commies for the entertainment of Americans everywhere....I walked to the garage, opened the door to the Rolls-Royce, and turned the key. The engine coughed in the cold Pennsylvania air, before coming to life....I look over at the secret Kilamaul death camp, in the middle of the snowy north of the Grand People's
Republic of Kilamaul....according to intelligence, their "Fearless Leader" had sent one of their most trusted intelligence officers to this death camp, having suspected them of being a spy. According to the brief I had been given prior by my Commanding Officer, the mission was to rescue him covertly, so that he could help us infiltrate and sabotage the northwestern missile silos....I look through my binoculars, and see that the camp is fairly minimal; a couple shacks, surrounded by a wire fence, with a single gate....I imagine that, in this sort of climate, they wouldn't really need heavy fortification, when the snow and cold would likely kill you within a few days. I could easily sneak behind, cut a hole through the fence, and sneak the officer out, and into American protection....
In the camp, I hide behind one of the shacks, and see the officer, a silver fox, in a small cage on the ground, I assume left to die.....just like Lieutenant Commander Stuart....aw, ffff-"CUT! CUT! Moron, stop fuckin' it up!", Fitzy yelled at me. I couldn't help it, though; the way our guest star is caged up reminded me of LCDR Stuart, after having been tortured, and being left to die, all because I tried to escape....I needed to hold together, though....if I could just fight through this one episode worth of shooting, things would become easier...."And, ACTION!" .....In the camp, the intelligence officer is caged up....no, this is the present....I start chirping involuntarily, like a hatchling....not again....motherfu-"CUT CUT CUT! WHAT THE HELL, MORON?!" I could see the skin under Fitzy's red fur turning red with anger....."Everyone....take five.", Fitzy instructed, pulling me to the side...."What's your fuckin' problem? You keep fuckin' up the shat!" Fitzy was neither a fox of patience or sympathy, unless it was for himself. "Mr. Fitzpatrick, I assume that you know about my past....in the Sixties, I was a POW, in Vietnam-" "How about this: I'll give ya a little somethin', that should help...."
We entered Fitzy's trailer, and....wait, cocaine?! No, just no. But that didn't matter to Fitzy, who formed up the powder in a line, using a razor blade...."Mr. Fitzpatrick? We cannot do this. Chief Petty Officer Hardcore is supposed to be a good role model for children....what about President Reagan? I am supposed to appear in a 'Just Say No' clip later this year...." Fitzy, unfazed, proceeded to snort said line of cocaine, almost as if it were a routine...."Fuck Reagan; I voted for Jimmy Carter. Now snort it!"As we left Fitzy's trailer, I felt....odd. As if my problems had faded away....I felt.....ready, as I returned to the set, my mind seemingly in overdrive...."And, ACTION!", .....In the camp, the intelligence officer was caged up; a sign of the crimes against humanity that these dirty commies commit. By the looks of it, this would not be quiet....I made an
attempt to sneak over to the cage, in hopes that I would not be spotted. "OSTANOVKA!", a guard screamed, cocking his rifle....no peace and quiet, this time....time to warm up the freezing commies....I start unloading round after round, killing commie after commie, slowly making my way over to the cage.
I crouch near the lock, still in a firing position, where the intelligence officer, his fur covered in snow and frozen mud...."I have been sent by my country to rescue you, and provide asylum...." The silver fox looked torn, as if he were willing to choose death over betraying the very commies that betrayed him....I heard a pistol cocked, and, looking over my shoulder, who else, but General Killem? "Don't you ever die?", I snark at the General. "Like you, American, I always find a way to live....but this time, you won't be so lucky...." Joke's on him, as I quickly swing my knife over at him, leaving him clutching his throat. I then shoot the lock off, and help the silver fox to his paws..."Come on, you'll be safe....", I assured, as we made our escape, in to the freezing woods...."And, CUT!"