As Bub felt the forest thicken around him, he felt an unfamiliar pinch in his harness. he reached into his vest and hauled out the RPG Rambi had given him. It was a bit too much to carry for long distances, and the Pearl White gloss paint with cursive lavender lettering might raise the odd eyebrow at any half-decent weapons bazaar.
Inspired, Bub went back to the edge of the airfield. There, a few of Juan's goons were desultorily doing mouth-to-beak on the quite thoroughly dead thunderchicken. Three women were emerging from the Casa's portico: Angina something, Eeemelda and Rambi. All were holding weapons at the ready, except Angie, who was looking at her ivory-stocked Combat Masterpiece .38 with some doubts.
Bub removed the safeties from his weapon. He let the sights drift over the house, the shed, and the strange aircraft behind the house. None were his intended target. At the end of the airstrip, the sole airworthy DC-3 nestled next to the pair of patchwork MiG-15s that had drizzled his hair with ersatz poultry-based hydraulic fluid. He centered the larger plane in the sights and slapped the trigger.
The rocket whooshed across the open space, startling the women. Rambi and Eeemelda hit the deck without wasting a second. Angie didn't bother moving, looked bored and flicked an obscene gesture in Bub's general direction.
The grenade connected with the DC-3. It tore apart with a satisfying whoomph. Burning fuel ran under the two MiGs, and flames slowly licked uo the landing gear. A heavy cloud of smoke rolled across the clearing. It smelled of diesel and McNuggets.
Thw two women picked themselves up and began removing mud from their torsos with obvious disgust. Bub grinned to himself, dropped the spent launcher tube and trotted off into the swamp. |
