Disclaimer: Clearly I am too young to have owned Blackadder, but it's not for lack of trying. The characters, setting etc. belong to the BBC and all those associated in the production of said series. I believe I wrote 'damn' once, possibly twice. No other swearing. Pre-Slash- consider yourself adequately if briefly warned.
Once upon a time in a land relatively far away, but not as far away as many people in Britain would have liked, some European nations were having a war with some other European nations. It's all very complicated business. While, of course, these other nations had their negatives and easily abused stereotypes, Edmund understood that they should at the very least appear to be making an effort, especially if some of them were hanging around the trenches. You never could tell which of them could speak English and objected to comments regarding skunks and cheese. In one of these trenches, mid-shin deep in cold and muddy water, Blackadder sloshed his way to his small bunker, and walked as elegantly as possible as he could through the door, bearing in mind that he had to stoop and shrink by several inches just to get through the opening. He almost turned around on principle; "Baldrick, in the name of all that is good and free of lice, what are you doing with that football?"
"This is the first step of a cunning plan sir!" the heavily blemished and woefully mentally under furnished private replied, beaming with an inanity never before measured on earth. Blackadder sighed aloud, though internally he was rather pleased. Baiting animals was, even to his strange and morally loose mind, wrong, he knew; but with Baldrick an exception could always be made. "Do you mean to tell me that with that scrap of leather, so holey that calling it a ball seems almost an insult to its nobler and sturdier predecessors, you plan on doing something useful?"
"That's right sir, with this ball I shall enact a plan so cunning it will win the war for Britain and allow us to return home to Blighty , sir" Baldrick continued, still blissfully unaware of the Captain's lack of faith. "With this football, and some small but powerful explosives, I shall create a cunningly disguised bomb that, when kicked forcefully, will explode. Then, when we have another Christmas truce, the Germans will be blown up and we can all go home."
"Yes, I'm sure returning to that deep, marshy swamp-pit you call Chez Baldrick will be of the utmost joy for you. However, you have, as usual, missed a few small features in your plan." Blackadder replied. He stood from his bed and paced towards the opening of the trench, pausing and turning for dramatic effect; "Football is a game of two teams; the bomb would blow up and destroy our troops." He paused for a moment, to allow Baldrick a moment's comprehension and paced back towards the other side of the cramped bunker and continued, over-riding any objections; "There is also the idea that there would be any Christmas truce at all. We had one, in the first Christmas we were here and that miniscule fuss over my apparent off-side blunder meant that the superior officers were informed, and there will now categorically be no more Christmas peace." He paced back to the door, and paused again. He turned once more and in a tone that finally betrayed his ire fumed at Baldrick "Finally, what you're stuffing that ball with is not explosives, but instead is this week's chocolate and tobacco rations." Baldrick's face dropped to the leather casing, abashed.
"You will now be responsible for informing everyone why there are no extra treats this week, while I go off to HQ to explain the mess."
In a comparatively large building not very far away at all, grandly furnished and probably more fine than was strictly necessary, a young man was sitting behind a desk lining up pencils on a desk. He had reached perfection, stationery nirvana with each pencil being precisely four millimetres apart, impeccably parallel to the edge of the desk and the square based lamp on the corner of the desk. He reclined back in his chair; a hard day's work had been completed here. Then, the grand wooden door to the office flew open, chipping the marble architrave on the wall and sending vibrations through the floor; vibrations that travelled up the legs of the desk and knocked no less than three pencils to the floor. Darling was certain that he heard one of them snap, precisely at the same time his eye twitched. "Darling, how are you, it's simply been too long. You know, we really should see each other more often Darling." Blackadder gushed as he strode purposefully to the desk. Only Darling, with endless experience of being on the sharper end of Blackadder's rapport could detect the finest sliver of irony in his tone, and the tiniest twitch of his eyebrow. Perhaps he spent too much time watching Captain Blackadder.
"Unfortunately my job keeps me so very busy here Blackadder, and I've no desire to wander up and down a trench knee deep in mud when some of us don't have to" Darling replied, hoping that his remark would suffice as a response and that they could move on. He was eager to remove Blackadder from his office before anymore pencils broke, or before he noticed how particularly nice his hair looked today. "As I say, busy-busy, what do you want?" Darling asked, tipping just slightly over the edge of rudeness. "Well Darling," another flinch, "I was just wondering if there was any chance that the General would sign off some extra tobacco rations this week, because I believe it has become unusable. Slight mishap with a football I believe."
Darling stared. Obviously this was another of Blackadder's attempts at conversational dominance, and Darling was perfectly happy from him to have it if it meant he would leave quicker. Normally, he would always want to win one of their little spats, but something about today's realisation of how much he enjoyed looking at the Captain had shaken him. What was that about extra rations that he was asking for? He stood from his chair, but did not move from behind the desk, perhaps subconsciously seeking the small protection it offered. Blackadder quirked another eyebrow and that was it. He sat back down. "I'll see what I can do" Darling muttered weakly, aware of how the fight for dominance had ended. Blackadder swept back towards the door, doffing his hat grandly and ironically, swinging the doors closed behind him, a picture of soul-destroying elegance.
Not long after Blackadder had arrived back at the trenches, perhaps only twenty minutes into what had promised to be a good brood on his bed, Lieutenant George came charging into the bunker loudly, with all the natural grace of a four-year old child wearing wellies. Not an inaccurate picture actually, when one considered the man's mental capacity. "Sir, the General is here and he's terribly cross; something about extra rations?"
Blackadder leapt from his bunk, betraying his usual easy confidence. When that maniac descended into the trenches there was no knowing what could happen. General Melchett stormed into the trenches, all swishy coat and bushy moustache and started his questioning rapidly; "Blackadder? Why have I been informed that you have requisitioned extra rations this week? Are you trying to waste this army's precious resources? It's like you want the mad Huns to win!"
Blackadder looked nervously at the others in the trench. Baldrick had disappeared incredibly mysteriously in a way that Blackadder only hoped was not foreshadowing of some great disaster, but George was there and… Darling, just coming through the doorway. Darling was shifting uneasily, and that eye was twitching like never before; it had become one of Blackadder's favourite games to see how much he could get that eye to twitch. Sometimes it almost looked like winking… Dragging himself back to the present, Blackadder smoothed what he prayed was a charming and easy smile onto his face and prepared for some top-grade grovelling. "Why General, how well you are looking today; your moustache is looking especially bushy" he tried, but noticing that the General's face remained fixed in a slightly terrifying position of fury he smiled nervously and tried to continue; "You see sir,"
Whether the explanation Blackadder was in the process of rapidly inventing would serve to be adequate will never be known however, because at that precise moment that was a loud explosion sounding from not very far away. Everyone in the bunker turned towards the door and there was a moments calm before a scramble to be first into the trench. Blackadder arrived first, and saw the incongruous sight of Baldrick, face blackened with soot and smudges drop over the side of the trench into the shallow pools of water in a complete daze. Blackadder hauled him up and held him against the trench wall. "If you value your life, or indeed the lives of any of your furry little friends I know you're hiding under the pile of empty shell cases behind the sink, you will explain yourself and that explosion, and you will do it quickly and concisely."
Baldrick gulped for breath, and croaked out "It was the cunning plan sir." At that point he fainted, and Blackadder let him go, realisation dawning on him and Baldrick slopping to the floor in an exhausted pile. Melchett had emerged from the bunker and was staring at Blackadder, nervously attempting to hide the unconscious Baldrick behind his legs and failing miserably, waiting for an explanation. George and Darling peeked out around the edges of the General's coat, like younger siblings watching their older brother being told off by Dad.
"As you can see sir, today in our trench we made a great advancement for the technological side of warfare; under my expert tuition, Private Baldrick has just detonated a bomb made from this week's chocolate and tobacco rations on the German side of the lines, helping our war effort to an immeasurable degree in a manner that will save many British lives." Blackadder rattled off. "Sir," he added, just for the sake of appearances. "Well Blackadder, if that is the case we can of course say that it was an excellent idea! Just wish you let me know before you tried it." General Melchett said, moving away from the door. George, a consummate soldier straightened up from his hiding position immediately; however Darling, who had never been a high-flyer in the physical element of training simply lost balance and stumbled forward.
"Darling! What is the matter with you?" the General asked, in his typically tactless way. "We are standing in the presence of a genius and a hero, Darling." Blackadder preened, radiating smugness so much that it could probably have been picked up by a Geiger counter if anyone had happened to have one to hand. "I want you to stay here Darling, and get down all the details of Captain Blackadder's great new invention. Very British tradition this inventing lark. Why, when I was at university…" he trailed off, traipsing up the trench presumably until someone found him and returned him to Headquarters.
Darling looked at Blackadder, who quirked that damn eyebrow again. "Slumming it in the trenches today then Darling? What fun we will have" Blackadder informed him with a smirk, gesturing into the bunker. Darling managed a small squeak and a rapid-fire nod, and walked into the bunker. "I'll take these notes Blackadder, and then return immediately to HQ?" He hadn't meant to make that sound like a question. That battle for conversational dominance had clearly been reignited.
"We'll see Darling."
Fin.