Chapter 46
I know what you're thinking, 'Typical bloody man, buggers off for months on end without a word then comes waltzing back in and expects us to pick things up where we left off'. Well I don't blame you. The truth is that I was happily working up the next zany caper for our favourite Major and his cohorts when I heard the news. You know what I'm talking about, the long awaited, much hoped for, eagerly anticipated pronouncement about season two. The information came from the usual impeccably accurate intelligence source (thank you Ice) BUT no sooner had I got over the initial delerious joy, finished punching the air and doing my little jig of triumph (think Jeremy Vine doing a Salsa) than what happened? The cup of happiness was cruelly dashed from my lips and the ambrosia liquid sent spewing down my nose in the chocking cough of surprise and shock. No Molly...No bloody Molly!
The next few days and weeks are a bit of a haze. I know I hit the bottle hard. Luckly it was made of plastic and just bounced off my head harmlessly. I also sat in a catatonic trance for hours on end, the debris of my dissipation - mainly empty Ben and Jerry tubs and Mr Kipling Fondant Fancy boxes - surrounding me like a blanked of misery. Then, one day I just got up and started running. Forrest Gump like I just kept going until my legs ached and my lungs were ready to burst, my beard was long and my clothes in tatters. I ran until all the hurt was gone, until I had pounded my frustration out onto the stones of the pavement then I stopped and looked around me. I was at the end of my road. I really need to get a bit fitter.
I also realised at that moment that the very best response to life's hard knocks is to get right back on the horse, to blow a fulsome raspberry in the face of adversity, to plunge my hand down it's metaphorical trousers, grab the top of its pants and ...we'll you get the idea.
So the upshot is that I set out before you the first chapter of a new SZS adventure, and our heroes are set for their biggest challenge yet as they do battle with a whole continent on the biggest stage imaginable...the Eurovision Song Contest. Over the coming weeks (actually months - it takes me ages to write this rubbish believe it or not) you will find excitement and intrigue, dazzling outfits, trully terrible singing and lashings of Euro camp. One thing you won't find, though, is me dwelling on bad news. I am so over that...
"Molly!...what do you mean you want to leave the service?" Said James incredulously
"You do know your voice went really high then, don't you?" Replied Molly
"Well do you blame me?" Said the Major as he slumped into his swivel chair, still clutching the transfer request in his hand. They were in James's office in the SZS admin block where he had summoned his wife after receiving the unexpected missive.
"We did talk about it" said the lance corporal in a defensive tone.
"Really?" Shot back James, the pitch of his voice rising several octaves once more "I recall some fleeting discussion about broadening your horizons but I thought you meant in the SZS not outside of it. I was thinking we might get you started on some SHAATT work"
Molly sat down opposite her husband and leaned on his desk, clasping her hands in front of her as if in prayer.
"That sounds good, its just that..." Molly turned her head and stared out the office wndow searching for the right words "...the service is all about you really, you're its face...and body...you're what people think about when they talk about the SZS"
James frowned " Is this about the majorettes?" He asked " Because I've been talking to some lawyers and they think we have enough to get them put away for a long time.."
"No" replied Molly shaking her had vigorously "And don't you dare by the way, they saved our bacon on our last mission"
"OK, OK I'll call off the lawyers" said James raising his hands in surrender before continuing "So is it to do with notoriety? 'Cos remember you've got you're own fans...what do they call themselves again?"
"The Moll-esters" groaned Molly rolling her eyes
"That's a great name" smiled James
"No its not" corrected Molly "and its just one fan"
"Oh yes, that man from London who keeps writing those stories about you, they're funny" said James
"Weird more like" countered Molly
"OK, a little weird but still..." Conceded James
Molly shifted in her seat "Its not about being famous, its about doing my own thing, accomplishing something for myself, on my own terms..."
James bit his bottom lip and ran his fingers through his hair "l really don't understand, I've always made clear to anyone that will listen this is a team effort and you have been a key part of what we have achieved"
"It's not anything you've done Charles" said Molly reassuringly "I think this is about me and what I need"
James rose from his chair and started to pace the room "Alright, I get that but think about what you would be giving up"
Just then there was a knock at the door which James ignored
"We are at the cutting edge of biological warfare..."
Another, more urgent series of knocks
"Ready to deploy, anywhere in the world at a moments notice..."
The door opened tentatively and Private Peter's, the regimental clerk, poked his head through the gap
"With a formidable reputation for efficiency and professionalism...for goodness sake what is it Peter's?" Snaped James, turning his head sharply towards the door.
"Sorry to disturb sir but Mansfield needs the medic, Baz Vegas has got his head stuck in the privy"
James stared at the Private in disbelief "How the hell has be managed that?"
"Apparently he was trying to drink from the bowl sir" replied Peter's evenly
"Has he taken leave of his senses?" Asked James in consternation.
"Not entirely sir, he and a few others had just completed a latrene clean. There were some particularly stuborn stains which the normal detergents wouldn't shift so someone suggested pouring in a bottle of cola" explained the Private.
"Where did that come from?" Said James frowning
"Oh the canteen I think, sir" replied Peters
"Not the drink you fool" shot back James impatiently "the idea"
"Ah, sorry sir, from the internet I believe" confirmed Peters "I understand it worked a treat"
"And then Baz decided he was thirsty?" Ventured James
"Well it was a particularly tiring cleaning session sir and Baz does like his fizzy drinks"
The major shook his head and turned to Molly. "Best go and see what you can do lance corporal"
"There ain't no cure for fuckmuppetry sir but I can see if I've got some Vaseline to get his head out" replied wife. As she went to leave James touched his wife's shoulder causing her to pause.
"And the thing we were just talking about, let me think about it okay?"
Molly nodded and followed Peter's out of the office door.
James watched her leave with a thoughtful expression then looked at the transfer request which he still held, slightly crumpled, in his hand. He blew out a breath and shook his head, before stuffing the sheet into one of his desk drawers and shutting it firmly...
Anatoly Alexandrov looked out of his office window on the top floor of the Russian Television Centre in the northern suburbs of Moscow. It was a frosty morning in early March and the large grassed area in front of the building sparkled white in the sunshine. Rising out of the middle of the space was the soaring form of the Ostankino Tower, a huge television and radio mast which beamed sound and images throughout the huge country. A remnant of the Soviet era, it continued to reach defiantly into the sky long after the regime which built it had faded into history.
However, Anatoly's thoughts this morning were not dwelling on his countries past history but on its present and future triumphs. He was Russian Channel 1's head of light entertainment and one of his key responsibilities was to find Russia's next Eurovision Song Contest entrant. It was a job that he happened to be very good at. Largely because of his efforts, Russia had an excellent record in the competition over the last decade and a half, winning the thing in 2008 and finishing runners up four times, one of those being just the previous year..
Now on his desk sat the short list for this year's competition and it was a strong one. Polina was there again from last year, lovely girl, and the Babushki who had caused such a stir back in 2012. The grandmother's were still going strong and their thrash metal set was a real contender this time around, although keeping the ladies in their leather leotards was a tricky business. Anatoly gave an involuntary shiver as he recalled a particularly revealing wardrobe malfunction at a recent rehearsal.
However, the real star of his list was the boy Vasily. Not only did he have the face of an angel and the voice of a lark; he had the one thing that was pure gold in any singing competition, back story. Vasily had the big B in spades, having become an orphan when very young, then running away from cruel foster parents, being bullied at school and eventually scraping a living as a homeless busker in Moscow until recently being discovered.
Anatoly smiled to himself as he considered the kids potential. He then turned to a picture on his wall, a portrait set in an elaborate frame like a religious icon. Anatoly starred reverentially at the face depicted therein, which wore one of its characteristic self satisfied smirks. "You would love him Mr Cowell" whispered the Russian.
It was safe to say Anatoly had high hopes for Vasily and he was going to push strongly for the boy when he presented his short list to the Culture Minister that very morning. Minister Barinov and he were old friends and he would take Anatoly's lead on these matters. The head of light entertainment had a good feeling about this year's competition.
Just then the intecom on Anatoly's desk crackled into life and his secretary announced that the minister and another gentleman were there to see him. Anatoly frowned, it was unusual for others to be involved in these discussions, however he quickly shrugged of his discomfort and asked for his visitors to be shown in.
Soon after, his office door was opened and Minister Barinov bustled in. He was a large, stocky man who somewhat disconcertingly tended to charge at people with his head lowered as if intent on butting them out of his path. He also had a habit of speak in short staccato sentences, firing words out like a machine gun, and this morning was no exception.
"Anatoly. Morning. You well?"
"Yes thank you Minister" replied the television executive with a smile.
"Excellent. Glukov, Anatoly, Anatoly, Glukov" rattled off the minister as he introduced his companion, a thin, pale man in a dark suit. "From the President's office." He further explained.
The men shook hands before Anatoly showed them both to a couple of empty seats and offered them coffee from an ornate silver pot which sat on a small table in the corner of the office.
The minister wrinkled his nose at the drink "Coffee. No. Anything stronger?"
Anatoly smiled and quickly replaced the coffee pot with a bottle of Tovaritch Vodka.
"Excellent. Large one. Now straight to business. Glukov here has your band"
Anatoly nearly dropped the cut glass tumbler which he was carrying over to the Minister.
"But I prepared a shortlist" he protested
"No need. Have it sorted. Glukov will explain" and with that Barinov took his drink and started to sip it with noisy relish.
Anatoly stared at Glukov who smiled thinly and began: "The President is keen that a resurgent Russia extends its sphere of influence and dominates in all fields: geo-political, sporting and cultural. As a result he would strongly recommend that the following...act is confirmed as our entrant in this song contest of yours"
Glukov then removed a brown cardboard file from a briefcase and passed it over to Anatoly who took it and sat down behind his desk to study it. After a few moments he looked up at his two visitors with a deep frown. "But the whole dressing up as scary red eyed monsters thing has been done before, by the Finns with Lordi in '06. It was a daring masterstroke at the time but I'm not sure it will work again. Eurovision is about doing the same old thing in different ways and this has been done"
Glukov's fixed but humourless smile turned into a slight snear. "They're not in costume"
The television executive stared in confusion at Glukov before realisation slowly dawned "You don't mean to say they're actually..."
Glukov nodded slowly
Anatoly swallowed nervously "But surely we're not..."
Glukov cut in "Of course not Mr Alexandrov. They were found a number of months ago wondering lost on our side of the Ukrainian border, presumably the product of the continuing conflict in that region. We have been caring for them ever since."
"Do we have any idea who they are and how they ended up like that?" Asked Anotoly
"We have only been able to communicate with them in a very basic way, but they appear to have no memory of what happened to them. We have also made every effort to identifying them and returning them to their people. However they had no papers on them and no one has come forward to claim them. So now we are faced with the question of what to do with them"
"But surely they're dangerous" pursued Anatoly
"Not in the least" replied Glukov "They are entirely harmless. We understand that such...individuals do exist. In fact we have unconfirmed reports of a number of them working for the British anti zombie force and that there is a small colony somewhere in the southern United States. In both instances they are known as alternatively alive and lead productive and fulfilling lives"
Anatoly raised his hands to his temples and slowly massaged them for a second before addressing Glukov once more. "And your plan is to make them into pop stars"
The man nodded "They appear to possess some talent in that regard"
"Ok, well...can I hear something they've done?" Asked Anatoly
Glukov produced a CD from his case and passed it to Anatoly who put it into his laptop computer. He listened to the first track for a few minutes with his fingers steepled below his nose before pausing the music and looking once more at his visitors. "Well its...distinctive...and not altogether unpleasant. Any idea what they are actually singing about?"
"No not really but does it matter?" Said Glukov
"In Eurovision? No not really" confirmed Anatoly "They can also certainly play those instruments"
"Exactly" chipped in the minister, dragging his attention from his now nearly empty glass "And great back story. Always your point Anatoly. Human interest. All that."
Anatoly pursed his lips then breathed out "Alright, I can add them to the shortlist."
His two visitors looked at each other before Glukov cleared his throat "As I have already said the president himself is strongly recommending that they are our entrants."
Anatoly frowned "And by strongly recommend he means..."
"Insists" cut in the minister before finishing his drink with a loud slurp and slamming the glass on the desk like a judge gavelling the close of a court case.
Anatoly visibly jumped then looked at the disguarded tumbler before slowly deflating. "What am I going to tell Vasily?" He murmured to himself.
"Boys young. Be other opportunities. All settled then. Must get on." With that Anatoly's two visitors rose from their chairs and made their goodbyes. They walked quickly through the outer office, workers scattering out of the way as the minister charged between the desks and towards the lift.
As they descended to the ground floor Glukov turned to Barinov. "Do you think he beleived the cover story?"
"Hook. Line. Sinker" fired back the minister...
Brad Pit sprinted through the laboratory closely pursued by a snarling, clawing zombie dressed in a lab coat. The actor carried a crowbar and thick layers of cardboard taped to his lower arms and shins for protection. As he crashed through an exit and into the corridor beyond he turned sharply bringing the crowbar in a wide arc and burying it deep into the skull of his pursuer, causing the zombie to crumple into a lifeless heap on the floor.
Panting heavily Brad started to heave at the weapon, in an effort to dislodge it from his erstwhile pursuer. The next moment, another zombie appeared at the far end of the corridor and, spotting the struggling figure, started a frenzied, twitching advance towards him. Brad realising he was in danger renewed his frantic efforts to extract the crowbar and at the last possible moment succeeded in releasing it, dodged the advancing figure and brought the steel rod down on the head of the second zombie who was sent sprawling and unconscious onto the blood strewn floor. In anger and relief the actor stamped down into the face of his wouldbe assailant causing it to cave in with a sickening crunch...
"Oh this is utter bollocks" cried Baz Vegas throwing popcorn at the screen at the far end of the briefing room.
"Ain't that bad" countered Nude Nut, throwing a handful of M and Ms in turn at Baz Vegas.
"You're supposed to make any comments on your tablets" cut in Mansfield Mike jumping up from his chair and pausing the film
"What's the point of that? Its much more fun to call out abuse" said Fingers in turn throwing his empty crisp packet at the corporal.
"Oi, cut that out" ordered Mansfield "Anyway, it wouldn't be a watch-a-long if we all talked over the film would it? It'd be a slag off-a-long or somethin' and what's the point of that?"
"Well what's the point of this anyway?" Asked Dangleberries
"I've told you" replied the corporal in exasperation "It's the latest interactive training technique, enabling group analysis of video based instruction tools in a real time context"
"Oh God, he's at it again" groaned Fingers "Using words I know but in an order I just can't understand"
"Oh I give up" said Mansfield flinging up his hands "Molls help us out will ya'?"
The medic got up with a grin "Alright corp' I'll give it a go" she said and walked to the front of the briefing room.
"Ok Baz, can you tell us why you think this is bollocks?" She began
"Well" said the private "Its just not how it works is it? We don't go around smashing zombies heads in do we?"
"No we don't. So what does that tell us?...anyone...Brains, you've not had a lot to say so far. What do you think?"
The private, who had furiously been tapping the screen of his tablet suddenly looked up guiltily. "What?...sorry Molls, was miles away"
"Away with the fairies" laughed Nude Nut.
"More like the Mistys" smirked Fingers, ruffling his mates hair and receiving an elbow in the side for his pain.
There then followed a series of whistles and cat calls before Molly restored order and said "Sarg' you got any ideas?" Addressing Kinders.
The Sargent scratched his chin and grinned "I think it shows that you shouldn't believe all you see in films"
"That's right" said Molly. "People have got a picture in their heads about what a zombie looks like and does which they get from watching films and TV and reading comics and books and mostly it's wrong"
"But what's that got to do with us?" Asked Baz Vegas
"Lots" replied Molly simply "It affects what they think about us and what we do, the people we cure and good zombies like Smurf and the Doc...oh get a room will you?" This to the two SZS zombies who were sitting in the back row in the middle of a passionate embrace which they failed to break from even when they were bombarded by a hail of snack food by the others.
Molly then continued "Can anyone tell we where the idea of zombies first came from?"
" Was it Scooby Doo?" Asked Nude Nut
"Err, no not really" replied Molly "The link with Voodoo and witch doctors you see in Scooby Doo is actually a fairly recent one. Zombies are part of a much older idea to do with the vengeful dead coming back to hunt the living"
"What like Dracula you mean?" Put in Dangleberries
"Yes" smiled Molly "vampires are part of that as well"
"These days though" continued the medic "zombies are linked to the apocalypse...like stories about the end of the world, usually through the spread of a virus"
"Why's that then Moll's?" Asked Fingers
Molly shrugged "Probably because people aren't as superstitious as they used to be and are more worried about things like Ebola and bird flue and stuff. Zombies are just a way for people to reflect their fears about those things"
James, who stood unseen at the door of the briefing room, looked on with a smile playing on his lips. He was enjoying the banter between the troops recognising it as a sign of high moral. However he was also marvelling at Molly's ability to take control of a room, hold the soldiers attention and explain things in a way they would understand. James had to acknowledge that she was a born teacher and a potential leader.
With this thought James' smile turned into a frown as his mind went back to their conversation of the previous week. He had promised to consider the transfer request and in truth it was all be had thought about since. Although he knew that it was an entirely reasonable request on Molly's part, James dreaded the thought of them not working together anymore, of being separated for long periods in different parts of the world. He was being selfish and should approve the transfer but each time he resolved to do so, something stopped him. If he was honest with himself it was the faint hope that she would have a change of mind.
Molly had not pressed the issue and he was sure that she sensed the struggle he was going through. It was just like her to wait patiently while he worked the problem through and came to a decision. She new him so well...
James then sensed that there had been a change in the atmosphere of the room. The banter had stopped at some point and the room fallen silent. He raised his head and found the troops staring at the screen on the far wall once more, except instead of the film which had recently been playing there was a web page displayed. It was from an online entertainment news site and proclaimed in bold letters "Russian Zombie Band to Play Eurovision". Below it was a promotional photograph showing a group of six zombies posing with their instruments.
James advanced into the room. Kinders spotting their Major enter, brought the room to attention.
" At ease" called James "Where the hell did that come from?"
"Brains just found it and cast it up on the screen" confirmed the Sargent
"Is it for real?" Asked James
"Looks like it sir. My sources tell me its all over the internet" confirmed Brains
"Your sources?" Queries James
"You know sir" said the private uneasily "My sources"
"Oh God, the majorettes? Are you sure they haven't just dreamt it up to get me to strip off in a public place again? Because that false alarm at the charity carol concert last Christmas, I'm sure, was their doing."
"No sir I'm positive, the BBC have just picked it up as well" and with that Brains cast the new image onto the screen.
James studied the page with a frown then turned to Kinders "Better get Colonel Morley on the blower and find out what the hell is going on"...