The ambulatory hygiene disaster and potential plague pit rushed into the dugout, alerting Lieutenant George Colthurst St. Barleigh and one Captain Edmund Blackadder of the British Army long before they heard him. When it came to drawing attention by means of pure olfactory power alone. Private S. Baldrick was rather good at it.
"Captain! Lieutenant George. There is a woman fighting our boys!"
Lieutenant George rushed out, to ascertain the truth of his brave, abet smelly soldier's statement. Blackadder walked out, mainly because the ventilation in his dugout wasn't quite up to dealing with Baldrick.
It turned out, for once Baldrick had been completely accurate and factual in his statement, as a dark haired woman with Mediterranean features, wearing a red, blue and gold metal costume was going through the men like a combine harvester.
George raised his rifle, his expression switching from his permanent befuddlement to anger, which resembled 'mildly annoyed' to the rest of the world. "Good heavens Baldrick! That strumpet needs to be given a taste of good old British spunk!"
Blackadder raised his arm, stopping George's righteous and patriotic advance while watching a young Corporal after his encounter with the woman. Until now, he didn't know a man could move so vertically without the assistance of a landmine, but there you go.
"If you hopefully mean 'fight her', Lieutenant, bear in mind she seems to be going through several trained, experienced and armed soldiers faster than Field Marshall Haig could in his wildest and shameful dreams. Also take note she is using pre-medieval weaponry rather than modern firearms that could be used at a distance, possibly because she wants to give them a sporting chance."
George lowered his pistol, righteous and patriotic being replaced with common sense. Like the other soldiers who had gotten the message and were staying well out of sight. "So ... no doubt the Hero of Mboto Gorge has some strategy for dealing with this devilish vixen?"
"Yes. Hide in the dugout and say we were overrun by the filthy Hun, and ask 'what woman?' if ever questioned. Otherwise General Melchett will take this insult to his manhood by throwing us and everyone else on the front at Lady Sausage Grinder there. And I like my sausage where it is."
Blackadder turned back to the dugout, but George was still puzzling over the fine points of the battle plan. "How will you do that?"
"It's called 'lying' George. I'm rather good at it..."