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.