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Driving Lessons Chapter 24 - All Along the Watchtower
IKEA basement floor…
"There must be some way out of here," Sealand said to England.
England didn't answer. His back hurt. In his opinion, a 1000 year old Nation should not have to sit on a concrete floor.
"Ze beds here are wonderful. I 'ave tried out four of zem already." France sidled in.
"Get your bloody pants on will you?" England hissed at him. "There are kids here!"
When the sirens had gone off, they had been herded in the IKEA basement along with around a hundred shoppers. All sheltering from the 'cake hazard' outside.
England, Germany, Sealand and America were all sat on the floor. People around them sat in huddles whispering about whether the city of London would still be in one piece or whether this was 'Armageddon'. Apparently, someone had picked up the BBC on their phone and on Twitter 'Cake-a-geddon' was trending. England did not think this was funny.
France flung himself down next to England, who subsequently edged away from him.
"You are so repressed, mon ami," France told him.
"If you mean I believe in keeping my pants on in front of other people, then yes, I am repressed."
"What's the situation outside?" Sealand asked. The small Principality looked restless.
"How the bloody hell do I know?" England replied.
"I wasn't asking you, I was asking him," Sealand said indicating one of the CIA agents with a nod of his head.
"The situation is still critical, Sir," the CIA agent replied.
England shook his head, amazed at Sealand being called 'Sir'. What a strange day. "It's only a bloody cake," he said.
"I think you are underestimating the seriousness of the situation, Mr Kirkland," the man said.
England's left eyebrow twitched.
"It's brilliant, Jerk England!" Sealand said excitedly. "I'd love to see it!"
"Shush," England said, looking around. "There are humans around," he said in a lowered tone. And then realised that that sounded very very odd.
He glanced across the room at America who was sat next to Germany and nodding along. He smiled to himself. He had told the 'boy' to keep Germany occupied and if that had meant listen to the 'boring old fart' then so be it. And for once, the 'boy' was doing just that.
"I mean who on earth decides it's a good idea to demonstrate the capabilities of four Soda Streams in the confines of an elevator is beyond me," Germany was saying. He sat on the concrete floor which he'd wiped with a wetwipe that England suspected he kept for just such a purpose. In fact, the gesture reminded England so much of that other annoying Germanic Nation, Austria, that England was tempted to say something but that would have caused more whinging.
England shook his head as he listened to Germany.
America was still nodding away. At least the 'boy' was being polite.
"Just sit with him and listen to him, keep him out of the CIA's hair, will you?" England had asked America earlier. Basically, just to keep Germany busy and to stop him organising everyone.
America had moaned and finally just sat with the German. Germany had took this as a sign to tell America how awful England's life now was and then tell him some tale about being stuck in a lift with an excitable Italy and an equally excitable Italian soda stream salesman.
"It was everywhere… and of course the firemen did not arrive for hours. Literally hours. Never get stuck in a lift with Italy if you possibly help it. If I'd had a suitably sharp implement I would have cut my own throat," Germany said.
America continued to nod his head.
France sniggered.
England refused to be drawn into the conversation.
"And then obviously, Feliciano bought two of these Soda Stream things. Everything and I mean everything… coffee, tea, fruit juice, milk, even schnapps were made fizzy. It was dreadful." Germany continued.
America was still nodding.
"I'm glad you understand, young America," Germany said.
This would normally irritate America, but he still nodded.
It was then that England realised that America's head bobbing was not as a result of listening to the German's long list of complaints and agreeing with them, but due to the presence of 'ear thingies' - namely earphones. The American was nodding his head along to his ipod.
England stood up and walked over, and gave the prone American's feet a kick.
"What?" America said, briefly taking out his earphones.
But England did not have chance to tell him off as he was lifted off his own feet by a very large CIA man and slammed against the wall. "I respectfully ask that you don't do that, Kirkland," the man said.
England noted that he had been demoted from merely 'Mr Kirkland' (not even 'Sir') to 'Kirkland'.
"Cool!" Sealand exclaimed. Utterly delighted.
"Oh mon cher!" France said and got to his feet, "Gaston! I implore you!" he said, putting a hand on the CIA man's arm.
England, pinned against the wall by his neck, crossed his arms waiting for France to also be summarily flung to the floor or against the wall.
He stared agog instead as 'Gaston' calmly nodded and said, "Yes Sir," and released England.
England dropped to the floor and glared at Gaston and France. He would have uttered a few expletives but there were too many children around.
"They've brought the military in!" someone told them.
"It's a bloody cake," England muttered. "Why don't they just ask me?"
"Yes, it is your fault, Mr Kirkland," 'Gaston' told him.
"Quite right," Germany said, pausing in his diatribe about the various beverages Italy had carbonated. "The end of civilisation is your fault."
"Perhaps we used too much baking powder?" England asked Sealand.
"Hey! Don't bring me into this!" Sealand said.
Various phones had been ringing whilst they had been there. So England could be excused for ignoring his own phone ringing in his pocket.
"Is zat your phone, Angleterre?" France asked.
"No… Although I can hear that bloody infernal song," England said. Meaning of course he could hear 'Is this the way to Amarillo'. He looked around, fearful of seeing Prussia or Denmark or both. He then realised that it was indeed his phone. "Oh bloody hell…" he muttered. "Who in God's name is it?" he yelled down the phone. And then stood to attention. "Oh ma'am! Yes, your Majesty!"
France sniggered to himself. "Ah zis is so funny. You are so quaint with your royal family and your monarchy," he said, winking at some poor man, whose wife promptly nudged him.
England meanwhile was babbling, "It wasn't my fault! Peter and I… yes Your Majesty, Peter is staying with me at the moment. No, I didn't get out of it this time. The SAS training weekend in Llandudno was a bit erm… of an excuse…" England side-eyed Sealand who wasn't listening. The youngster was listening intently to Gaston's radio.
England continued, "So in essence, Your Majesty, I think it was too much baking powder…" he stopped and listened. "Oh right… Youtube. I'm on Youtube…" England slouched against the wall and almost stepped on a small child as he did so. A rather stout lady snatched up the child and glared at him. "So sorry," he mumbled. "Yes your Majesty it was rather funny wasn't it?" he said through gritted teeth. He glared at France, who was smirking at him.
"Can I parlez avec her Majesty?" France asked.
"No you bloody well cannot!" England almost shrieked and then quickly pulled himself together, "So sorry. I wasn't talking to you, your Majesty, I was talking to Francis." He said the name 'Francis' as if he were saying the words 'Bubonic Plague'. "Yes, I'll put him on…" he sighed eventually and passed the phone to Francis and then sat down. "My life is over," he confided to the stout woman.
"Your life is a mess," Germany told him.
England ignored him and also tried to ignore Francis speaking very quickly in breathy French on his phone to the Queen. He hated his fellow Nations.
France finally hung up, "She says you are tres funny and zat she cannot wait to see more Youtube videos, mon cher."
Before England had time to respond, a few things happened all at once.
America suddenly stood up and, obviously inspired by his 'ipud' or whatever it was called and began singing 'Born in the USA' extremely loudly and very out of tune. This caused much consternation around the basement.
Then Sealand got to his feet and slinked towards the door.
And then Gaston or Philippe (England was still not sure which was which) clicked off their radio and announced that they were moving to the roof. Whatever that meant.
England attempted to shut America up and then attempted to go after Sealand at the same time.
But Gaston, or Philippe had already grabbed England, France and America and herded all three towards the exits. Germany followed.
"Get your hands off me!" England told 'Gaston'.
"I was born in the USA!" America sang, punching the air, completely unaware of his surroundings.
"Of course you were," England sighed and tried to head off Sealand.
"There's a helicopter waiting," Gaston told England.
"For who?" England asked.
"Pour moi!" France said and hopped after the other CIA man who was steering America towards the exit. "Finally! Someone has realised that I am a star!" France breathed.
"THIS IS SO COOL!" America yelled at England as they were being strapped into the helicopter.
"No it's not." England did not like helicopters and already felt queasy.
"Eet eez like being a movie star," France said.
"No it's not."
"THIS IS SO COOL!" America yelled again. As he had his ipod still on full blast he had no idea he was shouting or that everybody could hear him.
"Can somebody please tell the American idiot to be quiet?" Germany asked England.
"Why did we bring him?" England asked 'Philippe' or 'Gaston', pointing at Germany.
"He is required at the meeting."
"What meeting? And where is my son?" England asked, looking down as the helipad receded too quickly. Who on earth knew that IKEA had a helipad? He couldn't see Sealand anywhere.
"Admiral Peter Kirkland assured us he would engage the enemy."
"Admiral?" England almost choked. "Admiral? The boy's not a bloody admiral!"
"Admiral of the Royal Navy," Gaston said, looking at England through those sunglasses.
"He outranks you," Germany pointed out.
"THIS IS SO COOL!" America yelled.
"Do you zink I should wave to ze crowds?" Francis asked.
"You're not going to some bloody movie premiere. This is not for you, Francis," England told him. "And will somebody bloody well switch off that idiot's ipud?"
Germany shook his head disapprovingly at England and pointed at the chaos below them.
Just north of the City, right about where England's house should have been, was a cake. Or what looked to be a large, glowing gloop of a cake.
It covered around five streets, a park and the local shops. England sighed when he realised his favourite grocery store had been obliterated.
The cake was now oozing down towards the river.
"It's trying to escape!" Germany said. "Mein Gott! If that thing gets to the Thames and open water it could spread around the world!"
"You need to calm down, Germany. It's just a bloody cake." England sighed.
"Just a cake!" Germany stared at England and shook his head. "By tomorrow it could be on the continent. France? What do you think? That thing could be in Paris by tomorrow."
"Do you zink I should do somezing avec my hair?" France asked.
"What for?" England asked.
"Ze photographers of course!"
"THIS IS SO FREAKIN' COOL!" America yelled at England.
"The cake's crushed my begonias!" England as he watched out of the helicopter window. "I knew I'd used too many eggs," he said as he sat back defeatedly in his seat.
"Yes, I'm sure that must be it. We'll all remember this when we're facing the end of the world," Germany said.
"Oh stop being so dramatic," England said.
"That thing is growing!" Germany pointed out.
He was right. The cake was growing. It had doubled in size while they were watching it.
Later… At the Ministry of Defence building, Whitehall…
The meeting room they were in was impressive. Along one wall was a rather famous painting of the Battle of Waterloo.
France had limped in, using 'Philippe' as a crutch, seen the painting and promptly sagged into a chair. "Oh! Eet eez too much! Poor Napoleon!" he wailed to no-one. He was also upset that they were not at the Cannes Film Festival and there were no paparazzi awaiting him.
Indeed, no-one was listening to France.
They were all bickering.
Present already at the meeting were an assortment of Nations (Hungary, Austria, Italy, Russia) who had been called in by the UK Government about the 'threat'.
"We really need your help to counteract this serious threat to the world's security. So far, ordinary bullets are not stopping the er…" the UK Intelligence Chief hesitated to call it a 'cake'.
"Excuse me, but is there any tea to be had? I'm absolutely parched," England asked.
"Nobody cares about my predicament!" France wailed.
"Hold on! Question?" Russia said, holding up a hand and glaring at England.
"Austria, why don't you say something?" Hungary hissed to Austria sat next to her. Why on earth they were in London, no-one knew. In fact England had thought Hungary was in Benidorm with Ukraine.
America finally took his earphones off. Clearly his ipod's battery had run out and he looked around. "What's going on, dudes?"
"I will take notes. I also think I should lead this meeting," Germany said.
"I'm sorry but I can't do anything without a cup of tea," England said.
"I'm the hero and I'm in charge!" America yelled, standing up.
"Do you know what's happening?" Germany asked, looking at him.
"Well… no… but…"
"We have a cake situation. At the moment it cannot be stopped. Everytime it has been hit by bullets or even heavy artillery, it grows," the Intelligence Chief told them.
"See?" America said. "Now I know."
Russia still held up his hand, "Excuse me, Western idiots. What about nuking it?"
"That would destroy London," one of the CIA men pointed out.
"Da!" Russia nodded and seemed quite cheery about this prospect. "I'm sure my boss would be happy to help out."
Everyone shuddered.
"Has anyone actually attempted to communicate with it?" asked Hungary.
"Sir, we have tried to establish a cordon around it and we used loud hailers to attempt to talk to it," the CIA man said.
"It's a bloody cake…" England muttered. He was also aghast at Hungary being called 'Sir'.
"It has shown indications of intelligence, Mr Kirkland." 'Philippe' or 'Gaston' said. England still had no idea which was which.
"For God's sake…"
"Perhaps it's looking for some icing. I saw on the news that it doesn't have any," Russia pointed out.
"This is crazy…" England said with his head in his hands.
"I do not see why we are here. We… especially moi, should be taken somewhere of greater safety," France said.
"You're bloody going nowhere, you bloody coward," England said.
"Safety? You think we're in danger?" Italy looked as if he were going to cry and clung to Germany.
"Get off me, Italy! Of course we're in danger! The whole world's in danger!"
"The US Army will save us!" America announced. "Have you called in the Seals?"
"Music!" Austria declared. "Have you tried music? I find Mozart and Chopin most relaxing."
"No ma'am, we haven't," one of the CIA men said.
England smirked at Austria being called 'ma'am'. Austria grimaced.
"Any more suggestions?" the Intelligence Chief asked, looking as if he were going to fling himself out of the window.
"I'm not a ma'am," Austria said.
"Why are you bloody here?" England asked again.
"We gathered all the Nations who are in London together to see if they could assist us. After all, this thing is now heading towards the Thames. Who knows what would happen if got to the continent?" the Intelligence Chief told them.
"I was busy making pastaaa for Germany at my embassy when they rang me. We were having a date later on and..." Italy began to explain at a hundred miles an hour but Germany nudged him to be quiet.
England wondered why on earth anyone would ring Italy. Russia he could understand, perhaps even Hungary and Austria at a push, but Italy?
Somebody had wheeled in a television screen. They could see a BBC live transmission where a harrassed and scared looking presenter was telling them that the 'cake' had still not been stopped and that it was still 'oozing' down Finchley High Street. There were overhead helicopter shots of said cake squelching down the road with people running from it.
"It will bloody disintegrate! Are you bloody kidding me?" England shouted. He felt a little proud and a little alarmed in equal measure that his cake was now on the loose around London.
"Yes! Dude England is right. We need to disintegrate it!" America yelled. "Someone throw some water at it!"
"Sir, it is three storeys high and growing all the time." The man pointed at the television screen. The scene reminded some of them of very bad 1950s horror movies where a blob of indeterminate origin oozed down streets and people ran from it.
"Ah." England said and shut up.
"We put firemen's hoses on it but it grew exponentially," the Intelligence Chief told them.
"Honhonhon, ah yes!" France said in a weird pervy way.
England nudged France. "I'm sorry but who are you?" he asked the Intelligence Chief.
"I'm Colonel Worthington-Smythe," the man said.
"I think we go in there and hit it with everything we've got!" America yelled. "…Using England's scones!"
The other Nations looked horrified.
"Do you want to cause Armageddon?" Germany said, utterly appalled.
"What happens if just some of the scones escape across the Channel?" Hungary asked.
"My Red Army could fight the cake but I'm not so sure about the scones." Russia announced.
"This is outrageous!" Austria said finally. "Germany tell them!"
"Yes, my mean friend is right. To drop scones on this… confectionery… would only be like fighting fire with fire." Germany told them in a grim voice.
"It's a bloody cake!" England yelled and then went quiet when the doors opened and an old lady came doddering in with a tea trolley. "Oh good, tea…"
"Are there any custard creams?" Russia asked, standing up and looming over them.
"Ach! You didnae recognise me did yer?" Scotland threw off the old lady disguise (however, he kept the skirt and pinny on). "Yer a bunch of big eejits and yer, Arthur, are a rubbish Nation!"
As only England understood a word (and that was sketchy at best), the others did not realise that Scotland had just insulted them all.
"He has such a musical voice…" France breathed.
"Is Scotland a woman?" Russia whispered to France. (Russia had long-held problems with figuring out genders on first appearances.)
"I'm a man and proud of it!" Scotland told them. (He pronounced proud as 'prood'.)
"Do you have any idea how to defeat the baking threat?" one of the CIA men asked.
"Is it shortbread?" Scotland asked, pouring tea for England.
"No."
"Then, no. I cannae help yer. It's the end of the world, sonny. I'd head for the hills. But not my hills of bonnie Scotland though," Scotland told them unhelpfully, taking the lid off the tin of biscuits.
"Wait! I'm getting some news!" one of the CIA men said, with his finger to his ear.
"Do you have Springsteen on your ipod as well?" America asked.
"No, stupid! He's talking about his radio!" England said, stuffing a ginger nut in his mouth.
"There are no custard creams!" Russia said. "Kolkolkol…"
"The cake has been obliterated!" the CIA man said.
"Oh Gaston! Zat is so good! Now take off your shirt and tell us everyzing!" France said.
"Three courageous, brave individuals battled it and brought it down…" 'Gaston' said, edging away from France.
"Damn them to hell…" England muttered.
"Well thank Gott for that!" Germany said, shoving Italy off his lap. "Italy you can get off my knee now. We're all going to live."
"Navy Seals? Man they're the best!" America shouted, punching the air.
"No, Sir. It was Nations. They saved the world…"
To Be Continued...
Next Chapter - the unexpected heroes of the hour...