The Not So Merry Widower

The alarm clock known as Schultz blared, "Everybody up!" Disgruntled men moaned in protest and hurled insults at the sergeant of the guard. Hogan heaved a hefty sigh before getting out of bed. He knew the day before really happened. He still had some bruises from the rain of canned meats. He hoped today would prove better.

The prisoners did not have much time to get ready for the morning roll call. The camp suffered battle scars from the unprovoked attacks. Klink wanted volunteers to effect repairs, drawing protests from the prisoner ranks. Hogan found it difficult to slip back into his usual character. He should be plotting acts of sabotage or helping escaping prisoners return to England.

After tiring of the droning from the Kommandant, Hogan finally cried, "What's the use? We can try fixing this but there will be another attack."

Klink sighed, "There are things happening beyond our control, my dear Colonel Hogan. We have been made aware of things that contradict our normal existence. We can try to ignore it and hope it leaves us be. The only reasonable expectation is to continue about our business. If it happens again, we will do the only logical thing we can."

Carter quipped, "Turn tail and run?" The comment elicited nervous laughs. Carter added, "I just don't get how we ended up in the middle of this mess."

Schultz offered, "Maybe there will not be any monkey business today."

Hogan shook his head, "We'll see. We'll just have to fix what we can and move forward. I need my Red Cross package. I'm almost out of smokes."

Newkirk chimed, "I volunteer to go into town to buy some!"

Amid the laughter, LeBeau cried, "I'll go with you! We can stop by the Hofbrau to quench our thirst."

Klink angrily saluted, "Dismissed!"

The men began their assorted work details repairing holes in roofs and other battle damage. Battle? No, hardly a battle at all, thought Hogan. Someone pissed on his reality. He did not care if it was someone else's fantasy. He just wanted to do what he did best: lead the finest embarkation center for escaping Allied prisoners of war, engage in acts of sabotage and espionage, and make the krauts look like fools during the entire process.

Whenever Kinchloe arrived with a piece of paper, Hogan knew it meant orders. He relished the thought of blowing up a munitions plant. Something about the look on Kinchloe's face demonstrated grim foreboding. Hogan warily accepted a small stack of papers.

Totally unbelievable.

What a sad, mean spirited story.

What a crock. Your entire premise is flawed. Your story is unbelievable, impossible, and totally unenjoyable regardless of the ending.

Stupid premise. Stupid, stupid premise. What a waste of cyberspace.

YOU ARE REWRITING HISTORY FOR THE SAKE OF A STUPID STORY PREMISE.

Dumb story.

STOP MAKING THINGS UP JUST FOR THE SAKE OF YOUR STORY.

Whats the matter? Can't take a constructive critical review? Your story sucks. Very unrealistic and mean spirited.

I sure hope this mean spirited story is done now.

No. Hated this. Could not see Robert knuckle under and let Hochstetter pull something like this. Stopping now.

Are you fucking kidding me? Stop writing this stupid story. No one likes you.

When will you stop pissing all over my fandom? Don't you fucking get it? You're not welcome here. Get out. I promise I will not review your work AND I'll make sure no one else does. Forget about the PBA's. No one's going to vote for a loser like you.

Quit kibitzing on conversations that have nothing to do with you. You still don't fucking get it. Everyone knows you're an asshole.

Why the fuck are you writing like you're Robert? Just the thought of an old man pretending to be a hot guy makes me sick. You suck. Do the world a favor and die already. Kibitz in Hell and see what Satan does to you.

You're still here? I told you to get the fuck out of MY fandom. Tow (sic) the line. You want reviews? I'm telling everyone to stay away. I'm going to win. Everybody loves me. Everybody hates you.

I can write my name in the snow too. You're just going to delete these. Get the message and get out. Go back to your teepee and die.

Hogan crumpled the papers and asked, "Who sent these? Where did these come from?"

Kinchloe shrugged, "Don't know. They're all signed guest. A few are from the United States but most are from Australia."

Hogan exclaimed, "Australia?"

Kinchloe shook his head, "Yes sir."

Hogan asked, "How do you know?"

Kinchloe replied, "Well, nothing that's germane to World War Two, so I'll have to jump the fourth wall and break the anachronism rules." He waited for a brief nod from Hogan and continued, "It's the ISP addresses. The messages are coming from two distinct ISP addresses. Baker is transcribing more as we speak."

Hogan folded his arms across his chest and said, "That's impossible. This is way above my paygrade. We're trying to get a job done and someone's interfering. Has anyone else seen these messages?"

"Impossible to tell," replied Kinchloe. "Some kind of a site glitch happened and guest reviews posted immediately instead of going through moderation. The author caught it several hours later. There are dozens more of these coming through."

Hogan began stroking his chin and said in thought, "Send this message."

Dear Drunken Guest Reviewer,

Your anonymous guest review is important to us! Please stay on the line. Your call is being transferred to our non-snarky call center agent. Due to the high number of requests for this very special imaginary being, your estimated wait time is…until the Apocalypse. When you hear the clippity clops of the steeds belonging to the Four Horsemen, we will return your call.

Kinchloe laughed, "You get officer's pay for coming up with that? Damn! Sign me up for West Point. I'll come out a general!" Sobering his tone, he added, "When you obtain the rights to the show, then you can dictate to others what they can or cannot write. Until then, shove off."

"For them, it's a television show," said Hogan. "This is real for us."

Kinchloe asked, "Do you really think a drunk is leaving those reviews?"

"Hardly," scoffed Hogan. "Alright, thinking cap is on. Let's do this. Get the gang. I want some clever rebuttals."

Kinchloe sardonically said, "Yeah, right. How are you going to leave a rebuttal for a guest review?"

Hogan replied, "Easy. The author just thought about all of the profile hits coming in from Australia. Whoever is doing this is reading the profile. Got any better ideas, General Kinchmeyer?"

The camp needed repairs yet Hogan needed the laws of time and physics restored to natural balance. His reality was crushing all around him as real world persons fought for possession of his mind, body, and soul. He belonged to no one person – not even his original creator. Yet many needed him. He understood his responsibilities.

The not-so-subtle assemblage of the cadre returned to Barracks 2 and sat at the table in the common room. Hogan felt a headache. World War 2 would just have to wait. The spam attack targeted all fandoms. The flames targeted specific authors in personalized attacks. No generic bot launched the recent attack.

Hogan did not object to the Papa Bear Awards intruding on his reality. In many ways, the annual competition complimented the Unsung Heroes. He despised the glomping, a growing problem in general. It reminded him of 2009, something he had not thought about in a long time. Some fans rallied for a return to the core canon while others shopped for Versace wedding dresses in hopes of marrying him. One flame hit his very essence, left by a name but not logged in from an account.

It is not cute, it is not funny, it is mean spirited and just another way for you to take pot shots at writers whose work you don't "approve" of. Really, are you that fabulous yourself? And how many reviews have you written where you slam the writers saying if they can't do it right, don't post it. It strikes me as a little hypocritical when you attempt to excuse your own shortcomings, the very same ones you have attacked other writers for. How about a new philosophy of live and let live, or in this case write and let write.

Carter broke the awkward silence and asked, "Sir, what's going on?"

Hogan replied, "Men, we have a new problem. We're about to be overrun."

Newkirk asked, "More of those bombs?"

"Different ones," replied Hogan. "The attacks concerning See You have stopped. There's a different kind of attack coming our way. Be on guard for glompers."

LeBeau shrugged, "Well, if they're pretty, it might be kind of fun." The unexpected emergence of laughter permeated the barracks. Men looked around the room.

Kinchloe said, "I thought the canned laugh track broke years ago."

Hogan responded, "We're stuck in a story that can't end well. We're stuck in a fight that's pitting fans against fans. We've been dealing with a situation that, on the outside, appears civilized, but on the inside reveals treachery."

Kinchloe said, "We've seen this before. The fandom has about eighty-seven percent women who are reading and/or writing fan fiction. Some of them have been writing for years."

"Yeah," said Carter. "I like girls. They're not so bad."

Newkirk pulled off his hat, swatted Carter on the head, and snapped, "Don't be daft. I swear, Andrew, next time Crittendon arrives, I'll send you home with him to plant geraniums on the airfield."

Hogan sighed, "He's right, men. The catfight has begun, only this one isn't out in the open."

LeBeau cautiously said, "But we know what they're saying in the forums."

Hogan said, "There's a heated exchange going on in the private messaging system. We've got wind of some of it. Just as important, flame guest reviewers are suffering a mental breakdown of some kind. Valentine's Day saw sixty three flames."

"Someone doesn't have a life," grumbled Newkirk.

Carter asked, "What can we do? I want to blow up bridges. That's not happening."

"We're going to counterattack," replied Hogan. "Damn the fourth wall. The F bombs are the least of our worries. If they want to leave flaming guest reviews, let them. Understand this, men: if they truly stood by their convictions, they would leave those reviews signed in from their accounts so people can see who they really are."

Newkirk asked, "What's that, governor?"

Hogan replied, "A bunch of women running around like clucking hens while a small handful try to monopolize the grain in the yard."

"The grain is for everyone," said Kinchloe.

"That's been said," commented Hogan. "There are small clusters forming of those not allowed to partake of the grain. Over there are the homosexuals. They're forced to wear the pink triangles in shame. In that corner are a few men. Carter, behind you is an old man. Over there is another bunch being ordered out of the fandom because they don't write the lighthearted stories and they've managed to piss off the handful trying to monopolize the fandom."

Kinchloe said, "That's harsh, sir."

"I have a few rebuttals," said Hogan. "Let the guest flames come. Kinch, you said that the ISP addresses give away the reviewers."

Kinchloe sighed, "Yes, but it tells us where they're coming from. We don't know who."

Newkirk said, "No one's coming to help us. They're afraid they'll be banned from the PBA and the forums if the truth comes out they don't like the Gestapo trying to take over the fandom."

LeBeau said, "The Gestapo rounds up innocents and stick them in concentration camps."

"This is why we have to do something," said Hogan.

First they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out – because I was not a socialist.
Then they came for the trade unionists, and I did not speak out – because I was not a trade unionist.
Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out – because I was not a Jew.
Then they came for me – and there was no one left to speak for me.
-Pastor Martin Niemoller

Carter glared and angrily retorted, "Let's snark the bastards."

Hogan began handing out blank sheets of paper and said, "These may not end up anywhere. These may end up in PM exchanges. Men, give me your most juvenile ideas. Let them come after me. That way, they'll stop bothering the ones being shamed for daring to write something out of the box. Let me be the first one sent to Auschwitz."

Watching the men write, Hogan understood the stakes. He was a leader, not some plaything for Mary Sue. He did what he had to do. War was hell. He enjoyed the few moments of comedy. He preferred clarity, yet his mind was clouded. He could not stand by idle while minorities suffered from the delusions of a few. He did not notice the elephant in the room until this particular moment.

The men began sharing their ideas and Hogan felt a growing frustration. He was not the type of man to resort to the same tactics. The flamer delivered messages just for him. Hogan could do the same in retaliation, knowing that ISP addresses betrayed the so-called guest who was a regular.

Thank you for contacting I Don't Give A Damn. If you know the extension of the person you would like to reach, you may dial it at any time. To leave a death threat, press one. For general discouraging reviews, press two. Just to be an asshole, press three.

Your call is not important to us. Please stay on the line so you're unable to bother anyone else.

All of our agents are currently busy thanking genuine reviewers. Please hold and we will answer your anonymous review – never!

We are currently experiencing high guest review volume. Please leave a message with your user name and account profile link. We will return your review as soon as possible.

You have reached the Gestapo Speech Therapy Unit. We have ways of making you talk. Please leave your message after the sound of a prisoner screaming. You will leave your message NOW!

Thank you for calling Luftstalag 13, where there has never been a successful escape! We can't come to the phone right now. Sorry we missed your call. If you're a telemarketer, then we're not sorry.

Hello and welcome to the Mental Health Hotline. If you are obsessive compulsive, press one repeatedly. If you are codependent, ask someone to press two for you. If you have multiple personalities, press three, four, five, and six. If you are delusional, press seven and your call will be transferred to the mother ship. If you are a pathological liar, press eight. If you are schizophrenic, listen carefully and a small voice will tell you what number to press. If you are depressed, it doesn't matter what number you press, no one will answer. If you have low self-esteem, hang up, all of our operators are too busy to talk to you. If you are Gestapo, use the Wellington Cipher to spell out your name using the keypad. If you are Hitler, don't press any buttons, you'll just mess it up. Thank you for using our automated service.

Garlotti arrived carrying a small stack of papers and said, "Baker's keeping up with it but needs a break."

Hogan took the papers, nodded to Kinchloe, and sighed. He appreciated that his communications expert demonstrated the finest ideals as a non-commissioned officer. Good sergeants took care of their men. Officers underestimated the backbone of the army. He tried his best to look after his men, yet he was the one who understood the burdens of command. Any mission could go wrong.

As he read the papers, Hogan felt an eerie presence hovering behind him. He turned around and saw a Toydarian, a misplaced character from another fandom. He wondered what mischief the author caused resulting in another displacement. Hogan did not mind crossovers when they made sense and both fandoms complimented each other, but some outlandish mixes reeked of simple wish fulfillment.

The avian creature started fluttering around the room, causing the smell of sweet spice to waft. The glare from its eyes suggested tightfistedness combined with irritation. When it spoke, the voice sounded male yet grating to the ears.

"You boys are no match against the Sith," said the Toydarian.

LeBeau looked at Hogan and said, "He might go well with a delicate foie gras, Armagnac, and fruit stuffing."

Olsen snapped, "Don't piss off the Star Wars' fans."

Hogan said, "I could do it right now – out the ones behind these attacks."

Newkirk said, "Governor, you can't be serious. If you mention them by name, the birds will go nutters."

"Newkirk, they already are going nutters, as you so eloquently put it," snapped Hogan. "First, it was Old Major. When he passed, Napoleon and Snowball took charge. Napoleon chased off Snowball, and then perverted Animalism completely. Will we let the same thing happen here?"

The Toydarian pulled out a die from his pocket, a curious thing with three sides colored red and three sides colored blue. He noticed the interested looks of the men in the room. He chose his words carefully, "Let fate decide. I just happen to have a chance cube here. Blue – hold onto that information. Red – tell them."

While normally up for a good bet, Newkirk could not let that die land on red. He watched the die cast and concentrated with all of his inner strength. It must be blue – for now. The die began tumbling across the crude table. Newkirk realized the die was loaded, defying fate as the decider and allowing a conman to sway the outcome. He needed it on blue. The die slowed and finally stopped.