Knight at the Museum
Welrod looked up at the massive gun battery that towered before her. These iconic 15-inch guns belonged to the HMS Resolution. They were quite the lawn decoration for the building that lay before her: The Imperial War Museum.
I would love to stay out here and admire British naval superiority; however, I must admit the weather is quite abhorrent.
It was a typical fall night in southern England: damp and chilly. The commander was at an important logistics meeting in South London. The man requested that Welrod accompany him, as she knew the area quite extensively. In return, the commander would let her give him a tour of a museum of her choice. John, the commander's close friend, had pulled some strings and got the two exclusive access after-hours.
This seems like more of a reward for you than I, to be perfectly honest.
The girl was standing on the sidewalk, umbrella drawn, waiting for her companion to join her. She watched as tourists walked out of the wide doors that marked the entrance to the museum. The commander was running behind as always; despite her efforts to help him keep a schedule the man continuously lost track of time.
"You're dead."
Welrod whirled around, drawing her pistol in a blink of an eye. A man was standing right beside her; he was wearing a long crimson overcoat with a beret to match. Rain slid down his umbrella, impacting the ground next to Welford's feet.
"You 're certainly getting faster, but I would still beat you on the draw!" The Commander let out his signature hearty laugh. The girl stowed her pistol in its holster, letting out a sigh of relief.
"I'm sorry, Sir, but I would have to disagree with you." Welrod had been practicing draw techniques with SAA over the past several weeks. Despite the little girl's appearance, she was an absolute speed demon to the holster.
"Well, when you have the desire to lose, you know where to find me!" The Commander gave the girl a little wink.
Sometimes, this man can be insufferable.
"Now, how about you and I take a trip through the annals of British Military might!"
The commander sped off in the direction of the museum, his escort in tow. The two companions entered the atrium and were greeted by the icon of British Air Supremacy in World War Two.
"It's a Spitfire…" The Commander stood in awe, mouth agape at the aircraft that hung from the rafters before him. The man pulled a camera from his pocket, clicking the capture button at a mile a minute; a wide grin spanned the length of his face.
He looks like a child in a sweet shop.
"Sir, would you like me to take your…" but he was already off, now gleefully observing the 13-pound field gun parked in the center of the room, a relic of the First World War, an event that occurred over one hundred years prior. The girl, smiling to herself, approached her man-child of a commanding officer.
The man turned his head towards his companion. "Miss Welrod, you just have to take a picture of me behind this field gun! Hold on, let me get into proper position." The man practically threw the camera at the girl as he crouched behind the field gun, a wicked smile on his face.
"Alright Sir, on the word 'Fire.' Three, two, one…"
"Fire!" The man's voice normally soft spoken bellowed across the atrium as Welrod snapped the picture, echoing several times as it reverberated off the walls. The commander, embarrassed, turned to Welrod.
"Did I overdo it?"
Welrod shook her head, smiling politely as she handed the commander back his camera. The two continued through the museum atrium, spotting a Russian made T-34-85 standing guard in the corner of the room.
The girl looked over at her commander, surprised by the scowl that had taken over his face.
"Best tank of the war, my arse! Those Russian engineers know nothing of elegance and precision! Why is this even here?"
I know a couple of Russian Dolls that would see those as fighting words Sir.
Despite the commander's comment, the man did ask to have his picture taken. A few short clicks later, as well as an exchange of a few more colorful comments about Russian engineering, the two companions continued their journey through the museum.
The next stop on their list was the First World War Galleries. This wing of the museum was dedicated to the weapons, uniforms, keepsakes, and stories of one of the most important moments in human history.
The commander and Welrod walked through the dimly lit corridors; an artistic choice to set the ambiance of the exhibit. They approached a display of two soldiers in uniform: the dummies were representing British Cavalrymen, sabers locked to their sides. The girl looked the dummy on the right up and down, it had epaulets displaying a high ranking official. Despite its age, she observed that even uniforms today looked very similar to it.
Some things never change.
Out of the corner of her eye, the girl saw the commander swinging something around.
You did not do what I think you did.
Welrod glanced at the left dummy, and then at the commander, absolutely horrified. The commander had in fact commandeered the dummy's saber and was now swirling it around his head.
"Miss Welrod! I hereby challenge you to a duel!" The commander pointed the sword at Welrod, assuming the stance of an expert fencer.
The girl, in a panic, scanned the room, praying that there weren't any tourists, or security, here to witness this tomfoolery. Luckily for her, the exhibit was vacant.
Suddenly, Welrod felt a sharp prick on her hindquarters.
"Yowch!" Welrod lept into the air in surprise as she turned to face her attacker.
The commander was looking at her with a cheeky grin on his face. "Arm yourself milady, the battle is about to commence!" The man raised his sword in salute, ready to duel.
"Absolutely not! We are in a formal establishment for one and two if you dare touch me again I swear…" Before she could finish her sentence, the commander poked her in the stomach. "Would you stop that!"
"You're making this too easy, Wells." The Commander was giggling to himself as he pressed his attack, prodding the girl with the sword.
"Alright, that does it! Be on your guard, Sir." She stomped over to the other dummy and borrowed its sword. The girl assumed a defensive posture and the duel began.
The two combatants flowed seamlessly around the room, dodging and parrying one another's attacks. The swords clinked and clanged against one another, lighting up the atmosphere with the noise of the intense battle. Welrod gave the commander a shove, knocking the man off balance. The girl took this time to press her advantage. She stabbed and slashed forcing the man into a corner. Welrod then broke through his defenses, poking the commander in the stomach, disarmed him, and held the sword to his neck. The man was out of breath, defeated, but smiling nonetheless.
"Well Sir, looks like its check…"
"What the hell are you two doing?!" The two companions turned their heads to the voice; a security officer had entered the room and was furiously approaching the group.
"Do you have any idea what kind of damage you could have caused? These relics are treasures of a bygone…"
"How dare you, Sir! Do you have any idea who you're speaking to?!" The security guard froze. Welrod glanced at her commander, who had assumed an air of authority.
"I don't care who…" the Security guard continued, by the commander again cut him off.
"I'll have you know I am Lord Mycroft, Duke of Glasgow, and this is my wife…"
"H.G. Wells, grand Duchess of Glasgow. You have greatly insulted my honor good sir!" The girl finished his sentence for him.
The security guard was lost for words, his mouth opening and closing like a beached fish.
"M-my Lord, m-my Lady, please accept my humblest apology." The stout man attempted to give his best bow, only to almost waste himself.
The commander pressed the advantage. "Now you listen well, you had better not speak of this to anyone, else I report you to your employer for lack of decency!"
The guard backed out of the room, bowing repeatedly as he went. As soon as he was out of sight, the commander looked at his companion.
"We should probably make ourselves scarce before he realizes the Glasgow line doesn't exist."
The two "fugitives" hurriedly exited the exhibit, moving on to the Secret War exhibit. It was now the girl's turn to be the child in the sweet shop.
Welrod was bouncing from display to display, blabbering on and on like a schoolgirl, about the heroics of the gentlemen of the British Secret Service. The girl explained in detail about the usage of secret weapons, spymaster tactics, and the overall temperament of an MI6 agent. All the while, the commander was following behind her, snapping pictures at her request. They even got to take a picture of the weapon that shared her name, the girl's face beaming in the photograph.
Unfortunately, their escapade in the "War Room" limited their time they could spend elsewhere, and the two companions soon had to leave the establishment and make tracks for Sector 78. Welrod and the commander grabbed the 10:00 pm shuttle, all the while chattering about the experiences they had long into the night.
The commander awoke several hours later; the bus would soon be in Glasgow. It was still terribly dark outside; the mist rolling over the mountains in the distance. The man felt a weight on his shoulder; Welrod's head had found itself a comfortable resting place.
The man didn't mind.