Disclaimer: I don't own any of
the Peanuts characters. This is the same Mustard that is a friend of the late
Mr. Boddy (I don't own them
either) Actual History may have been twisted a little in the making of this
story.
Prologue: Charlie Brown walks out carrying Snoopy's
dinner. 'Dinner? Now?! I have to fly my Sopwith Camel! This is war!' cried the
dog. He jumped up on his Sopwith Camel, where his doghouse previously stood.
'Why can't I have a normal dog
like everyone else?' Charlie Brown asked himself.
A smoking Sopwith Camel flew
into the aerodrome. "I IIIII IIIII?" asked the mechanic. 'What on earth did you
do to it?'
"Very well
done," said Colonel Mustard. 'But I am
a little disappointed."
"Why?"
"This is the
third Sopwith Camel you've lost in war."
"I qualify as
a flying ace. Don't we lose a few planes?"
"But you've
only been in two battles."
As the Flying
Ace tried to think of a reply, a German officer came in, wearing a gray
salt'n'pepper mustache and a monocle.
"It's a
foreign agent! Get outta the way! I've got some ammo left in the gun!"
"Snoop, he's
clear."
"This is your
best flying ace?" asked the officer.
"Unfortunately,
Kraut," Muster replied.
"Hey!"
"Ok, Mr.
Flying Ace. We need your help."
"What's the
mission? What's your name?"
"I am General
Sauer Kraut. A group led by a rebel German general has access to a most
dangerous machine. They must be stopped."
"I never heard
of such things."
"Neither has most
of his men, I imagine. So far, only the leaders and you and Mustard know. This
is the only time we can strike before they can use the machine. You're the best
ace so far in this war. Will you help?"
"I
can't answer that now. I need a rootbeer."
The Flying Ace
walked into a local tavern. A little
French bartender wearing glasses gave him a rootbeer.
"So, what
brings you here, Monsieur Flying Ace?"
"How'd you
know…?"
"I run a
tavern that the army goes to. With the
rootbeer and what not…"
"I have to
decide whether to ally with the Axis to defeat a rebel general that…"
" General Von
Fox?"
"How…?"
"I told you,
monsieur."
"Yeah, that's
him."
An infantryman
went up to them. "Ace, my friends would like to challenge you to a dart game."
"Poor
blighters. How can I say no? Is there a wager?"
"A round of
rootbeer."
"Sounds good."
"Ok," said one
of the men, "first to get 300 points wins. Inner bull's eye worth 100, 3 darts
a round. Ace, you go first."
"With
pleasure." Flying Ace threw 3 darts in the inner bull, gaining him 300 points.
"Guys, how bout you get everyone a rootbeer?" The waitress nodded. The infantry
groaned.
"Ha! Not only
am I the best flying Ace, I'm also the best dart player." Zing! Zip! Zap! 3 knives lodged themselves
outside the darts.
"Who's that?!"
asked the Flying Ace.
"Baron Manfred
Von Richthofen. He admits you're a better ace, so far, but he still considers
himself a great dart player," said the barkeep.
"He's the Red
Baron???"
"Yes. Has a
mean streak, probably will pick a fight with you. He does make aheckuva good
pizza, though."
"So, you think
you play darts better? Willing to fight to prove it?"
"A duel Red? I
accept!"
-To be
continued-
