The Veil War

I followed the bloody path that Goatlicker and his wingman left us. And Jesus, it was oceans of bloody. I’ve seen more than one man bleed out, and that left a huge sticky red mess. You have no fucking idea how much blood is in a sixty-foot long brontosaurus.

“I’m no closer to my lifetime supply of beer, sergeant.”

“Those A-10s don’t have infinite ammo. They’re going to run out of bullets before they runout of dinosaurs.”

“Look on the bright side, Thomas. At least they’re not bulletproof.”

Doubting Thomas’ face screwed up as he tried to process good news. His system rejected the data, and he spat on the floor of the Humvee.

***

“Sir?” Dennison asked.

“What!”

“We’ve run out of dead dinosaurs.”

“Okay.”

“Meaning to say, sir, I see some live ones.”

I sat up straight, and set the map down. We were at the edge of the valley, and the ground was turning sharply up. The sandy soil of the valley bottom gave way to rockier ground, and ahead the dusty road twisted into a series of switchbacks as it reached up toward the ridgeline a thousand meters up. Crawling down the road was a menagerie of dinos and vintage warmongery. “A-10s still on station?”

“No sir, they were bingo fuel and went back to base for gas and gulp.” Damn, they were doing such a great job blowing shit.

“Well, it’s up to us, then. Light the fuckers up!”

“What with, sir?” Dennison clearly regretted that statement. Why do these people ask questions about every order?

“Whatever shoots, that far. We do have things that shoot far, don’t we?” I clearly remembered briefings on things that shot really far.

“Aah, TOW missile?”

“Then do that.” Fuck having to focusing on stupid shit when I should be like Mumbles and just give blowjobs for free shit. Damn, I want my free beer. I want pizza. Fuck that, the first thing after we blow these dinosaur Nazis, I will take a run for some Chinese food.

Two missiles leapt from the back of the Humvees, arched into the sky on pillars of smoke colored rose and black. They reached apogee and pitched down, reached for the brontosaurus Nazis. Imagine a poodle in a microwave, but seven orders of magnitude larger. Blood and gore filled the narrow mountain trail, creating a dam of just recently alive flesh. The German tanks stopped, unable to proceed.

“Machineguns!” I ordered. The M2 gunners opened up. Laser lines of tracers reached up the valley, laid low the German soldiers scrambling off the carcasses of the dinosaurs. Sparking off the armor of the tanks.

“Move out!” We raced up the valley wall, and hit the first switchback at speed, simultaneous with the first rounds from the bottlenecked Nazis.

I held on as the Humvee took the turn and the wheels spun. We were in the shadow of the mountain and the enormous dead brontosaurus as we raced up the road. “We’re not going to make it around the corpses. When we hit flesh, dismount.”

Dennison looked at me oddly, but nodded.

***

The dead brontosaurus was fucking enormous. And dead. Blood ran in streams down the dusty path, thick red with a light coating of yellow sand. Its long neck stretched up the hill to the right, its tail drooped off down to the left. The vast bulk of its fuselage blocked the road lengthwise. It was the size of a fucking house. A nice house.

I pointed at the head. “Dennison, flank the Nazis. Climb up on the head and lay down covering fire. Thomas, establish a base of fire on the tail. I will lead an assault up over the ass and mid-section.”

Okay, I thought, that didn’t sound as cool as it did in my head.

***

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