Blood And Guts Knudsen

I jumped into the trench my peripheral vision seeing movement to my right I swung my M1897 shotgun and blasted before I hit the ground. I stumbled up against the side pumping my gun in preparation, in the semi light of the evening I could see the enemy raising their weapons to aim so I fired pumped fired and pumped until the way was cleared of anyone standing.

I quickly looked behind me as I'd be fucked if there was someone there but Old Knudsen's luck was holding out. I jammed a few shells into my shotgun and checked that my Webley revolver was loaded, I knew it was but it became like an OCD ritual for me.

I stepped over bodies some not fully dead yet and remembered, "They are not people they are the enemy" I save my compassion for my own men. One was a little too lively still so I angled my fighting knife up into their skull, I didn't want any working trigger fingers at my back.

I heard a voice sounding over the din of battle "I can help you over here" I started to run ready to blast anyone that got in my way and I slammed the generic hemorrhoid cream doon onto the conveyor belt. I looked into the cashier's face and only saw the emptiness of a wasted existence.

Once out of Wal-Mart I just walked until I was out of sight of the place. I got to a low wall and allowed my body to break doon, I sobbed and shook as I searched for my cigarettes my fingers clumsily opened the box , damn it was empty . Wal-Mart was the only place for miles, could I go back in there? if I did I'd lose my soul into the abyss for sure, I fingered my Webley a fleeting image of blood and brains splattering over the wall behind me flashed through my mind.

"No!" I said out aloud with tears streaming doon my face, "The crows will no be feeding off Old Knudsen today" I applied some cream to my itching anus and set my jaw in determination.

I *bummed a fag* off some fella at the bus stop and went home, the Mini Mart would be less dangerous but my OCD would compel me to buy beer too that would be the price of my strategy .



*Not in a ghey way*

War Is Hell On Yer Skin.

Bullets whistled past my head adrenaline fear and panic all present but supressed by years of training. I held my rifle firmly into my shoulder and returned fire, counting each round as I fired then it happened "click" in all the excitement I'd mis-counted damn those double digit numbers "deadman's click" I moved for cover at the same time reaching into my pouch for a new mag. I felt a sharp pain and hit the ground.

The pain was searing and intense as I lay there in the dust writhing in agony. I half choked half screamed "sarge" within seconds the tough old grizzled features of Sarge Grinder appeared kneeling over me with nervous concern on his face, "what is it Knudsen where are you hit?" I gasped in pain and blurted out, "blisters sarge , heel rubbing against my boot" the Sarge's eyes welled with tears and in a rage he yelled, "Damn you bastards to Hades" and returned fire, " I'm not losing another man today." he said choking back tears.

We'd lost four already , two at the vending machine, one at the toilets and one in the carpark, war was hell. "We need an evacuation sarge" I yelled as a bullet richocheted off my helmet, "you should have went before you came out Knudsen" as usual the Sarge was right damn my inexperience.

" Can you walk to the LZ Knudsen?" I looked around at the firestorm we were in, "either I do or we both die here Sarge." I got to my feet. I could see Charlie closing in. I never liked Charlie there was something about his eyes.

We got to the LZ there was no sign of the Huey , no not a Huey helicopter the huey I did on the ground due to car sickness when we arrived , "look Sarge the mini van" the other men were inside the van shaking and fumbling for their cigarettes , their trousers wet with piss and a haunting 2 yard stare on their faces.

We jumped into the van and took off at high speed, bullets following after us until we got out of range.
We stopped at a Wendy's for some square burgers, no one would never understand what we went through, the soft fat civilains laughed and enjoyed their food, lifting out the pickles with impunity, and impunity drinking her milkshake.

We had just been to a high school on an army recruitment drive only to find the kids better armed than us. I pity those sobbing shell shocked teachers and their curriculum of lunacy, we learned a hard lesson today in the art of war and now school was out.

Being A Hero Cums Naturally.

You may know British actor Edward Fox from such movies as Force 10 from Toblerone, The Bounty Bar and Day of the jackoff seen here holding the medal he received from the Queen the Token Of Fidelity and Fortitude or TOFF.

I like to sit and rememberise sometimes. Once I was on holiday in London staying in a crappy wee hotel in East Finchley, that was a right dive, at dinner time I was served by a smarmy waiter that would yell and argue with the cook all the while throwing pots and pans and then he'd cum through the swing doors, smile and quietly talk as if nothing had ever happened, the arguing made dinner take a long long time, he'd bring out a bit of bacon covered in some tomato and basil sauce for us to try and to keep us happy as we waited and then they'd get back to the shouting.

It was such a crappy place I had to go out and scour the streets for my own hookers don't worry, if you threw a stick you'd hit a working gurl, in fact I did many a time do that to get their attention, the Sassenachs doon south are a dozy lot, ungodly and immoral as well which is why you go doon there for a holiday, just ask any of the Yanks who were over here during the war.

The thing I remember about that trip most of all was not the weapons deal that went bad but saving the life of one of the royal family. It wasn't really a royal it was Edward Fox a thespian (which is Latin for poo pirate) he has played so many royals and has that posh accent its easy to get confused, well it confused someone.
A splinter cell of the Provisional IRA known as The really real and serious IRA wanted to cause mayhem and chaos by killing a royal. Mr Fox or Foxy as he now lets me call him was receiving an award from the Queen for his contribution in appearing smug and upper class in countless TV and film roles.

I was walking along the street checking the ground for change and cigarette butts when the car carrying Foxy was boxed in by black taxis, out jumped several masked gunmen with guns who then pumped the driver of the trapped car full of holes.
I stood and watched and thought to myself, "hang on a mo something is going on here" then I heard it, the accent I'd heard during countless of drunken pub fights and interrogations in Northern Ireland, one of the gun men shouted "get out of the caa to be sure" fucking paddies I'd teach them to discharge weapons within the city limit. I charged them knocking one to the ground and letting them step into my killing zone, I used one of their own guns to kill two of them and capture one the rest fled as if they were being chased by horny priests.

I was slightly wounded in the shoulder, merely a flesh wound and well you know the rest had you read any news papers in 1992, medals honours reuniting with the Queen and taking a shag doon memory lane with her, ah good days.

I sued the really real and serious IRA for mental anguish which put them out of business . Foxy still keeps in touch but hes a boring old cunt so I wish he wouldn't.