Subcommandante Mumbles vs. The Dinosaur Nazis (Part Three)

by veilwar

The nazi dinosaurs were getting closer. The Cherry spoke out. “What do we do Sarge?”

“Shoot it, fuck it or eat it,” Dumbfucker said. PFC Buck Tucker. AKA Buck Tucker the Dumbfucker, and the world’s most outstanding black redneck.

“That describes all your human relationships, Dumbfucker.” Jesus H Tap-dancing Christ. “I will allow that does seem to cover the range of possibilities.”

“Shut your whore mouth, Cherry,” I said, just to forestall a gout of idiocy.

“I suppose, us being in the Army and all and therefore completely fucked up, we should attempt to communicate with them and avoid WWIII.”

I paused, registering the blank incomprehension on the faces of the soldiers in my command.

“And when that fails, we can shoot them.”

I thought furiously. What would be the best way to initiate communications with nazi dinosaurs? Fuck, all we ever talk about is zombies. If they were zombie nazi dinosaurs, I’d know exactly what the fuck to do. Well, there’s only eighteen of them. We’re outnumbered. But they have tiny arms.

That evens things out, doesn’t it? Shit! What if they have the Ark of the Covenant or some shit? Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Okay, here’s what we’re gonna do.”

***

PFC James walked around the rock carrying a white flag. Well, a whitish sheet on a stick. I neglected to ask why it was no longer white in splotches.

I followed, M4 at the low ready. As soon as we cleared the rock, the nazi dinosurs saw us. Maybe fucking Spielberg was right about the motion sensing. Thirty-six cold, yellow, cat-like lizard eyes locked in on us like gunsights. The lead dinosaur held up its tiny, clawed hand. The others raised their suspiciously MP-40esque guns.

“Wave the flag, Idaho.” James dutifully wiggled the sheet a little.

I stepped forward. “Identify yourselves!” Better than, ‘take me to your leader,’ I thought. I kept my carbine pointed at the stony path, though my hands really, really wanted to point it at a lizard.

The lead lizard had fancy striped tabs on his slight, sloping shoulders. Officer, I guessed. The officer nazi dinosaur kept walking. The backwards articulation of his legs made his movements eerie as fuck. A fucking giant, predatory, featherless, chicken. And anti-Semite, no doubt. His head rotated from side to side as he regarded me first with one eye, then the other. The motion was smooth, almost robotic.

“Ich heiße Leutnant Boehm. Und wer sind Sie?”

Well, that sounded like German. With a weird, almost musical trilling undertone, though. His mouth barely moved when he talked, like he was a ventriloquist with an invisible dummy. Or maybe Ramirez.

“English?” Do you speak it, motherfucker?

“I… am… Lieutenant Boehm.”

Well, howdy lieutenant. It speaks English. With a distinct Nazi accent.

“Who am I speaking vith?” he asked.

“I am Subcommandante Mumbles. I lead the resistance in this valley.”

“Yes? Resistance to vat?”

“The Americans”

The dinosaur cocked its head like a confused puppy. No fucking way am I giving useful intelligence to a fucking swastika-wearing mammal-killer.

***

Click here to get see all published episodes of the Saga of Subcommandante Mumbles.