My (hopefuly) hilarious story. Please Read!

TerrorFirmer

ANY feedback welcome. Thanks. I have about 3 or 4 parts done, thought I'd post up the first part to see some reaction to it. Don't read if you dont like swearing or insanely stupid comedy....



Adventures of Captain Raven Scorchballs

Part One – Death River





The sun shone brightly over the long grassy river bank, the shimmering water reflected the clear blue sky overhead and birds flew and chirped happily overhead.



Captain Raven Scorchballs shuddered as he examined the men in his platoon, all huddled like African immigrants in the bottom of a Spanish fishing boat.

“Christ is that a piss stain on your pants?” he roared at nearby Private Wimp, a thick vain standing out on his neck in a mixture of disbelief and anger.

“Uh no captain,” Wimp explained carefully, “It’s the coffee you spilt on me earl-”

“Shut the fúck up you little sh it!” Sorchballs screamed in his face, covering it in a thin veil of spit and morsels of cornflakes.



Scorchballs shook his head in disgust. He leant over the side of the landing craft and breathed in a deep gulp of filthy, polluted Vietnamese air. “Ah,” he said finally, choking and coughing furiously, “I needed to clear my head.”



“ETA, 2 minutes,” Corporal Fruit screamed across the noise of the crashing waves and throbbing engine of the landing craft, “Expecting strong enemy entrenchments and strong points!”



Scorchballs primed his M4 Carbine and tensed his shoulders. He felt a lick of hair slide down his forehead and he swept it back furiously under his helmet. “Last time I buy ****ing gel at THAT store,” he muttered angrily as the man next to him dropped to his knees, his face a gaping mess of oozing gore and crushed bone, and fell flat on the floor. Scorchballs absentmindedly shoved the body away with his foot as he examined his hairline for imperfections in the ladies hairbrush-mirror two in one combination he always carried in a special red pouch on his belt, nestled safely beside the dazzling array of screwdrivers and tools he carried on a special utility belt.



“Get Down, Sharpshooter!” someone screamed.



Oh, how they had all laughed when he insisted on bring his special customised belt on his first ever assignment. Yes, he remembered his first assignment, the fun they made of him, Scorchballs the rookie. But oh no, they weren’t laughing afterwards. Not after he captured an entire VC trench system using a spoon he accidentally brought with him from the base canteen. Or the time he disappeared into the jungle with nothing but a half eaten sandwich and a pack of matches, and came back several hours later strewn with blood and carrying a US P.O.W under each arm. Of the sandwich, no trace was ever found, and the matches, well, they were recovered several days later by a jungle recon with all but three matches used.



Everyone respected Scorchballs. There were those who didn’t like him, there were those that thought him a fool. But like him or not they all respected him. He smiled a grim smile, a smile that existed solely for heroes as he basked in the memories of his greatness, a dark crimson pool of sticky blood and brain matter puddling around his boots. He snapped to attention as there was a sudden creaky, dry groan as the landing door began to swing downward. The craft suddenly jolted violently as it hit the river shore.



At last they were clear. Scorchballs jogged casually out of the landing craft as tracers whizzed and whined by him, explosions showering the group with dirt and water. From the treeline several hundred yards ahead, dozens of muzzles flashes erupted furiously and all around him, ripping up grass and dirt all over the place. He turned around to wave the men forward, only to see Private Fruit leap off the landing craft with his rifle pointed towards the ground. The second he landed, his rifle cracked, and a meaty chunk of foot flew messily away. He screamed and instantly dropped to his knees, detonating a land mine in the process and him and several soldiers around him erupted instantaneously in a thunderous shower of blood and dirt.



Scorchballs raised his carbine and fired indiscriminately, watching satisfactorily with eagle eyes as the number of muzzle flashes in the trees was gradually whittled down to sporadic bursts of gunfire. Within moments the vicious firefight was over, and Scorchballs rallied his men.



Looking around at the low number of casualties, he thanked god that the commie scum’s third world origin naturally rendered them totally and typically inaccurate at even the closest of ranges. He waved his men forward, towards the dense jungle that lay beyond the landing zone.

hada

I'm still laughing at this line:

"Everyone respected Scorchballs"

He he..

Besides that, ya, I quite enjoyed this. Wouldn't mind reading a bit more, great stuff.