A/N- i apologise for lateness, people!
Story Two- Blackadder and the Blitzkrieg Boys
When Field Marshal Voltaire unveils a new strategy to move his liquor cabinet six inches closer to Hong Kong, Captain Bryan Kuznetsov has his work cut out for him… along with his lieutenant, Boris, and smelly, little friend, Private Ian… not to forget his superior, General Tala Ivanov, and the general's secretary, Spencer Darling… oh, I can bet they'll be in stickier situations since Sticky the stick insect got stuck on a sticky bun…
It was a supposedly normal day in the Russian armed forces.
Captain Bryan Kuznetsov was sat at his desk, filing notes on his forces' progress. He sighed and brushed lilac locks away from his equally lilac eyes, frowning and placing another file upon the ever growing 'finished pile'.
A hard knock sounded at the metal door, followed by a small 'Oh, shit! Fuck, that hurt…'.
Bryan sighed. "Enter."
The metal door slid open and Bryan's subordinate minion entered. As per usual, the purple hair was slicked back and red-eyed goggles were perched on his face.
"What do you want, Lieutenant?" Bryan asked with a frustrated sigh.
The lieutenant smirked. "Present for you, sir." He said, laying a package on the desk. "Came from main HQ just a few minutes ago."
"Hmm, do you know what this is, Lieutenant Balcov?" Bryan asked, holding up a gun to the light to inspect it.
"Well, it's a good old service revolver." The lieutenant replied.
"Wrong, it's a brand new service revolver… something I've suspiciously been sent without asking for it… I smell something fishy, and I'm not talking about the contents of Ian's apple crumble."
"You know, that's funny sir, because we didn't order those new wall-climbing ladders either." Balcov replied.
"New ladders?"
"Yeah, came yesterday. I issued them to the men, and they were absolutely thrilled!" Balcov turned to the still open doorway. "Isn't that right men?"
"Yes sir!" A short, big nosed boy entered. "First solid fuel we've had since we burned Tala's cat!"
"Something's going on…" Bryan murmured. "And I think I can make an educated guess what it is. Something which you, Boris, would find hard to do."
Bryan stood and walked over to another large metal door. He opened it to be met with the sight of heavy rain and a balcony. The lieutenant followed.
"Ah, true, true. Where I was at school, education could go hang as long as a boy could hit a six, sing the school song very loud, and take a hot crumpet from behind without blubbing." Boris almost whispered.
"I, on the other hand, am a fully rounded human being with a degree from the university of life, a diploma from the school of hard knocks, and three gold stars from the kindergarten of getting the shit kicked out of me." Bryan replied. He pulled out a periscope and peered over the large, stone balcony wall. "My instincts lead me to deduce that we are at last about to go into battle."
"Great Scott sir, you mean, you mean the moment's finally arrived for us to give those slant-eyed, Crouching-Kitten-Hidden-Hippos a darned good Russian style thrashing, six of the best, trousers down?"
"If you mean, 'Are we all going to get killed?' Yes. Clearly, Field Marshall Voltaire is about to make yet another gargantuan effort to move his drinks cabinet six inches closer to Hong Kong." Bryan muttered.
"Right! Well, bravo-issimo! Well let's make a start eh? Up and over to glory! Last one in Hong Kong's a rotten egg!"
Bryan stopped the lieutenant and held out a hand. "Give me your goggles, lieutenant."
Boris did as he was asked and took the red goggles off, placing them in his Captain's outstretched hand. Bryan then threw them straight up in the air. A round of machine gun fire sounded for around a minute or two, before the goggles fell back into Bryan's hand… full of holes the size of bullets.
"Yes… some sort of clever goggle-camouflage might be in order." Boris muttered, before walking back inside.
A mobile phone rang and Bryan's hand went into his pocket, bringing out a small device, which he flipped open.
"Hello, the Moscow public baths- no running, shouting, or piddling in the shallow end... Oh, it's you… yes… yes, I'll be over in 40 minutes." And he hung up.
"Who was that, sir?" Asked the large nosed boy, who had appeared after the lieutenant had left.
Bryan stared at the boy dumbly. "Believe it or not, Ian, it was Pope Gregory the ninth, inviting me for drinks aboard his steam-yacht "The Saucy Sue", currently wintering in Montego Bay with the England Cricket team and the Balinese goddess of plenty."
"Really?" Ian asked, excitedly.
"No, not really… I've been ordered to HQ… No doubt that idiot, General Tala, is about to offer me some attractive new opportunities to have my brains blown out for Russia. Bad day…"
Bryan walked into Staff HQ without a sound; meaning he didn't make any noise. Before him, at his desk, sat a large, chunky blonde man of his age, scribbling away without a care.
"What did you want, Darling?"
The man broke his pencil in surprise. "It's Captain Spencer Darling, thank you. Or in short-"
"Like Ian…"
"Captain Spencer…" Spencer glared at Bryan. "The general wants to see you… General Tala wants to see you about a highly important secret mission."
" What's going on, Darling?" a man with flaming red hair asked as he entered.
Spencer stood and saluted; Bryan doing the same, only half-heartedly "General Tala, Sir! Captain Kuznetsov to see you, sir!"
"Ah, excellent." Tala said. "Just a short back and sides today I think, please."
Bryan blinked. "No, sir, I believe that is corporal Kuznetsol."
"Yes." Spencer agreed. "Captain Kuznetsov is here about the…" He walked up to Tala and whispered, "secret mission."
"Ah, yes, the special mission!" Tala crowed. "At ease Bryan. Now, what I'm about to tell you is absolutely tip-top-secret, is that clear?"
"It is sir."
"Now, I've compiled a list of those with security clearance," Tala said, "have you got it Darling?"
"Yes sir."
"Read it please."
Spencer faltered. "It's top security sir, I think that's all the Captain needs to know."
"Nonsense!" The general exclaimed. "Let's hear the list in full!"
"Very well sir. 'List of personnel cleared for mission Boleslava, as dictated by General T. Y. Ivanov: You and me, Darling, obviously. Field Marshal Voltaire, Field Marshal Voltaire's wife, all Field Marshal Voltaire's wife's friends, their families, their families' servants… their families' servants' tennis partners… and some chap I bumped into, in the mess the other day, called Kai.'"
"So, it's maximum security, is that clear?" Tala said to Bryan.
Bryan rolled his eyes. "Quite so sir; only myself and the rest of the English speaking world is to know."
"Good man. Now, this is the plan: I want you and your troops to sneak out into no-man's land and spy on the Chinese."
Bryan paused. "No-man's land? Sir, this isn't world war one… nor two for that matter."
"But it's a formal name… makes it sound smart."
"Unlike you…" Bryan muttered. "That's the top secret plan?"
"Yes. Now off you go. I want this done in two days time, is that clear? So off you go… out into no-man's land!"
Bryan sighed. "Yes sir…"
Siberia is a rather cold place, for those of you who don't know. Bryan is one of those who do know and is highly educated in the tactics of sneak attacks but unfortunately…
"Right," Bryan started, looking out at the lights of the Chinese camps in the distance from his position from the ground behind a lump of snow, "first thing to get sorted is the fact that if you crawl over any barbed wire, you are not on any account to go- AAAAAAAAH!"
"Did you just crawl over barbed wire, sir?" Ian asked, lying in the same position as his captain.
"No, Ian, I just put my elbow in a blob of ice cream." Bryan replied sarcastically.
"Well, that's alright then…"
"Right… now we've got that sorted out… Boris, where the hell are we?"
Boris took out a map. "Well, it's difficult to say… we appear to have crawled into an area marked with mushrooms."
"What do those symbols denote?" Bryan asked patiently.
"Pfff." Boris thought for a moment. "That we're in a field of mushrooms?"
"Lieutenant, that is a military map; it is unlikely to list interesting flora and fungi. Look at the key and you'll discover that those mushrooms aren't for picking."
"Good Lord, you're quite right sir!" Boris exclaimed. "It says 'mine'. So… these mushrooms must belong to the man who made the map!"
"Wow!" Ian crowed. "He must be very rich…"
"Either that," Bryan answered, "or we're in the middle of a mine-field?"
"Oh dear." Ian muttered, scared and knowing the full truth… unlike-
Boris whistled. "So, he owns the field as well?"
Machine guns suddenly started firing…
"They're firing sir! They're firing sir!" Boris shouted, ducking down.
"Ah yes, thank you Lieutenant! If they hit me you'll be sure to point it out, won't you!" The guns stopped and Bryan sighed. "Now come on, get your binoculars out and see what those bastards are doing…"
(10 minutes later)
Boris tapped his pencil on the paper as he finished. "There! Everything they've done in the past ten hours-"
"Minutes, lieutenant-" Bryan added, exasperated and close to insanity.
"-Written down!" Boris finished.
"Right, let's go, then." Bryan said, crawling away.
"Sir," Ian asked, "what should we do if we tread on a mine?"
Bryan stopped and looked back at Ian. "Well, normal procedure, private, is to jump 200 feet into the air and scatter yourself over a large radius, making sure to shower everyone within 10 miles with blood and body bits. Now move it!"
Sometime later, when they were walking like normal homosapiens, a plane crashed right in their line of walking. Bryan cursed and Boris screamed.
"AHHHH! It's Sad Dan! He's come to kill us!"
Bryan hit Ian over the head. "Shut up you idiot… no it isn't; and it's Saddam Hussein, not Sad Dan… now stick close…"
"Are you going to protect us, sir?" Boris asked.
"No," Bryan answered simply, "I need lots of body armour if this guy's a slant-eye and you're the next best thing…"
A man came into view, blonde hair shining even in the grubby mess of… ahem, no-mans land.
"Hey chaps," the man greeted, "can I borrow a phone? If word gets out that I'm missing, five hundred girls will kill themselves. I wouldn't want them on my conscience, not when they ought to be on my face!"
Bryan, nonetheless, handed the blonde his phone, before stepping back a few paces.
"Hi, Enrique here. Yeah, cancel the state funeral, tell the King to stop blubbing. Flash is not dead. I simply ran out of juice! Yeah, and before all the girls start saying "Oh, what's the point of living anymore", I'm talking about petrol! Woof, woof! Yeah, I dumped the kite on the proles, so send a car. Er, General Tala's driver should do… Bobby Tatibana, yeah. She hangs around with the big nobs, so she'll be used to a fellow like me! Woof, woof!"
There was a pause…
"No, not in half an hour, you rubber-desk-Johnny." Enrique shouted down the phone. "Send the bitch with the wheels right now or I'll fly back to Scotland and give your girl something to hang her towels on. Now get that car to the Moscow Abbey!" He hung up and gave the phone back to Bryan. "Right, come on then, chaps. Let's go back to that lovely base of yours and then talk about me until the car comes!"
Back at the base, Bryan was feeling as if he were in a crowded room with some loony dude… oh wait, he is…
"You must be pretty impressed having Squadron Commander the Lord Enrique Flash-heart drop in on your little noses." Enrique drawled, looking around the Captain's room.
Ian made an indignant squeak but Bryan only smirked. "Actually, no. I was more impressed by the contents of my handkerchief the last time I blew my nose."
"Yeah, like hell." Enrique walked over to Bryan. "Huh, huh. You've probably got little piccies of me on the walls of your bedroom, haven't you?" He tickled the front of Bryan's trousers. "I bet you go all girly and giggly every time you look at me."
Enrique tried to twist Bryan's… ahem, 'John-Thomas' but failed- Bryan, himself, twisted the Commander's hand painfully, making Enrique yell out in pain.
"I'm afraid not. Unfortunately, most of the infantry think you're a prat. Ask them who they'd prefer to meet: Squadron Commander Enrique Flash-heart and the man who cleans out the public toilets in Aberdeen, and they'd go for Wee Jock "Poo-Pong" McPlop, every time."
"Don't talk about Johnny that way." Enrique retorted with a pout. "Well, all right, you fellows. Let's sit us down and yarn about how amazingly attractive I am."
"Yes, would you excuse me for a moment? I've got some urgent business. There's a bucket outside I've got to be sick into." Bryan muttered, walking out of his room.
Enrique turned to Ian. "You look like a decent Russian bloke. I'll park the old booties on you if that's okay."
"It would be an honour, my Lord." Ian said, kneeling down on all fours in front of Enrique.
"Of course it would! Ha!" Enrique laughed, resting his feet upon Ian's back and sighing. "Have you any idea what it's like to have the wind rushing through your hair?" he asked Boris.
"No, Sir." Boris asked.
Enrique farted in Ian's face. "He has! Lucky devil!"
Some time has elapsed since the breaking of wind. Bryan entered the room some time ago as well and sat on his desk chair, resting his feet upon the desk; Boris and Ian were entertained by Enrique…
"…so I flew straight through her bedroom window, popped a box of chocs on the dressing table, machine-gunned my telephone number into the wall, and then shot off and shagged her sister!"
Enrique and Boris creased up in laughter, but Bryan only rolled his eyes.
The door suddenly opened and someone walked in. "Driver Tatibana reporting for duty, my Lord…"
"Well, well, well. If it isn't little Bobby Parkhurst-- saucier than a direct hit on a Heinz factory." Enrique said.
"I've come to pick you up." Bobby said, flicking brown hair off her shoulder.
"Well, that's how I like my girls- direct and to my point. Woof!"
"Woof!"
Enrique removed his feet off Ian's back and grabbed the male-imposter, placing her across his lap and snogging her. Bryan, sarcastically, checked his watch.
"Ah! Tally ho, then! Back to the bar. You should join the Flying Corps, Boris. That's the way to fight a war. Tasty tuck, soft beds and a uniform so smart it's got a PhD from Cambridge." Enrique gestured to Ian. "You could even bring the breath monster here. Anyone can be a navigator if he can tell his arse from his elbow."
"Well, that's Ian out, I fear…" Bryan muttered.
"We're always looking for talented types to join the Twenty Minuters." Enrique continued.
"…and there goes Boris." Bryan added.
Enrique rose from the chair, lifting Bobby in his arms.
"Tally ho, then, Bob!" Enrique chuckled. "Hush, here comes a whizz-bang and I think you know what I'm talking about! Woof!"
"Woof!" Bobby repeated.
"Remember my offer, chaps!" Enrique added, before they left the room. "All you gotta do is treat your kite like you treat your women."
"How do you mean, sir?" Boris asked. "Take her home for the weekend to see your mother?"
"No…" Enrique smirked. "Get inside her five times a day and take her to heaven and back! WOOF!"
"WOOF!" Bobby's voice rang down the corridor.
"God, it's like Crufts in here!" Bryan muttered under his breath. He stood and glared at Ian and Boris. "If I remember correctly, it was you two who invited him into my room… now, I'm not a religious man, as you know. Henceforth, I shall nightly pray to the God, who killed Cain and squashed Sampson, that He comes out of retirement and gets back into practice on the pair of you!" Suddenly, Bryan's phone rang. "Hello? Yes, I can hear you perfectly. You want what? You want two volunteers for a mission into No Man's Land, Code name: Operation Certain Death. yes, yes I think I have just the fellows." Bryan hung up and turned to the lieutenant and private. "God is very quick these days."
FINIS!
A/N- okay, I apologise for any crappiness… I have rewritten and edited this so many times that I got fed up and I knew I had to update this fic, so I uploaded this one… I particularly enjoyed having Bryan ordering Boris around…
Please review!
Next story… Monty Python's Life of Brian… you can guess who it'll star again…