Lord Long Rod
Diamond Member
- Jan 17, 2023
- 7,706
- 8,122
- 2,138
- Banned
- #1
We came in before dawn, at 0400 hours. By 0515 hours my entire crew was dead and ripped to pieces. We had fucked up. We badly underestimated these animals, both in their number and in their ferocity. It was a slaughter, a bloody slaughter.
We were in The Beast Swamp, pressing forward in a single-file stack. There were five of us total, my 4-man crew of operators and myself. I had recently located a bedding area for a couple of Bigfoot. It was a “nest”. After thorough recon of the target, I determined that the Sasquatch would return to their nest after their nighttime hunts to bed down before dawn. They return every morning at approximately 0400 hours on the dot, relentlessly punctual. You would swear that they had a clock to tell them when to return, but they did not.
The plan was to penetrate the remote swamp at 0400 hours, then make the arduous one-hour hike to the staging area just off the nest. We would then form a perimeter. The first phase of the attack would be to disorient the target with flash-bang grenades and smoke grenades. Phase 2 was to light them up. I had 2 operators hauling belt-fed M-60s. They would cut loose, and the rest of us would take out anything that survives the hellstorm.
Easy. We had pulled this op a hundred times before. We run these ops, put the meat on the market to the buyer, and keep the entire thing hush-hush. If word ever got out about what we’re doing, then the herd would know of the existence of these monsters. Keeping the public ignorant, however, keeps the prices high. A mythical unicorn brings a lot more than a whitetail deer, after all.
This fateful mission involved 5 of us, just like always. There are times things do not go as planned. That is only to be expected from these creatures. In fact, every squatch-op is different and presents its own unique risks. But these animals are no match for good boys with a tactical advantage. So why did this mission go so wrong?
We are all seasoned hunters. On the penetration, I take point. I am always on point. We never use our Christian names. Instead, we employ code names. Watching my back was “Sloppy Seconds”, or “SS”; third in the column is “Big Dick”. Fourth is “Bull Whip”; and bringing up the rear is “N#gger”. Every man is a seasoned squatch operator.
On the morning of this ordeal, we made it to the staging area (Code Name “Rim”) with no issues. We then formed our perimeter and prepared to engage. I was to give the signal. But before I could, all ungodly hell broke loose in that swamp.
Those monstrous monkeys were there, waiting on us, in the trees. They waited until we were in perimeter formation, and therefore at our most vulnerable, to launch their counter-attack. It was a trap!
I was about ready to give the order when I heard Big-Dick let out a terrible, blood curdling scream, followed by a hollow silence. I would quickly discover that Big-Dick had his head jerked clean off! I bolted toward his position when I heard the scream and found his dismembered body, and blood ... everywhere.
Then, in quick succession, I heard 3 more horrible, soul wrenching screams. SS, Bullwhip, and good old N#gger were down. It was horrible. I was especially shocked by N#gger. It’s hard to get a N#gger to go down. But these big, hairy, smelly fuckers were something he could not resist. My whole crew was taken out. All of them had their heads ripped off. Even worse, Sloppy Seconds showed signs of a sexual assault.
I decided to fall back to a more advantageous position, which I did. Once safely away I began to analyze the op and what went on out there. I did the recon work myself. It was a nest of TWO squatch. But tonight there was at least 4 out there. Plus, they were waiting for us. Clearly, it was a setup. But why did this happen? And why was I allowed to survive?
One thing was for sure. I was going to go back out there and hit those damn apes. They would not be expecting an attack so soon after this skirmish. But I needed some help.
I got on the dark web and made contact with the most badass Sasquatch mercenary I know besides myself: Joey McMurder. Joey is so hardcore that he wears a necklace of mummified Bigfoot spleens around his neck.
Old Joey served in Vietnam and is a collector of Military surplus weapons and hardware. He owns a Huey chopper retrofitted with 20mm cannons, a mini-gun, and bombing capability. We decided to use it in the operation.
Joey picked me up at my house 30 minutes later, landing his Huey in my front yard. My home base is located in a residential subdivision, so my neighbors probably did not like it, but they don’t have the balls to say anything to me. Old Joey leaned out of the chopper upon landing and yelled “Howdy, General!” Once in the air, Old Joey asked “Are ya sure now is the best time to hit them hairy bastards? The sun is about to come up? We could always hit them after sunset.”
I told Joey, “We’re hitting them NOW!! They just murdered my entire crew. They will not be expecting a retaliatory strike so soon. Besides, it was a setup. All the players are on location. WE HIT THEM NOW!!” I saw Joey thoughtfully mouth the word “setup”. He shook his head for a moment, then turned to me and nodded. We were on our way to unleash hell.
We came in low and fast, brushing the tree tops. I had given Joey the GPS coordinates so we could strike precisely. Suddenly Joey yelled out, “WE’RE HERE!”, then he pulled a switch which released the fire bombs, which were a homemade concoction Joey made that is essentially napalm... on steroids. Simultaneously, Joey hit those 20 mm cannons, both of them. Between the huge fire flash from the bombs and all the vegetation being chewed up by the machine gun fire, it was truly hell on earth for whatever was on the ground.
Not wanting to miss out on the fun, I jumped up and went to the midsection of the Huey, where Joey had retro fitted a mini-gun. I opened the bay door, started up the mini, then started blasting.
Joey was circling the coordinates I gave him. By this point, there was at least 100 acres involved in the unholy conflagration below, and the size was growing by the second. I was leaning out of the chopper and blasting away into the kill box with obscenely reckless abandon.
The entire assault lasted around 45 minutes. As soon as we found a clearing we put the Huey down, grabbed our load-out and pushed toward the nest. It was a difficult jaunt since all the vegetation was on fire. Hell, old Joey’s napalm brew is so strong that the goddamn water in the swamp was on fire too!
Finally, after a 40 minute hike through hell, and cooked to medium rare, we came to the nest. We managed to identify the remains of SIX sasquatch! More troubling, however, is that we also found the remains of two humans.
Upon inspecting the human remains I was able to recover identification. These were G-men... FBI. Apparently these rat-bastards had stuck their noses in my business and somehow organized this Sasquatch ambush. I told Joey these were G-men and he about shit himself. He was ready to fly his Huey to DC right then to “take back our country from those un-American, pencil-neck f#ggots.”
I managed to calm ole Joey down and convince him that we needed to look at this a little more closely before we decide our next step. I needed to know why the feds were spying on my Sasquatch hunting; why they wanted my crew eliminated, though let me live; and how they bribed or convinced the Sasquatch to do their dirty work. I already distrust these Bigfoot scum. But now that I know they will sell out to the feds, my opinion of them is lower than whale shit. I will burn all of Sasquatch, each and every one, burn right to the ground!
We were in The Beast Swamp, pressing forward in a single-file stack. There were five of us total, my 4-man crew of operators and myself. I had recently located a bedding area for a couple of Bigfoot. It was a “nest”. After thorough recon of the target, I determined that the Sasquatch would return to their nest after their nighttime hunts to bed down before dawn. They return every morning at approximately 0400 hours on the dot, relentlessly punctual. You would swear that they had a clock to tell them when to return, but they did not.
The plan was to penetrate the remote swamp at 0400 hours, then make the arduous one-hour hike to the staging area just off the nest. We would then form a perimeter. The first phase of the attack would be to disorient the target with flash-bang grenades and smoke grenades. Phase 2 was to light them up. I had 2 operators hauling belt-fed M-60s. They would cut loose, and the rest of us would take out anything that survives the hellstorm.
Easy. We had pulled this op a hundred times before. We run these ops, put the meat on the market to the buyer, and keep the entire thing hush-hush. If word ever got out about what we’re doing, then the herd would know of the existence of these monsters. Keeping the public ignorant, however, keeps the prices high. A mythical unicorn brings a lot more than a whitetail deer, after all.
This fateful mission involved 5 of us, just like always. There are times things do not go as planned. That is only to be expected from these creatures. In fact, every squatch-op is different and presents its own unique risks. But these animals are no match for good boys with a tactical advantage. So why did this mission go so wrong?
We are all seasoned hunters. On the penetration, I take point. I am always on point. We never use our Christian names. Instead, we employ code names. Watching my back was “Sloppy Seconds”, or “SS”; third in the column is “Big Dick”. Fourth is “Bull Whip”; and bringing up the rear is “N#gger”. Every man is a seasoned squatch operator.
On the morning of this ordeal, we made it to the staging area (Code Name “Rim”) with no issues. We then formed our perimeter and prepared to engage. I was to give the signal. But before I could, all ungodly hell broke loose in that swamp.
Those monstrous monkeys were there, waiting on us, in the trees. They waited until we were in perimeter formation, and therefore at our most vulnerable, to launch their counter-attack. It was a trap!
I was about ready to give the order when I heard Big-Dick let out a terrible, blood curdling scream, followed by a hollow silence. I would quickly discover that Big-Dick had his head jerked clean off! I bolted toward his position when I heard the scream and found his dismembered body, and blood ... everywhere.
Then, in quick succession, I heard 3 more horrible, soul wrenching screams. SS, Bullwhip, and good old N#gger were down. It was horrible. I was especially shocked by N#gger. It’s hard to get a N#gger to go down. But these big, hairy, smelly fuckers were something he could not resist. My whole crew was taken out. All of them had their heads ripped off. Even worse, Sloppy Seconds showed signs of a sexual assault.
I decided to fall back to a more advantageous position, which I did. Once safely away I began to analyze the op and what went on out there. I did the recon work myself. It was a nest of TWO squatch. But tonight there was at least 4 out there. Plus, they were waiting for us. Clearly, it was a setup. But why did this happen? And why was I allowed to survive?
One thing was for sure. I was going to go back out there and hit those damn apes. They would not be expecting an attack so soon after this skirmish. But I needed some help.
I got on the dark web and made contact with the most badass Sasquatch mercenary I know besides myself: Joey McMurder. Joey is so hardcore that he wears a necklace of mummified Bigfoot spleens around his neck.
Old Joey served in Vietnam and is a collector of Military surplus weapons and hardware. He owns a Huey chopper retrofitted with 20mm cannons, a mini-gun, and bombing capability. We decided to use it in the operation.
Joey picked me up at my house 30 minutes later, landing his Huey in my front yard. My home base is located in a residential subdivision, so my neighbors probably did not like it, but they don’t have the balls to say anything to me. Old Joey leaned out of the chopper upon landing and yelled “Howdy, General!” Once in the air, Old Joey asked “Are ya sure now is the best time to hit them hairy bastards? The sun is about to come up? We could always hit them after sunset.”
I told Joey, “We’re hitting them NOW!! They just murdered my entire crew. They will not be expecting a retaliatory strike so soon. Besides, it was a setup. All the players are on location. WE HIT THEM NOW!!” I saw Joey thoughtfully mouth the word “setup”. He shook his head for a moment, then turned to me and nodded. We were on our way to unleash hell.
We came in low and fast, brushing the tree tops. I had given Joey the GPS coordinates so we could strike precisely. Suddenly Joey yelled out, “WE’RE HERE!”, then he pulled a switch which released the fire bombs, which were a homemade concoction Joey made that is essentially napalm... on steroids. Simultaneously, Joey hit those 20 mm cannons, both of them. Between the huge fire flash from the bombs and all the vegetation being chewed up by the machine gun fire, it was truly hell on earth for whatever was on the ground.
Not wanting to miss out on the fun, I jumped up and went to the midsection of the Huey, where Joey had retro fitted a mini-gun. I opened the bay door, started up the mini, then started blasting.
Joey was circling the coordinates I gave him. By this point, there was at least 100 acres involved in the unholy conflagration below, and the size was growing by the second. I was leaning out of the chopper and blasting away into the kill box with obscenely reckless abandon.
The entire assault lasted around 45 minutes. As soon as we found a clearing we put the Huey down, grabbed our load-out and pushed toward the nest. It was a difficult jaunt since all the vegetation was on fire. Hell, old Joey’s napalm brew is so strong that the goddamn water in the swamp was on fire too!
Finally, after a 40 minute hike through hell, and cooked to medium rare, we came to the nest. We managed to identify the remains of SIX sasquatch! More troubling, however, is that we also found the remains of two humans.
Upon inspecting the human remains I was able to recover identification. These were G-men... FBI. Apparently these rat-bastards had stuck their noses in my business and somehow organized this Sasquatch ambush. I told Joey these were G-men and he about shit himself. He was ready to fly his Huey to DC right then to “take back our country from those un-American, pencil-neck f#ggots.”
I managed to calm ole Joey down and convince him that we needed to look at this a little more closely before we decide our next step. I needed to know why the feds were spying on my Sasquatch hunting; why they wanted my crew eliminated, though let me live; and how they bribed or convinced the Sasquatch to do their dirty work. I already distrust these Bigfoot scum. But now that I know they will sell out to the feds, my opinion of them is lower than whale shit. I will burn all of Sasquatch, each and every one, burn right to the ground!
