Due to one of the best New Zealand Summers in memory it's been positively ages since I've even looked at my computer. With so many outdoor activities on the go the thought of sitting in front of a bally computer or at my painting table has barely crossed my mind, hence my inexcusable delay in bringing you the sequel to our somewhat absurd and delightfully silly Back of Beyond game held many many months ago. (See previous post)
If anyone recalls, which frankly is extremely unlikely, we left our intrepid adventurers somewhere in the steamy and crocodile infested waterways of the African Jungle in search of a Dinosaur egg of all things.
I take up the story at the point where all the main players have arrived on the scene. You'll have to excuse a bit of poetic licence because, to be honest, I'm struggling to remember exactly what happened or in what order so here is the abridged and somewhat hazy journal of events as they transpired. Facts are highly over-rated don't ya know.
Sir Percival's party have just rounded a curve in the track and there before their eyes, defying all the laws of nature is the bleached bones of an intact Brontosaurus skeleton. "By Jove!" exclaims Sir Percival, "Just what we're looking for".......
It's at this very instant that the ground beneath their feet begins to tremble accompanied by an ominous deep throated roar of animal rage,... no its not a 7.6 magnitude earthquake but something equally frightening...an enraged female Tyrannosaurus bearing down on them at a brisk pace. Imagine Ena Sharples reacting to someone stealing her seat in the Snug at Rover's on pub night and you get some idea of the sheer terror by gum!
Open Fire! yells Captain Anthruthers, somewhat pointlessly, considering every gun is blazing away as fast as trembling fingers can pull triggers or cram bullets into breaches. At first the beast simply shrugs off the rounds like pebbles but an incredibly lucky shot from Corporal Smythe hits the Dino straight in the eye sending a round burrowing straight into the beasts diminutive brain and felling it like a sack of wet cement.
"Oh I say well done Smythe, Great shot that man indeed" congratulates the Captain, blissfully unconcerned that they've just killed, possibly the only remaining live dinosaur in the World. Actually from the Umpire's perspective this was damnably annoying as the Dino was supposed to account for a fair number of Sir Percival's party to give the game some balance and I was more than a little fond of the ugly brute.
"Well at least we know we're on the scent of those eggs" ponders Sir Percival, "if I'm not mistaken I'd say Mrs T Rex was guarding her nest when we disturbed her".
|Ex T Rex in her death throes|
Meanwhile in another part of the Jungle our sausage eating friend Baron Von Schlessinger and his band of hired thugs have alighted from their Zeppelinette and are just getting their bearings when suddenly, bursting from the undergrowth, emerges a war party of the cannibalistic Snoozenuluzem tribe wildly brandishing their spears and raining arrows upon the party.
|Snoozenuluzem welcoming committee|
|Wounded and dying Snoozenuluzems.|
Fortunately the Baron is no stranger to the attentions of hostile natives and coolly draws a bead on the closest native with his trusty Manlicher rifle, felling him in mid stride with a shot clean through the head. The rest of the party open up and sadly for the out-gunned natives their arrows and spears are no match for the white man's cowardly fire-sticks which kill from great distance. Deciding to fight another day they slink back into the jungle leaving the ground scattered with their dead and dying.
Once again the best laid plans of the Umpire were thwarted as the natives were supposed to cull at least a couple of the Barons men....I can see a pattern emerging!
After dusting themselves off the Baron looses no time in heading for the site of the Dinosaur fossil intent on locating the egg. Unfortunately for him his compass reading skills are not quite up to snuff and he blunders straight into a fetid, primeval swamp. It will be some time before they can extricate themselves from this smelly predicament.
Unbeknownst to the Baron, a party of British Marines led by First Lieutenant Prescott, alerted by the sound of gunfire and blood curdling war cries, are pushing forward towards the swamp to see what all the fuss is about. Within minutes the two parties stumble upon each other. Needless to say a furious melee erupts between the bitter foes with rifle butts, cutlasses, pistols, boots and fists to the fore.
It's a near run thing with casualties mounting on both sides and many a chilling scream is heard as the wounded and dying are sucked beneath the scum covered surface of the swamp, helpless to save themselves. Actually it would be more of a Arghh!!...gurgle, gurgle,help, gurgle....sploop.
|A furious melee ensuing.|
|Things are looking a bit grim for the Baron.|
Just as the Baron is about to go under his saviour miraculously appears in the form of the indomitable Oberst Von Fliehofen and his highly trained Jungle Jager. Tasked with assisting the Baron, they have stealthily tracked the Marines to the swamp with the intention of wiping them out and linking up with the Baron so they can deal once and for all with that Britischer nincumpoop, Frockmorton.
It should be mentioned that the hapless Oberst managed to get himself completely lost in a dense thicket of extremely tall Elephant grass, that grows with such abundance in the African Jungle...NOT, and only the unmistakable sound of the Baron's trusty Manlicher gave him any clue as to which direction to head,
This was about the only thing that went the way the Umpire planned as anyone who strayed from pathways or clearing had to roll against their skill factor to see whether they were lost or not, then a random direction dice was thrown to see which direction they would exit. Fortunately for the Oberst a lucky dice throw saw him pointed like an avenging arrow in the direction of the Marines
|Vorwarts I think??? The lost Jungle Jager|
It's at this point that a furious exchange takes place between the Baron and the Oberst. Intent on making good his promise to the Kaiser to secure the Dino egg the Baron ruthlessly orders the Oberst to "shoot the damned sailors as they will only slow us down and can't be trusted". "Mein Gott!! you really are nothing but an evil schweinhund Baron" exclaims the honourable Oberst. "As a Prussian Officer and a Gentleman I flatly refuse your dastardly order and in fact will order my men to shoot you and every last one of your foul brethren if you so much as look sideways at the prisoners".
"Ach! you old fool, the Kaiser will have your head for this". It's at this point that a very large tube appears under the nose of the Baron's nose in the form of the Oberst's Luger pistol, thus indisputably resolving the crisis of command. "Now where is that bloody Britisch Proffessor? wonders the Oberst"
Whilst all this has transpired the incredibly lucky Professor's party have not only discovered the dinosaur nest but they have managed to secure an egg and place it in the special thermetically sealed transportation case they have brought with them. With the prize in tow and safely stowed atop their mule all that remains is to beat a hasty retreat back down the track to rendezvous with her Majestie's Aeroneff and a safe passage back to Blighty..... That's assuming other interested parties don't get in their way.
After a brief and somewhat frosty consultation the Baron and the Oberst concede that the plan most likely to reward them with any hope of finding the cursed Britischers is to follow the track with the intention of catching up with the Professor, annihilating them and stealing the egg, which they must surely be in possession of by now. It seems likely that the Professor would take the quickest route to make good his escape so, with that thought in mind, the Baron and his surviving cohorts, the Oberst his men and their prisoners set of at double time along the now, familiar trail towards the waiting enemy flyer contraption.
|Hurry men I see them|
Its not long before the Prussian's plan pays off as just ahead at the ford they spy the rapidly escaping British party. "CHARGE!!" orders the Oberst. "Somebody grab that mule" yells the Baron.
Aware that they have been tumbled the steadfast Captain Anstruthers orders his men to form rank and prepare to receive the enemies charge. "Front rank kneel, volley fire, fifty yards, commence firing!" orders the Captain. "Sir Percival, if you would be so good, would you form your party in a defensive huddle behind us with the mule in the middle?.. "I'm confident British pluck will win the day against these bally sausage eaters"
The Brits pour on a blistering and accurate fire and the Prussians are bowled over at an alarming rate. True to form Sir Percival and the Captain, played by our fellow gamer and thoroughly proper type, Adrian, outperformed all others throughout the game with a succession of 9's and 10's. In fact I don't recall anything less than a 7 being thrown by him all night.
With a last desperate throw of the dice the Oberst rallies his men and by sheer brute force and grit manages to break through the British line and make a beeline for the mule and its precious cargo. Just as he has his hand on the beast's halter the formidable Mrs Dorothea Miggins calmly strides forward, leans into the stock of her Purdy 12 gauge in that perfect skeet shooting stance that has seen her win the Woolwich Other Ranks Wives Skeet Shooting Cup six years in a row and perforates the startled Oberst's chest with a round each of buck and ball.
"Aaachhh Mein Gott!! killed by a verdamnt woman" the Oberst gasps in horror as his bloodied body slides to the ground. Unfortunately I am unable to publish photographs of this grisly, yet heroic encounter as they are far too gruesome for my reader's delicate constitutions. We are British after all!
Seeing the game is up the wily Baron slinks away leaving his men to cover his retreat all the while knowing that whilst the accursed Britischers have won the day they will, most assuredly, be hearing from him again....watch this space.
|The truly formidable Mrs Dorothea Miggins on a Tiger shoot, India 1884|
Captain and Mrs Ogilvie (The Memsahib) enjoying a recent soiree at the Royal Geographical Society wherein we had the indubitable pleasure to listen to a most enlightening and entertaining lecture by the renowned explorer and adventurer, Sir Percival Frockmorton on his now famous Dinosaur Egg Extraction Expedition.
Note: The dark glasses are purely a temporary expedient due to my prolonged exposure to the harsh Sudanese sun following my recent tour of duty with the East Surreys in that Godforsaken hell hole.