An Army of One

I think it was either John Steinbeck or Maya Angelou who once said, "To survive a war, you have to become a war." Well, that's what I had to become. A war. A god damned war.


The bloody ATF agents bumped me around in their paddywagon for a while and then stopped by some federal installation and threw me into a holding cell. I collapsed like the 2007 Mets and fell to the ground. I started wining like a little baby, and then one of the interrogators came in- he looked liked like a young version of David Caruso.



"I loved you in Blue." I said.



"Fuck your mother!" yelled the Caruso lookalike, as he slapped me across the face.



Then he threw me up against a wall and strapped me into some sort of electric chair. "I hope you like pain, McStallen. Because you are going to be in a world of pain, McStallen, a world of pain." he said laughing gleefully as he walked out.



Well I was in a bit of a tight spot- trapped in a remote, heavily guarded federal compound in America's Pacific Northwest- strapped into some torture chair, waiting for some flunkee interrogator to return- but I hung in there- because that's what you have to do when you find yourself caught in the middle of a vicious cockfight.



Sometime later a young man came down with some food for me. He was visibly retarded, so I started laughing at him. He didn't get the joke. It was only moderate retardation, but it was still pretty damn funny.



"Here's your food, McStallen." he said.



This was my lucky break- the government, showing a sign of weakness, had foolishly employed a stupid retard and charged him with the simple task of bringing food to inmates.



The retard was ripe to be taken advantage of, as are all retards. And blind people too- I'm not sure if they count as retards- but you can take advantage of them, just the same. Hide stuff from them- rearrange the room- leave buckets of paint on the tops of doors and that way when they open the door the paint comes down on them- that sort of thing. Real funny. But anyway, like I was saying, this was my lucky break...



"What- am I on your pay no mind list, kid?" I asked the retard.



"Huh?" responded the retard.



"Where's my machine gun?" I asked the retard.





"Oh you wanted a machine gun- I thought you said you were all right." responded the retard.



"I am all right you mumblin' studderin' prick- but you ain't all right- now get me the damn machine gun!" I commanded the retard.

I was going to ask the retard to get me a shot of my favorite drink- Cosmonaut Vodka- really the only Vodka I've been able to handle since that IRA bomb took out half my colon- but I didn't want to complicate things.

So the retard stepped out for a minute and came back with an M-60 machine gun and several belts of ammunition. He undid my shackles and handed me the machine gun.



Even with the M-60, I didn't have the firepower to take on the whole compound. I figured my best course of action was to duck out the back and then return some time later with superior fire power and have it out with the confounded government. So I opened the side door and began to leave.



"Where are you going?" asked the retard.



"Shopping." I said, as I walked out the door.

Trouble at the Diner

So I was driving up through the Pacific Northwest in a Greyhound bus, hoping to make it to Canada and then maybe do some sight-seeing- as a child, the great Mills used to tell me stories about the wonderful sites of Canada and its serene beauty- this included the vast wilderness of the Yukon, the Canadian capitol building that Mills was ejected from due to open and obvious intoxication, the wonderful Canadian horse tracks and betting parlors, the multi-cultural strip clubs of Montreal , and the fine art galleries that were filled with beautiful works the Germans had taken during the Second World War. I couldn't wait.

I got off the bus to grab a cup of coffee at a diner in Hope, Washington. There were a couple scruffy looking fellows outside- locals - so I brought in my panzer schreck just in case things got violent. The cashier looked at me strangely when I came in, and said, "I'm sorry sir- but you can't bring that panzer schreck in here."

I spit on her and kept walking.

Once inside, a little boy started staring at me, and mimicing the way I was drinking my coffee. I gave him the look of death, but he continued, unabated. I throat-slahed him with my middle finger.

Then some men starting pointing at me- apparently they identified me as one of the mercenaries who led the raid on New Baumstark. They flagged down a waitress and sent her over to me.

The waitress approached me. "Ma'am, I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave." I said. I figured I would beat her to the punchline, and maybe confuse her a bit. She was not amused.

"Sir, those men over there said you invaded America- I'm sorry but we don't serve your kind of people in this diner. You gotta leave." she said.

She was big and fat, and I was a little scared.

"Look ma'am, I'm just sitting here, drinking my coffee." I said.

"Sir don't make me get rough." said the waitress.

"Oh you want rough? How about I put a panzer schreck round in between your eyes?!" I asked.

At that point she screamed at me and told me to calm down.

"Look, I'm just sitting here, drinking my coffee- I'm perfectly calm." I responded.

"Calm- waving that god damn panzer faust around!?" screamed the waitress.

"Calmer than you are." I said . (I didn't address the fact that the waitress had confused a panzer schreck for a panzer faust.)

"Look sir- you're going to have to-" she started. I was going to interrupt about the Supreme Court roundly rejecting prior restraint, but at that moment our pleasant little debate was interrupted when a half-dozen ATF agents burst into the diner, their Tec-9's trained on me. One of them, who bore a striking resemblance to oft-injured catcher Mike Piazza, said : "Drop the panzer schreck McStallen- you're coming with us."

So here I was just trying to get a god damn cup of coffee, and now the United States federal government comes barging into a PRIVATE establishment and arrests me for NO reason. This was really just a big slap in the face to all the hard work I did in New Baumstark. As they cuffed me and threw me in the back of a Humvee, I prepared myself for the worst, because I knew due process didn't apply when it came to dealing with these savages.

Peace Talks

We had been slugging it out in the trenches around New Baumstark with the Colorado National Guard for a couple weeks, and a stale-mate developed. We'd make some progress and take a few positions during the day, but then the National Guard would came in like the blasted Cong and took it all back at night. They had some of the best god damned night vision equipment I ever seen. We owned the day, but the Guard owned the night.



So when a guardsman approached our line waving a white flag, we were all ears. He invited us to meet with his field leader, a two-star general Winston, to discuss peace. Ideally I wanted to meet with the president- two stars is peanuts- but with the brutal Colorado winter looming, we were all ears- we wanted to work out some sort of deal and just get the hell out of there.



So I went with commissar Vandernutz to meet General Winston in the town square. Everyone else pretty much scattered so we had plenty of space to talk. General Winston got there first and he waved at us as we got close. Commissar Vandernutz smiled. I could tell the two had met before, and I smelled a rat.



What happened next pretty much eroded all my trust and confidence in communism. And I'm not just saying that to try and sensationalize this blog posting- god dammit, I mean it - I'm still hopping mad about it. So I'll continue-



Apparently the Colorado National Guard was equipped by some American defense contractor, Blackburton or something or other, that was going through some trouble- they were warned of a potential SEC investigation- something about lying on financial statements and misleading investors. Real greaseball shit that was between the management. So they needed a huge increase in earnings, and had employed this Vandernutz to recruit a small army and stage a nasty little mock incursion so that the Colorado National Guard would need to have their supply of munitions, vehicles and equipment doubled in a matter of weeks- the scheme must have netted the defense contractor billions. And it was all done in time so that the contractor could amend its filing to the SEC and avoid a nasty little investigation. Which meant there was really nothing left to be done here. So Vandernutz and the general shook hands while I shook in horror and the two parted ways. The Colorado National Guard moved into New Baumstark, and were told to scram and granted safe passage up to Canada.



But by god I was pissed- Vandernutz, a capitalist in communist's clothing, had scammed us all and started war for the sake of generating a large defense budget- Did you ever hear of such a thing? Can you imagine that- a defense company starting a war just to make money? Well I immediately put Vandernutz atop my list of people to kill, got my knapsack and BAR, and hopped on a Greyhound, destination unknown.

All's Well That Ends Well

After the nasty little friendly fire incident I ran back to battalion, hopping mad, and determined to make someone pay for all the inane shelling.

I headed for the sand-bagged .88 batteries that we kept next to the hospital and came upon an artillery unit.

"God dammit- Who ordered in all that artillery?! I haven't seen a shelling that bad since Jose Lima was pitching for the Mets!" I screamed.

"What about Gallardo? The Rockies put 11 on him about a month ago." said one of the artillery men.

Well that did it- getting cute with me, and taking a shot at future staff ace Yovani Gallardo. What did Gallardo ever do anyway? I had heard enough. I grabbed the man and held my .45 to his head.

"Now you guys are going to start talking or I'm going to start wasting people! We start with the funnyman!" I yelled at the artillery unit.

The men appeared stunned, but remained quiet. I needed them to start talking.

I cocked my .45 and pressed it on the artillery man's forehead.

"I caca dao VC! I caca dao VC!" I yelled.

The situation grew more and more tense. From one of the watch-towers, Barnes and Elias looked on in disapproval.

"Stay out of this you two- this ain't your fight!" I screamed at them. Elias just shook his head and looked away. Frickin' condescending water-walker.

I was about a split-second away from pulling the trigger when a man in a French military uniform came forward from the artillery team.

"C'est moi." he said.

"You ignorant ass-hole! You killed alot of people with that fouled up fire mission!" I screamed.

I recognized this guy- he was the same guy who accidentally fired on us when were storming the Anthill outside of Boulder about a month back- we lost alot of good men up there.
Well this dog's time had come- I was going to make an example of him. I put a pair of handcuffs on him and told him that I was going to blow him away.

He didn't respond.

Then I drew my .22, and at point blank range fired. The artillery man dropped to the ground, dead.

A medic who heard the gun-shot came rushing out.

"Is everything OK he asked?"

"Yeah we're fine now- just a little flashback." I responded.

I walked back to the barracks to get some sleep. I had been up fighting the whole night- Things had gotten pretty hairy at times, but it looked like everything was fine now and I could finally just lay down and get some well deserved shut-eye.

Night Attack!

I hopped into a bunker with Procop, Pacman Jones and Commissar VanderNutz and got ready for the attack. We had modest cover- mostly just sandbags. But we could hear them out off in the distance- yelling at each other- it was the whole god damn third division of the Colorado National Guard, and they were about to swarm our positions. They started by probing our positions- they sent up a few scouts, launched a couple flares, and then there was a little small arms fire- just a cromulent distraction. This went on for about an hour or so- maybe longer.





Then around 2100 hours it got quiet- like real quiet- that's when we knew they were getting ready to make their push- one of the guardsman blew a whistle, and the soldiers poured at our positions- they were dressed in full body armor and firing hi-tech XM-8 assault rifles that even the U.S. military wasn't using- plus they a couple unmanned predator drones circling overhead directing their artillery, and dropping snake and nape on our pos. We fired up our remaining flares and the sky was lit up by tracer fire. Our perimeter was compromised almost immediately, but our concertina wire slowed them up real good and made them pretty good targets. I fired my BAR at the wire- burst after burst at those running dogs- just hoping to get some dumb sons of bitches that got swallowed up in it.





We held off their first wave, but then suddenly the bunker next to us went up like a roman candle- must have been a direct hit from a bazooka round- this freaked Pacman Jones out and the bastard ran out on us- I tried to shoot the deserter as he fled, but he dodged my pistol fire and left the battleground. I vowed to get him next time.





Our radio bunker went up next, and then two of the perimeter bunkers- slowly but surely the guardsmen were overcoming our defenses with their bloody bazooka and grenade attacks. Then they ambushed a platoon of Soviet paratroopers that were trying to relieve our position- our reinforcements- they cut the poor bastards to pieces- and that was all we had for relief.





Then, with everyone else out of the way, the guardsmen turned their attention to our bunker.
"Dude- Where'd all these fawkin guardsmen come from?" asked Commissar VanderNutz.

Beats the shit out of me. But the man in the green fatigues- a worthy adversary- was everywhere. Nevertheless, we fought on- hoping for our miracle. And that's what we got- the remaining troops rallied around our bunker and we shot the shit out of their initial assault and stopped them cold. The second wave ran right into our claymores, and sustained heavy casualties. Rather than attack again, they regrouped around the perimeter and began to retreat. It looked like they had had enough for one night. Our men crawled out of their bunkers- many badly wounded- and we started cheering and celebrating. Procop cut his thumb off in joy. It was a great time.


But then our .88 batteries opened up- someone back at battalion decided to saturate the whole perimeter in artillery rounds as a last-ditch effort to stop the guardsmens' advance- they didn't realize that we had already chased them off.

The rounds were hitting anything and everything around the perimeter - then the rounds started coming in even shorter, and some were landing in our interior fortifications- they even hit our supply wagon and elephant train. Appalled, I hopped out of the bunker and grabbed a field radio off of a dead comrade and put a call in to battalion.

"Ripper bravo six- Ripper bravo six- Check your fire! Check our fire! Enemy has retreated! You're lighting up friendlies! " I screamed.

But the message did not get through and the barrage continued for what must have been the longest 20 god damn minutes of my life- seemingly longer than the opening statement in any Sacramento misdemeanor criminal trial on record. So me, Procop, and Commissar VanderNutz buried ourselves in the bunker and hoped we didn't take a direct hit.

When the barrage was finally over, we emerged from the bunker to look at the wasteland around us- the sun was coming up- Eos rhododoctoros - and we were confronted with a landscape of scorched earth, twisted bodies, and obliterated buildings.

Battalion had sent some medics and a dog handler to look through the rubble for survivors.

One of the medics looked at me. "You all right sir? Y'konw, we're real sorry about all that artillery." he said.

"Yeah to you people it's just a game. Well it doesn't matter anyway- your apology is just too little, too late." I said, as I stormed off.

I was going to find out who at battalion gave the artillery order, and I was going to put a bullet in his head.

Una Banana Daiquiri!

We had heard some rumors bout a band of teenagers roaming around the mountains surrounding New Baumstark, attacking supply convoys in hit-and run assaults. We did not pay alot of attention at first, but then they went over the line and ambushed one of our armored columns.




Ivan was quite displeased with all this, and so he dispatched Pacman Jones, myself, Procop, and a platoon of Cubans into the mountains on a search and destroy mission. We were to locate and engage the guerrillas, and to inflict as many casualties as possible in the hopes of eliminating them as an effective fighting force.





As we proceeded up the trail I spied a large cocktail glass containing a yellow frosted fluid. There appeared to be some sort of detonator cord coming out of the back. "Una banana daiquiri!" I yelled.


But it was too late- our point man, Juan Pablo, heard my scream and tried to jump back, but at that point the daiquiri blew-up and Juan Pablo was blown in half.




We weren't going to fight our way past any more booby traps. We called in some engineers, collected Juan Pablo's remains, and walked back to town, quite dejected. As we headed back into town, Commissar VanderNutz rushed out and greeted us with a profanity-laced diatribe about how we were a bunch of wimps and he we needed to go back into the mountains and finish things off with the guerrillas. We told him we were done for the day, and he shook his head at us, cocked his AK-47, and ran into the brush to flush out the guerrillas on his own. Fool's courage.





We started to relax, but in the distance I could hear artillery fire- Some of it outgoing, and some of it was incoming. And then from the opposite end of town I saw one of our men running- he was one of the Soviet paratroopers who had been out on an ambush- he was badly wounded now, and was covered in blood and bandages.



"Get it together man!" I said, in a spot-on Mills impersonation.



The injured paratrooper did not seem amused. "The national guard- they're everywhere- they're coming right at us- they're right on my tail and they're not stopping for shit!" he screamed.

Then he grabbed a canteen and frantically hobbled off. Worthless deserter. I drew my pistol and proceeded to shoot him in the back as he tried to flee. The yellow-bellied coward dropped to the ground like a ton of bricks. You don't cut and run from a fight- not in my army anyway.



Then I got in one of our bunkers and loaded my BAR- and our troops poured out into our trenches and earthworks to defend the perimeter. I stared off in the distance as nightfall blanketed the horizon in darkness. There was going to be a long night of fighting ahead.

Invasion U.S.A.

The jump itself was pretty god damn hairy. Things went pretty smooth for most of the trip. But once we hit the Rockies we started taking flack. A couple transport aircraft went down, and several others took heavy damage. A glider flying right next to me carrying two-dozen highly trained Moscow circus bears took a direct hit from a stinger and went up like the a roman candle. Poor bears- never even knew what hit them. But by the grace of Lenin, my plane made it through all that and we were ready to jump at 1200 feet. I jumped next to my old buddy Crotop the Moldovan Bear- a former Soviet paratrooper, I knew Crotop would look after me on the jump. He packed my chute, checked my oil, and I was good to go. I told him to save the reach-around until after we hit the ground, and he agreed.

The jump itself was fine- Crotop fired a bazooka round while in free fall- the round slammed into the broad side of a barn and blew the crap out of it. Got the hen house as well, and badly damaged the pigeon coup. Our spotters said some shrapnel even landed in the pig pen. That was the only bazooka round Crotop had with him, but he got the most out of it. Some would argue that he should have saved the round for something more threatening- such as an enemy tank- but dammit you only get so many chances to blow up captive enemy livestock while free falling- you have to take your shot when you get it.

Once we landed we had to secure our four drop zones for re-supply. We managed to hold onto three, but the blasted Colorado National Guard over-ran the fourth one. We had to fight tooth and nail up a ridge to our objective, but finally made it to New Baumstark, a sleepy and creepy Colorado town with a vital bridge that we had to capture.

After several days of fierce fighting, we captured the town and the bridge. Comrade Commissar Vander Nutz, our propaganda minister, commandeered the library and demanded they burn all their books as well as any handicapped individuals. The librarians were a bit puzzled, but complied. We enlisted the help of a brutal American criminal genius, the sinister Pacman Jones, to round up any trouble-making citizens, place them in outdoor holding pens, and crush any resistance. For my part, I drove around the town with my squad of crack Soviet stormtroopers and tipped over porta-potties, egged the elderly, urinated on cable dishes, and committed similar acts of espionage and terror designed to cause widespread panic and instill fear among the local population. They needed to know that resistance was futile.

To round out our crew we also hired B-movie character actor Danny Trejo to intimidate and whip the locals. I wanted Robert Davi, but Mr. Davi indicated he was appalled by our attack on his homeland and declined our offer. At any rate I think Mr. Trejo is a nice little pick-up on our part- not an evil dictator that you can build a major military around, but more of a complementary back-of-the-rotation bully that will eat alot of innings. Championship armies need guys like that.

Pacman Jones captured the leader of the local resistance, and everyone laid down their arms except for a few teenagers that fled into the mountains- I'm sure that's the last we'll hear from them- I wouldn't expect a half-dozen untrained teenagers to be able to mount any sort of insurgency against our highly professional and heavily armed forces.

And I have good news from Afghanistan- Although we have not located Enemy of the State #1, Domanick Williams (formerly Domanick Davis)...our contact in Kabul reports that we have captured his #4 man, Christopher Cooks, who was Domanick Williams' former high school coach. Our commandos raided an Afghan village in which Mr. Cooks was conducting a pee wee football clinic - I was told Mr. Cooks was actually captured while being unexpectedly tackled from behind by a commando as he was attempting to show some children how to punt. They said the commando used good form on the tackle before dropping and bludgeoning Mr. Cooks. I'm happy the kids got to see a good open-field tackle at no additional charge. Maybe there will be some future special teamers out of that lot- some budding little Afghan Steve Taskers if you will. Oh hello boo.