“So my young dodo, what’s the news from behind the lines?”
“I don’t suppose we could have a cup of tea first?”
Lady Æthelflæda’s erstwhile chief steward materialised alongside the thirsty dodo. “The kettre is just coming to the boir, chá wirr be leady in five minutes.”
“Oh… Thanks. Then I will begin. Your Kronstadt Marines are fighting street by street in the outskirts of St Hellier. Some Brummy dressed as Captain Midlands is engaging the Résistance Crapaud and Kittens of Chaos in the interior. There’s these nuns… But the important bit first… I’ve been back to the Silvertown Airways hangars on Guernsey.” Reported Ferdy, “and picked up a telegram from Larry. Here.” He passed the note over to Boz.
INTERCEPTED COMMMUNIQUÉ ST HELLIER TO SLASHER MCGOOGS ON HILFSKREUZER PINGUIN STOP QUOTE STOP AM NOW IN SOLE CHARGE STOP WHAT NEXT STOP EROTEME STOP SIGNATURE STOP SUPREME COMMANDER BRITISH FORCES MAD JACK PARENTHESIS BART PARENTHESIS STOP ENDQUOTE STOP TAPM LARRY XX STOP PS HAND STOP
Boz frowned and passed the telegram to Phoebles who frowned even more and passed it to Ginsbergbear.
“Well lets all see,” said Dark Flo.
After Flo and Beryl had read the now somewhat crumpled paper Boz, who had been lost in contemplation, addressed the company.
“Flo, can you get into your Ninja kit? After we’ve had that cuppa Ferdy, I want you two to get as deep into St Hellier as you can and find Mad Jack. We need to know what he and Slasher are up to. And what’s happened to Fluffy?”
“I shall reprise my ‘purveyor of onions’ disguise,” said Ferdinand.
“Give us a mo.” Dark Flo opened up her Bergen and, with scant regard for the excited, chattering Chinamen who had instantly lost interest in their game of Mahjong, stripped down to her Airtex Y-fronts. As she clad herself, piece by piece, in her Mountbatten Pink Shinobi shozoko the ensemble began to blur into the background.
“Remon Dlizzre cake with youl Chá madam?” The chief steward sidled up to Flo whilst some of her most alluring bits were still visible, carrying an EPNS tray of steaming mugs of tea and assorted dainties arranged around a three tier cake stand.
“Thank you Cheng, that will do nicely.”
“Hoorah,” said Ferdy, screwing his Breton beret firmly onto his head.
With tea and delicate pastries consumed and the Cierva bouncing across the croquette lawn to carry Flo and Ferdy skywards, on into the zone of conflict, Boz eyed a shiny BMW 740Le xDrive sitting in a carport next to the villa.
“We need transport. Anyone know how to hot wire a Beemer?”
Beryl nodded. “I’m on it.”