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 Post subject: A Bizarre Occurrence
PostPosted: Mon Dec 12, 2011 7:00 pm 
Crucible King
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Location: In your basement, under the floor boards... O.O
This is just something totally bizarre I've concocted, and I won't be updating nearly as often as American King, but oh, heck, I can't help but write this! It's extremely whimsical, if not comedic, centered around a "History A-Team," or "The Magnificent ASB Seven," so I think you'll enjoy it. Again, this is lighthearted; don't read it if you don't like having fun. (ASB means something totally fantastical and improbable, usually for fun only and entertainment on where I first posted this) EDIT: I see some of the italics didn't transfer in the copy and paste. :/ Please forgive this. I'll eventually go over everything and post it in one lump thing.

A Bizarre Occurrence
Of the Alien Space Bat Variety

Edgar Allan Poe

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore —
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door —
Only this and nothing more."

Poe stared lazily at the poem he was working on. It was extremely late. I feel tired. I'll go to bed and finish this later. Poe dropped the quill he was using and crawled into bed.



Rap. Rap. Rap.

"What the devil? Who's there?" Poe shouted, raising his head from his pillow. He took out a flintlock pistol from his nightstand drawer and slowly approached the door. He held his breath, turned the knob, and felt cold air rush in. He nearly screamed when he saw the cloaked figure standing there. "Wha- What? Who are you? Speak, you barbarian! I did not hear you enter, and I keep all the doors boarded and locked! Speak, or I swear I'll kill you!"

The figure held his hand up in a gesture of peace... or was it annoyance? Poe couldn't tell. The figure pulled his hood down to reveal a bearded man in his mid-30's. As he entered the room, a suit of armor could be heard. The armor became fully visible when the stranger removed his cloak and slung it over his shoulder. It was a bizarre type which Poe thought looked ancient, yet modern, at the same time. "I am Marshal Galand the Ravenborne, of Her Majesty's Armed Forces, 9th Legion."

"What the? That's it, you crazed lunatic! Get out of my house this instant! I have a mind to shoot you where you are," Poe screamed, leveling the pistol at the man's head.

"Please, Mr. Poe, hear me out. For some reason, Her Majesty seems to think you are an excellent choice to help combat the Horde. Don't ask me why, as I have no clue. Very random, as if this alien, batty behavior was solely for amusement. In any case, Her Majesty Empress Lenore demands your presence at her castle in Brookburg. I suggest you come with me."

"Do you honestly think I'll agree to come to this magical faerieland you've concocted in your imbecile mind? You're mad. Your armor is impressive, and I have no idea where you procured it, and I don't want to know. Get out of here. Immediately. I'm not going with you to any fictional castle to do any thing. You'd probably expect me to believe this castle is down some alley, where you and your crazed opium-smoking fiendish cohorts will mug me and leave me in the gutter, a knife in my back. Out!"

"Oh, dear me, I had hoped it wouldn't come to this, Mister Poe. Her Majesty demands your presence, she does not request it. Now, you are coming with me."

"Am not!"

"Are, too, and stop waving that blasted thing in my face!" The Marshal drew a blade from his sheath and, at what seemed unbelievable speed, knocked the gun away.

Poe chuckled in an odd fashion and put his face in his hands. "I'm dreaming! You're nothing but a figment of my imagination. You see, I was writing a poem over there about someone tapping, gently rapping at my chamber door, and then I went to bed. Thus, you are entirely fictional. I must say, I will consider writing a story or poem about this. I shall have no difficulty remembering the details, I assure you; this is quite the most vivid dream I've ever had!"

Galand looked frustrated. And irritated. "You really aren't making this easy, are you Mr. Poe? You think this is a dream?" He suddenly punched Poe in the mouth.

Poe hit the floor like a bag of rocks, stunned. Galand was wearing a glove, so the punch had far more impact than it normally would've. Galand clicked his tongue and shook his head in mock sadness. "Dear me, why did you make me do that? Actually, I rather enjoyed it. Heh." He grabbed Poe and slung him over his shoulder. A mysterious-looking portal appeared in thin air, and Galand stepped back in.

And they were gone.


Napoleon Bonaparte sat in his tent in Northern Italy. The campaign against the enemies of the Republic was going as he had hoped. He had just held his force together at the Bridge of Arcole, waving the tricolor like Caesar waving an eagle standard. Bonaparte felt very satisfied with himself. He knew he had a bright future. He took comfort in this as he laid down on his cot, exhausted from the day's events. He placed his bicorne on the chair next to him and waited for sleep to come.

"Good afternoon, Monsieur Bonaparte."

"What? What are you doing in my tent? No one comes in my tent without my permission! And what in the name of Voltaire are you wearing? Are you some sort of cuirassier? I've never seen anything like that. Sacre bleu! You are an assassin!" Napoleon drew a blade from under his sash. "You won't get me, I swear on my father's grave. You won't deprive me of my destiny!"

"Your destiny now lies with me, my chattering friend. I am Marshal Galand the Ravenbourne, of Her Majesty Lenore's 9th Legion. 30 battles against the Horde, 19 horses shot out from under me, scores of men have laid defeated and dismembered at my feet. I am not afraid of you and your puny knife. Now, come. Empress Lenore demands your presence at her castle in Brookburg."

"Where the devil is Brookburg? You are insane. Guards! Guards!"

Galand reached out, grabbed Napoleon, and whisked him away through a portal.


Rittmeister Manfred Albrecht Freiherr von Richthofen piloted his Fokker Dr.I triplane over the trench-infested battlefield. He removed his goggles and used binoculars to scout out his surroundings. He saw a French biplane coming in fast, sighted on him. He sighed. He knew what the outcome would be. He would win. Manfred always won. No ifs, ands, or buts about it. He checked his machine gun and moved to engage.




Richthofen flew over the wreckage and put his goggles back on. He stuck a cigar into his mouth and made a dive at the Allied trench, buzzing them for the sheer thrill of it. He even waved at a general. He wouldn't target the vulnerable officer though; that wouldn't be cricket. It'd ruin his reputation as the Honorable Red Baron. That wouldn't do. No, instead, he headed back to the airfield, taking a few pot shots at Allied MG nests en route.

He landed his Fokker at the airfield, as usual, was greeted by his adoring "fans" of the mechanics crew, as usual, and went to his "barracks," as usual.

He settled down on his cushioned chair in front of his "barracks" fireplace with a hot cup of cocoa. He felt he had accomplished something today, so he was content with himself and felt he deserved the luxury beverage. He propped his jackbooted feet up on a footstool. He stared into the flames, his mind drifting till the only thing he was aware of was the taste of the drink. He was rudely awakened from his peace by a crashing dish behind him. "Mein himmel! That cost more than you make in a week, you bumbling... oaf? Who are you?" his shout ending a near whisper as he saw the armored man in front of him.

"This again, eh?"

"What do you mean, 'again?'"

"Nothing. Marshal Galand the Ravenbourne. I serve Empress Lenore. 9th Legion. Now, come with me."

"Wait a minute. What are you blaggling about? The Imperial army does not have legions, and the wife of our dear Kaiser is most definitely not named Lenore. However, I find this interesting. You're the first madman I've ever met. Let me guess, shellshock? Those mortars will do it to you. I had a friend who- Wha-"

Galand grabbed him and went through the portal.


Abraham Lincoln raised his axe, ready to strike. It descended.



Abe wiped the blood from his hands, lifted his axe, and moved on to his next victim, perspiration dripping into his eyes.

And he went to work, bark chips flying off the oak. It was tough work chopping down trees in 85 degree weather, and his hands were bleeding from splinters, but he kept on keeping on. He chopped for another few minutes and the tree fell. He wiped his forehead with a rag and decided to take a break. He hefted the axe over his shoulder and walked back to his cabin. He opened the door and stepped into his bedroom, where a knife, some small twigs, and a pile of wood shavings awaited him. His life had been rough, and he had recently taken up whittling as an escape. He cut notches onto the ends of some evenly-sized twigs and saw they fit together. As he was considering the possibility of a popular range of building toys, he heard something in the kitchen. He grabbed his long rifle and crept into the hall, heading toward the kitchen. He expected it was either a stray animal or a prowler. If it was a prowler, he'd be dead as soon as Abe got him in his sights. Abe peered into the kitchen. He couldn't see anyone.

"Looking for something, Abraham?" asked a cheerful voice behind him.

Abe immediately fired the gun in fright, producing a large hole in the ceiling. He whirled around, but the man was swift and ripped away his knife. The man wore armor and stared at young Lincoln with a grin on his face. "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Lincoln, I am Marshal Galand, of Her Majesty Lenore's 9th Legion. Come with me." Galand didn't waste any time and ducked through the portal, holding the shocked Lincoln by the collar.


Arthur Wellesley, 1st Duke of Wellington, took a sip of brandy. It was his habit before battles started. This was different. He was guzzling the stuff during the entire engagement. "Near run thing, isn't it, Uxbridge?"

"Aye, sir! 'Tis indeed. Bloodiest thing I ever saw, too. At least we have Picton to call up with the reserves, eh, sir?" Uxbridge spoke as he used his spyglass to survey the chaos at La Haye Sainte.

"Yes, but I hope our boys will hold, I do. Can't win if our boys in red at the front ranks falter, old bean. They're tough sons of biscuit-eaters, though, so I think we'll hold out long enough for von Blucher to arrive. At least... I hope." He raised his canteen to his mouth. Gone. "Uxbridge, I'm going to get another drink. Make sure Captain Charles and his cantankerous cannoneers don't shoot my head off on the way there."

"Aye, sir!" Uxbridge signaled for the infamous volunteer artillery to stop firing. They had no idea what they were doing. He'd ask Picton to bring up some of his artillerymen to replace them. Uxbridge adjusted his busby and galloped off to Captain Charles.

Wellesley urged his horse through a clump of trees. Suddenly, without warning, someone leaped out and pulled him off his horse. He thought he was about to die. Then he realized the man was wearing a bizarre suit of armor. A cannonball hit a tree nearby. Realizing they were in dire danger, Galand didn't say a word to Arthur, instead immediately escaping, half-drunk British duke in hand, through the portal.


Galand was busy crossing off names in his mental list. Poe, Bonaparte, Richthofen, Lincoln, Wellesley. Only a few more. He activated his time machine. Next were the last two, Franklin Roosevelt and Albert Einstein. Einstein would be fun, he thought.

After terrifying those two men half out of their wits, he returned with them.


Napoleon sat in a cell with a strange-looking fellow in some sort of dirty red brick dungeon Heaven only knows where. He stared the tall fellow down. He was much, much taller than he was. That irritated Napoleon.

The other man eyed him curiously. Finally, the man extended a hand. "I am Abraham Lincoln of Sangamon River, in Illinois."

Napoleon stared at the outstretched hand. He kept staring. "Uh, all right... I guess you don't know who I am. Napoleon Bonaparte of France and slayer of her enemies." He shook Abe's hand.

Abe gave him a bizarre expression. "Am I in Hell?"

"What? No, I went to Mass! I don't deserve this!"

"Um, relax, my friend, I highly doubt this here is Hell. There are no devils or fire or anything. In fact, it's quite comfortable in here, if I do say so myself. Maybe we're in Limbo, though I never really took t' believing in such things. I assume that Marshal Galand feller was the Angel of Death that I done read about in my Bible. This reminds me of a story, actually, this situation of ours does. It's about a man named Henry and his dawg, Cheyenne. Y' see, there was this real mean raccoon named Attila that used to bite up Henry's chickens like the dickens! I'm tellin' y', it would rip their heads off soon as look at 'em. Anyway, Henry, y' see, he was so plumb determined to kill that thing that he and Cheyenne, y' see, they got their gun. Well, actually, it was Henry's gun, 'course, hah! Because, of course, Cheyenne can't really own a gun, well, I guess she could, but what would she do with it 'cept gnaw on it? After all, Cheyenne's a dawg, and dawgs don't have, uh, opossumable thumbs. So, anyhow, it was Henry's gun."

Napoleon sucked back a stream of drool. "Point taken."

"Yeah," Abe continued, "So, anyhow, they got real angry, got the gun, and went out to hunt Attila (who bit the chickens heads off, y' see, he being the raccoon an' all, y' see). So, Henry gets to be obsessed with Attila, and starts to look right unhealthy, y' see, from not eatin' right. Now Cheyenne, now, she tells 'im he needs to stop bein' so darned obsessed over Atilla (he's the raccoon, if you remember right). Yeah, dawgs can't talk, but come on, this is a story. Anyways: Henry doesn't listen and continues to hunt Attila to avenge his chickens. Finally, Henry gets so weak he's crippled and bedridden. Cheyenne ends up getting drowned chasing Attila across a river. Finally, Henry's laying like a vegetable on his bed when Adams the Grizzly Bear done come in and teared him to pieces while he just layed there. Helpless. The end."

"That was the single best thing I've ever heard in my life," responded Napoleon after a solid twenty seconds of silence.

"Really? I'm rather fond of the story myself. I always like stories that have dawgs in 'em."

"No. Not really, you American bumpkin. Now, I demand to know why you assumed we are in Hell. I'm a good man who loves animals and old people and is a generally upstanding fellow, and if you question my character, I'll make you live to regret it."

"Why, you've been dead for nine years, Mister Bonaparte. You done died in 1821."

Napoleon stared at him once again. "You're... You're from 1830?!"

"Yessir, I am, born in 1809 in Kentucky, US of A."

"What did I die of?! Tell me!"

"Uh, ulcers and cancer an' such, though some say you was p'isened."

"This is nonsense! Where am I? Someone!"

Just then, the cell door opened and a dumpy-looking mustachioed man entered. "Ah, guten tag, mein friends! I am Albert Einstein, and I aim to vigure out vat has happened. I zaw ze Red Baron out zere in another cell, so I aschume anything's possible. Now, I vould tink you look like Napoleon Bonaparte, Emperor of France."

Napoleon bulged his eyes and gaped at what he just heard.

Einstein continued. "And, I can't quite be schure... Vait, visualizing a beard... Jawohl, you ist Abraham Lincoln, ja?"

"My name's Abe Lincoln, sure 'nuf, but I don't understand a hoot of what else you're jabberin' 'bout, furriner."

Einstein laughed. "Vell, mein friends, I tink ve can exschpect company zoon. Ah, here comes anozer von."

In came a man pushing himself along on a wheelchair, though Lincoln and Bonaparte were completely puzzled and clueless it was a wheelchair.

"Afternoon, gentlemen, I am Franklin Delano Roosevelt, President of the United States."

Lincoln looked on in awe. "President! Oh, sir, this is an honor! But... what year is it?"

"1939, of course. How could you not know that? Why, the Nazis have just invaded Poland. This is a monumental year, my boy, what year did you think it was?"

"1830!" exclaimed Abe in his loud voice.

"1796!" Napoleon declared vehemently, shaking his fist at the air in frustration.

"1921!" shouted Einstein. "Okeey, I tink ve have a prublem."

Three new prisoners entered the cell as he was talking. Poe. Wellington. The Red Baron.

"Oh, you have no idea, old bean... er, whoever you are. I am having a crackerjack of a good time with this chap, who seems to be completely insane," Wellington thumbed Manfred. "This Prussian 'nobleman' thinks he can fly! Haha! Can you believe it? He thinks he can fly! What's more, he claims he's from a hundred years in the future! 1917!" Wellington put his arm around Einstein like he was an old drinking buddy and made a sweeping panoramic motion with his hand when he said "a hundred years." "Have you heard anything more outrageous in your life?"

Napoleon put his palm over his face and answered, "Oui, and it involves a man named Henri and his 'dawg.'''

Einstein looked around at the others. "Okeey, I now tink ve have a big prublem."

(envision Lincoln sounding like Foghorn Leghorn and you'll be fine |D )

Characters as they appeared before their Abduction from their Real History:

1796: Napoleon Bonaparte (Age: 27)
The Self-Appointed Leader of the Abductees

1845: Edgar Allan Poe (Age: 36)
The Loner

1939: Franklin Roosevelt (Age: 57)
The Cautious One

1815: Arthur Wellesley, 1st Duke of Wellington (Age: 46)
The Hothead with a Taste for Liquor

1921: Albert Einstein (Age: 42)
The Brains

1917: Rittmeister Manfred Albrecht Freiherr von Richthofen (Age: 25)
The Ace

1830: Abraham Lincoln (Age: 21)
The Young Gun

I have 2 more chapters done. I'll put them up in a while.

LEGO Builder, Writer, Video-Gamer, Greaser, History Professor, Swordsman, and Military Collector. I am the Most Interesting Man in the World. :p

Last edited by Napoleon on Mon Dec 12, 2011 11:25 pm, edited 2 times in total.

 Post subject: Re: A Bizarre Occurrence
PostPosted: Mon Dec 12, 2011 7:27 pm 
Grind Guru
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Interesting read. I just have one concern/question. You wrote: "Galand was wearing a glove, so the punch had far more impact than it normally would've." What sort of glove are we talking about that would cause this?

Quae nocent, docent

 Post subject: Re: A Bizarre Occurrence
PostPosted: Mon Dec 12, 2011 7:41 pm 
Hammer Ace
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I'm guessing you're not a big fan of Abe Lincoln. I really liked the Poe part, and it's now obvious where he got inspiration for "The Raven" from.

"Do not call up that which you cannot put down." H.P. Lovecraft

 Post subject: Re: A Bizarre Occurrence
PostPosted: Mon Dec 12, 2011 10:36 pm 
Crucible King
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Location: In your basement, under the floor boards... O.O
Machetero wrote:
Interesting read. I just have one concern/question. You wrote: "Galand was wearing a glove, so the punch had far more impact than it normally would've." What sort of glove are we talking about that would cause this?

Thanks! Hmmm... I should have said an armored glove. :3

macleodman2 wrote:
I'm guessing you're not a big fan of Abe Lincoln. I really liked the Poe part, and it's now obvious where he got inspiration for "The Raven" from.

Actually, I like Lincoln. He's not my very favorite; perhaps top 6 (he loved America, that's for sure). This is just a totally irreverent farce using historical characters in bizarre situations. ;9 I mean, Napoleon sure isn't portrayed in the best light, either, and he's my hero. I'm using stereotypes. I also like Wellington, but I portray him as a drunkard. |D

Oh, and if you like Poe, there'll be lots of him coming up:

Chapter 1

"Well, fellers, did Marshal Galand bring you all here?" asked Lincoln.

Everyone raised their hands.

Napoleon stood up and raised his index finger and pointed at the others in a commanding fashion. "Now.. look here. Who put you in this cell? Galand?"

Everyone once again raised their hands.

"All right," the Corsican continued, "All right. Then, logically, there's no one to watch us in here. I say we break the door down! There's seven of us, I mean come on, how hard can it be?"

The others looked at each other, thinking about the suggestion, and nodded in agreement.

"Okay," said Napoleon, rubbing his hands together, "On my mark. 1! 2! 3!"

The other men grabbed FDR by the wheelchair handles and used him as a battering ram, rushing him toward the sturdy cell door. "But I don't want to use my wheelchair!"


"We're free!" exclaimed Wellington. "And it was all do to my great thinking."

Bonaparte grabbed him by the collar of his red coat and said, an inch from his face, "What do you mean? It was my idea to break down the door, Lord Lobsterback!"

"Ah, mate, but I was the one who rammed that ol' geezer righ' into the door, it was, Frenchified Frog" explained Wellington in his thick cockney accent.

"Can't argue with that logic," commented FDR, helping Lincoln try to bend his wheelchair back.

"Quite, y' geezer! This is between me an' Boney here!" Arthur pointed at him like a parent telling its child to shut up. He turned back to Napoleon. "We gotta ha'e a leader to get out o' here, and sure by devil isn't going to be you, my good chap."

"I can get us out of here," said Einstein quietly.

The other men looked at each other, slowly nodding.

Napoleon gave in. "Oui, he seems smart, so I'll make decisions jointly with him."

"I'm good with that," said FDR.

"I said! Quiet! Y' geezer! No one cares about the leader of your backwater colony!" yelled Wellington.

"Who are you calling a geezer, my boy? I should run you over with my chair for that!"

Einstein stepped in. "Qviet! Naow, ve have to tink tis through. I zay ve schtick togetter and use our kombined knowledge to get ze heck out of here. Vollow me, mein friends." The troupe of men fell in behind him. There were other cells, but they all seemed empty. Suddenly, their traveling came to a halt. In front of them was a hall with two stoic-looking guards.

Napoleon broke off from the group and crept quietly up behind one.

"Vive la France!" he screamed, tackling him. He grabbed the man's bizarre weapon and smacked him in the head with it. The other guard turned to knock him to the floor when the French officer pulled something on the stolen weapon. A huge blast of energy came out, knocking the other guard to the floor, unconscious. A prison riot stun gun. Bonaparte didn't know that, however, and looked at the weapon in awe.

Einstein gaped, "Zat vas amazing! Extraordinary!"

Even Wellington was shocked as Bonaparte hefted the weapon over his head victoriously. "Onward! Someone get the other gun!" cried the Frenchman.

Wellington scooped up the other stun gun and ran alongside Bonaparte.

The footsteps of more guards could be heard elsewhere in the prison. All the cells in this area were populated, but they looked like common criminals. Napoleon and Wellington fired away as guards poured out, all wearing bizarre body armor. The stunned men fell to the floor, providing the escapees with more stunners. Now, all of them had weapons, even FDR, who was being pushed along by Lincoln, who seemed to have idolized him since he heard FDR say he was president.

More guards hit the hard, tiled floor. Their clothing was some strange mottled mix of green, brown, and black, and looked much like foliage. The strange men kept showing up, only for the escapees to blast them down. Then, they approached a large metal door. Einstein read it carefully. "Armory. Williams Metal Industries. For more information call 1-800-878-901. Hmmph. I'll try. 1-800-878-901! Hello?! 1-800-878-901! Anyone here?!"

Napoleon put his palm over his face again in disbelief. "This is the most extraordinarily ignorant thing I've ever seen in my life."

Abe spotted a box on the wall that had some sort of strange red tube in it that had the word "EXTINGUISHER" printed on it. He had no idea what an extinguisher was, but, more importantly, there was an axe inside next to the red tube. "Awl right!" cheered Abe. "Somethin' I can understand!" He grabbed the axe and motioned for the others to step aside. He raised the axe and brought it down on the metal door. It made a large dent in it. He did it again. And again. And again. Finally, the door came tumbling down. "We are free from bondage! We are emancipated from these shackles!"

"We never wore shackles," said Bonaparte.

"I was using a... a... whatchoocallit, a homonym."

"Oh, okaaayyy. Onward, Citizen Abraham! Vive la Revolution (from prison)!"

The escapees bounded into the armory. A shocked unarmed mechanic stared at them. Abe grabbed the man by the collar and lifted him off the ground to eye level. "Look, friend, we here are escaping from pris'n. This here's the armory, leastaways that's what the door plumb says. Now, where're the weap... ons. Whoa." Abe gazed in awe at the lit-up suits of armor on the walls. They were beyond incredible.

The mechanic pointed at them. "Those are power suits. They're extremely powerful. Now, please don't hurt me, Mr. Lincoln!"

"Relax, friend, just show us how to get in those." Abe put the man down. Soon, all of them were wearing the power suits. FDR looked dejected, realizing he wouldn't be able to wear one.

The mechanic pushed his chair along. "Here, Mr. Roosevelt! You, too. You just think, and it'll do the walking for you."

FDR beamed as he was assisted into a suit and pulled the thick, glass helmet over his head. He pounded his armored hands together. He and the others were now twice the size and height of ordinary men.

"Alert! Alert! Crosstime prisoners escaping. Repeat, Crosstime prisoners escaping. All available personnel converge on the armory immediately," calmly instructed a voice over the intercom.

"I have no idea vat Crosstime iz, but let's do zis zing, ja?" Einstein led the armored historical figures out of the armory through a large door the mechanic had opened for them. They entered another room, this one containing a huge amount of oncoming guards. "Vat does zat button do? Oh! Ah-ha! It blows zem to kingdom come! Very useful." Einstein took over the front of the offense, while the others still struggled to operate their suits properly. Huge mounds of guards started gathering on the sides of the rooms, were the detonations of Einstein's explosives sent them flying from impact.

At last, FDR figured out his and started punching the the tiny guards high into the air. "Hail to the Chief, baby!" he cried as he kicked several more away who were trying to climb up his suit. The guards backed down when Napoleon and Poe demonstrated they had figured theirs out. They retreated to another part of the building.

A lone figure entered the room, wearing another power suit. They recognized the face.

"Galland, you scoundrel! What is all this? I demand to know!" demanded Napoleon.

"Stand down, Monsieur, and I'll explain."

"Do as he zays, gentlemen," ordered Einstein.

They all threw down their weapons and raised their glass helmets, awaiting an answer from the Marshal.

Galand sighed a sigh of relief. "Good. Now, listen carefully. You are on earth in the year 2400. Yes, you heard me right. 2400. But this is not any of your earths. You are from parallel universes. You see, I used Crosstime travel, which enables me to go back in time in any of your earths. So, I totally wiped you men from your histories. Einstein, yours will be a world where the atom bomb is not invented till the 1970's. Bonaparte, yours will be a world where Revolutionary France was defeated and the monarch rules forever. You also can speak English when you're in you're in your 20's, something certainly not correct in my history. Poe... I admit, I made a mistake. I'm not really familiar with you, and the Empress told me I was supposed to retrieve Ethan Allen, a warrior. I got your names confused. My apologies. Yours will be a world where Buck Rogers and Batman are delayed. Heh. Abraham Lincoln, yours will be a world where Douglas lets the Southern states secede. FDR, yours will be a world where the Second Great War is lost by the Allies. Wellington, yours will be a world where Napoleonic France rules all of Europe. Richtofen, yours will be a world without the famous Red Baron, and a man you were supposed to shoot down goes on to lead a fascist revolution in England."

Napoleon spoke first. "What?! You deprived me of my destiny?! I ought to shoot you right here, you dastard!"

"Relax, Monsieur Bonaparte, there are billions if not trillions of alternate Napoleon Bonapartes fulfilling your dreams. There are Napoleons that became lawyers, judges, doctors, even priests and ministers. There are Napoleons who are mentally off and there are some that are scientific geniuses. Some Napoleons died in the Revolution, others fled the country. Heck, there's one world where your brain was placed in a computer by Charles de Gaulle and you reign over a New French Empire as the immortal computer emperor."

"What's a computer?" asked a bewildered Bonaparte.

"Not important. You'll learn soon enough. And for all of your information, I was only keeping you in that cell for a few hours. I was going to let you out. You didn't need to shoot up my facility."

"Vat did you vant us for?" inquired Einstein.

"I want you to help us. In 2020 we experienced a cataclysmic war with China, known as the Nuclear War. It sent us back hundreds of years. We're finally making progress technologically, but we still have enemies and the world is still fractured into tiny nation-states. You are in the Empire of New England, ruled over by our glorious Empress Lenore I, long may she reign. This is Brookburg Castle, formerly known to Einstein and FDR here as Brooklyn, New York, New York, USA. We've been independent since 2100, when Emperor William I led us in the Reconquista of New England, where we pushed out our long-time enemy The Horde. The Horde consists of barbarians and murderous rabble. We're now pushing the various Horde sects and clans out of our territory for the final time. However, we have a new threat: the tyrannical Carolina Confederation. It started in 2305, when President Vincent Fawkes banded the former US states of North and South Carolina together in a union. We've slowly been dividing the east coast of North America between each other. Now, the old capital city of Washington is the disputed boundary. We have information that there is more in Washington than meets the eye. We need that city, friends. So, I can arrange some classes so you'll fully understand our history. After that, you can decide whether to help us or not. You won't be forced. You're not slaves or prisoners. And before you ask, no I can't go back in time in my earth to prevent the Nuclear War; it's Crosstime travel, not a time machine. What say you?"

Ever so slowly, the shocked men in the power suits nodded and asked for someone to help get them out.


Edgar Allen Poe felt dejected when he learned he was taken by mistake and not because he was a great mind. Well, yes, he always felt dejected, but that's beside the point. He felt really, really dejected, especially now, when it finally soaked in he wouldn't, and couldn't, return to his own world. To get his mind off his dejectedness, he dragged his sad self to the Brookburg Castle Library with the others to study up on this earth's history. The bloody story of this universe made him feel really, really, really, dejected and depressed. Apparently, on this world they had gone from light bulbs to atomic bombs in no time at all. Millions had died. It was so terribly overwhelming.

Einstein was the one who had most quickly adapted to being abducted and seemed to think it was just fascinating. “But why us, Marshal Galand? If there are so many alternates, why pick just us seven?”

“We did not,” sighed Galand. “We want to get a 'version' of every famous leader and figure we can to help fix this world. However, we are experiencing problems with our Crosstime machine. It was a miracle I managed to get you people on time. That, by the way, is why I punched you, Mister Poe; I was under a time limit before the machine broke down. Our top scientists are working on fixing it as we speak. Now, if there are no further questions, you may all browse the library as you please. You'll need as much information as you can get under your belts before we have you start assisting us. Have a nice day.”

Napoleon read for a good half hour before “going to get a drink.” He, like all the others, was wearing something called a corduroy jumpsuit. It was comfortable, if a bit silly looking. He didn't have to worry about people recognizing him; evidently, the Napoleon of this earth had been killed during the Revolution, hence, he was not famous. It rather bothered him, though, that by total accident he could marry one of his other self's own great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, etc, etc, grandchildren. In fact, it was extremely bizarre.

He saw a door that said “Security Only.”

He grinned and popped inside when no one was looking. He had been given something called a “flashlight” by Galand. It looked like a black tube with a flameless candle inside behind some mysterious material called “plastic.” He had no idea how it worked, he only knew it did. He turned it on and looked around for something to get into or look at. There was some sort of tall metal cabinet with three drawers in one corner. He saw it had a lock on it. He merely took a medal he kept in his pocket out and used the pin to force it open. It contained some sort of papers with large red stamps on them along with pictures of people and identifications. He grew bored looking at them and didn't know what they were, so he put them back. He unlocked the next drawer. It had interesting-looking old red books in them many hundreds of pages thick. He opened them, intrigued that the knowledge inside was kept under lock and key. He flipped through the first pages of one volume.


Lots of them.

A whole heck of a lot.

He gasped in wide-eyed horror as he read the execution reasons: supporting democracy, protesting government-set wages in horrible sweatshop factories, “aiding and abetting” people who were pro-democracy, even aiding and abetting those who aided and abetted people who supported democracy or reform. It was incredible and disgusting to a Son of the Revolution like Napoleon.

And the door opened.

Bonaparte prepared for a battle but soon realized it was his aviator friend; he and Richthofen were equally flamboyant and charismatic, so they had become fast friends. The Baron walked over. “What are you doing, Herr Bonaparte?” Napoleon shoved the book at the flier and let it speak for him. “This is unbelievable! They were going to use us to abet them in spreading their tyranny! Disgusting animals!” he cried, reading the pages.

And the door opened again.


Lots of them.

A whole heck of a lot.

“Get them! Who left the door unlocked? They have read the Red Books! They must not be able to tell!” commanded a guard who bore a sergeant's crest on his cap. Whistles were blown and the guards took out their weapons.

The Baron grabbed a pistol from off a nearby desk and fired several shots at the oncoming Imperial goons. He hit his marks as several of the attackers fell dead.

Bonaparte couldn't find a weapon on hand so he raised his hands fisticuffs style. “Bob and weave. Bob and weave. Right hook! Left cross! Uppercut! And down you go, monsieur!” he cheered as he sent one guard flailing helplessly to the floor with a broken nose and a missing tooth. He grabbed the man's nightstick and went to town with his German comrade. The general and baron staved off the attackers until the last one dashed off to get more men. Napoleon aimed carefully, using his math skills and projectile know-how to judge the perfect moment to throw. He threw it, shattering the man's spine just below the skull. He pickpocketed the man's belt for a pistol and grabbed a few clips of ammo. He had gone straight to the artillery and weapon section of the library earlier, and now had a working knowledge of this earth's firearms. He knew they worked and how to load and fire, but he was a little fuzzy on how they worked and what they were made of. They heard more and more booted feet rushing down flights of stairs and barely had time to join up with the other abductees, who had no idea what was going on.

The Baron took the lead at this point and shot their way to a garage. “Here! Das auto! It can't be much different and I'm sure I can drive it,” he jubilantly exclaimed, pointing at a plain black van. “Get in! Get in! Herr Einstein, you're up front with me.”

“I get to ride schotgun?!”

“Er... ja? Get in!” The Baron was thrilled to see the keys in the ignition. He started it up and tried to figure it out. “Okay, uh, this is the rever- NO IT'S THE ACCELERATOR! Mein himmel, this is more different than I thought... Okay, this is the accelerator and this stick thing is the... Oh, ja, I got this now. Off we go into das wild blue yonder!” The van sped out the open garage and onto the extremely smoothly-paved road outside. The castle was beautiful on the outside, but they all knew its dark secrets now.

“Oh, by Truman's glasses this is exciting, my boys! Running from backstabbing genocidal timetravellers in a parallel universe with famous people from other parallel universes!” remarked a seemingly thrilled FDR.

Wellington ran his hands through his hair, making sure it was in place. “And then there's Poe.”

“Hey!” moaned the depressed fiction writer at the back of the van.

Wellington ignored him. “I do say I've had enough excitement for now... y' ol' geezer.”

FDR grinned. “Why, I haven't done anything this exciting since I paralyzed myself while sneaking out on Eleanor! Or... was it when Cousin Teddy threw me down a flight of stairs for doing it? Oh, well, anyway, this is very exciting.”

“I think they'll be chasing us anytime now,” warned a serious Napoleon.

“Nein,” the Baron gave a negative. “I made sure to rig their petrol to blow up. Any second now.”

A huge explosion blew fire and pillars of smoke into the air behind them.

The Baron looked smug. “And there it is, mein herr.”

FDR looked like was about to fall out of his chair. “By Hoover's dam, this is downright enjoyable, my boys!”

The gang of leaders and geniuses (and Poe) drove onward, trying to find a way to totally escape. As Richthofen scouted the countryside as he awkwardly steered the horseless carriage, Einstein fiddled with the buttons on the dash. He was enraptured. “Oh! Vat does zis do? Oh! It's a radio!”

“Hello out there in Radioland, this is Dogman Joe, you can call me DJ, and coming up next on the Imperial Music Station is a classic from before our forefathers turned each other to pieces of radioactive paste. So, here's Party Rock Anthem!” Everyone screamed as the bizarre music boomed through the vehicle's speakers.

The baron cursed in German, nearly swerving off the road and crashing in a ravine. He slammed the off button. “What. Was. That. What creature on earth, any earth, could make that... that... screeching?!”

Wellington rubbed his ears, expecting to find blood. “Satan himself, that's who!”

“I rather liked it,” said Poe quietly.

“No one cares, Poe, no one cares,” grunted Wellington. “Y' want t' listen to that barbaric screaming do it when you're not wi' us.”

Abe had no comment, instead looking out the window, bewildered by all that was happening.


Richthofen steered the van onto a winding country road. It was now midday, and they still did not have any trouble yet. "Gentlemen, I think we need to find some food. Check around back there and see if you can come up with anything."

The other men began looking in various compartments for anything to eat. Wellington noticed a small handle in the middle of the floor. "Wai' up, chaps! What's this?" He pulled on it and it lifted off. Inside were guns. Lots of them.

FDR recognized one. "That heavily resembles a Thompson gun, though more advanced. That one I don't know, and that one is a belt-fed. Finally, something I can grasp."

Napoleon inspected the belt-fed. "I read about this in the library. I know how it works and how you load it. I claim it."

Wellington checked out the Thompson and used another thing Galand had passed out. A pen. He inked "English Bulldog" on it and put the cartridges under his belt on his jumpsuit.

"Heads up, mein friends," the Red Baron warned, "We got problems. A roadblock. We can't turn around without them chasing us. Calm and cool. If they try to get in the back for weapons inspection or to see if we're wanted, open fire. Remember, calm and cool."

The group bit its nails as the van came to a halt in front of the red-and- yellow-striped roadblock. A guard with flashlight-club and a notebook came out of the guard hut and walked over to the driver's window. "Hello, there. Can I see your driver's license and ID?"

"Uh. Um. Heh, uh, you see..." stammered Richthofen. "Uh." Suddenly, he whipped out his pistol and shot the man between the eyes. Other guards rushed the van from behind and opened the doors.

"Vive la France!" and "For King and Country" were the last things they heard as bullets flew like a swarm of bees. The Baron had some red stick in his hand he had stolen from the garage earlier. He got out of the van and sneaked through some bushes with the other three. Several guards inside the hut were firing blindly out the windows, cursing their heads off. Richthofen slammed himself against the wall next to the door. He carefully used a cigarette lighter that had been in his pocket when he was abducted to light the fuse. "Cover me!" The aviator threw the stick of explosives into the hut. He heard screaming and more cussing coming from inside. He walked away from the hut slowly, as the guards had stopped firing. He pulled a cigarette from his chest pocket and stuck it the corner of his mouth. He lit it and took a long, slow puff.


He walked leisurely back to the van, smoking his cigarette, aviator cap pushed back on his head. He jumped back in the van and started it back up. Lincoln had already run out and gathered the dead soldiers' weapons. All of the others stared in awe at the Baron.

"That was the most epic thing I've ever seen, my boy," complimented FDR.

The Baron blew a smoke ring and put a new cartridge in his pistol. "All in a day's work, mein herr."


The van came to a halt in front of a service station. The old building looked like it was free of military personnel so they decided it was safe.

"Hawt dawg," cheered Abe, "We're gonna get some vittles!" He was first to enter. Napoleon, the Baron, and Abe realized they had no money, so they realized they had to what they had to do. Abe kicked the door open and held his rifle out in front of him. "Feller's gotta do what a feller's gotta do! Everyone, down on the ground!"

The terrified storekeepers put their hands over their heads and stared at the armed men.

Napoleon held the minigun threateningly. "He said: Down on the ground, messieurs! We don't want any problems, just some food."

The Baron waved his pistol at the snack cakes and potato crisps on the top shelf. "Those, the cakes and potatoes, all of them! Come on, make it snappy." The storekeeper did as asked and Abe put them in a sack. "Now, all of your water. All of it. And any cash you have. Now." Again, the shocked storekeepers did as told and sighed in relief as the robbers headed out. "It was a pleasure, gentlemen. Sorry for any inconvenience," said the Baron as he bowed. "Now, gentlemen, off we go into the wild blue yonder once again. And I wouldn't tell anyone about this, or... we'll find out! Jawohl, we find out."

Lincoln stared at him for a moment before Napoleon elbowed him to agree. "Oh, er, yessir, we will plumb find out, so don't ya'll try nothin'! I'm warnin' y'."

The three men sprinted back to the van at top speed and chucked the bag of food in the back. They passed the food around as they drove off.

"Oh, by Hitler's mustache, it's wonderful to get some food. I was beginning to think we'd have to eat the ammunition!" he joked.

"Or we could just eat Poe," grinned Wellington, mouth stuffed with cake and crumbs spilling everywhere. "I just wish we had some whiskey, but this water will do." Wellington reached for a cake at the same time as Napoleon, and engaged in a hand-smack fight over who would get it.

The Baron put his face in his palm. "Stop acting like children, please? Danke schoen." Napoleon and Wellington stopped, reluctantly. "Now, please, let's try to figure out where we should go, all right?"

*The van is clearly an A-Team reference* ;)

LEGO Builder, Writer, Video-Gamer, Greaser, History Professor, Swordsman, and Military Collector. I am the Most Interesting Man in the World. :p

 Post subject: Re: A Bizarre Occurrence
PostPosted: Sat Dec 17, 2011 2:00 pm 
Cast Cleaner
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Location: Deep underground, waiting for the return of Morgoth...
Um... Albert Einstein was American, not German...

"If you can't laugh at yourself... Laugh at other people!
-Tim Hawkins

 Post subject: Re: A Bizarre Occurrence
PostPosted: Sat Dec 17, 2011 2:40 pm 
Chief Smithy
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Balrog1910 wrote:
Um... Albert Einstein was American, not German...

Where on earth did you learn that? =O

...and that's how Equestria was made!
flickr | teller's tales

 Post subject: Re: A Bizarre Occurrence
PostPosted: Sat Dec 17, 2011 3:18 pm 
Cast Cleaner
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Location: Deep underground, waiting for the return of Morgoth...
Oh! My mistake. Please completely disregard that! =|

"If you can't laugh at yourself... Laugh at other people!
-Tim Hawkins

 Post subject: Re: A Bizarre Occurrence
PostPosted: Fri Dec 23, 2011 11:28 am 
Mould Mason
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Joined: Mon Aug 09, 2010 1:00 pm
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Location: Colorado, USA
This is a great story! I love how all of these historical characters interact. X)

My Blog: Making Alternate History

 Post subject: Re: A Bizarre Occurrence
PostPosted: Tue Dec 27, 2011 7:34 pm 
Crucible King
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Location: In your basement, under the floor boards... O.O
Baylego wrote:
This is a great story! I love how all of these historical characters interact. X)

There's a lot more, too! I'm gonna put new programs and stuff on my computer tomorrow and then I'll try to put it all up.

Wow, I've fallen behind on BF 'cause of this darned computer... :{

LEGO Builder, Writer, Video-Gamer, Greaser, History Professor, Swordsman, and Military Collector. I am the Most Interesting Man in the World. :p

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