A New Dimension: Chapter Eighteen

        “Private Chuck-Bob!”
        “Uh, yes sir!  Right here sir!  Say, uh, sir, it’s kinda hard to keep up with you pacing like that.  Sir.”
        “Private Chuck-Bob!”
        “Uh, yessir?”
        “Do you have a health malfunction that prevents you from walking apace with your commanding officer?”
        “Uh, health malfunc – oh, uh no sir.”
        “Very good, Private Chuck-Bob. What is our status, Private?”
        “Uh, sir?”
        “Have you come in contact with our target, Private Chuck-Bob?”
        “Uh, do you mean the chicken, sir?”
        “Private Chuck-Bob!”
        “Uh, yes sir?”
        “Of course I mean the chicken, Private Chuck-Bob!  Have you found the chicken?!”
        “Oh, uh, no sir, reports from the MPs indicate no chicken spotted.”
        “Private Chuck-Bob, was the janitor’s apartment located and searched?”
        “Um, let me check.  Yep, yep it was, sir.  We found another feather or two, but no sign of the, chick- um targets, sir.”
        “That is disappointing, Private Chuck-Bob, disappointing indeed.”
        “Uh, yes sir, sorry sir.”
        “Private Chuck-Bob!”
        “Yessir!”
        “Have the MPs set up a perimeter?”
        “Yessir.  That was the first thing we did sir.  Set up a perimeter, sir.”
        “Very good Private Chuck-Bob.  And is there air cover?”
        “Yessir, we have an MP helicopter on continuous-like monitoring.”
        “Excellent, Private Chuck-Bob.”
        “Yessir.  If they’re here, sir, we’ll find them.  Sir.”
        “For all our sakes, Private Chuck-Bob, I hope you’re right.”
        “Yessir, me too sir.  I hope I’m right too, sir.  I mean -”
        “Nevermind, Private Chuck-Bob.  We’ll find that chicken . . . Private Chuck-Bob!  Look – over there!”
        “Sir?!  Oh, my good gosh darned sir, it’s a chicken!  Get it!  Get it!”
        “Find the MPs Private Chuck-Bob, close in, but don’t scare it away.  Get the helicopter on the radio, make sure it doesn’t fly away.  Run Private Chuck-Bob! Run!”
        “Sir, stay back sir, don’t scare it.  I’ve grabbed me a bunch of chickens in my life, and it ain’t easy.  Distract it from over there sir.  That’s it.  That’s it.  Now!”
        “By Jiminy Private Chuck-Bob, you did it!  You captured the target, I am deeply and terribly impressed.  Hold that chicken tightly, Private Chuck-Bob.  Don’t let it go!  Hot dang!  We did it!  Private Chuck-Bob – I may recommend you for a commendation, Private Chuck-Bob.  Wait – why are those MPs over there celebrating?”
        “I, I don’t know, sir.  It – it looks like they’re holding a – well I’ll be a three eyed horn-toad, it looks like they’re holding a chicken!”
        “But we have the target Private Chuck-Bob.  We have the target.”
        “But those men are holding a brown chicken.”
        “Dear God, it looks just like this brown chicken.  Could there be two targets, Private Chuck-Bob?!”
        “There must be, sir, but wait- over there, there’s another one.”
        “And, Private Chuck-Bob, there’s another over there!  What in the Sam Hill is going on here?!”
        “Chickens are everywhere sir!  They’re everywhere!”
        “Get them all Private Chuck-Bob!  Don’t let even one escape!”
        “Sir!  Yessir!  I – I don’t think I can sir!”
        “Hey!  All you MPs, round up every last chicken!  Don’t let even one escape!  Hey!  HEY!  Where are you going, you’re not – hey!”
        “Sir, over the radio, sir.  It’s HQ.  They’re asking for you.”
        “Hand me that radio, Private Chuck-Bob.”
        “Yessir.”
        “This is – yes Sir.  Of course, Sir.  No, the target, well, Sir it’s complicat – yes Sir.  But Sir, we haven’t acquired the targe- yes Sir.  How much does a helicopter cost per day, Sir?  Two thousand dollars an hour, Sir?  Yes, Sir.  I understand, Sir.  But Sir, the target – yes, Sir, I am aware the target is a chicken, Sir. . . . Taxpayer dollars, Sir?  But Sir, this is a very special chic – yes, Sir.  Right away, Sir.  I understand, Sir.  Thank you Sir. . .  
        “Private Chuck-Bob, here, take the radio.  Inform the MPs that they will be returning to base.  Please advise them to return any captured chickens to their original locations of capture.  This chicken-hunt is over Private Chuck-Bob.”
        “But sir, the fate of the world, sir!”
        “I know Private Chuck-Bob, I know.  But orders are orders. . .   We will just have to  continue our search in a different mode, Private Chuck-Bob.  A more stealthy and secret mode.”
        “Stealthy?  Sir?”
        “Yes, Private Chuck-Bob, we must hunt for the chicken without the use of these – ahem, rather costly – ahem – resources.”
        “Oh, right, sir.  The helicopter and such, sir.”
        “Yes, Private Chuck-Bob, we must search without the helicopter.”
        “Well, sir, if it makes you feel better, sir, chickens can’t really fly as much as you might think.  Probably not enough for a helicopter to be useful.”
        “Private Chuck-Bob, that does not make me feel better.”
        “Oh, uh, sorry sir.”
        “Private Chuck-Bob!”
        “Yessir!”
        “We will find this chicken, I swear it.  We. Will. Find. This. Chicken.”
        “Sir! Yes, sir!”

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