Off With A BANG

• Zach Mccarthy, Grade 11
• Short Story
• 2008

The observer lay in wait, his breath clouding in front of him in frosty little whorls. Draped across his elbows was a bulky cylinder. Suddenly he spotted his target; a pair of black BMW’s surrounded by large 4x4 SUV’s. He lifted the Carl Gustav rocket launcher to his shoulder and sighted down the scope. The crosshair came to rest on the SUV in front. With a mighty puff of smoke and a recoil to match, the rocket launcher discharged and the car exploded into a twisted, tortured parody of it’s former self. The remaining cars screeched to a halt on the frozen road. The vehicles disgorged their contents; a dozen figures with harsh expressions and ready weapons. The ambusher pushed the rocket launcher off of himself and lifted an assault rifle to his shoulder. The ugly weapon spat, one of the Secret Service Agents fell to the forest floor, a yelp escaping his throat.

Suddenly a cluster of shapes materialised from the half-light of the forest. Their submachine guns raked the crowd of Secret Service Agents; who scattered and returned fire. One of the attackers fell, feeling as if a thousand white-hot nails had struck him. One of the Agents, Pulaski shielded the president, firing his machine pistol, yelling for his men to keep firing. Yet, despite his valiant efforts his command was being decimated by a determined opponent. One of his men went down in a lead-filled pirouette, another crumpled to the ground like a rag doll; his stuffing spilling out. A female agent, Jacobs, was holding back some of the more determined enemies with her assault rifle. Pulaski edged away from the fight, the large President barely hidden by the small, dark haired man. As they reached the cover of the forest Pulaski was struck by a bullet in the back, he fell sprawling to the ground, motionless. Agent Tiffany Jacobs was overwhelmed shortly after. The President stared up at the man advancing on him. The man peeled back his facemask to reveal a grinning Caucasian man with dead eyes.

“Well, well, it seems the new President is finally humbled, eh boy?” Said the newcomer in a southern drawl. His men gathered nearby. The first black President of the United States of America drew himself up to his full height, but remained silent. The man pressed a large calibre pistol to the President’s chest.
“I guess it’s back to Africa for you then, if you won’t talk to me, ni-.” his next words were cut off by a prolonged burst of machine gun fire that cut down him and his men. The President looked past the bodies of his tormentors and saw a very dishevelled agent with a smoking machine pistol pointed at him.
“Are you alright sir?” asked the shaky agent, relaxing his grip on the gun.
“Yes, yes, I’m alright, Agent Romano.” Said the President wearily. On the ground Pulaski groaned.
“Forget him, Romano,” He said. “What about me?”