cow

Suits and uniforms sat in an underground bunker, somewhere.
A place not marked on any maps. Deep in a mountain in a dessert plain, a burning sun arcs above in the stratosphere, insects crawl over hot sands, Nothing much round here lives. There has never been much life here. Water never made it here. Just mountains fill the vista, jagged peaks and outcrops that look like 10 on a Richter scale, sand coloured tips seems to pierce marine blue skies. Birds become small specks against the blue canvas, clouds, like water are scarce.

There are no roads.

Small beads of sweat run down the face of one of the men in uniform. Perspiration mingles in moustache hair. Small circles of sweat appear underarms, warm and moist.

And in this heat, in this panorama of heat and yellow sand, they wait and the merciless sun does what it has done for millennia.

Outside, on a launch pad was what they had come to view. A new rocket. A rocket that may change the face of modern warfare.

This rocket was huge. Instead of explosives, this weapon would drop cows on the population.

Have you seen the damage a Friesian can cause when dropped from 30,000 foot?

Truly devastating. Truly.

And when a startled Friesian hits your roof and all four of her stomachs explode, it’s not a pretty site. Blood, guts, grass everywhere.

On paper the rocket seemed a great idea, but now, on the launch pad the generals are sweaty and nervous. The rocket is massive and contains a herd of bewildered beasts. Their mows echo across the vast emptiness but there’s no going back and the launch button is pressed.

A 100 miles away, a fake city has been built and in the next few minutes this rocket will unload it’s deadly cargo of innocent ungulates upon it.

Readings will be taken, statistics plotted on graphs. Backs will be patted, conclusions drawn.

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