Guns for Hire - Script Nine
Burbank Airfield 4.27pm 03/03/2015
As Vrasten dropped the pillow case in the trunk Gonzales impatiently gunned the accelerator whilst Skinpin kept rhythm with the increased throb from the Osprey's rotors.
Mariusz
watched as the Osprey bucked & then lifted clear of the broken & weed
infested concrete, as he turn away he was startled to see a figure fall from
the side door of the climbing craft, before however he could react to this he
dropped as Vrasten bellowed a warning, following the direction of Vrasten's
gaze Mariusz looked death full on as the fully laden gunship skimmed in at head
height across the airfield.
As Mariusz stared in astonishment, Striker, ignoring the looming gunship, dashed towards the crumpled figure whilst hurling abuse towards the departing Osprey. Vrasten, not waiting for Mariusz to react screamed at Gonzales to hit the gas & through himself across the rear seat of the car as it hurtled backwards towards the relative safety of the main hangers gaping doors.
Realising
he was on his own Mariusz screamed at Striker to hit the dirt & ran for
the distant cover of the derelict clubhouse, risking a glance over his shoulder
he watched as the gunner of the bird of prey dispassionately launched a pair
of P38 heat seekers towards & ultimately into the belly of the still climbing
Osprey.
As Mariusz crashed through the boarded up doorway the blazing remains of the Osprey crunched into the runway miraculously missing the furiously screaming figure of Striker.
Throwing himself behind the the rotting sofas littering the former public lounge Mariusz attempted to be invisible as 12mm armour piercing shells shredded first the hoarding's over the windows & then the furniture behind which Mariusz cowered.
As the Muskrat
scraped the paint of the roof Mariusz took several deep breaths & tried
to stop shaking, releasing the safety catch on his SK19 he locked in a place
fresh clip & waited for the gunship to come about, before it did however
there was cough from beneath the splintered bar.
Over at the hanger Vrasten peered nervously from behind the mangled hanger doors that only a few moments earlier had partly been drawn across the hangers doorway, behind him Gonzales gave his considered opinion of the crumpled mess that used to be Vrasten's pride & joy,
"Fucked, fucked, fucked, Vrasten, your car man, its fucked, like really, really fucked man "
"Thanks for that friend, you know what, I hadn't really figured it out yet" muttered Vrasten as he watched the Zephyr piss its guts all over the dirt.
Popping the trunk Vrasten rummaged through the clutter & eventually found a fresh clip for the Ingram, walking back to the hanger door, he watched dispassionately as the Muskrat's cannons made Striker dance the last waltz, as it banked away he briskly stepped clear of the hanger & emptied the full magazine towards the turning chopper,
"Huh, no chance with that piece of horse shit" offered Gonzales
"So, what do we do" drawled Skinpin
"Fucked if I know" replied Vrasten "but I ain't chancing my butt out there with that bastard cruising for scalps"
For the second time Mariusz raised his head above the splintered bar
"So let me get this right OK, your the caretaker for this shit hole, but you ain't been paid for two years or so cos' they think your dead an' you ain't never told em' different"
"Yeah" replied the old boy "Jus' me, Jesus an' Duke"
Mariusz glanced down at the pair of flea riddled mutts called Jesus & Duke, "Good conversationalists are they ?"
Before the old guy could answer Mariusz threw himself behind what remained of the bar dragging the caretaker with him, the whine of the Muskrat's engine reached a crescendo as its twin forward firing cannons removed most of what was left of the club house roof, pissed at the Muskrat's persistence Mariusz readied himself for its next pass.
As the chopper co pilot, Brin Olornade, released the safety catch on the Sibernski ground to air pathfinders he grinned at his skipper,
"This'll get the little shit good an' fuckin' proper"
Before Pascoe could answer the fletchet grenade from the underslung launcher
of Mariusz's Sturmk' blew out the the cowling on the secondary hydraulics server,
splinters from the shattered cowl piercing several of the braided hoses beneath,
11 seconds later the Muskrat burst into flames as it crunched into the dirt
300 yards beyond the clubhouse.
Watching from behind the relative safety of the hanger doors Vrasten smiled as he watched the chopper streaming thick oily smoke plunge over & beyond the derelict building in which he assumed Mariusz was taking refuge, seconds later he relaxed as the dull explosion signalled that the whirlybird wouldn't be flying anymore.
Sauntering out onto the apron Mariusz couldn't help grinning as the others walked towards him from the hanger,
"Nice shot dude" said Skinpin "who's the wrinkly"
"Lucky bastard" murmured Vrasten
"Sorry to spoil the fun hot shots" said Gonzales, "but from the look of it were in deep, deep shit, Striker's blown to fuck, Mr Black ain't going nowhere no more an' the wheels are well an' truly baked, still on the good side . . . . . . . . . . . .
Highway 99 5.51pm 03/03/2015
Forty three minutes later Vrasten, Mariusz, Gonzales & Skinpin eased back onto Route 99 in the rusting pick up that the Burbank caretaker had convinced them was the most reliable truck this side of the heaven, Gonzales struggling to keep the ratty engine alive asked,
"So where to"