Groggy Gets Hurt!

As the details of Hex's treachery came to light, the Major struggled with his feelings of inadequacy. Damn it! He thought. Just as he FINALLY got control of the situation, that asshole Tyreen has to ruin anything.

I don't even like Jenkins, he thought - too unreliable and shifty. I'd shoot him out of principle, but that wouldn't go over well.

Now Groggy wandered by the river, out past his picket line. He was all alone, and there wasn't even a hastily-writen romantic interest to comfort him. Even Herpes Girl steered clear of him, prefering to comfort Dave Jenkins instead. Exactly what he did while alone was unclear. Some say that he engaged in. . . self-pleasure. Others that he just got drunk on Cream Soda and Root Beer. Others that he tried to finish reading "Day of the Jackal", a book which had eluded his grasp even more than Charriba had. Others that he took a dump, and some say he went swimming.

Regardless of what exactly he was doing, he had wandered outside his picket lines. And this, as we know, is not a very wise thing to do. But Groggy needed some alone time, and who are we to judge him for doing so?

* * *

Marie Wynter had been held captive for over twenty-four hours now, and she was getting restless. She and her fellow captives were at the mercy of Sierra Charriba, who did not seem the merciful type.

Sierra Charriba spoke little English. She noted several young boys being held by the Apaches, and how they were being trained to shoot arrows. Due to their young age, they would be inducted into the tribe

Marie was horrified as to what fate might await her and her fellow captives. She had always dreamed of - and subconsciously wished for - a great adventure, being swept off her feet by some dashing gentleman or being rescued from nasty bandits. She could even be captured by a handsome bandit or pirate who would catch her fancy - but not this guy. He had slapped her! And that was unforgvable. Besides, Charriba was not exactly the romantic type; she and the other captives watched as the Apache skinned one of the captives alive and nailed him to a tree. Somehow, Charriba didn't strike her as a particularly virtuous man.

Suddenly, one of the Apache scouts arrived and began chatting with the other Indians. Marie couldn't get too good of a look at her, but she was a female. And she looked vaguely familiar. She was speaking Apache, rapidly and quickly, and suddenly, a huge whooping went up. Marie looked on impassively as about a dozen Apache grabbed their war gear and rushed into the brush.

How the heck did I end up here? Marie wondered aloud. She then began to pray.

* * *

Groggy was laying against a log when it happened. He was sick of his men, wanted to be alone, and whatever he was doing, he had his shirt off and his pants unbelted when an arrow suddenly thunked into his leg.

"SHIT!" he screamed in pain.

More arrows thudded into the log as Groggy ducked for cover. He dropped his pistol and had to hide like a child. It seemed like the Major, the initiator of this long, bloody, and increasingly confusing expedition expeidtion, was going to meet an inglorious, lonely end.

Just then, there was a loud clomping noise. Suddenly, a horse leapt through the air, as if out of a bad dream, and landed amongst the Indians. The horse knocked down most of the Apaches, and the horse's two riders - yes, two! - staggered to their feet and began dispatching Apaches left and right.

Now the pickets had been alerted. More shots were fired, and the small handful of remaining Apache were either killed, or fled the scene.

Tim entered and saw Groggy, an arrow in his leg, with his pants down and his shirt off. He was quite ugly. Tim smirked as he saw his commander's less-than-perfect physique.

"DAMMIT, IT HURTS!" Groggy whined.

"You need a Doctor, Major!" one of the two mounted saviors cried. It was none other than Sergeant Harriman, who along with her colleague had gloriously left Cavalry Guy to die fighting the French.

"Cut it out!" Groggy said through clenched teeth.

"Alright!" Sergeant Kimmel drew a huge knife and began to set to work.

"NO! Nevermind, Sergeant," he said, reconsidering.

"You'll have to go to the Doctor in Durango," Sergeant Harriman exclaimed. "And he charges very high rates."

"For quite shitty service, I might add," Sergeant Kimmel added, her eyes gesturing towards her knife.

"I'm not going to Durango," Dundee insisted. "I'm not leaving the command."

Tim took control of the situation. "Mr. Stubb," he called out to his hulking subordinate, "get a stretcher for the Major."

Defiantly, Groggy cracked the arrow on his thigh.

Tim turned to his commander, his voice full of contempt. "You're getting leave, Major," he began. "And it's time you did. In fact you'd ought to give up soldiering altogether!

"You were trapped at the river!Ambushed like a shavetail! You hired a bunch of idiots to act as scouts - why? Because they asked you to do their homework assignments for them in 9th Grade? You armed us with 19th Century weapons! You gave us dial-up connection! What the hell are we supposed to do, plug our computers into trees? And worst of all, you're so lazy you abandon us in the middle of Mexico for fifteen months of idleness! And what are you doing outside your own picket lines? Jerking off?"

Groggy stood up to punch the defiant Rebel, then collapsed.

"Just what the bloody Hell are you doing here in the first place, Groggy?"

Groggy looked up at him helplessly. "I came. . . because. . ." he gasped out. "Because. . . I was bored." Then he collapsed, the world turning to black around him.

* * *

Matt the Bugler wrote in his diary that evening:

"September 20th. The execution of Private Smit has affected us all. Nobody knows what in the hell is going on, or what the point of this whole expedition is. Are we fighting the French, or the Apache, or each other, or two of the above, or all three, or none? My head hurts. Many are bitter against the Major, but I feel I cannot pass judgment on him, for he alone bears the burden of command, and I'm just some dipstick who can blow air through a metal tube."