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...