We've already told you about five guys who single-handedly brought the asskick reactor to critical mass after being tossed into desperate situations. Here's another handful of men who absolutely refused to go gently, instead opting to erupt violence like a hate volcano onto everything around them.
In January 1944, James H. Howard and his squadron of P-51 Mustangs were escorting a formation of American bombers back from a mission to wipe out some aircraft factories near Berlin. While still over Germany, Nazi fighter planes attacked the American formation, and Howard, along with the other escorts, swooped in to defend the bombers. After a short battle, all of the German fighters were either driven off or shot down, but Howard found himself alone, separated from the rest of his squadron.
"Finally, some me time."
He returned to the bomber formation by himself, only to find the sky swarming with between 30 and 40 German fighters.
Rather than wait for the rest of his squadron, or even hesitate for a moment, Howard blazed directly into the heart of the German fighter formation. For the next 30 minutes, Howard viciously attacked the German planes with the astonished bomber crews looking on in awe. He shot down or damaged at least six enemy aircraft and received in return only a single bullet through the wing.
The plane was only weighing him down.
Running dangerously low on fuel (remember this was all happening over Germany) and with half of his guns jammed, Howard continued to swoop in on the enemy planes and force them away from the bombers before the German aircraft eventually gave up the chase.
"See this? This is you guys. You'll notice it's a perfect fit for my penis."
When Howard returned to his base in the U.K., he didn't tell anyone what had happened. Only after an inquiry by the bomber crews was Howard's identity as the legendary Mustang pilot revealed.
In a press conference a few weeks later, a reporter asked Howard why he didn't wait for the rest of his squadron, and his response was -- write this down, because you're going to want to use it any time anyone asks you why you did anything -- "He who rides a tiger cannot dismount."
"Hmm. But what about he who rides a shark?"
In 1951, after a year of fighting in Korea, the United Nations forces were at a stalemate with the North Korean Army and the People's Liberation Army, led by Kim Il Sung and Mao Zedong, respectively (aka the Korean Jesus and the world's most deadly sex maniac).
We think they got their roles mixed up when it came to portrait time: Kim looks up for anything.
In the middle of all this was Jack G. Hanson, a machine gunner in the 31st Infantry Regiment of the U.S. Army. Hanson and the rest of the men of F Company were dug into a hill which, on the night of June 7, 1951, came under attack from a vast force of North Korean infantry. Knowing that there was no way they could stand and fight, the Americans withdrew, leaving Hanson and four other men as a rear guard to cover the retreat.
"Don't worry, we'll totally come back for you guys."
The aforementioned four other men with Hanson all got wounded in the attack and were forced to crawl to safety, leaving just Hanson and his machine gun standing in the face of an unstoppable human wave, spitting hot lead death.
"Outnumbered? More like outfunbered.
Nobody really knows for sure what happened next, since all the Americans had withdrawn and the North Koreans were either dead or otherwise unavailable for comment. What we do know is that two hours later the Americans counterattacked and retook the position, where they found Hanson's body in front of his machine gun nest with all his ammo expended. In his right hand was an empty pistol and in his left was a machete covered in blood.
In front of him lay approximately 22 dead enemy soldiers, riddled with bullets and stab holes.
So, yeah. You can fill in your own story there. Just know that it won't be as badass as what actually happened.
"Is that a tank? Bring it."
Dominic "Fats" (seriously) McCarthy was an Australian soldier who fought in Gallipoli and France from the beginning of World War I. In August 1918, McCarthy was commanding a company in Northern France when the battalion on his left flank was held up by a heavily fortified German trench full of machine guns. Irritated that something was standing in the way of his storm of assbeat, McCarthy took three other men with him to deal with this German trench that was causing so many problems.
We're sure the rules of war say that this guy has the right of way.
For a guy named Fats, McCarthy could really fucking move. He outpaced the guys who came with him and managed to avoid the torrents of hot lead being spat at him from the German guns. He arrived at the first machine gun nest, blasted it into oblivion before the other guys could catch up and, without pausing for breath, launched a one-man blitzkrieg on the entire German trench system, armed only with a standard rifle and a shitload of grenades.
"Oh, have you three just arrived? There's no more war left."
McCarthy captured five machine guns, killed 22 Germans and captured 50 more. He secured half a kilometer of German trench by himself. The Germans were so impressed with his fighting that when they surrendered they patted him on the back and told him what a good job he'd done beating the everloving Jesus out of them across 500 meters of heavily fortified trenches.
"Learn from his example, men! Private, stop crying, it's embarrassing."
He was awarded the Victoria Cross for his actions, now largely considered to be the finest piece of individual fighting in the entire war.