The Other Side of Raiders of the Lost Ark

Egypt, 1936

What the Hell?

I mean, really, what the Hell?

Am I the only soldier in the Reich smart enough to not climb onto the side of a moving truck? Especially when that moving truck is being driven by a...a...what the Hell nationality is that guy anyway? Is he French? He must be French.

No, he doesn't have the same accent as that Belloq guy. And, besides, would a Frenchman really be running around the desert wearing a leather jacket?

He looks like he wants to be a cowboy. Maybe he's American. No, no, those wheelchair-electing, corn-fed, pseudo-neutral bastards are way to pansy-ass to be kicking around in the desert, so far away from Jack Benny and baseball. Linberg's too good for them.

Nah, what's the old saying? Only mad dogs and Englishmen? Yeah, only a fucking brit would be stupid enough to be wearing a leather jacket in Egypt during the summer. Yeah, he's gotta' be English. That's probably why he's unshaven, he's hoping that his scruffy appearance will distract us from his bad teeth. What was his name, anyway? Jones? Yeah, Jones. Jones is an English name, I think.

Whoa, damnit! The truck swerved again...and I hear the palm fronds rubbing against the side...and there goes Ernst and Freidrich rolling on the road behind us. You idiots! That's what happens when you climb on a moving truck.

Damn it all. Life was going so well. Ilsa and I are about to celebrate our tenth anniversary. I've finally paid off that house out near Munich. And now der Fuhrer has us gallivanting all over the place looking for "ancient occult artifacts." I didn't join the army to look for artifacts! I joined the army to get the money to pay off the house, and maybe to serve my country. I figured that at best I'd be at some sweet post in the homeland for a few years, and at worst I'd be fighting like a soldier is supposed to.

But instead I get stuck watching a bunch of guys dig holes in Egypt. Fucking Egypt.

And why are we out here? To find the Ark of the Covanent...wooooo...spooky! It's a fucking gold box. If der Fuhrer wants a fucking gold box why the fuck doesn't he fucking make a fucking gold box in fucking Berlin? You don't fucking have to go all the way out to fucking Egypt to fucking find a fucking gold box!

DAMN IT!

I'm really beginning to winder about this Fuhrer guy. I mean, yeah, at least he's not as bad as the Weimar government (though that's like listing diseases that are better than Syphilis), and he got the economy functioning again. But now he's getting weird and obsessive and racist and shit.

Ahhh! The truck swerved again...and there go Johann and Werner. Let's see, that leaves Gunther. Gunther's tenacious, he'll get this Brit.

Oh, hey, a gunshot. That was definitely a Luger. Good, Gunther just shot the bastard. He'll have this truck under control in no time, and then we can go pick up the others.

So, yeah, anyway....weird and obsessive and racist. I hear that he's got someone else out looking for the Holy Grail, that he wants to invade Paris because he thinks that the bones of Napoleon are magical...and I am beginning to think that those stories about him thinking there's a hole in the north pole that you can fly planes through aren't just stories.

He's kind of a yahoo. Why did we let him take power any...

Gah! Can't that guy drive in a straight...oh...there's Gunther...he doesn't look too badly hurt...but he's definitely not getting back on the truck...

Shit.

I suppose I'd better kick the fucking cockney bastard out of the cab. But I'm sure as hell not climbing on the side, let's see if I can lift myself up top...