Anon and Monika play Generals in the Comfy Zone

Terribly autistic war story
The rain continued to fall slowly, bouncing from leaf to leaf, before falling upon your soaked hat. It was truly miserable here, this was the last time you let Anon pick a rain forest, much less the Pacific Northwest. It never ended, and it was always so chilly. The horse beneath you at least kept you warm and out of the mud. The poor bloody infantry behind you though…

4 months of a bloody campaign through these endless mountains has left your men weary, their fine emerald green coats darkened by the mud and rain. He always criticized you for having good fashion taste that it wouldn’t work in battle. He was right, of course, but his troops were blue like his eyes, so he’s also at fault for needless deaths of your soldiers. They got more and more realistic as time wore on, wonders of programming really. They all had long beards now.

“Oi Tsargent, canne we get some rest? Its past supper, and we gotta have a good meal.” Private Garfief said. Good lad, indescribable accent. “Alright, settle down everyone. That clearing ahead should do well. I want B Company on watch though, Anon’s Avengers have been spotted in the jungle out here. One of you lot get in a tree, use the climbing hooks, no one gives a shit about these tall red bastards. Rest of you, dig some fire holes and get the soup on.”

They obediently followed orders, awnings going up and ember boxes starting to breathe fire once more. Hopefully no one saw the smoke… You took off your thigh high boots and dumped the water that had been collecting, and dried your feet by one of the fires. Green frock was still wet, but undressing in front of the lads was still a bit too much for you, even if you knew that they couldn’t harm you like that.

You missed anon. He must still be marching across this shithole looking for you. Hope he didn’t have gangrene yet, though the Zone would heal him up pretty good. Timms, a sergeant (You were a Major, Major Monika but rank didn’t really matter when everyone knew you were in charge.) had come down with Tuberculosis, somehow. You had gotten it on a previous campaign, but from a peasant village that had attempted to rob you. Foolish bastards. This campaign, there was no infrastructure besides old mines and dirt roads that made Borneo look futuristic. “Oi Timms, it’ll get better.” “No it won’t, ma’am.”

“Well, righto then. Carry on, I’ll put you in for review for being a good solider and all that.” You weren’t going to write him up for anything. Communists don’t get medals. Birds weren’t singing now, but they hadn’t been all day. Only man would be foolish enough to move about today.

Suddenly, a naked man fell out of a tree, dying on impact, a hole in his chest where his lungs used to be.

“For Victory or Sovengard!” Goddamn it Anon, that reference was no longer cool. The tree line quickly became impenetrable with smoke and mist, a distant thunderstorm reflecting the skies above, quickly taking out your men. A man with a horned helmet he must have made in the field rushed out, and was slain by your sword. And another. Your men had begun to take up arms. Suddenly, there was screaming behind you, as Timms ran several men through, the ketchup on his chest now clear.  You shot the traitor out of turn, but the damage had been done. 200 men had been reduced to 150, then to 80 as they turned on one another. 80 men who were traitors, men who had gone for a piss and had come back identical in appearance, but not in heart.

Anon came in on his steed, “Now I am the Washington of Washington!” He proudly proclaimed.

“Are you proud of that… not pun?” you asked, hands on your hips.

“Yes.”

You just threw your sword down. There was no winning when he was like this. “How are you so good at Psy-ops? Is it because you are crazy?”

The man you loved smirked. “Of course! Now, when do I get the victory cuddles?”

“I suppose you earned it, let’s go home.” The world shifted around you, and the familiar wallpaper and fire of the zone reappeared, you had a few new trophies for the walls, some ceremonial daggers and Anon’s stupid Viking helmet. Could be worse though.

He wasn’t a bad cuddler.