Air Force Gator 2: Scales of Justice by Dan Ryckert

Author:Dan Ryckert
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2013-05-13T05:00:00+00:00

Blinking his eyes open, Air Force Gator had no idea if it was hours or days later. He laid on a cold concrete floor, and looked up to see the distorted vision of a human with a straw hat.

"I hope you had some sweet dreams about that dead, big-tittied gal you used to be sweet on," Van Buren said. "Because now it's time for your nightmare."

Chapter VIII

July 4, 2013

Alexandria, Virginia

It had been nearly three months since anyone in the United States had heard anything from Air Force Gator. Some assumed he had become a recluse after the death of Trish, reverting to his former life of booze and whores. Many others felt he had committed suicide, his body undiscovered at the bottom of a river or hanging in a cheap motel room. One thing was for certain, though. Van Buren and the Sons of Gustav had taken one American city down, and they planned on striking again. With the heroic alligator out of commission or dead, the American public was beginning to lose hope.

Newspapers and gossip websites ran headlines that predicted Gator's death, but one man never lost hope. Ray "Razor" Connolly was one of only two men that knew where Air Force Gator really was. President Obama was forced to disavow any knowledge of the alligator's location, but Razor was determined to send help to South America. He couldn't prove that Gator was alive on top of that Venezuelan waterfall, but his gut told him that the American hero hadn't left this world yet.

It was Independence Day, a holiday that had always reminded Razor of his best friend, even during the years that they were out of contact. Gator always said it was his favorite holiday, and he spent it each year getting hammered and blowing up watermelons and toilets with M-80s. Sitting on a Boston streetside during a Fourth of July parade, Razor struggled to enjoy it despite his nagging worries about Air Force Gator.

He wiped tears from his eyes as he watched men dressed as Benjamin Franklin and Thomas Jefferson ride floats down the street, throwing candy at children. Keeping his composure was difficult but doable until one float rounded the corner and caused Razor to break down. It was a large alligator balloon, adorned with Air Force Gator's trademark goggles and bomber jacket. Underneath the inflatable creature was a sign that read "A Tribute To A Fallen American Hero."

Wanting to scream and let the world know that Gator wasn't dead, Razor instead balled his fists and vowed to act on his suspicions. He folded up his lawn chair, tossed it in the back of the station wagon he had found in New Orleans, and began the seven-hour drive to Alexandria, Virginia.

Colonel Backlund was dead and President Obama wouldn't be any help given the situation, so Razor had only one man to turn to for help. It wouldn't be easy to convince anyone to help a bartender save an assumed-dead alligator from an evil pig farmer, but Razor was damn sure gonna try to gain an unlikely ally.

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