Burned Down the Mission

May 16th, 2010. As the Black Sabbath sun began to cede into the late afternoon skyline, it was becoming evident that the home standing, holy missioners could no longer keep the secularist invaders from overrunning their pastoral sanctuary. Reminiscent of the previous two battles, thousands of vocal, local laymen and laywomen of the Darger faith were out in full force to witness the consecration.
    The Darger battalion was short-handed because of critical injuries, and aging equipment, so a group of irregular peacekeepers were sent in to take down the temple. Led by No.58, the reserve militia kept the action contained to a minimum, but were able to finally breakthrough the last remaining Holy ground's guard forces, and torch the fort for their second city sweep.
W is for RIP RJD.

PASSED TIME (No.7)

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.

Fish License to Kill

April 9th,2010. In the far-away island home of LA Darger staff shooter, Number 18, it is customary of the gun-loving water peoples to shoot a fish on the first Friday following the Religious West's Easter Sunday. In South Beach City, the popular citizens play a cruel game with the local sports community involving bats and fish every Friday. So it was inevitable that under a sticky, beach-baked sun that seldom sets in defeat, LA's swift push to the southernmost shores of the United Panhandle would be anything but scenic.
    Hauling one thousand and one miles southbound along the long, cement spine of I95, the relentless consistency of commerce coming in and out of the municipal sporting fortress and it's surrounding bi-ways was hardly enough to detour the strong-armed performance delivered today by the 4-line Fireballer. Under the command of General Glory, the always honorable Number 18 was accurate and steadfast as he picked off line after line of nearly every enemy advancement.
    The mighty wrath of Number 99 finally broke open the outer lines of defense during his 3rd battery, bringing the entire regiment around to solidify another well fought victory. Number 15 continued to gain respectful attention with a span of speed and excellence. With the smell of smoked fish well fortified into their road worn uniforms, the Dargers prevailed on their first Friday of the 2010 war. W is for Fish Fryday.

Private Reserves

April 8th, 2010. "Load the Cannons!" On the 3rd day, like a smoggy cloud collapsing under a mountain of smuck, beaten down and undermanned, LA's Dargers marched onto the diamond field of Steel City under a big, dark sky. A gutty, but too pretty (and given an early advantage by the first-rate heroics of Number 7 and Number 27), Number 58 fit his bill and shut down the homegrown brass for the Dargers' first claim to victory of the war! Before signaling a Reserve Unit into heading the mid-day charge, General Morning Glory held out a finger sign- surely, a creed of some kind? Was an unspoken alliance communicated during the un-flashy gesture? Was it confessional finger puppetry? 
         Whatever  it was that  happened at that point doesn't matter much at this point- because whatever happened happened, and it will be a sure sign of things to come if it happens again. That said, it was just then that the off-season soft, soft language speaking, and well reserved Number 3, exploded through the homebase gates with an appropriate arsenal of batons. His leadership led the Darger ship of fools out of their day-off dust jackets, and jacked them right as right into the statistic books. During the later stages of the lop-sided battle, Numbers 7 and 27 picked up more honors for their steadfast production and reveille. 
    "Pack the Cannons!" The Darger army is regrouping and heads south along the Dixie Treeline bound for a weekend showdown with a regiment from Gatorville in the sunny outskirts just 1001 miles down Interstate 95. W is for one win column.

Dargers' 2010 Battle Begins On Road.

April 5th, 2010. WAR!!! Steel City is a long, day and a half's haul from Traffic Town. Two thousand, four hundred and forty miles of seventy-five degree night and daylight...1,000 miles of sweat per hour. Spring  Camp had proved not to be a spring- but a speed bump. To be honest, the opening day contest for the 2010 Los Angeles Dargers felt more like it was a million miles away. The lasting image of the battle that comes to my mind is that of a rotten Vadalia Onion exploding into an eye-watering explosion of yellow and black venom upon it's test-dummy impact with the filthy, bullet-holed windshield of a 1970's South American Ford Motor Coup car. THUMP! Number 44 led the plunge into the Allegheny River on Monday afternoon, throwing everything but the el fregadero de cocina at the Eye Patches for four futile innings, while  Numbers 23, 27, 33, 99 took the high road to the promises of another fight, and a successful 2010 war campaign. All ends that ends...well?

L is for Viva la Vadilla! RAGE ON! This Road is Our Road!