Chapter 24: Bull Moose

A group of Wilson clones leapt back as Roosevelt swung his tree trunk at them. At the same time, a pair of clones charged towards Roosevelt’s unguarded flank.

“Not so fast!” Roosevelt screeched, throwing his leg out at the clones.

The two Wilsons smirked at Roosevelt’s attack. They leaned backwards, catching hold of Roosevelt’s knee as he swung, locking it in place. Simultaneously, a third Wilson jumped into the scuffle, smashing down onto Roosevelt’s leg with a devastating high kick.

Roosevelt clicked his tongue as he jerked his leg free from the Wilson’s, then swiftly whipped it out towards the nearest clone. Another Wilson jumped ahead of the attack, pushing Roosevelt’s flying leg away and redirecting it from its intended target.

“Holy smokes!” Thompson shouted, “Wilson is seriously holding her own against a titan like Roosevelt!”

“Roosevelt might have the advantage in terms of raw strength,” Truman remarked, “but Wilson’s technique rivals even that of Jefferson. Rumor has it that she dedicates about a dozen of her clones each day towards mastering new techniques, and we’ve already seen a number of these moves in action just now.”

He started counting off his fingertips.

“Russian Sambo to pull at Roosevelt’s knee, Muay Thai to strike his leg, and Japanese Aikido to deflect his attacks. All in all, I’ve heard that Wilson claims a mastery of over 63 different martial arts!”

“Jesus!” Thompson exclaimed. “And Roosevelt has to fight 14 of these super martial artists all at the same time? I don’t know if even a Rushmore could handle something like that!”

Truman broke into a full-blown laugh.

“Hey! What’s so funny?”

“Sorry, sorry,” Truman remarked, wiping a tear from his face. “What you said is perfectly reasonable. After all…you’ve never seen a Rushmore in action before…”

A Wilson dashed towards Roosevelt, smashing at his damaged knee with a heavy kick. Roosevelt winced at the blow, his leg buckling out from under him as he fell to the ground. He started to rise up, but stopped as he looked to see every single Wilson leaping towards him.

“Witness the ultimate achievement of our glorious technique!” the Wilson’s screeched as each of them collided into Roosevelt with fierce, high-velocity strikes from every possible angle, “Fourteen Points!”

Lincoln gave a soft flinch from the stands.

“Yeowch! I dare say that an attack of that scale would be enough to kill most men.” He widened up his grin. “However…”

Roosevelt closed his eyes, taking in a long deep breath of air.

“…it takes more than that…” he spoke softly, “…to kill a Bull Moose!”

Roosevelt flexed his muscles to their limits, expanding them outward with enough force to bounce the entire colliding squadron of Wilson’s off his body.

“What in the…” one Wilson spoke as the group flew across the arena.

“Those fancy techniques of yours might do well in a martial arts class,” Roosevelt screamed as he grabbed hold of his tree trunk, “but you’re in a real brawl now!”

Roosevelt slammed his weapon forward, smashing into the closest Wilson. The clone rocketed back across the arena, her body crashing into the arena wall just next to Taft.

Taft continued watching the fight without bothering to check if the clone was still conscious. After all, he knew firsthand just how devastating a single blow of Roosevelt’s could be.

The Wilson’s turned to their fallen comrade, then looked back to Roosevelt, his face enveloped by a menacing grin.

“One down,” he exclaimed, “thirteen to go!”

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“It takes more than that to kill a bull moose.” This line was famously said by Theodore Roosevelt after being shot in the chest before giving a speech (at which point he continued giving the speech as if nothing had happened).