We got UFC fans in the Wire!

So we dee-deed out of Vegas and flew back on the HIND to our base-camp in NorthWest Arizona. It used to be a Hopi Indian reservation, but back in 1989 Evan Belgium swindled the Hopis by trading them three hundred smallpox infected blankets, 200 St. Louis arch trinkets, grapefruit and soap-on-a-rope (what could be more worthless?), a used condom autographed by Chuck Berry, a baseball allegedly autographed by Christopher "Kit" Crokes (it was in fact a mere facsimile), and a box of Bluesfelter stationary, for the rights to the reservation.

Now the bigoted whites that rule America refer to these indigenous Indians as "Native Americans." Can you think of anything more demeaning and degrading than referring to these proud people as "natives?" Neither can I. Damn hate-mongers.

Anyway back to the story- so we swindled the Indians, stole their land, and moved in to set-up a mercenary training compound/fire-support base. When the Hopis realized the Crokes autograph was fake, they were hopping mad, and they said they'd sue us over it. But then they got preoccupied with another case involving peyote use for religious purposes, and never got around to taking us to court.

So on the reservation we set-up a garrison of 30 men, and Belgium constructed a series of fortifications, tents, and sandbags, surrounded by heavy concertina wire. We had one guard tower, an .88 battery, and a few lightly-armor APCs (armored-personnel carriers)with low-caliber anti-tank guns. Not much, but we couldn't go overboard on the firepower thing since we were trying to fool the American government by posing as a legitimate Indian reservation. We even put a few tee-pees and a cardboard saloon around the barracks, and cardboard indians and paper-mache buffalos around the wire. It looked really good although the paint on the buffalos was chipping.

Now after we landed, I waited a bit and then confronted McGelboim in the barracks.

"I know you it was you McGelboim...you left Mills out there to die at the hands of those animals...and the Viet Cong. We don't leave men behind. Ever." I said.

"It was either I save myself, or I die with Mills- so I saved myself. Mills was sacrificed. Are you prepared to sacrifice the lives of any of your men, McStallen?
How many? One? Two? Twenty?
Lives will be lost in this sort of business.
And if you don't have the stomach for it, now is the time to let me know." lectured McGelboim.

"How dare you speak down to me McGelboim!" I yelled, and charged him with my K-Bar.

We started tussling on the ground and gashed each other with our K-Bars, but we were interrupted a few moments later by Evan Belgium--

"I hate to disrupt your sword-fight, but we're under attack! We got UFC fans in the wire! They followed us right through the desert! They're over-running our base camp!" explained Belgium.

McGelboim and I quit wrestling and put on our helmets and flak jackets. We got outside and looked around- incredibly enough there were masses of these blood-thirsty animals laying siege to our base.

I pointed to the HIND. "Belgium- you get that chopper in the air and start laying down some suppressing fire. McGelboim- get in the guard tower and start using that 'fifty' on 'em. I'll take some men and fall back to the command bunker- that's where we'll make our final stand." We parted ways and I grabbed some munitions and any mercenaries I could find and raced to the command bunker. There were about a dozen of us holed up in the command bunker, and we were quickly besieged by hundreds of KFC fans and Viet Cong.

Though lightly armed, the UFC fans were an imposing lot, and worthy adversaries. Many had taken 5 or 6 gun-shots already, and were still standing. Most had bits of their face and brains missing, and their eyes were blood-red as they closed in on us like undead zombies.

Inside the command bunker, our morale was getting low and our ammo was dwindling.
"I'm out! I'm out!," yelled Tshimnaga Bradley, as he threw his SAW to the ground with disgust.
"Yo tambien!," exclaimed Juan Boca as he tossed his M-60 to the ground.
"Don't worry guys- you're with Audie 'friggin' Murphy tonight!" yelled Bunny as he ran out of the command bunker firing his shot-gun at the UFC revelers. We never saw Bunny again.
Otis carson turned to me and said, "Oh crud McStallen, it's now or never..."

I agreed. So I called in one last time to Belgium.
"Belgium- this is Bravo-Six- They've over-run the base- For the record, it's my call! Dump everything you've got left on my pos! I say again, expend all remaining in my perimeter!"

"Roger that Bravo-six, get them in their holes and stay down, this is going to be a big one." responded Lux- err -Belgium.

And with that, Belgium dropped the HIND's massive pay-load on the base camp, explosions and flames ripped through the base, and everything went black for me.


I awoke early the next day in the heavily damaged command bunker. There was alot of blood and crying, but most of us had survived thanks to all the fortifications. But when I emerged from the compound I saw first-hand the true magnitude of the devastation. Bodies, smoke, heaps of twisted metal, and fires were everywhere. The bodies were mostly just UFC fans- I didn't find any of the Cong- and you never do- I learned that the hard way when I was an "advisor" with the ARVN.

Eventually, I came upon McGelboim, who was badly wounded and sitting atop a heap of bodies of former UFC revellers.
"Get me a medic, boy." McGelboim commanded.

I just shook my head and raised my AK-47 at him. He looked angry for a second, but then he relaxed, because he knew what was coming, and he knew there was nothing he could do about it. Now was my chance to get him back for Mills...



But there had been too much killing already, and I just couldn't do anymore. So I threw the assault rifle at him and walked off. It was his lucky day.

One of the APCs was still in usable condition, so I grabbed some rations and hopped in. I didn't know where I was going, but I knew I needed some time off. Some time away from all the death and destruction. A vacation from the slaughter.

So I sped off humming a Steve Winwood song. I wasn't sure which one it was, but I think it was the one in Back To The Future when Michael J Fox is on the skateboard in the beginning. It didn't matter.

But once I got about a mile away from the camp I eyed a few severely wounded UFC fans limping along the side of the road, screaming for help. Evidently they had escaped the attack. Evidently...Despite my recent apparent catharsis, I yelled "Bloody Murder!" and ran them down and crushed them like the dogs they were with my APC. Old habbits die hard.