Bjorn the Fearless

In “Anecdotal Tales”, stories will be told. Some will be fun, some will not. Some will be great, some will be less so. Some stories are true, some are merely possible. This is one of them.

Bjorn the Fearless

Bjorn glared at the device in his possession and dared it to go off.  That dare, however, was a chancy one.  Should the device be allowed to count down its LED numbers to zero, the wireless device would send a signal to the hundreds of pounds of C4 which had been placed in the tunnels and passageways underneath the Louvre.  Many guards had been incapacitated.  The evildoers had planned this senseless act of destruction for months.  Their plans had been flawless.  All had gone according to plan and they stood in their nearby perch watching people scurry about the building trying to prevent a loss of lives and art. 

But the anarchists had not counted on Bjorn.

Bjorn was not some casual police officer that would be scared off by the thought of dying in a fiery explosion.  Bjorn was unique among the crew.  Bjorn had no family to worry about, no little ones waiting for him to come home.  And Bjorn, a willing servant, was dedicated to the job.  The bomb would go off over Bjorn’s dead body.

After a blurred succession of leaping and snarling, Bjorn had knocked the thug to the ground, growled at him menacingly, and wrestled the remote away from the man who was now soaked in the stench of sweat that only comes from true fear.  Bjorn barked angrily at the human filth; who then turned and ran like all art-loathing cowards do. 

Bjorn knew that it was up to him.  No back-up would get there in time.  He couldn’t read the digits very clearly, but he knew that there simply wasn’t any time left.  He focused his gaze and knew that this remote had met its match.  As he sniffed the air, he realized this would all have been much easier with opposable thumbs.  Still, every dog had its day, and this was Bjorn’s.

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