Blott

Brainers sighted

22 posts in this topic

From the upper observation deck

Blott Manor, God's Own County 

Yorkshire 

Message for the attention of good friend Grob,

Grob dear chap, hope all is tickety boo at The Towers, hoping the Mem and sprogs are in good form, also the secretary lass and gamekeeper lass (she of the broad shoulders and hairy legs). All good at the Manor now the unseemly incident involving a house guest of a nervous disposition and my nocturnal sleepwalking habit has been cleared up.

Good news!!!!! We have had the boffins from the smoke at Blott Manor of late laying gables fables tables cables hither and dither, I received an awful fright the other day when one of them popped up unexpectedly in me study while I was perusing a back copy of "Ankles on show, the Daring Ladies of Winchester" (I assume you have a copy in your library). Any road up, I quickly dismissed him from me service and continued me important study. 

Ah yes the cables, well it turns out these cables carry something the boffins call elastic-trickery. All bally clever stuff old boy, a chap can be sat in his club chair partaking of a cheeky malt when the evening gloom arrives. No need to light a candle old chap, one simply flicks a switch and by-jingo something they call a bulb emits the light of several candles all at once. Bulbs not to be confused with bulbs of course, those bulbs are for the gardener and most certainly don't light up, not at the Manor anyway.

The boffins did warn me to no longer blow holes in the wall with me'blunderbuss when in a fit of rage, apparently by doing so it could cause a short circuit and the whole damn shooting match could go for a googly. As you can imagine I was rather fed up not having a use for me'blunderbuss but by George, spiffing news arrived by messenger at teatime. 

Turns out those chaps who make a living of sorts kicking a bag of wind about are at it again, if memory serves it was 4 years ago we were charged with the job of ridding the land of half-brainers and no-brainers. Well sorry to say old man, the cull we thought to be complete was not. A few appear to have slipped past us and are making a come back!!! Yes, the common or garden half brainer sports a flag on one side or the other of his motorised chariot, the no brainer sports a flag on both sides.

An hour ago I sent message by pigeon to our old friend Gio in the Ministry, she replied informing the Minister of Home Affairs and Nonsense will look into the matter urgently and will issue orders in due course. So it seems we are to re-enter the fray old chap, please strap on ya'boots, dust down the operational uniform and fire up the Lightning the Nation needs us once more!!!  

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Gad Blott,

Them damn red kites must have clattered me pigeon. 

Tally ho old boy. I was replenishin' stocks at a bally supermercado this am, when blow me a quick shufty around the car parkin' revealed several half, and two no brainers. Dammit I was unarmed, and had to let the blighters escape to their feedin' grounds. I still feel that we need to cross the Urals though for a better bag, and to this end am speakin' to Flt Lt Sprog who currently has the use of a large aircraft whose badges are those of the Trumpeter chap over the pond.  Anyway me idea is that I'll get him to cross the pond and give you me and other selected chaps, and chapesses, (the gamekeeper lass a damn fine shot springs to mind,) a lift to an airport near to the Crumblin.  Bearing trumpeter badges will mean that no scandal will attach itself to God's own Count(r)y, and we should be able to bag several blighters before makin' ourselves scarce.

So that Flt Lt Sprog can fuel the bally aircraft, kindly advise numbers and names of Huntin' party members.  Who is JimmyToo?  Bit of a riddle? Thought he made shoes, but that might be another chap, course if he makes huntin' boots then he'll be a shoes-in!

Communicate soonest

Grob

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

From sickbay 

Blott Manor 

 

Grob me'old mucker,

Deep apologies for my tardy response to your missive. I happened upon me'local The Slaughtered Lamb earlier today, the regulars had constructed a rudimentary picture box in the snug. They were watching 'our boys' kicking the bag of wind around a park in Ruski'land against a team of chaps from Panama, I felt it only polite to sit in with the locals and took several too many stirrup cups of local ale, a ferocious brew which goes by the name of Dead Nail.

Needless to say by the time the match was over I had been 'over' several times having lost me'footin, I managed to make good my escape back to the Manor where Matron immediately ordered me to sickbay for recovery and a deal of sleeping. Happily 'our boys' trounced the Panamanian chaps 6-1, apparently allowing England entry to the 'knock out' stages with a game to spare. Exactly where the football rounds end and the boxing rounds begin I have no idea, I assume it to be a duel discipline type of bun fight.

However, I digress. 

Ah yes Flt Lt Sprog and his aircraft, this sounds a capital idea and much quicker than the usual mode of transport me'BSA motorcycle with attached sidecar. Regarding numbers I've done a quick head count and feel we require transport for me'self, your good self, young Master Blott (although technically not yet 'of age' the blighter stands 2 inch taller than me'self and has the physique of an athlete), the resident shoe maker here Jimmy Too (he claims to have a Holland & Holland, side by side I hope). Assuming Flt Lt Sprog will secure leave to join the hunt and perhaps the 'youth' may be teased out with promises of a target rich environment?

By my thunking that's a half dozen and should be sufficient for operational requirements, how say you old boy?

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

From me’bed chamber 

Blott Manor 

Opppps, in me haste to complete a head count I missed the gamekeeper lass from the list. Assuming the lass in question can secure permission from the Mem that would make the team lucky 7. 

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Mornin' Ol' Chap,

I have spoken with Flt Lt Sprog on that new fangled Skypey jobbie, (thankfully the Mem is familiar with computery type things, more of a slate and pencil type meself,) and he has come up with an admirable wheeze.  He and his aircraft will on a, "good will mission," cross the pond, landing at an RAF base. The Huntin' party, and by the way the Secretary Lass and the Gamekeeper lass will be accompanying us as the Youth has, "other duties to attend to," anyhow, the Huntin' party in the guise of VIP's will pay a visit to the aircraft which will then take them on a short flight.  On the flight he will declare an emergency and be forced to land near Kiev.  You know the place, it's where they farm those garlicky chickens.  Anyway Sprog reckons that it's friendly territory, going further might prove problematical.  Apparently the chaps in the Crumblin aren't too fond of aircraft with the sort of badges that his aircraft wears crossin' into their airspace.  Seems they get uppity and set rockets off, and I'm pretty certain he doesn't mean the sort we used to put into milk bottles around the 5th of November.
We needn't worry about room in the aircraft, Sprog reckons there will be plenty of room for all, so the Huntin party comprises you and I, and your youth, yon Jimmy Choo chappie, (strictly between ourselves, I'm sure we've met the blighter before, I believe he may have worn navy blue for a time,) the gamekeeper and secretary lasses. Sprog intends to join us on the hunt, he's bringing along a vintage Lee Enfield, anyway that's us the Lucky Seven.  Then, once we feel that we have bagged sufficient we rapidly backtrack and before you know it we're in the air and headin' for home.

The secretary lass has just raised a small point, she thinks we might be not only breakin' the law, but also might start a war.  What think you Ol' Chap?

As Ever

Grob

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Morning chaps!!!!

Grand news, just received a telex from Gio at the Ministry. Apparently the Minister for Farce and Nonsence has commissioned a one off order of ammunition for the Hunt. It’s all complicated stuff but basically when a chap pulls the trigger the projectile flys from the barrel as usual however once near the target a sabo opens and releases a deal of guided feathers. The feathers lock onto the brainer’s flag and destroys it, the beauty of this system. Any casual observer will assume it to be a low flying seagull and pay it no further attention. 

Assuming all are in agreement I commend this plan to the Lucky 7 team :58674bdeceb55_EmojiSmiley-03:

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Gad, a splendid wheeze, I would like you to have a quick word with Gio and her boffins.  I believe that the weapon as described lacks a little.  If at the same time as depositing a deal of feathers on the flag the weapon could also deposit guano on the car I believe that the subterfuge would be perfect.  A windscreen full of guano would cause the vehicle concerned to stop, and photographs of the successful bag might be taken.  I sense a marketing opportunity here car washing, replacement flags and so forth.

I look forward to the boffins reply.  Meantime James ol boy, sorry ammo hard enough to come by for meself.

Grob

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

I have sent Percy me’favorite pigeon with urgent message to Gio as per your idea Grob. 

Awaiting reply from the boffins, will update soonest. 

Blott 

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
4 hours ago, Grob said:

Gad, a splendid wheeze, I would like you to have a quick word with Gio and her boffins.  I believe that the weapon as described lacks a little.  If at the same time as depositing a deal of feathers on the flag the weapon could also deposit guano on the car I believe that the subterfuge would be perfect.  A windscreen full of guano would cause the vehicle concerned to stop, and photographs of the successful bag might be taken.  I sense a marketing opportunity here car washing, replacement flags and so forth.

I look forward to the boffins reply.  Meantime James ol boy, sorry ammo hard enough to come by for meself.

Grob

Not to worry, Grob old man, I'll fall back on the self-load.

idea. I've plenty of brass and still got the old bullet mould so I'll just take the waste pipe from the outside privvy and cast a few.

Have to say though, Blott's idea has it's merits. At least there won't be blood and gore all over the place.

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

From the Armoury 

Blott Manor 

Good evensong chaps,

Missive received from Gio, the boffins thought Grob's guano idea was capital and have worked a healthy dose into each cartridge. The Minister is of the opinion all is well and has given the green light, therefore Operation Lucky7 is go, go, go.

The chaps from Q branch have arranged delivery of ammo and 'extras' before 12 noon tomorrow. Extras to include several buckets and shammies, two dozen squeegees and a paint kettle to rattle lose coins against the window of the 'bagged' brainer.

The Minister feels the operation requires a two pronged attack, Delta Team to take up position as the artillery unit, Omega Team to don fancy dress and pose as traditional jobbing windscreen clear vision operatives. The Minister has decided Grob is to split the task force into the two teams at his discretion.

Usual terms apply, payment by way of Krugerrands and negotiable bearer bonds on satisfactory evidence of number of bagged brainers.

All team members to rally at the usual muster point, 1100 hours sharp. 

 

 

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

I'll certainly be there but may I ask a favour of Grob in that I be assigned to the artillery unit as that was my forte in my youf.

These brainers and half brainers seem to be getting more prolific as the days pass, at least in my neck of the woods. Saw two full brainers and three half brainers just this afternoon, one of the brainers being an articulated ten wheeler which I thought was rather large to tackle alone.

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

As planned the now unmarked large aircraft,  after Flt Lt Sprogs declaration of an emergency was given permission to land near Kiev.  Leaving the aircraft in the capable hands of his 2 i/c the Flt Lt nipped out smartly, and ably assisted by Youth Blott reached back in to the aircraft and assisted the more senior members down the stairs.
Note: The mission has been named Operation Guano, and for the duration and also to save confusion the Blott Youth will be referred to as YB,and operating behind the lines as it were, Sprog will not be referred to by rank.   
Once assembled on the tarmac, the secretary lass was despatched to the car hire desk and returned with the keys for three vehicles.  Grob had divided the group into two, Guano 1 comprising Sprog and the Secretary lass was led by himself, Guano 2 was composed of YB the Gamekeeper lass and Jimmy 2, was led by Blott. Each group was to act independently, with Jimmy chou whose experience in making loud bangs had been noticed before, operating as Guano 3,  having a roving capapbility. 

Together they approached the place where the hire vehicles were parked., casually Grob tossed the keys of a  Yugo 45 to Blott, retaining the keys to a Lada Niva for his group.  Jimmy chou looked puzzled until Grob tossed him the keys to a large chain which was securing the wheels of an IMZ-Ural motorcycle combination.  Sprog and YB looked askance at the cars, which to be fair had seen better days, "shades of Top Gear in South America," muttered YB to Sprog, "we ought to decide which on is Jezza,which one is the Hamster, and which is Captain Slow," agreed Sprog.  At the lads suggestion, the three elements of Op Guano adopted a more secure name. Grob's party becoming Jezza, Blotts group becoming Hamster, and much to his chagrin Jimmy 2 became Capn Slow, "well you were in the navy," Grob explained.
Mounting their vehicle the group tested their radios before heading eastward on the E101.

Edited by Grob
Punctuation

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Meanwhile, several miles ahead of the Op Guano vehicles, in a dismal office close to the Crumblin, Natasha Stalinovska straightened the seam of her stocking.  Dangling a shoe with a vertiginous high heel from the toe of her foot, she faced the other occupant of the room. Without taking his eyes off her shoe, Colonel Molotovski eased his fingers between the high collar of his uniform and his neck in a vain attempt to regain control. Stalinovska addressed him, "what can you tell me about this, Operation Guano Colonel?"  Thinking only that Guano was bird shit, oops, excrement, the Colonel admitted he knew nothing. Without changing her position Stalinovska nodded, and behind a two way mirror a watching assistant turned a dial.  An electric shock battered the lower part of the Colonel's anatomy and he leapt out of the chair.  Stalinovska's eyes turned icy cold, "Colonel you have two days to find out, or the next time we see each other you will be strapped to the chair, now go!"

Muttering threats under his breath the Colonel left the building, in the car park was another symbol of his rank and status in society, a large Zil, he dismissed his chauffeur and taking the wheel he drew out of the car park.  As he increased speed the flags attached to the windows of the two rear doors, and the flags attached to the two front doors proclaimed his support for the football team he supported.  Soon he was speeding westward on the E101.

Edited by Grob

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Ops names Jezza, Hamster & Capt Slow made steady progress Eastward, keeping a few vehicles apart the casual observer would never guess the 3 were in convoy. Keeping radio chatter to a minimum several hours passed. Grob took hold of his radio and sent a short message to the others in the group.

McBurgerski anyone? The others replied in the affirmative and so it was the trio of vehicles pulled off the E101 and into a service area for a much needed mug of warm brown and a munch on something which could only be described as food-like sustenance. At the very same moment Colonel Molotovski felt a rumble in his belly and had thoughts much the same as the Lucky7.

Deciding a none covert action was acceptable the 7 dined together, the secretary lass in charge of the Ops 'purse' visited the counter and ordered supplies, assisted by Youth Blott the pair carried a number of plastic trays to the table, the trays contained equally plastic looking burgers and warm brown one could stand a spoon in.

'Honestly Grob' declared Blott, 'If this is food i'm a china man'. 'Now now old chaps' replied Grob 'When in Rome and all that'. 'I thought we were in Ruskiland' countered Jimmy Chou. The gamekeeper lass remained silent. The Sprog and YB set about their food with the appetite of the young, the secretary lass picked at hers and decided to leave most of it. Grob, Blott and Jimmy made short work of their rations, having operational experience they knew it might be some time before another feed was in the off'ing.

Back in the car park the Lucky7 made their way to their respective motor vehicles, as per training a kit check was taking place just as a large Zil swept into the parking area. Colonel Molotovski was talking on his hands free radio to Natasha Stalinovska, totally ignoring the 3 vehicles with the 7 people around them he was more interested in getting Natasha off the line and himself into the eatery.

Blott and Grob shouted together, 'Head ups team a double no brainer'. The Sprog, YB and Jimmy were several moments ahead of the chaps, already in position a volley of shots were let loose. 

 

 

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Colonel Molotovski was surprised to say the least, his large Zil motorcar swamped by what could only be described as a flock of seagulls intent on surrounding his car. Natasha Stalinovska was still on the line and demanded to know what the kerfuffle was all about. 'I'm being attacked by seagulls' replied the Colonel, trying to regain control of his senses he exited the car. 'Seagulls, seagulls, what are you taking about' boomed Natasha Stalinovska's voice. 

The Colonel was now out of his Zil, feathers surrounded him 'feathers, feathers everywhere' he spluttered. Natasha Stalinovska boomed across the airways 'You are making no sense man, describe what you see'. Colonel Molotovski tried his best 'Feathers are all around me, and, and, my car, it's covered in paint. No, not paint, it's seagull shit excrement, the car is covered in it, the windscreen is completely covered in.....'

'Guano' boomed Natasha Stalinovska 'Guano you fool, you're the first victim of Operation Guano', as realization sunk in Colonel Molotovski checked for the flags of his team. All four had been smartly removed from their mounts, the Lucky7 crack shots had been point perfect and even now were back on the E101 continuing East.

The secretary lass packing a digital SLR had captured the 'hit', pressed a button on the camera and sent a copy to Gio for verification. A few short minutes later a mobile device attached to a suspender strap on her thigh buzzed. Checking the device the Secretary lass read aloud 'Excellent start team, keep up the good work, bag confirmed, double no brainer'.

Team Lucky7 continued on towards the Crumblin, unaware they were heading directly towards Natasha Stalinovska. Colonel Molotovski spent many long minutes trying to clean the guano from his windscreen, by the time he go back on the road The Lucky7 were 30 miles ahead of him. Natasha Stalinovska enraged at his failure had kicked her stiletto shoe across her office, the stiletto heel bedded into the wall, directly through a white board which contained several names below two words in block capitals, OPERATION GUANO.  

 

 

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

It was a stupendous start to the Op.  In the calm of their Premier Innski dining room, the Beefeaterski, Jezza Grob drew Hamster Blott to one side. Keeping his voice low he remarked, " Yon Cap'n Slow Jimmy Chou's a tad quiet, unusual what?" Hamster Blott was forced to agree adding, "damned unusually quiet, we can usually rely on the chap to stir up the natives.  Any idea why he's so quiet?"
"Not prepared to speculate at the moment old chap, perhaps the clout on the ankle hasn't helped but it was a damn fine piece of shootin from him at yon Zil. Any suggestions what we should do?"


Hamster Blott pondered, and as Hamster pondered Grob saw Cap'n Slow Jimmy quietly slip out of the  Beefeaterski, and jerked his head towards Youth Blott, who with his finely honed British Army Special Forces Skills totally misunderstood and nodded back. "Follow him," he hissed, and Youth Blott also slipped out of the Beefeaterski.

Moments later there was the unmistakeable sound of a motorcycle engine being kick started, accompanied by a cry of pain.  The noise awoke Blott from his pondering, and Youth Blott re-entered the room.  " Which way was he travelling?" Hamster Blott asked of his offspring. To everyone's surprise Youth Blott replied, "south."

The entire group exchanged glances, and at the same time their food arrived.  Encouraged by the restaurant manager they had ordered today's surprise special.  As one they stared at their dishes in which a dark viscous liquid was steaming.  "Soups!" their water exclaimed, and with a flourish he placed large lumps of a dark coloured loaf on the table proudly announcing, "and breads in the basket! ENJOY."  The emphasis on enjoy could not be misunderstood as several of the waiting staff blocked the exit.  Op Guano tucked into their Borscht and black bread, and the waiters relaxed.  With purple stained mouths and teeth the Op Guano members, politely refused seconds and like a flash were out of the Beefeaterski leaving Sprog, who was a tad slower getting out of his seat with the spare portion belonging to Cap'n Slow Jimmy and the bill.

"So where's Cap'n Slow Jimmy gone then," asked Jezza Grob of the company, who had assembled in the Secretary Lass's room. There was silence, until the Secretary Lass spoke. " I wonder if he's a double agent?  I don't mean with the people in the Crumblin, but he's usually friendly with the tractor and duck fella."  At this point the sound of the motorcycle could be heard entering the carparkski. Blott took charge, (Grob grabbed the vodka,)  "Back to your rooms he ordered, say nothing about our worries to him.  We'll need to give him some time, another day perhaps to explain his strange absence.

 

Edited by Grob

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

"I wonder if the team realise they've given me the very best vehicle" pondered Capt, James, "I can go places that they can't possibly go. Which gives me more scope to bag more brainers" He had noticed what passed for an A road on the way to the Beefeaterski and thought that by riding across country he should find a good vantage point overlooking the road with a range of about four hundred yards.

His hunch was correct and he arrived at the top of a small hill that was covered with trees, stopped the bike and stretched his legs, then retrieving the trusty Holland, he found a perfect stance about three yards down the forward slope of the hill and settled down to wait for his quarry.

He didn't have long to wait and was rewarded by the sight of an old farm wagon totally unaware that he was leading a convoy of five cars all with flags of some obscure nation jammed in the rear windows. "Bit of a quandary here", thought James, "Two barrels, five cars. I know they're not travelling very fast but even I can't reload quick enough to bag the lot". He felt in his pockets and produced something he had hidden from Grob. It was one of his own 'four to the pound' shells for the Holland which he slipped into the left breech with one of his feather bullets in the right and closed the gun. He drew careful aim on the trucks rear wheel hub and squeezed the left trigger. The result was a spectacular disintegration of the hub which caused the truck to slew across the road blocking it completely.

The cars following came to a stop and the drivers began to berate the farmer for driving such a decrepit truck, think the hub had collapsed from wear and tear. James then, at his leisure, broke the gun and slipped a feather plucker into the left breech and calmly proceeded to well and truly feather the cars much to the dismay of the occupants.

James then took his camera from his pocket and snapped several photos of the chaos as he knew the team would never believe him without proof, and he also was secretly hoping to impress the secretary lass as he thought she was a real cracker. He tidied the stance, slid the Express back into the sidecar and headed back to join his chums. Arriving back, he tried without luck to procure a bottle of whisky and had to settle for the local vodka, then headed to his room for a well- earned rest and looking forward to seeing the team at breakfast - which he wasn't looking forward to.

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Team Lucky7 gathered in the dinning hall of the Beefeaterski the following morning, they dined on the breakfast of champions. A Russian delicacy they were told, which looked something like porridge in a fashion, especially if one squinted while closing the other eye. For those without a cast iron stomach Russian black bread was on offer with ham 'like' meat and cheese which at least promised to be from a mammal, although which spices no one was quite sure.   

The Sprog and Youth Blott seemed immune to any sign of disgust at the offered treats, Grob, Jimmy, Blott and the gamekeeper lass all set about the meal, purely as a refueling exercise. The secretary lass inspected the various offerings at a safe distance of roughly 3 feet and commented 'With this diet i'll be back into my size 8 dresses in no time at all'. The chaps (wrongly of course) all assumed this to be excellent praise indeed.

Unknown to Team Lucky7 Colonel Molotovski had swept past the Beefeaterski in the early hours of the morning, he was under orders to report to Natasha Stalinovska at the earliest opportunity and knowing her reputation he was making sure it was sooner rather than later.

Capt Jimmy Slow had passed his camera across the breakfast table to the secretary lass who had diligently forwarded the snaps to Gio at the Ministry, within minutes the mobile device strap to her thigh buzzed indicating confirmed hits. Blott noticed a smile and twinkle in the eye of the secretary lass, was it a modest show of admiration for Capt Jimmy Slow and his roving ability as a team gunner.

Having made their excuses and left the dinning hall the team regrouped, boarded their respective motor vehicles and under orders from the secretary lass made for the next town to dump the cars and bike. 'These 3 motors have been fingered by the 5 0' said she. 'Fingered by the 50!!' repeated Grob, 'I think she meant the authorities' replied Blott. The Sprog and Youth Blott exchanged glances and simultaneously slapped their foreheads while shaking their heads in amazement.

Being the holder of the purse the Sec Lass made new arrangements at the local Rent'aCarski, striding purposely towards the team she tossed a set of keys at Grob. 'Pertrol/paraffin Moskvich 408' she said, turning to Blott she threw another set of keys 'Trabant 601 diesel', finally handing Capt Slow his keys directly she said 'UAZ Hunter, 4 wheel drive, twin turbo, after-cooler with nitrous boost'. 

This time even Grob noticed the twinkle in her eye and look of admiration she cast Capt James.

The plan was to make for Moscow and the Crumblin, the team was to split into two units. It came as no surprise the Sec Lass deployed Capt James, The Sprog and Youth Blott to the artillery section. The gamekeeper lass, Blott and Grob were sectioned to windscreen washing duty, while the Sec Lass deployed herself to a shopping trip in and around the boutiques of Moscow.  

Ever efficient the Sec Lass had arranged suitable camouflage outfits for the gunners, she had also arranged outfits for the windscreen washing chaps. Blott, Grob and the gamekeeper lass looked on in horror. The Sec Lass laughed and reminded the chaps they were merely 'taking one for the team' and suggested they thought of the hit song Car Wash by Rose Royce.

This was all well and good, but denim short shorts, crop tops and roller skates weren't the outfit of choice the chaps had in mind while in Russia, even in the summer months. But the Sec Lass would hear none of it, giving her orders in the kind of voice which left the chaps in no doubt she sent them to their posting.

Meanwhile in Natasha Stalinovska's office Colonel Molotovski sat in the same chair as before but, as promised, this time he was strapped to it. 'For the last time Colonel, you are part of Operation Guano yes!!??' The electric shock treatment raced through the Colonel leaving him unable to answer his superior for many minutes. 

 

 

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Me dear colleagues and brothers in arms, I have just received the following missive from the Mem.  I have no choice but to comply.  I hope that you will carry on the mission without us, but just who is this person calling herself, the Secretary Lass, beware 5th columnists lads. I realise that you will need to rearrange homeward travel.  Pushing this note under Blott's door Grob, Flt Lt Sprog with the Gamekeeper Lass left in a cloud of dust, and a few hours later were in the air crossing the english coast.

The Mem's Office,
Grob Towers


Urgent Recall

Grob, you thunderin' idiot this last few days the Towers  have been haunted, strange noises and muffled wailings and the like, so I took it upon meself to institute a room bi room search of the bally old place.  Cuttin' a long story short we found yon Secretary Lass trussed up like a bally guinea fowl in one of the cellars.  So who the blazes have you got with you? Together with that apparently the Trumpeter can count, and it seems he's wonderin' where on of his airoplanes, (or airplanes as he calls them,) toys has gorn.  

Absolutely vital that you, Flt Lt Sprog and the Gamekeeper Lass return immediately and that Flt Lt Sprog takes Trumpeter's bally toy back across the pond.

The Mem.

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Having lost 3 members of the team in one fell swoop the remaining 4 decided to carry on with the mission. Capt James was posted as gunner, Youth Blott went along as spotter, Blott was posted to windscreen duty on his own while 'The secretary lass' stuck with her original plan, taking in the boutiques of Moscow.

As the team divided and unseen by any Blott activated a Q branch device he'd kept back from a previous outing. Blott had received and read the note Grob pushed under his door but choose to keep the full contents of it to himself for the time being.

All went swimmingly, half brainers and no brainers were spotted and dispatched in record time. Blott recorded the bags via a mini camera in the handle of his squeegee. After an hour or so Blott noticed brainers passing by un-bagged and started to smell a rat. Perhaps Capt James and Youth Blott had taken a coffee break or perhaps something more sinister was afoot.

Blott's fears were realised when burly men under the command of 'The Secretary lass' surrounded his windscreen washing pitch and closed in. Deciding not to put up a fight and merely see where events would take him Blott stood down. He was bundled into a nondescript van which speed off into the suburbs of downtown Moscow. 

Minutes later he was imprisoned in a room which happily already contained Capt James and Youth Blott. 'I say Blott' said Capt James, 'Dashed bad luck us being caught like that, almost as if the other side knew our position and how many we numbered'. Blott thought for a minute and replied, 'True old chap, very true, yet one of our number is missing, does that not ring bells?' 

'Yes indeed, Grob's secretary lass' added Capt James 'I was starting to get very fond of her'. 'Indeed old man, i'm now convinced yon secretary lass was an impostor, feeding her masters with information from the get go' said Blott. Up to this point Youth Blott has remained quiet, he broke his silence. 'First mission i've been on and 3 days in I can't help noticing we are locked up in, what would you call it, prisonski'.

Blott, 'True words young'un, true words indeed. However, they might have got us locked up and all. But they sure as hell aren't gonna keep us locked up'.

Capt James and Youth Blott looked at Blott with a mixture of wonder and doubt. Blott, 'Gentlemen, if you'd care to stand against this far wall i'm quite certain it will be beneficial to your health'

Blott checked his pocket watch and began a countdown from 10, he got to 2 as the opposite wall of the prison cell fell in having been the victim of a small but compact explosion. 'Ah, two seconds early you just can't get the staff these days. Gentlemen if you'd care to follow me our flight to freedom awaits'.

A manic car journey ended next to a helicopter, which minutes later deposited the 3 on top of a skyscraper mid Moscow. Lackeys escorted the threesome down to the Penthouse suite where a butler waited. 'He will see you know' said the butler. Double doors were opened and the reaming members of Team Lucky7 were shown in to a plush room. Behind a massive oak desk sat a gentleman, he had on his knee a cat of white fur. 

'Blott, after all these years it's so goodski to see you' said the Russian, 'In my dreams I always imagined I'd have both you and Grob at my mercy, sadly it seems I make do with just one of my Nemesis not bothski'

Blott, 'Very true old chap, very true'. And turning to the others, 'Let me introduce mine and Grob's sparring partner and arch Nemesis over all these long years. Gentlemen, behold Mr Tiberius 'Ights often shortened to T'Ights, arch villain, all round bad guy, world manufacturer of (what the Americans call) pantyhose and architect of the total unequivocal extinction of stockings!!'

'Ha, high praise indeed Blottski, you and your damned pal Grob have thwarted my efforts at every turn. Had it not been for you Johnny Englanders stockings would be a think of the past, women everywhere would be wearing Ights tights and I would control the world market in nyloned legs'.

'Just doing our duty on behalf of the fair stocking wearing ladies of the world old chap' Said Blott.

'Yes yes, enough of this banter. You are in my home and at my mercy Blottski, the other two are free to go I have no quarrel with them, but you my old friend, you are going to meet the sticky endski I think, yes' said 'Ights.

'Unless of course I have something to trade Tiberius' countered Blott. At that moment a side door opened and in walked 'Ights's moll and long term associate, none other than Olga Clunge.

Olga, 'Ha you fool Tiberuis, you should know an operative like Blott would have an aceski in the hole. Let me guess, let me guess'. She went quiet for a moment and then said.

'You have the Golden Clasp!!!'

And here dear friends and readers, we must leave the story for a time. The weather in Blighty has become unusually warm and pleasant, as such the authors beg your forgiveness to enjoy it while it lasts.

Many thanks to those who have read our efforts, we hope you have been entertained :58674be8724ed_EmojiSmiley-18:

    

 

 

 

 

    

 

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Create an account or sign in to comment

You need to be a member in order to leave a comment

Create an account

Sign up for a new account in our community. It's easy!

Register a new account

Sign in

Already have an account? Sign in here.

Sign In Now