The 99th Platoon – Escape from Batula's Castle


(A/N the basics: This whole story was written up at gamefaqs.com by a group of individuals working together. We all had our say in the story. I did start it off and ended it, even though I was AWOL for the last half. All Conker-related media (Conker, Batula and his mansion, Sarge, the Zombies, Frenchies etc) are all properties of Rareware Inc. but all else is my sole property and to use any of the characters or ideas you must ask the respective person or myself. So now, for any fans out there, there are the following 99th Platoon stories: The 99th Platoon, Escape from Batula's Castle, WWW's Dream: uniting the Tediz (by Gappap), and Pyst's Tediz Attack. There will be more, one you might see is Chael's PaintBall Wars, a funny chronicle in our history. But enough about me, how about we get down to the ******* story? Good)

Chapter 1: Bad things come in small packages…

He woke up as usual, as it is on a weekend, at 0800 hours. He did a few minor stretches and proceeded to the bathroom.
His house was messy with little to no luxuries. A soldier in the army, not even a newly promoted Sergeant Major like himself, had reasonably decent wages.
"It all goes to the Big Wigs," he mumbled. The last Great War had taken its toll on the government's bank account.
He made himself a soldier's breakfast (A slice of toast with butter) and had just switched on the radio when he remembered he had to check the mail.

He stepped outside, already half dressed in standard military attire, and was about to open his mailbox when he noticed a black cat sitting on an old fashioned envelope.
"What'd we got here?" he asked. His voice was deep and hoarse and came from deep within his diaphragm. He shooed the cat away.
He bent down and looked at the peculiar envelope.

The only text on the envelope was Sarge's address and the sender's. 66321 Manor-on-hill Old region.
"Who d' I know in the Old region?" he pondered as he tore open the wax seal of this peculiar envelope.

Inside a letter awaited, hand written on parchment. This letter was not sent by just anybody, as the style of handwriting was extravagant with elegant curves and connections. A figure of high social standard had written this.

"So which Big Wig are you?" he started to read...

"Rico Rodriguez,
Yes. The tales of you and your legendary platoon are not restricted to the military world alone. Even we quiet and humble folk of the outdoors have heard the fame and courage of His Majesty Conker's favourite drinking partners.
Tales have been told...wondrous at that. Of dangerous Tediz experiments, of stealthful and mysterious entries...of vengeful promises of death.
Yes...yes...I have come to admire such display of spirit. I must admit you run a firm ship captain. Comradeship. As it was in "The Old Country"
And being the eternal host that I am, I could not help but request your presence at my humble abode. We have much to learn from what is in each other's hearts. We shall have a feast in your honour, and then when you have dined and I, we shall unify, our tales, under a starry sky in the backyard.
So I, Count Batula invite you, and your Platoon, to my humble abode tomorrow evening.
Signed- Count Batula of Squirrilsvania"

"I don't know you buddy, but hey, free food? I'm game," he went inside the house to call the Platoon. He tossed the letter aside.
He failed to notice that the red ink the letter was written in tasted of blood.

--The next evening--

"Tediz...have only one brass ball, the other, cut off when they were small. Komiz...Called for their mommy's when the platoon blasted both of their balls" hummed Sarge as he listened to the radio.
Sarge did have a low pay check but his car was the one exception. He drove a classic model, 89' Squirrelac convertible. Green. Army Green. He loved this car like he would his children. Seeing as there wasn't a Mrs. Sarge. The figure that sat next to the Sergeant was shrouded in darkness.

He turned the steering wheel and drove into the old region. He checked his street map for Manor-on-Hill and could not find it. He quickly turned to look for natives.

No one was in sight.

Not a house, not a flat, nothing. All was dark and grey. The only thing in view was an extremely large hill onto of which was...

"A manor? Oh right, I get it, Manor-on-hill. Ha, ha. Very funny Big Wig"

He drove towards it and parked outside. He closed the car door and looked towards the Manor.

A chill travelled up and down his spine so fast he jerked back in surprise...

"What's wrong Rico?" asked the figure from inside the vehicle.
"Nothin', the other guys aren't here yet...let's hang for a bit. T's okay with you?"
The figure smiled, "Yeah don't worry about it."

A large iron gate blocked entry to the enclosed Hill but the Manor was clearly visible. It was bent and doubled over in more ways than could be counted. It was relatively small and Sarge couldn't see just exactly how the whole platoon was going to have a feast. But still it wasn't the appearance of the house that had frightened Sarge; it was what Sarge could only describe as the Aura of the house. With dark windows covered by drapes, an ancient looking attic and that one small window that was alight, with the silhouette of an aged Squirrel peering out, Sarge couldn't help but wonder.

A breeze picked up as he checked his watch. The platoon would be here any minute now.