New Year's Eve Bash

Yes, the command is still in Begonia, but the Major forced his men - despite their hangovers - to prepare to move out after a New Years' celebration.

In order to prepare for it, Groggy sent Sergeant Harriman and six men to raid a local shop-and-save. The mission was a complete success, and they returned with 6 tons of bean dip, 30,000 bags of potato chips, 2,000 bags of barbeque, 5,000 bags of pretzels, 1,000 boxed of pretzel rods, 30 cakes, and a seemingly infinite amount of meats, chicken wings, and cheeses. For Groggy decided to let the townspeople in on the celebrations as well. And, of course, more wine and tequila were in order.

Groggy was so busy preparing the party that he didn't notice the large column of French troops descending on the town. The French colonel, Colonel Barou, had with him the Groupement Mobile 100, a crack armored unit that was of brigade strength. It had several armored vehicles, tanks, and artillery, and prepared to besiege the town. The Colonel was prepared to give his opponent a very special New Years' Eve celebration, for violating France's rule over Indochina . . . er, I mean, Mexico.

But back in the town, business could hardly have been further from the minds of the men, whose blood alcohol level was undoubtedly in the high thousands by now, after two and a half straight weeks of keggers. After nearly a month of drinking, partying, and carousing, many of them seemed to forget that they had a mission - to bring to justice our old friend, the Apache Sierra Charriba.

Ahem. . . I said, our old friend, the Apache Sierra Charriba.



Now, it just so happened that Begonia was a poor, poor town, which had virtually no electricity. With most of their batteries and generators having been destroyed at the river battle, they could no longer play "Dance Dance Revolution" - they couldn't even hold a decent karaoke contest, much to the chagrin of a certain Mr. Richards, who would certainly win now that Michelle was no longer with us. The cards that had been wielded by Mr. Stubb had been lost under a radiator vent during one of the group's regular drinking binges. Tim had, in a fit of drunken rage, destroyed most of the arcade games, so that was out of the question as well.

So, basically, the command could do little beyond eat, dance, and drink - and they'd all had enough of that by now.

Still, Groggy hoped to inspire confidence and morale in his men with some fireworks he had stolen from a crooked arms dealer in New Mexico.

"Hey Major," Joe Starbuck had asked him.

"Yeah, Joe?"

"Why do we need fireworks? We have artillery, don't we?"

"Do you want to waste all of our ammunition partying?"

At this, the two watched as Tim and Peacemaker began emptying their pistols into a big-screen TV. (They were both clearly drunk, of course.) What should've been a sound, airtight point by the Major was now made a bit more complicated.

"Why don't you go hang out with Aimee?" Groggy said disgustedy.

Plasmotic Snake was celebrating in his own way by looking at some meticulously done "Lion King" drawings he had made from gunpowder and his own hair grease. Grenouille was brushing up on his French, in case he needed to use it with the French soldiers.

The Canadians organized a quick pickup game out of hockey with some of the locals. The Mexicans didn't quite get it - and several of them were impaled on the Candains' weapons - but Garfer's Hosers ultimately won the day, 29-0.

Things were going fairly well, then The command had, for the moment anyway, lost all of their differences in a confusing drunken haze, and were able to forget their troubles. They were preparing to ring in 2006 - the year that their quest against that Injun Charriba. And kill some French, too, come to think of it.

The Groggy Dundee March

As the weeks in Begonia wore on, the characters got drunker and drunker and drunker. Everyone wondered whether or not the story would ever pick up again. Everyone need not worry, for once the characters get out of their hangovers, they will get back on the road - certainly in time for the New Year.

In the meantime, I have belated composed a new version of the "Major Dundee March". I hope you enjoy!

Groggy Dundee March

Tune by: Daniele Amfitheatrof

Lyrics by: Ned Washington and Me

Sung by: Groggy Dundee and his Sing-Along Gang

Fall in, behind the Major,

Fall in, and mind the Major,

Fall in, and I will wager,

That Groggy won't kill all of us off.

Fall in, and keep your guard up,

Who knows whenwill start up?

Fall in, behind the Major,

And become a true hero for once.

Though your heart be in his school, or your life be on the 'Net

Be you a boy or girl, it's no nevermind

Won't belong 'til we'll be filled with feelings of great regret,

From the booze we drank last night!

Fall in, and get to moving,

Your fate, he will be choosing,

Fall in behind the Major,

And we'll all get drunk again!

Also, I'd be interested in anyone who would help with a poster design for our movie deal! (That's only reason we're doing this, after all.) Also, credits order is yet to be determined.

Further Fiestaing (contribution by Beebs of the Leone Board)

After the knife fight, the fiesta continued on into Sunday. The gang was able to steal an old TV, and watched the Pittsburgh Steelers trounce the Minnesota Vikings, 18-3.

At this point, there was almost a big fight when a big, burly Mexican named Chaco tried to steal Dundee's prized shotgun. Dundee got into a shoving match with him, and this quickly escalated to a full-on tussle. Fortunately, the situation was averted without violence.

The abovementioned participants in the knife fight got drunker and drunker as the day wore on. Elsewhere, the poker game continued, with Frisco growing increasingly agitated that they refused to switch to five cards, instead of seven.
Frisco, drunk, tired, and bored, finally fell asleep, and remembered why he had come on the expedition. . .

. . . As a kid he was forced to work as a shoeshine after his father was killed by a band of motley banditos. His father had been a famous Colonel under Lee and had some trouble defending some gold during the war. After a particularly grueling battle, he had come across a family of 4. Fatherless and hopeless, they had been hiding in their barn during the battle. Among the grain was a case of coins, $10,000. Feeling sorry for the family he stayed with them that night after the battle to protect them for the few days of his leave. A group of banditos rode in and he fought them off by himself the whole night, until they knocked him unconscious and took what they could carry of the gold. But as they were leaving, the Colonel awoke, rising with much difficulty, and fired his Dragoon at the leader of the Bandits and dropped his horse, crippling him for the rest of his miserable life. Well they wanted revenge and got it, killing the poor retired Colonel. Forcing his son to work hard for his money, he learned how to shoot in the few hours after the barbershop closed in Tucumcari. He had been taught to ride by his father when he was 2 years of age. By the time he was 15 he’d killed 6 of the 8 banditos leaving the crippled leader and a second hand man for last. He was 20 when he caught up to the latter. Eight years later, he met the leader in his hotel room and shot him in the belly as he limped in. In the belly shot bandit’s dying moment, Frisco talked of his father teaching him to ride a horse until the cripple fell over with wide eyes at the memory of the Colonel. Frisco was 28 years old.

Then, Frisco smelt a nasty smell - it was the breath of Stubb, breathing old sausage meat and stale tequila into his nose.

"Wake up, you damned fool!" Stubb bellowed.

"Are we playing five-card stud?" Frisco asked groggily.

"For the last time, NO!" Stubb said to him.

Frisco stared at him momentarily, then fell back asleep on the table. Stubb couldn't stand it - he brought down the butt of his weapon next to Frisco's head.

"WAKE UP, DICKHEAD!" he screamed.

Frisco sprung awake, but couldn't stay up; he fell asleep, leaning back on his chair. Now extremely perturbed, Stubb kicked the chair out from under Frisco - he fell to the floor, and fell asleep. Stubb kicked him a few times, but it was no use - he was asleep.

Then entered Kermit, bringing a large bottle of Tequila. "More booze!" he screamed drunkenly, causing the card players to turn from the sleeping Frisco. Before any of them could get any, however, Kermit tilted his head back and swigged three-quarters of the tequila. He gave what little was left to Stubb, who finished it, causing much consternation among the players.

* * *

In the town, the French prisoners escaped from their stockade by asking very politely for the two guards - Grenouille and Walker - to be let go. They began running full speed back to their garrison for reinforcements.

* * *

Tim, meanwhile, had drank so much tequila that he could barely stand. He was in an arcade, engaged in a ferocious game of "Asteroids", while Mark the bugler and a few others look on. He was just three pathetic asteroids away from the high score. . . the sweat dripped off his head. He fired two rounds, taking out two asteroids - high score tied, one left! He wiped the sweat from his brow, and then watched in horror as an asteroid veered from the right of the screen into his space ship, causing him to be eliminated.

"Oh well, tough break," Tom, who had been patiently waiting for an hour to play, said, rushing towards the joystick.

"Son of a. . ." In the middle of a drunken fury, Tim stood there still for a minute in disbelief, then, as Tom plunked a coin into the machine, drew his revolver and emptied it into the machine. Tom stood, shocked, as the glass shattered, ruining the game.

"You bastard!" Tom screamed, lunging at him. Tim held him back with his left hand, then lined up a good, hard, right-handed punch. The punch smashed Tom's face, and blood ran down his face as he fell back from the force of the blow.

"Now get yer ass out of here," Tim screamed. He went up to his opponent, grabbed him by the chest, and heaved him into a pinball machine. Tom lay still after a moment, unconscious.

The other would-be players stood staring at Tim for a moment. It was the bugler who finally broke the silence. "What now?" he asked his cousin.

Tim stood for a moment, then reached for his flask of tequila. He took a long shot, then realized that it was empty. He stood, contemplating it for a moment, then had a revelation.

"To the bar!" Tim screamed. The other men gave a "hurrah", and they went out, looking for more booze with which to destroy their livers.

Complete Scene - "Knife Fight"

The liberated Mexican village spent the better part of a week celebrating their liberation from the French. For the past six months, they had been forced to eat Brie and indulge in wine taste-testing; anyone caught drinking tequila had been put to death. But now, the French were incapicitated, though Groggy Dundee planned to allow them to escape (for extremely convoluted reasons that would be best left unexplained). As for Teresa? Her body was left in the street for days without anyone noticing; some rumored that she had been carved up into meat and served at the fiesta.

The command forgot their divisions and casualties and partied, drinking and dancing without let up for seven days. The Gorch Brothers broke into the French's private wine cellar with a couple of hookers and had a nice bath in there; the only members of the army were more content with public celebration.

In the mayor's office, a high-stakes poker game went on all night long, as Frisco took on the Mayor, four townspeople, Marco Leone, and Stubb for two hours, playing seven-card stud. Herpes Girl had also been present, but she had been ejected for suggesting that they play strip poker. She was extremely upset, as there were so many women that no one was really paying attention to her.

Out in the courtyard, the drunken Mr. Potts leered after a pretty Mexican woman. She was put off by this geek, and fled into the arms of her paramour, Armando. Potts pursued her, and the offended suitor drew her knife.

"What's the matter with the little cat?" Potts drunkenly demanded. "My arm ain't good enough for her, huh?" He then suddenly drew his knife and slashed at Armando's arm.

"Now your other arm," Potts drawled.

However, a man rushed in between Armando and Potts before he could finish the job. It was Sergeant Cullen. "No, not the boy," he said, pulling out a Bowie knife. "Me. You try me, old man."

Potts looked amused at his adversary. "Was it I called her a - cat? What I meant was, your tramp sister."

Cullen bristled at this. "Now your arm," he said, gesturing at Potts. "Your good one."

At this, Potts leapt at him, and the two had a lengthy knife fight. Potts got Cullen into a headlock, but just grazed the skin of Cullen with his knife before Cullen got the better of him. After this, it was clear that the fight was more for show than a serious combat. After about a minute of such fighting, Dundee stepped into the fight, striking Potts with his pistol.

"What the fuck are you doing, Major?" Potts demanded, still looking at Cullen.

"Mind your own damned business," Cullen said curtly.

Dundee sheepishly ducked out of the fight. Before they could start again, however, Sergeant Harriman jumped in, with a broken beer bottle. "Take me, Potts," she said loudly.

Potts just stared at her for a moment, then burst out laughing. After a moment, so did Cullen, and then Harriman herself. Armando grabbed Potts and Cullen around the shoulders, and Harriman joined them, and the foursome skipped off to somewhere else in town like drunken morons. Dundee looked after them with a perplexed look on his face. What the fuck was that? he asked himself.

Village Occupation

After a week's march, maybe less, Dundee and his command arrived on the outskirts of the small Mexican village of Begonia. They could see a hardscrabble, poverty-ridden slum. Dundee ordered Tim and his men to move to the east of the city, and a wave of miscs to move to the left, under Sergeant Harriman. Dundee himself would lead his loyalists in, and Sergeant Kimmel would provide air cover.

The army descended on the small, impoverished village, finding no resistance. They lined up on respective sides of the town.

"Where's my tank?" Sergeant Harriman demanded.

"We'll get it from the damn frogs," Dundee shouted.

Dundee pointed his saber, and Tim's men began to charge, hurtling over an adobe wall on the side of the town. Stubb's horse failed to jump high enough to clear the wall, and he fell backwards. The rest of the command went onward, in towards the center of the town. A group of snot-faced children watched them, then fled as Dundee's contingent roared into the town square. They saw the hanging bodies of several Mexican soccer fans, then a plaque which read:

"World Cup 2005
France 3, Mexico 0"

The command amassed in the center of the town. Dundee could see the French barracks, and a few uniformed French soldiers scurried inside. Dundee watched as Grenouille unlimbered the command's artillery. He then turned to Potts.

"All right, Jed," he said to the scout. "Make it short, and to the point.

Potts rode up to the door of the barracks, and then shouted inside: "Get your ass outta there, Froggy!"

A well-dressed French officer, buttoning up his frock coat, exited with two armed French troopers. "What do you want, you pisshead American? You are interrupting our cheese-eating contest."

"Complements, Major Groggy Dundee, United States Cavalry," Potts informed him. "You've got five minutes to clear out of here before he's gonna cut loose."

"He would not dare!" the indignant Frenchman replied. "This is a horrendous breach of international law, and an unprovoked confrontation with a friendly power. . ."

Potts interrupted him. "Sonny. . . the Major ain't no lawyer. And you've got four minutes." Potts turned to ride off, but Captain Tremaine - for t'was his name - called after him.

"I don't believe you," he said to Potts. "Look at his command."

Potts turned and saw a hideous gallery of ugly, pimpled faces, overbite ridden jawlines, poorly-matched, dirt-encrusted clothing, and twitchy hands. Potts shivered, but turned back to Tremaine. The two commenced a long argument.

"It's miraculous," a woman's voice called out.

Dundee turned as a young, beautiful, curvaceous woman with dark brown hair emerged from the adobe, trailed by an ugly, older Mexican named Chico and a few others.

"First the Indians, then the Spanish, then Mexicans, then Texas freebooters," she said in a thick German accent.

"What's your fucking point?" Dundee asked her, unmoved.

"We have nothing to give you," the woman said to him simply. "No food, no animals - no women. Go away and leave us alone."

"No," Dundee replied.

At this, Potts shouted to the French captain, "How in the hell do you want me to prove to you. . ."

Without any warning, Potts turned back towards Dundee, riding hell-for-leather, his shotgun out. Dundee ducked out of the way, thinking Potts had gone mad. Tim walked up to the woman and kissed her hand gently.

"With you in the village," he said, "This village is rich beyond compare."

Tim looked up in time to see her head explode into a red mist. Potts, in his fury, had shot the woman - Teresa something-or-other - to prove to the French Captain that he meant business.

After this, the horrified French troopers began to move back into the barracks - but Sergeant Kimmel's helicopter unleashed a furious volley of machine gun fire upon them. Dozens of rounds exploded out of their bodies in a hue of bright crimson, and their bullet riddled bodies fell to the ground.

After this, Dundee ordered his artillery to open fire. The rest of his command did not heed this, and every single man in his command - pretty much - began firing at the French barracks, even though no further French troopers had exited. One French soldier rushed out, firing an M-16, but he was cut to pieces by a volley of machine gun fire. The rest walked out after a moment, their arms in the air. Without any orders, Sergeant Kimmel fired at them, tearing their bodies to shreds. After they fell, Kimmel landed her craft and walked over to Dundee.

"What in the FUCK is wrong with you?" he asked.

"Sir?"

Dundee started to speak, but shook his head - it was no use. "Go reconnoiter for French columns," he said finally.

"Don't I get to party?" Kimmel complained.

"When you stop being a fool," Dundee replied curtly.

Kimmel saluted Dundee, then gave him the finger and climbed into her helicopter and flew off. Dundee turned to Tim.

"Well," he said to his subordinate, "let's have a party!"

War Plans

After a week of indecisiveness, Sergeant Kimmel was able to bring together component parts of a Black Hawk helicopter to replace her downed Apache. It wasn't as good, but it would be effective enough - hopefully. Also, most of the vehicles were repaired within a week of the battle, and the command had reestablished their Internet connection in the field despite great difficulty.

On the Saturday after the battle, a tearful funeral was held, as the fallen members of the command were buried in a shallow grave. Reverend Armstrong led a moving rendition of "Shall We Gather At The River?", and the Canadians honored the fallen Shellac by firing a volley of hockey pucks over the grave (incapicitating several members of the command briefly).

Now, it was a week later, and except for Sergeant Harriman, who was busy with an online poker game, Dundee's officers convened in their tent. It had been nine days, and they had done nothing but sit on their asses, whining about the dead and trying to keep themselves entertained. Now, they were finally snapping into action.

J. Potts, back from his scout, reported that Charriba was nowhere to be seen, but a small nearby village - called Begonia - lay nearby. It had a lot of food, it's billboard promised, and drink, and supplies! It was also garrisoned by a small contingent of Froggy troops, who make their first, belated appearance in our story coming up shortly. After Sergeant Cullen and the Gorches returned, the meeting was convened.

Captain Tim Tyreen still argued for withdrawal. "We've lost some of our best men," he argued passionately, "the plurality of our supplies have been lost, and we've accomplished our mission. Why can't we turn back, Major?" he asked Dundee.

"Because you'll turn on us and kill us the second I give the order," the Major replied coolly.

"I hadn't thought of that," Joe Starbuck remarked, his eyes suddenly wide with fright at the prospect. Dundee looked at him quizzically. He really was an idiot.

Dundee turned to Potts. "What happened to the Old Man at the river?" he asked.

Potts shrugged. "Nearest we could figure, he broke off contact with us and went back to his home."

"Where's that?"

Potts took out a dusty, yellowed photograph. It showed Charriba and the long-dead fellow Apaches Geronimo and Cochise opening "Sierra Charibba's Home For The Elderly And Infirm".

"Stupid caring bastard," Dundee grumbled.

"What I think we should do," Cullen opined, breaking in, "is go to that village and kill us some Frogs!"

"That'd be better'n a hog-killin'!" Grenouille yelped.

Dundee shushed him. He put his hand under his chin and thought. And thought. . . and brooded. . . and thought. . .

"Do we really want to risk a war with France?" Dundee asked finally.

"They're the FRENCH, Major," Cullen replied. "We can take those pussies with one hand tied behind our back."

"Here here!" Grenouille seconded the notion.

Dundee looked at Captain Tim, who shook his head. "That's not a good idea," he said.

"Let's take a vote," Joe said diplomatically.

"All in favor of going to the village, say "Aye!"" Cullen shouted. The hands of him and Grenouille went up, and no one else.

"Those in favor of turning back," Dundee said, "raise your hand." Only Tim.

"Those in favor of staying here and doing nothing," Starbuck said, "raise your hands." No one's hand went up.

"Those in favor of continuing after the Apache and almost by accident running in the French," Dundee asked, "raise your hand." The hands of Garfer and Potts went up. Just wanting to break the tie, Dundee rose his hand. "Then it's settled," he said, walking out of the tent abruptly. Tim followed him.

"You sure that's wise?" his online subordinate asked him.

"We're not turning back yet," Dundee replied. "We've got work to do."

"But the French-"

"We can take 'em," Dundee said with a proud smile. "They're a country of gutless pussies."

"I hope you're right," Tim replied. "But never underestimate the value of a European education."

Dundee walked back to his camp. Waiting for him was his loyal circle of followers - Aimee, Ashley, and the Reverend. Tim stared after him thoughtfully.

Oh well, better luck next time, he thought to himself. He had tried to think of a scheme, but he was very tired and wasn't really in the mood for introspection and complex thought. He went to his personal tent, rudely kicked Herpes Girl out of his covers, and went to sleep.