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More From the Dark Side of Bronson
posted Tuesday, 29 May 2007
A Long Excerpt From 1985’s Brick Bronson and the Soviet Solution by Stoney M. Badess.
The president spat out a wad that mostly consisted of his own blood.
“You won’t get away with this, Bronson,” he threatened angrily. “It’s only a matter of time before they find us.”
“I only need ten minutes,” Brick said quietly as he led the leader of the free world into an abandoned barn located in an obscure area of Virginia farm country.
“Why are you doing this? You used to be a patriot! A national hero!”
“I still am. It’s the country that’s changed.”
“Is this really worth your life? Because that’s what it’s going to cost you. There’s no way you’re going to get out of this alive.”
“I know,” Brick admitted as he tied his hostage down on a ratty looking lawn chair. “I’ve always been willing to give my life for my country. I’m just surprised it didn’t happen sooner.”
“Let me go!” the president shouted impotently from the chair, clearly unnerved by his loss of power.
“I will,” Brick told him. “Just as soon as we are done.”
“Done what?”
Brick said nothing as he walked out of the barn, towards the highly damaged presidential town car he had used in the course of the abduction. The three dead bodies from before remained inside the car’s interior. One of them possessed what he was looking for.
“What did you do?” the president screamed at him as he returned to the barn holding a briefcase that was handcuffed to a severed arm.
“I got what I needed,’ Brick explained matter-of-factly as he laid the briefcase and attached arm on the ground at the president’s feet.
“Do you know what that is? Do you know what it can do?”
“Of course I do. Why do you think I took it?”
“You’re insane!”
“Could be.”
“If you think I’m going to help you, you’re very mistaken!”
“Mr. President,” Brick laid down the situation, “all that I need to make this happen is your right hand and if you don’t volunteer it, I will have no problem taking it.”
“It doesn’t matter. You killed the only person who knows the combination to the—“
Brick opened the briefcase.
“How did—“ the president stammered with disbelief.
“Do you really think there are any secrets anymore?” asked Brick. “There were over a dozen people who knew that combination, that is until I got through with them. Now there’s just me.” Brick turned the briefcase towards the president, revealing a key pad, a small computer monitor, a glass scanner and a book of relevant codes.
“You’ll kill us all! You don’t think the Soviets will retaliate? They’ll have missiles flying towards us before our nukes have left American airspace!”
“No,” Brick shook his head. “Not today.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You think I did this randomly? I have spent decades waiting for this moment!”
“What moment?”
Brick looked at his watch. He had time and the story was too good not to tell.
“In 1959 I was sent on a mission to find and destroy a stealth commie submarine that had been equipped with an amazing new piece of technology that was years ahead of its time. It had been developed by a Jewish Polack named Klaussmann, who had been kept as a prisoner of the filthy commies since World War II. In the course of my mission I not only destroyed the sub and the weapon, but I also rescued the good doctor, who now obviously shared my disdain for the Bolsheviks.”
Brick pulled a flask from out of his pocket and took a good long sip before he continued.
“Thing was, though, I didn’t tell my superiors I rescued Klaussmann. I told them he was killed by the commies and they believed me. Using several of my contacts, I set him up in Argentina, where he began working on a second, even more powerful version of his weapon.”
Brick sat down beside the nuclear briefcase on the barn floor and started looking through its codebook.
“Now, you and I both know what the biggest problem with our current security situation is,” Brick continued as he scanned the book. “They call it M.A.D. Mutually assured destruction. We can’t attack them without them attacking us and vice versa. But,” he smiled, “my Polish genius in South America came up with a way that would give one side an advantage over the other. It’s a bomb that doesn’t explode. What it does instead is render all communications in an area impossible, both electronically AND—this is the genius part—biologically. For 24 hours anyone within the radius of one of these non-lethal blasts is rendered mute. For the past 26 years I have been placing these bombs in strategic locations throughout the Russian empire and,” Brick looked down at his watch, “they all went off three minutes ago.”
Brick lifted up the severed arm and placed it on a piece of clear glass that sat on the right side of the briefcase, beside the keypad. A light scanned the dead hand and the computer turned on.
“By the time the Russians figure out what is going on, our nukes will have already started raining down on them and we’ll have won the cold war without a single American casualty.”
“It won’t work,” the president insisted. “They’ll have contingencies and back up plans, just like we do.”
“Maybe,” Brick admitted, “but that’s a chance I’m willing to take.”
“I’m not going to help you. I am not going to be a party to genocide.”
“I figured you’d say that,” said Brick as he stood up and walked behind his captive leader. “That’s why I brought this,” he added as he lifted up a large and very heavy looking chainsaw.
The president’s screams echoed throughout the lonely Virginia grasslands. Within seconds he was unconscious and absent an appendage.
Brick held the still warm hand up to the glass. The light confirmed that it belong to the President of the United States and allowed him to enter the ten digit code required to kill hundreds of millions of people thousands of miles away.
The computer’s monitor informed Brick that the attack sequence had been initiated. He smiled and lifted out an old black and white photograph from his pocket.
“I did it, Timmy,” he whispered aloud.
“I finally did it.”
The president spat out a wad that mostly consisted of his own blood.
“You won’t get away with this, Bronson,” he threatened angrily. “It’s only a matter of time before they find us.”
“I only need ten minutes,” Brick said quietly as he led the leader of the free world into an abandoned barn located in an obscure area of Virginia farm country.
“Why are you doing this? You used to be a patriot! A national hero!”
“I still am. It’s the country that’s changed.”
“Is this really worth your life? Because that’s what it’s going to cost you. There’s no way you’re going to get out of this alive.”
“I know,” Brick admitted as he tied his hostage down on a ratty looking lawn chair. “I’ve always been willing to give my life for my country. I’m just surprised it didn’t happen sooner.”
“Let me go!” the president shouted impotently from the chair, clearly unnerved by his loss of power.
“I will,” Brick told him. “Just as soon as we are done.”
“Done what?”
Brick said nothing as he walked out of the barn, towards the highly damaged presidential town car he had used in the course of the abduction. The three dead bodies from before remained inside the car’s interior. One of them possessed what he was looking for.
“What did you do?” the president screamed at him as he returned to the barn holding a briefcase that was handcuffed to a severed arm.
“I got what I needed,’ Brick explained matter-of-factly as he laid the briefcase and attached arm on the ground at the president’s feet.
“Do you know what that is? Do you know what it can do?”
“Of course I do. Why do you think I took it?”
“You’re insane!”
“Could be.”
“If you think I’m going to help you, you’re very mistaken!”
“Mr. President,” Brick laid down the situation, “all that I need to make this happen is your right hand and if you don’t volunteer it, I will have no problem taking it.”
“It doesn’t matter. You killed the only person who knows the combination to the—“
Brick opened the briefcase.
“How did—“ the president stammered with disbelief.
“Do you really think there are any secrets anymore?” asked Brick. “There were over a dozen people who knew that combination, that is until I got through with them. Now there’s just me.” Brick turned the briefcase towards the president, revealing a key pad, a small computer monitor, a glass scanner and a book of relevant codes.
“You’ll kill us all! You don’t think the Soviets will retaliate? They’ll have missiles flying towards us before our nukes have left American airspace!”
“No,” Brick shook his head. “Not today.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You think I did this randomly? I have spent decades waiting for this moment!”
“What moment?”
Brick looked at his watch. He had time and the story was too good not to tell.
“In 1959 I was sent on a mission to find and destroy a stealth commie submarine that had been equipped with an amazing new piece of technology that was years ahead of its time. It had been developed by a Jewish Polack named Klaussmann, who had been kept as a prisoner of the filthy commies since World War II. In the course of my mission I not only destroyed the sub and the weapon, but I also rescued the good doctor, who now obviously shared my disdain for the Bolsheviks.”
Brick pulled a flask from out of his pocket and took a good long sip before he continued.
“Thing was, though, I didn’t tell my superiors I rescued Klaussmann. I told them he was killed by the commies and they believed me. Using several of my contacts, I set him up in Argentina, where he began working on a second, even more powerful version of his weapon.”
Brick sat down beside the nuclear briefcase on the barn floor and started looking through its codebook.
“Now, you and I both know what the biggest problem with our current security situation is,” Brick continued as he scanned the book. “They call it M.A.D. Mutually assured destruction. We can’t attack them without them attacking us and vice versa. But,” he smiled, “my Polish genius in South America came up with a way that would give one side an advantage over the other. It’s a bomb that doesn’t explode. What it does instead is render all communications in an area impossible, both electronically AND—this is the genius part—biologically. For 24 hours anyone within the radius of one of these non-lethal blasts is rendered mute. For the past 26 years I have been placing these bombs in strategic locations throughout the Russian empire and,” Brick looked down at his watch, “they all went off three minutes ago.”
Brick lifted up the severed arm and placed it on a piece of clear glass that sat on the right side of the briefcase, beside the keypad. A light scanned the dead hand and the computer turned on.
“By the time the Russians figure out what is going on, our nukes will have already started raining down on them and we’ll have won the cold war without a single American casualty.”
“It won’t work,” the president insisted. “They’ll have contingencies and back up plans, just like we do.”
“Maybe,” Brick admitted, “but that’s a chance I’m willing to take.”
“I’m not going to help you. I am not going to be a party to genocide.”
“I figured you’d say that,” said Brick as he stood up and walked behind his captive leader. “That’s why I brought this,” he added as he lifted up a large and very heavy looking chainsaw.
The president’s screams echoed throughout the lonely Virginia grasslands. Within seconds he was unconscious and absent an appendage.
Brick held the still warm hand up to the glass. The light confirmed that it belong to the President of the United States and allowed him to enter the ten digit code required to kill hundreds of millions of people thousands of miles away.
The computer’s monitor informed Brick that the attack sequence had been initiated. He smiled and lifted out an old black and white photograph from his pocket.
“I did it, Timmy,” he whispered aloud.
“I finally did it.”
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