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Forgotten Heroes
During one stride, I smashed into the huge boar’s shoulder. When I hit the bear, I immediately started to slow down. My nose flattened and my jacket started to split as the front lead core expanded against the hide and muscle. I could feel the back core pushing forward, making the mushrooming effect work faster. Suddenly, I hit a massive bone and I spun right through the rock-hard material. My nose was flattened and I got some nasty scars as I passed through the scapula.

I was slowing down but still traveling fast enough to smash another huge bone structure. As I went through the vertebra, I severed the spinal column and started to tip end over end. I continued through muscle tissue and was just about spent when I encountered a tough, stretchy material that stopped my forward momentum. I felt a huge crash as the bear fell to the hard-packed sand.

All was silent for a few seconds. The huge boar tried to breathe and get back to his feet, but he was completely paralyzed. I could feel incredible tension in his body, but he never made a sound. Suddenly, his body rocked as a huge force slammed through his spine and chest. The hydraulic effect was incredible as my buddy passed a foot or so from me. He demolished the spine and lungs, and I felt the hide stretch tightly as he came to an abrupt stop. Then silence. The old boar breathed his last and left the sandbar without a moan or shudder.

In a few minutes I heard a voice ask, “What is your procedure now, Wayne? Just tell me and I will do what you say.”

“We hit him one more time before we handle him, Ian. Take him through the backbone into the chest.”

There was another explosion and one of our buddies slammed through the spine and blood-filled chest cavity. He stopped inside the cavity a foot or so from the second bullet. The entire body rocked as the energy transferred from our buddy to the hulking mass. Then silence. And stillness.

“OK, Ian. You have an incredible trophy my friend!”

Congratulatory shouts and the sound of high-fives competed with the gale wind as the three happy men let their emotions run their course.

Later, I was aware of a lot of tugging and slicing near my resting place. Suddenly I was plucked up and handed to the shooter.

“Here is your first one, Ian. Perfectly mushroomed. That bullet did a heck of a job!”

“I don’t want to lose that bullet. What a trophy of this hunt!” said the shooter as he dropped me into a pocket in his camera bag.

A few minutes later my buddy joined me. We were no longer shiny and smooth. We had lost a bit of weight. We had bulging mushroom shaped noses and scars and gashes. We had blood, tissue and bone stuck in our jackets. We had done the job in true Swift A-Frame fashion. Everyone back at the Swift Bullet Company would be proud of our performance.

Later, the hunter cleaned us up. He removed tissue and gristle from the curled jacket segments with a sharp needle and plenty of hot water. Then he dried us off and admired us for several seconds. He put us in a small drawer in his office, where we rest with several other bullets. Every so often he takes us out and examines us closely. His eyes close, and he returns to that windswept sandbar on the Copper River where we had the adventure of a lifetime.

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