![top](top.gif")
Originally the idea of Alex "RazorClaw" Jansen and TinselTown it was their hope when they conceived this idea in the late summer of '97 to make this an annual event to take place against a differant Fudd Base each year. Alas, Alex, has since become busy in Real Life so I wound-up finishing the story up. Credit also should go to my brother, Chris, for his contributions in the Maine Fudd end. The Legend of Bomazeen told here is told many times each summer at BSA Camp Bomazeen, North Belgrade, Maine.This story was first posted to alt.devilbunnies 2-7 August, 1998.
© 1997-98 by Scott Bernier,
Chris Bernier,
Alex Jansen, and
"TinselTown" except the Legend of Bomazeen
with belongs to Camp Bomazeen and Pine Tree Council, BSA.
First HTML-ized 7 August, 1998 by Scott Bernier
Written by Alex "RazorClaw" Jansen
The scene: The Tuff Fluff Club, hangout to the toughest BunnyMarines and Militiabuns in Maine. A quiet Snapple bar where barfights never broke out. According to official record, at least. Tonight, dominating the usual crowd of Mainah buns was a squad of rowdy and lewd Buns From Away, who demanded the best the Club could give, sung songs about the cowardice of local militias, occasionally passed hraka on the floor. This upset the locals, since acting rude to the civilian help was their job.
Only by the presence of the new commander, Razorclaw, was this tolerated. The fierce-looking buck had made it well known that he did not like brawls that uselessly wasted bunpower; the reason any brawls went unreported. It was estimated the last ones to get reported would be finished cleaning the warrenways early next week, since they were forbidden to use anything but rags Razorclaw had stapled to their ears and tails.
However, when the Buns From Away tried to leave without paying for the damage they had caused and what they had eaten, the help high-tailed it for cover. A group of militiabuns, veterans of the Battle of Portland, blocked the passage out. A slow, vicious and amused grin came across the muzzle of the Outsider's leader. "Move, Locals." The word 'Locals' had the same ring to it as humans put on 'Redneck' and so many other insults thrown at racial, social and national groups. One of the local buns went to cuff the BFA, and was instantly tossed aside with a gaping wound in the side, administered by the Outsider's second, a slate-grey doe of massive size and weight.
Razorclaw gave a loud
"I am Commander RazorClaw, and this is my base.
The brawl lasted much longer the second time. Once both sides had tired themselves out
some and worked out some of the anger, RazorClaw and Tailon
"I had something in mind. A challenge." Tailon stared Razorclaw in the eyes and questioned the commander's idea. "What kind of challenge?" "If you think you're so good, I bet you wouldn't have any trouble sneaking into the Fudd base here and capturing it."
Tailon laughed out loud. "And do your job for you, Local? It's not my fault if you're incompetent!" Razorclaw nearly tried to kill him again. "I challenge you to sneak into the Fudd base and bring back something belonging to that Fudd, Pormeleau." Tailon appeared interested. "Such as?"
RazorClaw reeled in the sucker. "His Eagle Scout badge. At the same time, my buns will enter and try to do something similar."
Tailon's eyes lit up! "Done, Local! When I win, my troops get to shave the tails off of your whole command." Tailon smiled eagerly at the chance to humiliate these Locals. "But what ever shall you try, Local?"
"We will steal the horn to his brother Chris's car." RazorClaw was surprised by another burst of laughter. "Is that all? That has no *Style*, Local. Your little mind can do better, I'm sure!" RazorClaw fumed. "We will replace it with the horn from a VW Rabbit. And then, my *Dear* Sgt. Green, I shall take great pride in watching *your* troops clean up this mess and spend the next month serving *my* troops here, in this Club." Tailon grinned eagerly. "Done. We begin in the morning."
Return to the
Camp Bomazeen 1
Wearing his scoutleader uniform, Eugene walked out of the woods in the early evening and into the clearing followed by about 30 scouts. He motioned for them to stop, sit, and remain silent around a campfire that blazed. To one edge of the clearing was a wooden fence surrounding a huge boulder with the face of a Native American Chief. Standing in front of the fence was another scouter dressed like a Native American Chief who stepped forward solemnly.
The "chief" circled the fire making offerings of crushed tobacco leaves to the four winds, the sky and Mother Earth. He then turned to his audience.
"I am the spirit of Bomazeen and I have come to bring the story of
my people... Many moons ago, before the first white man set foot on
the soil of Maine, the Noridgewock tribe lived in peace in the valley of
the Kennebec. Deer and caribou were plentiful. The crops grew well in
the fertile soil. The Noridgewock lived in peace and harmony with
nature. Life was good. Then came the white man.
"From the north came the French Blue Coat. From the south came
the British Red Coat. The French priest, Father Raisle, spread the Good
News to the Noridgewock people and as a young chief, Bomazeen
welcomed the friendship of the Blue Coats.
"But the British became hostile. They took advantage of the
Noridgewock and exploited their land. Before long, they captured
Bomazeen and took him to Boston where they locked him in jail for
three winters. But Bomazeen escaped from the jail and made his way
back to the valley of the Kennebec to lead his people in their fight for
freedom. His braves and Father Raisle took a firm stand and the British
were helpless. They placed a price on the head of Bomazeen but the
braves did not have the white man's need for money and they remained
loyal to their people.
"Then one day, near the end of summer, when all the braves were
away from camp hunting deer, the Red Coats attacked the camp and
kidnapped many squaws. They put them in their canoes and headed
down the Kennebec River. Now, the squaw of Bomazeen was the most
afraid. She knew the British meant to kill the chief. So it was, that
when the canoes passed the clearing where Bomazeen stood hunting
with Father Raisle, she shouted a warning to her chief. But the warning
came too late. The British rifle spit fire and the blood of the young
chief and the priest was spilled out on the banks of the river. The
British continued their journey southward.
"That night, came many braves to the blood-stained clearing. They
feared that the British would return and desecrate the body of
Bomazeen. They took his body by canoe to the shores of the largest
lake of the Belgrade Lakes chain which we now call Great Pond. There
by night, they chose a hill for the secret burial and one hundred of the
tribe's strongest braves lifted the great rock beneath which the body of
Bomazeen was laid to rest. His body remains there, once again at rest
and peace with nature.
"Remember the story you have heard tonight. Listen for the spirit of
the Noridgewock in the wind. See the fire of Bomazeen in the sky."
The storyteller trailed-off into silence and bowed his head.
Eugene signaled to the scouts to get-up and leave the clearing quietly. The scouter in Native American garb remained behind long enough to extinguish the fire before departing also.
A group of devilbunnies sat behind the boulder, peaking around it discretely throughout the tale. Upon the last human leaving, they leaped-up on the rock. Several left droppings on the boulder while suppressing giggles and sniggers at the ridiculous tale.
"Alright," Tailon (quietSTOMP!) "enough fooling around. We've got to follow the Fudd monkey and obtain our flag. He's already cost us most of the day tracking down to this summer camp." The others saluted their leader and melted back into the dark woods.
NOTE: The Legend of Chief Bomazeen is told to this very day at BSA Camp Bomazeen, Belgrade, Maine and is based upon a true story.
Return to the
Camp Bomazeen 2
In Eugene's beat-up 4x4, his cuton geometer was beeping but there was no one around to hear it in the parking lot of the scout camp. Eugene followed scouting rules of no electronic gadgets on scout trips and left it in his vehicle. He, however, had enough problems to deal with.
"What a bunch of baloney!" one scout sniggered.
"Yeah, how do they know that's the grave. There must be hundreds of large boulders like that one surrounding the lake..."
Eugene (sighed). He went through this every time scouts were told the tale of Chief Bomazeen. As they arrived back at their campsite, he stated. "Sit-down, there is a side to this tale you haven't heard yet..."
A couple of the scouts sniggered some more, but all complied, sitting around a small campfire that one of the scouts lit and attended to.
"I have been coming to this camp now for nearly 20 years." (somewhistles) "I don't know whether or not that is the grave site. But I have seen too many strange things happen at this camp involving that boulder in that time period as a scout, while on staff, and as a leader."
"Like what?" several asked.
"Yeah like what?" a bun (sniggerfluffed) quietly to one of his companions a good 200 yards away in the woods. Tailon cuffed him to remain silent. Fortunately, the humans didn't hear them.
"Come, come, I'm sure you've heard all the tales about what has happened to some for disturbing a Native American burial site..."
"You mean like people dropping dead?" (laughter)
Eugene rolled his eyes. "Nothing that extreme, *yet*. Simply coincidences if you wish to call it that, but happening too often to just call it coincidence."
"Such as???"
"Well my first year on staff, 1986, the entire staff except for two members, myself and one other, wound-up in the emergency room at least once over the six week period we had camp open that summer. All but myself and that other fortunate member walked on that boulder."
The devilbunnies watching and listening in from a distance, fell-over (gigglefluffing) quietly at this remark. "He's crazier then the profiles state, one stammered between gaffaws." Their leader smacked them all about a bit more. Fortunately, they weren't heard over the laughter Eugene's tale generated from the scouts.
"You expect us to believe that???"
"Actually, I don't. I've come to believe through observations. I'm simply lucky that I didn't have to learn the hard way like Jeremiah last summer."
"You mean the scout from West Sydney who got disemboweled last summer?"
"Correct..."
"What did he do? Moon the dead chief?" More laughter.
Eugene sighed. What was the use? Today's kids had no respect for the old ways. But he had to finish. Maybe, just maybe one would actually listen and heed the warnings.
"No, much worse. He desecrated the burial site. He took...a dump on the boulder." Utter chaos broke-out as most of the crowd laughed until it hurt. Even Tailon lost it. Again, they weren't discovered.
Eugene continued as the laughter died-down to giggling. "After he finished his foul dead, he jumped off the rock and headed down the same trail we took. If you noticed it was rebuilt this past summer after Jeremiah's accident last summer. He tripped and landed stomach first on a tree stump on the side of the trail. He spent the next six hours in surgery as the doctors put his intestines back together inside his body cage." Everyone was silent. "Take it as you wish, but I had best not hear of anyone disturbing the burial site. You may stay-up another half-hour if you wish, but keep things quiet. There are campers in the other sites. We have a long day of activities tomorrow." Eugene got-up and headed for his tent.
"Awh, come-on, Mr. Pomerleau, tell us your wild tales about the killer rabbits."
Eugene hesitated a moment at the entrance to his tent. "Perhaps tomorrow night. Good night. Senior Patrol Leader, you're in charge." The scout who was SPL gave Eugene a scout salute as Gene entered his tent.
Return to the
Camp Bomazeen 3
"You think he was serious?"
"Nah, the guy believes in killer rabbits, for cryin' out loud." (chuckle)
"I say we go test Chief Bomazeen."
"You heard Mr. Pomerleau," the SPL butted-in. "We are not to do that."
"No, he said he didn't want to hear that we did that."
"True, but I don't think it's a good idea anyway..."
"What? Do you believe his tale?"
"Mr. Pomerleau, though a bit crazy doesn't outright lie..."
"You're afraid, that's what! Chicken!"
"Am not.."
"Am too!"
"Fine, come'on. But do so quietly, we don't want to wake any of the leaders."
The scouts headed-off back towards the other end camp and the clearing by the established meandering camp trail system.
"I thought they'd never go to bed or leave." (sighfluff) "They've cost us valuable time. I'll bet those local buns already have their flag."
(nomatterfluff) "We'll soon have ours." Tailon replied. "Now be quiet!" (thump)
The buns crept-up quietly around Eugene's tent and prepared to enter it. Inside they could hear the Fudd snoring away.
"It would be so easy to eliminate him now once and for good," one mumbled.
(hushfluff) "As much as I agree with you, it's not part of the game." (besidesfluff) "If we kill him, the Fudds might send someone competent up this way." (sniggerfluff) "Now!"
The first bun quickly, and quietly opened the tent flap. Two others tumbled in and snagged Eugene's uniform and tossed it out to the rest.
"Move out!" (splotch!) It was the last words uttered by that bun as his head was cleaved in half by an axe blade.
Eugene leaped-up quickly, shoving his feet into his steel-toed boots. Snoring or not, he was a light sleeper. *Devilbunnies in camp??* He charged-out the tent in pursuit, but there was no sign of the buns. His uniform lay in the dirt 10 feet away. He cautiously approached it and picked it up. There were bun tracks on the ground leading away into the woods. There was a hole where his left pocket use to be. His knuckles whitened on the grip of the axe. The buns had stolen his Eagle Scout badge. But why would they want his Eagle Scout Badge and not him?
Then their true goal occurred to him and his face turned lobstah red. He set-off quietly into the woods, cautiously following the tracks. No fluffer was going to be allowed to keep his hard earned Eagle Badge.
Return to the
Camp Bomazeen 4
The buns did not know about the wilderness survival traps set-up in the area they were crossing...at least not at first. Getting away in the dark didn't help matters much either.
(ZING! WHAP!) One bun went flying in the air as he set-off a well concealed snare and slammed hard against a tree trunk, snapping his neck.
(STOMP!) "We need to get a pawhold in this organization and steer the monkey kits away from such things. MOVE OUT!"
They continued onward, loosing another companion to a hidden, spike-filled pit trap. Onward they went much, much more cautiously.
"We're in the clear, s...." the speaking bun vanished from site as he fell through the rotten flooring of what was a recently abandoned outhouse missing it's walls. Two seconds later, they heard him hit and cry-out in pain. Acrid smoke arose from the hole.
(STOMP! STOMP! STOMP!) "[PiG-13] Fudd monkeys!" Tailon perked his ears and heard the noise of monkey kits coming up the trail. He signalled to his two remaining buns to take cover and they scrambled for a cleft in the boulder they had hid behind earlier.
One of the remaining buns was shaken-up badly by what had happened to her companions.
(snifflefluff) "It's true...it's all true..."
The commander grabbed the doe and shook her. "Get apaw of yourself and be quiet!" he snarled.
The doe looked at him with panic in her eyes. "Don't you get it? The monkey's tale is true. They had all left droppings on this boulder...along with" (dismaypoof) "me. And now.." (snifffluffle) "They're dead..." she trailed off to silence as the scouts got closer.
Return to the
Camp Bomazeen 5
The scouts arrived at the clearing and Bomazeen's burial site.
"Alright, which one of you is going to do it?" The SPL asked.
"Joey, he's the one who suggested it."
"I did not! It was Pete!"
"Did not! But since you're so afraid..." Pete climbed over the fence and walked upon and around the rock, giving the painting the finger. In the cleft below him, three buns held their collective breath. The monkey kit didn't see them.
"Huh! That's nothing! Watch this!" Tim unzipped his pants. "My father works with Mr. Pomerleau. They're both a little crazy. Killer rabbits in deed, huh! They even think Elmer is some sort of god!" (mocking tone) "Oh Great El'Mah! Bless my WEE WEE so that it shalt burn the Evil that Fluffs™!" He urinated upon the rock laughing.
The panicked doe cried-out in agonizing pain as she was splattered with the vile liquid. Her bodied withered as wisps of acrid smoke drifted above it. Tailon's other bun shot-out the side of cleft and hopped/ran as fast as his paws could carry him through the woods. He never looked back.
"INSOLENCE! I WILL NOT BE INSULTED LIKE THIS BY A BUNCH OF KITS!!!" (STOMP! STOMP! STOMP!)
The scouts all fell silent at the sound of the screaming, the noise in the underbrush and finally the loud voice coming from the rock. Tim stood there frozen with fear as a large bun clawed it's way up through the cleft in the rocks and looked him in the eyes. Those in the back of the group Ran Like The Wind™ screaming from the site.
Return to the
Camp Bomazeen 6
Tim was frozen in place by fright. Even as the enraged devilbunny pulled itself out from the crevasse in the rock, he could not believe that this was actually happening. "FIRTH DAMN IT!" Tailon, in his rage, had accidentally stepped in a small puddle of the recently-blessed urine that was on parts of the rock. His paw sizzled and screamed pain through the bunny's nervous system. Tim finally snapped out of his trance and ran for it.
Further up the trail, Pete came to a stop, causing the two other scouts behind to smash into him and drop all three into a pile on the ground. "Where's Tim?", Pete managed to get out, between the yelps of his companions. And, on that cue, Tim became visible coming up the trail loudly, with a limping, but very fast rabbit in hot pursuit - both screaming obscenities all the way.
It was obvious that the bunny, while slowed by it's injury, was going to catch Tim. It was just faster on it's paws. Pete finished untangling himself from the others and grabbed a crab apple that was sitting on the side of the trail, fallen from a short, nearby tree. Picking-up a stick, Pete tossed the crab apple into the air. With a snap of his arm, the stick hurled the crab apple at the attacking rabbit.
Tailon was hit in mid-leap, the hard little apple hitting him square in the abdomen, knocking him out of the air. He gasped for breath momentarily, then charged at his prey again. There was no thought except to kill these kits. A second apple bounced off the ground slightly to his right, and a third rapidly followed, just passing over his head. A fourth, followed in a rain by several more, striking his left foreleg with tremendous force, breaking the bone. Again, Tailon tumbled. Relying on his rear legs, he stood himself up again and looked his own death in the eyes, as one more apple beelined at him, and hit his neck, effectively PoPing his head from his body.
The scouts turned around as they heard some rustling in the undergrowth behind them. They made ready to defend themselves. The branches departed to reveal Eugene Pomerleau. They sighed in relief.
"You boys alright?" he asked, glancing beyond them to the headless bunny body on the trail. They simply nodded. "Then get back to camp, we'll talk there."
He walked to the dead bunny and turned it over as the scouts left. It had a small knapsack on. Eugene searched it and found his Eagle Badge. He then proceeded up the trail to Bomazeen Rock. There he pulled a small medicine bag our from under his shirt, pulled a small handful of crushed tobacco leaves out of it and sprinkled them on the rock.
"Rest easy, Chief."
Bowing his head in reverence, Eugene turned and returned to the campsite.
Return to the
Maine Fudd HQ 1
"There! Now I've got you...P.A.T.C.H.W.O.R.C.S.(1) is designed to flush you out! I won't have glitches fouling-up the Falcon VI!"
Chris Pomerelau stood in front of one of the racks that held salvaged hard drives that were used for storage for the Maine Fudd base Falcon VI computer system, a hodge-podge of various older computer systems hacked/spliced/duct taped together in an extremely uncute way to form a more 'powerful' computer system (as the AWF put it one time, a glorified pentium the hard way). He'd been searching for hours to find what was causing problems with his "baby". The computer screen flickered again.
"There it is again! I see you. Whenever I try to access this disk it skips about." Chris reaches into the open rack and yanks-out the offending, failing WANG 20 Meg hard drive. A few sparks shoot-out from the loose wires and then silence. The monitor blanks along with the lights in the room.
"Sh*t!"
Chris reaches for a flashlight and peers-out the back window to insure the generator was still running. The Falcon VI eats too much power to depend on the local power company without having access to a deep bank account to pay the power bill. Instead the Maine Fudds had a traditional Yankee diesal generator in back of the computer building. The generator consisted of a 1971 rusted-out diesal Buick up on blocks with a towrope wrapped around the rear axle which in turn turned a dynamo. The engine was refueled morning and night and a brick was kept on the accelerator to keep the thing running.
Satisfied the generator was still working, Chris reset the breaker. The lights came on, but the Falcon VI remained dead. He grabbed his soldiering iron and proceeded to take care of the loose connection produced by his yanking-out the hard drive, along with replacing a few blown resistors and one capacitor. The Falcon VI came to life and started-up its ssslllooowww booting process. Sighing in relief, Chris picks-up the offending hard drive and leaves the computer lab. It may have been after midnight, but after the stress of dealing with the problems that had come-up with the computer system, Chris decided to get-in a little late night "busting" and this hard drive was going to be the main-event.
So enthralled with the anticipation of busting, Chris didn't hang-around to watch the system reboot on the monitor.....
CHECKING MEMORY.....
(30 seconds pass....)
LOADING DOS 1.0....
(2 minute pause)
LOADING DOS 3.0...
(4 minute pause)
LOADING BUNNYSTUMPER DELUXE™.....
(3 minute pause)
LOADING CUTON GEOMETER COORDINATOR 6.2... ERROR CAN NOT FIND DRIVE M:\ ERROR CAN NOT FIND DRIVE M:\ ERROR CAN NOT FIND DRIVE M:\ ERROR CAN NOT FIND DRIVE M:\ ERROR CAN NOT FIND DRIVE M:\ ......
The Falcon VI remained in a perpetual loop trying to find the hard drive Chris had removed which had the software needed to operate the cuton geometer network the base used to warn of bunny attack. Maine Fudd Volunteers HQ was without an early warning system and no one knew....
Chris T. Pomerleau, Electronics Technician Extraordinaire.
"It ain't broke, unless I can't fix it!"
1. P.A.T.C.H.W.O.R.C.S--Pomerleau Advanced Technologically Correct Hard-Wired Online Re-activated Computer System
(See the The Calm/The Storm portion of the China Battle, fall of 1996 for more uncute details on the Maine Fudd computer system)
Return to the
Maine Fudd HQ 2
Chris headed for the barn that had been set aside for him just for busting. The ancient 6 inch thick rock oak floor beams could withstand the greatest blows from 'Mr. Microwave', the cement filled microwave that was winched 1.5 stories up suspended from a 14 inch center wooden beam. The two Fudds on night patrol joined him. Why not? There were no rabbits around and if any came about, they'd set-off the cuton geometer network.
Chris set the offending Wang hard drive under 'Mr. Microwave'. He turned to his two companions and stated, "Watch carefully. This is how to compress a drive...." and let 'Mr. Microwave' fall upon the drive, compressing it to less then half it's original size. So the two Fudds and Chris wreaked mayhem upon various electronic gear and never heard the fluffy paw steps of the intruders who were busy 3 barn stalls over.
Within that stall sat Chris' prized procession, a fully restored 1978 Buick Electra Limited with a 450 horse V-8 four-barrel. Deep blue, it had all the extras, power everything, and The Horn. That was his favorite part. The Horn was actually four car horns set to slightly different decibel levels. When sounded, it blasted like a locomotive horn and over the years froze several devilbunnies long enough to become intimate with the term, road pizza. Chris, copying several old cartoons and World War I Aces, had stamped the silhouette of several bunnies on the driver side door to note his kills with the behemoth. The Buick had even survived the Ice Storm of the previous winter despite having its old storage garage collapse upon it (the silhouette of a house to commemerate the event was on the car door next to the bunnies). The 7,000 lb land yacht was Chris' pride and joy, and few fluffers who saw it survived to tell about it.
Until tonight, that is. Razorclaw signaled to two techbuns in his group to proceed with getting into the vehicle while the rest stood guard. The two techbuns crawled under the front of the car and tried to find an opening to squeeze-up beside the engine with no luck. Razorclaw glared at them as they shook their heads, indicating in fluffspeak that the engine was huge. One of them gingerly tested the driver's door, cringing briefly in fear that some sort of auto alarm would sound. Nothing happened as the door opened, except the dome lights lit-up. The doe reached in and quickly jerked the hood release.
The other techbun hopped onto the bumper and had to steady his stomach for a moment at the sight of several wind-dried carcass parts stuck in the car grill before he could reach for the hood. Try as he might, it was too heavy for him. Tight discipline was the only thing that kept RazorClaw from chewing out the bun. He signaled a couple of the guards to help raise the hood, which creaked loudly. Fortunately, the Fudds were making too much noise trashing VCR's, televisions and other electronics to hear the creaking hood.
Both techs scrambled into the engine, balancing their paws delicately on the still warm hoses and valve covers. Several minutes went by and they shook their heads. They couldn't find the horns. One of the buns who had helped raise the hood pointed-out a discrepancy. Though the vehicle had four headlights, only wiring for two could be seen from within the engine compartment. The techs quickly searched and located the covers flush against the inside of each fender which housed the horns and proceeded to remove them.
Once they had removed the four horns, they installed a used horn from a Volkswagon Rabbit. Razorclaw then gave the signal and the buns proceeded to rip-apart the belts and hoses, slash the break lines, rip-up the upholstery, defecate upon the driver's seat, and scratch their initials onto the roof of the car before leaving.
Return to the
Maine Fudd HQ 3
Chris Pomerleau was a very competent electronics technician. A missing hard drive wasn't going to stop his FALCON VI, just slow it down. About 45 minutes after the reboot, the P.A.T.C.H.W.O.R.C.S.™ operating system realized that drive M:/ was no longer a part of the system and so it went to a back-up drive (drive BB:/). Three minutes later the cuton geometer network was up and running. Immediately the alarms sounded as Razorclaw and his retreating platoon were making their get-away.
The buns looked behind in time to see several lights flare-on in the various buildings of the base/farm. Razorclaw ordered his troops, "Break-up into pairs, one horn per pair. On my mark, split-up and make your way back to the rendevous point. If it looks like the Fudds are going to get you, destroy your horn before they can recapture it. Understood?" (pause) "Split-up!"
Four pairs of buns took-off in differant directions through the woods on the edge of the farm with Fudds in persuit.
(STOMP!) Major Blake didn't like being awakened out of bed with his wife. "How many?"
"The geometers only picked-up 8, sir." Cprl Gerber replied. "They've split into four groups and we have Fudds in persuit of each group."
"It could be a trap, get more Fudds on the trail and have the individual groups break-off persuit and concentrate on only one bun group. Keep track of the rest with the geometer network."
"Yes, sir."
Return to the
Soon after the alarm was sounded, Chris dashed for his Buick and stopped cold in his tracks. His hands fisted and unfisted spasmatically as he walked around the vehicle noting the pools of brake fluid, oil, and coolent forming on the garage floor. He glared at the damage to his original upholstery and the bunny droppings on the car seat. Gingerly and nervously, he reached for the steering column and sounded the horn...
[highpitched toot, toot]
Chris started shaking in disbelief when he didn't hear the multi-hundred decibal train horn blast but instead some wimpy worn from a subcompact. He pressed the horn button again in disbelief...
[toot, toot]
Chris turned beet red and took a couple steps away from the car. The scream of dismay the emanated from said stall soon afterwards was heard clear down to China Lake, five miles away. It also brought a platoon of well armed Fudds to check on his well being.
0600 the following morning, the weary groups of Fudds reported back to base. They had killed three buns, captured a fourth and recovered the crumpled remains of two car horns.
At mid-morning, Razorclaw cackled with glee, twirling a car horn from a clawtip as he oversaw the clean-up of The Tuff Fluff Club by the one surviving devilbunny marine. He looked forward to seeing how good a waiterbun the marine would make. His revelry was interrupted by the intercom.
"Incoming message for you from the traitorbun Fudd."
Razorclaw suppressed a chuckle and indicated to have it put through to his office in the back of the club. As Blake's image flared on the screen, Razorclaw simply smirked.
"Is there a problem, traitor?"
"You tell me, coward," Blake's words were icy, but his voice remained level with no wavering. "It seems somebun did some vandalizing on my base last night, I don't suppose you know anything about it?" (glare)
Razorclaw (fangygrin) at Blake and held-up a horn in each paw. "I hope that Pomerleau monkey likes the make-over we did to his car..."
"Thank you. That's all the confirmation I needed. You do *know* we captured one of your buns, right?" Razorclaw's glee dropped from his muzzle. "No? Then I don't suppose you'd care if I told you she cooperated quite well at this morning's interrogation." (fangygrin) "Maybe you'd be willing to make a trade, especially after what happened to the last prisoner you weren't interested in trading for."
Razorclaw glared at Major Blake's image. "I don't negotiate with traitorbuns," he replied.
"That's too bad, RC..." Razorclaw bristled at the nickname. "All I wanted was the two horns back in trade. But since you aren't willing, I'll have to contact Mentat Busheytail and see if he's still in need of a new 'henchbunny'. The last one we sent him in January experienced a most unfortunate accident." It was Blake's turn to (fangygrin)
Razorclaw actually hesitated a moment. He vaguely recalled that earlier conversation in January and thought the traitorbun had been bluffing. The profile of the various Maine Fudds showed they were too honorable to execute bun prisoners in any way other then *POP*ping.
"What is the prisoner's name?"
"Gingerroot, techbun, serial number..."
"I don't need all that." (STOMP!) "What did she tell you?"
"More then enough, coward. If you want to interrogate the doe, I suggest you ship the horns back this way today. Then we'll arrange shipment of the prisoner back to you." (fangygrin) "Maybe I'll allow UPS onto the base. You could send the horns C.O.D. with the charge being one female rabbit. Do we have a deal?"
Razorclaw hesitated a moment and then nodded. Blake killed the connection. "When I get my paws on Gingerroot, she'll wish she hadn't survived to be captured by the Fudds!" (STOMP!)
Return to the
1:30 that afternoon, a UPS trucked pulled into the Blake Farm. Several Fudds kept shotguns and supersoakers aimed at the vehicle. A very nervous looking delivery driver stepped-out carrying a box and clipboard. Major Blake hopped-up, flanked by a shotgun toting Fudd on either side of him.
The delivery driver carefully set-down the package and wiped sweat off his brow. "Not more talking rabbits..." he mumbled to himself. "Steven Blake?"
Blake raised a paw and accepted the clipboard, signing his name in the electronic square indicated. Pawing the board back he stated simply, "Open it."
The driver was shaking slightly, but did as he was told and cut-open the box. Inside were the crumpled and clawmarked remains of the two horns. Blake's eyes narrowed for a moment. Chris Pomerleau approached, looked at the remains of his horns and let-off a string of explicatives. The driver turned white.
"Bring-out the prisoner," Blake stated plainly. He glared at the younger Pomerleau to cut him off before he could protest.
The devilbunny doe was led-out in one of the Fudd-designed cages with hollow HVE-filled bars to discourage buns from clawing their way out. Gingerroot glared defiantly at Blake but remained silent.
"Take the fluffer," Blake ordered the UPS driver who complied, got in his truck and left the farm/base quickly. All the way back to Bangor Gingerroot would try every cute hurt doe bun-trick in the book to try and get out of the cage to no avail. The driver already had the fear of Razorclaw in him and he wasn't about to fail to deliver Gingerroot back to Razorclaw.
Blake then turned to Chris Pomerleau. "I want to SEE you in my office, NOW!" (STOMP!) Blake turned and hopped towards his office.
An hour later Chris staggered out of the office and was thankful he wasn't an official soldier in the Army of Fudd or he'd probably be ranked lower then the AWF at this point. His punishment for the FALCON's failure was bad enough, he'd be lucky to get done with the voluntary KP duty by Christmas. It was either that or be evicted from the farm for his failure. He didn't envy the two night patrol Fudds who were being called into the office upon his departure.
Return to the
The following weekend Eugene returned from scout camp and told about the bun encounter at Camp Bomazeen. Blake related what had happened at the base on the same night and everything since that time. When he was finished, Eugene felt sorry for his brother Chris, but understood the severity of the situation.
"I've got just one question, Steve. Why did you follow through on the exchange of the bun for the horns after finding they had been trashed?"
"I kept my word. With the horns no longer in Razorclaw's possession, he has no physical proof that he successfully infiltrated the base. Without that proof, other buns may still believe his claims, but we, in turn, save face amoung those in the Army of Fudd. Said bun we exchanged will experience a much more painful, prolonged death for 'betraying' Razorclaw's secrets."
"In otherwords the bun said little, but you don't think Razorclaw will believe that."
(fangygrin) "I expect he was as thorough in debriefing the doe as every bun commander out there would be to a 'traitor' as I've observed more then a few times in my spy missions..."
At that very moment, Gingerroot's hide was being nailed to the wall of the Tuff Fluff Club as a warning to other devilbunnies...
End (for now)
Return to the