MF
George is an ex soldier who took drastic action when he found a man beating his wife. While the man went to hospital, George took responsibility for his battered wife and restored her to health, mentally and physically, before finally becoming her lover. Then his father took over, leaving George to seek consolation with a blonde policewoman.
"I'm not going near that house, I'm scared of the dog and I'm scared of the man. I've been there once and that dog is about the size of a wolf, with teeth to match, except that he is a damn side uglier. As for the man, he'd kick you in the balls as soon as look at you."
The words came from a small man standing at the counter of the village shop. He had a parcel in his hand and it was apparent that he was a courier on a delivery round. He was talking with the proprietor, and was clearly upset. George listened to the ensuing conversation, and it was quite clear that no one in the shop was prepared to deliver the parcel, and he wasn't too surprised. The man and his hound had an evil reputation in the village and most people gave the house a wide berth. George, however enjoyed a challenge.
"Give it to me, I'll take it."
"Are you sure? Jack Briggs really is an unpleasant bastard and he'll set the dog on you first and then ask you what you want afterwards if that's how he happens to be feeling."
"Not to worry. It's been a boring week, and a bit of excitement will cheer me up no end."
"On your own head be it, don't say you weren't warned."
George took the parcel and drove through the village out into the country till he arrived at the dilapidated farmhouse where Briggs lived. It would be wrong to describe the buildings surrounding the house as a farm. Not one building was in decent condition, some had fallen down completely, others were patched up with pieces of corrugated iron and the whole establishment appeared to be derelict. Old pieces of machinery, more suitable for museums than for a modern farm, littered the area, mostly overgrown with weeds and brambles. A few sorry looking cows stood miserably in an enclosure made of broken down hurdles and strands of barbed wire. In any other farm one of the animal protection societies would doubtless have condemned the stock for the state they were in, but these societies seem to be more interested in prosecuting high-profile cases involving people in red coats chasing brown furry vermin, rather than investigating cases of genuine animal abuse.
The house was surrounded by a fence in reasonable condition, and as George opened the gate, the dog which had so frightened the courier appeared from behind the building and ran at George snarling and with teeth bared. It really was an ugly brute whose antecedents were very dubious but obviously included quite a large range of the more aggressive varieties of the species. There was little doubt that its intentions towards George were far from friendly, and common sense would have suggested that he should beat a hasty retreat, but he did just the opposite, walking briskly towards it. As he did so, he spoke to the animal quite quietly, but in a voice with an authority that the animal obviously recognised, as it immediately stopped, and stood looking at him with a questioning expression, if dogs can be said to have such an expression. He walked up to the animal, and held out his hand. The dog sniffed it, and then licked it, and his tail began to wag. George caressed the animal briefly,then told it to lie down which it did immediately, and stayed there as George walked towards the house.
As he approached the front door, he heard a woman screaming. The door was open, and on the far side of the room in the corner he saw a man hitting a woman with a strap. The man was Jack Briggs, and the woman was his wife, Alice, who was cowering as the man beat her mercilessly.
"Stop that, now"
George didn't shout, but the authority in his voice was apparent and Briggs stopped his actions and turned towards him. He straightened, and turned towards George.
"Who the fuck do you think you are, coming in here and telling me what to do. You can fuck off out of here you little cunt, before I break your arm or your neck."
"A lot of better men than you have tried that but none has succeeded up to now, and I very much doubt you will, you big-mouthed slob. You might be good at beating helpless women but I rather doubt you'd put up much of a fight with a real man."
This was like a red rag to a bull. Briggs was a big man, well over 6 feet tall and was extremely strong, whereas George was not particularly tall and apparently not particularly well build, though when you looked at him closely you realised that he was pretty solid. Briggs threw down the strap, clenched his fists and rushed across the room at George. What happened then was a bit of a blur, and to understand why things were the way they were it would help to know a little about George's background.
On leaving school at the age of 16, George had joined the Army as a boy soldier. He was a natural soldier, and as soon as he was old enough he was offered the opportunity to trial for the special air services, the SAS, renowned around the world for the hardness of its members and the success they had had in a number of commando operations in various parts of the world. The training was famous, or even infamous, for the physical difficulties that the candidates had to overcome, and the failure rate was extremely high. The men who came through, were hard physically and mentally, capable of a whole variety of extremely unpleasant combat techniques, and there were few military units in the world who would like to take them on, and quite a few terrorist organisations lived -- or sometimes didn't live -- to regret having encountered this particular mob. Among a group of hard men, George was outstanding, so much so that in his last years in the SAS he became an instructor in every sort of unpleasant warfare that you could think of. In his mid-30s he decided that he had enough of the Army, and left to take up a career as a security adviser, and had bought himself a country cottage where he lived quietly, doing a lot of work via the Internet, and writing textbooks on security procedures. So this was the man that Jack Briggs have unwisely decided to tangle with.
If a slow motion camera had been set up to observe the scene it would have recorded that, as Briggs rushed across the room, George's foot shot out and his toe landed firmly in Briggs' groin. As he doubled up in pain, George's knee hit him in the chin, and as he doubled further, two hands crashed down onto the back of his neck. Thus, in a few milliseconds, a large violent man had been reduced to an unconscious wreck on the floor, with a jaw hanging at a very peculiar angle, blood pouring from his several lost teeth, and with testicles that would be useless for any practical purpose in the future. As for the damage to the back of his neck, he could count himself lucky that George was in complete control of his actions, because otherwise he would have been dead, as had been at least one other person who had picked a fight with George in the wrong place.
George looked at Alice, who was still cowering in the corner of the room.
"I think I better get an ambulance and the police, don't you? Your husband appears to be in a bit of a rough state."
"No, don't get the police. He'll kill me once he comes round if he thinks I've been near the law. But it does look as though he needs an ambulance, what on earth did you do to him?"
"I just gave him a little tap -- he's a bit sensitive isn't he? I'm afraid I'll have to contact the plod, to explain how he came by his little damages."
George took out his mobile phone, and dialled 999. When he got a reply, he explained that there had been a bit of a fight and a man had been injured and required attention. He suddenly remembered that he had left the dog in the down position, and not tied up. He wasn't at all certain that the emergency services would try and get past it, so we went out and chained it up to its kennel.
