DOIN' THE VIETNAM RAG Seq to Heart of Darkness, a watchmen fanfic. DOIN' THE VIETNAM RAG (Sequel to .
It's not so bad as it was the last time. My kid's a grown woman, an' I know she's got the Doc to look after her. All your kids are grown up, too, with kids of their own, if that's what they wanted. I just gotta ask you ta to this one favour for me, alright?
The Comedian's badge as it appears at the start of the graphic novel. The Comedian's badge, with its yellow smiley face and blood spatter, is one of the most iconic and recognizable images from the Watchmen comic. Watchmen is a twelve-issue comic book limited series created by Alan Moore. Richard Nixon to intervene in the Vietnam War, leading to an unqualified victory for the U.S.
I mean, I never asked you for shit in most of my fuckin' life when you was around, and I never asked youse for a goddamn thing after ya died. But, an' maybe I should be inna church prayin' ta God, but I don't think there's angels for this job. I wantcha ta look after the kid for me. Till me an' Nick can get her safe an' sound in uniform. I know that sounds fuckin' crazy, but I'm tellin' you. Pop, she's better off in that jungle with me than this one without me.
Find great deals on eBay for The Watchmen the watchmen graphic novel. Shop with confidence. French foreign legion indochina Watchmen: Midnight is a fan edit that attempts to reshape the film Watchmen (2009) to more closely resemble the narrative structure, characterizations, and spirit of the original comic book series by Alan Moore and Dave. Watchmen link roundup. Watchmen Vietnam military patch.
I dunno what the fuck's gonna become of her, with me gone. An' if there's any mean, evil, no good- dirty two tone motherfucker of a sunnuvabitch who can do it, it's you, Pop. I gotta get goin', now. If the gooks get me, which I seriously fuckin' doubt, I'll be seein' youse real soon.
Cool Stuff: Watchmen Cast and Crew Army Patch. The faux army patch pictured above was passed out to the cast and crew of Zack Snyder’s Watchmen. COMEDY, TRAGEDY, VIETNAM.
Stoke those kettles for me, Pop. Someday, we'll be burnin' the no good sonsabitches together, you'n me.
Especially after the whole Korea thing turned out the way it did. As a citizen and a student of history, I wasn't buying the Domino Theory, I knew what it was about. It was all a big land grab; we wanted to beat the Russians to the punch everywhere we could, and get in there to all the former colonies and suck up as much cheap labour and resources as we could, and the Russians and the Chinese, they had the same idea. All that shit about Communism and Democracy, it was a red herring. Not to mention good old fashioned nationalism, and all that other USA All the Way jingoistic horse shit. Hey, don't get me wrong, I love my country.
I've almost died for it enough fucking times. But, when it starts sending people over to die in jungle hell so that we can beat our chests, beat the Russians to the punch, and strut around the international scene, as a good American, I gotta exercise my right to free speech and free expression and ask: Hey, Uncle Sam? What the fuck? Now, I'm a big girl, and like I said, I work for the G, so I know how the world works. The only thing that pissed me off about it was that we had to have a war over it, where lots of Americans were getting killed and wounded for nothing. And you know what?
It's a free country, so if you don't like something, you're allowed to say so, and I said so, publicly, and whenever I could. That led to some big fights between me and Eddie, but even he had to admit it was a free country and I could think what I wanted to. He just thought I should think it to myself. The funny thing is, it wasn't like I was a dove and Eddie was a hawk. He never said so, but Eddie's not an idiot, so I figure he thought the same thing about Vietnam as I did. The difference is, the way Eddie saw it, if he could get in there to do the voodoo that he does so well, then we could get this shit wrapped up in a year, two years, tops, have a nice victory to erase the sour memory of stalemate in Korea, and save American lives by bringing a swift end to the conflict.
Not to mention the beating the Russians, beating our chests, and looking good on the international scene. Eddie also pointed out to me that it was all very well and good for me to have a bullshit opinion about Vietnam, because I had no real stake in it and it was all abstract to me. As a woman, I wasn't getting drafted and, as of yet, none of my close friends were over there. Yeah. Until they were.
Paulie was in college, Skinny had lost his hearing in one ear on a construction site a few years back, so he was 4- F, and that was the year Sophie sent Benny off to do a tour with the Israeli army. But, now it's real personal. Four of my best friends in the world and Eddie are going off to fight this dirty fucking war, and what am I supposed to do?
Now if I was your average cream puff broad, I wouldn't have had a choice, no matter how I felt about 'Nam, as a concept. But, me being me, I wasn't about to sit home safe on my ponderous ivory tower academic ass while Eddie and Pat and Joe Mac and Frankie were in danger of getting their asses blown off in jungle hell. My place was right beside them, come hell or high water, no matter what I thought about American foreign policy, or 'Nam. So I took Eddie's advice and I started training.
I was doing my grad work with Jon, but it wasn't like regular school, so when I wasn't at the lab, I wasn't busy. I quit boozing, you fucking bet I did.
I quit cold fucking turkey. And I laid off screwing, even jacking off. You know what? It sure wasn't the booze I missed the most. I used the edge I got from it to pound myself into shape. I got up every morning at five and I did one hundred one handed push ups, and ran at least two miles, with my knapsack on. Rain or shine. I hit the shooting range twice a day, and I went to the gym down the street from Trivelino Mac's and sparred with every tough guy I could find.
I quit taking nights off and started doing hard jobs, crazy jobs, suicidal jobs, and I pretty much lived on red meat and hard knocks for the next two months, until I was meaner and harder and tougher than even I could have ever imagined I could be. Then, I went to see Director Fury, to tell him I was ready to go. He took one look at me, and I was off to the races. And its 1- 2- 3, what are we fightin' for? Don't ask me, I don't give a damn. Next stop is Vietnam!
And it's 5- 6- 7, open up those pearly gates! Ain't no time to wonder why. Yippeee! We're all gonna die. An Undisclosed US Miltary Compound, Bolivia, December 1. I: Victor The biggest problem with Major Creed's job was that it was shit. Oh, Uncle Sam had promised him the sun, the moon, the stars, and that promotion to Colonel that he had deserved since about 1. Vietnam shindig. At first blush, being the CO of a top secret black ops boot camp seemed like a pretty good gig.
That was until he realised that he was going to be stuck in a Third World toilet, on a shit base with a lot of shit recruits who thought they were real hard- asses, but usually turned out not to be worth a shit. Not to mention he was in the middle of the fucking Amazon and there wasn't a broad for hundreds of miles that didn't have a bone in her nose, and on the rare occasions his facility was empty and he could get back to civilisation, these little shit towns didn't have a whole lot in the way of local talent. It was a shit job, and they offered it to Jimmy, first, but he decided to go into the field with the Sarge, and Victor laughed at him. Who's laughing now? Jimmy and Eddie, that's who. Laughing at him. The whole thing put Sabretooth in an incredibly black mood, which he was glad to take out on his recruits.
That, after all, was his job. Drill Sargeant From Hell.
In the six months he'd been at it, among the recruits, he had twenty deaths, a hundred physical breakdowns, about as many mental breakdowns, five hundred failures and a grand total of ten dogfaces who passed the program. Or grunts, whichever you called them, they were all fucked, and so was he.
After the last batch, Major Creed had spent two weeks in some God- forsaken town concentrating on getting drunk enough to screw these ugly little chicks that seemed to grow out of the ground in this filthy fucking jungle. It made him wonder if maybe the pure Indian broads with bones through their noses living in the fucking trees might have been a better bet. Major Creed returned to the base convinced that the new batch of fifty recruits for the next 1.
There were two familiar faces in the crowd. One with a short scar on the cheek, the other with a long grooved scar down the jawline to the chin. Lance Corporal Frank Marcano, late of the National Guard, and Corporal Trivelino J. Napier, whose rank was based on her position as a high level agent with S. H. I. E. L. D. Covert.
The Sarge's crazy mutie nephew looked shipshape, but Corporal Napier's fatigue shirt was half- undone and spattered with blood, and her right eye was rapidly swelling shut.! I had a disagreement with one of my fellow recuits, Major Creed, SIR!?
The fucking infirmary? MAYBE THAT SHIT FLIES IN CIVILIAN LIFE, BUT IT DOESN'T FUCKIN' STICK IN THIS MAN'S ARMY! AND YOU BETTER GET USED TO BEING TREATED LIKE A MAN, BECAUSE THERE'S NO SPECIAL FAVORS HERE! DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME, DOGFACE?! Permission to speak, Major Creed, SIR?!
Private First Class Clark started the fight and threw the first punch, SIR! Corporal Napier was only defending herself, SIR!? And who are you, grunt? I'm Lance Corporal Dougal Mac.
Leod, SIR!? Mac. Leod's telling the truth, SIR! Some reason Clark hit you and you're standing here, and you hit him and he's in the Infirmary, Corporal Napier? What I got here is a bunch of piece of shit dogfaces who don't even have any respect for the chain of command! I've got a private who thinks he can smack a corporal around! And I've only got two grunts who are man enough to stand up and make sure the corporal doesn't take the blame for it! I've got Uncle Sam sending me broads, now, and she's tougher than the rest of you! What the hell is this fucking army coming to!
All of you, on the ground and give me one hundred push- ups! And if I see two hands on the cement, you can make that two hundred, ladies!
Napier was one. She was both a born leader and a born killer, with a mind like a steel trap. She was cunning, brutal, ruthless and quick, and if there was such a thing as a feral human, she was it. The Sarge was grooming her to be at his right hand in wartime just like in peacetime and Major Creed could see why. But.. If anything happened to her under his watch, Sabretooth knew that the Comedian would hold him personally responsible. Which wouldn't be good.
He'd had a fight with the Sarge in the last war over something a lot more minor that resulted in him almost losing an arm. Among other things.