The Cursed Crusade of Chapek-9
A Futurama Fan Fiction (one-shot)
Author's Note: For the Writers Anonymous POV Challenge; rules, guidelines & other entries can be found here: topic/2872/175744153/1/Game-Point-of-View-Challenge-Deadline-March-31-AND-Winner-of-the-Holiday-Flash-Challenge
I do not own Futurama, and this takes place in a current fan-fiction I'm writing about it. Much like the main story, it's inspired by the canon of the series, but features an alternative universe & timeline.
Specifically, this one-shot features a Private's (OC) thoughts in the hours before, leading up to, during and after The Battle of Chapek-9 (Future Through The Past, C35 to C37.)
A most sordid & grisly affair in what's already been a horrific personal & military life.
PRIVATE'S QUARTERS (0800 hours)…
Private's Log, star-date, er… whatever.
How the hell did I end up here?
A question we all ask ourselves regarding the threads of destiny & fate, and how we're just powerless pawns in their cosmic chess game. Like the laws of physics, we can't change them, we can't control them, and we've no choice but to just roll with them. Take it all for granted, while trying to carve & chisel our foundations, our futures, and our final legacies from the marble of life.
Oftentimes I dream of gathering my wife and two children together, over a cup of hot cocoa, where I could regale my tales of heroism, heartache & chutzpah. All the skirmishes I've survived, every bloody battle I've been in, all the wounds of war I've won, and the many medals all merited unto me.
Perhaps most painfully, all the fellow fighters I couldn't befriend, for fear I'd lose them as fast as I've found them.
Then I wake up to reality, like clockwork, to that same worthless poster…
"You gotta do what you gotta do."
Supposedly a motivator, more like a mindless platitude. Over and over again, somehow I've survived such stupid wars, found myself robbed of more medals (for some moronic reason), and working for the dumbest Gods-damned dictator, emphasis first syllable, I've known since I started working.
Part of me called to be a soldier. I just didn't expect that I would be ringing DOOP's titanic spaceship, travelling those starry skies.
The slums of Brooklyn were never nice even on its best days. You either stepped up, stepped aside, or got stepped on, and to fight with a killer's mind was not only crucial to survival, it was required.
In the teenage years & beyond, had to feed the vicious circle of fights I frequently found myself in. Always bigger, better & badder predators out in that jungle, and you either kept up, or stayed down. Perhaps permanently, if you were unlucky.
Then there was coming home, where after the bills, you were lucky if you could afford food to eat. My second job to support my sisters, while Mama & Papa worked four jobs between them, was to hunt down discounts & coupons constantly. Kept entire books of them, treated 'em like gold.
A 5% discount for being in the military? Well, of course I'd join!
All of those and more growing up led me here. Not like I had enough problems, and certainly, to shoulder entire planets full of 'em wasn't what I had in mind… My biggest problem, though, has to be my commander, General Zapp Brannigan.
Even with no love lost for most of my old hometown, I've never held stronger hatred for anyone else than him. In fact most men I've talked to—old & new—share the same contempt. More medals than man, yet somehow has never seen a battlefield in his life.
Not often I see him, but the memories burn in my mind… In the showers, bulging belly over his bits. In the mess hall, drinking expensive wine & demanding seconds on limited rations. Addressing the troops, imposing another stupid command & reminding us all of his one true plan:
"When I'm in command, every mission is a suicide mission…" Ugh… those words again.
Never has a sentence made me want to wrap my fists 'round his throat, rent-free, for the rest of my natural life. Ensure that that smarmy smug bastard's vocal cords refuse to bark another order.
They trigger a deep rage within. Reminds me of how often he'll send us to our deaths, abusing us on foot and in grave, then expects our total loyalty over stupid causes & stupider strategies. You hear of people padding their numbers, but he's the worst I've known…
Only battles he ever won were against those who never wished to, or expected, a fight.
I always fought to overpower tyranny, not oppress the weak…
And were those other battles against foes even barely competent, if not well-armed? Not a hope in hell, for any of us on deck.
In particular, I still flashback on occasion to a real black mark on military honour & intelligence, and a genocide disguised as 'war casualties.'
Battle of the Octillian System… the final conflict between DOOP & unknown Killbots, at the turn of the 31st century. The battle that made that man a legend, merited him with a medal. Sure we saved the System from certain destruction, but the way we did it…
Can still smell the blood, organs & viscera of millions of my fellow comrades, all ordered to their deaths instead of shooting back. All in some 'cunning' plan to 'outsmart' them…
Still see them all shredded into Swiss cheese, sliced into Julienne carrots, blown apart to shreds… Not allowed to take cover and defend ourselves, with a contemptuous "You have your orders, men!"
Remember how bodies crawled to each other, victims of this worthless massacre, trying to assure them they'd be alright… Five seconds later, they're gone, sent off with the General's whine of "Stop dying, you cowards!"
The whole strategy the entire time? Have those robots reach their preset kill limit, allowing them to become friendly, THEN shoot them dead.
"They'd never see it coming!" His words exactly…
It's at that point my dear mother's words ring in my ears:
"Never argue with an idiot. They'll drag you down to their level, then beat you with experience."
Always a poet, my dear Ma, and a tougher woman I've hardly known. Don't know how she raised a rabid, riotous young man like me, together with my sisters, while holding two jobs, but she did anyway. That one day I got a letter from HQ… I cried all night, and nearly got myself court-martialled when the General scolded me for my 'woman-like' behaviour. That day, I wanted to throttle him in that smug fat jaw of his.
For all the friends I had lost. For the family he mocked me for missing. For the disgrace he posed to our Army. Guess that was the point where all the brewing contempt boiled over into hatred.
Well, breakfast time now. Better get to it before that pig gets his head lost in the trough…
AFTER BREAKFAST (1000 hours)…
Unbelievable! He was there, and already on helping number THREE, when I arrived! I see most men forced to survive on a child's rations, while that man-child in charge plonks down feast after feast on his plate! On top of that, bastard gets to enjoy full-cream milk, while we get the awful powdered crap.
Another stare of contempt at him, before offering my share to one of those men. I've survived hunger pains before, and if someone's gonna boost morale, may as well be me.
Back to my quarters, in hopes that I can fit in some exercises before the General does the daily check. Always tire myself out, just in case…
The General looks for any excuse to harass & lecture his men, never short of a disdainful remark or sneering piousness that twists my intestines something terrible. Any energy I work off is energy I don't utilise in my personal form of facial surgery. Specialising in dental work, in point of fact:
"Private! Mandatory room examination! Open up!"
With a "Yes, sir" I slide open my door and there he is; the most shameful sack of crap I've seen, with a belly like wet concrete. Especially given his feast; talk about a clear show of disrespect.
"Tsk-tsk-tsk, still haven't dusted your desk down Private, that's like the second time I've ordered you. And just look at this; bed unmade, poster crooked, clothes untidy… What's the meaning of this?"
Oh I'm sorry, I thought I was training to be a soldier, not housekeeping service…
"Sorry Sir, won't happen again Sir. Leave now and I'll get right on it, Sir."
"Oh no Private, I'm going to stand here to ensure that you get everything done… To my EXACT standards, is that understood?"
You gotta be kidding me, right? Not enough to steal my breakfast, now you must steal my time?
"Sir, won't the bridge be expecting you soon?"
"My ol' Nimbus, she's on auto-pilot to Chapek-9, for an event of heroic crowning. It'll be just fine. So, once you're done talking, how 'bout you get cleaning?"
Took me an hour, and trust me, I should've been done in five minutes tops. Whether at home or working job-to-job, I've cleaned more messes than even he has created, and these quarters don't exactly leave room for sloppy care.
Either he has impossible standards that even he can't meet, or he's just trying to piss me off. Bet good money on the latter.
But what has really got me concerned is that we're going to Chapek-9… Isn't that the Robot Planet, and don't they literally have murderous hatred for humans? I was ordered to remain silent while I scrubbed, sprayed and set my place right, so I couldn't shoot questions as to why the hell we'd bother.
No deliveries that I knew of, no matters of diplomatic concern, no situation of required assistance…
Just what was going on? I better leave a little space… Suspect this so-called crowning will be a culling instead…
ONWARD TO CHAPEK-9 (1400 hours)…
Turns out I'm not the only one thinking that we're heading into yet another massacre.
From peers among privates to confiding corporals, from stonehearted sergeants to diligent doctors, everyone I've talked to has that quivering dread in their voice. Whether they're scared for their lives or scrambling to prepare in saving them, you just got the impression that things were about to get dark.
These husbands, fathers & sons… How could one even begin to reassure them that everything would be all right?
Who was going to tell their widows & children that hubby wouldn't come home… that Daddy could never play with them anymore?
Sure couldn't count on Captain Charmless to do it. The man had killed too many of his own to even care anymore.
Aside from lunch, of which once again he had gorged while the soldiers starved to death, guess it's been pretty uneventful getting to Chapek-9. To be fair, even with the man in charge, no one dares take on the Nimbus. She was a true war machine, equipped with the deadliest weapons that taxpayer money could buy.
Retreating to my quarters, staring out of that porthole towards the cold seas of space, it's all I can think about. By virtue of the battles I've somehow survived, soldiers call me, with a jealous fondness, a veteran. But now I wonder whether this is truly it. Whether I've reached the absolute peak of a man's limits.
Whether my luck has finally run out…
SURPRISE & SLAUGHTER (1650 hours)…
Command room, having just arrived well outside the planet's boundaries. Hard to miss the Nimbus from most planets, and it didn't take Miss Cleo's head to sense the tension; robots going about their day, then they spot the grand grey shark of the skies, wondering if they're about to be invaded or otherwise intruded.
At least they were courteous enough to warn us about not proceeding, or else they'd open fire.
"Listen up men! On this day, you'll be fighting a most noble battle indeed. One of chivalry, compassion & courage! Your mission, like you have any choice, is to rescue my beloved Leela from the clutches of those deadly robots. Her female incompetence, as certain as struck in a DOOP court of law, has gotten herself in serious trouble, and it's up to us to help her. Any questions?"
"Yeah, I've got one!" a fellow private shouted. "If she made the choice to come here, why the hell is she worth dying for?"
"Don't ask me, you're the ones who are going to be dying." came the chilling, composed reply.
Oh Gods, this was the Octillian System all over again… I had to say something!
"Excuse me, General? If proven true that she came here by choice, then clearly, she's either safe or operating from a distance. Why disturb anything when we've heard no calls for help whatsoever?"
"Good question, Private. My answer? I wouldn't expect a lowly shit-kicking bootlicker to read a General's brilliant mind, so shut up! You'll do as you're told, and no more… Understood?"
So you obviously haven't any good reasons whatsoever, right General? Those deep rages, they're simmering again…
"Yes Sir, sorry Sir."
1655 hours, and after repeated warnings and shots fired, General Grievous ensured there was no going back… By landing right at the city's gates and declaring his stand, with some ape-like call as subtle as a score of sledgehammers.
"Oh Leela, my perky petite princess, I come by victory yodel to rescue you from this forsaken planet! Come with me so we may shutdown these robots, shut off our lights and sing Shut Up & Dance With Me."
Then, only minutes after, a thousand soldiers including myself were dropped in for a 'surprise' attack, sitting ducks for the robots with enough weapons for a miniature army.
Well, you talk about being screwed, there oughta be no argument against what just happened.
Scrambling to stand & straighten ourselves, all I can see is the time, 5:00pm, and the moment when bodies started getting smashed in. Ruthless, bloodless rippers, the lot of them, mauling with metal bats, maces, or themselves if they were lucky. And not like we can defend ourselves, since the dumbass gave us these worthless Positron weapons. Takes forever to charge, only good for one shot.
Those smells again… The blood, organs & viscera. Inside voice begs to scream out "Stop, stop, they're already dead!" but survival is all that matters now.
AFTERMATH (1800 hours)…
Even with the countless thousands of other men who were literally dropped in to replace the ones lost, I became quite the victim myself. Having grown comfortable with death, I just resigned to say my Aves and hope I'd meet Mom again. In perhaps an unbelievable boon of fortune, however, the hunt had finished before any truly serious damage could be done.
While I coughed up heaps of blood, was honestly no different to the numerous ass kickings I ate at the hands of Brooklyn's baddest brawlers, and I survived through plenty of those.
Fairly broken & busted up, sure, but no doubt much better off than those men, or what's left of them, that I see carted off by those bastards. Would later learn that we essentially became sacrificial lambs to ensure this 'Leela's' safety. Trophies for their first successful human hunt, in exchange for her life.
At least, that's what the General had us believe.
In truth, rumours were spreading along the bridge that because of Zapp's actions, she too had been caught in a hell of a crossfire, and was growing steamed with every passing minute.
In fact, she was personally paying the General a visit. He expected that it would be in a show of erotic gratitude—Dude, seriously?— complete with his signature 'cham-paggin', velour gown and worse.
I was up and fine within half an hour of admittance, and was busy fuming in my quarters when I got the order. Go to greet this 'Leela' and lead her to the Captain's bridge.
Oof, did I have a word or two for her… Was going to give her grief for this bullshit mission.
However, much of that anger and resentment dissolved quickly when I saw the green delivery ship—none other than Planet Express—dock into our bay, where a tall one-eyed female exited the craft.
Oh man… This was no delicate, docile creature, crying amidst the chaos. With her large ponytail, white tank top, stretch pants & large grey boots, and the fact that she'd been sweating somewhat, she looked like she got shit done rather than worry about sales at the mall.
Hell, call me crazy, but were they allowed under Zapp's command, she'd have been perfect for the Army.
"Evening ma'am, so captain's bridge?"
"Yes, I've got a word or two to swing by Zapp… If not at him."
My eyes raised at such a remark. As I escorted her through, had to wonder what was weaving through her mind. Any threats towards superior officers, no matter who from, were supposed to be reported immediately. Yet among everyone in the flight bay, none of us had the heart, or even the inkling, to care.
Little did I know how widespread such apathy would become…
AMAZING GRACE (1900 hours)…
For ages I called upon Lady Justice, and finally, she answered with fists against that fat fucker's face…
How sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me. She once was lost, but now she's found. Once blind, but now, she sees.
After about ten to fifteen minutes of conversation, of which I heard only snippets, I bared witness to the best beating a man had ever seen before. Even better that a woman, of which he adamantly insisted were weak, was giving it.
From the grunts & groans, she was doing quite the number on him. Luckily for me, I had front row seats as she shut him up with that perfect flying knee, laid those sizzling strikes into his sneezer, and just pummelled that silk-pantied pustule for what must've been a perfect eternity.
But by the Gods, the best sound had to have been, hands down, his ironically girly scream when her boot rammed him right underneath his bulging belly...
As he gripped with gagging & grief, I dared to sneak a peek at this General, and sure as I saw him, that lady proved he was just a pathetic piss-poor excuse of a man…
Not the God-given gift granted to us all, that he often painted himself to be.
That day, it felt like my mother miraculously came back to me, cancer-free and fit as a riveter.
As she walked away like a homicidal maniac, coated in his blood with a creepy smile crawling across her face, I knew that it was this day where she became a hero to us all.
One way or another, I was going to let her know of that fact.
Sure enough, she was being seen off with loud cheers, huge high-fives and hearty handshakes by the two dozen crew looking after the spacecraft. In a mad rush, I hailed her down, searching for the best words the whole way through.
"Excuse me Ma'am? Ma'am?"
"Well, guess I took a few dozen more swings than I promised, huh? So, here to arrest me?"
"Pfft, hardly! Matter of fact, I'd kiss you if you let me! Had nothing but seething contempt for him since I started as a soldier, and everything I wished to do to him, you've done for me and then some."
"Hey-hey, honestly, there was nothing to it… In fact, it was my absolute pleasure."
"Mine too, believe that. Listen lady, um, Leela wasn't it?"
"That's right, good guess."
"Just so we're clear, if I could marry a woman even halfway like you, I'd be the luckiest man in the world… Thank you, from deep down, and best wishes for your journey."
With a firm handshake from her, she was off, waving to everybody as she sailed for those stars. One day, collected with the other odysseys, I'll tell my children the story of this cyclopean Superwoman…
PRAYING (2100 hours)…
I am not by any means a religious man, but as my sleeping hour approaches, I've now found myself kneeling at bedside, wishing upon one star of the trillions that are out there.
One, as a way to give grace, give my thanks for somehow sparing me on those battlefields, yet again. Octillian System, Spheron-1, now Chapek-9… Somehow I kept escaping that icy cold chill of death.
And two, for the long-overdue karma that our lace-pantied leader deserved. To see that cowardly, awful excuse of a human being get his desserts, only an hour after, ironically by his 'princess'?
Truly, those two answered prayers alone might've been enough to convert me. Yet, had to be greedy, just a little more…
Third prayer? That I don't get nightmares stemming from the chaos & calamity of Chapek-9.
So many bodies… So many fathers & sons not coming home… So many good men slaughtered tonight.
Worse yet, just like with the Octillian System, there was nothing left of most of them to even pay tribute to. It'd be hell even to give those families closure, since some were smacked about so bad that they couldn't be identified.
And that was purposely forgetting that countless amounts of them were carted off past the gates, no doubt as trophies for these monsters.
Finally, my fourth prayer was that we got a better leader.
I know, one would think I'd have demanded it sooner in this diary entry of mine, but I had to be sure of the fact. But with casualties in the vicinity of, at minimum, one hundred thousand being thrown around, there was no better time to call for that man's head than now.
But sadly, no matter who I've prayed to in the past, they always answer at about the same fifty-percent rate. And with the first two catered for, guess I'll just have to accept what comes next.
In the meantime, I shall wish the stars farewell, and sleep with my father's favourite quote in mind:
A capite ad calcem, semper paratus.
For Democracy & Order (Gods forbid),
Sam 'Eyes of Tigers' Campbell
Private, 31st Battalion, DOOP Army.