Free Randal Telk and the 396 Steps to Sexual Bliss by Walter Knight, James Boedeker Page A

that! ” exclaimed Telk. “ I can kill that sorry space trash without nukes. ”
    “ I know, I ’ m against it too, ” lamented the President. “ Think of all the votes I ’ m going to lose. But, the Joint Chiefs say the alien machines have grouped in the Boston area , making an excellent target, so what can I do? If only those bastards had landed in Texas. I ’ d nuke the whole state! ”
    Telk hid in the rubble as the two Martian machines passed overhead. He shot them both in the ass, two missiles, two kills. “ Did you see that, Brother Barack ? It ’ s not so hard to destroy their machines. You don ’ t need to drop nukes on Boston! ”
    “ Good shooting, but we need to buy more time for our scientists. The eggheads believe the aliens are susceptible to biological attack. The plan is to allow the aliens to abduct and probe some of our skankiest hoes, infecting the Martians with herpes. Imagine those three-legged three-fingered bastards trying to scratch an itch with no fingernails. They ’ ll be wiped out in a week! ”

“ It could work, ” conceded Telk, scratching reflexively at the mere mention of herpes. “ Fine! Nuke Boston, for the good of the nation! ”
    About that time, Telk ’ s girlfriend Yolanda arrived in her own pimped-out Humvee. Yolanda was dressed to kill, looking especially sexy in her black BTUs and combat boots, assault rifle and grenade launcher casually slung over her shoulder in that carefree seductive manner of hers. “ Saw you on TV , sweetie, ” she cooed. “ Killing those Martians was so hot , I almost wet my self. Got time for your three-hundred-ninety-six steps to sexual bliss? ”
    Telk checked his watch. The nukes would fall in less than three hours. For the first time ever Telk turned Yolanda down. There just was not enough time for all three-hundred-ninety-six steps. If you ’ re going to something, it should be done right, especially lovemaking. Enraged, Yolanda drove off , searching for more aliens to kill. They would die slow and painful!
     
    * * * * *
     
    Private Telk snapped out of his daydream, scratching his crouch. It was just an allergic flareup to those sand fleas and mites that jumped off the armadillo earlier, nothing to worry about. It was time for Telk to go alien hunting.
     
     
     
     
    Chapter 11
     
    Officers have a bird ’ s - eye view of the world. Privates a have a worm ’ s - eye view. Worms do not have eyes, so that means privates are pretty much kept in the dark. I have been both an officer and an enlisted man, so I suppose I have more perspective on the matter , knowing how much danger I am getting into. Private Telk on the other hand, floats like a cork in the ocean, not knowing what is going to happen next. Albeit a heavily armed cork, he just floats and bobs with the tide.
    As our column of armored cars traveled along the DMZ canal , I checked my map for small towns that might have a good place to eat, noted bridge locations, and tried to remember which parcels of land Major Lopez and I bought for land speculation. Private Telk wondered if there were fish in the canal, and speculated about how many fish would float to the surface if he tossed in a grenade. Sergeant Williams speculated on whether the fish were carp or catfish. None of us wanted to eat MREs for dinner.
    I worried as I saw Telk take a seat and suddenly fall silent, staring off at nothing...
     
    * * * * *
     
    The Old Man of the Sea, Randal Telk, sat on his porch with his five - year - old grandson , Telk Junior , on his lap. Granddad Telk amicably rocked in his chair as Junior waited patiently to hear more fish stories. They got better with each telling. Granddad Telk was in no hurry. Just warming up, he ha c ked up a lung and spit on the neighbor ’ s dog for shitting in the yard again. “ Bitch! ” he snarled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “ Did I tell you about the time I was fly fishing in the ocean surf, with just my left hand to give the fish a