Ever wonder why the chicken crossed the road? Long story

[bigun]

Ever wonder why the chicken crossed the road? Quit worrying about one chicken & look at what the rest of the fowl terrorist cell did............................

By David (Schmit) Schmidbauer

Twenty some odd years ago, as an ideological young lad, I swore an oath to defend the U.S. Constitution, obey all orders of those appointed over me and enlisted as a U. S. Marine Corps Rifleman. Off I went to boot camp followed by infantry training and was then assigned to an Infantry Battalion. My world was in blissful harmony. This lasted only a few years though. In the infinite wisdom that only the Armed Services posses, my love for the outdoors, firearms and edged weapons was disregarded when it became known I had typing skills. My duties were changed and I was regulated to work in an office and, shudder… push papers. On the plus side it allowed me the time to pursue another interest… women.

I eventually met, wooed and married a lovely lady. Over the insuring years she advanced in her authority, though I don’t quite know how as it was VERY gradual, to the point of jokingly being called Colonel (radio call-sign Chameleon (but that is another story)). With this advancement she took over the duties of CinC USH. For those not familiar with milspeak that stands for “Commander in Chief, United Schmit Household. Per the Infantry Table of Organization we parented the necessary children to fill out a Rifle Team (which, by the way, is 4). Time passed and eventually we set up a temporary base of operations on a 15-acre farm complete with support buildings (barn & shed). Harmony was again restored to my world.

The CinC determined that to better camouflage our base and help it blend in with the surrounding area we needed diversionary items. It was decided that a few chickens would fit the bill perfectly and she contacted a source. When I arrived home one evening there were six hanging around the barn. Now, you must realize that I was raised in a large Northern U.S. City and the Cold War was still raging during the first half of my career. So when the Colonel told me about the new decoys the only thing I remember was that she said they were red. “Red? As in Communist, like Russia or China?” I ask. “No! Rhode Island.” Hmmm, as far as I knew Rhode Island hadn’t seceded from the Union and declared a new form of government. In hindsight I guess I should have said something right then, but I didn’t… the Colonel had been deceived!

I resolved to keep an eye on these chickens due to their being communist, no matter what the Colonel said. Better safe then sorry in my opinion. The next morning I was jolted out of a deep sleep. I listened intently until I heard it again. When I did the thought that raced through my mind were those CNN clips from the Gulf War. The ones after a night of bombing where the Bedouin women, dressed all in black with only their eyes showing, are screaming “Aiaiaiaiai Aiaiaiaiai”. I woke the Colonel and told her I thought the parameter had been breached. She listened and told me it was just the rooster crowing, and that I should go back to sleep. Still not totally convinced I went back to sleep as ordered… though not before I pressed checked my 1911 that rests on the night stand.

Over the following months I observed the chickens, becoming more convinced of my suspicions and gathering circumstantial evidence that something big was in the works. I had noticed that when the Colonel went out to the barn all but one would run up to her. The one that hung back seemed to be the leader. Let’s examine him for a moment.

He was the one that did that Bedouin wail each and every morning. Additionally, unlike the others, he wore something akin to an Arab headdress… its color… RED! Finally, he was extremely promiscuous, having intimate relations with all the other chickens, which reciprocated willingly. Does this not scream “Cult” to you?

However, when I went out to the barn the chickens didn’t act the same as they did with the Colonel. They would start to come toward me but stop about 10 yards away. I could not approach them nor would they come closer. I can only surmise that terrorist chickens (yes, I was convinced they were that) were, by some genetic fluke, all nearsighted (I worked this to my favor as you’ll see shortly) and they put more stock into furthering their cause then into optometry. I believed they also knew that I was onto them! So when they saw who it was they kept their distance!

I also noticed that after each time the Colonel when out and had a meeting with the chickens, which included much arm gesturing on her part, they would have a follow up meeting when she left. I crept out after they broken up their meetings a few times and you know what I found? There, in the dirt, was what looked like Arabic writing. Now, I can’t read Arabic but by the quantity of the writings they were up to something… something BIG!

It all came to play a week or so later. The Colonel called me at work and said a truck had hit one of the chickens. Now the barn were the chickens resided was located near the rear of our camp, behind which were woods. About 400 yards to the front was the road! And it had been hit on the far side of the road! I had to ask myself “Why would the chickens cross the road?” My answer came the next morning when the owner of the truck stopped in to show us the damage and drop of an estimate for the repair.

Up pulled a brand new Dodge Full-size Truck. Its driver side front displaying extensive damage. Everyone knows that Dodge trucks are built “Ram Tough” so how could a chicken do over $1000 damage to this metal monster? The only answer I could logically arrive at was if said chicken was carrying explosives. Upon impact with the truck the explosives had detonated causing damage to the grill, light assembly and hood. I took the estimate and retired to my reloading room to put together a situation report for the Colonel. It was time to convince her of my suspicions.

I compiled all the evidence and wrote it up in the proper format. But what where they up to? Quickly I got out maps of the immediate area and beyond. I sat there on the floor with this Intel spread out before me trying to make sense of it all. There was something I was missing… some little bit of Intel… but what? Then it hit me like a brick. I ran down and got the phone book. Yep, there it was… about 45 miles away - a Chicken Processing plant. I had it!
The reason they crossed the road was that they were on their way to that plant. They were in movement to blow it up or, more likely, take the employees hostage while releasing their comrades, who in turn would join the fight. ****, they might even demand the release of ALL chickens at hatcheries, farms and processing plants. It was a Poultry Jihad! This could have serious National Security, not to mention worldwide, ramifications. It had to be stopped!

I started to gather my notes to brief the Colonel. She, however, preempted this by boldly entering the room and announcing that the chickens were a liability and she was putting on a pot of dumplings. I can take a hint and the maps hit on the floor as I made my way to my gun safe, a hasty plan forming.

Operation Cluck

I briefed the Colonel on the plan and instructed her to go out and talk, or what ever she did, with the chickens. However, she was to do this away from the barn (I suspected that their arms cache might be there). As she left I returned to my safe and retrieved my Sniper Rifle (damn political correctness, this is a military operation). Leaving the house I moved towards the pasture at the back of camp. When I reached the barbwire that bordered the pasture I started my approach, low crawling through the overgrown vegetation. Finally I reached a point where the pasture was mowed and my concealment ran out. There was the Colonel and the Red chickens. I used the MilDots to range and found that they were 100 yards out. Perfect! I clicked in the 100 yard zero on the Leupold and waited. Finally the Colonel left.

I waited till the Colonel was out of the Operation Area and chambered a round of Federal Match. Having settled into a stable prone I peered through the scope and watched as the leader again wrote instructions in the dirt. Only this time so were all the others. Was there discontent? I didn’t care; I was going to take all of them out. My crosshairs settled on the leader's head for a surgical shot. The slack was taken up on the first stage trigger, my breathing was slow, I waited… biding my time.

Then, subconsciously, I knew I had my shot. The sear broke sending the match projectile down range. Unfortunately, the head being the most animated part of the body my shot was off… he must have moved a fraction. Instead of a perfect headshot my projectile had impacted just below, partially severing his head. Then **** broke lose! He started running around, the thought “DRUGS” flashed through my mind.

The rest of the Chickens decided it was in their best interest to scatter. All but one that is! One, which in hindsight I figure was the Second in Command and probably well schooled in military tactics, raced right towards me. Those of you that have been in the military know that one of the best defensives for an ambush is to attack as quickly as possible into the ambush. That is exactly what this Red Chicken was doing. As fast as possible I chambered another round and tried to pick him up in the 10x scope. He was moving fast, weaving left and right, trying to make his way to me. Either he’d make it and I’d have to go to an edged weapon for defense or I’d martyr him. I, of course, preferred the latter. Finally I picked him up in the scope when he was about 50 yards out. Again, I released the sear without conscience thought. The projectile entered his chest and exploded out his rear. He went down for eternity! I scanned right just in time to see the remaining chickens run into the woods behind the barn.
Damn, a shift of tactics was in order. No way was I going to attempt close quarters fighting with a 14 pound, scoped, bolt action rifle. I reformulated my plan as I retreated back to the house to retrieve my tactical shotgun. Stoking it with appropriate ammo I moved back out towards the barn. Making a dynamic entry I quickly cleared the barn while searching for their weapons and explosive cache. Finding neither I paused at the back door to catch my breath and think this out.

I had three tangos (that’s mil-speak for terrorist) in the woods. I didn’t know if they were armed or not but I hadn’t found the cache in the barn. It might very well be in the woods with them. They had been holding maneuvers in the woods ever since we got them and knew the terrain better then I. As Marchinko would say… “Doom on me!”

With my shotgun firmly in my shoulder at a high ready I slowly made my way into the woods using trees for cover. Moving, with my heart trying to beat its way out of my chest, I scanned the area to my front from left to right and also up into the trees. Suddenly a chicken broke cover just off to my right trying to put distance between it and myself. The shotgun moved to eye level as I picked up the front sight through the ghost ring and fired. Leaves and feathers expanded and mingled into the air before me. Yep, number 7 ½ shot was just the ticket! The sound of the shot must have startled one of the others because the moment after the shot I heard movement to my left. Swinging the Beretta I picked up the target and continued through, pressing the trigger as I went. Pressed just in time that is for the lucky terrorist to move behind a tree, which of course, absorbed my shot charge. Recovering quickly, I continued to follow through and connected with my second shot as he moved from behind the tree.
The world seemed to stop at that point. Nothing moved. Nothing made a sound. This was it, the final showdown, it was down to the two of us… mono a chicko. This one was playing smart, sitting still in his hide. I hoped he wasn’t armed and waiting in ambush as I started an ever-expanding search pattern. Slowly, methodically, moving from tree to tree, I cleared the woods. After about twenty minutes, without any luck, I was getting exhausted. However, I understood that I was the only one that knew the gravity of this situation and so I had to push on till it was finished.

Another step and a soft sound behind me. Very subtle, non-threatening. Excruciatingly slow I turned till I faced where it had come from. Again, behind a down log was a faint whisper of sound. I could barely make him out, his feathers blending perfectly with the surroundings, but there was the final terrorist chicken. He was partially hidden by the log and a little far out to ensure a clean takedown with the shotgun. Wishing I had brought my 1911 I moved off in a snail paced flanking maneuver. Ten minutes later I had made my way closer and to the front side of the log without being detected (remember, terrorist chickens are nearsighted). Or, if I was detected, the tango chose to put all his eggs in one basket, so to speak, and rely on his camouflage. Let’s just say this was a grave error in judgment/tactics on his part and leave it at that.
After dressing out the ingredients for dinner I made my way back to the command post. Although I was physically and mentally drained I had a feeling of great accomplishment. I knew that if this terrorist cult hadn’t been stopped not only might the world have been devoid of McNuggets and Buffalo Wings in the upcoming century, but also I would have been ordering pizza when I arrived.

I have since left active military service (and no, not due to psychological problems), however, the Colonel still commands USH. We recently set up a permanent camp in a rural area of South Carolina. The closest road to the CP is just over a quarter mile away and, as such, the Colonel mentioned something about getting chickens again one night. I told her I’d handle the task. That weekend I took possession of some (nomenclature): Peafowl, Indian Blue, **** and Hen… 1 each. Why these? Well, being Indian I figure that they would adhere to the teaching of Mahatma Gandhi. Though I am still vigilant I do sleep a lot easier with this knowledge.

[breakjeepparts]

any chance of getting some cliff notes...

[Kim~]

Well, at least we know that you don't exaggerate