How to Kill a Metal Elephant: A Collection of Short Science Fiction & Fantasy Stories

By J. H. Drake

From war-torn streets and alleyways to distant planets filled with whispered secrets in the dark, this collection of short stories by new author J. H. Drake takes the reader on a journey through the eyes of several characters as they struggle to simply survive. From the pragmatist to the cynic and oppressed, watch as their lives are changed, and not always for the better.

• Language: English
• Publisher: J. H. Drake
• Release date: Oct 19, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301704231

J. H. Drake

I'm just a guy in my twenties from a small town in New York, who grew up drinking on Star Wars and other science fiction and fantasy works. I have many, many interests, ranging from woodworking to wishing I could read science fiction and fantasy all day long until my eyeballs dried up, to writing, but I've picked just two of those things so far that I consider part of my life's work, sadly.I've concluded that the quota of smiles around the world is severely lacking, so I have decided to up the ante as much as I can with my style. In simple words, I like to have humor in my stories and plots. The reasons behind this are not quite as flippant. I've never been healthy. Books have helped me to feel a little bit better while growing up, even if for just an afternoon at a time as I occasionally stared out a window and dreamed of what I could do if I could fly to the stars and explore a whole new galaxy, instead of being cooped up with a temperature. Books with more humor in them always made me feel a little bit better, so I've decided to do the same: to make at least some stories that will make others laugh, and maybe help a few who need a pick-me-up along the way."The Metal Menace" series is my first of many that are roiling around in my head. I think it's plot is a bit... off the beaten path, even for me, but that only has to be a good thing. I've laughed my butt off while writing it at times, so that has to count for something, right? Even my mother, whose great love concerns Christian Romance, likes these books. That has to say something, though what that something is even I don't wish to ponder for too long. Regardless, all you need to know is that I even got her hooked, when I'd thought only horse-drawn carts and distant, pure romance would get her to smile. These are nothing like that.So if I can warp the universe like this, read my stuff, damn it!

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How to Kill a Metal Elephant: A Collection of Short Science Fiction & Fantasy Stories

By J. H. Drake

Copyright 2013 J. H. Drake

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover by J. H. Drake

Table of Contents

Crumbs from the Metal Elephant

White Glaze

New Harvest

Fair Pay

Buried: A Day in the Life of a Saboteur

Burned: A Day in the Life of a Thief

About the author

Connect with J. H. Drake

To Bill, Avery, and Tim, for pushing me to get something published.

To Laurenda, for all the proof-reading and unfailing support. Thank you.

Crumbs from the Metal Elephant

John Mackis, known to his friends and fellow guards as Feller, was a patient man. Heck, he was also a calm man, not easily enticed to respond one way or another to anything that might arise in the wastes. Raiders, tribesman, he’d handled them all.

However when his radio buzzed earlier than usual that Tuesday morning in the dusty confines of his shack, he knew something was up.

No one dared to bother his rest unless they wanted to lose a liter of blood, or if something had come up that needed his undivided attention. So when he had answered and all he had received was a strangled voice saying, Take it down! We gotta kill the metal elephant! before going silent, he knew it was the latter.

Still, that didn’t prevent him from enjoying the last bite of yesterday’s meal, courtesy of some woman he’d rescued a fortnight ago. Metal elephant or saber-toothed alien or whatever, nothing would separate him from his meal.

Licking his fingers, he considered the last bite before stuffing it in his mouth. There were few pleasures left in the wastes, and food was hard to come by. Or good food was hard to come by, to be correct. The woman had claimed to be a chef. Whether she had lied to him or not, he hadn't been willing to take the chance and had dragged her sorry rear back to Cope, the last civilization of the West. He had then dumped her into the barracks of the town watch, glaring at anyone who may have said otherwise to a new mouth to feed. She'd been his personal chef ever since.

Just thinking about all the tasty meals she had made for him only made him hungrier as he got out of bed and thoroughly patted himself down from head to toe, looking for any wounds, bumps or bruises, even peeling skin. Satisfied, he then checked over his armor and rifle, both corroded with grit but functional. None of these tasks took him very long; he’d learned long ago never to sleep without his armor or a weapon in bed and was out the door in seconds.

Making his way to the front gate was difficult. No, it was not because he was carrying a Mark II Telecepter that weighed at least thirty kilos. Or his bulky plate armor, scrapped from some armored vehicle of a bygone era. Those were easy. No, it was the screaming crowd of denizens that insisted on swarming in the opposite direction. Apparently, they’d all seen this ‘metal elephant’ and had decided their eyes needed a break or something.

A 'metal elephant', whatever that meant, was no real surprise out here. The town guard loved to make up new names for the latest schemes of the barbarians living outside. The men of the wastes were always cooking up something new, be it a new rocket launcher they had devised from a keg of gunpowder and car parts, or some new flying contraption to get over the walls that snapped as soon as a human body was strapped to it. It was amusing, really. So he tried to be nice for once and asked what this new threat to the town was all about, and he received curses and wide eyes in reply. So much for being nice. Braining a couple of the sheep did the trick and it took him only three minutes to make it the rest of the way. Descending the steps to the main gate, he made his way across the no-mans-land to the first of the barricades set up around the town. It was one of over twenty, all of them deep pits filled with barbed wire and the poisonous wastes of The Grand War.

Heat shimmered from the command tent at the first line, but John took his time taking in the sights before entering. A shimmering cloud was seen rising off to the east, presumably from this new assault.

Took you long enough, muttered a voice from inside as John entered the dark confines. A messy map table greeted him as well as a small crowd of people surrounding it, all of them glancing nervously out the tent's window or whispering amongst themselves.

What’s the situation? he asked, putting on his professional voice. Immediately the crowd died down.

What do you think? said the middle-aged man who’d spoken first, his salt-and-pepper hair and unshaven face looking grim. He handed John a set of binoculars.

Sighting down through the device, John took a quick look, keying through several modes of vision so as to cut through the dust cloud.

It’s big, was all he said.

The salt-and-pepper man, a commander named Val who was highly ranked among the town guard, sighed and removed his helmet, spraying oily sweat all over in the process.

That’s not all, he said. His voice, though clipped in the usual military style, was laced with fatigue. The raiders are getting smart. We’ve sent out parties already to intercept, but they haven’t reported back. You can see the remnants of the skiffs in that…thing’s wake.

John nodded. It was to be expected. The electronic outline he could make out from the binoculars told him the vehicle forthcoming was indeed shaped like an elephant. Only it was nearly twenty meters tall and practically encased in living bodies and firepower. Gun barrels were poking out the sides, with moving human-like shapes visible in the thermal spectrum roaming across what appeared to be decks grafted to the metal beast’s hide. The trunk was also out of proportion, writhing as a giant boa about to strike, the tusks glowing from expended heat. Must be the heavy cannons were mounted there, likely 30mm or larger.

All in all, if that thing wasn’t stopped soon, the vehicle would be in firing range of the town. He frowned. This just felt wrong, all of it.

Where could they get something like that? he asked. He turned to Val, who seemed to be the only one not in the middle of soiling himself with the realization of what was in front of them: with that kind of firepower, the enemy wouldn't even need to get close to the walls and risk the pits. They could just fire at the town, burning it down at their leisure. Val licked his lips.

I don't know.

This will be double my usual fee, John replied, rechecking his straps and gun belt out of habit.

Can we not do this now? Val asked, already realizing what was coming. There really no time to waste -

No. I want a double-crust pizza from Selseo’s, with a large drink. I also want two – no, make that three extra large tubs of pistachio mocha ice cream.

Val just looked at him. You know we don’t have pistachio mocha–

John crossed his arms and glared at him.

Oh, all right, we’ll just use re-grounds and throw ’em in. Is that all?

John cocked his head. Why wouldn’t it be? I don’t have a refrigerator.

Fair enough. Equipment? Val was already beckoning over a requisition officer. John always liked professionals.

Just give me a pilot for a skiff, John said, back to business.

But you’ve seen what that atrocity did to the others. What the hell makes you think you’ll fare any different?

I wasn’t done. I also want six more skiffs, the best you’ve got so they can keep up with me. I want them all slaved to my pilot.

Val’s eyes widened as he got the picture of what John had in mind, but he just nodded.

Done. Oh, and one more thing. Holding out his helmet, Val waited until John reluctantly took the sweaty thing.

You’ll need it.