The Last Weltzbarker

The night was dark, and the wind blew at an unforgiving negative thirty degrees Fahrenheit.  Icicles formed over his cheeks where the tears of loneliness fell from his blood covered face.  His body was not cold, as it was covered in the warm blood of his fellow comrade who gave his life by falling onto the grenade that had landed into their bunker.  Only his heart grew colder with thoughts of revenge and vengeance. 

Now the entire brigade was dead and only one man stood in the way of the enemy winning World War III in Antarctica.  That man was Micheal Welztbarker, the “Last Weltzbarker.”

With no ammo left and no explosives, making a stand in the trench was not an option.  He had to take the fight to them, the Eskimos. 

He scavenged his surrounds for anything that might be of use to him in his final attempt at victory.  Most of the artillery had been damaged in the explosions so he was going to have to get creative.  As he shuffled through the bodies his foot bumped into an open sack of potatoes, and then it hit him.  I will make a potato gun!

Within just minutes the gun was assembled and the “Last Weltzbarker” was ready to take the enemy head on. 

“How can I defeat an entire army with just a sack of potatoes,” he asked himself? 

Just then a rocket exploded in the air and revealed a hot water tower in the center of their camp. 

“That’s it,” he exclaimed!  If I can take out that tower, it will destroy their base and end the war. 

It was time.  He bolted out of the bunker with the sack over one shoulder and gun in hand.  About halfway to the base a snow sled spotted him.  The dogs quickly swerved towards his location. 

As the sled closed in on him, he loaded his potato gun with the largest potato he could find.  He turned back and fired blindly into the night towards the barking snow dogs.  Suddenly he heard the sled stop. 

Instinctively he sprinted to it to finish the job, but the potato had already succeeded.  A perfect headshot.  The Eskimo laid there spread out like a headless snow angel.  Now Micheal had a sled.  He frisked the soldier for anything of use and found nothing.  He would just have to improvise. 

He boarded the sled and mushed the dogs towards the tower.  The enemy open fired on him as he approached with great speed.  As he got closer, he realized they had an electric fence barrier.  He was going to have to use a heavy projectile to take it down. 

The potatoes where not heavy enough and nor was the sled.  He was going to have to use himself.  He barked at the dogs to go faster.  As he built up speed, he poised himself on the rails of the sled. 

Thirty feet, twenty feet, ten feet, and the dogs stopped!  Weltzbarker leapt from the sled into the fence with such velocity it caved under the momentum.  Sparks flew as the lethal voltage consumed his body.  A lesser man would have died instantly but he was a Weltzbarker. 

A voice in his head said, “On your feet soldier!” 

Struggling to his feet, surrounded by smoke and gunfire, the war-torn hero could only make out a small round object heading his way.  It was a grenade!  This was what he needed, however.  He dove into the air like a cheetah and caught the explosive with his teeth.  He struggled to remove it from his mouth as he knew he only had a few seconds before detonation.  He loaded it into the potato gun with hast, aimed, and fired at the water tower.

It was a direct hit!  The tower exploded and instantly turned into a fountain of hail raining down on the enemy.  The frigid air turned the water into a shower of death.  The base was being destroyed and the war was over. 

The “Last Weltzbarker” laid there in the blood covered snow with a deep burning in his chest.  He ripped his shirt with his bare hands to inspect the damage the electric fence had done to his body. 

The fence had burned his chest permanently with what appeared to be an “M” and “W” on his chest.  “Micheal Weltzbarker,” he thought to himself.  The “Last Weltzbarker.”

[In dedication to the real-life Micheal Weltzbarker.  A man who was truly one of a kind.  Known to most simply as Shag, he fortunately got to read this story before he passed on.  Your stories continue to bring us laughter at work when the days feel so long.]

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