Epilogue: Where are they Now

So now that our expedition is over, the reader may be wondering (if they are not scratching out their eyes with boredom) what the hell happened to Dundee and his surviving men after they reached Fort Benlin? To provide a small degree of closure to the story, we will refer to the vague available texts

Major Groggy Dundee was court-martialed upon his arrival at Fort Benlin and cashiered from the army. Undaunted, he promoted himself to "Colonel Dundee" and began leading further pointless expeditions "for fun" into Nicaragua, Jamaica, Panama, Morocco, Pakistan, and Canada. His infamous "Snowplow Adventure" of January 2008 (with his brother Grenouille) into Nicaragua was nearly successful, but after two minutes the Nicaraguans ceased to be amazed with his snow plow and his attempted filibuster fizzled out. He was accompanied in these expeditions by an ever-dwindling number of veterans from the Mexico Campaign.

After this expedition, Groggy Dundee remained in sporadic touch with the surviving members of his Mexico expedition, who pretended to like him while really just waiting for him to go away. Groggy Dundee continued to drink and eat more and more junk food and became an even more loserly individual. He sought a chance for redemption when he found out that the proposed remake of "The Wild Bunch" was an animated movie about flowers and decided to do a "Walk Thing" with some of his associates against Hollywood. He was last seen putting a shotgun slug through Philip LaZebnik's stomach while screaming "Bitch!"

Despite being brutally tortured, Grenouille somehow managed to escape the French POW camp because Colonel Boulle was a moron and left no one to guard him. Grenouille managed to smuggle himself into the country in a carton of green onions, which may or may not have led to an outbreak of Hepatitis B in Applebees all over the country.

Grenouille joined his brother on some of his expeditions, but grew tired of it after the Snowplow Adventure and retired to New York City. He found true love and became an architect. He built a skyscraper in Times Square, the Bitty Plaza, which fell over on top of him at the unveiling ceremony.

Michelle returned to Chatham College and returned to civilian pursuits. She refused to join the Major (or Colonel) on any of his further exploits and unlike some of her colleagues quickly amalgamated into civilian life. Unfortunately she was struck in the head with a soccer ball and never recovered from her injury entirely, but she continued a career as a singer and an environmental activist. Michelle's heroic efforts to curb global warming... weren't very successful. But her effort to sing Beatles songs at weddings was unfailingly successful, and her special brand of happiness inspired many people.

Sergeant Cullen was one of Dundee's loyalist followers and followed him on all of his future expeditions. But his drinking ultimately caught up with him, and he was killed in the only skirmish of the Snowplow Adventure when he got into a knife fight with a heavily armed Nicaraguan policeman. After killing an entire squad of police with a spork, he was hit by a car and died in hospital later. His death was a major reason for Groggy's pulling out of Nicaragua.

Sergeant Kimmel used necromancy to try and revive her friend Sergeant Harriman. It is unclear exactly what happened next. According to some reports, Kimmel tripped over a toad and died on the way to the site. Others say that she was simply taken to the Underworld during her ceremony, and still others say that she was successful; at least two witness place the two in a London pub drinking, after which Harriman was seen stepping into a police callbox with a very tall, energetic, suited Brit in tennis shoes... either way, both of them had disappeared off the face of the Earth by 2009.

Marco Leone survived the expedition and recruited his brother Tony to join Groggy on his Canadian expedition. The failure of that expedition left Tony dead, and Marco abandoned his mercenary career to return to his band, Freak Circus. Marco and his buddies continued a long and successful career as a musician, but Marco volunteered the services of his band for one final expedition - the attack on Hollywood. Leone is believed to have died, even though his band is due to release an album based on their exploits in Mexico, Canada, and Hollywood tomorrow morning at 8 AM.

Sartana did join Dundee's Canada expedition, but he soon got tired of the military life and inspite of incentives/death threats he returned to the US and began a magic act. Unfortunately, one day on stage he was accidentally blown up by one of his pigeons. It was ruled an accident by police, but some believe it was foul play... perhaps the brother of Dave Jenkins desiring revenge.

Dortmund Hoffenmuller grew apart from Groggy after his poor testimony at Groggy's military trial. Hoffenmuller's inability to speak English hindered matters, and he always spoke in a language different than that of the translator. Hoffenmuller wrote a Norwegian-language scribe against Dundee, HovedDundee Suger Baller og Hans Føtter Lukter, which was published into Arabic. Hoffenmuller's later days are unclear, although it's believed he played hockey for Montreal and Toronto for several years.

Lieutenant Joe Starbuck served with Groggy Dundee in his Canadian expedition but his ineptitude and sense of wanting to do something else with his life led to him leaving Dundee. The two fell out, reconciling only later after Dundee gave up filibustering. Starbuck became one of Wall Street's young millionaires, and owned his own software company, Starbuck Multimedia. He married eighty-three times and had six hundred children, until his company was run into the ground by snivelling greedy Enron-esque minions. It's said Joe put a pistol in his mouth when that happened... but in reality he just flew off the handle and swore into a telephone until he passed out from an aneurysm. He didn't even die. Stupid butler.

Marie Wynter's completely impossible naivette was not at all shattered by the Dundee expedition. She continued to be a smiley, good-natured, friendly, impossibly prudish and polite Christian. She never forgot the friends she lost, but her lack of interest in military affairs made her be little affected by the campaign. Marie returned to Alabama and never thought about the incident again. She got sick of talking to Dundee after awhile and lived a happy, full life in her own special way. It is rumored that she had a wondrous, frilly wedding, in the frou-frou land of bunnies, where fairies blow kisses to the stars, and polka-dotted toadstools sing Goodship Lollipop to the little mice in the feety pajamas. :) She may have died eventually, but why dwell on the negative?

James Finnegan Stubb served in Canada, Jamaica, and Nicaragua. He broke his foot when it was run over by the Snow plow in the Snowplow Adventure. Stubb served in Dundee's Hollywood expedition, and was recorded by security footage smashing in the skulls of the AOL Time Warner board of directors with his fist. Stubb is believed to have survived the carnage and is now the bouncer of a roadhouse somewhere in Kansas.

Mark the Bugler used his diary for cynical monetary gain. As soon as he arrived by at Fort Benlin he published his journal and gained a fortune. The book became a best-seller even though much of it was edited by the publishers, especially the lengthy parts depicting the organization of the expedition, Dundee's exile and most of the time between July 2006 and September 2007. Mark tagged along with Dundee for more material, but his sequel, The Adventures of an Egomaniac in Canada, didn't fare too well. His comlex character study of Dundee did not go over well with the public, and Mark's attempts to republish the novels failed. A truly embittered and corrupted man, he died of unspecified reasons in an unspecified time - a nameless number on a list which was afterwards mislaid. That was quite common in those days...

As to that missing footage? It was screened once, to the surviving Dundee expeditionaries, and then handed over to a Columbia executive, but someone (either the new French government, or Mitch Miller) organized a Black Ops group to go around and assassinate everyone who knew of it. The film has not been seen since.

And that is that. No need to dwell on anything. Thanks for the ride, it's been fun.



The Absolute Final End!

The Grandest Bloodiest Thingus in the History of Forever and Your Mom! Part II

Mark/Matt/whoever raised his bugle to his lips and blew charge proudly. The hodge-podge command charged heroically, brandishing their sidearms, into a final rendezvous with death and 200 Frenchmen.

Herpes Girl was the first casualty; her sluttish body was dismounted by a pistol shot. After this, the fighting was instantly hand-to-hand, some of it on foot, some on horse. It was a bloody, chaotic mess, with sabers, swords, pistols, and rifle butts being used with deadly effectiveness.

Michelle found herself being tackled off her horse by three Frenchmen. They fell into the seething cauldron of blood and water below. The four wrestled with each other, using hands and teeth. Michelle was able to draw her knife and stabbed one of the soldiers in the gut, but the other two overpowered her, hoping to hold her under the water and drown her. Fortunately, Dundee and Tyreen were both gallant enough to come to her aid, and each impaled a Froggy. Michelle pulled herself out of the water and dismounted another French soldier with her bare hands, wrestling with him in the river. Dundee disengaged and impaled a French Sergeant.

One of the next casualties was I.P. Molson, the Canadian beer entrepeneur-turned-lookout, who was impaled on a lance. Retaliating was Border Trash, impaling the French on his blood-soaked Razorback lance. Anthony's empty shotgun proved a valuable weapon in such close-range weaponry, but he wasn't immune to a bullet striking him in the back. The wounded Anthony fell, dragging his horse down, but quickly got up and returned the favor.

Kermit was sadly next to go, his throat being impaled on a lance. The oafish Stubb saw this, and bellowed out a vicious scream. He drew his hammer and began smashing in the heads of his friend's assailants. Sartana was in too close of range to use any more magic tricks, and had to rely on his guns.

Boulle impaled another of the Canadians through his chest with his saber, then shot Carol off her horse. Alex Starbuck was shot twice, and struggled to maintain a balance on his horse. Carrying the Stars and Stripes, he impaled his assailants on it and held them up on the air. He was finally dismounted by a lance through the leg. Joe, galvanized by his brother's death, wiped out a whole squad of French troops with his pistol and recovered the flag.

Marie was completely lost in this vicious combat; she had collided with a French lancer head on at the start of it. She fell, dropping her weapon, and splashed into the river; it was a miracle she wasn't trampled by her horses. She struggled to dodge the French troops and panicky horses. She did dismount a French officer, almost by accident, and rode on his horse. By shear luck alone she dodged the swinging sabers and wild bullets of the French troops.

Jed drew his long machete and along with Sergeant Cullen hacked away at the French troops at close-range. The two inseperable drinking buddies were an even deadlier combination in combat.

The gallant Lorelei Jones fell into the river, shot in the chest. Tim avenged her by impaling her assassin on his sword.

Mikey D. and Marmota, two of the newest recruits, were both felled at close-range.

Sergeant Cullen, engaged in a six-on-one fight, could only watch in horror as his friend Jed was impaled on a French lance.

Frisco shot down innumerable foes with his Winchester, but he too finally met his end at the end of a lance point.

And then there was Sergeant Harriman, who, despite her leg wound, fought gallantly. She was wounded four times before she was finally lanced through the stomach. She shouted out fuck, and before she collapsed into the river, she blurted out a random, strange testament:

GALLIFREY!!!!!

By now both sides had been decimated. The fighting was absolutely desperate, and nothing had been gained. The fighting seemed to be going on and on.

Colonel Boulle shot down the hapless Goofy Newfie and then saw - no, it couldn't be.

YES!

He saw that blasted Canadian Captain, Garfer, wildly firing his pistol and swinging his hockey. He was here! What luck!

Not only that, but he also saw something hanging out of his saddlebags. It looked vaguely familiar -

Acting on blind impulse, Boulle chose his target. Garfer saw, too late, his opponent out of the corner of his eye. He aimed his pistol, but tasted blood as the fatal shot clashed into his chest. His flag and hockey stick fell into the water after him.

Boulle rode over and reached into the saddle bag. It was -

YES!

The missing film!

He didn't know how it could be, but Boulle was ecstatic. Now I'll be given an actual command! he thought, his ego taking control of him even in the midst of battle.

***

Captain Tim Tyreen O'Brien's sword ran with the blood of hundreds by now. There was scarcely a French soldier who did not taste his heated blade at some point in the battle. But all that blood, and all that hacking, was causing his trusty saber to wear away and get rusty.

Then he saw, out of the corner of his eye, another man. It was the Colonel! The French commander. Tyreen saw the splash of Garfer's body into the water. He hurried his horse over, and ran the Captain through with his sword, and grabbed something out of his hands. He looked down, and his face lit up as if with a kokouloris.

Across the battlefield, another Froggy corporal met his end at the tip of Groggy Dundee's saber.

"DUNDEE!" Tyreen shouted, holding up the lost footage.

Dundee rushed over. He was oblivious to another of his colleagues, the fearsome Apache hunter El Fuego, falling behind him.

Dundee saw the footage, and his face lit up to. Finally! he thought. This expedition has some purpose other than self-aggrandizement. He felt amazed - and a little dirty - as his hands touched this precious cargo.

Then a gunshot rang out. Dundee looked down and saw as his colleagues hunched over in the saddle, fatally wounded.

Dundee saddled the footage, but he watched as Anthony, McSwiggin, and several others riddled the hapless Colonel Boulle with bullets.

Shot at least sixty times, the Colonel fell into the water. His last thought was: Fuck!

***

Now the last stage of the battle was upon us. There were only a handful of troops left on either side, and now the rest of the regiment, led by Colonel Chasse, was deploying. Machine guns and artillery pieces were already being trained on the melee, but it was not yet over.

Dundee and Tyreen watched in horror and amazement as the awe-inspiring French force amassed on the river bank. The last desperate moments of the battle were of no concern to them; because it wouldn't matter with 4,000 French troops blasting away at the pitifully few survivors Dundee had left, would it?

Tyreen suddenly got an idea. A crazy idea. He had rescued the footage, he had proven himself valorous; there was only one way to go out.

Grabbing a machine gun from a ruined Jeep, he charged full-speed across the river. He opened fire on the French troops, as Dundee and some of his troops watched in awe and envy.

Tyreen single-handedly wiped out and entire platoon of French machine gunners, then charged Colonel Chasse and decapitated him with a single swipe of his sword. This action forced him to drop his weapon, and he was finally done in. He was lanced, stabbed, and gave out a hoarse scream of pain. As he fell, he pulled out an explosive, closed his eyes and pulled the trigger. The resulting explosion annihilated dozens, if not hundreds, of French soldiers, and all of their cannon, tanks and ammunition. There was nothing left of the gallant Captain.

The last moments of battle played out, the few surviving French troops in the river perished. Border Trash, wounded eight times, his Razorback flag in tatters, finally fell off his horse, having the satisfaction of living long enough to see victory. Sartana deployed his pigeons, which provided a smokescreen, allowing them to pull away. As the command's survivors reached the American side of the river, Sartana's pigeons collapsed from exhaustion and died. All of Sartana's magical animals were gone.

A rocket from a far-off plane crashed into the river behind them. Dundee reformed his surviving men, and stared at his exhausted, bloodied troops, who were awaiting orders.

"All present and accounted for, sir," Cullen reported.

Sergeant Kimmel's helicopter flew overhead, and it unsurprisingly crashed into a tree. But the Sergeant was alive, and perkily hopped int horseback. "Where's Anna?" she asked. Dundee was too oblivious to answer.

As the command prepared to move forward, a French soldier stirred to life. Grasping at his machine gun, began taking a beed on Marie, who was panting, exhausted. She lost her best friend and had somehow managed to escape with her life. She then saw a machine gun aimed at her, momentarily too late.

Anthony McSwiggin saw it, and threw himself in front of Marie, taking the full blast in the chest. Michelle blasted the machine gunner, dead, in retaliation.

Marie, Michelle, and others were on the verge of tears after the death of the gallant McSwiggin, but Dundee was too exhausted to care. It had been a long battle, and he quite frankly, he wasn't all that upset.

Dundee rode in front of his troops and took stock of the survivors:
- Himself (duh)
- Sergeant Cullen
- Sergeant Kimmel
- Lieutenant Joe Starbuck
- Marie Wynter
- Michelle
- J.F. Stubb
- Dortmund Hoffenmuller
- Sartana
- Marco Leone
- Trooper Mark/Matt O'Brien

Grenouille's fate is ambigious, and might be dealt with later.

That's the lot. Sorry if you didn't make the list.

Dundee prepared to give the order to move out, but Michelle stopped him. She pointed breathless at something in the bush.

It was - It couldn't be it.

Yes. It was -



Yes, another of those damned Apache trailmarkers.

Dundee couldn't believe it. If there were any Apache still alive, that meant - it would mean...

"I see, Michelle," Dundee said wearily. "Lieutenant Starbuck, column of twos."

"Column of twos, form."

The command snapped into line. Dundee gestured to the bugle boy. "Play us a tune, son!" he shouted.

"Forward!" Joe sadi.

"Ho!"

Blowing a martial march, the command's battered remnants rode onward towards Fort Benlin, and likely towards court-martial, arrest, and ignominy. But why ruin such a great story with such an unhappy ending?

THE END

The Grandest Bloodiest Thingus In The History of Forever And Your Mom! Part I

As Michelle cried this out, the camp mobilized into instant action. Having just ended their quest and defeated the Apaches, they now found themselves - oh, fuck! The Frogs were EVERYWHERE!

As Dundee and Tyreen joined the female scout on an outcropping, they could see how absolutely screwed they were.

Behind them, the entire Groupment Mobile 100 - some 3,000 men strong - were closing in fast. French helicopters and scouting planes soared overhead, and .

"SERGEANT KIMMEL!" Dundee shouted.

"Yes, sir!" Kimmel snapped out of her drunken coma and stood at attention.

"Get Trooper Shumaker and Sergeant Harriman and get your goddamned choppers in the air," Dundee ordered briskly. "You've got the whole damned French air force to face off against."

"Yes, sir!" Kimmel rushed off and gathered her colleagues together.

"Lieutenant!"

Joe clumsily rushed up, practically peeing his pants. "Yes, sir?"

"Get the troop together - we've got some hard riding to do!"

"Yes, sir!"

Dundee looked desperately at the Rio Grande, a speck on the horizon. Could he make it in time? He sure hoped so.

Beknownst to him, Garfer carefully slipped the badly-aged reels of film into his saddle bag. He then handed his carefully furled Maple Leaf flag to his subordinate, Wrong-Way Preston. Goofy Newfie stared blanky ahead and guh-hured! until Garfer smacked him on the head and ordered his troops into line.

***

The troop raced ahead of the French at breakneck speed. Somehow, due to a plot contrivance, the horses outran the armored cars of the French regiment. Dundee couldn't believe it! They were in the clear! And successful to boot. All they had to do is -

Oh FUCK!

Dundee and company stopped their horses at the bank of the river and saw -

Well, guess.

Two companies of French troops, some mounted on horseback, some in armored cars, waiting on the other side. Conveniently, there were also machine-gun and mortar positions as well.

"Congratulations, Major," Tyreen proclaimed snidely. "It looks as though you've at last found yourself a real war."

Ignoring Tim's snide remarks, Dundee turned to Sergeant Cullen. "Sergeant, deploy your men in a skirmish line and prepare to receive a mounted cavalry charge on your front."

"Yes, sir," Cullen replied.

"They won't charge, Major," Tyreen exclaimed. "Why should they? They've got us where they want us. We have to move against them."

"When I'm ready..." Dundee proclaimed defiantly. "Lieutenant Starbuck, deploy our guns and prepare to blast the hell out of them."

"Yes, sir!" Starbuck shouted, suddenly snapping into a panicked frenzy of competence. "Alex, break out the artillery. We're about to engage the pride of Europe."

Dundee looked around him and saw a flurry of activity. Marie and Carol were on horseback, praying; Reverend Armstrong was giving a bombastic speech; Anthony McSwiggin stoically smoked on his burning pipe; Sartana was feeding his rabbits; Herpes Girl now, even with battle imminent, trying to solicit some customers. The rest of the command fiddled with their weapons. Everything was ready for the final battle.

Dundee suddenly turned around and saw the Impregnable Wall of Frogginess before him. He then turned to Tim, who watched the scene stoically.

"Well, Tim?"

"I'll need five men, mounted," he replied. "We'll hit their flank after you break their charge."

"Bully," Dundee said.

"Bully..." Tyreen began to ride off.

"Lieutenant, show the colors," Dundee said pointedly.

Tim Tyreen O'Brien happened to ride by Garfer at the moment. "Standard bearer! Show the colors!"

Garfer prodded Wrong-Way, who opened the flag up, and predictably held it upside down. A few bonks on the head, and the Maple Leaf flag was unfurled, flowing majestically in the breeze.

Others followed suit. Alex unfurled the American flag; some of Tim's men a pirate emblem; and Border Trash, his old Razorback pendant; which led to a brief argument with 'Bama girl Marie. Soon dozens of flags were flying all over the place. Dundee watched bemusedly. Whatever.

Finally, everything seemed prepared. The sound of planes, choppers, and rocket and machine gunfire could be vaguely heard in the distance.

"Ready, sir!" Joe shouted.

Dundee rode over to his lieutenant and surveyed the perfectly arrayed Frenchmen one last time. He rose his arm...

"START THE BALL, LIEUTENANT!"

With that, the first shot was fired. A mortar shell crashed into the beach, toppling a dozen perfectly-organized French lancers.

"Fire!"

More shots were fired. These mortar shots were expertly hurled, crashing into the French machine gun positions. The commander of the French forces, none other than the beleaguered Colonel Boulle, was sitting on his jeep when a shell struck it; he dived off and just barely escaped injury.

More shells crashed into the perfectly arrayed French soldiers, more fell.

Enough of this shit! Boulle shouted. He was seeing red, and had nothing on his mind but to kill Yankees. He spat, drew his saber, and stood up.

"Company!" he shouted. "Charge!"

"Here they come!" Dundee shouted to his assembled multitudes. The bulk of his force waited nervously, half-concealed n the under brush.

"Any of you damned gringos fire before the signal, I swear to God, I kill you!" Cullen shouted at them.

The French forces began to cross the river.

"On my signal, the horses, I repeat only the horses..." Dundee said. Then he thought for a moment. "And the tanks. And the..." His next words were drowned out by a mortar shell killing more Froggies.

The French soldiers charged handsomely across the Rio Grande, in perfect order. The APV's got caught in the mud at the bottom of the river.

The French drew closer. The gringos gripped at their weapons. Five... four... three... two....

A devastating volley of rifle fire tore into the Frogs, who splashed into the river en masse. Boulle watched as his command was absolutely decimated. He now had hardly any men left around him. But he kept on anyway, ducking as the body of one of his men flew over his head.

Dundee, for a moment, was ecstatic. Things were going according to plan.

Tim and his five choice Internet buddies - Peacemaker, Tector Gorch, Lorelei Bascomb Jones, Marco Leone, and J.F. Stubb - waited eagerly, concealing themselves at the foot of the bluff. They were eager and waiting for the order to charge. They couldn't see anything, but they could the French troops screaming as they fell to innumerable mortar shells and machine gun bullets.

Dundee realized that the charge was not going anywhere, but its momentum would carry it on. "Mount up, take a skirmish line at the foot of the bluff!" he shouted. His troops obliged.

Tim and his men leaned forward eagerly when Dundee finally call them into action.
"Here comes the second wave, Tim - ready when you are!"

The bloodied, tattered remnants of C Company, Groupment Mobile 100 limped across the river. Boulle saw that the Americans were retreating. He should have figured that something was amiss, but so excited in the heat of battle was the Colonel, that he didn't figure that anything exciting was happening. His men just plodded onward, tired but still confident of their victory.

Imagine their surprise when six mounted men, screaming like crazed Klingons, rode out from the nearest bluff and began pouring small arms fire into them! The battle now became intensely personal, and buckets of blood were somehow spilled into the river as more and more Frogs were cut down. This was a one-sided battle so far, but the close-quarters nature of combat would prevent this from going on.

Tim and his select men hacked, slashed, and shot their way through the hapless French troopers. Swords clashed, Frenchmen fell, punctured and slashed, into the abyss below. Horses fell, men groaned. Tyreen expertly parried the thrusts of his opponents, hacking and slashing until an entire platoon lay dead underneath the feet of his horses. Hack, saw, stab, thrust - like a machine he laid waste to the French, his gallantry driving his sword. In the swirl of battle he didn't notice the surviving Gorch brother falling, impaled on a French lance, into the bloody cauldron below.

Carried by momentum, Boulle and a few of his men managed to reach past the Confederates and reach the far sure; only to have Dundee's main body suddenly crash down upon them. Shotgun and rifle blasts smashed into them at point blank range. This just wasn't their day.

Now the fighting became desperate, close-range, hand-to-hand. Dundee was at the fore, shooting Froggies down then hacking at them at close range. He was a lot more sloppy than his more gallant subordinate. Joe and Mark struggled not to make asses out of themselves, with the latter's horse repeatedly dismounting him. This was quite inconvenient in the middle of a battle, and the young bugle boy was thus not a big factor.

The battle raged around them. One of the French soldiers swiped his saber under the horse of Reverend Armstrong, toppling him from his horse. Armstrong struggled to his feet, blasting two Froggies away with his shotgun. Another cavalryman rode by, waving his saber, and Armstrong clubbed him - smack! - with the shotgun. The cavalryman fell off the horse, and layed sprawled, unmoving, on the ground. He opened the breach and prepared to reload.

Anthony, Marie and Carol tried to stay together, but they were caught up in the whipping frenzy of battle and got swept away. Not being a particularly good horsewoman, Marie collided her horse with N-word Jim. The latter swore at the young college student, and Marie started to apologize, but ducked as a saber swished over her head. Several yards away, Anthony began felling Frog after Frog with his unloaded shotgun, smashing them with its butt. Carol tried to stay out of the fray as best she good, looking for her friends, until her horse was impaled on a lance. She would have been killed, except for Armstrong blasting two Frogs with his shotgun.

Sartana's killer bunnies dismounted a French soldier and ate him alive, but cuddly-like. Sartana used his razor-edged playing cards to cut the throats of several other Froggies. And N-word Jim blasted away with his Bitch Gun, knocking down half-a-dozen at a time.

In the river, the battle petered out. The few French troops left began turning back. Peacemaker fell, shot in the chest, into the murky abyss. Tyreen organized his surviving troops and began retreating to the far side of the river.

Back on the bank, Colonel Boulle was watching the fracas around him. He realized he was fucked, and that his only hope was to get back to the far bank and organized his remaining troops for a cavalry charge. "Retreat!" he shouted, wheeling his horse back into the river.

Armstrong fell, a lance in his back. N-word Jim stood up and got a pistol shot in his face for his trouble.

"RALLY AROUND ME!" Dundee shouted, waving his saber in the air. A small amount of fighting continued him; Ashley was mortally wounded in the fracas, as was Aimee.

Dundee looked ruefully. He could see through the smoke, Boulle organizing the remnants of his command for one last charge.

As Dundee's men began to organize, the sound of a helicopter whirring approached. Dundee knew well-enough from experience what was going on. "TAKE COVER!"

His men briefly scattered as a burning helicopter crashed into the ground. A second one flew across the river, raining machine guns and mortar fire upon the French. A French gunship pursued it.

Out of the flaming wreckage staggered Sergeant Harriman, her leg badly hurt, but she was alive. She stood at attention as best she could, and was given a horse.

Dundee's men organized and shifted into line. They were ready for their last stand.

Across the river, the French soldiers, dodging Sergeant Kimmel's artillery fire, blew charge and began crashing across the river.

Tyreen turned to his commanding officer. "Well, Major, I shall see you in Texas!"

"You're damned right you will!" Dundee shouted. "BUGLER!"

Dr. Blood's Orgy of GORE!

After the arrival of Garfer and his Canadians, the expedition bolted North. They found a shady canyon just shy of the Rio Grande. The bright lights of El Paso were visable over the horizon. The command now hunkered down for an ambush of the elusive Apache. Sergeant Harriman organized the pickets, which would trigger the ambush, along with Jed and Cullen.

Groggy stared across the river. It was twilight, and it was still. A beautiful, tranquil night. He could smell the last fleeting smell of chloroform, as autumn slowly died down...

He was suddenly tapped on the shoulder by a solemn-looking Tim.

"Major..." he began.

"Yes?"

Tyreen looked hesitant, and finally faced his commander. "Look, Major, there's no good reason for me to hate you. I mean everyone hated Hex, and you spend a lot of time online too, and we've fought many battles together..."

"So do we kiss now?"

"NO!" Tyreen bleched. "But I think we should put aside our differences..." He extended his hand, and after a moment's hesitation Dundee took it.

"Why thank you," Groggy said, shaking his hands. "I'm glad you feel that way."

Tyreen began to walk off, smiling. For once, he was happy. He had no reason to kill his old enemy, and as soon as they were done decimating the Apache, they would be able to go there seperate ways. A warm tingly feeling welled up inside him.

This feeling was oblivious to the always-mischevious Dave, who saw the Major and FINALLY had a clear shot at him. Dave drew his knife, relishing the opportunity, taking his time...

And then suddenly, with a savage, gleeful yell, he LEAPED into the air, and prepared to sink his knife into the Major's back. It was the moment he and all of his online buddies had been waiting for. He could feel it now, the knife thrusting into the warm, quivering flesh of his hated Major...

BANG!

Dave fell over dead, a bullet in his brain. The Major had killed him. Simple. Done. He deserved it.

Tyreen rushed over and saw, aghast, that Jenkins had been killed by the Major. His bonhomme disappeared instantly. The sight of his dead colleague caused his old hatred to instantly swell back up. He stared at the Major, who was still holding his revolver.

"What of it, Tim?" he said coldly.

Tim absently began reaching for his weapon; his men were lining up behind him. A massacre was imminent, when -

WHOOSH!

An arrow flew through the air and struck Tector Gorch on the head! Suddenly the command saw the whole Apache army rushing through their camps. No alarm had been sounded, not even a !

The camp's thoughts of massacring itself disappeared; the Indians were about to massacre them.

Fortunately, the Indians were stupid and didn't lay any ambush positions; they simply bum-rushed the better-armed mercenaries and started lancing them. Oh, a few insiginficants fell, but that's it.

Plasmotic Snake, though wounded twice, grabbed his super-long fictional ASSAULT WEAPON! and began screaming a piercing WARREN OATES SCREAM! as he turned his gun on the enemy. Apache after Apache fell under his gun, and he kept screaming until he finally fell, a bullet in his brain.

Sartana directed his trained pigeons like a mad conductor; the pigeons flew in coordinated formations, pooping explosive eggs onto the enemy. The Apache fell, decimated by the dozens.

N-word Jim surged forward with his special Bitch-Gun, blasting Apaches into a million fragments as they came forward.

Sitting in a blanket when all this started, Marie squealed in fear as an Apache moved forward to Lance her; but Anthony jumped up and blasted him with his shotgun. Suddenly, another Apache struck McSwiggin in the side of the head, and he fell unconscious.

Marie looked up from her blanket and saw a familiar figure. It was that brute Sierra Charriba! Yes, the same guy who SLAPPED HER! What an unforgivable sin! And he'd probably stolen her Cheney Duvall books too! She fumbled around for a weapon.

Even though his men were being slaughtered en masse, Charriba was in the mood for showboating. As dozens of his men collapsed around him, he waved his rifle in the air.

"WHO YOU SEND AGAINST ME NOW!?" he shouted as he was sprayed with blood .

He looked down and saw - no, it couldn't be! Yes, it was - that girl he'd slapped!

Marie's hands shook as she rose her Colt revolver at the savage Indian.

A loud exploded through the air as Charriba fell backwards, dead.

After the chief collapsed, shot by his archnemesis (no, not THAT one), well the battle was over fairly quickly. The Apache were decimated, torn apart by pigeon poop, machine gun bullets, and sabers. One guy ALMOST killed the Major - but, in a deliciously (or head-shakingly) ironic touch, Tim Tyreen O'Brien shot the Apache at point-blank range, setting his shirt on fire. He was then devoured by Sartana's trained circus rabbits. The Apache screamed as the rabbits borrowed into flesh and ate his eyes out. Isn't that adorable?

More Apaches fell, by the dozen, and then finally the last guy was left. It was -

YES!

The Old Dude from the river!

He babbled in Apache, saying I surrender or something like that, but Dundee stepped forward and blew his brains out. That old bastard had it coming.

Dundee and Tyreen stared at each other, completely baffled. They... had won. They had defeated the enemy they'd been searching in a year and a half, just like that. In about fifteen minutes or less. And it was accidental. And it was over.

Hurray?

"Man, that was a let-down," Matt/Mark/Whoever the Bugler muttered as he holstered his pistol.

"How anti-climactic," Joe Starbuck shouted.

"SHUT UP!" Dundee shouted.

There was a rustling in the bushes. Everyone levelled their guns. Was it more Apache, or a red herring!

IT'S ONLY A DRUNK SUBORDINATE!

"Major, Major, the Apaches are coming!" Sergeant Harriman shouted, pointing behind her.

The Major could not get over her stupidity. He simply watched in bemusement, his arms folded, as Anna slowly surveyed the carnage at the encampment.

"Uh... oops," she said finally.

"Where are the others?" Dundee asked.

"Well, see, we had a little tequila left-"

Dundee stormed off. Fucking drunks, ruining his command.

He suddenly saw the body of Sierra Charriba, laying at the edge of a small rise. He saw - YES! - Marie sitting by him. She was trembling violently, still contemplating her sinful deed.

"He looks so small, now," she said, trying to smile as she shook, bent down, and vomited.

"He was big enough, girl," the Major said stoically as he kicked the body down the incline.

And that's the end of that chapter!

* * *

As the body rolled down the incline, Sergeants Kimmel and Cullen, and Jed, were laughing and partying when they saw it. It was that Injun!

The drunken soldiers scrambled into position, grabbing their weapons, and fired thousands of rounds into the already-dead Indian.

The next morning, slightly hung over but proud, they brought the body into camp. Dundee just shook his head. But as he turned away from them, he saw Tyreen, standing, facing him straight on.

"Now, Major," he said menacingly, "Or across the river in Texas?"

Dundee thought for a moment, staring defiantly, then...

"SEE YA!"

Dundee scampered away. Tyreen didn't bother to chase after him; he simply stood there and shook his head.

Suddenly the voice of Michelle rung out through the camp. "You boys want a fight? I got one for ya! Get up here and look!"

Back to Garfer!

Finally, after about eighteen months of searching, the French soldiers were growing near their ultimate goal. The real reason behind this Mexican invasion was simpler than mere imperialism...

* * *

In late 2004, rumors surfaced that missing footage of Sam Peckinpah's Major Dundee had been found by Indians, buried in an unmarked hole somewhere outside Durango. The footage disappeared - it was a 167-minute version, including all of the infamous missing footage lost during the film's editing process. The Indians screened the footage and determined that it was one of the best movies ever made.

Then it got "lost", because Sony hired an adventurer named Indiana Jones to recover the lost footage. After engaging in lengthy shootouts and fistfights with Indians and Nazis, as well as battles with annoying kids and his personal fear of snakes, the 100 year old Indy recovered most of the footage and was in the process of returning it when he was bitten by a garter snake in the Columbia backlot and died. Missing were two reels of footage, and thus Columbia's restoration project went forward incomplete...

Realizing the artistic value of such things, and always ready to screw the Americans up the ass, the French government hired a mercenary of their own, Toulon Jacques, to recover the footage. When Jacques was found stabbed to death in a Mexican bar, that gave the French government the excuse they needed to send over 300,000 French troops to find the missing footage.

And yet, the missing 30+ minutes of footage remained scattered somewhere on the Mexican deserts, waiting for some complete loser... er, I mean, dedicated cineaste to locate them...

***

Sergeant Garfer and his men marvelled at the bridge they had built. It had taken sixteen-plus months of toil, tears and sweat, and the loss of the life of Old Sam, that Indian hoser; but finally, they had managed to complete the bridge across the Rio Nazas. The Canadians were able to marvel, at long last, at their great achievement:









Then they were forced to go to work and build a bridge over the Rio Grande.


It was while digging the foundation for this bridge that one of Garfer's hapless Canadians, Goofy Newfie, located the footage. The ludicrous Newfie had no idea what the footage was worth, but Garfer did. He smuggled it away from the burial site in his pants and took it back to his tent.


Garfer had been planning an escape for some time now, but that lazy idiot Grenouille (God, how he was sick of that American prick!) decided that he was "too tired" to take any actions. He groaned like an old Jewish woman and sat in his tent reading old Manga books. It was really quite tiresome.


Now Garfer realized that his life was in immediate danger, and in a conference with his Canadian buddies it was decided that now was the time to make good an escape...


***


The French sentries crossed each other while on patrol. It was a warm, clear night. The quiet sound of the flowing river could be heard, with a faint cicada chirp and the distant howl of a coyote.


The sentry was conveniently looking towards the bridge when suddenly he felt something sharp digging into his back. It was a hockey stick from I.B. Molson, who had somehow smuggled his sports equipment of choice into the camp.

Within minutes, all of the French sentries had been neutralized. Garfer waved his hockey stick, and his Canucks scattered into the countryside, quietly.

* * *

The next morning, Colonel Boulle woke up, seeing that virtually all of his soldiers were dead, and the Canadians were gone.

Fuck! he thought. How the hell am I going to get my bridge completed now?


He didn't even notice that the film, the whole reason for the invasion, was gone. His few remaining soldiers searched the tents for any signs of the escaped Canadians, and they only saw Grenouille, stilll asleep.

Boulle's men prodded the little artilleryman awake with their bayonets. He slowly stirred.

"Huh? What's going on?" he gurgled, still 99%-asleep.

The soldiers looked at each other evilly and began to approach him...

The Next Move

With astonishing rapidity, the command ran from the French as they followed the Apache. Reinvigorated, with a new sense of purpose, and now with seven new members to get shot full of holes (including a free-lance gunslinger artist, a mysterious Czech known only as "Marmota"), Dundee's expedition was ready to annihilate Charriba and put an end to this story. The ever-fluid body of battle-hardened individuals was now eagerly awaiting their next encounter with Charriba.

* * *

After a day of hard riding, Dundee and his men finally encamped in a clearing in the midst of a small mountain range. They found another mocking Apache trail marker in their path, and a pile of rocks, leaves, garbage, and other crap. Contemplating the message, Dundee and some of his officers, Tim, Potts, Michelle, Cullen, Harriman, Joe, and J.F. Stubb began discussing battle strategy.

"How long ago?" Dundee asked, pondering the cryptic message.

"Oh, about four, five hours ago," Potts answered. "Charriba says, you're to make your peace with your Christian god, as you are about to join him."

"Half the men in this command are agnostics, atheists, or other faiths," Dundee spat. "But go ahead."

"We must have hurt the old man at the river more than we figured," Potts continued. "I know we pulled on his arm pretty tightly, but I didn't think we'd broken it."

"Look here," Michelle said as she pointed at a piece of trampled paper covered in mud. "This, Major," she said, pkcing it up, "is a fast food wrapper."

Dundee picked up it and examined it. "Taco Bell," he read. "And a Gordita, to boot."

"They are getting desperate, then," Joe nodded solemnly.

"Well, sooner or later, he'll hit us again in a canyon, or the middle of a river, at night, or dawn..." Dundee rambled.

"When are we going to STOP fighting this Indian on his own terms?" Tim said decisively.

Dundee looked solidly at him. "Right now! From this point on, we tuck our tail between our legs and run for home - straight to the Rio Grande."

"You'd let Charriba escape?" Joe asked incredulously.

"Let's just say I'm giving him... equal opportunity, Lieutenant," Dundee replied enigmatically.

"Dammit Major!" Harriman shouted. "Just when I was getting use to the... climate down here!"

"I want to kill me some more Mexicans," Stubb belched.

"We're fighting APACHES, bone-head!" Cullen shouted at him.

Michelle interrupted. "Major, if we're going to do that, we have to make it look good. First swing wide, then head for the river. But we've really got to move."

"And if we don't," Potts continued, "they'll be waiting for us, just like he is now.

"All right," Dundee said, saddle up and prepare to move out. He picked up the Apache lanch and thrust it into the ground as his colleagues dispersed.

"Go cut him down, Jed," Dundee said, picking up a knife for Potts.

Potts refused. "YOU cut him down, Major," he insisted. "I think he's earned it."

"I'LL cut him down!" Dave said, grimacing evilly.

Dundee shuddered and clambered up a nearby Joshua tree, where the bloody corpse of Ben, his mouth stuffed full of stale Nachos, was crucified to the branches. Dundee began climbing the tree and tried to cut it down. Below, Dave began to go after him, to "help", but Potts knocked him out cold with his shotgun.

"He was a good trooper after all," Tim said thoughtfully.

"Loyal - not 'good'," Michelle rejoindered.

The expedition mobilized, and within minutes they were ready to move out. As they departed from their camp in the mountains, Charriba and his men appeared, watching them intently. What were these white men up to? he wondered. He reared his horse and the Indians disappeared back over the horizon.

Camp

A few days later. Drunken Potts, exhausted Cullen, and sunburnt Marie wandered into camp. Now, except for the dead Tom (whose corpse had been so thoroughly eaten that not a bone fragment remained), the surviving command NOT POWs of the Froggies in a poorly under-developed subplot were reunited at last, now ready to get back to the business of tracking down the elusive Charriba.

"Lieutenant Joe!" Dundee shouted, emerging from his tent. His face was covered with blood from his various shaving nicks.

"Yes, sir," the awkward young Lieutenant asked.

"Lieutenant Starbuck, I gave you a specific order, and you failed to carry it out!"

"Yes, sir," Starbuck said. "You see, Tim was INSISTING that we rescue you, and I thought..."

"YOU were in command, dummy!" Dundee shouted impatiently. "Never mind. Get yourself a Hershey bar and mount up."

Joe stared after his commanding officer, hurt. He then returned to his tent to look for more candy.

Dundee had gotten scantily familiar with his new members. He had watched Anthony McSwiggin out-wrestle everyone in the command using one arm, and had watched a growing feud between Dave and Sartana, whose magic tricks continually irked the latter.

Now, Sartana was trying to do a card trick. But every time he produced a card out of thin air, Dave would stab it with his knife.

"YOU ASSHOLE!" Sartana shouted, lashing out. A chicken egg dropped from his sleeve and smashed on the ground. It let out the scent of a stink bomb. Soon Dave smelled really bad, and I had to go take a bath to try and clean himself off.

Mikey D., meanwhile, was trying to remain inconspicuous, but his arguments with Dave over "3:10 to Yuma" were growing ever more violent. It seemed like everyone in the camp was turning against Dave, and Dundee began to wonder whether or not it had been a good thing to have kept alive.

While all this was going on, Tim watched the scene anxiously. His men were now one with the dreaded real-life troops, and there were no longer any significant differences between them. He looked at his cousin's diary and noted that the young bugleboy had noted so. He was disgusted. When can I make my move? His rage and hatred towards the Major was dying, but it still existed. He would still have to fight him as a point of honor, if nothing else.

Dundee looked over Marie, the new arrival, who was sitting, reading a book. She was medium height, blonde, badly sun-burnt.

"You were kidnapped by Charriba?" Groggy asked her.

"Yes, sir," Marie answered wearily, standing.

"Well, that's too bad. Cigar?"

"No, thanks."

"Root beer?"

"No, thanks."

Groggy poured himself some and turned towards her. "Where are you from?"

"Lancaster originally, sir, but I with the a Study Abroad program for University of Alabama..." she began.

"And why did you think it would be a good idea to go to a war zone?" Dundee asked.

"Well... I didn't know it was a war zone!" Marie snapped defensively.

"Don't you watch the news?"

"Yes, but... Nothing about Indians!" Marie was now upset.

Groggy looked at her sympathetically. "Alright, Marie," he said, "I'm sorry. But if you're gonna come with us you need to fight." He drew his Colt Peacemaker. "Can you fire this?"

Marie stared dumbly at the gun in his hand. NO, she had never fired a gun before. What kind of stupid question was that.

"Hey, I'll do more than enough fighting for the both of us!" McSwiggin shouted, walking over. "Marie's been through enough already. Let her be."

Dundee ignored the hulking mountain man, handing his pistol off to the girl. Marie thought it felt impossibly heavy for such a small weapon.

"See if you can hit..." Dundee looked around for a suitable target. Then he saw it.

"Yeah... see if you can hit Dave over there."

Marie looked unquestioningly at her. McSwiggin smiled, but Marie was horrified.

"Are you joking?" she asked.

"FIRE!" Dundee shouted.

Marie closed her eyes, raised the gun, and fired wildly, her shots smashing into the dirt all around the camp. Everyone scurried for cover as she emptied her pistol, praying that she didn't hit anyone.

Marie opened her eyes and saw everyone cowering in fear, a soup kettle riddled with bullets. Suddenly, Stubb began rushing towards them.

"WHY DO YOU KEEP RUINING MY FOOD?" Stubb demanded of Dundee. "Don't you want to eat!?!"

Dundee ignored him, gesturing to McSwiggin, who stepped forward to challenge Stubb.

"Step off, you big ape," McSwiggin growled. After a moment's hesitation, looking at the impassive, thoughtful Captain Tyreen, he backed down - but not before flipping off both fingers.

"You can't shoot worth a damn," Dundee said to Marie, "which makes you perfect for this outfit. SERGEANT!"

Cullen staggered over, completely hung-over. "Sir?"

"See if you can find a weapon for Ms. Winter here," he said. He picked up the book Marie was reading. It was A City Not Forsaken, by Lynn and Gilbert Morris. Dundee scoffed and meanly threw it into a mud puddle. Marie scowled after him. What a big... JERK! she thought. Fortunately, she had another book from that series, and didn't bother to go after the ruined one. She was always prepared to read.

Dundee spoke to Jed. "Jed, where the hell is Charriba?"

"How the how should I know?" the scout slurred.

"Because that's your JOB!" Dundee shouted, shaking him. "Clearly, you're wasted. Go over there and sleep it off."

Potts slowly staggered towards a large tent, where Sergeants Harriman and Kimmel were passed out from a night of revelry.

Dundee turned to Michelle. "Thank you for Durango," he said.

"Don't mention it."

"Take Ben, if he's still around somewhere, and do some scouting for me, will you? You don't appear to be drunk."

"Certainly." Michelle walked off, putting on her coat and loading her shotgun.

Dundee walked over to Lieutenant Starbuck. "Joe!" he shouted. "Make yourself useful and tell the command we moved out in the morning."

And now, finally, after all of this trepidation, digression, and apathy - the expedition was finally building to a climax.

***

The camp was filled with the sounds of whirring machinery as the vanguard of Groupment Mobile 100 rolled forward. A sergeant on a Jeep stopped the car as he surveyed the remnants of the camp. He saw a campfire, some old tents, many blank shells, and broken and empty beer bottles, and... what's this?

Bending into the mud, he grabbed a mud-covered book and looked at it. He passed it on to one of his troopers, who ran it to the Captain. The Captain personally delivered it to...

Colonel Chasse, who was seated atop an armored personnel carrier, surveying the scene with his binoculars.

"Mon Colonel, je pense que vous devez avoir un regarde ceci."

The Colonel lowered his eyeglasses and picked up the book. He pulled out his handkerchief and wiped the mud off the cover. It read: A City Not Forsaken.

The Colonel put the book in the seat beneath him, aware that his daughter was a fan of that series as well. He now knew for sure that he was getting close to his target...