Reader: The title is stupid.

Me: I know. I wanted something else, but 'It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like a Nazi Invasion' was too long of a chapter title.

Reader: Is there a Nazi invasion?

Me: Kinda.

Reader: I honestly couldn't care less. Now bring on the stupidity!

Somewhere near Poland, Christmas Eve, 1948

It wasn't supposed to be like this. This mission was supposed to be easy, four friends, going on a full-on Nazi killing spree. Finding Poland was the hard part. The actual fighting was supposed to be a cakewalk. But as Mr. Jane Doe faced his most fearsome opponent yet, the giant four-armed Nazi rising 300 feet up into the sky, he realized that this battle would be a difficult one.

"Stay close to me, Private Wilson!" he commanded to his companion, bringing him closer to him. His other two companions at war, Sergeant Pepper and Colonel Mustard were off on a battle of their own, trying to overpower a horde of Nazis still lurking in Poland.

There was nothing as intimidating as Polish Nazis. Nothing a fearsome as the marijuana smoking, at sea-level living, tulip picking, clog wearing, windmill building Polish Nazis. And the most intimidating one of them was waving his arms menacingly towards Doe. Doe took one look at the menace and turned to his companion. He took a deep breath before he spoke to Wilson, throwing away the thought that he would probably never see him again.

"Now listen here, private! You have already done me proud just by being here today! The mere fact you located Poland in this God forsaken place some people call Europe is astonishing! I say you lunge for the Nazi bastard first! Do me proud, private!"

He saluted Wilson, a single tear in his eye. His companion didn't even blink. Instead, he flew straight for the Nazi, wanting to take him down with one powerful strike. But, alas, one of the menace's hands struck him. It sent Wilson whooshing through the thick December air, and landing in the North Sea. Doe blinked heavily as he saw his companion floating away, unable to swim and unable to move. Doe cursed at the wretched abomination, still swinging its arms around. The brave American ran to aid his friend, drifting hopelessly further and further.

"Wilson!" he cried, but his comrade gave out no response.

"Wilson! Don't leave me! Wilson!" The American got down on all fours, slamming his fist against the cold, snowy ground. The snow accumulated between his fingers, and his fist was turning blue. He cried out for his friend, who was now completely gone. A small tear appeared in the American's eye.

"Wilson! I-I'm sorry Wilson! Don't desert me, God damn you! You're better than that, Wilson! Wilson!"

After calling for his companion, the brave American rose up to his feet, ignoring the swishing of the ocean and the soft voices coming from the local children, singing Christmas carols. It did not feel like Christmas that day. Losing a friend like that was unholy, but it wouldn't let Jane Doe give up on his goal to defeat that wretched Nazi scum of the Earth. Without thinking, he grabbed one grenade firmly in his hand. He could see the monster, not far away from him. He adjusted his helmet and grinded his teeth.

"Wilson didn't die in vain, you bastard! He died bravely, fighting like a man!" Jane Doe raised his arm up high, bringing the grenade up over his head. He ran towards the monster, not letting the confused looks coming from the unworthy civilians disturb him. A primal shriek echoed through the land, just before the brave Soldier pulled the pin, destroying everything in sight.

"This one is for you, Wilson!"

"That stunt of mine resulted in 14 civilian casualties and a bruised toe. It later turned out that I was actually attacking a windmill. I was too intoxicated to notice. Back then, all U.S. army men were drinking heavily, trying to keep their strength up. I…I still remember the bill for all the property damage we had done. I still keep it among my medals." The Soldier then turned to the Scout.

"Hear that, boy?" he asked, his mouth forming a self-righteous grin. The other mercenaries looked at him, their mouths agape.

"Zat 'appened in 1948, non? I'm quite sure that ze war was over by then." The Spy tilted his head to the side in confusion.

"Oi'm sorry, but that place you were descroibin' doesn't sound loike Poland, mate."

"And what the hell do you possibly know about Poland, you dirty hippie!?" Soldier snapped.

"As inaccurate as that story may be, ah find it kinda sad that you had to lose a buddy like that. On Christmas, even…" The Texan put his guitar down on the floor and sat properly on the windowsill. The Soldier shook his head while looking down at the dusty floorboards.

"I admit, it was tough. God bless old Willie, wherever he is!" he looked up into the sky, saluting the heavens. He wondered if it would make a difference if he had mentioned that Wilson was actually a volleyball with large drawn-on eyes that he found on the ground in Maine and took with him, hoping that it could lead him to Poland. Surprisingly, the volleyball had more sense of direction than Jane and all of his teammates combined.

"Okay, I admit it. Dat Christmas sucked more than mine," Scout said reluctantly, avoiding eye contact with the American. The Soldier looked at the Bostonian, his eyes wide open.

"What are you talking about, boy? It was amazing!" He stood up straight and began punching the air, emphasizing every word excitedly.

"The fighting! The drama! The property damage! The wonders of Poland at war!"

""Warte mal," the Medic interrupted the burly American; "You enjoyed fighting on Christmas back then? But you protest against fighting tomorrow?"

"That is different, Fritz! I don't like being forced to fight! It is supposed to come naturally! Like breathing, or shouting, or beating up hippies, or…."

"Well if you enjoyed it, it don't count!" Scout stood up, sneering; "We're talking about crappy Christmases 'ere! If we were to tawk 'bout awesome Christmases, I woulda said a storeh a hundred times bettah den wat I ahready told!"

The group was staring at the Soldier again, reluctantly agreeing with the boy. The Soldier's tone was now slightly more mocking than before.

"Well, I'd hate to disappoint you, maggot, but I my life has been pretty much ideal. The fighting, the wars, the respect I got from my fellow soldiers… It was all because of my true valor and strong American grit. We had it tough, but we didn't complain! Hell, we loved every single moment of it! I remember this one time…" He stood up and brought his fist close to his chest, a noticeable gleam of pride appearing in his eye. He rambled on for about ten minutes. Sadly, the details of this story still remain unknown, as nobody even bothered to listen to it. The Soldier soon sat back down on his chair, concluding his riveting tale. The mercs couldn't have cared less about it.

"…and soon, the old puppy was no more. Luckily, Wilson saved the plutonium supply. And we were grateful for having him with us. Man, I loved that old gritty bastard. Well only last Christmas we had a gathering to celebrate the ten years after his death."

The Spy raised his index finger to speak.

"Wouldn't that be closer to twenty years, Soldier?"

The American stared at the Frenchman, blinking heavily while trying to solve a problem resembling high level math to him. After almost three minutes of this, the Spy slouched back and lit up a cigarette, hoping that the spicy savory scent would bring him out of this misery.

"Je suis entouré par des idiots," he muttered. The Soldier continued to ponder the time that has passed since Wilson's death for a while, before finally coming to a conclusion that it didn't matter and that the Spy was a stupid French fruitcake who just smokes all the time and does nothing productive. With that thought in mind, he continued his story.

"A man of such great courage deserved a great memorial. It was held at my roommate's castle, last year…"

Wherever the hell Merasmus' castle is, Christmas Eve, 1969
(I'm guessing Maine- editor Bill)

Merasmus the Magician's plan to take over Christmas as well as Halloween was foiled as he saw Jane Doe sitting in the dining room, holding up his rocket launcher. He was seated at the top of the rectangular hardwood dining table, a short, very frightened delivery boy by his side. The boy seemed to be shivering. The other chairs were empty, reserved for Jane's invited guests, presumably his old army pals. Merasmus grunted, covering his face with his long indigo robe and trying to sneak past the American. Jane Doe, however, spotted him just as the magician grasped the door knob, about to exit his estate.

"Where are you off to, skull-head?" asked Jane, eating a crispy rib the young delivery boy brought minutes ago. Merasmus regretted the fact that he didn't teleport to leave this wretched place. The grumpy magician casually looked over to the makeshift Christmas tree; a small, witling potted plant, planted in a can of tomato soup. A bullet cartridge was on top of it.

"If you must know, I'm off to invade all of humanity and take over Christmas once and for all. That way, I shall rule the Earth world come all three most famous holidays; Halloween, Christmas and St. Patrick's Day. That will show that pathetic Grinch who's boss!" He clenched his fist tightly, foaming at the mouth with fury.

"That's great, Mary."

"Do not call me Mary, mortal! I am the great Merasmus, the master of darkness and light, the ruler of life and death! And as soon as I turn that door knob, the world will rue ever doubting my striking skills at wizardry! I shall bring doom to them, arriving on a tide of blood!" he raised his bony arms up, victoriously.

"Whatever you say, Mary."

The magician frowned, folding his arms and bending over hopelessly. The proper cartoonish sound effect for this action would be similar to that of playing a short note on a tuba.

"Can… Can I go now?" asked the freckled delivery boy, glancing over some "Guns and Haircuts" magazines piled up on the table.

"You want your fifteen percent tip, don't you?" Jane looked down at him, discouragingly. The young boy bowed his head in shame.

"Y-y…yes, Sir."

"Then stop complaining and eat those ribs! That is an order!"

Merasmus raised an eyebrow as the young frightened boy picked up a rib and dipped it in mustard sauce, only to be yelled at by Jane.

"No, you useless maggot! That piece does not go well with that sauce!"

Merasmus then looked around the room, and saw something glued on the brick walls; many magazine articles and bits of string. Holiday décor, one might assume. The magician shook his head and pulled out a chair, a groan escaping his ancient throat.

"Will there be any other guests attending this pitiful gathering?"

"'course there will be! You just have to give them some time to get here. The party only started two hours ago!"

Merasmus looked back at the young delivery boy. 'Help me,' he mouthed to the magician. At that point, Merasmus felt overwhelmed with pity. He sat on the cheap wooden chair, grabbing a single thin rib.

"Alright, Jane," he said with a mix of irritation and boredom; "Pass the barbecue sauce."

"Well now it's a party!" Jane exclaimed enthusiastically, shooting his rocket launcher through the wall. Merasmus shook his head at the gaping hole, knowing that he would be the one to fix it.

"Merry Christmas, you unbearable mortal."

"Merry Christmas, Mary."

"Can…c-can I go now, Sir?"

"…and that's how the memorial went. Nobody ever hosted a better memorial for Wilson. Then again, nobody ever hosted a memorial for Wilson. Though it only lasted for fifteen minutes because old skull-head had to leave, and we ended up strangling the delivery boy for eating the last rib without asking, it was still the best Christmas I've ever had."

The proud American looked around the room, seeing his teammates exchange sorrowful glances. They all looked back at the Soldier.

"What?" he asked, feeling rather uncomfortable. At that point, the Pyro walked up to Jane Doe, squeezing him tightly. The Soldier responded by making a series of twitches and shoves, trying to pry the firebug away from him.

"Get off me you… you unearthly maggot!" Despite this, the firebug was secured tightly to him, occasionally letting out a small sigh.

"He's loike a kicked puppy, isn't he?" asked the Sniper, referring to Jane. The group nodded. Suddenly, the Scout looked up at the firebug, who was finally shaken off the burly American.

"Hey, Py! Wat was your worst Christmas?"

The Pyro looked around the base, before pointing at itself, timidly.

"Yeah. I kinda wanna know how your worst Christmas went."

The Spy snorted in the background.

"Are you kidding me?! Do I need to leesten to every seengle one of you talking about your pathetic, whiney, miserable-"

The Pyro pulled out a lighter and held it dangerously close to Spy's face, making him gulp. In the Pyro's mind, he was only offering him a piece of candy, hoping that the Spy would reconsider. However, the big, burning, orange candy seemed to frighten the Spook a little bit. The rest of the team snickered as the Frenchman mumbled.

"Z-Zhen again… I…I would be honored to…to…hear eet. Just-Just… p-p-put zat away from my expensive suit."

The Pyro flicked off the lighter and began talking as soon as a sigh of relief escaped the Frenchman.

"Hmm-khhm. Nhhm, thmms hhms hmm htmmry fhrmm wmmem Hmm whmms hmm hlmmlthmm khmmd. Hmm hmml bhmmgn hnm whmmtm Chmmristmms hmmvenmng…"

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Reader: Well, that sucked.

Me: How exactly?

Reader: Well, um... ugh... well... you... you wrote it!

Me: Really? Well then. I suppose you want to quit reading this now...

Reader: Indeed I do. After the Pyro. And then I'm done.

Me: Admit it, you love it.

Reader: Shut up.