Barbarian snark DOOMSDAY WARRIOR: American Glory!

[Lord O' Bones]

Sawed off shotgun

hand on the pump

hailstorm of steel...

wait, wtf!?

[MinDonner]

That sounds like one of Emily Dickinson's lesser-known poems. *firm nod*

[Lord O' Bones]

One of her lesser known cousins actually. Mary Jane Smokison. Rumor has it, it was written in seclusion on some hill in the shade of a cypress tree. Deep stuff.

[MinDonner]

Chapter Sixteen

President Zhabnov was...

...let me guess. <_< Where do we think Zhabnov is?

...in bed, fondling three preteen-aged girls his sex squads had picked out for him, when the first blasts came.

Ah yes, of course, as usual. Does the fellow ever do a stroke of work?

Anyway, Killov's Night of Blood has finally reached Washington, and obviously the telegram network has failed to keep anyone appraised of this, because Zhabnov immediately blames the Freefighters for interrupting him. But no! It's the KGB, demanding that all Red Army officers surrender or be destroyed! Not only this... there's also a hundred thousand ruble reward for whoever brings Zhabnov in alive!

He phones his command centre, but it is answered with the phrase "KGB Command - who is this?" - oh noes! Looks like the only option is to run away, and not a moment too soon, as paratroopers land all around the White House, trampling Zhabnov's roses.

Luckily, he has a helicopter all ready and waiting on the lawn, which has so far avoided being hit by the KGB artillery's "thunderstorm of death", or even noticed by any of the KGB Blackshirts currently swarming through the White House corridors. Some of his bodyguards get gunned down, they return the favour, turning the "KGB'ers" into "useless containers of bloody meat".

Finally he makes it to the helicopter, then slams the door shut on his bodyguards' fingers so they can't get in, and orders the pilot to take off. They are swiftly gunned down by Killov's chaps, and Z feels a tiny twinge of guilt and vows to build them a monument one day.

He bids a sad farewell in his heart to his beloved DC, then within minutes reaches the "secret" airfield and clambers on board his private jet. This time he is magnanimous, and lets the airfield staff join him in the plane, escaping just seconds ahead of a "fleet of armoured cars" which tries in vain to shoot him down as he takes off.

Now Major Shelinsky(?) is in trouble, because Killov will know that he let Z escape. Sucks to be him. Whoever the hell he is.

Well then! A chapter remarkably lacking in stupid (relative to our usual standards at least)! The pace was decent, the ludicrous death-scenes minimal, the action basically plausible, the lack of dialogue refreshing... such a shame it had to feature Zhabnov, who no-one gives a crap about.

Rockson back next chapter!

[Maithanet]

Well then! A chapter remarkably lacking in stupid (relative to our usual standards at least)! The pace was decent, the ludicrous death-scenes minimal, the action basically plausible, the lack of dialogue refreshing... such a shame it had to feature Zhabnov, who no-one gives a crap about.

Damning with faint praise indeed. The KGB is storming the White House, but they fail to see a helicopter parked on the lawn? Whoops! Probably too busy ogling the preteen girls in the Oval Bedroom.

[Maithanet]

Well then! A chapter remarkably lacking in stupid (relative to our usual standards at least)! The pace was decent, the ludicrous death-scenes minimal, the action basically plausible, the lack of dialogue refreshing... such a shame it had to feature Zhabnov, who no-one gives a crap about.

Double

[KAH]

He phones his command centre, but it is answered with the phrase "KGB Command - who is this?" - oh noes!

Should have been: "KGB Command answering machine - if you want to tell us all your secrets without torture, press one. If you want to tell us all your secrets only after being tortured, please hold, and listen to our Playlist Balalaika muzak for the next three hours"

[MinDonner]

Chapter Seventeen, and the rail expedition is under way. Camels and horses loaded into the baggage car (?), after turfing out all the actual Russian supplies (did anyone think to tell the local Freefighters of this sudden bounty? I'm guessing not), and Archer set to work shovelling the "super-concentrated coal". Everyone else dresses up in Russian uniforms to make it look like the regular train schedule is proceeding as usual; presumably they have some kind of laundry facilities on board to wash out all the "ocean of blood" which ensued from the massacre in Chapter Fifteen. Or maybe the uniforms are red anyway. Let's go with that.

The one remaining comms tech is set to work broadcasting a message that the train will not be stopping at any of the interim stations, which sadly puts an end to the usefulness of that "timetable". The message itself is not revealed in the text, but we all know what it probably says.

"We are sorry to announce that the Eleven Fifteen service from Salt Lake City has been delayed by approximately Five days, due to Camels on the line. Silver Bullet Express are very sorry for the delay this will cause to your journey."

Boyd and Rock banter a bit, but then Stacy realises that it's been a while since we've had any decent racial stereotyping, so brace yourselves.

"Where's the goddamn service around here?" the Australian commander asked. As if hearing the words, a black face peered tentatively from a slightly opened door at the near end of the car.

"I hears you, sir," the black man said loudly across the room. "We's the service - but we ain't a comin' out lessin' you promise not to be shootin' at us now. We jus' de cooks, de waiters on dis here train."

"Well darn my socks with a bazooka shell," McCaughlin hooted, sitting across the aisle from Rockson, his mud-covered boots up on the table. "They got themselves some old-time help around here."

Wait. "As if hearing the words"? No dude. He heard the damn words. You said so in the next sentence.

Rock coaxes the black serving staff out of the kitchen with calming words - they all look identical in white tuxedos (as well as having the same hair and skin-tone) - then the leader again smiles "in a gesture of subservience" and continues in the same excruciating sub-Jar Jar patois:

"We's the porters, sir. Been workin' dese trains for generations. We is glad to make ourselves available for your use. So what would you fine gentlemens be wantin'? Here are some menus. May I recommend the veal Prince Orloff or the escargot de fromage?"

I'll take the snail of cheese, please.

The porters introduce themselves as Rufus Jones and Raymond Washington and everyone shakes hands, though Detroit has a look of disgust on his face because these subservient porters make him sick. Rock gives a patronising non-explanation for their presence ("we're going on vacation", basically) and then they all get down to munching on delicious food. The Aussies even try some American beer!

Detroit, meanwhile, heads to the kitchen to have Words with Rufus Jones.

"What the hell are all of you acting like goddamned idiotic slaves for? Don't you know that slavery died with Abraham Lincoln?"

"Maybe there's more to all this than meets the eye, Detroit," Rufus said in perfect unaccented English. "Maybe there are other levels of operation going on that you know nothing about."

Yes, it's all right - no need to be contemptuous of these slaves any more, cuz they are secretly AMERICAN SPIES! Phew! And they don't even have accents really either, so we can respect them after all!

Rufus explains how he and his crew are a network of secret spy porters, who gather all sorts of information for the Freefighters (despite not even their own side knowing about it), and that ACTUALLY he's read Shakespeare and Dickens and all sorts and is really intelligent, so there! But Detroit must not let anyone else know this! I have to wonder how valuable a source of intelligence is, if it comes from Mystery Informants that no-one at all knows about or knows whether to trust, but evidently this is not a major concern. Anyway, Detroit is suitably humbled for failing to recognise their True Americanness, and Rufus resumes his pretence of being an extra out of Gone With The Wind.

Rockson, deciding that he's not had quite enough to do in this chapter, spends the last half a page looking out the window from a comfy reclining chair and bemoaning the fact that the Russians (and Americans!) were so stupid to go to nuclear war in the first place, cos now here he is having to clear up the mess.

[Ouroboros]

I knew it was awful, didn't realise it was excruciatingly racist as well. A new low in this saga.

[MinDonner]

Oh yes. Even while it's pretending not to be, by having the porters be secret spies!!, you'll notice that everyone apart from Detroit thinks the service is brilliant, and none of our heroes have any compunction in taking advantage of this slave labour, cos hey! Tasty foods!

[Lummel]

So the porters plan on spying on the freefighters for the freefighters? And how good can their spying be given that it seems to have been a total surprise that there was a train service running on super concentrated coal binding the country together? Ah, Stacey-Ryder, will there ever come a day when you don't insist on having your cake and eating it?

[The Real Will]

Maybe they're so secret that only they can know about them. They send super confidential messages to themselves which they eat without ever reading them lest the words on the page give away their covert identity . . . to themselves!

It kind of seems like they were given a two step course on spying and the instructor got as far as step one (gather information), but was tragically killed before they fully came to grips with step two (report information). And of course his last dying words were, "Whatever you do, don't let anyone know who you are." They've been faithfully carrying out his final wish ever since.

[Maithanet]

The racist depiction of the porters is particularly offensive in light of this line from Chapter 14:

[The freefighters] were about to ride the rails - the first Americans to do so in a hundred years.

This leaves three possibilities:

1. Even when when risking their lives to spy on the Soviets, black men are not really Americans.

2. Stacey isn't reading his own book.

3. Both

[Antonius Pius]

Oh god, Stacy never disappoints, does he?

Maybe they're so secret that only they can know about them. They send super confidential messages to themselves which they eat without ever reading them lest the words on the page give away their covert identity . . . to themselves!

As good an explanation as any. Probably even better than what Stacy would have come up with when pressed.

This leaves three possibilities:

1. Even when when risking their lives to spy on the Soviets, black men are not really Americans.

2. Stacey isn't reading his own book.

3. Both

I think we have a winner.

[Hereward]

"Maybe there's more to all this than meets the eye, Detroit," Rufus said in perfect unaccented English.

Rufus is Sir Trevor Macdonald?

[KAH]

Chapter Seventeen, and the rail expedition is under way. Camels and horses loaded into the baggage car (?), after turfing out all the actual Russian supplies (did anyone think to tell the local Freefighters of this sudden bounty? I'm guessing not), and Archer set to work shovelling the "super-concentrated coal".

I don't suppose this is Stacy's subtle clue that the Russians run their trains on diamonds?

[Antonius Pius]

You never know, but it's perhaps a bit too logical. And mundane. He'd probably prefer radio-active kitty-littergrit or something.

[Maithanet]

I actually assumed that they just put all of their coal into a hydraulic press, to make super concentrated coal. Because that would totally work :rolleyes: . They do it for their water too.

[MinDonner]

Watched Captain America the other day. Not a bad film. But the bit where he puts together a team of ethnic sidekicks to hijack a train...

...yeah. :lol:

Anyways. The Silver Bullet zooms along "like an arrow", as Archer merrily continues to shovel coal for 36 hours straight. No further effort is made to free the slave porters, who are in fact working so hard in the kitchens that all the freefighters put on at least ten pounds during the journey. Eventually, it's time for a tad more exposition, so Reston is once again dredged up for his role as That Guy Who Knows Stuff About Trains.

"According to this computer thingamajig that's been feeding out our co-ordinates and speed, we're gonna be hitting the outskirts of DC in about two and a half hours. Just thought I'd let you know. Better start getting things together back there."

Yeah, the steam train has computer-aided navigation. Is this also steam powered?

They still have a few Russian officers on the train that they've been using as... props? I guess, to make the train look full when it whizzed through the stations... so now they must be gotten rid of! Detroit (sekritly via Rufus!) has the hilarious idea to stuff them into mailbags and hang them from the pick-up hoists along the route, because obviously the Russian postal service works exactly the way the American one used to back in the golden days of steam, despite the SIlver Bullet having only started running approximately last week.

Rather than ride the train all the way into DC, Detroit has again found out some sekrit information that there's a big abandoned rail depot just outside, where they can dump the train and continue on foot.

Rockson was indeed curious about where all their intelligence was coming from, but he took one look at Detroit's face when he posed the question and didn't ask again.

Such a mystery! On a train containing only Freefighters and Aussies oh and those black fellas in the kitchen. WHERE could the information be coming from?!?

They eventually pull up in a graveyard of rusty trains. Moment of solemn nostalgia please for the abandoned glory of America's public transport network.

They were like ghost trains of eons ago. Days when America was overflowing with wealth and agriculture, days when thousands and thousands of these landbound cargo ships roamed the nation's rails, bringing her bounty to every citizen.

Rock leaves ten men to guard the train (and the camels), and Rufus and the porters bid them farewell and head off to their miserable shacks. Rock is in disguise again, this time in a full Russian Lieutenant General's uniform, and he puts this to good use as he orders a passing Russian truck to stop and unload all its cargo of ammo into the street, so that he and the Freefighters can have some transport.

He had learned long ago - when impersonating a Red officer - always underplay it. Never command - whisper. Never act agitated - but rather bored, jaded. That was the way they really were - and Rock had it down to a "tee".

Yep. That sounds like all the Russian officials we've met so far, who are in no way shrieking belligerent madmen with the intelligence of a bag of hammers. I also like the way that Rock, apparently the commander in chief of all the Freefighting military, has to use his acting skillz in order to be a convincing officer.

As they drive off, Boyd compliments Rock on his acting, and says he should have won one of these golden statue thingies that he's heard of, an "Academy Award". Clearly all that practice with blankets and bits of branch has paid off. But wait! How does Boyd know how good the acting was? Does he speak Russian? For that matter, does Rockson even speak Russian? I can't remember ever hearing that he did. Maybe the entire Red Empire has adopted English as its mother tongue, which would go some way to explaining the "babushka" thing from earlier.

DC is full of fire and fighting, as the KGB and Red Army continue to clash, in defiance of what we were told beforehand about the KGB winning instantly. Rock briefly wishes success upon the enemies of Killov, cos even though Zhabnov's a fat paedo, at least he's also an idiot.

At last they reach the Octagon, which is now the commie military HQ as the Pentagon has been turned into a giant whorehouse. Following a helpful suggestion from Boyd to "get our bloody little nippers in there", Rock somehow comes up with a plan to disguise some of his Freefighters as, well, Freefighters, and pretend that he has captured them and is delivering them for interrogation. The acting skills are rolled out again, and they are inside!

"You've got more balls than a platypus penned up with five duckbills in heat!" Boyd chuckled, shaking his head from side to side.

From here on in, the acting will be harder, cos these officers would not be taking any "guff" from underlings. Careful now! Rock ups the curtness, and also takes a moment to grumble about the expensive facilities.

Zhabnov had obviously spent a fortune on this building. Great, that's all America needed, more prisons, Rock thought. They want bread, do they? - let them eat bars.

<_<

Suddenly they find themselves right in the middle of the Octagon, with passages leading off in eight directions, and not even Rock's telepathy can tell him which way to go. And then...

"Perhaps I can be of assistance?" a voice boomed out from behind him. Rock spun around, his shotpistol out from beneath his long officer jacket in a flash. Doors opened everywhere around the Freefighters and from them nearly a hundred elite KGB Death Squad Commandos rushed, their submachine guns aimed straight ahead. Then Colonel Killov himself pushed two of the Commandos aside and stood glaring at Rockson with a look of sheerest hatred on his drug-flushed face.

"Prisoners - yes, we have plenty of accommodations."

Sorry Ted. No Oscar for you this year.

[MinDonner]

Chapter Nineteen, and the waiting is over. Did Rockson take this one opportunity to kill Killov, knowing that he could be shot dead any second and this might be his last chance?

Of course he doesn't. It's like he knows that the author will find some way to get him out of this pickle, so no point in unnecessary heroics. He orders all the Freefighters and Aussies to drop their weapons, and takes a moment to consider how thin and drugged-up Killov looks.

"It was so good of you to drop by," Killov says, knowing that this is his big Supervillain moment and determined to ham it up as much as he possibly can. Oh, this stuff is golden. There's a whole two pages of this - some edited highlights:

"Oh, I assure you, [Langford and Kim] are fine. For the moment. You will get to see them - when they are strapped next to you in the Mindbreaker. You shall all get to observe each other's brains dripping from your skulls. A sight I'm sure, fortunately for you, you will soon forget."

"Mad - yes, of course I'm mad. They have always called us that. All great men are mad - we have to be. The rest are sheep, without minds, without thoughts or daring. It is only the mad who have the vision to go beyond, to rise to new heights of -"

"Murder," Rock spat out, wondering if the man had even the foggiest idea how many hundreds of thousands he had killed without a second thought.

"Such an antiquated phrase, murder," Killov smirked. "Come now, 'Mr Ultimate American', I thought you and I disagreed on a higher philosophical level."

Killov eventually clicks his heels and leaves our heroes in the company of his minions, whose exact name Stacy appears rather unsure of. Elite DeathSquad? DeathHeads? DeathShirts? BlackShirts? Just pick one and stick with it, damnit! Detroit expresses sarcastic admiration for their tight leather outfits, and is unsurprisingly clubbed in the head for his insolence. They are then taken to separate holding cells, where Rock is chained up and then comprehensively beaten up by some "KGB'ers" who hate America.

Some time later, a beaver-toothed Deathshirt comes in and says "Time to die, Ultimate American", then ties his wrists behind his back and has him transferred to the pre-Mindbreaker holding pen. Hilariously, the Blackshirts then wander off, leaving behind five guards who immediately start playing cards. :lol:

Best guess as to what happens next?