Operation Excelsior Dramatis

The Admiral had it all figured out. This gambit was known as “The Old Squawk” and it was never known to fail unless the individual under control had somehow broken the conditioning. Ridiculous! This was of course impossible and, relieved, the Admiral then began whistling a catchy tune, which in another part of the multi-verse was the bridge portion of Matthew Sweet’s 1990’s hit “Girlfriend.” Regrettably, he was interrupted by Woody.

“You know what?”

“What is it now Woody?”

“I think this cabin is a couple inches smaller than Turnips.”

“Oh, uh, yes, well I’m not really concerned with that now.”

“Can I look at your magic sword, Sabrina? I need to practice for the big battle.”

“No not right now – I’m looking for something for the Chicken-based assault on Lord Toranaga’s stronghold”

“Please, please, please?”

“Huh, ok, sure you can, just don’t swing it around in here – as you pointed out, this cabin isn’t very large.”

“No problemo skipper, I’ll be careful”

“Really? I recall Lady Lyme Weoghe recounting numerous instances of you pushing buttons marked ‘don’t push’ and pulling levers marked with similar warning signs.”

“Look, I said, I’ll be careful plus you know Lady Lyme Weoghe is always exaggerating about things like that.”

“I find her advice to quite sage actually but ok, here you go”

“Nice” and Woody began to swing the glowing +4 long sword about. He even practiced a few thrusts at life sized dummy of Sir Bocking the Admiral used for “batting practice.”

“Why that fink – He’ll pay for that - he painted buckteeth and 'google eyes' on that dummy!” Sir Bocking whispered half to himself and half to Kaotic E and Zimbar as he peered through the peep hole he’d drilled for the express purpose of spying on the Admiral. Sir Bocking however, was about to be rewarded with a rare treat for Woody had raised the shining blade over his head and was about to cleave the fencing dummy in twain. Instead of striking the dummy though, the blade made fatal contact with the over-sized crystal chandelier the Admiral had installed after the last sacking. The chandelier of course came crashing down right on the Admiral.

“Woody you blithering ….. “ was all he could say as stars and cartoon bluebirds filled his mind's eye.


Luckily he came too in what seemed like moments later but he was no longer in his cabin. Instead he was surrounded on three sides by what seemed like a very flimsy wall with bits of multi-colored cloth tossed over the walls in the fashion of drapes. The Admiral noticed he was surrounded by eleven other gentlemen not wearing swords or chainmail but dressed in toga like outfits completely sans weapons. A plate and goblet had been placed in front of each on long table and a man with a beard and long hair was looking directly at him and singing. The ten remaining coves gazed at him wearing shocked expressions and making denials of various sorts. The singer appeared to be directing his wrath directly at the Admiral as he belted out a song.

“One of you here dining, one of my twelve chosen will leave to betray me!”

There was an awkward silence followed by a "I'll have a Morey Amsterdam sandwich if you've got one"

"CUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUT" yelled an annoyed director.

Squash Anyone?

Presently, I woke to the sound of whining train brakes as the Caliban pulled into the Birmingham train station. Here the porter unloaded the remains of the late Ensign Cropper of the RBAC and kindly explained to the waiting police constable the circumstances of the tragic accident. The constable shook his head knowingly in response.

Meanwhile, railway labourers loaded three large crates clearly marked “Port of Varna” onto the luggage car. The Girl Guides seemed particularly interested in this development and all crowded onto my side of the compartment.

Additionally, we gained several new passengers, most notably Sir Edbert Bassington, the noted actor currently starring as the Duke Of Plaza-Toro in Gilbert and Sullivan’s “The Gondoliers.” He was a great ruddy faced man with a voracious appetite and a large walrus mustache (like most great British actors). Not unexpectedly, he was accompanied by several retainers including his personal manager, Mr. Frank, a tall, dark haired, sallow faced gentlemen of few words.

Other passengers included an old gypsy woman with a pet orang-utan who wore a derby and curiously dressed young man. This young man wore a large hat whose brim was up-turned on each side, chaps, boots, spurs, a brace of shiny nickel plated revolvers and a bandanna. He also carried a pitchfork and was chewing on a long piece of straw. In his free hand he carried a copy of the farmer’s almanac.

Instantly curious I introduced myself as a world traveler and amateur scientist/adventurer/playwright/swain. He on the other hand was quite laconic and merely noted that he was a simple farmer from America, here in England to attend a Beet Growers Convention.

“Well, you see, cantcha, that A’m jes a simple farmer; names’ Dave, Dave Beabout” he stated simply, pointing at his pitchfork.

“Ah yes, why of course” I replied and then added hastily “You see its rather amusing, because we have another passenger aboard by the name of ‘Pitchfork’ , quite funny don’t you think?”

“’Fraid I don’t get it mister” he answered and then turned away.

I suppose I should have realized that most farmers are quite the dour sort and often dullards with not a thought beyond what manner of vermin might be sneaking into the henhouse (no offense intended of course) and therefore turned back to my own business forthwith.

Luckily, the day was fairly clear and as we headed out of the station I could easily makes out the great gothic keepe set high atop Mt. Birmingham, the home of city’s mistress, Lady Darkholm - Orlock. Much to my surprise lightening then dramatically struck the uppermost tower of the keepe which was quite thrilling indeed!

Regrettably, however, this scene was quickly displaced by one of total darkness as we entered the tunnel which took us below the Horror Moor of Smethwick. Naturally, it is always preferable to travel under the moor at this time of year vice overland due to the wyvern menace.

After a few moments the interior lights came on once again and then I saw that another terrible accident had occurred. Mr. Frank was lying in the corridor, neatly sawn in half. Actually, I can only assume he was neatly sawn in half since only his top half remained.

Yet one more horror remained, however, for it was then I discovered that my new squash racquet had been smashed to splinters by the Girl Guides in their earlier haste to get a good look at those dashed crates! Oh the ignominy.