Running Eagle
If we’re going to talk about kickass warriors, let’s start with a badass member of the Blackfoot Tribe who kicked ass and took names in a big way, and ended up the only female war chief in history. Born as the eldest daughter in her family, she decided pretty early on that girl chores sucked the big one and that she’d much rather be shooting things with arrows instead. Much to the shock of her father and the rest of the Warrior crew, she turned out to be the 19th century lady version of Hawkeye and by the time she was 15 she was a fully fledged Warrior Bro, going out and hunting bison and causing a ruckus.
While out on one of these bison-mashing adventures, her hunting party was attacked by a group of rival Flathead Indians, and severely outnumbered, the Blackfoots legged it. Running Eagle noticed her Dad had been taken down, so in a total kickass move she rode straight back into the large horde of angry killer men, dragged her Dad onto her horse and got the hell out of there. He ended up dying anyway, but still. Not the point.
When she was old enough to marry, she refused all her suitors, rightly assuming they would cramp her warrior style. Instead she more or less took a ‘wife’, so there was someone looking after the home fires while she was out cracking skulls. At the age of 20, she snuck into the Flathead camp and boosted six of their best horses. The men of the tribe were well accustomed to her ass-kickery, but stealing a bunch of horses single-handedly was a new level. She was given the warrior name ‘Running Eagle’ (she had been born Brown Weasel Woman which as I’m sure we can all agree, is a pretty sucky moniker), which was the name of a previous great chief, and a massive honour. Sadly, when she was ~30 her luck ran out and one of those pesky Flatheads clubbed her in the back of the noggin during a skirmish and it was all over. The Blackfoot people named a waterfall in what is now the Glacier National Park in Montana after her, and I guess as far as monuments go, that’s a pretty damn good one.
Lydia Litvyak
Germany pissed off a lot of people in the 40s, including the Russians. While the Soviet airborne military component wasn’t exactly the most effective team to duke it out with the Luftwaffe during the war, they did happen to sport one the best female fighter pilots in World War II. Lydia Litvyuk had been flying since the age of 15, but when she tried to enlist with the intention of socking ol’ Adolf in the jaw, she was turned down for her lack of experience. She promptly went to the next closest enlistment office, multiplied her flight hours on the enlistment form by a billion, and was shipped straight off to Top Gun school.
She scored her first kill in her second combat mission, and became the first woman in military history to score a solo aerial victory. Even better, in that same mission she shot down Staff Sergeant Erwin Maier who was an 11-victory ace and three time recipient of the Iron Cross for being a total German face-destroyer. When he was captured by Soviet troops, he asked to speak to the pilot who had SOMEHOW managed to outfly him. When he was presented with a woman, he thought they were taking the piss. She proceeded to recount the battle for him in excruciating detail, and presumably his testicles shrank into his body at the embarrassment of being pwned by a girl. He tried to give her his watch as a gift, but she said ‘Aw hell no, son’ and got back in her plane to shoot down some more Germans.
In March 1943 she was wounded while in combat, but despite being in severe pain and losing blood, she still managed to take out another fighter before landing her plane (like a total champion). She was awarded Free Hunter status, which is totally as badass as it sounds. Basically the 007 of the sky, cruising around and engaging whoever the hell she wanted. When she ultimately met her maker, being shot down by a German pilot, she was only 21 years old. She had served only two years in the Soviet Air Force, but during that time was awarded the Order of the Red Banner, the Order of the Red Star and the Order of the Patriotic War, which in short means she was an almighty Russian face-melter who crammed a hell of a lot of butt-kicking into her short time in the air.
Horatio Nelson
I’m not going to beat around the bush here, I basically chose this topic for my Thursday Threesome so I could talk about this guy. Not only is he awesome because he has the same birthday as me (a few years apart, obviously), he was a huge thorn in Napoleon’s side for a long time and there’s nothing funnier than a furious midget. He started his naval career at age 13, and quickly rose through the ranks, spending most of his time severely pissing off the French and the Spanish (and blowing out their intestines with cannons).
Good ol’ Horatio was injured a bunch of times, but because he was basically the English Terminator, he kept on truckin’. During a battle on the French island of Corsica, his right eye was damaged when a sandbag near him was shot, and he was sprayed with small rocks and sand. He lost sight in the eye, but he didn’t give a shit about depth perception. Depth perception was for pussies. He copped a musketball to the humerus during the Battle of Santa Cruz de Tenerife, and instead of being a wuss about his completely shattered arm, he went to the ship’s surgeon and said ‘Doctor, I want to get rid of this useless piece of flesh here’. Legit actual quote. His arm was chopped off, he threw it over the side of the boat and then went back to wailing on the Spanish. Well, not exactly ‘wailing’, they were eventually defeated, but ‘wailing’ makes for a far better story.
One-Arm Nelson kicked around for another 8 years annoying the crap out of various European countries until his epic victory in the Battle of Trafalgar. The combined French & Spanish forces planned on invading Britain, and Horatio was absolutely having none of that shit. As the fleets engaged, the Captain of the ship Nelson was sailing on suggested he remove the decorations on his coat to make him less recognisable to enemy sharpshooters. Nelson declined, which turned out to be a super crap decision, as once the snipers were in range, he was shot through the damn SPINE. But did he die? God no, this is Horatio Nelson we’re talking about here. He was taken below deck and given some lemonade while the rest of the battle panned out. In the end, the British fleet lost no ships and suffered only 458 casualties, while the combined Spanish/French fleet lost 22 ships and suffered 3243 casualties. Once Nelson had been given the final battle report he allowed himself his Coulson-eqsue ‘I’m checking out’ speech, and died, three hours after he had been shot.
His final rank within the Navy was Vice Admiral of the White, but at the time of his death his full title was: The Most Noble Lord Horatio Nelson, Viscount and Baron Nelson, of the Nile and of Burnham Thorpe in the County of Norfolk, Baron Nelson of the Nile and of Hilborough in the said County, Knight of the Most Honourable Order of the Bath, Vice Admiral of the White Squadron of the Fleet, Commander in Chief of his Majesty's Ships and Vessels in the Mediterranean, Duke of Bronté in the Kingdom of Sicily, Knight Grand Cross of the Sicilian Order of St Ferdinand and of Merit, Member of the Ottoman Order of the Crescent, Knight Grand Commander of the Order of St Joachim. Good. God. Despite all those awesome titles, and all the awesome stuff he did, the one thing that I think makes Lord Nelson a total superhero is thus: he spent 34 years on the sea, and became Britain’s most legendary naval hero...despite suffering from seasickness his entire life.
If you enjoyed this little tiny history lesson, please be sure to check out Ben Thompson’s ‘Badass’ series of books (which this post has been 99% influenced by), and his website Badass of the Week. He is very very funny.
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