Rough n Rugged: Chapter 1
#1 of Rough n Rugged
Richard the alligator is struggling with his past, as memories of war and pain suddenly come back to haunt him. Will he be able to cope with and come to terms with the past, or will it tear him apart and leave him ruined?
This is the first chapter of a short, multi-chapter work, my first submission. It is, overall, considered "adult" for maturity, rather than any actual sexual contact, and later chapters may be upsetting to some readers. Note that it is a complete work of fiction, not based on anyone specific.
Chapter 1
I glide through the water, in the, dark, steamy swamps of the Grand Democratic People's Republic of Killumaul, a rough and rugged, ass-kicking alligator from Texas, a secret commando sent to infiltrate the top secret base and blow it to smithereens. An M16 on my back, an M9 service pistol and a sharp knife at my side, grenades, and 80 sharp teeth in my mouth, all ready to turn the Red Communists in to minced meat....
I crawl up the bank, and look over at my target: the top secret Killumaul base. The gates are guarded by watchtowers and armed troops. The idea would be that I would have to sneak past the guard towers, quietly knife the watchstanders, and sneak in, so that I can plant the explosives in the boiler room and blow them all to Hell.
Looking at the watchtower with my binoculars, the guard, a sleepy wolf, seems distracted. Now's my chance. I quietly sneak through the bushes and to the wall of the compound, directly under the guard tower. Nobody's noticed? Good. I sneak along the wall, towards the gate.
The guards, two wolves, are speaking in a foreign language, I cannot tell what, but obviously chatting and cracking jokes. I decide to take my chance. I sneak up behind one, and knife him right in the neck. The other guard, shocked, looks like he is about to awaken the hornet's nest. Oh, shit.
Before I know it, the alarms are blaring, searchlights are flashing everywhere, and hordes and hordes of uniformed wolves, clad in olive drab and armed with assault rifles, are all over me, bullets flying everywhere. Time to warm up the heater....
I swing my M16 to my scaly hands, and start unleashing round after round, ducking and rolling, trying to make my way towards the boiler shack. I hide behind a corner, watching wolves scrambling around me, trying to figure out where I am. Suddenly, I am tackled by a large, furry body, fur and canvas covering my body like a blanket. "Zdes!", I can barely make out, coming from the furry mass currently restraining me.
I am forced on my feet, marshalled towards the centre of the base. And who else would it be, but my arch nemesis: General Killem, dressed in his fancy olive drab dress uniform, all covered in stars and medals. "So, Chief Petty Officer Hardcore, we meet again.", he says to me, with his thick accent. "The pleasure is mine, you dirty commie...", I reply, snidely. The General smiled at my claim. "Do you really think you will succeed this time? You Americans are persistent, to fault." "I already have..." Having gotten a grip on my M9, I spring loose of the solider's furry grip, and start shooting, hitting General Killem! "We Americans fight for freedom!", I retort, before grabbing my M16, and making my escape.
As I run out the gate, I watch as the explosion is triggered, and the whole base begins to explode, in a massive, orange fireball....
"And....CUT!", the Director yells, as all actions grinds to a halt.
You see, this isn't real life; this is television. I am not really Chief Petty Officer Hardcore, a commando from Texas; that is the character I play. I am actually Richard Farquhar, an actor from Philadelphia (don't ask me how I survive the winters there; it is difficult). And this isn't actually the Grand People's Democratic Republic of Killumaul; this is a swamp in Florida; my grandfather's original home state, I might add. General Killem? In real life, he is an actor too, Jim Lamakin, originally from Alaska. The troops? All fresh college students and a few recent veterans. And, off-screen, that fox over there is Seymour Fitzpatrick, our director, a smug douche from Boston that, prior to this series, directed cheap soap operas.
"Hey, Rich....", Jim called over to me. "How much they paying you this season?" "Oh, I should be earning about $65,000 per episode." "Huh, no way, I'm getting only $64 grand per episode." "Oh, that is too bad; you will have to settle for a Mercedes-Benz this year." Jim and I then exchanged laughs, making our way towards our trailers.
Tomorrow, we will be going up to Northeastern Pennsylvania, to shoot the second half of the season. According to the scripts we received, the next story arc will revolve around secret missile silos in the far north of Killumaul. Sometimes, though, I wonder why people continue to tune in, as each season is the same crap: Chief Petty Officer Hardcore invades Killumaul base, kills commies, and completes arbitrary mission, complete with a red, white, and blue shrinking of patriotism, as if killing communists is like apple pie and baseball. For 3 whole seasons, too. Not that I am complaining; the money is good, the fame is nice. I drive a Rolls-Royce, when most gators my age are graduating from Ford to Mercury.Still, the only reason I have such a high-profile role is because of dumb luck, as in, being dumb and falling overboard, back when I was actually in the military, in the Navy....I never would have thought that being topside when the weatherdecks are secured would have eventually made me a television star.
Deep in my thoughts and recollections, I began to doze off, tired from today's day of shooting, when Jim came knocking at my door. "Hey, Rich? Rich, are you in there?" Drowsily, I got up, and, replied, "Y....yeah, what's up?" "Fitzy is taking us to a seafood restaurant for dinner. Wanna come along?" "Yeah, I'll be right out in just a minute....."