Where Idiots Dare
Synopsis: It is World War Two and three Allied soldiers are dropped behind enemy lines. Their mission? To rescue a double agent before he can be tortured by the Nazis. Will they succeed in their mission? Will they have help or hindrance? Will they meet any transvestites? Will there be tea and cake? Starring: England, America, Russia. Other Nations may or may not appear.
Chapter 1 - "A Day Out"
Major Arthur Kirkland, straightened his uniform and set off across the army base. He passed a set of troops doing bayonet practice and took several salutes from passing officers. He was the personification of the great Nation of England, it was January 1944 and his country was at War.
He hurried past some 'show-off' Americans who were demonstrating 'fancy karate-kicking', one of them, a particularly loud-mouthed individual, yelled "Yo!" at him. The cheek of it!
As he entered the Base Commander's hut, he had to step over the feet of another individual who was sat with legs sprawled out, apparently unconscious at the bottom of the steps.
"Bloody hell!" he muttered. Where did they get these reprobates? He didn't look at the man's face. But took note of the non-commissioned uniform of dirty beige long coat, filthy looking scarf and empty drinks bottle and decided he would reprimand the man later after his meeting with Colonel MacDonald. Obviously the man was drunk.
"Cup of tea?"
"Very nice, thank you," Major Kirkland/England replied. "But can we get down to brass tacks, old spoon? I was told to report as there was a special mission for me."
"Erm I'm just the secretary, I'm afraid… the Colonel will be along in a minute…"
The door to the hut burst open and Arthur's cup of tea was almost blown out of his hand.
"I say! Is that necessary?" England turned to look at a dumpy-looking woman who had just clattered in with a tea trolley. She had fiery red hair hidden under under a filthy green knitted bonnet and was wearing an equally none too clean pinny.
"Excuse me, my dear lady. But this is a top secret meeting. Can you just run along now?" England said.
The woman glared at him, bent down and rolled up her sagging stockings with a horrid suggestive air. "Yer dinnae recognise me, Arthur?"
England frowned and turned to the secretary, who was a nondescript human in civvy clothing. "Well? What's going on?"
"Erm this is Colonel MacDonald, Sir. He's our Number One."
"What?"
"Our Number One. Head of MI8. Special Operations behind Enemy Lines."
"Aye I bloody am!" the 'woman' said. 'She' cast off her woolen hat and glared at him, "Do ye not recognise me, Arthur?"
"Oh dear God… Hamish…" Arthur sagged down into the nearest seat. "I thought you were in bloody Glasgow. You told me in your last letter you were in charge of the City's Unexploded Bomb Department."
"Aye, that was too boring for me!" Hamish told him. "I need something more risky."
Hamish was England's brother, the personification of the Nation of Scotland and the bane of his long life. "You… outrank me?" England was utterly amazed and appalled - in equal measure.
"Never mind that rubbish," Hamish pulled out a bottle of Scotch and then pulled down a map of Europe on the wall. He poured a glass of whisky, offered one to Arthur, who declined and then pointed vaguely to an area on the map.
England squinted, it could be anywhere in Germany.
"Yer to go behind enemy lines and rescue our top shpy!" Hamish told him.
"Right-o!" England said, pushing his chest out. "Do you mean spy?"
"No, shpy. He's our top double agent. He works for them but works for us, but spies for us. Yer know…"
"Not really…" England was confused.
"It's a dangerous mission, Arthur. Yer might not survive…" Hamish seemed to be quite happy about this. In fact, if Arthur wasn't mistaken, he was positively gleeful.
"For King and Country, I'll do whatever it takes. I think."
"Aye I thought yer might."
"When do I start?"
"Tonight. I hope yer've made yer will. Leaving all yer worldly goods to yer relatives."
"I'll leave my 18th Century Chinese tea urn to Wales then."
"What about that set of dirty French postcards?"
"I don't know what you mean?" Arthur was indignant, blushing madly.
"Anyway, I want to introduce you to your fellow martyrs."
"You mean fellow heroes?"
"Er yeah. I suppose so…" Hamish said.
"So who are they? The elite of the elite? The top SAS officers?" England asked.
Hamish looked as if he were going to laugh, but covered it with a cough. "They are masters of spying… they can blend into any country, adopt any custom… they are experts… the Germans won't even know you are there."
The door burst open and the annoying back-flipping America burst in. "Yo! Artie Dude!"
"Oh Alfred! What are you doing here?" England asked.
"You ignored me earlier, man!" America looked upset.
"Look, run along. We're in an important meeting. I'm waiting for some elite spies to join me in this mission I'm going on."
"Cool…" America said, wide-eyed. "Is that the same one I'm going on?" he asked, turning to Hamish.
"You've got to be kidding," England said.
"Aye sonny, it is," Hamish told America and handed England a glass of whisky.
"We're going to kick Nazi ass!" America yelled.
"Keep your voice down, this is supposed to be a secret mission!" Engand said.
"Hell yeah it is! Bagsy I get dropped first! Man, I love para jumps!"
"Oh God, why him?" England said to Hamish.
Hamish shook his head, "He's supposed to be their top field operative."
"No way," England muttered.
"I love fields!" America yelled exuberantly.
"It's much too dangerous for him behind enemy lines. He can't even speak German," England said to Hamish as America leapt about practising karate chops.
"Neither can you," Hamish said.
England took a swig of whisky. He felt he needed it. "Who's the other one? Please say it's someone like Belgium, I mean er… Louise or that Dutch chappie, he's quite good, at least they can speak German."
But Hamish didn't have to answer.
"We need someone who can truly stay undercover and not draw attention to themselves, someone inconspicuous…" England continued.
The door was flung open and an icy blast came through with a flurry of snow. Probably the most conspicuous person England knew came through the door.
"Privet!"
"Oh no…"
"You stepped over me earlier, Mr England. I thought about removing your spine with Mr Pipe, but then I thought that that would be rude," the tall man in the dirty beige coat said. He was muffled up with a long pink scarf around the bottom half of his face and held an empty bottle in his hand.
"Please tell me this is a joke," England said, quietly, to Hamish.
"Nah it's not." Hamish laughed.
"This is going to be such fun. All of us together!" Russia said. "Although you annoyed me earlier, England, I will forgive you…" Russia said, bending 'Mr Pipe' into a rectangle.
England shuddered.
An hour later…
England could not see a thing. Russia's huge blond head obscured what was in front of him.
They were sat at desks in what appeared to be a disused classroom.
Hamish was pointing to a large map on the wall with his 'pointy stick' that no-one was allowed to touch and telling them that they were to meet the top French Resistance agent called 'Marianne' in a bar in a village called 'Farting'.
Alfred had almost wet his pants at that.
England was trying to write everything down in a small black notebook. Including the codes they were to use.
Russia turned to look at him with a grin on his face, "What are you writing, England? Are we all supposed to be making notes? Is there homework?"
Russia didn't wait for an answer but stuck his hand up, "Mr Scotland?"
Hamish nodded at him, "Yes, sonny?"
"Can I have a notebook and pen as well?"
"Yes yer can!"
"This is very good. I am very impressed," Russia said. "In Soviet Russia we do not have pens, we use guns… but we have to kill a Nazi to get one."
"Can I kill a Nazi as well?" America asked, sticking his hand up in the air.
"If you want…" Scotland replied.
"Ace!" America said.
Russia put his hand up.
"Yes, Ivan?"
"Do we have to kill one to get a gun?" Russia asked.
"No, we'll arm you before you go."
Russia's eyes widened, "That is very good. I am very impressed," he said.
England sighed and put his head on the desk.
"And then you are to make your way to the Castle of …" Hamish continued and then stopped as Russia stuck his hand up again, "Yes, Ivan?"
"Can I take my friends with me?"
"Friends?"
Russia nodded and whistled - as if he were whistling for a dog.
The door opened and two people walked in, both in Red Army uniform. One was carrying a tea-tray with cups and a teapot on it. The other was carrying, weirdly, a briefcase.
"Lithuania!" America leapt to his feet and went to hug the one carrying a tea-tray.
Russia frowned at them and Lithuania shook his head hurriedly at America, who backed off.
"Lithuania is mine now, Amerika, remember?"
"Oh dear God…" England muttered.
"This is Lithuania and Estonia and they can come with me, right?" Russia asked.
"Well…" Hamish began.
Estonia dropped his briefcase, and began coughing. A false cough if ever England had heard one.
"Oh I'm… cough cough… not so well… cough… Sir… you see… cough cough… I think I should… cough cough… stay here in England and… cough cough…"
"Anyone want a cup of a tea?" Lithuania interrupted.
"Poor Estonia! It's such a shame, I bet he really wants to come with us on this really dangerous mission and face certain death," Russia declared, he then turned to Lithuania, "Yes, please!"
"Do you have any coffee?" America asked.
England interrupted, "I'm sorry, but what the bloody hell?"
Russia stared at him, "I'm sorry, Mr England. Lithuania doesn't have any biscuits and…"
"No, I mean, what the bloody hell are they doing here? This is supposed to be a secret briefing!"
"Is that something to do with underwear?" America asked.
"Aye, sonny, it is," Hamish answered for him and took a cup off Lithuania and slurped it noisily.
"No, it's not! It's to do with… wait what?"
"Briefs… underwear…" America tried to explain.
"I'm surrounded by fools," England said.
Lithuania handed Russia a small package, "I got this for you, Sir."
"Thank you, Toris," Russia said, smiling.
"Wait, what's that? Is it something that could compromise our mission? Hamish?"
"Aye I bet it is, laddie," Hamish replied, not listening but looking at his map and prodding it with his 'poking stick'.
Russia held it up, "It's my packed lunch! Toris, you should make one for Mr England and Mr Amerika as well. Beetroot sandwiches with pickled cabbage and salted pork!"
England was speechless.
"Can I have peanut butter?" America asked.
"Nyet," Russia told him.
"Can we just get on with the bloody de-briefing?" England reminded Hamish. Before, I go completely mad, he thought to himself.
"Oh aye… well, ye're to get into the Castle Farting…"
"We've got to go to the Castle and fart?" America asked, wide-eyed. He was still negotiating with Lithuania his sandwich fillings.
Hamish looked at him and said, "Aye laddie. This is no picnic!"
"It isn't?" Russia looked dismayed.
"Ye're to get into the castle…" Hamish continued.
America, his tongue stuck out, was making notes - he wrote 'Get into castle and fart'.
"…And rescue our top secret double agent," Hamish told them.
"How do we know who they are if they're secret?" America asked, and looked pleased with himself for thinking of this.
"Our agent has been captured and it's your job to rescue him before he squeals…"
"You mean he's a mouse?" Russia asked, his eyes wide.
Hamish stared at Russia for a minute and then said, "No. Not a mouse. A person. He's a double agent… wait a treble agent… wait no…"
"There's no such thing as a quadruple agent, Hamish," England interrupted with a sigh.
"Yer dinnae know that."
"Actually, I do."
"Anyway, our agent has been spying for us," Scotland said.
"You mean he's just a single agent?" England said.
"You mean he's not married?" America asked.
England smacked his head several times on the desk.
"Anyway, your job is to get him out before the pesky Germans can get any details out of him of what he passed on to us about them…"
America looked confused and put his hand up, "Do we have to get him out before he gets married?"
"HE'S NOT GETTING MARRIED!" England yelled. "IT'S PERFECTLY BLOODY SIMPLE. HE'S AN AGENT WORKING FOR US, SPYING ON THE GERMANS. THEY HAVE DISCOVERED HIM. WE HAVE TO GET HIM OUT BEFORE THEY CAN EXTRACT ANY INFORMATION FROM HIM!" He then sat down, exhausted.
"Ah, I see… they want to know what they've told him, because they can't remember." America said.
"NO! They want to know what information he's passed to us… Oh dear God! It's simple!"
"You need to calm down, Artie," America said.
"Yes, England. If this man needs rescuing before marrying some German then it's our job to help him," Russia declared, looking round the room.
England gave up and collapsed in his seat.
"It may not be a 'him'. It might be a 'her'!" Hamish said, mysteriously.
"Well then. We should definitely rescue her then!" Russia exclaimed.
"Yes! Like a damsel in distress!" America agreed.
"Da! Like those princesses in the stories," Russia nodded.
"Yes, think of it like that…" Hamish said, took another large swig of his whisky and collapsed unconscious.
"We're going to rescue a princess!" Lieutenant (England was amazed at this) Alfred F Jones yelled to his fellow Americans as he, Russia and England set off across the airfield towards the waiting plane.
"Cool!"
"Dude!"
"Groovy!"
Came some of the shouts back.
England winced. Russia stared in fascination.
"They are very loud and excitable," Russia said to England.
"Tell me about it," England said as they climbed into the plane.
"But one day they will all be Russian and then they won't be excitable," Russia added.
"Wait! Mr Russia!" It was Lithuania. He came running up to the plane, panting. "You forgot your clean handkerchief! Miss Ukraine sent it and said you have to be careful and not get cold."
Russia smiled, "My older sestra looks after me," he explained.
"Why don't we get a clean handkerchief?" America asked.
England shoved him into the plane, "Just get in there," he said.
"Do you think we'll be back in time for tea?" Russia asked, clutching his sandwich.
"Yes, it will be just like a day trip," England muttered.
The plane took off as they strapped themselves in.
Russia clutched a pipe, a machete and a sub-machine gun (he was particularly impressed with the latter and couldn't believe that they'd actually given him ammunition). "I probably won't need the gun," he told America. "I like to use my hands."
America went pale, "Artie, I think Russkie-dude is creepy… does he have to come with us?"
"Shut up," England muttered. He went over the plan in his head. It should all be okay, as long as he could remember the bloody codes and passwords…
"Are we there yet?" America asked as they flew over the Channel.
"What do you think?" England said, pointing to the sea below them.
"Er… I don't see no castle…" America ruminated.
"Can we jump now? We could swim the rest of the way!" Russia declared.
"What all the way to the Austrian border?" England said.
"We're going to Australia? Wow! Hey you, cobber! Good on yer!" America said, trying out what he thought was his 'Australian' accent.
"Australia? Are you insane?"
"Well… you said…"
Russia nodded, "Can we just call in on Leningrad? I have some things to pick up and make sure the city is okay. They've just come out of the siege and I could bring them some sandwiches and…"
"No! This is not a sandwich delivery service! We're on a dangerous mission!" England shouted.
Russia sat in a haze of purple mist and growled, bending his pipe into numerous shapes and glaring occasionally at England.
America mumbled to himself something about wanting to see 'kangaroos' and that 'old man England was boring'.
Fairly soon they were over the Austrian mountains. "Right this is your stop!" the pilot shouted.
America opened the door and peered out, the wind rushed in.
"Wow!" America yelled. "We're really high up!"
"Get your bloody 'chute on, Alfred!" England yelled.
"I don't need a 'chute!" Russia said and, clutching his weapons and his packed lunch (and presumably his clean handkerchief), he leapt out of the door shouting, "See you later! Vodkaaaaaa!"
"Well… there goes our pet psychopath," England muttered.
He and America hoisted their parachutes on and America jumped, yelling, "Victory!" as he went.
England went last, "Crumpets!" he shouted. His thoughts as white mountains rushed up towards him were these: "I hope Russia is alright and we don't have to explain his death to Stalin or even worse, his sisters. I hope America remembers to land properly. I hope I remembered to pack my teabags."
**To be continued**