The Army of Idiots

[Jay2645]

First, I'd like to say "Hi!" to everyone here. I'm brand-new to this site, this being my first post and all (going to make a post on the welcome section of the board in a moment).

Second, I have a little snippet from a story I've been laboring over for quite some time. At one point, this thing was massive, 200+ pages... Then I lost everything but snippets from the first 2 chapters in a hard drive crash. A couple months ago, I decided to bring it back from the dead, in a sense, armed only with little bits and pieces of the first two chapters and a vague knowledge of what the plot was once upon a time. I'm hoping to get it published once I'm done with it, and in accordance with the tips in the stickies up there, I'm only posting the first half of the first chapter. I'm not sure if it's too long or not, but...

Do your worst, but please be gentle. I know there's a bit of a contradiction there, just try to bear with it.

This piece has been posted on another (much smaller) board, where it had gotten the "Douglas Adams Award for Sheer Madness". Just a heads-up.

Without further ado:

Chapter I:
The Beginning

The attack had begun.

Two detachments of marines swiftly stepped from the dropships they had just flown in on and quickly scurried about on the beach, getting into their attack formations. Several armored jeeps, nicknamed “Warthogs” and driven by the best drivers in the unit, exited the dropships and drove to the head of the pack. They waited for orders from their commander.


The enemy knew they were coming; no one for miles around could have missed all the racket that they had been making. Right about now, soldiers were running about, grabbing weapons or possibly just climbing out of their bunks.


The base they were launching an assault on was just an entry point into enemy territory. It was an abandoned, decades-old power plant on the coast of California, humanity’s first major attempt at a viable wind-powered power generator. The idea was, instead of having many small-output miniature wind power generators, you could build just one, giant fan, powered mostly by the wind, but utilizing some nuclear reactors for additional power. In reality, the fan didn’t actually do much, and the plant almost completely relied on the nuclear reactors.

The public bought the fact that it was an eco-friendly power plant at first, but quickly turned against it once they realized it was really just a massive cover-up scheme for more nuclear power plants. After years of protest, the reactors were shut down and the facility fell into neglect. Now the plant is just a pile of ruins on a shark-infested beach, but, if taken, it could be the biggest stronghold they had as they marched off to victory.



No one really knew WHY either side was fighting. It was probably something along the lines of the world military government not giving up their wartime governing powers or something like that. I really don’t think anyone actually KNEW, should you ask them. They just liked to fight over stupid things for stupid reasons.

It seems all humans were that way.


On the beach, the air was tense with the anticipation of battle. They had many of their best soldiers standing on the beach, waiting. There was no way the enemy, codenamed "blue", could withstand their attack.


Unless... Unless the enemy had their best soldier, the one who never lost a single battle.

Little did they know that soldier was stationed at this outpost.

He had killed millions, and once won a battle single-handedly, outnumbered 300 to one. They said that he ate bullets for breakfast, nails for lunch, and bad Chuck Norris jokes for dinner. There was no stopping him once he started fighting. It was almost as if he had some sort of "health bar" they didn't, because it seemed that he could take dozens of bullets without dying, then simply duck behind a piece of scenery for a few seconds and come back out as if he had just stopped to tie his shoes. His movements were so fluid, it's almost as if he had some sort of device that could control his movements from afar, a "controller" of sorts, and the operator was somewhere far, far away, watching from a TV screen in his living room. Some said he had hacks and cheat codes, granting him superhuman abilities. The rest looked at those some funny and slowly backed away, because there were no hacks nor cheat codes to real life, those were only found in videogames. And even if there were hacks in real life, you'd have to hack your life console to get them, and that voided the warranty. And no one wanted to void their warranty, because what if your life console broke? You'd have to send it back to God, and then he'd tell you that he can't fix it because you voided the warranty. The only one he ever fixed a life console for was for his best buddy, some guy named "Jesus" or something. That was screwed up, man. Fix it for the rest of us too; don't play favorites because he's your BFF or boyfriend or something. But I digress.

Unfortunately, Blue team's one awesome soldier of awesomeness was currently on vacation.


His replacement, named Bob Guy, was a noteworthy one. He had skills that were unbelievable. He was so good that... Pfft- That... AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Who are we kidding? He was the worst shot in history.


As the other team got ready for their assault, Bob was already ready for action. He looked around, as if searching for something, like a voice in the room that didn't have a person to match it. And it was talking about him, describing his every movement, condemning him, making fun of him in a very narrator-ish tone.

"COMMANDER! THE VOICES IN THE SKY ARE TALKING TO ME AGAIN!" Bob said.


His commander, supervising troops in the dark grey command center of the power facility as they prepared for combat, replied, "Just ignore them, Bob, and they'll go away."

"Ok.” Bob said. “Mr. Voice, can you go bother someone else?"


There was silence, as the narrator voice didn't have a reply. He simply narrated what was going on around him; it was his job, he must do it, and as such there was no going away for him.


"Commander! The voice says he doesn't have a reply, then said that he wasn‘t going to go away!"

The commander yelled from the other room, "Bob. Ignore it. It'll go away soon."


After saying this, Bob’s commander whispered something into the ear of one of the soldiers, and then walked over to speak to Bob.

"We're losing men, fast. I would send you out there, but you have... Special needs."

"That's what my mommy told me!" Bob said with a bright and vibrant smile on his face.
The commander paused. "We need you, though."
"Need me for what?"

"We need you to stay the hell out of everyone's wa-” The commander started, then rethought what he was about to say.



“I mean, we need you to watch the base,” the commander said. “I'm going to have to go out there. I have to leave you in charge of the base, but whatever you do, do NOT hit that button right next to you."



Bob looked around for the button, and then found it next to a large display, which was, in turn, next to him. The display, formerly used to monitor the power the generator put out, now had been reprogrammed to operate everything in the base. Like most blue tech, it ran Windows 2500, an operating system which still thoroughly sucked, but was better than anything else out there. Little had changed in 500 years; it still got the blue screen of death on a regular basis.

Below the monitor, there was a red button with an extra-large sticky note on it. Above the button, it read: “CAUTION: SELF-DESTRUCT”.


"The red one with the BIG sticky note which reads 'DO NOT PRESS THIS, BOB' written on it?" Bob inquired.

"Yes, that one. Do you understand?"
"Yep!"

"I need you to repeat what I said, Bob. What did I say?"
"I need you to repeat what I said, Bob, what did I-"
"NO, NO, NOT that!"
"NO, NO, NOT that!"
"Repeat what I said the first time."
"What I said the first time."
"Repeat this: NEVER hit that button next to you."
"NEVER hit French toast before bed."



The commander paused and sighed. He had no clue where Bob got that from, but he wasn’t going to get anywhere with him this way.

"Umm... Yeah. Let's go with that. I'm going to back away slowly, and you're NOT going to hit that button."
"OK!"


And, with that, the commander slowly backed off and left Bob alone.


Bob's tiny mind struggled with the difficult order his commander had given him.
"Never hit French toast before bed?" He said to himself, "I can do that. Ooooh... What's this shiny red button thingy? Do... Nut... Press... This... Bob... Donut press this Bob? IF I HIT THIS, I GET A DONUT? Sweet."


And, with that, Bob pressed the button. Suddenly, he remembered the first lesson his mom taught him: Pressing shiny red buttons in the hope of getting a donut was bad. VERY bad.
"I didn't hit the button," he said, trying to reassure himself. "My finger did."


Just then, a sultry female voice echoed through the halls, coming over the loudspeakers. It had just a slight metallic tinge to it, enough to remind you that there was not actually any girls present in the facility and that this was just a computer talking. The entire fiasco was actually rather depressing.


"This base will self-destruct in 60 seconds. Free coffee is available in the command center if needed. Have a spectacular day."

"That lady is very nice," Bob said, "she wants me to have a spectacular day! HAVE A SPECTACULAR DAY, TOO, NICE LADY!"



Windows 2500 suddenly got the blue screen of death.


Bob then calmly left through the main entrance and casually strolled past the intense firefight that was occurring between his team and the enemy. Both teams were pinned down in a side generator structure, in ruins now, which used to be used as a place to temporarily store the windmill’s power before funneling it to the main structure, the place where Bob had just hit a shiny red button.


"See ya later, Commander!" Bob said, casually strolling past the battle.

The commander turned, saw Bob, and waved. "Bye, Bob! Wait... Bob! I need you! Come back!"



Bob stopped and paused.

"I think it's very sweet that you feel that way towards me, but I prefer my relations with women."

"Bob! Come back! This is insubordination!"
"I really don't care about the 'in' status of whatever the hell subordination is, but I do agree, that 'subordination' outfit looks very good on you."


And, with that, Bob hopped in one of the now-empty enemy Warthog jeeps and drove off.
Surprisingly, no one shot at Bob, possibly because half of the other team had died of laughter, and the other half couldn't stop laughing long enough to hold their guns steady. Blue team was about to make short work of them when C4, buried in strategic locations around the building (if by strategic you mean that people decided to stuff it everywhere it could fit), went off on a timed explosion set off by a red button sixty seconds beforehand.


The only survivor was Bob, driving casually out of the explosion, going off to visit his old friend Ian in the next camp. He was stopped by military police, who wondered why the first thing he asked is where were the donuts he was promised. After they learned what he had done, they decided to take him off to the general of the area, but almost decided to shoot him anyway because he wouldn't stop asking if they were there yet.

 

[fkatona]

Welcome to the board! I hope you find the information here valuable, and I wish you success in your pursuit of a published work.

As for your submission, I wasn't able to get through it. Comedy in general is difficult for me to stomach, and this one was over the top. It reminded me of Naked Gun or Mel Brooks films with the idiocy ramped up tenfold - which was probably your intention - but I don't feel it works in a written format. Sight gags are much funnier on screen.

On the technical side, your grammar and spelling were good, so I suspect you have the basics down. I did notice you like adverbs (two of the same meaning in the second sentence). One suggestion is to try to replace unnecessary adverbs with stronger verbs, such as "charged" or "stormed" instead of "swiftly stepped".

Once again, good luck in your writing. I may simply not be the right audience for this, but maybe you'll find others who are.

 

[dustinzgirl]

I thought it was adorable, and a refreshing break from the usual oh so seriously seriousness.

You have nice descriptions, too.

Sometimes you might, over-describe and under-show, but we all do that.

 

[J-WO]

You slipped into present tense when you wrote about the wind generator and I think a few times you went into first person. All easily mended of course.

This is only gonna hit a bulls eye with Halo fans, IMHO. Then again, if the thing you're being derivative from is the most popular game in the world I don't suppose it's much of a problem!
As for the humour, there's a lot to be said for the 'scattergun' approach. Sure, a lot of it flew by me, but the bits that made me grin/chuckle did their job.

Welcome to the Chronz!

 

[dustinzgirl]

I've played a LOT of Halo, and don't remember there being a California or a Chuck Norris or a voice from the sky and I'm pretty sure all the bad guys were aliens.

I think this would appeal to a much wider audience than just Halo fans, since its not really Halo-ish at all.

Also:


Bob looked around for the button, and then found it next to a large display, which was, in turn, next to him. The display, formerly used to monitor the power the generator put out, now had been reprogrammed to operate everything in the base. Like most blue tech, it ran Windows 2500, an operating system which still thoroughly sucked, but was better than anything else out there. Little had changed in 500 years; it still got the blue screen of death on a regular basis.

You could really expand on this scene and show him flipping out at the blue screen of death...perhaps, literal death?

 

[Jay2645]

I see you caught my Halo references!
Thanks for the crit guys, I was really expecting it to get ripped to shreds.

Little bit of trivia: This story actually originally originated as a screenplay my friends and I were going to film in the game Halo Custom Edition.
Although the series itself has left the realm of Halo for the purposes of trying to get this published as an original IP, I still call the jeeps "Warthogs" and leave a few other Halo shoutouts in there.

E: Also, I didn't specifically mention Chuck Norris. It said bad Chuck Norris jokes, not Chuck Norris himself.
Admittedly, it USED to mention Chuck Norris himself...

And what do you mean, Halo has no "voice from the sky"? Ever played multiplayer?

 

[dustinzgirl]

I must have missed the Halo references. I didn't see them. I play a lot of Halo tho! Really I do!!!

Oh, is it the 'blue team' thing?

I lack the comprehension to comprehend subtly, I spose!

You know the warthogs are real military vehicles, not just from Halo, right?

PS: No, we don't allow multiplayer live game play at my house. You gamers are all mean and rude and say icky things.

Plus, you all cry like babies when a girl--an over 30 mom of 5--takes you out.

 

[chrispenycate]

Um, Hi? Welcome in. The punctuation seemed quite adequate, so I took a look at the tenses…

Strange beings here, aren't we?

In reality, the fan didn’t actually do much, and the plant almost completely relied on the nuclear reactors.

The public bought the fact that it was an eco-friendly power plant at first, but quickly turned against it once they realized it was really just a massive cover-up scheme for more nuclear power plants. After years of protest, the reactors were shut down and the facility fell into neglect. Now the plant is just a pile of ruins on a shark-infested beach, but, if taken, it could be the biggest stronghold they had as they marched off to victory.

you're writing in past tense, so this 'flashback explanation' should be in past/pluperfect, rather than present/past

I really don’t think anyone actually KNEW,

should you have asked them. (or, I suppose, "had you asked them")

It had just a slight metallic tinge to it, enough to remind you that there was not actually any girls present in the facility and that this was just a computer talking.

there were not actually…

He was stopped by military police, who wondered why the first thing he asked is where were the donuts he was promised.

the first thing he asked was where the donuts he had been promised were.

 

[Jay2645]

Gah! Now those mistakes seem glaringly obvious to me, thanks.

I wish I could post a bit more of this, but I can't seem to find a section which makes much sense out of context. I suppose I could continue where I left off and just finish off the first chapter, but still...

Excuse me, I'm just a ridiculous excuse for a writer who has to force himself not to push his baby out there into the world. (I use that smiley a lot, don't I?)

 

[J-WO]

Well it is a good one.

Dustinz- that real life Warthog; would I be right in thinking its pulling an armour plated caravan? (That's a good'un too)

 

[dustinzgirl]

Yes I believe its two sections, the front being the attack/defend group and the back being for transporting people.

I'm not entirely sure. I'll have to ask one of my sons.

 

[J-WO]

Now there's something military that's ripe for comic potential.

 

[Jay2645]

Well, I've finally hit a major milestone with this: I've figured out every major event which will happen in the story and got it down on paper. I've always had a general idea on what would happen up until a certain point, but after that point I had no clue how to get the novel from one plot point to the other.

I've worked out that the final product will have ~33 chapters, averaging 3,000 words a chapter. This comes out to about 6 pages per chapter 12 point Times New Roman in Microsoft Word.
By comparison, the half of the first chapter I posted up there is 1,800 words and just over 3 pages.
What do you guys think on the length? Too long? Too short?

 

[dustinzgirl]

Well, I've finally hit a major milestone with this: I've figured out every major event which will happen in the story and got it down on paper. I've always had a general idea on what would happen up until a certain point, but after that point I had no clue how to get the novel from one plot point to the other.

I've worked out that the final product will have ~33 chapters, averaging 3,000 words a chapter. This comes out to about 6 pages per chapter 12 point Times New Roman in Microsoft Word.
By comparison, the half of the first chapter I posted up there is 1,800 words and just over 3 pages.
What do you guys think on the length? Too long? Too short?

I think you should write it before worrying if its too long or too short!



But congrats on the major milestone events! One of these days I'll learn to plan like that!

 

[J-WO]

As Dust says, don't be worrying too much about size. But yeah, 90-100,000 seems fair enough for a sf comedy. Big enough to get some world-building etc in, but not true epic size which might drag for laughs.

Now get to it, soldier! Hup! Hup! (and various other militaristic gibberish...)

 

[Jay2645]

I'm considering a name change.

I've been using "The Army of Idiots" as the title for the three years this thing has been going about my head, but I'm afraid that I may alienate some of my audience/turn off potential publishers if I keep the name.
The other name I've been nulling about is "The Pie Who Loved Me" (I don't believe I got that far here; Bob gets reassigned to "Commander A. Pie" for his fiasco from the opening of the story). The name seems like it would get the military/satire point across without alienating any of my potential audience.

What do you guys think?

 

[J-WO]

Yeah, that's a pretty cool name, though it makes me think of spys more than soldiers, IMHO.
How about; The Thick and the Dead? Sort of a nod to the famous war novel The Quick and the Dead by Norman Mailer.

 

[Jay2645]

Long time, no see.
After a 7-month stint as "The Pie Who Loved Me", I realized to my dismay that that title also happened to be the name of an ice cream creation from Coldstone.
I'm not sure if I accidentally took the title from there without realizing it or if it was titled that after I had made my title, but I decided about a month ago to go with J-WO's name (mainly because I was beginning to grow disillusioned with The Pie Who Loved Me, and also because the plot thread I was going to weave into the story which gave it its name got cut).

As of this writing, main writing on The Thick and the Dead is over and I'm going through my 3rd pass on editing, finding new mistakes every time I look.
The final result had 24 chapters (9 chapters were cut from the last time I posted and the entire ending has been completely changed, down to who the main villain of the story is), mostly just under 3,000 words each.
Within the next few minutes, I'm going to replace the dinosaur of a chapter in the first post with what I currently have.

It really has been an adventure writing this thing, and I've learned a lot about myself and writing in general since I started. I can see, when going through on my edits, how my style has ever-so-slowly changed as I wrote this thing, becoming better with every chapter (with the exception, of course, of the 9 chapters I cut since they slowed down the story and just didn't "fit").
Overall, I'm glad I began writing.




EDIT: Apparently, after a while, I can't edit things. Oh well. May as well post the new chapter here:
THE THICK AND THE DEAD
Chapter I:
The Beginning


Some people in this world were meant to do great things. They are the people who conquered the world, who advanced the fields of our arts and sciences, who inspired greatness within us, and who were the basis for research projects by fifth grade classes around the world.

Our story is not about those people.

Our story is the tale of Bob Guy, a blonde-haired, blue-eyed young American of medium height and a sun-kissed complexion. Bob was extraordinary, not because he had exceptional intelligence or exceptional strength, but rather because of a lack thereof.

When war broke out four years ago, Bob was conscripted into the fascist “Blue” army, his mediocrity and expendable nature making him the perfect candidate for extended military testing. When the Blue government capitol of Washington, D.C. fell in The Battle of the Hats, the military finally couldn’t finance any more tests, and so Bob was sent to “Charlie” Company in order to defend the new capitol of Los Angeles.

After a few days, Bob’s new Commander requested to get Bob transferred to another unit. “Bob is like a slinky,” his note read, “He’s completely useless, but fun to push down stairs. I dread the day the Red Army presses their attack. I don’t want to entrust my life in his hands. Send him to ‘N’ Company. He doesn’t belong here.”

“Bob’s new base is his home,” wrote back Blue Command, “We’re standing by our decision. Whether or not you agree is none of your business.”

Unfortunately for Bob’s Commander, the Communist Red Army decided to press their attack the very next day.


“I heard gunfire!” cried a marine, “They’re here! Sound the alarm!”
“Where’s Chad?” cried a second marine, “Where the hell’s Chad?”
“I don’t know, check the computer!”
“There’s no time for checking the computer! We’re under attack!”
“Well, you’re the one who asked where Chad was!”
“Yeah, because he’s the only one who can save our-”

The trooper was interrupted by the sound of Klaxon alarm bells and a sultry female voice that echoed through the halls via the base’s loudspeakers. It had just a slight metallic tinge to it, enough to remind you that there were not actually any females present in the facility and that it was just a computer talking.

This was apparently not apparent enough to a poor marine named Lance several months ago, who, in a fit of romantic desperation, attempted to make out with the machine that generates the voice.

He was promptly electrocuted.

He fell into convulsions and died almost immediately, but his dying words were, "That girl was the best girl I ever kissed."

“We are under attack, I repeat, we are under attack,” the sultry voice said, “All troops, prepare for strategic defense of all major facilities.”

“You have to admit, that voice is pretty hot,” said the first marine.
“Yeah, I feel sorry for poor Lance, though.”
“Meh, he was an idiot. Like Bob over there.” The marine pointed to the hapless Private, who was leaning against a wall and staring at the ceiling. They scattered as the Commander entered the room and began barking orders.

Bob glanced over at his Commander for a moment and then turned his attention back to the ceiling. He was hearing an annoying voice in the room today, and the ceiling was his best approximation for its general location.

Normally, he could tell where the voices were coming from, but this one was different. This one was unlike the voices he had heard in the past in that it seemed as if it was coming from both everywhere and nowhere, and Bob decided to make it his personal mission to discover where it was coming from and tell it to shut up.

He straightened up and began pacing the room in search for the source of the voice, checking every nook and every cranny. He searched the room which used to house the generator, he checked up by the catwalk, he even looked under his bunk, but he simply could not identify the source of the voice.

It seemed as if it were constantly following him, never fading with distance, never increasing in volume as he grew close. He had turned around several times to try to surprise the voice, but all that did is earn him a few funny looks from his fellow soldiers.

The voice was driving him crazy because it was talking about him. Every time he paced the room, it would narrate his actions. Every time he turned around, it would announce that he had turned around, always in the past tense and always in the third person.

I must be crazy, he thought, I must have finally snapped.

Suddenly, Bob screamed, scaring the living daylights out of the soldiers around him. The voice had just infiltrated his thoughts, too, speaking them aloud for everyone to hear. That was the final straw.

"COMMANDER!” Bob shouted, “THE VOICES IN THE SKY ARE TALKING ABOUT ME AGAIN!"
Bob’s Commander turned around with a groan as he heard Bob’s voice. "Did you wake up and begin talking to yourself again?”
“It’s different this time!” Bob cried indignantly. He looked confused for a moment; as if the voice had just used a really big word that he didn’t quite know the meaning of.
His Commander raised one of his eyebrows. “Did you, Bob?”
Bob sounded as if his voice gasping for air inbetween every sentence. “Well, yeah… Only the other me was a zombie this time. And he tried to talk back to me. And it was scary. And then there was another guy. And then he tried to talk to me, too. And, yeah, he scared me, too, but that wasn’t what I was going to talk about!”
His Commander paused for a moment to take in this information. “You’re crazy, Bob. C-R-A-Z-Y. Crazy. Loco. Insane. Not right in the head. A few marshmallows away from a mug of hot chocolate. Three fries short of a Happy Meal. Just take some pills and ignore the voices, and they'll go away."
"Ok,” Bob said after a sigh. He turned his head skyward, his best judgment for where the voice was coming from. “Mr. Voice, can you go bother someone else?"
Bob received no answer from the voice, as I didn't have a reply. I am, after all, the narrator, and thus I’m not supposed to respond to the inquiries of the characters. I simply narrate whatever goes on in whatever story I am assigned to tell; it’s my job and, like it or not, I have to do it.
"Commander! The narrator voice from the sky says he doesn't have a reply, and then he told me that he’s not going to go away!"
"Bob. Take some pills and ignore it. It'll go away soon enough, trust me." He turned to one of his other soldiers, a Lieutenant whom had just returned from running some calculations through the base’s computer.

The Lieutenant was frowning and trying to hide his face behind a stack of papers that he was holding.

This was not a good sign.

“How bad are the casualties so far?” the Commander hissed.
“It’s not looking good, sir.”
The Commander frowned as well at this news. “Where the hell’s Chad? He’s the only one who can get us out of this mess…”
The Lieutenant continued to stare at his chosen spot as he said, “Computer says he’s on vacation, sir.”
“Didn’t he just get back from vacation?”
“Not according to the computer, sir.”
“We’re screwed,” the Commander said. He sighed a deep, prolonged, exasperated sigh, patted the soldier on the back, and walked over to speak to Bob. "We're losing men, and fast,” the Commander said to his least favorite soldier, “I would send you out there, but um… You have... ‘Special needs’."
"That's what my mommy told me!" Bob said with a bright and vibrant smile on his face. He liked thinking of his mommy. She was nice.
The Commander paused. "We need you, though."
"Need me for what?" Bob asked innocently.
"We need you to stay the hell out of everyone's wa-” the Commander started, then rethought what he was about to say. He had been given a wise piece of advice when he was a child: before you insult a man, walk a mile in his shoes. That way, when you insult him, you'll be a mile away, and you’ll have his shoes. After a few moments, the Commander’s thoughts seemed to arrive at some form of equilibrium. “Rather, we need you to play ‘Watch the Base’. It’s a game I thought up.”
Bob’s face lit up. “Oooh! I wanna play!”
Bob’s Commander did not share the same enthusiasm as his Private. “Good.”
“How do you play?” Bob asked, extremely excited, “How do you win?”
“You just look at something in the base until I get back, and you win if you can go the entire time without touching anything at all.”
“Can I touch the floor?”
“Yes, you can touch the floor.”
“OK! That sounds like fun!”
“Remember Bob, if you touch anything at all, especially any red buttons, then you lose the game.”
“I don’t wanna lose!”
“Then don’t touch any red buttons.”

Bob looked around for any red buttons and quickly found one near a large computer display. Above the button was a warning which read, in a very large font which was clearly designed to be noticed, “CAUTION: SELF-DESTRUCT”. Above the self-destruct warning was an extra-large sticky note with some writing hastily scrawled onto it.
"You mean buttons like this red button right here with the BIG sticky note above it which has 'DO NOT PRESS THIS, BOB' written on it?" Bob inquired.
His Commander nodded. "Yes, that one. Do you understand?"
"Yep!" Bob said with a big grin, “I totally understand!”
"I need you to repeat what I said, Bob. What did I say?"
"I need you to rep-"
"NO, NO, NOT that!"
"NO, NO, NOT that!"
"Repeat what I said the first time."
Bob thought for a moment. "What I said the first time. Right?”
“Bob. Repeat after me: I will NEVER hit any red buttons."
Bob paused, took this information in for a moment, and replied with, "I will NEVER hit French toast before my bedtime."

The Commander paused and sighed, a sigh which one typically used when they had seen enough for one lifetime. He had no clue which part of Bob’s brain THAT had come from, but he knew he wasn’t going to get anywhere with the Private this way. He felt as if he were driving retards to the zoo, and said retards were trying to lick the windows and stick their heads out of the bus the whole way. "Umm... Yeah. Let's go with that. I'm going to back away slowly, and you're NOT going to hit that button."
“Even if Sky Voice says I did?”
“Even if Sky Voice says you did.”
"OK!" Bob said cheerfully.

The Commander slowly backed away to bark at his other troops, and soon Bob was left alone.
"Never hit French toast before bedtime?" the Private muttered quietly to himself, "Does he mean the entire loaf of French toast, or just a slice of it? Whatever. It’ll be hard, but I can manage it.” He stared at the nearby display, focusing all his energy on staring at it so he could win his game of “Watch the Base”.

The display was running the latest version of Windows, an operating system which, despite the seven or so decades that it had existed, still thoroughly sucked. However, it was still better than anything else out there, even if the latest version still suffered routine failure and the blue screen of death on a regular basis.

Below the display was a shiny red button, and so Bob began to play “Watch the Base” with that. “Oooh... What's this shiny red button thingy?” Bob asked. He read the note attached to it. “Do... Nut... Press... This... Bob... Donut press this Bob? IF I PRESS THIS, I GET A DONUT? Sweet." Bob proceeded to press the red button, satisfied. Just as his finger lifted up once more, he remembered something very important, and he suddenly grew very sad. “I just lost the game.”
"This base will self-destruct in 60 seconds,” said the sultry voice, “Free coffee is available in the command center if needed. Have a spectacular day."

"That lady is very nice," Bob said, "she wants me to have a spectacular day! HAVE A SPECTACULAR DAY, TOO, NICE LADY!"

The computerized lady didn’t reply to Bob’s compliment, for she had locked up with the blue screen of death.


Bob calmly left through the main entrance and strolled past the intense firefight that was currently unfolding between his team and the Red Army. Bob spotted his Commander taking cover behind a smashed bit of a wall. The Commander poked his head above the wall, fired a couple of rounds into a Red soldier, and then dove back beneath his cover once more.

"See ya later, Commander!" Bob said, casually strolling past the intense battle. A bullet whizzed past his right ear, but he paid no mind.
The Commander turned, smiled, and waved good-bye. "Bye, Bob! Wa- Wait... Bob! I need you! Come back!"
Bob paused for a moment. "I think it's very sweet that you feel that way towards me, Commander, but I prefer my relations with women."

The Commander was stunned as Bob began to walk away from the battle. He called out to his deserting Private, "Bob! Come back! This is insubordination!"
Bob stopped and looked at his Commander for a few moments, surveying the military uniform his Commander was wearing. "I really don't care about the 'in' status of whatever subordination is, but I do agree, that 'subordination' outfit does indeed look very good on you.”
Satisfied, Bob jumped into one of the nearby empty military “Chupa” jeeps and tore off down the beach.

Surprisingly, no one shot at Bob, possibly because half of the other team had died of laughter, and the other half couldn't stop laughing long enough to hold their guns straight. The tide of the battle seemed as if it were about to turn when a massive explosion ripped through the military facility, set off by a red button pressed sixty seconds prior.

The only survivor was Bob, who drove casually out of the explosion and towards his old friend Ian in a nearby town. Shortly later, he was stopped by a pair of military policemen. After some questioning, they dragged him off to the Admiral of the area, but almost decided to shoot him anyway because he wouldn't stop asking them if they were there yet.


A short while later, Bob was in the interrogation room of the Admiral’s facility. The place was stark white, lacking all furniture except for a single desk in the center and a couple chairs for the Admiral and Bob to sit upon. The room’s lighting was dimmed, except for a very bright spotlight shining down upon Bob.

"...You were responsible for the loss of ALL OF ‘CHARLIE’ COMPANY!" the Admiral screamed. The whole scene had an eerie, surreal quality to it, like when you’re on vacation in another city and The Daily Show comes on at 11:30 p.m. instead of 11:00.

"I wasn't,” Bob said, waggling his finger, “My finger was."
“I cannot let this go unpunished. I am going to authorize your late Commander’s orders and send you to noo- Err... ‘N’ Company,” he said. He adjusted the inflection in his voice to sound not quite sarcastic, but very close. It was a favored trick of the Admiral’s, as it screwed with the heads of people he wasn’t very happy with. “It’s the absolute FINEST of all of the companies under my command!”

Bob began to smile at this prospect, ever-so-slightly. "Will I be able to meet some new friends?"
The Admiral paused for a moment to think about Bob’s question. "Yes,” he said, slowly, “Yes you will."

Bob‘s eyes lit up, and his smile quickly expanded into a grin which filled his entire face. "Awesome! Will I get a white mouse? I‘ve always wanted one! Can I get one, please? A widdle white one! It‘ll be sooo cute, and I‘ll play with it every day, and give it all the cheese it will ever want! It’ll be SOOO happy! So, can I get one? Can I get one? Please? Please? I’ll take care of it every day! Pweaaaase?"
“No,” said the Admiral sternly.
Bob made the cutest face he could manage as he stared straight into the Admiral’s eyes. "Can I get a cute widdle pony then?"
"No."
"Pweaaaase?"
"No."
Bob was pleading at this point. "Just one widdle white mouse? I'll name him Mister Squeaky, and he will be MY MISTER SQUEAKY, forever and ever and ever!"
"No. Take him away."
"Take who away? DON’T TAKE AWAY MISTER SQUEAKY! NOT MY MISTER SQUEAKY! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
Two uniformed guards burst through the door, picked up the unfortunate Private and whisked him away, taking him down the hallway to the van that was waiting to take him to his new desert outpost. “Bye-bye Mr. Admiral!” Bob cried as they carted him away.


Some places had high strategic value, and if they were to be taken, they could turn the tide of any war. Sidewinder was not one of those places.

“Are we there yet?” asked Bob.
“No,” said his handler. This same question had been asked every few seconds for the last hundred miles, and the handler was growing more irritated by the second as the truck turned on the access road which lead into the main part of Sidewinder’s canyon.

The U-shaped box canyon’s cliffs were made of the red-orange rock which is common in the Colorado/Utah/Arizona area. There was a single opening at the midpoint of the canyon, through which passed a single access road, used by every single new recruit sent to the canyon.

The system seemed designed for failure, as if the government wanted the recruits who had been sent there to die, in transit or otherwise. The jeeps which dropped off the new recruits were always totally undefended, the perfect targets for an ambush.

“Are we there yet?” asked Bob.
“Not yet,” growled his handler.

At the opposite end of the canyon from the access road was a cave network. The two teams within Sidewinder both agreed that using the caves as a base would grant an unfair advantage, and since they had both come to an agreement that they were going to fight a man’s war, hiding in caves was out of the question.

“Are we there yet?” asked Bob, who stared at the mouth of the cave entrance as the jeep drove past it and hung a right.
“No,” said his handler. He closed his eyes and began to count to ten; a tip his doctor gave him that would keep his blood pressure in check. It didn’t seem to be working.

Instead of hiding inside of cave networks, the teams operated out of their bases, two nearly-identical man-made structures at either end of the canyon, both as far away from the main access road as was physically possible without tunneling into the canyon itself.

The Blues had built one of the bases in the canyon; the Red team had built the other. Each base existed just because there was a base on the other side, creating a pointless front line and eternal stalemate, as neither side wanted to use heavy weaponry to demolish the other team’s base.

Both of the structures were circular, and both had a basement level below ground, a middle level at the same height as the ground around it, and a roof level which both served as the roof and a nice spot to hold barbeques and picnics. Both teams unknowingly used the exact same building contractor when it was time to construct their bases within Sidewinder, and thus the Red base looked exactly the same as the Blue base, save for a few more red colored lights.

The Red base was nearly always in the sun, much to the displeasure of those who enjoyed not being burned by the hot Colorado Desert sun when holding a picnic on the roof of their base.
The Blue base, meanwhile, was in the perfect place to be shaded by the canyon walls most of the day, much to the pleasure of those who enjoyed not being burned by the hot Colorado Desert sun when holding a picnic on the roof of their base.

“Are we there yet?” asked Bob.
“No,” said his handler, who was coming closer and closer to punching the Private he was supposed to handle in the face.

Coincidentally, both the Companies serving in the canyon were given the designation “N” Company, and the same joke was going around both teams that the “N” stood for noob, computer slang for moron.

Secretly, the “N” really DID stand for noob, but the official statement issued by each team’s command center said it was just a coincidence, and not by any means an insulting name which was meant to imply the very low skill level of whoever was unfortunate enough to be sent to this particular company.

The only people who actually believed this statement were the people of “N” Company. Everyone knew that this canyon was where both teams sent their rejects, and the Blue's Commander, Commander Pie, was just another reject. He worked his way up the ranks by proving his worth in the simulators, but when he was called upon to fight, his team was always wiped out by either friendly fire or a suspicious jeep crash involving a 500-foot cliff and a well-timed bailout by the driver, who was always Commander Pie.

The Commander had never won an actual battle in his life.

But, the Blues realized, he was very good at teamkilling, even if it was all “on accident.”

And so they sent him to command “N” Company, the one place where they desperately wanted to take soldiers’ names off of the payroll, at any cost.

“Are we there yet?” asked Bob.
“Yes,” said his handler, who tossed open the door and threw Bob at Commander Pie, who was standing outside of the Blue base. “He’s your damn problem now.”

Pie nodded and brushed his shaggy hair out of his face as the jeep drove off. Pie helped the trooper up to his feet and extended his hand in greeting to the new recruit.

"Hello…” Pie paused, using his free hand to check the note cards he was holding, “…Bob, welcome to ‘N’ Company."
Bob got up, dusted himself off, and looked at Pie’s outstretched hand, confused. "What does the ‘N’ stand for?"
Pie kept his hand extended, forcibly smiling. "Don't ask.”
Bob’s blue eyes met Pie’s brown eyes, and Pie grew suddenly uncomfortable.
"Don't Ask doesn't start with ‘N’,” Bob said, smiling, “It starts with a ‘D’!” He looked at Pie’s still-outstretched hand, perplexed as to why it was still being offered out to him. He spit on it and looked back at his new Commander, satisfied.

Pie stared at his hand, and then dried it off on his pants with a shrug. "The ‘N’ doesn’t stand for 'Don't Ask'."
"Then what does it stand for?" Bob said, confused.
"It's a French word, pronounced 'Nub'. Most people go and say 'Noob', but that's butchering the name. Completely butchering it."
"You sure that's French?"
"Of course I'm sure! I was at the top of the bottom of my class in French! Bon Jovi Mouse-your! That's French."
"French for what?"
"I… I don't really know."
Bob smiled blankly. "I learned something today."

Pie took Bob into the main room of Blue base. It was brightly lit, with standard-issue concrete making up the walls, standard-issue concrete making up the ceiling, and standard-issue military-cliché grey plating making up the floor.

In one corner was an obviously smart man, reclining in an IKEA office chair. He was in his late twenties or maybe early thirties, and he was playing with a small replica of a military Longsword-class bomber, making tiny “whooshing” noises as he did so.

Sitting on the ground was another man, this one very British-like in appearance, complete with bad teeth and the general air of Britishness which is commonly associated with people from Britain. He was unshaven and his dress uniform was in tatters, which was odd because the team hardly ever wore the dress uniforms.

"Anyway, here are your squad mates,” Pie said, pointing to the man playing with the small metal bomber, “This here is Kyle Andross. We call him 'Flyboy' or 'Fly’ for short, mainly because he meant to check the 'Air Force' box when he signed up for the Army, but he checked 'Marines' by accident. It was sad."
"Hey Fly."
Flyboy glanced up. "Hey."
“Flyboy has a tendency to think that he’s good with the ladies,” Pie said, “But he isn’t, and he’s been single as long as I’ve known him, so humor him, please.”
“I deplore that comment. I am not single, sir, I’m ‘romantically challenged’.”
“Whatever, Flyboy, just keep telling yourself that,” Pie said. He pointed to his next soldier, the overwhelmingly British member of Pie’s crew. "Next we have Joe. Joe was a Hobo who came to America once the Commies took over Britain and enlisted in our army. Joe enlisted in the army, that is, not the Commies.” Pie narrowed his eyes. “Damn dirty Commies. Anyway, since he always insists on wearing ripped clothes EVERYWHERE, we call him Torn. I don’t know exactly WHY he rips up everything around him, maybe he likes it, maybe it’s some hot new fashion trend going on with the teenagers these days, I don’t know. He certainly doesn’t look like a teenager, but he sure likes to blow stuff up, if you know what I mean."
Flyboy gave Pie an awkward look. “Erm… No, sir, I don’t know what you mean.”
“Just… Just forget it. It was a lame attempt at a joke,” Pie said.
"How are ya, Torn?" Bob asked.
Torn’s accent did not betray his appearance in that it was thick and British. "Well, I'm-"
Bob cut him off with a smile. "That's nice."
"And finally, we have me, Apple Pie, Commander of the finest company in this god-forsaken canyon."
"Your name is Apple?" Bob asked.
Pie sighed, the kind of sigh which one sighs when they are telling themselves Oh no, here we go again. "It's an Irish name."
"It is, sir?" Flyboy asked.
"No,” Pie said, not amused, “I just had two idiot parents who thought they were being funny by naming their only child after a fruit. If it makes you feel better, my mom has a twin sister who named their only child ‘Vanilla’. He’s had self-esteem issues ever since."
"Oh." Flyboy said with a nod, and he resumed playing with his Longsword.
"Anyway, everyone, off to your posts!” Pie said, “C’mon, go, go, go! Flyboy, go draw up some attack plans. Torn, guard the entryway from the Reds. Bob... Umm... Bob… Protect Flyboy. I'll be in my cabin reading the articles from Playboy magazine. Don't disturb me."

Pie walked off to his cabin, and everyone went about their duties. Flyboy grumbled to himself as he went to his office chair to draw up Pie’s plans. He set the model Longsword on his desk, shook his head and muttered under his breath, "Nobody ever just ‘reads the articles’..."

 

[J-WO]

I'm pleased your using my suggestion. I'm gonna be away from the net for a day or so but I'll be sure to come back and read this. (In a rush right now!)

 

[J Riff]

The title is good. Army o' Idiots.

Two detachments of marines (swiftly stepped ) leaped from the dropships (they had just flown in on) and (quickly scurried - a bit cute for marines, perhaps.) about on the beach, getting into their attack formations. Several armored jeeps, nicknamed “Warthogs” and driven by the best drivers in the unit, exited the dropships and drove to the head of the pack (of wolves ? cards ?). They waited for orders from their commander - Mr. Commander.
The enemy knew that they were coming; no one for miles around could have missed ( hearing) all the racket they had been making. Right about now,( now ? ) Soldiers were running about, grabbing weapons or (possibly) just climbing out of their bunks.
No one really knew WHY either side was fighting. It was probably something along the lines of the world military government not giving up their wartime governing powers or something like that. I really don’t think anyone actually KNEW, should you ask them. They just liked to fight over stupid things for stupid reasons. Whatever. Who cares.
It seems all humans were that way. Maybe. A bit glib, perhaps ..)
He had killed millions, and once won a battle single-handedly, outnumbered 300(three hundred) to one. They said that he ate bullets for breakfast, nails for lunch, and bad, bad Chuck Norris jokes for dinner. There was no stopping him once he started fighting. It was almost as if he had some sort of "health bar" ?? they didn't, because it seemed that he could take dozens of bullets without dying, then simply duck behind a piece of scenery... heh heh.. this description of super-Bob goes on a bit long. ' He had killed millions' gets it across heheh.
As the other team got ready for their assault, Bob was already ready for action. He looked around, as if searching for something, like a voice in the room ? that didn't have a person to match it. And it was talking about him, describing his every movement, condemning him, making fun of him in a very narrator-ish tone... ?? ....this narrator jumping in..a part of Bobs psychosis ? is pretty tricky and it detracted from all the other wacky stuff already going on.
Harry Harrison did this kind of military humor very well, Bill the Galactic Hero in particular. Welcome to the swell forum. )