When you think of Maine, you think lobsters, lakes, lighthouses, and people who live closer to Canada than most of us would be comfortable with. You don’t necessarily think home of insanely badass fighters. However, possibly due to the cold weather that kills normal brain cells, Maine has produced some pretty ass-kicking heroes in the past 196 years of statehood (and quite a few more under the oppression of being part of Massachusetts, but that’s another story). Here are the top five Mainers who kicked ass, took names, and did it all with a stoic New England manner.

5. Colonel Charles Tilden (And his whole damn, insane regiment)

Hometown: Castine, Maine.

Why he’s awesome: Have you led 200 men on a forlorn hope bayonet charge against 5,000? No? Then shut up and listen.

The story: The late morning of July 1, 1863 doesn't go down as one of the best morning for the Army of the Potomac. They had managed to catch Robert E. Lee napping by ambushing his advance forces, but by late morning, thousands of Confederates were converging on Gettysburg. The Confederates arriving from the north threatened to overwhelm the thin Union line. And by threaten, I mean that they were pummeling it into bits. Tilden, a clerk by trade, had already seen his fair share of fighting. Earlier that afternoon, the 16th Maine, only about 280 men, were being assaulted by about three times their number of North Carolinians. Tilden had his horse shot out from under him, and this seemingly pissed him off so much that he ordered a bayonet charge against the enemy. A full brigade of the enemy. And he won. However, the rest of the line was getting shot to pieces. Noting that Tilden had a liking for insane bayonet charges into impossible odds, the division commander rode up with another mission: charge the whole damn rebel division to allow the 16,000 Union forces time to withdraw to a new position. Tilden again showed his cajones by telling his division commander, a major general, that he was insane. General Robinson pointed somewhere into the mass of Confederate soldiers and ordered the 16th to take that position at all costs. Tilden probably flipped off Robinson, but we can’t know for sure. What we do know is that the 16th Maine charged again, this time into a full Confederate division, over half a mile, and caused the rebels enough distress to buy the Union army twenty minutes to withdraw in good order. As the Mainers disappeared into the mass of gray, presumably mowing down hundreds in their sheer fury, they threw one last “F you” to the Confederates. Rather than let their colors be captured and paraded back to Richmond, they men tore them into shreds and concealed them on their persons. Tilden, not one to accept defeat, broke his sword over his knee so as not to have to surrender it. The regiment suffered 81% casualties. Tilden himself was captured and sent to Libby Prison in Richmond, the Confederacy’s version of a maximum security prison. Tilden apparently thought this was cute, because he escaped that December and was back in the fight in January. He ended the war as a brigadier general and went back into business, becoming a successful merchant. Because once you've charged an entire enemy division, anything else seems like cake.

4. Brigadier General Aaron S. Daggett

Hometown: Greene, Maine.

Why he’s awesome: Because you don’t fight in four wars in two centuries and not be one of the most insanely awesome soldiers ever.

The story: Aaron Simon Daggett was seemingly destined for academic greatness with his Old Testament name and his years of schooling at Maine Wesleyan College and Bates College. Yet when war broke out in 1861, Daggett duly enlisted as a private in the 5th Maine Infantry. Yeah, that’s right, a dude with enough degrees and letters after his name to sink a battleship goes to war as a private soldier. By the following month, everyone realized the dude was way too smart and they made him a second lieutenant, which is basically like the private of the officer ranks. After the First Battle of Bull Run he was promoted to captain, because who needs first lieutenant anyways? He went on to fight in every single battle the Army of the Potomac engaged in, and was promoted to major in January of 1863. Most guys might have felt that going from private to major was enough; not Daggett. He fought on through the campaigns of 1864, got himself wounded at Cold Harbor (and presumably healed himself through sheer willpower), and then got promoted to colonel. And then brigadier general of volunteers, when the war ended. With the end of the war, the volunteer army was disbanded and everyone went back to their homes. Did I say everyone? Sorry, not everyone; Daggett decided the whole 19th century disease-ridden warfare thing was his bag, baby, and he accepted the position of a captain in the 19th U.S. Infantry, and went out to fight in the Indian Wars. When he ran out of people to fight out west, he fought in China, the Spanish-American War (I like to think he called Teddy Roosevelt a young whippersnapper at San Jaun Hill), and the Philippines. He was made a brigadier general of the regular army in 1900. He retired from the Army in 1901 presumably since there was no one good left to fight. His dogged persistence continued into his civilian life, as he lived to be 100 years old, dying in 1938, (the oldest surviving Civil War general) just as Hitler was invading Eastern Europe. Had he lived longer, he probably would’ve gone to fight the Nazis as well.

3. Second Lieutenant Edward C. Dahlgren

Hometown: Perham, Maine.

Why he’s awesome: You remember Captain Spears from Band of Brothers, and when he runs through the village to get reinforcements? Yeah, Dahlgren did that, plus killing or capturing all the Germans in the village.

The story: Edward Dahlgren hailed from Perham, Maine, in Aroostook County. Called merely “The County” by Mainers due to its large size, it is famous for potatoes, potato vodka, trees, a disturbing proximity to Canada, and mind-numbing amounts of snow. And for famously independent, bat-shit crazy inhabitants. Which in part explains Dahlgren. Enlisting in the Army as a sergeant in Company E, 142nd Infantry Regiment, Dahlgren found himself in Oberhoffen France in 1945, where Nazis were still as feisty as ever and were mounting a counter-offensive to show that they could be dicks to the very last. When a platoon from Company E became cut off and surrounded by the enemy, Sergeant Dahlgren led his own counterattack. Spotting enemy troops approaching through an open field, Dahlgren hopped into a convenient barn and opened fire with his submachine gun, killing six Germans., wounding others, and throwing the rest into a panicked retreat. He led his platoon to link up with the stranded platoon and then headed into the village, because he was just warming up. Coming under heavy machine gun and rifle fire from a fortified enemy house, Dahlgren charged it, threw a grenade through the door, and followed it into the house, spraying Tommy Gun fire. Shocked by the aggressiveness of his attack and presumably his very large balls, the eight surviving Germans surrendered. Barely pausing to breathe and mutter a few French swear words, Dahlgren rushed out into the street, coming under fire from a German machine gun nest. Undaunted, Dahlgren secured some rifle grenades, stepped into the street, and calmly destroyed the machine gun and its two operators. Another machine gun in a nearby barn opened fire on him, laughably assuming they could stop this maelstrom of Maine ferocity. He corrected their false assumption by throwing another grenade into the barn and filling it full of holes, capturing five more Germans. He reorganized his platoon, and then proceeded to pursue the enemy into another house, jumped through the window like Indiana Jones, and shooed the shocked Germans into the cellar, where he proceeded to toss grenades into their midst until they surrendered. Any normal person would consider this a good day, but Dahlgren decided that his quota of ass-kicking wasn’t full. He went on a recon with another soldier, who was probably in awe of his badassery, and heard German voices coming from a nearby building. Rather than calling for help, he barraged the house with rifle grenades and then charged the door. The Germans again headed for the cellar. Dahlgren, by now a pro at the whole trapping-Nazis-in-the-cellar game, was undeterred, kicked open the celler door, and spread bursts of freedom with his submachine gun, calling on the Germans to surrender. Sixteen Germans wisely surrendered. Dahlgren emerged from this combat without a scratch and received the Medal of Honor for his actions. By wars end he was a second lieutenant and had won a Silver Star, three Bronze Stars, the Purple Heart, the French Croix de Guerre, and the French Legion of Honor. After the war he naturally became a potato seed inspector, while also championing the cause of veterans and being a founding member of the Maine Veteran’s Home in Caribou, Maine, where he passed away in 2006. I like to think he kicked open the gates of heaven and tossed in a few grenades by way of introduction.

2. Master Sergeant Gary Gordon

Hometown: Lincoln, Maine.

Why he’s awesome: I shouldn't even have to explain this to anyone. But since some of you have spent your sad lives in ignorance of this great man, choosing to play Halo for twelve hours a day and haven’t even seen Blackhawk Down, I’ll go ahead and explain it for you.

The story: In 1993, the U.S. was playing peacekeeper in Somalia where a bunch of seriously bad dudes were trying to ensure that Somalia sucked for all the Somalis who opposed them, which is impressive, as Somalia is a pretty sucky place to begin with. U.S. Army Rangers were conducting a raid in the capital city of Mogadishu to capture some of the aforementioned bad guys when the city literally erupted around them. One of the UH-60 Blackhawk helicopters was hit by a rocket-propelled grenade (RPG) and went down. Things went from bad to worse as another Blackhawk was downed, far from any U.S. troops. Gordon and his partner, Sergeant First Class Randy Shughart, both Delta Force snipers who were circling the air in their own Blackhawk, asked for permission to be inserted by the second downed helo to protect the crew. Understand, there were literally thousands of Somali militia converging on this crash site, so his command interpreted the request for what it was: an insane, suicidal mission to rescue some (possibly alive) pilots. They said no. Gordon was a Delta: no one told him no when American lives were in danger, so he asked again. Command said no again. Gordon, probably in a flurry of profanity, requested to go a third time. This time they got the green light. Armed with only their sniper rifles and pistols, Gordon and Shughart were inserted about 100 meters south of the crash site. The hundreds of Somalis between them and their goal did not deter them in the least, and they fought their way through a nightmare of third-world chaos to the downed Blackhawk. There they secured the crew, who probably thought that they looked like angels. Gordon and Shughart then engaged the massive crowds of enemy that were congregating on their position, until they ran short of ammo. Shughart was mortally wounded, but continued fighting. Gordon secured a rifle, handed it to the pilot with the benediction, “Good luck,” and then went out to look certain death right in the face and spit in its eye. He fell with his face to the enemy, still firing his pistol, and showing what the embodiment of courage, sacrifice, and a love of fellow soldiers looked like. I literally cannot imagine his bravery in the face of certain death. The Medal of Honor he posthumously received barely even covers it.

1. Major General Joshua L. Chamberlain

Hometown: Brewer, Maine.

Why he’s awesome: Because when you single-handedly save the Union Army and the state of Maine, you can’t help being awesome. Also, the mustache.

The Story: Joshua Chamberlain was not meant to be a soldier. He was meant to be a scholar. With a degree in Rhetoric and Natural Philosophy (seriously, they don’t even teach those anymore because your brain would explode) and possessing the ability to converse in seven languages, Chamberlain was holding a teaching position at Bowdoin college. Oh, by the way, he taught himself most of those languages. He also taught himself how to play the viola. Get the picture? Wicked smart dude. No soldier experience. So the whole Civil War thing happens, and Chamberlain’s like, “Hey, could be fun, I haven’t won at that yet.” So he applies for a release from Bowdoin. Being a bunch of hippy peaceniks, they say no. Ol’ Josh is not to be outdone, so he tells them he’s going to Europe to study more stuff, which they’re cool with. And then he up and joins the Army. Because of all his book-learnin’ he is made lieutenant colonel of the 20th Maine Infantry. Like everything, he teaches himself how to Army. The unit sees its first good fight at Fredericksburg, in 1862, and by “good fight” I mean “holy crap this was a bad idea.” The regiment charges a fortified Confederates position and, like the rest of the Union army, gets its ass whooped. It’s December, and cold, so Chamberlain spends the night between two dead bodies. For warmth. The next day they withdraw, and Chamberlain has the balls to tell the corps commander that he thinks the whole thing was an idiotic idea, which it was. But Chamberlain liked combat; so much so, that when the unit comes down with smallpox and misses the next campaign, he petitions the Army to let them at least charge the enemy and infect them. Naturally, the request was denied. Still, there were challenges. Like when 150 men of the 2nd Maine decided to mutiny because the Army tricked them, and Chamberlain talked them all back into staying. Who says a degree in Rhetoric won’t get you anywhere? He was glad to have those Mainers on July 2, 1863, when they arrived to the small town of Gettysburg and occupied a small hill on the extreme left of the Union line. Their brigade commander ordered Chamberlain to “hold the position at all costs.” That seemed to be the going order of the day for Maine units at Gettysburg. Chamberlain and the 20th Maine proceeded to fight off multiple attacks from three different (larger) Confederate regiments, the fighting becoming hand-to-hand in some places. The Mainers soon ran very low on ammunition, forcing Chamberlain to decide where to retreat to and when. After all, if he stayed, they would get overwhelmed anyways, so he would have to retreat. Wait, no, he didn’t. He gave the order to fix bayonets and charge. Because to hell with numbers.

The Mainers swept down the hillside, taking the Confederates totally by surprise. A rebel officer pointed his pistol at Chamberlain’s head. Chamberlain, not even pausing to wink at death, placed his sword on the officer’s neck. The rebel pistol misfired, and Chamberlain then winked. Or at least I like to think he did. After saving the Union left flank from being overrun, and thereby the whole battle, and thereby the war, Chamberlain didn't rest on his laurels (or the Medal of Honor he received for this charge). He went on to command a brigade in 1864, where he led his men on foot to charge the enemy at Petersburg. This was back when officers did things and didn't have PowerPoint. In the process of the attack he was wounded six times, including being shot in the stomach. In an age of limited medicine and plentiful bacteria, this usually meant death. General Ulysses S. Grant thought so, promoting him to brigadier general on the battlefield. Chamberlain thanked Grant by not dying and being back in service by the beginning of 1865, where he proceeded to chase the Confederates through Virginia. At one point, he got so far ahead of his men that he found himself amongst a bunch of Confederate soldiers. Rather than make awkward small talk, he took advantage of their hesitation as to which side he was on by yelling in a southern accent, “The Yankees are coming, come on boys, charge!” and led them right into a trap where they surrendered. Remember, this is the guy who can speak seven languages. Chosen to accept the surrender of Lee’s Army of Northern Virginia, Chamberlain decided to honor the passing Confederates with a salute, surprising everyone and demonstrating again that Mainers are a classy bunch.

Following the war, Chamberlain served six terms as the governor of Maine. Did I add that because of his wound he had to wear a catheter? That he invented? An enormously painful 19th century catheter. Just keep that in mind. When Chamberlain was getting up there in years (after having been governor, president of Bowdoin, yada yada yada), the state went into a constitutional crisis, with a mob descending on the capital (probably a semi-polite mob, since it’s Maine, but a mob nonetheless). An elderly Chamberlain confronted the mob alone on the steps of the capital building, wearing his Civil War uniform, and basically told them if they wanted to overthrow the government they would have to go through him first. Not surprisingly, the mob melted away. Chamberlain spent his nights in the capital building, guarding the state constitution with a loaded pistol. And his awesome mustache. Also, catheter. I can’t really impress that point enough. Not quite having gotten the whole war thing out of his system, he volunteered his services to the King of Prussia during the Franco-Prussian War. Sadly, for history’s sake, his services were declined. Chamberlain finally let death take him in 1914, probably reminding death who was boss on the way out.