Eleven of the fifteen went to the hospital. A couple ran away when they saw how quickly the situation deteriorated. Except for having my shirt torn off in the fracas, I didn't have a mark on me. Well, I had some scraped-up knuckles, but that's to be expected.
The gang was rounded up by a combination of State and Local Police, hiding on the roof of the cabin owned by the "ringleader."
When we got to court two months later, six of the dumbasses were still in casts and bandages, two with cracked skulls, one with his arm broken in 3 places, and another with all the long-bones in his right hand having suffered compound fractures (that's right, four bones sticking right through the skin). Another was on crutches. Apparently, knees are only supposed to bend one way. LMAO!!!
Of all my memories, and I have many, that was among the finest. I actually don't remember much of the fight, except that once I started moving, everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. I was taking my pick of targets and putting everything I had into each one as they came up, and went down.
How sweet it is...
;^)
Sounds like you are called Gargantua for a reason
I love it when a plan comes together.