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!"