July 24, 1847
The United States of America has been around for 71 years, 71 years of prosperity….and greed. They had snatched up a good portion of the North American continent through shrewd business moves, taking advantage of less fortunate countries in Europe. Napoleon Bonaparte had sold a good portion of the continent to the Yankees for roughly $2 an acre to a hypocrite president, Thomas Jefferson.
Europe had just finished a 50 year war that had decimated their economy and used up most of their resources. These were desperate times and we all know what people do when there are desperate times:
Ahh, yes. Desperate measures.
One ethnic group in particular was sick and tired of being driven from their homes and their lands: The Vikings. They had had enough. The Vikings felt that their allies, the Yankees of America, had left them to rot during and after the great 50 year war. Vengeance would be theirs. They gathered all their weapons and boarded their viking ships to set sail for America with one thing in mind: Hot dogs. Also, vengeance.
In America, the Mormons had made a decent name for themselves, building cities, armies and big buildings. But those things wouldn’t be what they were known most for. It would be for defending the USA from the Viking invasion.
The Vikings landed on July 4, 1847 and immediately overtook Boston and New York. “Too easy”, every single viking yelled as the last man fell in New York. The rest of the US worried, “Who will save us?!!” Efficiently and subtly the Mormons had been amassing a huge army. All were armed to the teeth. Women, children and men. The Mormons were the fiercest warriors the nation had ever known, but they had never fought……until now.
24 July, 1847
They had packed all they had in their covered wagons and handcarts and headed EAST. East towards the looming battle against the barbarian vikings. Their hearts feared not. They would prevail.
They met in an open meadow. The vikings drums were beating softly at first. Slowly. But grew as the two armies grew nearer each other. Brigham Young was at the head of the Mormon army. The Great Lion himself. Armed with 2 giant scimitars, Young sat atop a giant buffalo, cigar in mouth (it was just filled with paper), staring at the vikings. “You got nothing,” he growled under his beard. His mighty buffalo steed, Hercules, was donning a magnificent navy blue armor and also had a cigar in his mouth. The giant Moroni horn blew. The battle had commenced.
It was a most ferocious battle. The Mormons, led by the Great Lion himself, fought the with passion of 1000 suns. Jedediah Smith would later say that the Great Lion himself slew 78 men. Young, as well as his mighty Buffalo, Hercules, would remain unscathed. The Vikings had never known so great a foe. Every thing they tried was thwarted by the tactical Mormons. Sensing their imminent demise, the Vikings fled all the way back to Europe. America was safe.
The date was the 24th of July. Year 1847.