Madness!

                                                         By Lois Overton

                                                        Aka Foxhole Filly

    Dedicated to our favorite heroes and the fanfic writers who love to hurt them soooooo bad!

The moon had just risen over the chateau. Saunders sat on a stool in front of the fireplace trying to keep the extreme cold at bay while Doc applied a bandage to his armpit where the Kraut bayonet had penetrated.  

“Man,” Saunders groaned loudly, “who'da thought that Kraut would use his knife while I was changing the light bulb.  What kind of idiot would dream that up to do to me?”

“Hm.  We both know who.”  Doc rubbed his chin.  “You know, I'm havin' a dickens of a time getting this bandage to stay in place.” as he considered how to get the bandage to stay without creating great pain upon removal.  “I'm thinkin' I just might have to shave you to get the tape to stick.”

“Shave my underarms?  Now way. He-men don't shave their pits. None of that girlie stuff for The Man.   But you know, Doc, I don't feel so good,” the Sarge said dizzily. “I feel kinda woozy.”

“Hmmm.” Doc shook his head as he felt the NCO's brow.  “You got quite a fever. Must be the compound fracture of the fibia. Or was that the tibula?  Anyhow, those are the kind of injuries that always result in fevers.  Lucky thing you heal fast.”

“You ain't just whistlin' Dixie.  The way Filly likes to hurt me all the time. Good thing PFC is there to keep her under control. The only time she didn't hurt me was when she did that letter thing.”

“Yeah. Can you imagine what Company Headquarters would be like if Filly was the owner?  We'd be walkin' around with our guts hanging out and our necks broken,” Doc whined emphatically.  “”Done.  Now let me help you over to the cot to lie down before you pass out.  Just put your arm around me, and I'll help you.   Hey...Who beta'd this story and left those extra quotation marks in there.  Get them babies outa here!   “Done. Now let me help you over to the cot to lie down before you pass out. Just put your arm around me and I'll help you.”  That's better, Doc thought.

“Well, I think it's unfair,” Doc I groused.  “I don't think they've written a single story about me.  Hey, I got feelings too.  I was supposed to be the star of the show...and this is how I get treated!  I just might up and not show up any more!”

“You already did that,” Hanley said, slicking down his hear with a bit of spit on his hand.  “Besides, I was the star.”

Saunders snorted and was just about to say something profound when the door swung open and the strong-jawed Cajun hurried in with a package. The door slammed shut behind him.  

“Whew.  I sure am glad they didn't pick extreme heat,” Caje said as he leaned his skis against the wall next to the cross that decorated the sparse room. He removed his beret and slapped it on his thigh several times, sending snow flying in the toasty room.  “Strange,” he said mysteriously as he placed the package on the table.  

“What do you mean?  What's strange?” Saunders said from the cot as he lit a cigarette.  

“Strange that this snow never melts, even when we sit in front of the fire.” Caje picked a piece of fluffy snow off his shoulder and examined it for several long minutes. Then he dropped it on the table.  He plopped on the cot next to Saunders and placed his hand on Sarge's shoulder.  

Doc nodded knowingly.  “Hey, I have noticed that.  Say, Caje.  What is that blood running down your cheek?”

“This?” he asked, feeling it with the tip of his finger. “I got slashed.”

“Slashed?” Saunders said, one pale eyebrow askew.  He looked down at the hand that rested on his shoulder and then at Doc, who nodded with understanding, as he helped Saunders off the cot. The two of them moved a good three feet away from the Cajun as they exchanged knowing glances.

“Hey, where you two going? You act like something is wrong,” Caje said questioningly.

“Better make that 'somethin's wrong.  You know how we always speak in contractions,” Saunders coughed testily. “Picky broads aren't they?”

 

“So let me reiterate,” Caje said simply.  

Littlejohn scratched his head.  “Hey, if iterate means to repeat, then isn't reiterate to say a third time?  Now I don't remember that being said twice before Caje reiterated.  Strange.”

“Shut up, Peabody...er Littlejohn,”  Hanley shouted.  

“Sorry, I was just tryin' to be precise.  You know how those dames are about precise language.”

Caje shook his head.  “Now as I was saying...before I was so rudely interrupted... Let me...iterate...I just can't believe that broad had me slashed like that.  See?”  He turned his head to display the bloody gash again.

Saunders, Hanley, and Doc snickered.

“Why the hell are you two acting so funny?” He took a step toward them, but Saunders took a step backwards, the memory Caje's unnecessary physical contact still fresh in his mind. Caje was perplexed and confused. “Sarge, it is...er...it's me... your buddy Caje.” He took another step toward the sergeant, who responded with another step backwards.

“Look, Caje,” Saunders tried to explain, “you said... well...you know....” He turned to Doc for help.

“You said you were slashed,” Doc said helpfully.

“Slash?” Caje cried hysterically.

“Slashed,” Doc and Saunders nodded together in agreement.

“Hold everything!” a voice boomed loudly from nowhere.

“What the...?” the three groaned as the looked about them for the source of the voice.  

Saunders put on his wire-rimmed glasses in hopes that he would be able to see the voice better.

“This is King Two speaking.”

The three soldiers fell on their knees and prostrated themselves.

“What do you want, O Great One?” Caje said as he bent for the third time, pressing his face to the floor in abeyance.

“I told you guys that Combat is PG.  That means NO SLASH!  You got that? Sheesh!  These peons.”

Saunders reached over and cuffed Caje on the arm. “See...I coulda told you she wouldn't allow slash.”

“Yeah, Doc added, “She don't like nothing but he-man stuff.”

Caje shook his head. “I wasn't talkin' 'bout slash, but slash.  You know...like  hurt/comfort.  Blood.  Knives.”

“Ooo.  I love blood and knives,” came another unseen voice.

“What the ...” the three looked confused.

“Shut up, Quicksilver!” PFC yelled.  “or I'll throw a rock at you.  I'll show you hurt without comfort.”

“Any kids in peril?” PFC questioned.

“Give it a rest, hon,” Sarge Ginette said emphatically.

“PFC can do it, too.”  Doc warned. “ Look what she did to you, Caje.  She broke your clavicle without blinking an eye. And I like to never got those evergreen things out of my eyes. Now I understand that she's got Billy half paralyzed with a bullet.   I'd be careful around that one.”

“And remember how that one dame had me half nuts after I came back from being  sla...stabbed by the Kraut?”  Caje muttered darkly.

“Yes...er make that yeah,” Doc muttered...er reminded him.  That was the one based on The Leader.  That Bayonet can cause some major damage to us fellas.”

“Right.  Especially to me!  I was running all over the place crying and sweating.  'Oh, poor little me.  The big, bad Nazi stabbed me, and I am so afraid.'  Afraid?  Nuts!  I'm a strong, sexy Cajun male.  I ain't afraid of nothing except whacked out dames with computers and too much time.”

“To be honest, I thought she had you down to a T.  Or is that tee?  Tea?  a high-pitched voice said earnestly.

“Well, look what that Anzio Annie did to you, Sarge!” Caje cried. “She gave you a sucking chest wound and then tried to burn you to death again. If it hadn't been for Billy and his rubber, we'd never have saved you.”

“Yup,” Sarge agreed, “good ole Billy.

Doc interrupted his thoughts.  “Well, that was after she had dislocated Littlejohn's shoulder.  And wounded Caje.”

“And crushed your hands,” Sarge added.

“Well,” a sheepish voice whispered, “It was a dirty job, but somebody had to do it.”

“All at the same time?” The three soldiers spoke in unison.”

“You know, these gals have really done a number on us.  My heart jumps each time I hear the words 'I've posted a new fan fic'.” Sarge mimicked sarcastically.  

“I heard that!” a woman's voice with a slight French accent called out.

“Well, you have good reason.  Look what King Two did to you and Hanley.”

Saunders rubbed his manly chest.  “Yeah, I can still feel the barnacles.  Them's sharp puppies.  But the worst was making me suck water off the rocks.  Now that is nasty.”  

“Without halzone tablets?”  Doc cried in  horror.

“And then she kinda made me go crazy, and I wandered all over town after I killed this kid....”

“Uh, Sarge, Caje whispered, “that wasn't King Two.  That was White Rook.”

“What?  How can that be?  I'm White Rook.  I don't remember saying that.”  Saunders grabbed Caje and shook him hard by the lapels. “Say I'm not losing it!”

“You are not losing it.”

“Contractions!” a voice shouted.  “Our guys speak in contractions.”

“Oh, yeah.  Sorry.  You're not losin' it,” Caje corrected.  “That was the other White Rook.”

“You mean the one that is always making those stupid jokes?”

“No,” Caje corrected, “That is Wyte Rook.”  

Doc shook his head. “I'm getting very confused.

“Was she the one that tied me up to the truck after I assassinated the officer?”  Saunders asked through his mental pain.

“No, that was Quicksilver.”

“OK, was she the one that had the little girl nursing Hanley after the Krauts tried to make him a sieve?”

“Huh, uh,” Doc shook his head again redundantly, “That was Hazelnut.”

“Had Kirby mentally anguished when he had to choose whether to save Sarge or Caje from certain death?”  

“That was me!  That was me!.”  Quicksilver jumped up and down in the netherworld.

“Now I remember. She had me shot by the windmill?”  

“PFC,” Caje and Doc said together.

“Then she musta been the one who had me bleeding to death, and Hanley forgot where I was and went off and got amnesia....”

“Sorry.  That was Filly.”

“So what the heck did King Two do besides the boat?”

“Well, remember when you shacked up with the hooker because you tied up Hanley, and then you got buried in the hole and....”

“Ah!  She's the one.”

“About time you got it straight!”  the imperious voice called from the netherworld.  “When I hurt ya, ya better remember.”

The three soldiers bowed, their eyes darting hither, thither, and yon. “Man, that's some voice,” Doc said.

“That's why she's King Two.”  Billy said quietly.

“I thought I was King Two!  You mean I don't get to be King Two any more?”  Hanley cried out of the side of his mouth.

“So as I understand it,” Caje raised his eyebrow, “you guys are allowed to do anything to us that you want?”

“Within limits.”   The voice said.

“So what about maiming and ...” Doc started.

“Torture yeah.  Maiming no.  Nothing permanent  Especially can't damage the face,”  White Queen said.

Saunders pulled out a pencil and small notebook.  “Let us...uh...lets see if I got this right.  Maiming no.  Torture yes.”

“Right,” PFC agreed.

“Broken bones?”

“Yup,”

Saunders wrote furiously. “ And bees?”

“Yup”

“Damn,” Sarge shook his head.  “Quicksilver made me crawl in with them inches from my face.  Man!  I hate bees!  What about moaning and groaning?” Saunders asked, looking up from his notebook.

“Yup”

“Be still, my heart,” a third voice said.

“Be still, Filly.” Quicksliver turned back to the guys.  “Gotta be firm with her or she'll talk yer head off.”

PFC took up the instruction. “Anything short of killing one of them.”

“Uh, could I see you a moment,” Sarge Ginette could be heard tapping PFC on the shoulder.  Her voice was low. “We can't exactly say that.  Filly killed off Sarge in her first story.”

“YOU DID WHAT?!!!!!!!” Saunders hollered.

Well,” Filly stuttered sheepishly, “just a little. But it was for a good cause.”

“YOU DID WHAT?!!!!!!!”

A fist thudded on a shoulder.  “I told you guys not to tell him,” Filly whined.  “Besides, Ash did it too.”

“OK,” Caje said,  “What about romance?”

White Queen shook her head.  Hey...there is a fan fic page called Purple Hearts, not Bleeding Hearts.”

“Bleeding hearts?” Filly added with a gleam in her eye.  “Oh, I'm gonna die!”

“Filly!” Ash yelled

“What about blowin' off appendages?” Doc asked.

“Nope,” Quicksilver said succinctly.  “Only toes...and just the tips at that.”

“Well, Kirby will be real glad to hear that.” Saunders continued writing.  “He's just barely walking as it is, thanks to Filly.”

“Really...no real... er...let's just make it “glad” period.  Real is an adjective and really is an adv....”

“FILLY! ENOUGH WITH THE GRAMMAR CHECK!”  PFC called.

“Uh, could I interrupt a moment,” a strange voice said.  I have a question about fan fic writing.”

“Sure, Lee, what is it?”

“Lee? I don't remember a fan fic writer named Lee,”  Hanley said in confusion.

“Me neither,”  Littlejohn added.

“I kinda thought I'd heard her name once, but...”

“For crying out loud.  Shut up. Just shut up!”  Lee screamed.  She shrugged her shoulders and smoothed the wisps of grey hair that clung to her moist brow.  “I am just starting to write fan fic.  My question is...what is there left to do to the guys that you haven't already done to 'm.  I mean...you gals took all the good stuff.”

“Hey!” Billy suggested.  You could write a story about a guy who is in agony because his girl has sent him a picture of her new boyfriend.”  

“Excuse me,”  Sarge Ginette said with her hands on her hips.  “This is Combat not Love Boat.”

“Hmmm” Lee pondered.  “How about stripping one of the guys down to check their heritage....”

“His,”  Filly corrected.  Pronouns have to agree in number.”

Lee rolled her eyes.  “...check HIS heritage, and then take his blood.”

PFC tapped her on the shoulder.  “Uh, I think that was in my story.”

“Ha Ha,” Lee laughed diabolically.  “Alien's attack Saunders.”

“Ash already did Predator meets Combat. Sorry,”  PFC said.

“See what I'm talkin' about.  All the good stuff is gone.

“Look, guys, it's getting late.  I think we have made ourselves clear,” Sarge said. “Just keep the dumb stuff out.  And NO SLASH!”

Doc shuddered. “Cuts!  Call them cuts! On the cheek or on the butt...they are cuts.”

“Ooo, cuts...” Filly stopped suddenly. She looked at Quicksilver and Sarge Ginette. “I know.  Shut up.”

“Body fluids?” Doc asked.  “I deal a lot with body fluids.”

“Sweat, drool, spit, and blood.  That's it.”

“Don't forget barfing,” Filly added.  “Barfing is allowed.  Just a little.”

“Look, ladies, we'd love to stand around jawing...jawin' all day, but we gotta get on with this story,” Saunders said disgustedly.  

“What's the situation, Caje?

“It's cold.”

“No...I mean with the Krauts.”

Saunders flipped through the pages.  “We're surrounded. They have tanks, bombers, machine guns, samurai swords, bazookas, knives, forks, toenail clippers, and A-bombs.”

“Filly!” Quicksliver yelled from the distance.

“Oh, for goodness sake!” Filly cried as her voice huffed away.

“Saddle up,” Saunders said emphatically.  “We gotta escape now or we never will. Besides, this place gives me the creeps.  I keep hearing voices.”

The two soldiers hefted their weapons and ammo belts, and Doc hefted his bandage bag.

“Error!  Error!”  PFC cried.

The three soldiers looked at each other in astonishment.  “Huh?”

“Repeated word.  I heard a repeated word!  And bandage bag?  Who is doing the writing.  Someone needs a good beta.”

Saunders raised his eyebrows in wonderment and shrugged.  “We'll be lucky to get out of this without having to crawl,” he said as he adjusted his knee pads.

“Or an interrogation,” Caje said with a shaky voice.

“Oooo.  Interrogation...”

“Filly!” the guys shouted disgustedly.

“Hey!” Filly's voice came from nowhere. “Don't blame me!  I didn't say anything.  Not a word.  That was PFC!  How come I always have to take the heat....”

And as her voice droned on, the three soldiers sidled out of the room and into whatever fate the girls had planned for them.