Built Tough
Just Along for the Ride
Chapter 1: Commercial Terms
Our opening scene gives us a lovely drone shot of the typical Nebraska corn fields. Farmland stretches as far as the eye can see, and birds are actively flitting about. It’s calming, peaceful, industrial.
We find ourselves moving forward, gaining speed, passing over the greenery at an urgent and deliberate pace.
Suddenly, a bright red truck catches up to the frame, bursting through the plants and sending corn cobs flying through the air. We follow behind the truck, recognizing it as a powerful Ford F-150.
Slow-motion shot from head-on and then below, as the truck launches out of the corn and clears the road entirely, landing smoothly into the soybean field on the other side.
The truck moves on, demolishing everything in its path. An unstoppable force that changes its direction for no one, and no thing.
A gas station appears ahead at the end of this field, directly in front of the truck.
We pick up speed.
Cut scene to the gas station interior. A middle-aged man with a hair net and gloves is carefully setting up a taco cart near the front doors. He looks up and sees the truck coming, a bead of sweat falling down his face as he makes one final adjustment and closes the glass door.
He runs for the side exit just in time.
The truck plows through the front doors, and we get another time-stopping moment as a taco station is eviscerated. Shells and lettuce and cheese and guac hover in the air as they explode from the cart.
Back to full speed. The refrigerated section and outer wall of the building break cleanly, having no impact on the F-150 as it tumbles forward.
A montage follows of barns, grain silos, and even the occasional ranch house standing in the way and, ultimately, being left with a truck sized hole.
Finally, we come to a large ramp with a flaming hoop. The truck flies off the ramp, slowly turning to its left it passes through the hoop untouched.
A pyrotechnic display of flames, explosions, and whistling fireworks fill the background as the vehicle crashes sideways into a pile of dirt and comes to an ultimate stop.
As the rear left wheel continues spinning idly, the driver’s door casually opens and Sam Elliot steps out with a very serious but undisturbed look on his face. Decorated in denim and alligator skin cowboy boots, he slips smoothly down the pile and starts walking to the right, heading somewhere unknown with purpose.
Words appear on the screen as the sun begins to set.
“FORD: BUILT TOUGH.”
Chapter 2: The Making of (a Disaster)
8 HOURS EARLIER
“Can someone explain to me just what the FUCK we are supposed to do if we can’t set off some simple explosions without killing a whole god damn fucking division??”
The General shook his head in disgust and glowered at the men around him. They stood next to the ramp, the large hoop not yet lit. The men all stared at the ground, hoping they wouldn’t be selected for the next test.
“Look up, men. Look at your comrades down there. Is that acceptable? We’re the fucking US Army, you fucking wastes of space. This supposed to be what we do.”
He threw his cap on the ground and kicked at the dirt around it, missing the hat itself a few times before giving up and leaving it be. This was familiar to the men. They watched him take a few deep breaths and limp back into position. It looked like his gout might be acting up and all the shouting was wearing him out quickly.
“Fine. Fuck it. If you lot can’t come up with a better solution, it’s your heads on the line, anyway. We’ll just have to sacrifice a 3rd division for the final shoot. Go ahead, draw lots.”
He turned on his heel to walk away, and nearly plowed through a very nervous looking Private with his hand half raised.
“Spit it out, Johnson!”
“Sir, sorry, Sir! It’s just, I was thinking, I might have an idea!” Private Johnson felt his heart drop to his knees as he met the General’s eyes. He took a deep breath and continued, “We have an excess stockpile of those scented candles in the barracks, Sir!”
“I’m aware, Private. Winter Sandalwood Breeze, if I’m not mistaken. What about them??”
Johnson gulped. “Well, Sir, what if we rigged up those candles to act as an extended fuse for the explosives? We could set it up well in advance, and remove the wax as needed to time it with the truck’s impact.”
The General shook his head, but the rest of the men started to nod and murmur in agreement. One brave soul even piped up, “Now that’s a star-spangled idea, Johnson! Well done!”
Feeling rather good about himself, Johnson smiled has he glanced around at the other men. That smile vanished when he saw the look on the General’s face.
The man leaned in close enough that Johnson could smell the steak he’d had for dinner the night before. He whispered, enraged, “That’s nearly insubordination, Private. I believe I just gave orders to proceed as planned. But it looks like you’ve got the men all hot and bothered with this new idea. I can’t afford another mutiny… you’d better fall in line and sing my praises, boy.”
The Private tried to feel for his heartbeat. It seemed to have stopped somewhere between ‘insubordination’ and ‘mutiny’. The General leaned back and spoke louder for the group to hear.
“I’ve consulted with the boy and given him some advice on how to improve his plan. I redact my prior orders, only because I have come up with a better solution for us to proceed with. Men! Go gather those candles.”
Relief flooded Johnson as he turned to follow the group to the barracks. A hand on his shoulder stopped him from taking the first step.
“Not so fast, son. I’ve got a mission for you. You see, after the truck makes its way through each obstacle, we’ve got men on site with the same explosives we’ve been testing here. They’ve been ordered to detonate each location after the truck and film crew has passed through to a safe distance. Since you’re so worried about keeping your friends safe, I’ll be needing you to go try and warn them… if you can.”
Johnson glanced at the General’s watch on the arm that still tightly gripped his shoulder. “But… I mean, Sir - they’re scheduled to start filming in a couple of hours!”
“Not my problem, is it? I’ll have someone drop you off at the first gas station. Good luck.” The General smiled as he walked away. 3 large brutes closed in on Johnson, and he was escorted to a Humvee.
Chapter 3: Mission Unpossible
The men in the truck didn’t talk much. They were the General’s typical mindless goons. They pulled up to the gas station and dropped Johnson off at the door.
“Get out.”
“Geez, I’m going.” He climbed out of the car. “Are you guys gonna take me to the next station after this?”
A soldier threw a hefty bag of candles at the Private and closed the door. That answered that question.
Johnson looked around at the station. It was quiet. He knew the truck would be coming in through the front doors, so he gave them a wide berth and walked up to the side exit.
Then he heard it. The roaring of an engine and the buzzing of a thousand drones. He had to move quick. He reached for the handle and the door burst open as Marco, the man tasked with staging the taco cart, launched from the building and ran for his car. He didn’t spare Johnson even a glance.
“Fuck!” The Private hurried inside and stationed himself on the metal grate stairs going down to the basement. The truck rocked the building, but passed quickly. Then, far quicker than he expected, another explosion shook the place. As the dust settled, Johnson made his way up from his bunker and found the building still more or less intact.
Odd.
An almost fully preserved taco had landed right on the checkout counter. He picked it up and took a bite, realizing he hadn’t had something to eat in hours.
Not bad.
He scanned the place and saw two men laying on the ground near the chips aisle. He was too late. One of the men looked like the love child of Sasha Baron Cohen and Paul Rudd. The other was much worse off - his face was burned up and distorted like what you’d find at a Halloween costume pop up store.
Not good.
The Private shuddered and turned to set the taco back on the counter.
“Hi there, officer, and what would you be doing here?”
Johnson jumped a mile and turned back towards the dead men, the source of the sound.
“What the fuck?!”
The Halloween mask man was slightly lifted off the ground, but his head hung limply.
“I’m just asking what you’re doing here on this fine afternoon is all!”
The body shook slightly as the words came out, and Johnson quickly realized that the other man was propping up the body and trying not to move his lips as he spoke, using the dead man like a ventriloquist.
“What the hell is wrong with you?? But… you’re alive? How did you survive the blast?” He made his way over to them and examined the living man, who opened his eyes and smiled.
“Nice to meet you! Not the best circumstances, of course, but pleased nonetheless.” He let the dead man collapse back to the floor, still pinning his arm down. “Not quite sure how I survived, looks like Ronnie here took the worst of it, eh? I did tell him we should try and figure out an escape plan before lighting. The fool wanted to do a test run with a small portion of our total firepower.”
Johnson’s head was reeling. What was happening? He stood up and looked through the exit hole from the truck. “I’ve got a solution for the explosives. We can set a fuse with these candles and leave it behind us. But we have to hurry… I’m supposed to warn the others. Hopefully they aren’t as reckless as you.”
“Wait, are you saying I don’t have to die in this godforsaken mess of petrol? Sign me the fuck up! Names Stan, by the way.”
Stan leaped to his feet and brushed himself off, evidently unharmed in any way. He extended his hand.
“Private John Johnson. You can call me Johnson. Nice to meet you Stan, let’s make some magic happen.
Johnson expertly positioned and lit the fuse for the remaining explosives and headed over to the side exit. As they got there, he realized there was someone standing outside the door, holding an assault rifle. Unsure who they were or what their purpose was, he motioned Stan to be quiet and they stood on either side of the door.
The glass windows had been shattered in the explosion, leaving behind the metal mesh that acted as a screen.
The man outside suddenly stood at attention and saluted. They watched as a sharp faced man in a Colonel’s uniform walked up to the door, glancing in at the rubble.
“Idiots. Couldn’t even blow the place up properly. We’ll send a crew through to finish off any stations that weren’t fully leveled.”
The guard nodded. “Yes, sir, want me to check for any signs of life?”
“Don’t waste your time. If they survived that, they won’t survive what’s coming next. Let’s get a move on.”
To Johnson’s horror, Stan had moved closer to the mesh on the door and would be completely visible if they turned to look back inside.
“Psst - Jurassic Park, now!” He hissed at Stan, praying he wouldn’t be heard by the men outside.
Stan did not step away from the window, but instead struck a pose, acting like a cardboard cutout model holding something in his hand. The guard had heard Johnson’s warning and turned to look into the window.
He looked past Stan’s posing figure, apparently buying the disguise. He sniffed at the mesh like a predator testing to see if their prey was at home. Stan did a good job of staying frozen, but… was he trying not to laugh?? Did he want to get them killed?
The guard was making a similar face, as if trying not to break character. What was this, some kind of blooper reel?
“Knock it off, weirdo. Go pull the car around so we can get back for dinner.” The Colonel was putting on some gloves and pushed the soldier into motion with his foot.
The surreal moment ended.
As they drove off into the distance, Johnson and Stan hurried outside and started running. They followed the trail of destruction left behind by the truck, headed to the next destination. It wasn’t long after that they heard the gas station go up in smoke and flames.
Chapter 4: Montage
Arrival at the farm, no sign of any explosions, just the gaping hole through the barn. Johnson and Stan step inside and call out for survivors.
Two men in matching uniforms slowly stand up. One is tall and slender, the other short and tubby, and they look ashamed at having delayed so long in their duty.
Finally, people with some sense.
Johnson shows them how to rig the explosives with the candles. They spend a little extra time smelling the wax, enjoying the sensation of still being alive.
Both men enlist in their cause, excited to go save lives instead of waiting to sacrifice their own.
The group finds an old Volkswagen Bug behind the barn and try to get it to start. No dice. In fact, no mirror decor of any kind.
They couldn’t get it to start, either.
The journey continues as the sun starts to fade. The four men become 7, then 10. No one had been dumb enough to blow themselves up. Well, no one except for Ronnie.
They arrive, finally, at the farmhouse. The last structure on their journey. 3 men sit outside around a firepit, drinking whiskey and singing American Idiot by Green Day. They roast marshmallows and welcome the crew of 10 like family.
Johnson smiles as he looks around the group. A lucky 13, all saved from death.
After a short respite, they rig the charges in the home, and begin their journey back to camp. Clapping each other on the back and acting out receiving medals of bravery.
They hike along mountain ridges as the sun starts to rise, a magnificent view of rivers and valleys behind them. Determined to make it back in time for breakfast.
They reach a deadly river of acid that must be crossed by standing on logs. They balance on the logs, guiding themselves across with long sticks, praying that they don’t fall in.
Stan slips halfway through the ride but Johnson, standing on a log next to him, catches him by the arm. His leg dips into the acid just briefly, giving him a slight burn. Sweat drips down Stan’s face as he nods in gratitude, showing a serious appreciation for once.
They reach the other side and collapse in relief as they realize the final challenge has been won. Stan limps over to piss on the log that was supposed to kill him.
“Fuck you!” He shouts, laughing a victor’s laugh.
A quick scream cuts their cheers short. They see an empty log spinning as the river takes it downstream. 13 has become 12.
Chapter 5: A Hero’s Welcome
The General wasn’t pleased at their arrival.
They’d walked in at daybreak during roll call, and had immediately been sequestered to the cells used for spies, prisoners, and traitors.
Johnson shook his head, unsure what to think.
Even Stan seemed bitter, though he kept his energy up. He couldn’t pace the room with his injured leg, but he continued to run his mouth. “How are we going to break out of this one then, eh fellas? Let’s figure it out. Door’s made of metal, locks are aplenty, and… yeah, looks like we’re fucked.”
The doors suddenly opened and harsh light spilled in.
“Get up. Come with us.” More goons.
They were dragged out into an open dirt field with a barbed fence around it. Ropes were tied to boxes at the other end of the field. Each member of their crew was assigned a rope that was fed around their handcuffs. They had to march their way down to the other side, perhaps to sit on the box?
“What’s going on -” A punch collided with Johnson’s face as his sentence came to an abrupt end.
“Walk.”
He stooped low, letting his knuckles graze the dirt. The rope would not extend high enough for him to stand. The rest of the men were doing the same. Stan limped onward, collapsing a few times. That burn needed treatment.
Pat, one of the last men found out the farmhouse, was walking along the rope closest to Johnson’s.
The man vented angrily, “Who’d have thought… the last obstacle of them all, the one that leads nowhere but death… and what was our crime? We were never supposed to survive in the first place.”
Johnson nodded glumly, unsure what could be done at this point.
As they reached the end of their ropes, they each sat rear ends on their boxes. A guard came around and did something to the ropes. Johnson couldn’t quite make it out until it was his turn.
The man brushed back the sand to reveal a much too large brick of C4 sitting just under his feet. The rope was attached to some kind of pull fuse that would set it off if he dropped it or pulled too hard.
This was a game of when, not if. He looked around at his men one last time while the guard finished his duty. He caught Stan’s eye and they shared a look. The man was breathing heavy trying to hold both his injured leg and the rope at the same time.
In horror, Johnson watched as Stan shook his head in defeat. In one last moment of defiance, his friend stood to attention and formed a crisp salute, yanking the rope upwards.
BOOM.
Where Stan had been was now a messy indentation in the dirt.
A shocked silence filled the space. Soldiers and prisoners alike stared in horror.
Suddenly, Pat dove forward past his explosive. In the commotion, he hadn’t been secured to his rope when they attached the fuse. The guard was standing right by Pat’s box and dove away in horror as the prisoner yanked the rope and set off the explosive. Soldiers piled in and secured Pat as their guard climbed shakily to his feet.
“You think I want this?? You think I volunteered for this bullshit?? They’ve got my wife, my kids. I have to, understand?”
Johnson, completely disregarding the man, imagined being let loose to pummel his blotchy face repeatedly. The bastard had killed Stan as far as he was concerned.
Sirens sounded, calling the Private back to reality as he held his rope gingerly, careful not to make any sudden movements.
A voice came over the speaker. “Hold up, hold up - the Governor has just called. These men have been pardoned in full!”
Chapter 6: Intermission
A metropolis city is filled with the hustle and bustle of everyday folk doing everyday folk things. Yelling drivers, yelling pedestrians, and murmuring cyclists.
Massive skyscrapers converge on a central point in this city where a massive billboard overshadows everything. A large man, a local leader, stands at the base of the billboard, his shadow casting across the canvas creating a dramatic effect.
He shouts down at the people below, somehow making more noise by himself than the rest of the city itself. His insults are more depraved than theirs, his confidence more unshakeable.
The city comes to a screeching halt as the entire attention economy begins to orbit around this man. He seems to grow larger, as do the crowds. Violence breaks out as some try to climb the pole and take him down. Others, finding some kind of twisted likeness within him, stand in the way.
The man laughs.
He jeers.
He pulls out a massive hose, shooting filth all over the crowds. Both sides are drenched and wretched, but still his admirers look up longingly, cheering him on.
With a flick of a wrist, the man (now nearly as tall as the billboard itself), removes a stained curtain and reveals the artwork beneath.
SUCK ON MY GIANT LOAD OF SHIT - I KNOW YOU WANT TO!
No one can reach him. All efforts to stop him only seem to make him more powerful. He’s bent over in a crazed laugh, reveling in his power to destroy.
The screen zooms out, showing that this was all playing out on the iPhone of a young woman as she sits on the subway.
It was an official post from their prestigious world leader.
But no one is shocked.
No one reacts.
No one cares.
Chapter 7: Wrapping Up Loose Ends
“Easy now, how are we doing on the starboard bow?”
“You’re clear, 10 meters and closing!”
The crew was slowly bringing the massive yacht to port, inching their way closer and tossing lines down to the dock crew to secure the vessel.
Private Johnson, or rather John Johnson as he had to constantly remind himself, watched the process with respect. Great teamwork. Not one well-acquainted team in a well-established routine, but two teams who had likely never even crossed paths with the other somehow knowing all the proper steps to the same dance. It was a united effort, a million different things could go wrong… but, somehow, they made it all look effortless.
He sighed, looking around the ship. His eyes inevitably found their way to Governor Goggins. The man had slicked back hair, wide set eyes, and a swagger that Johnson had initially mistaken for a respectable confidence.
“Mind your manners there, Johnson.” Trenton appeared at his side. “You know the Jolly Governor would not take kindly to the stares. Might make him think you’re… up to something.”
Johnson sighed. “Thanks, I just… I mean you know what he is. It’s hard to work for him knowing that he’s… well, him.”
“This is where I tell you to mind your tongue as well! You’re looking for trouble today, aren’t you?”
“Maybe I am! I mean, look at this thing.” The former Private gestured around at the huge boat. “You know how he paid for all this, right? How we all paid for this? He’s as dirty as the rest of them, I swear.”
“And what does that hve to do with the debt between you two? As I recall, the man saved your life, rescued you from a cesspool of a military unit, and gave you a prestigious position on his team, no?”
Johnson looked down. “Yes. I mean, technically that’s true.”
Thinking about that part of it was something he really tried to avoid. His mind filled with memories of explosions, acid, and… friends long gone.
Trenton put a hand on Johnson’s shoulder. “Look, I’m with you - the guy’s a snake. It doesn’t take much time to realize that. But what can you do? We’ve got to be useful to the snakes or else they’ll bite.”
The yacht blew its horn, signaling the time of departure.
The men hastily shouldered their bags, and Johnson glanced over toward his employer once again. Governor Goggins was waving him over with a smile.
“Hurry up, son, it’s time we get a move on! I got people to see and places to be - and I think you know what I mean.” His wink almost made Johnson roll his eyes.
“Yes, sir, I’m right behind you!” He nodded farewell to Trenton and hurried over to help grab the Governor’s bags.
Johnson listened in against his will to the conversation between the Governor and his bodyguards. There was another new guy who was swept up in awe and couldn’t help but ask ridiculous questions.
“Boss, that woman back there, the one you asked us to give you space with. Was that your woman? I mean, just to be sure that we recognize her in the future.”
A wry smile, already present on Goggin’s face, spread a little wider. “Was she my woman? Shoot, you should know by now, son. She sure was. Along with any other girl I see.”
Another wink. Johnson wanted to die. The bodyguard tried to copy the Governor’s grin but ended up just looking even more stupid.
“Right then, let’s be off! We are going out tonight, boys.”
They wound their way through the port town, eventually stopping at a bar that looked like something of an officer’s club. Goggins strutted right past the entry line like he owned the place.
By the time Johnson made it inside, the Governor was already chatting up a couple of ladies at the back of the room. Sighing, Johnson headed that direction to provide the usual assistance.
The scene was evolving quickly as he got closer. The Governor and the two women barely making eye contact, waddling in minute circles, and primarily looking up as they tried to find some way to connect.
“What?”
“What?… What?”
“What?”
As they moved in closer, somehow oblivious to each other while still moving in complete unison, the former Private and awarded ‘hero’ stepped in to assist. He helped all 3 of them lay down and assume an awkward spooning position on the dirty floor.
Their calls continued.
“What?”
“What?… What?”
“What?”
THE END
No, really. That’s all.