I have no idea what to write.
I just wrote that because I subscribe to the premise that when you’re honest about how you feel, you’re able to express your feelings in an honest manner. Erroneous logic? Maybe…all I know is that in my experience, that sentiment is 100% true. In my case, it is inductively sound.
Still—gotta write an ad for my books, right? Believe it or not, when I write an ad, I’m sometimes winging it from the very first sentence. That’s what I’m doing right now. So now that I’m all warmed up, let’s reach in the ol’ Kent Wayne Brain and see what’s cooking…
PKEW PKEW PKEW!
Geysers of dirt erupt all around me. I hunch lower and flee from a barrage of turbo-laser madness, raining down from the Type 34s that are screaming past. A fellow Space Marine runs up alongside me and grabs my shoulder.
“THERE!” He points at a ten-foot tall cluster of boulders. “GET BEHIND COVER!”
We break for the boulders, our servo-powered exo-skeletons whining and clanking as we push them to their limits. We both know that those stupid boulders are a poor excuse for cover—they won’t shield us from a direct hit—but they might keep us from getting sliced apart by this goddamn shrapnel.
We hunker down behind the boulders.
We’re cut off from our squad; once those Type 34s started cutting loose on us, we lost all semblance of tactical coherence. A four-man fireteam is the basic element you need to maneuver through a battlespace, but thanks to those damn 34s, we’ve all been scattered to the goddamn winds. Now, we’re just a couple of idiots slinging some pea-shooters.
“Fuck,” I hiss. 34 ordnance rips into the ground and flings geysers of dirt into the air. It’s close enough to send showers of pebbles raining down on our armor.
The other Marine—I can see by his chest plate that his name is Murkowski, one of the older, saltier guys—wipes the grime off his half-bubble visor. “My two-way’s blown. Are your comms still jammed?”
Our two-way comms respond to thought, courtesy of the neuro-link implant they’ve installed in our auditory cortexes. I send a mental directive to our tactical operations center, but all I get back is snowy static.
“Two-way’s a no-go.” I shake my head. “This might be it, Murk.”
Murk’s eyes tick back and forth. “If we link up with our guys…try and flank their forward observers…”
“We have no ideas where any of them are,” I say. “And their observers are probably guarded by a shitload of grunts. I’m betting snipers as well. Wait,” my eyes light with hope, “there’s still one option.”
Murk opens his mouth to ask what that is, but before he can ask, I reach into my chest pouch, withdraw my eReader, and open it to Echo, activating its reality distortion powers. Magic flash.
A bulky armored form descends from the clouds and crashes through a Type 34, transforming it into a spectacular ball of fire and smoke. He lands in an anime-style crouch, hitting with enough force to leave a small impact crater and cause a ring of distorted air to ripple outward from the point of impact.
Holy fucking shit—it’s Chuck Fucking Norris. He’s clad in denim-coated armor, spotted with camouflage American flags and angry bald eagles with roided-out, humanoid bodies.
“COME GET SOME, YA COMMIE BASTERDS!” He rises from his crouch and bounds hundreds of feet up, throwing a storm of roundhouses in one-hundred-kick combos. Type 34s explode into fireballs, lighting the sky with brilliant bursts of red and orange.
Me and Murk slowly rise, gaping at The Chuck in utter awe.
“Fuck me,” Murk murmurs.
“I second that.”
By this point, Chuck’s taken out half their air. He lands, throws his arms back and his chest out, and thrusts his hips toward the sky. A giant, mechanized penis extends from his crotch—CLANK CLANK CLANK—its shaft coated in true-blue denim.
“ ’MERCA MOTHERFRIGGERS!” Chuck’s destructo-cock unleashes a spit-fire barrage of apple pies, all coated in red-white-and-blue frosting. The scrumptious pastries aren’t dense enough to puncture the 34s, but they’re forceful enough to splatter the canopies with a delicious blend of Granny Smith and Golden Delicious. They’re also forceful enough to knock the skycraft off course; they start veering into each other or spiraling into the ground. More explosions light the horizon.
Chuck looks over at us as his mechanical wiener bucks and chatters, destroying our enemies with All That is ’Merca. His karate-champ eyes flash with insanity. “SAY BOYS—YOU WANNA GET NEKKID AFTER THIS AND DO SOME CURLS IN FRONT OF A MIRROR?”
Me and Murk exchange a glance: HELL no.
“Ah…I think we’re good, Chuck,” I call back.
“SUIT YERSELF, YA WEAK-SAUCE PUSSIES!” He turns back to the sky, bringing down another five-craft wing of Type 34s.
Me and Murk let our rifles droop to our sides. In all our years of service, this is the craziest shit we’ve ever seen.
Thank you, Chuck Norris: American Icon, Genuine Crazy Person, and Destructo-Cock Pie-Launcher.
Are you about to get gang-fucked by a horde of merciless space-troopers? Never fear! Get Echo Vol. 1 on Kindle here: Vol. 1 on Kindle. Vol. 2 on Kindle here: Vol.2 on Kindle Vol. 3 on Kindle here: Vol. 3 on Kindle Vol.4 on Kindle here: Vol. 4 on Kindle Echo Omnibus here: Echo Omnibus Echo Vol. 1 & 2 Combined Edition here: Combined Edition Musings, Volume 1 is available here: Musings, Volume 1 If you wanna hear me babble on about anything and everything, and strain my FREAKIN’ BRAIN, then here’s a link to my podcast: Strained Brains! It is on iTunes, Stitcher, Spotify, and Google Play! Please give it a listen and a five-star review! Here’s the miscellaneous gear that I use to try and become an uber-human: Optimization, and last but not least, my buddy Jumar Balacy has made a supercool microsite at kentwaynebrain.com! Go check out his computer-based wizardry 🙂 🙂 😀
Hold on! I just got approved to be an Amazon affiliate! If you’re going to buy ANY product from Amazon, and you’d like to support my efforts for absolutely free, then simply click on one of the Echo links I’ve provided—they’ll send you to Echo’s Amazon page—and THEN buy whatever product you wish. Amazon gives me a small referral fee each time this happens! In this manner you can support my books, musings, podcast, zany ads, or my adventures along the noble path known as The Way of The Man Child WITHOUT spending any more money than you were already going to! Should you do this, I vow to send you a silent blessing, causing your genitals to adopt the optimum size, shape, smell, and death-ray attachment of choice that paralyzes your enemies with fear and envy! Entire worlds will bow before your nether parts! 😲💪 😜