DAY 9: Magnum

The military had gone one step beyond bizarre. They outdid themselves this time. The way it was, they didn’t just hit it off the charts, it’s a total knockout, baby.

Major Mark aka Skeleton was on the road in his armored limo. Shrouding a tray on the custom table was a graveyard of chicken bones. Several attempts had been made on the sonafabitch’s (as his inferiors called him behind his back) life. Usually, the plotters ended up on transfer to that great unemployment office in the sky. The annals of Skeleton’s administration were bookmarked with botched coups and multiple assassinations. Those let off the noose served time-lifetime plus 50, at least.

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Gene T, The Genetic Technology Department, was a secret arm of the military engaged in top secret research in molecular genetics. Sometimes called The G Club some its members have taken to calling it The God Club, taking a cue from the nature of their job. The Club had signed up an array of scientists about as nuts as the conception of the organization and set them to invent a diabolical contrivance code name, The Magnum Project-Men beyond Men.

Semen of pygmies, midgets and a rare specie of dwarf monkeys called pygmy marmosets or pocket monkeys were collected. Lots of tests were performed. A lot of short people and some tall ones started vanishing. The interesting thing was folks performing these disappearing acts did not suddenly realize their previous lives had been a hub of misery and decided to put an egg in their shoes and elope with prince charming or Miss Universe. Perhaps, the Gods were to blame, this time.

For a space of eight months, things were going strong. Until something went wrong.

The entire experiment dovetailed into a murderous frenzy. Of the score of researchers engaged in the gig, only three survived. Of course, the agency tried to cover it up, documents and files went down the drain; leftover specimens (which unfortunately, included humans who have seen and heard too much) were discreetly disposed of.

One of the creatures survived.

A total breakthrough, considering the alternative. So many lives lost and for what? They placed it under surveillance and watched it develop. A creature not more than two inches in height looking all of a miniature man.

They watched and waited.

They taught it the art of war.

They watched and waited.

It became a gun totting killing machine code name: Magnum.

They watched and waited.

Skeleton, the dictator who had rooted for the project at the onset wasn’t informed about these latest developments. He had a stake in the matter with thoughts of invincible personal bodyguards. Oh yeah they told him about the botched experiments alright. But didn’t someone say in every twelve there’s a Judas? It takes a con man to con a con man. Skeleton decides the project is a total failure and a waste of state funds and calls it off.

But we know something he doesn’t, do we not? There’s a baby in the house! In this case, about an inch and a half tall military machine.

Then, someone suggests, “Why not test Magnum’s stopping power. See the stuff that baby’s made of?”

“How do we do that?” One of the assistants asked.

“Call up some bloodthirsty soldiers into some kind of enclosure and set Magnum lose on them. There’d be some bloodletting. Sure, but whose blood would it be?”

“Do we really have to do this? Com’on, guys we know Magnum can hold his own . . .”

“Against real soldiers? We know nothing of that nature,” said Alan, the head scientist. “We’ve only tested him on toys. Any fool who can pull a trigger can shoot a dummy. This is a chance to prove our genius.”

These Descendants of Frankenstein sat themselves in a sealed off room and watched images transmitted from a concealed camera planted in their bathroom as four privates who were just breaching age twenty one got served their tickets to the great by and by.

After the little movie, there was a smattering of applause. They loved what they saw.

            “Science does better work than nature,” Alan said, his voice tinged with sarcasm. “Retrieve Magnum. I’ve got more divine purposes for him.” He got up and left for the laboratory. Those with him followed on his heels like sheep after a shepherd.

An explosion pricked the air like a tiny bazooka going off and the laboratory lock popped out. The door opened a tiny fraction and a military jeep rode in-a tiny jeep dyed with splotches of green and brown and black and tan driven by a lone less-than-two-inch soldier.

“Come on, Smart. That was totally unnecessary . . . Where is Smart?” Smart was the guy sent in the bathroom to fetch Magnum.

“He’s taking a lick. Said to tell you his ass’ doing just fine where he is at now.”

“Change that tone of voice, soldier.” One of the elder scientists called Gray stepped forward.

Magnum peeled his scalp with his surface-to-air rocket launcher. He crumpled to the floor like a wet towel sliding off a body.

“We’re the only ones who know.” Alan started to say. “We won’t be of any use to you if we’re dead.”

“Save it,” Magnum said. “I need to know two things. You tell me, I let you go. If you don’t I’m gonna find out one way or the other but you won’t be sniffing oxygen any longer.”

“You didn’t have to kill Gray, you know? He was harmless.” A tall, slim totem pole of a guy was bent over Gray’s corpse. Checking his pulse.

Magnum paid the man no attention, whatsoever.

            “First, I need to know, who authorized this project?”

The silence was pregnant with possibilities.

Magnum aimed his bazooka at the tall, lanky fellow bent over the corpse.

            “Skeleton he’s our president head of state,” Alan said it all in one breath.

            “Good. Goooood,” Magnum said. “Where can I find this stinkpot, Skeletal?”

            “Skeleton,” The totem pole guy said. Magnum popped him one and he doubled over Gray like a man going for the cover in a wrestling bout.

            “I do all the talking, Einstein.”

            “That was unnecessary. I can tell you everything you need to know. Even if I told you where to find Skeleton you can’t get past his bodyguards on your own. You will need someone, a go-between . . . me.”

            “Where does he stay?”

            “He lives in a fortress in the capital, a few miles from here. I can get you in there.”

The coroner found one infinitesimal surface to air missile each in the two scientists popped by Magnum. The head scientist was not quite so fortunate. After Magnum dropped two slugs in his torso, he fell on his knees like he was asking God forgiveness for his sins (which he wasn’t) or as if he was sorry he had to go this way (which, of course, he was). Magnum reloaded the bazooka and finished Alan off with the high points of the Mozambique Drill-one to the head. He crashed like a mighty tree falling in a forest.

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So, Major Mark aka Skeleton was on the road in his armored limo flanked by a graveyard of chicken bones. The dictator read correspondence on his way to the office every morning. This morning wasn’t an exception. He picked up the package holding his correspondence, a large yellow envelope and he’s surprised when a toy soldier dropped on his lap.

            “Ha, ha. You gotta be kidding me,” skeleton said. He lowered the partition and showed off his discovery to his chauffeur. The toy soldier is dressed in fatigues complete with ammo. Then, he discarded it to a corner of the limo. The partition went back up. The partition is soundproof.

The next time Skeleton chanced the toy soldier it’s inside the tray of chicken bones. He wondered, Did I not toss this toy on the floor? Did I not see this thing lying on its back a few moments ago? But I actually saw it on its face a while back, didn’t I?

He dumped the thought on the back-burner of his mind. He wasn’t one given to schizophrenia or so he would have people believe. He battled asking his chauffer about the toy.

Quit it! It’s a goddam toy! He told himself.

He pretended he’s reading the papers but he’s really thinking about the toy. Finally, he dropped the paper and reached for the toy. The toy stepped an inch out of his reach. He could have sworn on his cock, he saw it move. This isn’t happening. I’m so worked up running this monkey-business called a country it’s bugging me out. It’s a bloody toy for fuck’s sakes.

He grabbed for the toy meaning to have a closer look. He felt many tiny stinging sensation burn his fingers like a hundred pinpricks. Then, warm liquid which could only be blood trickled out. He raised his finger to eye level and when he brought his gaze back to the toy which was no longer a toy he sees it’s holding a weapon that looks like a military issue .44 Magnum.

            “I’ll be damned!” Skeleton muttered under his breath.

            “You are,” Magnum said. “Nice to finally meet you. The name’s Magnum. Just like the gun.”

“What the hell are you?”

            “That’s beside the point. We got unfinished business.”

Skeleton snatched at the tray and Magnum went diving under the seat of the expansive limousine.

            “I can’t believe I’m combating a toy soldier.” He uttered a derisive laughter. “I can’t believe . . .”

Skeleton snapped up his leg he almost keeled over. The feeling was like a million red ants concentrated on one spot on his leg. There was a whiff of smoke . . . and a tiny fire building up . . .

            “The sonafabitch bombed me! Damn you, this is not funny anymore.” He slapped off the fire at the helm of his pants. “Is this some fool’s idea of a joke? I’ll have his guts for dinner.”

Skeleton was still slapping at his pants when he caught movement from the corner of his eye. He lashed out with his boot and Magnum went smashing against the back of a chair.

Skeleton watched the toy soldier lying still on the floor of the limo and thoughts of triumph fluttered in his chest. Then, slowly like someone coming out of a deep sleep, he moved.

            “I’ll be damned!” Skeleton yells. “I’ll be totally damned. This is funnier than a banshee dancing upside down.”

The toy soldier looked around in a daze like its forgotten where it is or suffered a temporary loss of memory. It sights the parcel that came with Skeleton’s papers, snaps out of its reverie and lurches for it. It darts straight into the envelope when it comes to it. To skeleton, it appeared like it was trying to wear itself out-like it ran in there to die.

Fortunately, for Magnum the chair he smashed into was heavily cushioned and it soaked up the force of the kick. Some other place and that would have been the end of story for Magnum, the killing machine.

Skeleton, happy that the killer toy had run into a trap seized the parcel and clasped the opening in his fist.

            “Now, your ass is trapped, soldier. I’m going to squash you like an insignificant bug. Good riddance to bad rubbish.”

Skeleton spread his hands apart like a man about to give a thunderous clap and brought them together. His palms were a few inches apart when the explosion tore a perfect circle in the parcel.

            “Argh!!!,” Skeleton yodeled. The blast had brushed his palm. Not the full force of it but enough to rip a vein or two in his flesh. “What the  . . .” He dropped the package and the toy soldier went dashing under the seat and now it looked ready to do battle. Skeleton realized a little too late the toy thing had gone in there to regroup. Skeleton pulled his service revolver.

And now he was mad. He dumped all rational thinking-if tyrants could be accused of any form of rationality. He leaped off his chair and went on the floor and his knees landed on the parcel that had held the papers, from where Magnum just dived under the chair. He felt something tiny prick his knees and then there was an explosion. He winced as the rage of pain clawed at his senses and bore into his knees. The toy soldier must have left a lot of explosives in there. It almost tore off Skeleton’s knee cap.

He ignored the pain. He’d sacrifice a million tortures to lay his hands on the little brat again. He hunkered down on all fours like a crouching tiger. Then, he peeked under the chair.

Skeleton heard the shot before he saw the muzzle of the rocket launcher. Then, gut wrenching pain exploded in his head as the high-explosive anti-tank (HEAT) rocket punctured his left eyeball to lodge in his brain. He was dead before his head touched the floor of his limo.