Tarasovka
04-01-2006, 00:07
The loud thump, the sound of cracking wood and bricks, the frightened cries of the cattle, all this mixed in a sort of cacophonic anarchy that pulled Chris out his bed. The farmer rubbed his sleepy eyes and glanced out the window, in the direction of what was formerly his barn and was now nothing more than a pile of ruins.
Cursing, he grabbed his trusted 3rd model Benelli rifle and rushed outside dressed only in his t-shirt and underpants. He readied the weapon to fire, sending the cartridge into the barrel with a swift motion of his hand, as he carefully approached the former barn, moving in policeman style which he learned from movies.
“Bloody NBP scumfags,” he thought to himself. “I’ll show ‘em how to throw grenades into honest people’s farms.” Indeed, it was not the first incident in the past months, and the best way to deal with the National Bolsheviks was a good ole caliber 12 bullet loaded with salt. Non-lethal and made sure those terrorist idiots would not be able to sit for quite some time. And so, even as grenades went off and rifles fired, there have been no casualties, not even cattle, just grain. In other words - routine life in the Autonomous Republic of the Island of Atlantic.
But as he approached the barn, he realized it was no grenade. The barn was simply gone, not damaged, and in the middle of smoldering ruins was a gigantic ball, four meters in diameter.
“Now whadda ya know, it’s a bloody meteorite!”
Chris stood where he was, for the heat the ball was radiating was already strongly felt where he was, and he had no desire to get baked for his curiosity. Moreover, he could swear the meteorite was hissing at him, which send shivers down his spine. The farmer sighed again, unloaded his rifle and went back home, his wife already on the doorstep, looking at her husband with worried eyes.
“What’s the matter?”
“A meteorite has blown up our barn, Martha. That’s what’s the matter.”
“Euh… how? Ah… and… what are we to do?” The woman asked, as she already began calculating the losses they’d endure.
“How, what…” Chris teased. “Call the army! I ain’t pulling that thing out anyways, too hot.”
The woman rushed inside as the farmer sat down in front of his door and peered in the direction of his former barn. He knew nobody else that would be interested in it other than the Taraskovyan National Defence Forces, and he already hoped they’d reward him for it. A reward enough to pay for a new barn… to compensate for the losses… maybe a little surprlus…
Chris drifted into thoughts for a moment, pulled out of them by the noise of engines above him. He raised his head and looked up, to spot the dark silhouette of an aircraft. It was a VTOL gunship, the kind that equipped the various military outposts throughout the island. There was one such outpost not far, identified as Hill #27, so it was no wonder they’ve sent out an aerial unit to check up on things when they spotted the burning trace of meteorite in the sky.
The gunship halted itself above the meteorite, remaining in the dark for a moment, before turning on the lamps and illuminating the area. Then it proceeded to land, with one of the pilots jumping out of the cockpit and heading towards the farmer.
“Ah, Chris. I see you got one big grenade there.” The pilot teased as he took off his helmet, the farmer immediately recognizing Sergeant Soloviev, a man he knew very well.
“Yeah, Ivan, one big bloody grenade.”
“Well, the thing is on your property, so it is yours, sorta. But I figure you’ll happily sell it to the government?” The sergeant said with a grin.
“Aye,” Chris nodded. “Martha is already calling you folks to come retrieve it.”
Ivan nodded and looked towards the site of the crash. “We have already called a specialized team from Pitzunda. They’ll have cash on them.”
At this moment, Martha exited the house, beaming as she looked at the Taraskovyan sergeant. “Ah, Ivan, how good to see you! Want some tea?”
“It is okay, Martha. How are the kids?”
“Oh, they were a little scared, but I’ve managed to get them back to sleep.” She smiled and looked at her husband. “Maybe you should get dressed before more armymen arrive?”
“Oh, yeah! I’ll be right back!” Chris said as he hurried back into the house.
Cursing, he grabbed his trusted 3rd model Benelli rifle and rushed outside dressed only in his t-shirt and underpants. He readied the weapon to fire, sending the cartridge into the barrel with a swift motion of his hand, as he carefully approached the former barn, moving in policeman style which he learned from movies.
“Bloody NBP scumfags,” he thought to himself. “I’ll show ‘em how to throw grenades into honest people’s farms.” Indeed, it was not the first incident in the past months, and the best way to deal with the National Bolsheviks was a good ole caliber 12 bullet loaded with salt. Non-lethal and made sure those terrorist idiots would not be able to sit for quite some time. And so, even as grenades went off and rifles fired, there have been no casualties, not even cattle, just grain. In other words - routine life in the Autonomous Republic of the Island of Atlantic.
But as he approached the barn, he realized it was no grenade. The barn was simply gone, not damaged, and in the middle of smoldering ruins was a gigantic ball, four meters in diameter.
“Now whadda ya know, it’s a bloody meteorite!”
Chris stood where he was, for the heat the ball was radiating was already strongly felt where he was, and he had no desire to get baked for his curiosity. Moreover, he could swear the meteorite was hissing at him, which send shivers down his spine. The farmer sighed again, unloaded his rifle and went back home, his wife already on the doorstep, looking at her husband with worried eyes.
“What’s the matter?”
“A meteorite has blown up our barn, Martha. That’s what’s the matter.”
“Euh… how? Ah… and… what are we to do?” The woman asked, as she already began calculating the losses they’d endure.
“How, what…” Chris teased. “Call the army! I ain’t pulling that thing out anyways, too hot.”
The woman rushed inside as the farmer sat down in front of his door and peered in the direction of his former barn. He knew nobody else that would be interested in it other than the Taraskovyan National Defence Forces, and he already hoped they’d reward him for it. A reward enough to pay for a new barn… to compensate for the losses… maybe a little surprlus…
Chris drifted into thoughts for a moment, pulled out of them by the noise of engines above him. He raised his head and looked up, to spot the dark silhouette of an aircraft. It was a VTOL gunship, the kind that equipped the various military outposts throughout the island. There was one such outpost not far, identified as Hill #27, so it was no wonder they’ve sent out an aerial unit to check up on things when they spotted the burning trace of meteorite in the sky.
The gunship halted itself above the meteorite, remaining in the dark for a moment, before turning on the lamps and illuminating the area. Then it proceeded to land, with one of the pilots jumping out of the cockpit and heading towards the farmer.
“Ah, Chris. I see you got one big grenade there.” The pilot teased as he took off his helmet, the farmer immediately recognizing Sergeant Soloviev, a man he knew very well.
“Yeah, Ivan, one big bloody grenade.”
“Well, the thing is on your property, so it is yours, sorta. But I figure you’ll happily sell it to the government?” The sergeant said with a grin.
“Aye,” Chris nodded. “Martha is already calling you folks to come retrieve it.”
Ivan nodded and looked towards the site of the crash. “We have already called a specialized team from Pitzunda. They’ll have cash on them.”
At this moment, Martha exited the house, beaming as she looked at the Taraskovyan sergeant. “Ah, Ivan, how good to see you! Want some tea?”
“It is okay, Martha. How are the kids?”
“Oh, they were a little scared, but I’ve managed to get them back to sleep.” She smiled and looked at her husband. “Maybe you should get dressed before more armymen arrive?”
“Oh, yeah! I’ll be right back!” Chris said as he hurried back into the house.