They showed up early and they showed up with friends. One of them was absolutely massive, carrying what looked like an entire (stripped) tree trunk. The dog lost it. The motion sensors twigged. I had maybe thirty seconds time to grab my rifle and give the cameras a quick scan. A half-dozen “regular” Orcs and one mega-Orc-- all with spears, clubs, and attitude problems in tow. My plan was now completely worthless as they had the element of surprise and I wasn't set up for anything. I had a few very unprofessional things to say about that, but this is what I get for believing I know more than my enemies. No time to secure the dog. Exiting the back door, I used the house itself as cover while I moved into position.

More years-old training kicked in. Mentally working through a basic threat assessment checklist, my engagement menu was clear: These Orcs had no apparent leader or other high value targets-- No radio operators, no leaders, no “specially equipped” personnel. That left the mega-Orc at the top of my dance card and the rest as equal-priority targets. If any of them surprise me with bows or other ranged weapons, they'll get bumped to the top of the list. As I rounded the final corner of my porch, I wrapped my sling around my support arm and leaned my supporting shoulder into the corner timber to stabilize myself as much as I could. Based on camera coverage, I'd estimated that all targets should be within fifty yards or so. Hot-black/cold-white thermal imaging made spotting targets easy. Of course, a giant Orc the size of four line-backers is impossible to miss-- it’s like shooting at a barn.

No wasting time or taking chances: The big guy gets three quick rounds to his center of mass and two more to the head. This was easy, rapid-fire work, even with my scope on the lowest setting. No holdover for distance, no leads for wind. The suppressor reduces the already-mild recoil to virtually nothing, making follow-up shots a breeze. The mega-Orc stumbles and promptly face-plants himself into a patch of grass. Remaining targets are worked nearest to farthest. The next three Orcs are dropped by controlled pairs to the chest. They rushed me as the shooting started but couldn't clear the distance quickly enough. The remaining three, upon seeing this disaster unfold before their eyes in mere seconds, tried to break contact and run for the tree line. None made it to the safety of the forest. One round to the back was enough to drop them. The last Orc, being surprisingly quick on his feet, needed a second shot after an initial miss. He fell mere yards from the wood line.

Then... Silence... Except for my hysterical dog at the living room window. I broke position and used my scope to do a hasty search of my immediate surroundings. Luckily, no-one was trying to sneak up on me-- which is good, because hand-to-hand combat is the last thing I need right now. Using all that “slice the circle” room-clearing training was coming in handy now that I had potential hostiles around every corner. I found it interesting that I remembered so much about something I hadn’t used in a couple of decades. It occurred to me I hadn't grabbed a spare magazine for my rifle on the way out the back door, but my sidearm was still with me.

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After reaching the other side of the porch from around the rear of the house and encountering no-one, I dialed up the magnification a bit and did a more detailed search of the wood line and driveway. Maybe they had a scout or observer for me to worry about? I stayed on the scope until my forehead hurt from the muscle strain, but I found nothing else that needed to get shot. I returned inside to grab a flashlight and survey the aftermath. A fresh magazine for my rifle was loaded, but I would sweep the dead with a handgun and flashlight (rifle slung). But first, a call to the Sheriff’s Department to let them know there’s been a small bit of trouble that might need their attention.

The mega-Orc was very impressive up close. The agonal breathing was impressive, too-- not many living things can take such massive physical punishment and still try this hard to stay alive. Precipitous blood loss and having big chucks of brain matter existing outside his skull gave me the feeling he wasn’t going to be troubling me any further this evening. The remaining six “regular” Orcs were all down hard, as well-- except one who was still conscious and trying to feebly grab for an out-of-reach weapon. I crushed the questing hand under my boot for good measure. It was clear that he had no chance of putting up any kind of fight, but the look on his face was pure rage and hatred. I think he was trying to yell at me, but that’s difficult to do with a sucking chest wound. The gurgling blood from his mouth stopped a moment or two later as he finally bled out and lapsed into oblivion. Now he was quiet and unbreathing, staring into nothing with his blown-out pupils-- just like his friends. I also noted, with a mild sense disgust, that Orcs really did smell bad-- just like the documentaries said.

I took pictures and searched the bodies for anything interesting; unusual markings, scars or tattoos, or maybe other equipment that I previously hadn’t noticed. As far as collectible intel goes, these guys had nothing, except they all wore dirty red cloth somewhere on their bodies. I wasn’t expecting much, but it’s always a good idea to look. I took lots of pics and made sure I had notes on what little there was to find. The entire time, though, I got the crawling feeling I was being watched. I took frequent breaks to scan the wood line for thermal signatures. Nothing. I noted, with some satisfaction, that my choice of ammunition (heavy-for-caliber ballistic tipped and bonded hollow points designed for good penetration and aggressive expansion) seemed to have the desired effect, with mostly pass-through shots and large exit wounds. One shot hit a bit high. One miss. Overall, I was happy with my shooting.

It was clear that without that tiny bit of warning and a rifle immediately ready to deploy, this would have been a very different fight-- I would have likely died tonight. That’s about as serious a thought as I’ve ever had, honestly. After getting indoors, I broke into the bourbon while I tried to type out another email to the Sheriff's Department and attach more pics and notes. I found it difficult to type in the midst of the post-adrenaline shakes and nausea, but I muddled through. I’ve been told that after an event as intense as this, I should be expecting nightmares-- once I eventually slept. I had already started the “endlessly replay the event in my head” portion of the show. I was definitely not looking forward to the next couple of days.