Subcommandante Mumbles vs. The Dinosaur Nazis (Part Two)

by veilwar

No fucking shit. I’d skooched up to where the trail bent around to the right. I peered around the corner and there they fucking were.

“Ramirez!”

“Sergeant?”

“You forgot to mention the fucking swastikas.”

“Sorry, sergeant.” For once, I was willing to cut the stupid fucker some slack. I mean, shit, dinosaurs with guns is usually going to be the high point of your day.

“Subcommandante?”

“What!” Get drunk once and say you’re going to overthrow the President and they’ll never let it go.

“Do we have ROE for nazi dinosaurs?”

“I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say that it falls under ‘permissive’. If the goose-stepping lizards fire on you, shoot the fuck back and let the State Department sort it out.”

I took another look. Jesus fuck that’s creepy. “My nightmares aren’t keeping up with my reality,” I muttered. They marched in step, but with none of the rigidity of your stereotypical fascist goose-stepper. It was hard to judge scale, but damn me if they weren’t man-height. My little brother was all pissy when Jurassic Park made the velociraptors too big. So they can’t be that.

Tails whipped back and forth like an agitated cat’s. Their heads were long and constantly tracking back and forth. Despite the swagger to their walk, those teeth-filled heads stayed perfectly level, not bouncing up and down like a bird’s. Tiger-striped, scaly skin and yellow eyes, check. If that thing can look me in the eye without standing on its tippy-toes, it’s got to be at least twelve feet from nose to tail, I guessed.

So far, so discovery channel. The Fritz helmets in black with red swastikas on each side were a distinct departure. Feldgrau uniform jackets and no pants, okay, that makes sense. Wehrmacht or Waffen-SS, I wonder? The standard-bearer carried a Roman-style eagle banner with a bright red Nazi flag in his tiny arms. Machine pistols and Panzerfaust completed the theme.

The dinosaurs were still maybe a klick out. Fuck me.

“Idaho! Radio!”

Corporal James was from Maine, but he did like potatoes. He brought up the handset. I looked around at my squad. “I have been fearing this moment for my entire life,” I said. I picked up the radio.

“Hounddog Base this is Poodle, over.” Fuck the lieutenant and his radio call signs.

“Poodle, Hounddog Actual.”

Shit, Lieutenant Hounddog hissown self. “Chihauha Actual, possible hostiles. Location 1000 meters north-northwest our position. Unknowns appear to be Nazi Dinosaurs. Over.”

“Poodle, say again all after Unknowns. Over.”

“Wiernerdog Actual, I say again, Nazi Dinosaurs. November, Alfa, Zulu, India. Fucking Nazis. Fucking Dinosaur Nazis.”

“ARE YOU FUCKING HIGH MUMBLES?”

I dropped the mike. “That went well, I think.”

***

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