Prisoner of the Island

Chapter 4: The Reeducation of an English Gentleman

Captain Stuart Turnips opened his eyes. The room was dark. Whatever he was lying on was hard. He could make out a faint light coming from the crack at the bottom of a door. He could also hear a fan whirring overhead. He felt a wetness on his forehead but when he tried to wipe it he found that his hands were bound. He tried to kick his feet and found that those were bound as well. He shouted for help. Within a few seconds the door sprung open and a dark-haired woman in a nurse’s uniform sprang through. He could not make out her face in the dark but she very quickly flicked a switch and the room lit up with florescent light. The nurse began speaking in a foreign language but quickly changed to English. “Young man, you so lucky be alive.” She continued: “You on Island of Scar-manga and you will be placed on trial as a Engrish Spy and shot unless you agree to subject self to a struggle session.” *

Captain Stuart didn’t think it was an appropriate time to ask what happened to his ship Blue Side of American and his crew. This nurse seemed to be in an angry mood, and since she was administering him a rather large shot . . . the room went dark again.

Captain Stuart awoke in the same room. This time he noticed that he was no longer bound. The dark-haired nurse was there. “You may notice we no longer bind hands and feet. You free to walk grounds of Scar-manga’s Estate.” She said brightly. The change in her demeanor gave Stuart the courage to ask a few questions. “What happened? Why am I here?”

“You hurt when Chinese People’s Navy capture you boat. You crew is all prisoner of the 41st People’s Liberation Army Group. You now on Tunga Island as special guest of Scar-manga.”
“So what happened that I’m here and they are with the 41st People’s thing-a-ma-jig?”

“Scar-manga find out that English gentleman was leading ship and not a peasant pirate. He ask for permission to reeducate you from Chinese People’s Army commander. Scar-manga has special relationship with Chinese people’s democratic government.” Stuart noted that her voice turned venomous when saying the words peasant.

Captain Stuart began to wonder what Scaramanga had in mind for him. He had to meet this fellow and see if the mental image that his father presented of the ruthless killer in the employ of the CHICOMs stood up to his first meeting. For sure, Scaramanga must have done something to get on the bad side of Her Majesty's Government. Whatever injuries he had sustained during the attack on Blue Side of American were on the mend – largely through the medical attention provided by Scaramanga’s English mangling nurse. Was Scaramanga trying to return him to health for some unseen reason? Why wouldn’t he have just let the CHICOMs deal with him or kill him?

And What of his ship? His Crew?

* Struggle session: A self-confession of crimes against the Revolution. The Red Guards would taunt the people being "struggled." They'd make them denounce their families or whatever "old" pre-Revolutionary concept they were accused of clinging to in a counter-revolutionary manner. The struggle session became notorious during the Chinese Cultural Revolution as a means of gaining political power and humiliating -- sometimes murdering -- one's personal enemies. Although these took place in great numbers all over China, all with the goal of uprooting the old order and replacing it with a new, purified socialism; in nearly every case the object achieved was petty and base. A few people were picked out to confess their crimes against the people, and the people supposed to punish the offenders.

Drat That Scaramanga!

Chapter 3: A Stunning Trap!

As his cabin rocked gently beneath him, Captain Stuart Turnips watched as "Scruffy" one of the many lovable-friendly-but indeed verminous and disease carrying-rats onboard the Blue Side of American moved closer to the cheese placed in the spring trap by his First Mate Sean Simon. One more step and the iron spring would slam shut and catch the brute. Captain Stuart Turnips wondered if a similar fate awaited him. "Am I the cheese?" He thought. He thought again "wait, that makes no sense at all. I'd be the rat and Scaramanga would be the cheese, wouldn't he be? Then who is the trap in this metaphor? He shook his head Wile E. Coyote fashion and decided to think of something else.

(These nasty beasts were not harmed in the making of this article)

As the ship rocked along as they made their way across the Indian Ocean, Captain Turnips recalled how Blue Side of American departed Walvis Bay a week later than he had planned. That extra week might make all the difference if the Monsoons hit early as they entered the South China Sea. He also took on fewer provisions than he wanted as the shipment of Chiclets and double bubble were not nearly as fresh or as plentiful as anyone would have liked. He could not take all the gum and leave the children of Walvis Bay with none. He reckoned that the extra space did give his men some additional space to practice their newfangled ka-rate moves that they were learning from a book on martial arts they borrowed from the Shelby Michigan Municipal Library. These new moves would definitely come in handy against Scaramanga's army of martial artists.

Three days out of a brief stop in Durban, South Africa, His crew cheered their re-crossing of the Equator and his "trusty shellbacks" were given a double ration of Double Bubble and chilled Kool Aide juice bags to celebrate. They knew that they were close to the end of their outbound journey.

After a week of unusually favorable winds they moved gracefully through the Java Sea and into the South China Sea. They knew that whatever horrors awaited them on Tunga Island they would at least have dry land under their feet.

Captain Stuart Turnips called his crew together for a brief pre-dawn prayer as Blue Side of American drew the last few hours away from Tunga Island. Stuart recalled the memorable words of Lord Nelson and his battle prayer before Trafalgar:

(Respect)

May the great God, whom I worship, grant to my country and for the benefit of
Europe in general, a great and glorious victory: and may no misconduct, in
any
one, tarnish it: and may humanity after victory be the predominant
feature in
the British fleet.
For myself individually, I commit my life
to Him who made
me and may His blessing light upon my endeavours for serving
my country
faithfully.
To Him I resign myself and the just cause which
is entrusted to
me to defend.
Amen. Amen. Amen.

(Tunga Island is somewhere in that red circle...can you see it?)

Just as he finished the prayer his lookout Condalezza noticed that the winds had picked up and that a large frigate-like shape had moved in between the ship and Tunga Island. Just as she shouted the warning they saw the orange burst of a salvo broadside from the mysterious ship . . . Captain Stuart had time for one thought before he drifted off into a daze of fire, shells, noise and splintering wood. .
. . maybe he was the rat after all.

The Approach to Scaramanga

(Princess Margaret, as she departed the Kensington Townhome of the Turnips)




Editor’s Note: Captain Stuart Turnips at his Father Lord Turnip Townshend’s request has travelled back to 1966 (n.b., that this is one year prior to the birth of your humble author). The young Stuart Turnips has brought his ship and crew with him for a special mission to restore the family fortune after an unfortunate gambling loss to Princess Margaret, Her Royal Highness, The Princess Margaret, Countess of Snowdon. Exactly what was being wagered by Lord Turnips and the Princess are unknown. What is known is that the humble narrator wanted to move the Blue Side of American into the story while waiting for Lord Woodpecker-Smythe to provide his side of the story or Heaven forfend, Lady Marzipan.

Chapter 1: The Plan

Captain Stuart Turnips frowned. It was part of his nature to be a worrier. As captain of the Blue Side of American he knew that the lives of his crew depended on him being a worrier. On this voyage to Tunga Island in the wine-dark waters of the South China Sea to capture Scaramanga he would need his crew to arrive sharp and ready. If the voyage took longer than the two months he and his quartermaster Luke Lowenfish had planned, he might have to seek re-provisioning in a friendly port; but to do so might tip off Scaramanga. Captain Stuart knew that Scaramanga was in league with the Chinese Communist and that they would have agents working in all the harbors in the region. Unless he chanced a stop in Sri Lanka or somewhere just on the far side of Suez he knew that he was putting his crew at risk. He knew that he hadn’t enough stores and provisions for a straight shot all the way from the West Coast of Michigan all the way to Tunga Island. His crew’s recent penchant for gumballs in particular was a resource concern. He was worrying so much that he was starting to grow whiskers.

Finally, he and his First Mate Sean Simon agreed that the best choice was to avoid Suez and go around the Cape Horn and put in for provisions in Walvis Bay – hoping that the remote Namibian (back then it was South African) port would be far enough from the watchful eyes of the inscrutable CHICOMs.

(Gum, sweet and pure.)

Captain Stuart’s only hope was that, in Walvis Bay, the Double Bubble would be fresh and that he could provide his men with Chiclets in the manner they were accustomed. He did not relish the thought of getting to the South China Sea with an angry crew coming off a sugar crash. He also feared the possibility that they would arrive too late to avoid the tropical monsoons in the Indian Ocean.

(Holy Gin and Tonics! You don't want to be sailing through the Indian Ocean in these clouds)

Chapter 2: The Approach

After three weeks at sea, the Blue Side of American settled into Walvis Bay to large crowds of adoring, Afrikaans and Xhosa -speaking tribesmen. His crew of earnest 4 and 5 year old pirates were thrilled by Walvis Bay's attractions include the artificial Bird Island-the centre of a guano collection industry, the Dune 7 sand dune, the salt works, extensive birdlife, guano museum, and Kuisebmund Stadium, home to the Namibian football team. As his men began work on provisioning the ship they discovered that Namibian gum supplies were shockingly low and that a shipment from the massive gum factories of Brazil was not expected for another week. Captain Stuart decided that crew happiness had to be paramount with the tradeoff in gum quality and freshness could be a delightful benefit of waiting.

Unfortunately, the gum shipment was delayed by dockworker strikes in South America, no doubt stirred up by Che Guevara and his band of Maoist no-goodniks. The crew of Blue Side of American began to run into trouble in Walvis Bay’s rather limited dockside nocturnal attractions. Small fights over small matters brewed up into scuffles with local gum merchants. These donnybrooks grew into major brawls and led to several of the crew being thrown into the local gaol. While in the Walvis Bay Municipal Correctional Facility under the kind attentions of the South African police, some of the crew began to share why they were in town with their fellow prisoners, who although mostly comprising local drunkards and petty criminals, also contained a fair number of “politicals” who would be sure to share this information with their masters in the COMINTERN.


(Those Dirty Communists, can't they shave even?)

Upcoming chapters:

Chapter 3: A Stunning Trap!

Chapter 4: The Reeducation of an English Gentleman

Chapter 5: Escape from an un-Peasant Purgatory

Chapter 6: General Tang Gets his Comeuppance

Welbeck Abbey
Nottinghampshire

Dearest Manon,
As promised, I am writing to assure you of my safe arrival and warm welcome at Welbeck. After the recent unfortunate events at sea, (although thoroughly a fiend, Capt. Nemo did have a bit of rakish charm & I must confess (please don't be shocked, Manon) that my pulse did quicken in his presence, however that awful Mr. Mudskipper I hope never to lay eyes on again!) I am so very grateful to be embraced in this calm oasis of gentility and charm - it shall be my temporary refuge from the horrors that the world can spring so unexpectedly upon a lady! The house is well appointed and William has provided me with a most agreeable chambermaid, so you see how foolish it was of me to worry that Mathilde could not make the trip as well. The grounds are lovely (as that horrible Mrs. Sproggin has said time and again) I do believe she is trying to make a match between her niece and William, one that I hope shall never come to be. She is far too garish a girl for a man of his position, don't you think? As I was saying, the grounds are lovely and I do look forward to strolling them with my beloved W-S, speaking of whom, has not yet arrived. I had not heard how he was traveling, but I understand that rail travel from his estate can be most vexing. Shortly after breakfast this morning William had a most exasperating visitor, a rather Teutonic fellow by the comical name of Otto. He claimed to be a prince, but I, for one, did not believe that for a moment. When I say he was exasperating, I mean that as soon as he arrived all thoughts of our lovely plans for the day were pushed aside so that he might be accommodated. He and William were closed up in the library for what must have been hours, conferencing about who knows what! Oh, and we did have such lovely plans! An outing to a very important historical site - a church, or abandoned well, or something or other - had been arranged, complete with picnicking and word games, a most jolly time! But all was washed away like footprints on the strand upon the arrival of "prince" Otto. Still all is not lost. We are a cheerful group and will find other amusements now that he has left (William has invited a frightful old adventurer who tells the most unbelievable tales of his years in the colonies, not one of which could be true, still he is most amusing, and I think he would enjoy the company of dear Mrs. Weston-Thumpe who, as you know, has been so very lonely since her son married). Apparently he (pr. Otto, not the adventurer) had an important engagement to buy candy with an old military chum of his, and I say "well and good" to that! Although, one would think that marzipan could be had in any village confectionery throughout the empire. There remains one small cloud on my horizon. W-S still has not arrived, although I am sure that he is merely delayed and will arrive in time for tonight's pianoforte concert. Why, I, myself, had quite a tempestuous trip hence! The train was stopped for a time on more than one occasion. Rumor (heard from a rather dowdy leader of a group of Girl Guides scurrying through the cars - she really was quite a sight, Manon, with her drab uniform, including pith helmet and bloomers! an article of apparel of which I most strongly do not approve) was that some gentleman had been the victim of foul play. All that was discovered of him was a smashed squash racquet. Well, must dash off - luncheon is being served on the terrace quite soon, and I must admit that the wonderful country air has given me a ravenous appetite.
Much love,
LLW

Deadly Scaramanga

Lord Turnip Townshend pointed to a small island on the chart. “If Scaramanga is anywhere, he’s here on Tunga Island. This island is where he maintains his private army of martial artists and where he’s conducting solar energy experiments under the protection of the Chinese People's Democratic Republic. “

“Solar energy? I’ve heard you mention that before. What is that?” asked young Captain Stuart Townshend, aka Young Turnips.

“Quite simply it’s the power of Old Sol absorbed and refocused so that it can be directed in a concentrated beam of pure energy. It would be like using a magnifying glass on an ant.”

“W-w-wa-wha!?” Young Turnips interrupted.

“. . .a magnifying glass that you would use to burn ants…has nobody taught you this?”

Young Turnips considered the possibilities. No, he had never considered the potential fun of burning ants with a magnifying glass. He stroked his chin and thought silently ‘I’ll have to try that one when I get done talking to Father.’

“So anyway you were saying about the island and the secret solar power experiments and the army of martial artists. Doesn’t Scaramanga care that he’s living in a cliché? Wasn't that part of the plot of Enter the Dragon and the spoof in Kentucky Fried Movie?"










(Scaramanga's army of martial artists, Scaramanga, and his helper Nick Nack)

Lord Turnips waited for his boy to finish. “Francisco Scaramanga is the single deadliest shot in the World. He charges over a million pounds sterling for each kill and Her Majesty’s Government has put a bounty on his head of fifteen million pounds. If you could bring his head and the slightly smaller head of his assistant Nick Nack, you could do quite a bit to redress this family’s balance of payments. We could afford to purchase deck armor for your ship Blue Side of American." He paused . . . “and it would do you a bit of good to get out and get some sunshine and fresh air.”

“and there is one more thing.”

“What else?” asked Young Turnips.

“Scaramanga may know the location of Prince Otto and Lady Marzipan. They were both recently seen near Tunga Island. Or at least we have a report that the two of them were comrades of the People’s Liberation Army’s 41st Army Group commander Lieutenant General Wango Tang and were with him in his box during a recent parade."

"How do we know it is them" asked young Turnip.

"Well we know that the Prince is there because the picklehaub is very much out of place in that setting. He's also shooting 50-60 peasants a day. Apparently, the entire country is rife with them."

"also, we have reports that Lady Marzipan has taken to wearing those very tight Chinese silk dresses with the slit up the leg and has her hair done up in a very elaborate fashion. She’s also wearing an inordinate amount of makeup and impossibly high heels.” As he spoke Lord Turnips voice trailed off and he looked off in the distance.

(Maybe Lady Marzipan was wearing something like this, and Prince Otto was wearing one of these? Maybe General Tang looked like this?)

Young Turnips interrupted: “ I wonder if she’s trying to seduce General Tang?”

Lord Turnips muttered to himself. “You don’t know about melting ants but you know about that? I have got to cancel that Cinemax." He turned to his young son " They were also seen in the company of a man dressed as we are: in the garb of the late 19th century."

"Could Woodpecker-Smythe be with them?" asked young Turnips.

"He could well indeed be."

With that, Young Turnips got up and stood up with his chest thrust out and legs splayed and his arms akimbo. "I'll find old W-S if it costs me every man in my crew! And I'll catch that rat Scaramanga and eliminate his army of martial artists and get that rascal Nick Nack too!"

. . . and then he turned to his father Lord Turnips and his voice got softer "Daddy, if I can sail into Chinese waters, capture Scaramanga, rescue Lord Woodpecker-Smythe from Lady Marzipan and Prince Otto, and recover the Q device . . . can I get a toy from the toy store?"

With that Lord Turnips tusselled the young lad's hair and said "we'll see, Son" in a manner that suggested that he could probably get a couple toys.

All Hail the Glorious People's Revolution!

The Brigadier stood at his entryway and watched Prince Otto’s carriage depart. The crisp early morning temperature had frosted the estate’s luxurious green sward, but the Brigadier betrayed no sign of discomfiture, or any sign of emotion whatsoever. As the Prince’s carriage rounded the bend, past rows of Italian poplar trees and prize winning hedges, Lord Townshead emerged from a nearby side hatch. The Brigadier began to grin.

“Why the happy face, Ambrose?” asked his turnip enthusiast friend, “and why on earth did you let that miscreant go? I would have run him through, or at least press ganged him onto my son’s pirate ship.” “It’s all part of a clever ruse, dear friend,” intoned the Brigadier. “Come inside, and I’ll explain it all over breakfast.”

And explain he did. As the Brigadier knew that no amount of torture could persuade Prince Otto to divulge the whereabouts of Lady Marzipan and her accursed Q-Device, the most logical course was to devise a way to make the she-devil come to him. Lord Townshead, after swallowing a bite of the delicious Monte Cristo being served for breakfast, said “But what about Otto? Won’t he and, by extension, Lady Marzipan, now know the whereabouts of the Ur-Gin?”

The Brigadier smiled confidently and tossed a small bit of his delicious Monte Cristo to his pet Corgi, Cerberus. “Oh, the Ur-Gin is quite safe here, old friend. My Pan-Dimensional Force Shield (PDFS) is quite unassailable and can only be deactivated by my own touch. But this also presents a problem. While my hands are needed to deactivate the field, they don’t necessarily have to be attached to my body to do it. So I must be proactive, and draw Marzipan to a place of my own choosing. And this I have done, I believe. Come into my study and I will show you.”

Upon entering the study, dominated of course by the magnificent armoire containing the Ur-Gin, the Brigadier explained his Ruse. “You see, as I ‘gloated’ in front of Prince Otto, I explained to him the story of the creation of the Ur-Gin in ancient Xanadu and how Chinese philosopher and strategist Sun Tzu led an expedition into the heart of Central Asia to recover the alcoholic talisman.”

Lord Townshead’s eyes lit up. “I see, I see. You gave Otto a point in time and geographical location that an unprotected Ur-Gin could be found. Marzipan will be drawn to it like a magnet!” “Precisely,” responded the Brigadier. “And I have conveniently arranged for an Asiatic Horde to be waiting for her when she arrives in 7th century BC China."

Townshead smilles, "You sly dog. You've done it again!"

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

Lord Woodpecker-Smythe had a problem. He was sitting comfortably, and unfettered, on a sofa in a living room in Eastern Michigan sipping a Gin and Tonic and watching something called TV. But he was still a prisoner. Oh yes, he could come and go as he pleased, as long as he took his shoes off after entering the house, but he could not escape. He could not escape back to his own time. Marzipan has imprisoned him in the year 2008. She was a pleasant enough jailer, to be sure, if one forgave her quick temper and homicidal nature, but she was his jailer nonetheless.

On this particular evening Smythe was watching something called “Starship Troopers” on the “TV.” It was a fascinating story about how a group of fantastically good looking people saved the planet from some giant bugs. It was a story worthy of the Bard.

A loud buzzing sound started coming from Marzipan’s study, where she was engaged in something called “The Internet.” It was the blasted Q-Device with another message from one of her minions, no doubt. W-S soon heard gleeful chortling coming from the room. “I’ve got him! I’ve got him! Oh, well done Otto. You shall serve at my right hand.” Lady Marzipan came into the living room. “Put your shoes on professor, we’re going on a trip! Come on, chop, chop.” “And just where are we going this time,” quizzed W-S. “China, circa 7th century BC. I’ve got a date with Sun Tzu.”

“But I so detest the Chinaman’s cuisine, my dear,” started Woodpecker-Smythe. Marzipan didn’t care. “Shut up. I’ll need your considerable language skills to make my way amongst these barbarians.” Lady Marzipan began manipulating the Q-Device.

As the room began to spin, and the familiar blackness started to overtake him, Woodpecker-Smythe could have sworn he heard “Oh crap, forgot to carry the 9. 1966? We’re so screwed…”

A Battle of Wits!

The Brigadier crisply rotated about in his executive leather swiveling office chair to face his curiously attired guest, Prince Otto (depicted to the right).

“Aren’t you wondering why I invited you to my study, Prince Otto, hmmmmmmmmmm?” declared the Brigadier, turning his gaze to the large glass armoire set in the middle of the room further surrounded by a velvet rope.

The Prince replied, “Of course, however, with your leave, please allow to change, my outfit is, how do you say, anachronistic, if I do recall my English.”

“Naturally, you may use my executive washroom and …” but the Brigadier did not finish his sentence for his mouth stood agape as the Prince quickly emerged dressed in the standard fashion of the era .. for Krauts.

“Ah, much better, now, please .. Herr Brigadier, do continue and tell me of your bottle, yes, the one in the armoire - the bottle of gin older and finer zan any ozer bottle, scented with juniper berries and sloe harvested from the Hanging Gardens; the water, if I recall, collected from the Sacred River Alph …am I correct?” the Prince added with a satisfied prussian smirk.

The Brigadier surveyed his guest with a mixture of contempt and admiration, contempt for his fashion sense and admiration for his intellect. This Prince was no ordinary half-wit teutonic monarch as is often depicted in the stereo-opticons.

“You are, of course, quite correct Prince Otto" the Brigadier noted, "This gin is quite precious, in fact it is the ‘Ur-Gin’ or ‘original gin’ produced in the dawns of time” steepling his fingers for extra dramatic effect.

The Brigadier continued, unrestrained glee clear even through the normally impassive, humorless German facade, “Yes, many have lusted for it but it is my gin but none shall have it for it is mine and mine alone – how I gained it is my secret but it is well guarded by a contraption that recognizes only my touch and will transport any other user into another dimension of space and time.”

Prince Otto was non-plussed and attempted to humor his host. “But, naturally, I have no interest in stealing your gin, you had invited me here for a fox hunt.”

“Perhaps, perhaps” mused the bemused Brigadier, “But there is one individual who now possesses the capability to seize my most prized possession unless I exercise the utmost vigilance. “

“Bah, zat is ridiculous, only operator of a Q-Device could hope to defeat your fiendish traps and guards,” chortled the very ever so slightly discomfitted Prince.

The Brigaider interrupted. “Ah yes, and it has come to my attention that a certain Lady Marzipan - I believe you are familiar with her ‘work’ - has just bamboozled the Royal Society out of said device. And, she now has a confederate, someone using the pseudonym ‘Beabout’ claiming to be a farmer but yet a deadly shot with a pistol. I don’t suppose you might know anything about this my dear Prince ---- would you now?”

Through the picture window, the evening sun collapsed behind the Brigadier’s magnificent hedgerow. The Prince stared away. The Brigaider rose, an unlit cigarrette tucked between index and forefinger.