Cutter's Way


Sam Barstowe had a reputation of being half alligator, half horse,
ornery, and had a mean streak that was fearsome when he was riled. If
it wasn't one thing it was another deep in these Alabama swamps that
riled him and made the streak wider and deeper as time marched on.

Sam was also a bible believing, god fearing Christian for the most
part since the words southern, Alabama, and Baptist seemed to crop up
in most conversations in the Alabama swamps as far back as Sam's
memory served him.

Sam sat easy this day though, thinking on things and sharpening his
favorite 'carrying' knife. A formidable looking thing almost two feet
long and as heavy as a hatchet. The steel he used to forge the blade
and tang came from the hands of a Iraqi republican Guard that just so
happened to be taking the 'long' sleep at Sam's invitation.

Sam sat down by the sleeping soldier and field stripped the woefully
outdated SKS discarding the stock and pushing the barrel release pin
out with the point of a 7.62 X 39 cartridge to separate the barrel and
receiver which he put in a 'sock' for the trip home.

One year and eight thousand miles later, Sam stood at his uncle's
blacksmith forge with hammer and tong in hand then formed the knife he
was to carry the rest of his natural life. Sam's nickname of 'Cutter'
given to him by his United States Marine buddies followed him home to
the Alabama swamps. Everybody knew who Cutter Barstowe was.

Carrie Chadwicke had the face of an angel and a body that would cause
a preacher to backslide. Nineteen years old and well on her way to
becoming a super model slash billionaire, she was impatient,
imperious, impossible, and an emerging asshole of world class
proportions.

Grown men cried and babies scurried to get out of her path when she
was having one of her ever increasing daily hard fits where she
invariably gave birth to a squeal worm or two just to show
disbelievers she could.

All creatures great and small including mankind feared to raise the
wrath and fury of Carrie which she used to the maximum extent
allowable by law.

The tempestuous Carrie boarded her private jet for the flight to her
next photo shoot and cursed her hardworking assistant for everything
from forgetting her favorite pastry to just being alive for her to
abuse unmercifully.

Ann Kopchek had learned to ignore Carrie's abuses and continue
functioning in an environment most people would have thrown up their
hands and run from.

Ann hadn't forgotten the pastry. Carrie had gained a pound or two and
told Ann to stop the morning delivery of pastry. Carrie blamed Ann
because she had gained weight so there was no way for Ann to win. Just
keep on keeping on and taking the handsome checks Carrie paid her.

The beautiful white with hand painted green stripes bird lifted off
the runway on schedule at JFK and headed south to the Florida Keys and
tropical locations for the next 'shoot'.

Captain Art Wikiser handed over the controls to his Co–pilot Sam Burns
then leaned back to enjoy a cup as the altimeter climbed steadily to
thirty-five thousand feet at twenty-eight hundred feet per minute.
Eleven minutes later Art nodded his satisfaction and advised Sam he
was going to the head.

Sam put on his oxygen mask as was required by FAA regulations when he
or the captain left the flight deck. Scanning the various instruments,
he dialed up the Autopilot and engaged it.

Art returned to the flight deck and sat down in his seat when he felt
a strong vibration then heard Burns say, "No elevator or rudder
Captain. We've taken a hit from something."

The autopilot automatically disengaged on impact so Art attempted to
maintain directional control with the wing spoilers and saw turns
could be made but they would be wide & sweeping using enormous amounts
of extra fuel.

Fuel wasn't a problem at this juncture simply because they hadn't been
aloft long enough to burn much. Later on, some would be dumped and the
remaining supply would be transferred to assist maneuvering the
aircraft if time and circumstances allowed.

"Sam, we have few if any options here. We have a small amount of pitch
control with the throttles, slightly less attitude control with the
wing spoilers at least until the leading edge spoilers deploy at low
speed at which time that will cease." Art summarized out loud more for
the cockpit recorder than Sam's benefit.

Sam thought a minute and said, "Seems to me we need to drop down to
find out how much control we have in heavier air. My guess is we'll
lose most of what we have but I can't think of anything else to do."

Art grimaced, "Wish we knew what the hell we hit back there." Sam
nodded, "the blip on the radar screen didn't indicate anything large
enough to create the problem we're having." Sam had an idea but wasn't
sure of course

Sam pursed his lips and said, "I figure our tail section is tangled in
a weather balloon. If we had hit another bizjet or a heavy at this
altitude we would have gone straight down." The Two men ran instant
playbacks of the blip and each time made them lean more towards a
weather balloon that had lost it's instrumentation package.

Suddenly the radio crackled, 'NC001DV this is Air Force 515 responding
to your emergency call. I'm slightly behind and above you and advise
you've encountered a meteorological weather balloon. Your tail section
is shrouded."

Art keyed his Mic, "Roger that Air Force 515. Good to see a friendly
face up here."

"All I'm good for is smiling at you. You got some trouble NC001DV" the
fighter pilot told them.

Sam replied, "Roger that 515. Any suggestions?"

The fighter pilot chuckled, "I've got a few rounds on hand here. I can
try drawing a bead on the leading edge and see if we can get it to
tear."

Art gulped, "Lets leave that on the table for the moment but lets see
if we can think of anything else."

the fighter pilot said, "Drop down to fifteen thousand and reduce
speed to less than two hundred knots if you can. We have a Sea Knight
joining up with us and they may be able to tether a man and cut the
shroud away."

Art and Sam knew tethering a volunteer then lowering him on a cable
from the large helicopter to try and cut the shroud would be a long
shot at best.

Chapter 2

Heavier air did give a bumpier ride for the crew and passengers of
NC001DV. For the first time since becoming a demanding star, Carrie
was quiet and even somewhat nice to Ann.

the chief steward and Captain kept the passengers advised of the
situation as it developed. The tethered Chief Petty Officer volunteer
was doing a good job of cutting away the shroud until his arm was
broken when the two hundred mile an hour wind blowing past him slammed
his arm into the rudder of the bizjet.

It was at this point the whole operation became a 'cluster fuck'. Now
any veteran of combat will tell you that cluster fucks come in
different sizes, colors, flavors, and of course varying quality. This
cluster fuck wore so many faces it was hard to tell what or which kind
it was.

It started simply enough with the CPO's broken arm then progressed to
include the Sea Knight and finally the Fighter then on to Carrie's
bizjet..

The tether handler on board the helicopter saw the CPO get his arm
broken so he began reeling in the injured volunteer who dropped the
knife which fell some three hundred feet to enter the intake of the
jet fighter slightly below and behind who had been barely managing to
keep from stalling out by extending his flaps and landing gear to
create drag and therefore allow more throttle.

The operation had slowly lost altitude until it was an unsuitable
altitude for the fighter jockey to eject so he shut down the damaged
engine and tried to climb to a safe altitude to eject and while doing
so flew over the helicopter at a steep angle as bits and pieces of the
ruined engine rained below him.

A large portion of the ceramic clad afterburner tube on the fighter
dislodged and fell into the rotary wing of the Sea Knight not unlike a
large flat rock.

The Sea Knight pitched forward as if in slow motion then proceeded to
plummet to the ground below like a lead weight as it's giant rotary
wings disintegrated.

The fighter pilot ejected just as the plane stalled out in it's
vertical climb and slid backwards tail first before entering a flat
spin catching the middle of Art Wikiser's right wing and sheared it in
half.

The large business jet or bizjet as they are often called, rolled to
the left due to the loss of lift on the right wing and quicker than it
can be said, dove into the ground nose forward and upside down.

What all the aircraft had crashed into was Cutter Barstowe's Alabama
Swamp. Cutter had seen lots of things in combat but he had never seen
anything like the spectacle of three aircraft crashing into the swamp
more or less simultaneously after seeming to ricochet off each other.

Cutter whipped out his cell phone to call 911 then quickly jumped into
his bass jet boat and powered towards the crash site at full throttle.

He couldn't approach the scene directly and had to thread his way
through the cypress knees and jump small islands until he was about a
quarter mile from the main wreckage. He got a whiff of raw fuel and
realized one small spark would turn hundreds of acres in a roaring
inferno.

Moments later, rescuers approaching in air boats realized what Cutter
had and like Cutter, had to shut down their engines and paddle several
hundred yards to help rescue any survivors.

Most of the Sea Knight had landed several feet up in a Cypress grove
and smoldered dangerously close to the raw fuel dumped by the Bizjet.
Cutter made it to the bizjet first and dove in the water to swim
inside if he could and begin rescue operations.

a large hole aft of the right wing or what was left of it, made it
easy to enter the cabin although the plane was slowly sinking the
fifteen or twenty feet down to the bottom of the swamp's layer of
twenty or thirty feet of mud.

Cutter found two men hanging upside down in their seatbelts and
quickly cut the straps to get them above water to breathe. Moving as
quickly as he could, he found more people strapped in under water but
by this time more rescuers were on board and rapidly carried the
injured victims to safety.

Counting Carrie and Ann, there were more than thirty people on board.
All but five lived. Art and Sam died instantly and the chief steward
drowned while he was unconscious. Two others seated next to the right
wing root were killed in the explosion that created the hol.e in the
fuselage.

Cutter heard someone pounding and screaming and managed to open the
cabin door to reveal Ann and Carrie scared out of their wits and
screaming bloody murder.

Neither woman had ever seen anything like what Cutter looked like. He
wore his long reddish blonde hair pulled tight into a pony tail with a
bright red bandana neatly folded and tied around his forehead.

He was wearing a leather vest over his bare chest and jeans with
cowboy boots on his feet. The scary part was he was twice as big as
any man either of them had ever laid eyes on and the tip of his bright
red beard nearly touched his navel.

He picked up the screaming women one in each arm and powered his way
back to the hole in the fuselage where he dove into the water and
surfaced near his boat. He unceremoniously dumped both women inside
then dove back under the water to continue rescue operations.

by this time, Carrie had established she wasn't going to die just yet
so she started her usual bullshit of making demands.

Cutter returned about half way through Carrie's tirade and asked Ann,
"Is she hurt or something? I didn't see any wounds earlier." Ann shook
her head no, "No she's just upset because she's dirty, wet, and cold."

Cutter went to the bow and started paddling away from the danger zone
of raw fuel before he felt it was safe to start the engine and get
back to solid ground. He looked at Carrie and asked Ann, "She's crazy
eh?" Ann grinned, "No she isn't, believe it or not it usually works
for her."

Cutter continued on for a minute or two more then shut off the engine
and stood to walk to Carrie who was now warmed up and really into it.
Cutter squatted down and took her chin in his massive hand and said,
"Shut up or I'll shut you up." That only served to make her louder so
Cutter picked her up and pitched her into the swamp, "Tell the cotton
mouths and alligators what your problems are lady. I got no time for
the likes of you."

An air boat saw Carrie thrashing the water to a froth then took pity
on her and picked her up. She did stop having her tantrum though.

Emergency equipment of all kinds and shapes had arrived across the
bridge to Jefferson's Island which was the name of small town or
village the townspeople lived in. Cutter lived on a large houseboat
his grandfather had built out of cypress around the turn of the
century and docked it at the entrance to the swamp.

Before Cutter joined the Marines, had never spent the night on land
but for very few times. Most nights he spent in his boat out in the
swamp or on his houseboat more often since he had returned home from
the Marines.

Chapter 3

Most women found him fascinating. A more than passable singer and
story teller, he also had excellent schooling and was knowledgeable on
a variety of subjects. His degree was in marine biology. The critters
he loved.

But he looked like a mountain on legs. He stood six foot eleven inches
tall, wore size sixteen shoes or boots, and had most of his clothing
custom made. He owned a couple of suits but most of his wardrobe
consisted of jeans, tees, vests, and of course cotton undergarments.

Carrie Chadwicke hated him. She despised him and his holier than thou
ways. She meant to teach him a thing or two. Ann Kopchek's agenda
wasn't nearly as ambitious, she just wanted to get him in bed and see
how long it would take to fuck him dry.

Cutter was fifty-two, Ann Kopchek was twenty-three, and Carrie was
nineteen that spring the accident happened. The powers that be at the
modeling agency gave Carrie and Ann two month's leave to recuperate
from their ordeal and were understandably surprised both women wanted
to spend the time on Jefferson's Island. Could it be Carrie was
finally growing up? Not bloody likely they decided when they came to
their senses. She was up to something as usual.

For all the abuse and demands Carrie made on Ann, they still remained
friends of sorts. While Carrie was a world class super model, Ann was
a beautifully attractive woman in her own right. People who saw the
two together realized they actually counter-balanced each other's
weaknesses and served to strengthen them as each gained experience in
the dog eat dog world of modeling.

the accident was crowded from Cutter's mind as he continued research
on zebra mussels and other types of marine biological infestation. He
held patents on adhesives he had learned to create from his studies of
the zebra's mussels life cycle.

the work he and others like him were doing allowed vehicle
manufacturers to bond composite materials strong enough to withstand
high speed impact and help reduce insurance costs as well as use
recycled glass and plastics in producing body panels, glass, and
doors..

Cutter's philosophy was to use an adversary's strengths to defeat
them. The simple philosophy paid off in virtually any research project
he undertook. It was fairly easy for him to secure research grants and
continue to be a vital part of the business community as one of it's
largest employers on the small island.

Cutter and three of his assistants were sitting on benches outside the
Quonset hut that served as his offices and lab in the cool morning air
enjoying a cup of coffee and swapping lies when Ann approached.

Cutter glanced up and remembered her as one of the women he had
rescued along with the nutty one he had pitched overboard for being
too nutty for his taste.

Ann was in full combat attire. Her black hair was pulled back and
braided in one of those French braids which accented her pleasant oval
face with large expressive blue eyes. Her full lips seem to tremble
sensually as the four men drank in her firm bosom threatening to burst
from the tank top. Cutter's eyes traveled down her abdomen to pear
shaped hips and rounded full thighs flexing under the thin material of
the not quite but almost too tight slacks as she moved that tapered
down to trim calves and impossibly tiny feet.

Ann's smile gave him goose bumps when she said, "Ahhhh Mr. Barstowe!
Remember me?" Cutter smiled and replied, 'Of course ma'am. I didn't
catch your name but I remember you."

Ann timidly gave him her hand and said, "My name is Ann Kopchek Mr.
Barstowe. I wanted see you again and thank you for saving my life
since I didn't get a chance to talk to you earlier."

Cutter stood to take her hand as her eyes followed his face up until
she was craning her neck to look up at him. She felt one of those deep
quivers in her pussy thinking about what it would be like to feel him
ravishing her very needy pussy.

Chapter 4

Cutter offered Ann the $1.00 tour of his facility so she followed
listening to him talk about the marine life he and his assistants had
captured and placed in the large tanks of sea water to display them.

The octopus and sea cucumbers flashed different colors. The fish swam
lazily waiting for feeding time. He had small sharks, sole, orange
roughy, red snapper, and various other beautiful fish in the tanks.

Small manta rays searched her fingers when he talked her into putting
her hand down in one of the tanks. "Ohhhh that tickles! " She yelped
as they carefully examined each of her digits for food.

In a fresh water tank Cutter had placed three Peacock Bass. A hybrid
south American and north American large mouth bass which was
infertile. The eerie beauty of the fish was breath taking. It was a
voracious feeder and predator. If he could figure out how to get it to
breed in the wild, he would retire a rich man.

The same held true for the 'wiper' which was a hybrid white stripped
bass and a small mouth bass which grew to exceed ten pounds or more in
the wild but didn't reproduce.

Ann thanked him for the tour then asked, "would you care to join me
for dinner some evening Mr. Barstowe?" Cutter smiled, "I would love
to. Where and when Miss Kopchek."

Ann's heart skipped when she noticed the growing excitement in his
jeans and replied, "My employer and I are renting the old Montgomery
place… Know it?" Cutter nodded, "Yes, what time ma'am?" Ann smiled
fetchingly, " Say seven this evening?"

Cutter grinned, "Yes ma'am. Seven it is. I'm looking forward to having
dinner with you."

Cutter watched her hips sway as she walked to her car and sped off. He
felt that old deep down twitch in his balls and knew Miss Kopchek
offered more than just food to feed his appetite.

Cutter had half a hardon the rest of the day thinking about the pretty
young Yankee. His mind's eye envisioned her nude and spread with her
swollen pussy lips anxious for him to plunge his cock in between them
until they felt better.

His assistant, Marie Deupret, detected his far off look and correctly
figured he had the hots for someone. She herself had been the lucky
recipient of his amorous desires before Ann and Carrie arrived so she
was a bit miffed.

Cutter recognized her jealousy and quickly implemented damage control
by assuring her the dinner was just the young woman's way to thank him
for saving her life. Marie was doubtful but accepted his explanation
reluctantly. She would forgive him completely once he gave her some of
his hard cock and took her mind off her competitors.

Carrie was thoroughly pissed when Ann told her Cutter was coming to
dinner. At first she thought about throwing a fit but decided she
would use the time he was there to examine him for weaknesses. She
would make the bastard pay and pay dearly for dumping her overboard.