A saint abroad and a devil at home

May 20th, 2010. The resurgent missionaries from San Diego de Alcala had stormed up the California coastline on the previous night, accompanied by a flotilla of Franciscan muckrackers, on a revengeful crusade against all things Darger, and caught the home reserves by surprise, resulting in an abrupt defeat. Tonight, the Darger Special Operations Command dispatched the resilient No.22 to torpedo the fleet of evangelistic enlisted men.
    The fortified sharp-shooter, delivered a steady stampede of firepower upon the whistle-stop campaigners, allowing but a single enemy canon to breach the hold at Chavez Ravine. The home defenses held their ground, and aggressively purged the pontif pulpiteers from the tollgates of Traffic Town. Brave battle planning by the front-line ground forces, and coordinated hit-and-run tactics by No.14 accounted for the majority of damage to the fanatical, smarmy army.
W is for esprit fort.

Bombs Away!

April 13th, 2010. Echo Park Base. Home at last from 
a long road trip of fighting across the Eastern Divide, the Darger army had regrouped and were now basking in the sun, solace, and familiar spices of their concrete confines deep within the sold-out overgrowth of Chavez Ravine. They'd had a day's rest, and were fortifying positions for the celebratory arrival of the inaugural home battle. News of a Serpent attack from the Arizona desert is certain, so I merged into a languid convoy of Darger followers traveling southbound along the river hedged in by a dry bank of traffic making the stiff climb of Mt. Elysian- milling the opening rumors of an attack.

    Atop a mountain of parked cars, I could see the outlines of excitement below so I tagged along with a band of freedom fans who had just broken camp beneath the behemoth, sky-blue, "T" of Traffic Town's historic landmark, and we were half-way down the trail when the first wave of explosions ripped through the air.

    "They're shooting at us!" I yelled. Another barrage of thunder-booming detonations shook the hillside and like a wind-aided flag whipping me in the face, a hissing squadron of sonic bombers suddenly shot through the sky sending the battlefield below into a bombastic fit of rockets, glory, and smoke. A heavy, blue woman lost her footing and rolled headfirst past an old-hatted man traveling all the way from New Mexico. With an old Texas accent he screamed, "My God, they're going to kill us all!" The woman would have been lost for  good had not the brave Texas talker thrown his hat on top of her so as to levy her fall. "Hat's off!", I laughed, and made off onwards and downwards to the volcanic battle that had just erupted!

     By the time I had reached the creature comforts and close proximity of my bunker, the young Darger sharpshooter ,Number 22, had taken control of the Battery defenses and was holding the invading regiment of Rattlesnakes at a left arms length. Eventually, the concentrated infield fighting fell off and his aim quelled the mighty crowd that had gathered with restless affiliations of sameness.
     And then General Glory sent in the Bomb Squad. KA-KOOM!! Number 99 unleashed what was to be a cannonading overture of LA muscle and manpower. BOOM! WHAM! BLAM! Non-numerically , but respectfully in order of heroics, No.23, No.27, and No.16 all followed with manly displays of bang.

     To the thrill of everyone, the gravity of those Bazooka shots echoed long enough to ensure a decisive victory despite another sloppy humanitarian relief effort by the shell-shocked gang of Darger mid-range riflers. At the close of this glorious opening battle 56,000 satisfied, sun-shiny, day-trippers will collide right back into the waiting commute of the 9-5 crowd. The day was perfect. To the Letter "T"!  W is for Open Home.