The Bogan councillors were bored and bored enough to experiment with an Ouija Board with dreadful consequences. Mayor Porky fell into a kind of ‘dream state’ and met Bart Rugarse who, it seemed, had taken over the persona of Winnie Quark.
Bart has told Mayor Porker it is his intention to assist Porky to rule the world. Mayor porker is confused and horrified by the experience. She ‘wakes up’ some hours later slumped across a desk. Only gradually does she become aware that there is something dreadfully wrong not only with her but also with the place she finds herself in. The room is furnished in an early Victorian style and appears to be a library but the occupants of the room seem more Edwardian in their dress and manner, particularly the dapper little man who approaches her taking dainty, mincing steps across the floor. He wears a natty grey suit and has a slick little moustache. He looks like the love child of Grimy Hobo and Virginia Wolfe.
Grimy Hobo: You have awoken, Miss Porker. I am delighted.
Mayor Porker: It’s Mrs Porker, or Mayor Porker if you prefer. Grimy, is that you?
Grimy Hobo: Ah, Madame confuses me with another. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Hercule Poo Rot and I am delighted to make your acquaintanceship Madame Porker. It is a pity it could not have been under the more pleasant circumstances.
Mayor Porker: What? Where…..? How did…..?
Hercule Poo Rot: You are befuddled, Madame, which is perfectly understandable. Perhaps a cup of tea? Lizzie would you kindly fetch some tea for your Mistress, she is in need of the refreshment.
Lizzie: Yes Sir.
Mayor Porker: Hold on just a minute! Let me think…….let me think. What’s going on, Grimy? Why the get-up and why the silly accent. You sound as bad as Shizeknicker trying to do his Austrian voice. And why is Liz dressed like a French maid in a porno movie?
Lizzie: Beg pardon, Mum?
Mayor Porker: Well? Come on - Monsieur Poirot, what’s going on?
Hercule Poo Rot: Madame, if you insist on addressing me thus I would prefer you to pronounce it correctly. Please to repeat after me – Mon Sewer Poo Rot – nest pass?
Mayor Porker: Okaaaay. I’m waiting - Mr. Poo Rot.
Hercule Poo Rot: Very well, Madame Porker. You returned this morning from Assbored-Lightly Moor where you had been shooting ferrets. When you entered this library to fetch your copy of Sir Harold Robbins’ biography of your late great-great-great-great grandmother, Lady Elanora Slag-Slapper, you found the body of Lord Bart Rugarse slumped upon a portable commode. Tell me, Madame, when was the last time you had been in the library previous to that occasion?
Lizzie: Do you still want me to fetch some tea, Mum?
Mayor Porker: Uh….No, I mean yes. If you would, Lizzie.
Lizzie: Yes, Mum.
Hercule Poo Rot: You have not answered my question, Madame. When had you last been in the library?
Madame Porker: It must have been last evening. Yes, I remember I had left my spare tube of Anusol in the escritoire.
Hercule Poo Rot: Madame, you will notice from the advanced state of decomposition, the bloating, the maggots, the pool of body juices on the turkey carpet, and in particular the smell, that this corpse of Lord Rugarse has been here for a little more than four weeks. Do you contend that you did not notice this body last night?
Madame Porker: Well of course one notices. As for the smell, he was on the commode and one doesn’t like to poke ones nose in to another’s business. Mon Sewer Poo Rot, what are you suggesting?
Lizzie: Tea, Mum. I took the liberty of bringing some sandwiches.
Madame Porker: Thank you Lizzie; that was most thoughtful. If you would be good enough to serve the tea and pass the sandwiches to our guests – I am quite exhausted. If there are any sandwiches left over you may leave them for me to eat later. You may rest the plate on Lord Rugarse’s back. He is slumped over most conveniently on the commode and I am sure he will not object.
Hercule Poo Rot: I am suggesting nothing, Madame Porker. I am merely gathering information that my little grey cells may then process and, in so doing, reveal the murderer of Lord Bart Rugarse. Fluck!
Madame Porker: Is your tea too hot, Mon Sewer Poo Rot?
Hercule Poo Rot: No, Madame. I was merely calling for your butler, Fluck.
Madame Porker: My butler is called Fluck?
Fluck: Yes, Madam?
Madame Porker: Sean?
Fluck: How may I be of assistance, Madam?
Hercule Poo Rot: It is I who needs assistance, Fluck. It is my belief that you know the identity of the one who murdered Lord Rugarse.
Fluck: I really could not say, Sir.
Hercule Poo Rot: That is a distinctive toilet water you are wearing, Fluck. What is it called?
Fluck: I believe it is called ‘The Devil’s Cheese’, Sir.
Hercule Poo Rot: It is very similar to the odour emanating from the commode on which Lord Rugarse is slumped is it not?
Fluck: I….I am not sure, Sir.
Hercule Poo Rot: Be so good as to tell me the time, Fluck.
Fluck: I cannot, Sir.
Hercule Poo Rot: Because the grandfather clock usually standing near the door of this library is missing, is that not so?
Fluck: How did you know?
Hercule Poo Rot: Because I instructed the gardener, Axeman, to drag the contents of the commode and the grandfather clock was discovered in the depths where the luckless Lord Rugarse had painfully deposited it. Someone had force fed the clock to his Lordship until Lord Rugarse choked on it. Someone who had left traces of his toilet water in the toilet water.
Lizzie: Gasp!
Fluck: It was not I, Sir. It was the CIA.
Hercule Poo Rot: What do you mean, ‘it was not you’? You are the butler are you not? How can we be sure you are telling the truth about this CIA?
Fluck: Because they will murder me if they can and if my Chinese controllers do not get to me first.
Lizzie: Gasp!
Lord Rugarse: Would someone take this plate of sangers off my back? It’s killing me.
Lizzie: Swoon!
(There is another change in the density of the air. Mayor Porker weaves about the room like smoke then settles at the boardroom table in the council chamber, which now looks much as it did before. The other councillors sit stunned and stone-like but at least the annoying little prick Poo Rot is no longer there.)
Mayor Porker: Grimy? Liz? Sean? Anybody?
Winnie Quark: You’ve all been in a kind of trance, Mayor Porker. I didn’t know what to do.
Sean Bean: Oh God! I’m finished. It’s all over.
Grimy Hobo: Bugger me that was a bit odd. Porky, is it really you?
(The other councillors seem to be coming around. They all look distraught, particularly Sean and Ann.)
Ann: I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. Christ, what have I done?
Mower: Close the air vents! That has to have been some sort of hallucinogenic gas. Where’s my Glock? Some cunt’s got my Glock!
Sean Bean: Don’t move, Mower or I’ll blow your fucking head off. Everybody! Hands on the table where I can see them! Now!
(Mower coolly takes the gun from Sean and smacks it against Sean’s head.)
Mower: The safety is on, you prick. Calm down everyone! We need to calm down and work out what’s happening here.
Mayor Porker: Agreed, Dicky. I think we’ll go around the table and each can describe what they have just experienced.
(They do this and, with some variations, most of them have had similar illusions. The exceptions were Winnie, Sean and Ann. Winnie experienced nothing strange at all. Sean saw himself in a catastrophic battle with Ann while Ann saw her entire life pass before her in hideous detail. Her illusion seemed to occupy the same period of time as her life thus far and Ann now feels completely drained.)
Mayor Porker: It seems all of us saw ourselves ruling the world somehow, except Winnie, Ann and Sean. But Sean was a common link and Ann seems to feel very guilty about something.
Ann: I shot Bart Rugarse; at least I think I did. I might have shot Fuk Ho but I think Gabby did him.
Mower: No, I shot Fuk Ho.
Ann: Impossible. We disposed of both bodies, Rugarse and Fuk Ho. We left Jim as Kevin Rudd.
Mower: Jim?
Ann: Yes, CIA Jim. Agent 2. He was operated on for months. He is a perfect copy of Rudd and we left him in The Lodge to take over.
Mower: Um… I don’t think so. I…uh shot Fuk Ho or who I thought was Fuk Ho and left our man in The Lodge.
Ann: Who is our man?
Mower: Andy McDuck. He makes a really good Kevin Rudd.
Mayor Porker: Andy Mc-fucking-Duck is running Australia?
Sean Bean: Probably not.
Mayor Porker: Okay. Come on, Sean. Tell us every thing. You’re among……acquaintances. You can speak freely.
Sean Bean: When I was in China they tried to turn me into a traitor in exchange for my release. I pretended to go along with it. Then it all changed. Something had happened. It was something to do with an explosion somewhere in China.
They did plastic surgery on some Chinese guy who was supposed to take my place here in Bogan. I was teaching him for weeks to be me and he was almost perfect apart from a problem with certain words. They used drugs on him until he really believed he was me. It would have been impossible to tell us apart.
They told me I was going to be operated on and made into a new Kevin Rudd to replace Fuk Ho who had gone native. I was to ensure the Chinese supply of cheap minerals and gasses.
Mower: What happened?
Sean Bean: I didn’t want to be Kevin Rudd. At first I thought it would be cool to run Australia and I knew they would alter my mind with drug therapy so that I would believe in what I was doing. They said Rugarse would dispose of Fuk Ho and I would just walk in to take his place. But I like being me. I like me. I didn’t want to be someone else.
Mayor Porker: So you swapped places with the other guy?
Sean Bean: Yes. It was easy and he believed he was me anyway. So I was sent back here and he went to the plastic surgeon again and, presumably, from there to The Lodge.
I tried to keep low. I made the same mistakes with some words as the other guy did, but I’ve been terrified that at some televised question time Rudd is going to call Turnbull a flucking clunt or something. The Chinese would know and they would come after me.
Axeman: If they did, it couldn’t happen to a nicer bloke if you ask me.
Mower: That’s fine Axeman except for the fact that, on the off chance we knew something, the Chinese wouldn’t risk leaving any of us alive. If Sean goes down, we all go down.
Winnie Quark: That would be so embarrassing for Australia if our Prime Minister started calling Malcolm those dirty names.
Luke: No more embarrassing than Rudd’s singing and dancing. Did you see his little dance during the budget? And yesterday at question time he was asked about the deficit and he got up and sang ‘I’ve Got Plenty of Nothing’.
Mower: Oh, Jesus. I told that prat to keep to his instructions. It’s all right everyone. The Kevin Rudd in the Lodge is McDuck. He’s starting to do his Wiggles act. I’ll go down there and talk to him.
(Right, so now we know. Can we get on with this new story now? Please?)
Sean: So what happened to the Chinese Rudd?
(Who gives a fuck!)
Luke: Um…excuse me everyone. Look, stop me if you’ve heard this before but I think I’ve just…..um… conjured up a little demon thingy.
TO BE CONTINUED.
5/25/09
5/23/09
A New Beginning.
Ah, the blank page on which a history not lived may appear as the backdrop to a play not written. Where a muse dances beyond reach and flashes glimpses of a plot before the startled eyes of Ron Yuteman who flounders flapping at his keyboard.
Thirteen characters wait like pet sheep. Some are fleshed and others only bones as yet but when the moment comes they will cavort before us. Doing what?
Thirteen.
Of course.
The number in a coven.
Witches and warlocks and mystic tales abound in Bogan Chitty. The sacrifice of innocents is meat and drink to the Council of the Damned so where better to find the devils work than in the shadowed realm of Bogan where comedy and carnage, catastrophically confused, connive to cause our chaos of the spheres. (I just had to get that out of the way.)
A title next, I think.
The Evil Coven of Bogan (nah).
The Bogan Coven (better, but nah).
The Coven (hmmmm).
COVEN – Part 1
We are in the Bogan Council chamber. All meetings are done with. The councillors have nothing to discuss or decide and, anyway, the CEO has given them decisive instructions not to make any decisions until he decides what decisions should be decided and who should decide who decides them. Most councillors are slumped about the table, doodling, drooling, drinking coffee or humming tunelessly. Their nine-hour working week is over and extreme boredom has set in. This is usually the time they devote to fighting among themselves and evolving intrigues, counter plots and other labyrinthine concoctions of the devious and underhanded kind but the events of the last few months and the memory of a Chinese take over threat has drained them of the need for scheming.
The excitement following the return of Deputy Mayor Roscoe Lunchpack because of the ASIO decision to solicit a little more Mossad support, has died down. Mossad and ASIO concentrate on the possibility that Sean Bean, released by the Chinese despite the Australian Foreign Minister’s fierce objections, may be more than he seems. They follow his every move and pick apart the foibles of this pitiful little man as if he represents the best the enemy can front. They pit their wits against him and deny his baffled, blank response is anything less than the subterfuge of a brilliant master spy.
The council has recently installed a pinball machine for times like this and Shizeknicker is pounding at it and cursing. Fondleschaft is working on a crossword. These two are the busy ones.
Axeman: God! I’m bored.
Mayor Porker: We’re all bored. Shut up and have a doze or something.
Lizzie: I can’t sleep, I wish I could. Anything rather than sit here all fed up.
Sean Bean: Would you kindly be quiet, I’m trying to read.
Grimy Hobo: Good on you, Sean. Found any words you recognise yet?
Sean Bean: Fluck off, Hobo!
Grimy Hobo: Fluck off?
(Normally so fluent in the language of filth, Sean’s cursing has become strangely idiosyncratic since his return from China. What the others don’t know is that the Sean Bean they now see is a cheap Chinese copy of the original Sean Bean. The original Bean was transformed into a copy of Kevin Rudd and may, or may not, be now living in The Lodge, Canberra.)
Roscoe: The weather seems settled.
Shizeknicker: It ist pissing down.
Roscoe: But settled rain, Herr Shizeknicker.
Axeman: (sigh!)
Lizzie: The hills are alive with the sound of muuuusiiiiic. With a song they have……..
Mayor Porker: Christ Liz!
Lizzie: Yes, your still upset because I got the part of Maria in that Sound of Prozac musical and you didn’t.
Mayor Porker: Piss off.
Fondleschaft: Vass ist diss vord ? Da clue ist: “A way in, not an egress.” Five letters.
Sean Bean: Clunt.
Fondleschaft: Nine. Zat vould make four down “cat” and da clue ist “Let’s have dinner.”
Sean Bean: Nothing wrong with crispy cat with a bit of rice. You have to burn the fur off with a blowlamp first though.
Winnie Quark: My most embarrassing moment!
Luke: What was?
Winnie Quark: It’s a game. We each have to tell the rest what our most embarrassing moment was.
Axeman: Jesus. Yours would be about now wouldn’t it, Winnie?
Ann Appuladay: I’ve got an Ouija Board.
Grimy Hobo: I’ve got a boil on my arse.
Mayor Porker: A what board?
Ann Appuladay: An Ouija Board. I brought it back from the states. It’s used to get supernatural messages from the beyond. Apparently The Pentagon swears by them, it’s how we got into Iraq and Afghanistan. There’s rumours that John Howard used one before the last general election but he wouldn’t take no for an answer.
Lizzie: How does it work?
Ann Appuladay: I haven’t actually used it yet but I think you sit in a circle around the board and each put a finger on this planchette thingy and ask a question. Then the planchette thingy whizzes about spelling out messages or just goes to a ‘yes or ‘no’.
Winnie Quark: Oooh, I’ve heard of those things. You shouldn’t mess about with them. People have died of those planchette things. You might conjure up the Devil!
Mower: Porky’s already here.
Mayor Porker: Arsehole.
Winnie Quark: No seriously. It was in New Idea about some girl in South America who played around with an Ouija Board and she got pregnant.
Sean Bean: The Ouija Board flucked her?
Winnie Quark: No, you rude thing. She just got pregnant and nine months later she gave birth to a goat.
Axeman: You’re kidding.
Winnie Quark: No. It was in the magazine. There was a picture of her feeding the goat.
Sean Bean: Breast feeding it, was she?
Luke: I bet her Nanny had something to say about that.
Winnie Quark: I’m sure I don’t know about that but apparently, when the goat grows up the family are going to sell cheese made from its milk. They’re marketing it as Cheddar Diablo and they already have lots of orders. We should be looking at initiatives like that in Bogan.
Sean Bean: Getting goats to fluck young women? Yeah, that would draw a crowd.
Winnie Quark: Marketing things, Sean. You needn’t be crude.
Mayor Porker: Anyone want a go at Ann’s Ouija Board then?
Axeman: Anything’s better than being stuck here just looking at you lot. Where is this board, Ann?
Ann Appuladay: In my car. I’ll fetch it – be back in a minute.
(Ann returns with the Ouija Board and sets it up. The thirteen members of the council spread themselves around the table and within touching distance of the planchette.)
Mower: Is there anybody there?
Sean Bean: Oooh oooh woooo hooooo!
Mower: If you are there please signify by knocking or by speaking or by moving……...
Sean Bean: Or bi-carbonate of soda.
Lizzie: Stop it you two, you’re spoiling it.
Ann: Everyone got his or her finger lightly on the thingamabob? Okay. Ahem. We would like to ask if anyone from beyond is in the room?
(Slowly but deliberately the planchette glides to the ‘YES’ label.)
Mayor Porker: Who’s pushing the bloody thing? Somebody must be.
Planchette: I . A-M . P-U-S-H-I-N-G . T-H-E . B-L-O-O-D-Y
T-H-I-N-G.
Ann: Who is ‘I’?
Planchette: B-A-R-T . R-U-G-A-R-
(Every councillor recoils from the Ouija Board as if they have had an electric shock. Ann is white faced with fury.)
Ann: That is not bloody funny. Which of you bastards is doing that? Well, this game is over. I’m……..
(The hair on Ann’s neck begins to prickle. Then she feels the hair on her head lift as the scalp tightens in shock. The others feel much the same and stare in frozen horror at the planchette that is slowly moving on its own.)
Planchette: W-H-A-T . I-S . W-R-O-N-G . A-N-N . A-R-E
Y-O-U . S-C-A-R-E-D . I . W-I-L-L . T-E-L-L . T-H-E-M
W-H-A-T . Y-O-U . D-I-D . T-O . M-E . A-T . T-H-E
L-O-D-G-E.
Winnie Quark: Oh dear, I said not to do this didn’t I? I knew it would end in tears. I really think we should stop now and pack it all away nice and tidy.
Planchette: T-O-O . L-A-T-E . W-I-N-N-I-E . I . A-M . B-A-C-K
(The air grows icy cold and shadows swirl in from corners of the room. For a brief time the fabric of existence wavers on the edge of dissolution. An agony sweeps through the councillors and a portion of the pain settles deep inside each of them and pulses like a breathing thing. This thing feeds upon the guts and sends tendrils to the brain. It heightens their senses and teaches them ancient ways from blacker times when the power of the spirit could conjure up a world that turned in darkness dreaming.
And then the world was gone – the world they knew.
But the dark earth remained.
A short time passes.)
Mayor Porker: Hello? Is anyone here? What’s happened to the bloody lights?
Winnie Quark: You just need to turn them on – like this.
(A green glow like the aftermath of diarrhoea slithers across the room. Porky can see Winnie sitting alone at the end of the table. The room is similar to the council chamber but a council chamber that has been sealed for ten million years.)
Mayor Porker: Where are the others?
Winnie: Oh, they’re still here but unnecessary at the moment.
Mayor Porker: So why are you here? What makes you special?
Winnie: Wrong questions, Porky. You should be wondering why YOU are here.
Mayor Porker: Who…what are you?
Winnie: I’ve already told you, Porky.
Mayor Porker: Bart?
Winnie Rugarse: Of course. Winnie was….malleable, convenient. You, on the other hand, are a very powerful lady, Mayor Porker. Together we are going to change the order of things. We both enjoy political power and have dabbled in the kiddies end of the pool but I am going to show you how to rule the world, Porky. With Winnie - uh, that’s me - at your side we will be unstoppable. We will need the others too for a while and it will be a steep learning curve but in a very short time Bogan will become our springboard to world domination.
Mayor Porker: Where are we, some kind of hell?
Winnie Rugarse: Not at all. This world is the place you feel close by when you are in pain, when you despair, when you grieve. This is the world in the dark places of your mind when rage drives reason back and when jealousy tears at the heart of you. This, my dear Porky, is the real world that the soporific wash of political influence and media manipulation cannot reach. You will find no positive slant on current affairs here. This is life as seen by death and I intend to give you all this benefit of second sight.
But enough of that for the moment. I just wanted you to know that I will be with you every step of the way. I’m going to send you back now. You will find things will be a little different.
Good night Mayor Porker. Dream well.
TO BE CONTINUED.
Thirteen characters wait like pet sheep. Some are fleshed and others only bones as yet but when the moment comes they will cavort before us. Doing what?
Thirteen.
Of course.
The number in a coven.
Witches and warlocks and mystic tales abound in Bogan Chitty. The sacrifice of innocents is meat and drink to the Council of the Damned so where better to find the devils work than in the shadowed realm of Bogan where comedy and carnage, catastrophically confused, connive to cause our chaos of the spheres. (I just had to get that out of the way.)
A title next, I think.
The Evil Coven of Bogan (nah).
The Bogan Coven (better, but nah).
The Coven (hmmmm).
COVEN – Part 1
We are in the Bogan Council chamber. All meetings are done with. The councillors have nothing to discuss or decide and, anyway, the CEO has given them decisive instructions not to make any decisions until he decides what decisions should be decided and who should decide who decides them. Most councillors are slumped about the table, doodling, drooling, drinking coffee or humming tunelessly. Their nine-hour working week is over and extreme boredom has set in. This is usually the time they devote to fighting among themselves and evolving intrigues, counter plots and other labyrinthine concoctions of the devious and underhanded kind but the events of the last few months and the memory of a Chinese take over threat has drained them of the need for scheming.
The excitement following the return of Deputy Mayor Roscoe Lunchpack because of the ASIO decision to solicit a little more Mossad support, has died down. Mossad and ASIO concentrate on the possibility that Sean Bean, released by the Chinese despite the Australian Foreign Minister’s fierce objections, may be more than he seems. They follow his every move and pick apart the foibles of this pitiful little man as if he represents the best the enemy can front. They pit their wits against him and deny his baffled, blank response is anything less than the subterfuge of a brilliant master spy.
The council has recently installed a pinball machine for times like this and Shizeknicker is pounding at it and cursing. Fondleschaft is working on a crossword. These two are the busy ones.
Axeman: God! I’m bored.
Mayor Porker: We’re all bored. Shut up and have a doze or something.
Lizzie: I can’t sleep, I wish I could. Anything rather than sit here all fed up.
Sean Bean: Would you kindly be quiet, I’m trying to read.
Grimy Hobo: Good on you, Sean. Found any words you recognise yet?
Sean Bean: Fluck off, Hobo!
Grimy Hobo: Fluck off?
(Normally so fluent in the language of filth, Sean’s cursing has become strangely idiosyncratic since his return from China. What the others don’t know is that the Sean Bean they now see is a cheap Chinese copy of the original Sean Bean. The original Bean was transformed into a copy of Kevin Rudd and may, or may not, be now living in The Lodge, Canberra.)
Roscoe: The weather seems settled.
Shizeknicker: It ist pissing down.
Roscoe: But settled rain, Herr Shizeknicker.
Axeman: (sigh!)
Lizzie: The hills are alive with the sound of muuuusiiiiic. With a song they have……..
Mayor Porker: Christ Liz!
Lizzie: Yes, your still upset because I got the part of Maria in that Sound of Prozac musical and you didn’t.
Mayor Porker: Piss off.
Fondleschaft: Vass ist diss vord ? Da clue ist: “A way in, not an egress.” Five letters.
Sean Bean: Clunt.
Fondleschaft: Nine. Zat vould make four down “cat” and da clue ist “Let’s have dinner.”
Sean Bean: Nothing wrong with crispy cat with a bit of rice. You have to burn the fur off with a blowlamp first though.
Winnie Quark: My most embarrassing moment!
Luke: What was?
Winnie Quark: It’s a game. We each have to tell the rest what our most embarrassing moment was.
Axeman: Jesus. Yours would be about now wouldn’t it, Winnie?
Ann Appuladay: I’ve got an Ouija Board.
Grimy Hobo: I’ve got a boil on my arse.
Mayor Porker: A what board?
Ann Appuladay: An Ouija Board. I brought it back from the states. It’s used to get supernatural messages from the beyond. Apparently The Pentagon swears by them, it’s how we got into Iraq and Afghanistan. There’s rumours that John Howard used one before the last general election but he wouldn’t take no for an answer.
Lizzie: How does it work?
Ann Appuladay: I haven’t actually used it yet but I think you sit in a circle around the board and each put a finger on this planchette thingy and ask a question. Then the planchette thingy whizzes about spelling out messages or just goes to a ‘yes or ‘no’.
Winnie Quark: Oooh, I’ve heard of those things. You shouldn’t mess about with them. People have died of those planchette things. You might conjure up the Devil!
Mower: Porky’s already here.
Mayor Porker: Arsehole.
Winnie Quark: No seriously. It was in New Idea about some girl in South America who played around with an Ouija Board and she got pregnant.
Sean Bean: The Ouija Board flucked her?
Winnie Quark: No, you rude thing. She just got pregnant and nine months later she gave birth to a goat.
Axeman: You’re kidding.
Winnie Quark: No. It was in the magazine. There was a picture of her feeding the goat.
Sean Bean: Breast feeding it, was she?
Luke: I bet her Nanny had something to say about that.
Winnie Quark: I’m sure I don’t know about that but apparently, when the goat grows up the family are going to sell cheese made from its milk. They’re marketing it as Cheddar Diablo and they already have lots of orders. We should be looking at initiatives like that in Bogan.
Sean Bean: Getting goats to fluck young women? Yeah, that would draw a crowd.
Winnie Quark: Marketing things, Sean. You needn’t be crude.
Mayor Porker: Anyone want a go at Ann’s Ouija Board then?
Axeman: Anything’s better than being stuck here just looking at you lot. Where is this board, Ann?
Ann Appuladay: In my car. I’ll fetch it – be back in a minute.
(Ann returns with the Ouija Board and sets it up. The thirteen members of the council spread themselves around the table and within touching distance of the planchette.)
Mower: Is there anybody there?
Sean Bean: Oooh oooh woooo hooooo!
Mower: If you are there please signify by knocking or by speaking or by moving……...
Sean Bean: Or bi-carbonate of soda.
Lizzie: Stop it you two, you’re spoiling it.
Ann: Everyone got his or her finger lightly on the thingamabob? Okay. Ahem. We would like to ask if anyone from beyond is in the room?
(Slowly but deliberately the planchette glides to the ‘YES’ label.)
Mayor Porker: Who’s pushing the bloody thing? Somebody must be.
Planchette: I . A-M . P-U-S-H-I-N-G . T-H-E . B-L-O-O-D-Y
T-H-I-N-G.
Ann: Who is ‘I’?
Planchette: B-A-R-T . R-U-G-A-R-
(Every councillor recoils from the Ouija Board as if they have had an electric shock. Ann is white faced with fury.)
Ann: That is not bloody funny. Which of you bastards is doing that? Well, this game is over. I’m……..
(The hair on Ann’s neck begins to prickle. Then she feels the hair on her head lift as the scalp tightens in shock. The others feel much the same and stare in frozen horror at the planchette that is slowly moving on its own.)
Planchette: W-H-A-T . I-S . W-R-O-N-G . A-N-N . A-R-E
Y-O-U . S-C-A-R-E-D . I . W-I-L-L . T-E-L-L . T-H-E-M
W-H-A-T . Y-O-U . D-I-D . T-O . M-E . A-T . T-H-E
L-O-D-G-E.
Winnie Quark: Oh dear, I said not to do this didn’t I? I knew it would end in tears. I really think we should stop now and pack it all away nice and tidy.
Planchette: T-O-O . L-A-T-E . W-I-N-N-I-E . I . A-M . B-A-C-K
(The air grows icy cold and shadows swirl in from corners of the room. For a brief time the fabric of existence wavers on the edge of dissolution. An agony sweeps through the councillors and a portion of the pain settles deep inside each of them and pulses like a breathing thing. This thing feeds upon the guts and sends tendrils to the brain. It heightens their senses and teaches them ancient ways from blacker times when the power of the spirit could conjure up a world that turned in darkness dreaming.
And then the world was gone – the world they knew.
But the dark earth remained.
A short time passes.)
Mayor Porker: Hello? Is anyone here? What’s happened to the bloody lights?
Winnie Quark: You just need to turn them on – like this.
(A green glow like the aftermath of diarrhoea slithers across the room. Porky can see Winnie sitting alone at the end of the table. The room is similar to the council chamber but a council chamber that has been sealed for ten million years.)
Mayor Porker: Where are the others?
Winnie: Oh, they’re still here but unnecessary at the moment.
Mayor Porker: So why are you here? What makes you special?
Winnie: Wrong questions, Porky. You should be wondering why YOU are here.
Mayor Porker: Who…what are you?
Winnie: I’ve already told you, Porky.
Mayor Porker: Bart?
Winnie Rugarse: Of course. Winnie was….malleable, convenient. You, on the other hand, are a very powerful lady, Mayor Porker. Together we are going to change the order of things. We both enjoy political power and have dabbled in the kiddies end of the pool but I am going to show you how to rule the world, Porky. With Winnie - uh, that’s me - at your side we will be unstoppable. We will need the others too for a while and it will be a steep learning curve but in a very short time Bogan will become our springboard to world domination.
Mayor Porker: Where are we, some kind of hell?
Winnie Rugarse: Not at all. This world is the place you feel close by when you are in pain, when you despair, when you grieve. This is the world in the dark places of your mind when rage drives reason back and when jealousy tears at the heart of you. This, my dear Porky, is the real world that the soporific wash of political influence and media manipulation cannot reach. You will find no positive slant on current affairs here. This is life as seen by death and I intend to give you all this benefit of second sight.
But enough of that for the moment. I just wanted you to know that I will be with you every step of the way. I’m going to send you back now. You will find things will be a little different.
Good night Mayor Porker. Dream well.
TO BE CONTINUED.
5/21/09
The Gilligan Factor - Part 10
The USS Pie Dish with Ann Appuladay as its Tactical Officer is preparing to destroy a Chinese chemical warfare laboratory but they have hit a snag. The complex is far better guarded than Ann has been led to believe. She must think of a way in fast before time runs out for them and the free world. She calls a meeting of the Executive Officers including Gabby.
T.O. Ann: There seems to be some kind of defensive sensor array across the inlet to the complex. Somehow we have to get inside the perimeter without giving ourselves away. I think I know a way in but we still have to get back out without setting off the alarms or, at least, without the alarms causing an alert.
Gabby: You want my team to fix the sensors?
T.O. Ann: No, Gabby. We don’t really know what triggers the sensors so we’ve got no chance of fixing them. In fact, we’re going to deliberately set them off. Hang on, let me finish. We’ll go in using a similar technique to the one we used to get into the river. I’ve been scoping the Tai and there are dozens of vessels passing both ways at any given time. These vessels are all shapes and sizes so we pick the rattiest looking scow that looks to be passing close to the inlet. We hook on and use the stern grabs to jam the rudder over so it looks like the craft is running out of control. We smash it through the sensor array and the guards will start screaming – they might even loose off a few shots at the poor buggers in the vessel but we will be in. Once we’re in we’ll separate from the scow and lie on the bottom until they sort the mess out, throw out the intruder and reset the sensors.
Gabby: Sounds good. What do you need me for?
T.O. Ann: We have to get back out again after the charges have been laid or we go up ourselves. The problem is we need to get out without leaving anyone alive who might be able to report a suspicious security breach just before the explosion. The guards have to be taken care of quietly and in such a way that any bodies will look like victims of the explosion. This whole operation must look like an accidental explosive reaction in the laboratory. When we leave this area we will need fifteen minutes minimum to get clear and that will be fifteen minutes for the security guards to report a breach to Beijing. The guards have to be dead before we pass the sensors on our way out.
Gabby: How many guards?
T.O. Ann: Four on the dock and you would have to allow the same number in the guardroom. There’s a patrol dinghy moored beside the guardroom. Can you do it, Gabby?
(Gabby responds almost immediately and her reply is shockingly brief.)
Gabby: We’ll use tasers, just a slight burn mark maybe. Drown them while they’re stunned. Flash bomb in the guardhouse and then tasers and drowning. We’ll put four on the dock and four in the dinghy as though they were on a routine patrol and that will cover any automatic report of a breach. I’ll work on the detail and timing but that should look right. The explosion and confusion will do the rest.
Capt. Happy Dayz: Well ….. I guess we look for a beat-up ride in, huh?
THREE HOURS LATER.
(The excitement has died down and the USS Pie Dish rests on the bottom of the inlet and well within the perimeter. The guards have returned to their positions and seem quite pleased with the break in routine that allowed them to beat up a few prawn fisherman and send the fishing boat on its way riddled with bullet holes. It is dark and very cold. In the murky waters below the dock the USS Pie Dish waits for high tide. Ann, Gabby and the Captain talk in whispers.)
T.O. Ann: 30 minutes to high tide Captain?
Capt. Happy Dayz: Check.
T.O. Ann: One hour to set charges?
Capt: Happy Dayz: That should do it.
T.O. Ann: And you need 8 minutes, Gabby?
Gabby: Plus deploy and withdraw, say another 8 minutes. 16 minutes total.
T.O. Ann: Okay. As soon as the tide starts slapping at the underside of the dock we start drilling. The lasers are silent but when we go through concrete there will be some vibration and we need the cover noise. Gabby, have your team ready to go 45 minutes after we start to drill. We’ll set 15 minute timers as soon as you get back then we get out of here fast. All clear?
(Twenty minutes later the drill heads silently extend from the nose of the Pie Dish and drilling begins at a point as far from the guards as possible. Retaining walls are breached and the boreholes extended 20 metres into the foundations of the complex. Eight boreholes are completed in this way. The central bore is much larger and takes time but 45 minutes after starting, all bores are now complete and ready for charges. It would be much simpler to just place an enormous bomb against the dock and blow the whole area to pieces but the point of the exercise is to make the explosion look like an internal detonation.
Gabby and her team enter the egress chamber. Each of the team has a taser held in the right hand and waterproofed by a simple plastic bag taped shut around the wrist. They fit short-range breathers into their mouths and wait as the chamber floods. The displaced air is vented back into the Pie Dish and 2 minutes later the outer door of the chamber slides back.
Inside the USS Pie Dish Ann checks her watch and then asks for the Eyes to be deployed to 3 metres. She has a close up view of the dock and the guards who are now relaxed after their earlier excitement. The guards do not notice the small dark shapes that rise slowly from the water under the dock. Gabby’s unit is in position and ready. Ann orders the charges to be laid. Timing with the explosives is critical. Each charge is encased with a hardened cellulose compound sealed by a banite coating. All components within the devices are non-specific and largely made of cellulose. The explosive has been developed to leave only water-soluble traces. The explosion will leave no debris indicating enemy action. The only draw back is, once the cases are immersed in water Ann will have 30 minutes before they begin to disintegrate. The injector tubes at the front of the Pie Dish push the charges into the flooded boreholes and the 30-minute countdown begins. However, the USS Pie Dish will need 15 minutes to clear the blast area so they now have only 15 minutes before the sub must leave and Gabby is 4 minutes into a 16-minute operation. She has 3 minutes to spare.)
T.O. Ann: It all depends on Gabby now.
Capt. Happy Dayz: Nervous?
T.O. Ann: Only for those poor sods guarding the dock. Are the detonators set for 15 minutes?
Capt. Happy Dayz: All set. We’ll activate them when Gabby gets back. What can you see?
T.O. Ann: Dock guards are down and in the water. Gabby is at the door of the guardhouse……. Shit those flash bombs are bright, I’ll check the neighbours………no reaction from them. Gabby’s back out, only three in the guardhouse it seems……… Delta team is cleaning up and loading the patrol boat with passengers…….. Rewind Eyes, I think we’ll be leaving early.
THREE MONTHS LATER – THE LODGE, CANBERRA.
(Kevin Fuk Ho and Bart Rugarse are sitting on the floor playing mah-jongg and drinking tea with absorbent chopsticks. They enjoy their moments of privacy when they can revert to type. The Prime Ministers secretary knocks and enters. She waves away the smoke from the opium pipes and speaks.)
Secretary: The children are here, Prime Minister.
Kevin Fuk Ho: Children?
Secretary: You remember. From the Catholic orphanage? St. Norman of the Brothers in Murk? You promised to see them and present their award.
Kevin Fuk Ho: What award?
Bart Rugarse: For bravery. One of the brothers went berserk during a showing of The Sound Of Music.
Kevin Fuk Ho: Oh yes, didn’t the kids cut his testicles off?
Bart Rugarse: Which is precisely why he went berserk.
Secretary: The Catholic Church has decided to put a positive face on this and they have endorsed the award.
Bart Rugarse: Rather than admit what the brother was up to in the dark during ‘Do Re Mi’.
Kevin Fuk Ho: Give us five minutes and then let them in, would you please?
Bart Rugarse: That secretary gives me the shits. You never know when she’s going to stick her head round the door.
Kevin Fuk Ho: Anything new?
Bart Rugarse: We’ve almost completed the new gas processing plant. I think it’s obvious the last one was sabotaged but there’s no evidence. Anyway, it’s all too late. The word is the Americans are processing their own brand of Chaotigen and they have an anti-dote to ours. So it’s all status quo.
(The door opens and two small children enter. They are both dressed in the uniform of St. Norman of the Brothers in Murk orphanage.)
Kevin Fuk Ho: I said 5 minutes dammit….oh! I’m so sorry children, I thought you were my……….Don’t I know you?……… Ann?… Gabby?
FFFWAAK!
FFFWAAK!
(Ann and Gabby shove the silenced handguns back into their school ports. Gabby goes to the door and lets in the rest of her Delta squad who are also disguised as Catholic orphans. A large sheet of plastic is spread on the floor and the bodies of Fuk Ho and Rugarse are rolled onto it. The door opens again and Kevin Rudd walks in. He ignores the distressing sight of the Delta squad dismembering the bodies and walks to a large gilt framed mirror.
Agent 2 of the CIA looks at his reflection. He still feels the shock of seeing another face looking back at him but he can’t help being proud of American know-how when it comes to plastic surgery. He makes a much better Kevin Rudd than that cheap Chinese crap being rammed bit by bit into the school satchels behind him.
It is an hour before everything is clear and the Delta squad are moving out. Only Ann and Gabby remain in the room with Kevin 2.)
Kevin 2: The President, the CIA, the USA and the free world owe you a great debt guys. For a while you will have to go back to your old life to cover any tracks but gradually you can start drawing on the numbered accounts and build new lives. Whatever you want to be. 50 million can stretch a long, long way. Ann, you’ll be able to afford a better necklace than that cheap looking pendant around your neck.
Ann: That’s one of Fuk Ho’s bollocks. I don’t know what happened to the other.
Gabby: Want a suck on my lollypop?
Kevin 2: You two are fucking sick, you know that?
(Ann and Gabby leave. Kevin 2 spends the morning familiarising himself with the Prime Ministers office. He happens to be standing near the door when someone knocks. He opens the door. Dicky Mower is waiting outside.)
Kevin 2: Ah, it’s Dicky Mower. I remember you from the island. You’re with my ASIO contingent, is that correct?
FFFWAAK!
(Mower steps over the body of Kevin 2 and checks that surveillance is still off. An ASIO squad disguised as the Australian cricket team rush into the room and fold the body of Kevin 2 into a large cricket gear bag. Mower supervises the clean up and then the ASIO squad leave feigning drunken revelry. Mower is alone in the room but not for long. Kevin Rudd walks in.)
Mower: Welcome home, Prime Minister.
Kevin McDuck: Gosh, this is great! I never dreamed the CIA Aus Vegas scheme would lead to this. I’m Prime Minister of Australia! Wow! It makes all that surgery and dieting worth while. Oh, if that Bogan lot knew, it would make them green! I feel like singing a song. Do they have karaoke nights at The Lodge?
Mower: Listen, McDuck! If you think we went to all this trouble, not to mention the expense to Medicare, just so you could sing songs at The Lodge then you’d better get your head straight now. You’ve got instructions to follow and don’t forget what they are. In the meantime, we’re not expecting trouble but carry this gun with you at all times. It’s got a silencer just in case you shoot your nuts off at a public function where we don’t want to make a fuss. You are now Kevin Rudd, Prime Minister of Australia. Do your job! I’ll be watching you!
(Mower leaves. Ten minutes later Kevin Rudd is striding jauntily along the corridor leading to his office. He is bursting with pride and joy. The surgery and the diet of pizza and beer were all worth it. His new car is a dream and he treasures his gold plated ‘Secret Agent’ badge but most of all he treasures the brilliant Kan Fat automatic pistol with the gold plated silencer that nestles in his shoulder holster. He feels and looks like a new man. He thinks that Rugarse should have disposed of the old Kevin Rudd by now so he confidently throws open the door to the Prime Minister’s office and strides in.)
Kevin Bean: What the fucking fucky fucker are you fucketing doing here, you fucking fuck?
Kevin McDuck: Oh My Gosh!
(For a moment they are stunned and then there is a blur of motion as both Kevin Rudds reach for their weapons. Only one of them makes it in time.)
FFFWAAK!
THE END.
T.O. Ann: There seems to be some kind of defensive sensor array across the inlet to the complex. Somehow we have to get inside the perimeter without giving ourselves away. I think I know a way in but we still have to get back out without setting off the alarms or, at least, without the alarms causing an alert.
Gabby: You want my team to fix the sensors?
T.O. Ann: No, Gabby. We don’t really know what triggers the sensors so we’ve got no chance of fixing them. In fact, we’re going to deliberately set them off. Hang on, let me finish. We’ll go in using a similar technique to the one we used to get into the river. I’ve been scoping the Tai and there are dozens of vessels passing both ways at any given time. These vessels are all shapes and sizes so we pick the rattiest looking scow that looks to be passing close to the inlet. We hook on and use the stern grabs to jam the rudder over so it looks like the craft is running out of control. We smash it through the sensor array and the guards will start screaming – they might even loose off a few shots at the poor buggers in the vessel but we will be in. Once we’re in we’ll separate from the scow and lie on the bottom until they sort the mess out, throw out the intruder and reset the sensors.
Gabby: Sounds good. What do you need me for?
T.O. Ann: We have to get back out again after the charges have been laid or we go up ourselves. The problem is we need to get out without leaving anyone alive who might be able to report a suspicious security breach just before the explosion. The guards have to be taken care of quietly and in such a way that any bodies will look like victims of the explosion. This whole operation must look like an accidental explosive reaction in the laboratory. When we leave this area we will need fifteen minutes minimum to get clear and that will be fifteen minutes for the security guards to report a breach to Beijing. The guards have to be dead before we pass the sensors on our way out.
Gabby: How many guards?
T.O. Ann: Four on the dock and you would have to allow the same number in the guardroom. There’s a patrol dinghy moored beside the guardroom. Can you do it, Gabby?
(Gabby responds almost immediately and her reply is shockingly brief.)
Gabby: We’ll use tasers, just a slight burn mark maybe. Drown them while they’re stunned. Flash bomb in the guardhouse and then tasers and drowning. We’ll put four on the dock and four in the dinghy as though they were on a routine patrol and that will cover any automatic report of a breach. I’ll work on the detail and timing but that should look right. The explosion and confusion will do the rest.
Capt. Happy Dayz: Well ….. I guess we look for a beat-up ride in, huh?
THREE HOURS LATER.
(The excitement has died down and the USS Pie Dish rests on the bottom of the inlet and well within the perimeter. The guards have returned to their positions and seem quite pleased with the break in routine that allowed them to beat up a few prawn fisherman and send the fishing boat on its way riddled with bullet holes. It is dark and very cold. In the murky waters below the dock the USS Pie Dish waits for high tide. Ann, Gabby and the Captain talk in whispers.)
T.O. Ann: 30 minutes to high tide Captain?
Capt. Happy Dayz: Check.
T.O. Ann: One hour to set charges?
Capt: Happy Dayz: That should do it.
T.O. Ann: And you need 8 minutes, Gabby?
Gabby: Plus deploy and withdraw, say another 8 minutes. 16 minutes total.
T.O. Ann: Okay. As soon as the tide starts slapping at the underside of the dock we start drilling. The lasers are silent but when we go through concrete there will be some vibration and we need the cover noise. Gabby, have your team ready to go 45 minutes after we start to drill. We’ll set 15 minute timers as soon as you get back then we get out of here fast. All clear?
(Twenty minutes later the drill heads silently extend from the nose of the Pie Dish and drilling begins at a point as far from the guards as possible. Retaining walls are breached and the boreholes extended 20 metres into the foundations of the complex. Eight boreholes are completed in this way. The central bore is much larger and takes time but 45 minutes after starting, all bores are now complete and ready for charges. It would be much simpler to just place an enormous bomb against the dock and blow the whole area to pieces but the point of the exercise is to make the explosion look like an internal detonation.
Gabby and her team enter the egress chamber. Each of the team has a taser held in the right hand and waterproofed by a simple plastic bag taped shut around the wrist. They fit short-range breathers into their mouths and wait as the chamber floods. The displaced air is vented back into the Pie Dish and 2 minutes later the outer door of the chamber slides back.
Inside the USS Pie Dish Ann checks her watch and then asks for the Eyes to be deployed to 3 metres. She has a close up view of the dock and the guards who are now relaxed after their earlier excitement. The guards do not notice the small dark shapes that rise slowly from the water under the dock. Gabby’s unit is in position and ready. Ann orders the charges to be laid. Timing with the explosives is critical. Each charge is encased with a hardened cellulose compound sealed by a banite coating. All components within the devices are non-specific and largely made of cellulose. The explosive has been developed to leave only water-soluble traces. The explosion will leave no debris indicating enemy action. The only draw back is, once the cases are immersed in water Ann will have 30 minutes before they begin to disintegrate. The injector tubes at the front of the Pie Dish push the charges into the flooded boreholes and the 30-minute countdown begins. However, the USS Pie Dish will need 15 minutes to clear the blast area so they now have only 15 minutes before the sub must leave and Gabby is 4 minutes into a 16-minute operation. She has 3 minutes to spare.)
T.O. Ann: It all depends on Gabby now.
Capt. Happy Dayz: Nervous?
T.O. Ann: Only for those poor sods guarding the dock. Are the detonators set for 15 minutes?
Capt. Happy Dayz: All set. We’ll activate them when Gabby gets back. What can you see?
T.O. Ann: Dock guards are down and in the water. Gabby is at the door of the guardhouse……. Shit those flash bombs are bright, I’ll check the neighbours………no reaction from them. Gabby’s back out, only three in the guardhouse it seems……… Delta team is cleaning up and loading the patrol boat with passengers…….. Rewind Eyes, I think we’ll be leaving early.
THREE MONTHS LATER – THE LODGE, CANBERRA.
(Kevin Fuk Ho and Bart Rugarse are sitting on the floor playing mah-jongg and drinking tea with absorbent chopsticks. They enjoy their moments of privacy when they can revert to type. The Prime Ministers secretary knocks and enters. She waves away the smoke from the opium pipes and speaks.)
Secretary: The children are here, Prime Minister.
Kevin Fuk Ho: Children?
Secretary: You remember. From the Catholic orphanage? St. Norman of the Brothers in Murk? You promised to see them and present their award.
Kevin Fuk Ho: What award?
Bart Rugarse: For bravery. One of the brothers went berserk during a showing of The Sound Of Music.
Kevin Fuk Ho: Oh yes, didn’t the kids cut his testicles off?
Bart Rugarse: Which is precisely why he went berserk.
Secretary: The Catholic Church has decided to put a positive face on this and they have endorsed the award.
Bart Rugarse: Rather than admit what the brother was up to in the dark during ‘Do Re Mi’.
Kevin Fuk Ho: Give us five minutes and then let them in, would you please?
Bart Rugarse: That secretary gives me the shits. You never know when she’s going to stick her head round the door.
Kevin Fuk Ho: Anything new?
Bart Rugarse: We’ve almost completed the new gas processing plant. I think it’s obvious the last one was sabotaged but there’s no evidence. Anyway, it’s all too late. The word is the Americans are processing their own brand of Chaotigen and they have an anti-dote to ours. So it’s all status quo.
(The door opens and two small children enter. They are both dressed in the uniform of St. Norman of the Brothers in Murk orphanage.)
Kevin Fuk Ho: I said 5 minutes dammit….oh! I’m so sorry children, I thought you were my……….Don’t I know you?……… Ann?… Gabby?
FFFWAAK!
FFFWAAK!
(Ann and Gabby shove the silenced handguns back into their school ports. Gabby goes to the door and lets in the rest of her Delta squad who are also disguised as Catholic orphans. A large sheet of plastic is spread on the floor and the bodies of Fuk Ho and Rugarse are rolled onto it. The door opens again and Kevin Rudd walks in. He ignores the distressing sight of the Delta squad dismembering the bodies and walks to a large gilt framed mirror.
Agent 2 of the CIA looks at his reflection. He still feels the shock of seeing another face looking back at him but he can’t help being proud of American know-how when it comes to plastic surgery. He makes a much better Kevin Rudd than that cheap Chinese crap being rammed bit by bit into the school satchels behind him.
It is an hour before everything is clear and the Delta squad are moving out. Only Ann and Gabby remain in the room with Kevin 2.)
Kevin 2: The President, the CIA, the USA and the free world owe you a great debt guys. For a while you will have to go back to your old life to cover any tracks but gradually you can start drawing on the numbered accounts and build new lives. Whatever you want to be. 50 million can stretch a long, long way. Ann, you’ll be able to afford a better necklace than that cheap looking pendant around your neck.
Ann: That’s one of Fuk Ho’s bollocks. I don’t know what happened to the other.
Gabby: Want a suck on my lollypop?
Kevin 2: You two are fucking sick, you know that?
(Ann and Gabby leave. Kevin 2 spends the morning familiarising himself with the Prime Ministers office. He happens to be standing near the door when someone knocks. He opens the door. Dicky Mower is waiting outside.)
Kevin 2: Ah, it’s Dicky Mower. I remember you from the island. You’re with my ASIO contingent, is that correct?
FFFWAAK!
(Mower steps over the body of Kevin 2 and checks that surveillance is still off. An ASIO squad disguised as the Australian cricket team rush into the room and fold the body of Kevin 2 into a large cricket gear bag. Mower supervises the clean up and then the ASIO squad leave feigning drunken revelry. Mower is alone in the room but not for long. Kevin Rudd walks in.)
Mower: Welcome home, Prime Minister.
Kevin McDuck: Gosh, this is great! I never dreamed the CIA Aus Vegas scheme would lead to this. I’m Prime Minister of Australia! Wow! It makes all that surgery and dieting worth while. Oh, if that Bogan lot knew, it would make them green! I feel like singing a song. Do they have karaoke nights at The Lodge?
Mower: Listen, McDuck! If you think we went to all this trouble, not to mention the expense to Medicare, just so you could sing songs at The Lodge then you’d better get your head straight now. You’ve got instructions to follow and don’t forget what they are. In the meantime, we’re not expecting trouble but carry this gun with you at all times. It’s got a silencer just in case you shoot your nuts off at a public function where we don’t want to make a fuss. You are now Kevin Rudd, Prime Minister of Australia. Do your job! I’ll be watching you!
(Mower leaves. Ten minutes later Kevin Rudd is striding jauntily along the corridor leading to his office. He is bursting with pride and joy. The surgery and the diet of pizza and beer were all worth it. His new car is a dream and he treasures his gold plated ‘Secret Agent’ badge but most of all he treasures the brilliant Kan Fat automatic pistol with the gold plated silencer that nestles in his shoulder holster. He feels and looks like a new man. He thinks that Rugarse should have disposed of the old Kevin Rudd by now so he confidently throws open the door to the Prime Minister’s office and strides in.)
Kevin Bean: What the fucking fucky fucker are you fucketing doing here, you fucking fuck?
Kevin McDuck: Oh My Gosh!
(For a moment they are stunned and then there is a blur of motion as both Kevin Rudds reach for their weapons. Only one of them makes it in time.)
FFFWAAK!
THE END.
5/16/09
The Gilligan Factor - Part 9
The Bogan councillors are back home minus Ann Appuladay and Sean Bean. Gabby and Bart Rugarse are also missing. Mower learns that Ann and Gabby are to be used on a covert CIA mission to destroy a Chinese chemical warfare facility in China. There is no news of Sean Bean but during an informal council meeting the councillors discuss the reports about Bart Rugarse being washed up alive and well on a Redcliffe shore.
Mayor Porker: Apparently he made a raft of black rubber duckies lashed together. The sod drifted for days and circled Morton Island twice before washing up at Victoria Point almost out of his head with hunger and thirst.
Shizeknicker: Der ist no sign of Sean though.
Grimy: Yeah, our luck’s holding so far. Fingers crossed eh?
Lizzie: It’s Ann that worries me. I do hope she’s all right.
Axeman: Christ, Lizzie! We were told to forget all that. Do you want to get me assassinated?
Lizzie: I’ll have to think about that one, Axeman.
Luke: Fighting among ourselves doesn’t help.
Grimy: Why not? It’s what made Bogan the Council it is today.
Mayor Porker: Shut up all of you! I don’t give a shit about the CIA. What do you think, Mower, you know those CIA arseholes better than anyone; will Ann be okay?
Mower: I think it will depend entirely on Ann.
Mayor Porker: In what way?
Mower: In a few days, maybe a week, it will be Ann calling the shots – not the CIA.
SIX DAYS LATER
On board the USS Pie Dish, 150 nautical miles from the South China coast.
(Captain Happy Dayz has brought his vessel to the takeover point. Along with some of the crew, Captain Happy Dayz was recruited from a circus troupe of dwarves that he had managed and performed with for twelve years. He is pleased that most of his friends are on board with him. Gloopy, Boopy, Snoopy and Happy Dayz had doubled as a maintenance gang in the flea bitten circus they had come from and the US Navy instructors appointed by the CIA had rapidly developed their skills. Boopy, in particular, had taken to the Sonar Systems as if he had been operating them for years.
But the USS Pie Dish was designed to be simple to operate. Most of the systems in the peculiar submersible are automatic and, once set, can function for days without human intervention. The vessel is well named and does indeed look like an upside down oval pie dish. It measures 18 metres from stem to stern and has a beam of 10 metres but it is the depth of 1.2 metres that gives the USS Pie Dish its greatest advantage. It can operate undetected in very shallow water and its superstructure is moulded and textured to resemble a conglomerate of rock and mud. It isn’t built for speed; it is built to be invisible. The thin edges of the sub can be made to undulate in open water like the edges of a fish shoal. So effective is this ploy that, during a training exercise along the Grand Banks, a commercial fishing trawler chased the USS Pie Dish for three days. The sub has many other unique features but these are under the control of the Tactical Officer, Ann Appuladay.
The only part of the crew that worries the Captain is the Delta Assault Squad. They are a hardened group of Bosnian dwarves and are led by an Australian kid who frightens Captain Happy Dayz. The kid is cold and very focused and, despite being known as Gabby, she hardly speaks. The Captain has several times tried to have a conversation with Gabby but the look in her eyes dries his mouth. It is the look of death. The only person Gabby speaks freely with is the Tactical Officer. The Captain has a lot of time for Ann. He respects her judgement and trusts her absolutely. He is glad it is now time to hand over operations to her.)
Capt. Happy Dayz: It’s time Tactical Officer Appuladay.
T.O. Ann: Thank you Captain.
Capt. Happy Dayz: Crew of the USS Pie Dish, this is your Captain. This boat is now under the command of Tactical Officer Appuladay. From now on all operational orders must be confirmed by the TO. Good luck Ann.
T.O. Ann: Helm – continue on this course and speed. Sonar – passive only. Find me a growler Mr. Boopy.
Sonar Boopy: Aye-aye, Ma'am.
(For the next eight hours USS Pie Dish slides closer to the mouth of the Tai River. Sonar searches for a surface vessel that is preferably old and very noisy – a ‘growler’. Thirty nautical miles from the Tai, Boopy finds what he is looking for.)
Sonar Boopy: Growler ahead, TO. Looks like a big trawler. Speed about eight knots and it sounds like an elephant shitting tin cans. It’s heading right for the river.
T.O. Ann: Thank you, Sonar. Deploy Eyes.
(The ‘Eyes’ are at the end of a 200-metre fibre optic cable. The cable is incredibly fine and on the end it has a gyro-camera mounted in a small flotation cage. When the cage reaches the surface it remains below the water feeding or rewinding the cable to keep the tiny camera vertically stabilised above the waves. Together with the gyros, this gives Ann a near rock steady all round view. She sees the ‘growler’ and it looks the way it sounds, just a crappy old trawler going home.)
T.O. Ann: Rewind Eyes. All hands – clear the boat and rig for silent running. Coms – total radio silence. Grab Crew – stand by. Sonar – sharp ears. I want to know if that trawler sends anything other than engine noise. It may not look like a surveillance vessel but we have to assume it may be. Captain - please take us right up that trawlers tin arse.
(The USS Pie Dish closes in on the Chinese trawler and is soon directly below the noisy vessel. This is when the tricky bit begins. Using external cameras and a joystick to manoeuvre the sub, the USS Pie Dish is brought to within millimetres of the trawlers keel. At this point Ann orders the Grab to lock on. The eight mechanical arms extend and feel their way to the hull of the fishing boat – they grip. It is a perfect manoeuvre. There is no sound. The USS Pie Dish maintains a matching speed and is now part of the trawler.
From now on all orders will be passed in whispers down the line. They enter the mouth of the Tai River.)
MEANWHILE – THE LODGE, CANBERRA.
(Prime Minister Kevin Rudd (Fuk Ho) is sitting at his impressive desk filling in a Lotto coupon. He lives in fear that the tale of his Chinese background will get out and he will be thrown back into the Take-Away business. There is a knock at the door and his secretary pops her head in.)
Secretary: He’s here, Prime Minister.
Kevin Fuk Ho: Ah yes, show him in please and you may go to lunch.
Secretary: Yes sir. Please come in Mr. Rugarse.
Kevin Fuk Ho: Bart, it’s good to see you again. None the worse for your little adventure I hope?
Bart Rugarse: I’m just fine, Prime Minister. You are also fully recovered I trust?
Kevin Fuk Ho: Oh, I’m in top shape, Bart, couldn’t be better. Now what can I do for you?
Bart Rugarse: It’s a delicate matter, Prime Minister. Bit of a ‘bull in a china shop’ situation if you catch my drift.
(Kevin Fuk Ho’s hand slides along the edge of his desk and he presses a hidden button. This cuts off all audio and video recording. It is a useful button for Prime Ministers who like to fart or pick their nose in the office.)
Kevin Fuk Ho: Okay, we’re clear. What have you got?
Bart Rugarse: I’ve had word from the Chinese Ambassador. The Chinese government would like to return an Australian citizen they are holding.
Kevin Fuk Ho: It’s Bean isn’t it?
Bart Rugarse: Yes. Apparently he is giving them the absolute shits and they would like to dump him as soon as possible. I think the actual words were, “Take this fucking shit back before he drives us round the bend.”
Kevin Fuk Ho: It doesn’t make sense. No one knows where he is, why don’t they just kill him and be done with it? Nobody would be any the wiser.
Bart Rugarse: I’m sure I don’t know Prime Minister. I am merely a humble conduit.
Kevin Fuk Ho: Oh, come on Bart. You’ve changed out of all recognition in the last year. Remember when I posed with you for your campaign photos? You always had that wild-eyed, terrified look about you. Someone said you looked like a rabbit with a sharp carrot rammed up your arse. But now you’re a man in control. What happened?
Bart Rugarse: Ah yes, the eyes. They didn’t do a very good job did they? Just dumped me here without back up, no way to communicate. Christ, I had to sing that bloody silly song during my maiden speech just to send a coded message to Beijing. What a fuck up that was. But I got the eyes re-done and here we are now, all ready for the main event.
Kevin Fuk Ho: Oh my God. Who are you?
(Bart Rugarse leans across the desk and stares intently into the Prime Minister’s eyes.)
Bart Rugarse: Melly Clistmus Missuh Ludd.
(The Prime Minister slumps in his chair. Bart Rugarse then whispers a codeword that sends a message deep into Kevin Fuk Ho’s mind and stirs an implanted response. Rugarse is now in total control of the Australian Prime Minister.)
Kevin Fuk Ho: They turned Bean, didn’t they? In only a week?
Bart Rugarse: WE turned him, Fuk Ho. Don’t you forget who you are again. As for Bean, he didn’t really need turning. He was delighted to betray his country for a gold plated ‘Secret Agent’ badge, a new car and a guaranteed senior position in the new Australian government when we take over. But we’ll get to Bean later. For now I need to know exactly what happened on Coochie Mudlo after I left the briefing room and I particularly want to know everything the ASIO and CIA agents told you. Everything!
MEANWHILE –ON THE TAI RIVER, SOUTHERN CHINA.
(The USS Pie Dish is carried into the Tai River attached to the hull of the trawler. As they near the secret chemical warfare complex Tactical Officer Ann Appuladay orders separation. This is accomplished as silently as the attachment. They drift deeper and are soon resting on the bottom and 300 metres from the complex.)
T.O. Ann: Pass the word to deploy eyes to 30 metres.
(Ann gets her first sight of the Chinese chemical warfare complex. It is a deceptively simple construction, low, blocky, no windows. Four armed guards patrol the dock in front of the complex. There is a guardhouse 50 metres to the right and a patrol dinghy is moored close by. Ann is about to order the Eyes to be rewound when she notices something else, something unexpected. She asks the Captain to take a look.)
T.O. Ann: About 50 metres out from the dock, Captain. Do you see the row of black floats? They seem to be around 15 metres apart. What do you make of them?
Capt. Happy Dayz: Yes, I see them. They could be net floats I suppose but there isn’t much movement there. Some kind of sensor is my best guess.
T.O. Ann: Yeah, that’s what I think. If it were a motion sensor it would have to be very short range or it would be picking up river traffic continuously. Maybe magnetic? Heat? Could be lasers, for Chrissake. Ahhh I don’t know.
Capt. Happy Dayz: Or all of the above. Whatever they are, Ann, it puts a stop to our operation unless you can figure something out. We need at least an hour inside that perimeter to lay the charges and we can’t do that with alarm bells up our asses.
(Ann begins to pace the tiny walking space in the command centre. She glowers and rubs at her face – then stops. Ann goes once more to the Eyes consul and begins to search the river surface through 360 degrees. She nods as if she has come to a decision.)
T.O. Ann: Rewind Eyes. Captain, please get Gabby up here. We all need to talk.
TO BE CONTINUED.
Mayor Porker: Apparently he made a raft of black rubber duckies lashed together. The sod drifted for days and circled Morton Island twice before washing up at Victoria Point almost out of his head with hunger and thirst.
Shizeknicker: Der ist no sign of Sean though.
Grimy: Yeah, our luck’s holding so far. Fingers crossed eh?
Lizzie: It’s Ann that worries me. I do hope she’s all right.
Axeman: Christ, Lizzie! We were told to forget all that. Do you want to get me assassinated?
Lizzie: I’ll have to think about that one, Axeman.
Luke: Fighting among ourselves doesn’t help.
Grimy: Why not? It’s what made Bogan the Council it is today.
Mayor Porker: Shut up all of you! I don’t give a shit about the CIA. What do you think, Mower, you know those CIA arseholes better than anyone; will Ann be okay?
Mower: I think it will depend entirely on Ann.
Mayor Porker: In what way?
Mower: In a few days, maybe a week, it will be Ann calling the shots – not the CIA.
SIX DAYS LATER
On board the USS Pie Dish, 150 nautical miles from the South China coast.
(Captain Happy Dayz has brought his vessel to the takeover point. Along with some of the crew, Captain Happy Dayz was recruited from a circus troupe of dwarves that he had managed and performed with for twelve years. He is pleased that most of his friends are on board with him. Gloopy, Boopy, Snoopy and Happy Dayz had doubled as a maintenance gang in the flea bitten circus they had come from and the US Navy instructors appointed by the CIA had rapidly developed their skills. Boopy, in particular, had taken to the Sonar Systems as if he had been operating them for years.
But the USS Pie Dish was designed to be simple to operate. Most of the systems in the peculiar submersible are automatic and, once set, can function for days without human intervention. The vessel is well named and does indeed look like an upside down oval pie dish. It measures 18 metres from stem to stern and has a beam of 10 metres but it is the depth of 1.2 metres that gives the USS Pie Dish its greatest advantage. It can operate undetected in very shallow water and its superstructure is moulded and textured to resemble a conglomerate of rock and mud. It isn’t built for speed; it is built to be invisible. The thin edges of the sub can be made to undulate in open water like the edges of a fish shoal. So effective is this ploy that, during a training exercise along the Grand Banks, a commercial fishing trawler chased the USS Pie Dish for three days. The sub has many other unique features but these are under the control of the Tactical Officer, Ann Appuladay.
The only part of the crew that worries the Captain is the Delta Assault Squad. They are a hardened group of Bosnian dwarves and are led by an Australian kid who frightens Captain Happy Dayz. The kid is cold and very focused and, despite being known as Gabby, she hardly speaks. The Captain has several times tried to have a conversation with Gabby but the look in her eyes dries his mouth. It is the look of death. The only person Gabby speaks freely with is the Tactical Officer. The Captain has a lot of time for Ann. He respects her judgement and trusts her absolutely. He is glad it is now time to hand over operations to her.)
Capt. Happy Dayz: It’s time Tactical Officer Appuladay.
T.O. Ann: Thank you Captain.
Capt. Happy Dayz: Crew of the USS Pie Dish, this is your Captain. This boat is now under the command of Tactical Officer Appuladay. From now on all operational orders must be confirmed by the TO. Good luck Ann.
T.O. Ann: Helm – continue on this course and speed. Sonar – passive only. Find me a growler Mr. Boopy.
Sonar Boopy: Aye-aye, Ma'am.
(For the next eight hours USS Pie Dish slides closer to the mouth of the Tai River. Sonar searches for a surface vessel that is preferably old and very noisy – a ‘growler’. Thirty nautical miles from the Tai, Boopy finds what he is looking for.)
Sonar Boopy: Growler ahead, TO. Looks like a big trawler. Speed about eight knots and it sounds like an elephant shitting tin cans. It’s heading right for the river.
T.O. Ann: Thank you, Sonar. Deploy Eyes.
(The ‘Eyes’ are at the end of a 200-metre fibre optic cable. The cable is incredibly fine and on the end it has a gyro-camera mounted in a small flotation cage. When the cage reaches the surface it remains below the water feeding or rewinding the cable to keep the tiny camera vertically stabilised above the waves. Together with the gyros, this gives Ann a near rock steady all round view. She sees the ‘growler’ and it looks the way it sounds, just a crappy old trawler going home.)
T.O. Ann: Rewind Eyes. All hands – clear the boat and rig for silent running. Coms – total radio silence. Grab Crew – stand by. Sonar – sharp ears. I want to know if that trawler sends anything other than engine noise. It may not look like a surveillance vessel but we have to assume it may be. Captain - please take us right up that trawlers tin arse.
(The USS Pie Dish closes in on the Chinese trawler and is soon directly below the noisy vessel. This is when the tricky bit begins. Using external cameras and a joystick to manoeuvre the sub, the USS Pie Dish is brought to within millimetres of the trawlers keel. At this point Ann orders the Grab to lock on. The eight mechanical arms extend and feel their way to the hull of the fishing boat – they grip. It is a perfect manoeuvre. There is no sound. The USS Pie Dish maintains a matching speed and is now part of the trawler.
From now on all orders will be passed in whispers down the line. They enter the mouth of the Tai River.)
MEANWHILE – THE LODGE, CANBERRA.
(Prime Minister Kevin Rudd (Fuk Ho) is sitting at his impressive desk filling in a Lotto coupon. He lives in fear that the tale of his Chinese background will get out and he will be thrown back into the Take-Away business. There is a knock at the door and his secretary pops her head in.)
Secretary: He’s here, Prime Minister.
Kevin Fuk Ho: Ah yes, show him in please and you may go to lunch.
Secretary: Yes sir. Please come in Mr. Rugarse.
Kevin Fuk Ho: Bart, it’s good to see you again. None the worse for your little adventure I hope?
Bart Rugarse: I’m just fine, Prime Minister. You are also fully recovered I trust?
Kevin Fuk Ho: Oh, I’m in top shape, Bart, couldn’t be better. Now what can I do for you?
Bart Rugarse: It’s a delicate matter, Prime Minister. Bit of a ‘bull in a china shop’ situation if you catch my drift.
(Kevin Fuk Ho’s hand slides along the edge of his desk and he presses a hidden button. This cuts off all audio and video recording. It is a useful button for Prime Ministers who like to fart or pick their nose in the office.)
Kevin Fuk Ho: Okay, we’re clear. What have you got?
Bart Rugarse: I’ve had word from the Chinese Ambassador. The Chinese government would like to return an Australian citizen they are holding.
Kevin Fuk Ho: It’s Bean isn’t it?
Bart Rugarse: Yes. Apparently he is giving them the absolute shits and they would like to dump him as soon as possible. I think the actual words were, “Take this fucking shit back before he drives us round the bend.”
Kevin Fuk Ho: It doesn’t make sense. No one knows where he is, why don’t they just kill him and be done with it? Nobody would be any the wiser.
Bart Rugarse: I’m sure I don’t know Prime Minister. I am merely a humble conduit.
Kevin Fuk Ho: Oh, come on Bart. You’ve changed out of all recognition in the last year. Remember when I posed with you for your campaign photos? You always had that wild-eyed, terrified look about you. Someone said you looked like a rabbit with a sharp carrot rammed up your arse. But now you’re a man in control. What happened?
Bart Rugarse: Ah yes, the eyes. They didn’t do a very good job did they? Just dumped me here without back up, no way to communicate. Christ, I had to sing that bloody silly song during my maiden speech just to send a coded message to Beijing. What a fuck up that was. But I got the eyes re-done and here we are now, all ready for the main event.
Kevin Fuk Ho: Oh my God. Who are you?
(Bart Rugarse leans across the desk and stares intently into the Prime Minister’s eyes.)
Bart Rugarse: Melly Clistmus Missuh Ludd.
(The Prime Minister slumps in his chair. Bart Rugarse then whispers a codeword that sends a message deep into Kevin Fuk Ho’s mind and stirs an implanted response. Rugarse is now in total control of the Australian Prime Minister.)
Kevin Fuk Ho: They turned Bean, didn’t they? In only a week?
Bart Rugarse: WE turned him, Fuk Ho. Don’t you forget who you are again. As for Bean, he didn’t really need turning. He was delighted to betray his country for a gold plated ‘Secret Agent’ badge, a new car and a guaranteed senior position in the new Australian government when we take over. But we’ll get to Bean later. For now I need to know exactly what happened on Coochie Mudlo after I left the briefing room and I particularly want to know everything the ASIO and CIA agents told you. Everything!
MEANWHILE –ON THE TAI RIVER, SOUTHERN CHINA.
(The USS Pie Dish is carried into the Tai River attached to the hull of the trawler. As they near the secret chemical warfare complex Tactical Officer Ann Appuladay orders separation. This is accomplished as silently as the attachment. They drift deeper and are soon resting on the bottom and 300 metres from the complex.)
T.O. Ann: Pass the word to deploy eyes to 30 metres.
(Ann gets her first sight of the Chinese chemical warfare complex. It is a deceptively simple construction, low, blocky, no windows. Four armed guards patrol the dock in front of the complex. There is a guardhouse 50 metres to the right and a patrol dinghy is moored close by. Ann is about to order the Eyes to be rewound when she notices something else, something unexpected. She asks the Captain to take a look.)
T.O. Ann: About 50 metres out from the dock, Captain. Do you see the row of black floats? They seem to be around 15 metres apart. What do you make of them?
Capt. Happy Dayz: Yes, I see them. They could be net floats I suppose but there isn’t much movement there. Some kind of sensor is my best guess.
T.O. Ann: Yeah, that’s what I think. If it were a motion sensor it would have to be very short range or it would be picking up river traffic continuously. Maybe magnetic? Heat? Could be lasers, for Chrissake. Ahhh I don’t know.
Capt. Happy Dayz: Or all of the above. Whatever they are, Ann, it puts a stop to our operation unless you can figure something out. We need at least an hour inside that perimeter to lay the charges and we can’t do that with alarm bells up our asses.
(Ann begins to pace the tiny walking space in the command centre. She glowers and rubs at her face – then stops. Ann goes once more to the Eyes consul and begins to search the river surface through 360 degrees. She nods as if she has come to a decision.)
T.O. Ann: Rewind Eyes. Captain, please get Gabby up here. We all need to talk.
TO BE CONTINUED.
5/12/09
The Gilligan Factor - Part 8
The Bogan councillors and the Chinese Kevin Rudd have escaped from the underground mine on Coochie Mudlo. The mine has been destroyed at a great cost. Ann and Gabby are missing presumed dead while Sean Bean and Bart Rugarse are missing preferred dead. The CIA have attempted to liquidate the surviving group that is now huddled on a Coochie Mudlo beach and too frightened to move.
(Scorch and Dave join the others at the fallen log. It is dark and cold on the beach.)
Scorch: Mower said to wait for him. He’s having a scout around looking for a way off the island.
(Further along the beach Mower is creeping soundlessly toward the jetty. Apart from the gentle slap of small waves there is absolute silence. As he gets closer to the jetty a shape looms out of the darkness; it is a boat. Mower can see the bulky form of a large outboard motor at the stern and the boat rocks slightly in the minimal swell of the shallows. With a great deal of trepidation and suspecting a trap, Mower wades hesitantly around the boat and then, taking a deep shuddering breath, he clambers aboard.
Back at the log some of the councillors are becoming very anxious.)
Mayor Porker: Mower’s taking his time. What if that American comes back? Christ, it’s cold.
Scorch: I’m sure I hit the Yank. I definitely heard a yelp when I was firing.
Grimy: That was me. You scared the shit out of us waving those bloody guns around. Where did you learn to shoot the things anyway?
Dave: Gabby showed us how, but that was the first time I’d actually fired the thing. It was really cool. Oh, Scorch; will Gabby be okay do you think?
Axeman: With all those explosions and the flooding we saw? Not a chance.
Mayor Porker: Jesus, Axeman, I thought Sean was a total prick but that was a lousy thing to say. Look at what you’ve done to these children. Come on sweethearts, Gabby will get through; she’s smarter than any of us so if anyone can survive that mess, it will be Gabby.
Axeman: Christ! Sweethearts? The bleeding little bints have only just finished firing a thousand rounds at another human being!
Scorch: Another human being who was trying to kill us and we’ve still got a few rounds left, arsehole. You might want to keep that in mind.
Grimy: Shhhh! Someone’s coming….. it’s Mower. Thank goodness for that.
Mower: We’ve got a boat.
Mayor Porker: Brilliant!….. Why the glum face?
Mower: The boat is courtesy of the CIA.
Axeman: I don’t understand.
Mower: There was a note left with it. I’ll read it to you.
(Mower unfolds a single sheet of paper and holds a key ring flash light over it. He reads aloud.)
Mower: Hello Dicky,
Sorry about the theatricals but it was necessary for each of you to smell a little of your own death here. I knew you would try some crazy stunt, Dicky, but I thought you would just try to rush every one through the door and then I could fire high and disappear while you scrabbled in the dirt. How the hell did you figure out where I was? And those kids you’ve got with you are really something aren’t they? Anyway, the point is I think you all understand a little more about fear and a little more about the CIA. Remember, if you can’t keep your mouths shut we WILL be right behind you. It may also interest you to know that the Chinese only got a handful of people away from the island. They left in a high-speed boat and we believe they are transferring to a sub somewhere off Morton Island. For obvious reasons we can’t interfere with that. The important thing is we’re sure they believe the mine collapse was a natural disaster. You guys almost fucked that up with the grenades but the CIA team had the place packed with C4 so no harm done and no evidence. By the way, don’t worry about your Gabby and Ann. They are with us and they are going to be fine and very useful. It’s just another reason for you to all keep quiet – if you want to see your friends again that is. So, guys, enjoy your boat ride. Safe journey. There are meat pies and peas in the hotbox and beer and lamingtons in the icebox, hope that’s okay.
I need to see you next week, Dicky.
Regards, Jim.
Mayor Porker: Jesus.
Mower: Let’s go home.
(Ann slowly opens her eyes. She hurts all over and wonders if she is dead. She turns her face carefully to the right. Gabby is in a bed beside her and she looks bruised and battered but is breathing evenly. Ann remembers waking earlier and the room had been in darkness. There was a sea breeze blowing over her and she could hear gunfire. She was sure she had heard Mower’s voice in the distance shouting at someone to “cease fire”. There was a lot of clattering and clanging as though someone was climbing a steel ladder and then a soft American voice had said,
“Don’t worry Ms. Appuladay, you’re with the CIA and quite safe. My name’s Jim and I’m gonna take real good care of you. Just you rest now.”
The American had smoothed her brow gently. His hand was very wet.)
TWO HOURS LATER.
Agent 2: You awake Ann?
Ann: Yes. What do you want?
Agent 2: Just seeing how you are, is all.
Ann: No. What do you want?
(Agent 2 tries to get himself more comfortably positioned. Ann is astonished to notice that the American moves around by crawling. The roof is very, very low.)
Agent 2: It’s like this Ann. The CIA has had you under surveillance for some time. We first became interested in Ann Appuladay when some Australian crackpot tried to sell US TV a show about a local revolution in Jimbeerbom or some place.
Ann: Yuteman – and the place was Jimboomba.
Agent 2: Yeah, whatever. Anyway, we were very impressed with the way you handled yourself in that show. You’re a natural tactician and you think fast on your feet. We reckon we could use you if you’ll agree. You will end up very rich, I can assure you of that.
Ann: Oh, come on. Do you take me for a complete idiot? You would have a million “natural tacticians” in the USA.
Agent 2: That’s true but very few with your attributes and none of those with your level of tactical skill.
Ann: What attributes are you talking about?
Agent 2: 40 inches. Your height.
ONE WEEK LATER.
(True to his word, Agent 2 had asked to meet Mower. The ASIO man was now standing in the middle of Beaudesert Park waiting for the American and wondering “Why here? Why Beaudesert.” Mower is grimly hanging on to the lead of his bull terrier named Alice. The CIA presented Alice to Mower in gratitude after a successful joint operation during which Mower had confessed to Agent 2 that being in ASIO was a dog’s life. As usual, the mutt is playing up.)
Agent 2: Hi Dicky. Good to see you again. You look well and so does Alice. She still giving you trouble?
Mower: What do you expect? She was a gift from the CIA – probably wired to record everything I say. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kick seven different kinds of shit out of you?
Agent 2: Because last time you tried it I broke your nose.
Mower: Okay, that’s good enough. What do you want?
Agent 2: You’re right. I want something from you but I reckon if I’m to succeed in that I’m gonna have to give you a real good reason for last weekend. Am I right?
Mower: Bullseye.
Agent 2: Fair enough. Let’s walk as we talk, Dicky. No sense in making it easy for your guys to pick up the audio.
Mower: Whatever. You were saying about last weekend?
Agent 2: That was something wasn’t it? You’ve probably guessed that it was the CIA behind all that TV show crap about The Gilligan Factor. Apart from dealing with the mine on Coochie we had to check out a potential asset in a stress and team situation and the TV show thing was how we decided to do it. I thought it was stupid myself but it’s not up to me, we got top people paid to be stupid.
Mower: What potential asset?
Agent 2: Ann Appuladay. She is a very talented little lady and she made some pretty good moves last weekend. With a bit of coaching she’ll be perfect.
Mower: Apart from the obvious questions like ‘What the fuck are you talking about?’ and ‘Huh?', why does the CIA need Ann Appuladay?
Agent 2: You ever hear of the Tai Chan Pei Delta, Dicky, or the Tai River?
Mower: No and no.
Agent 2: It’s where the Chinese have been testing their chemical weapons. There are some seriously fucked up people in the Tai Chan Pei Delta. One minute they could care less, then they try to kill each and a day later they flat out deny anything happened at all. The main processing and experimental labs are near the banks of the Tai River. There’s very little chance of getting close to the place without being discovered and an attack on a Chinese facility on Chinese soil would be an act of war which would give the Chinese all the excuse they need to begin immediate gas attacks on the USA. There are so many weird people in the USA we could never be sure the attacks were taking place until we were all too fucked up to respond. There is only one way we might covertly destroy the gas facilities on the Tai River and it’s been decided to take the risk. We’re going to send a team up the Tai River and Ann Appuladay will be the Tactical Officer.
Mower: So I’ll ask again, why Ann?
Agent 2: Because we have developed a submersible capable of operating undetected in enemy waters. This sub can’t be detected because it can blend with the bottom of any body of water. We call them Ray Fish and they measure only 1.2 metres from top to bottom. The only problem we have with the Ray Fish is crewing them. A submariner of average size can’t operate effectively in the extreme height restrictions for more than a few hours. For this operation they need to be on top of their game for at least five days. The US Navy has been recruiting and training hundreds of dwarves from all over the free world and so far we have been successful in training for technical duties. The problem has been leadership and tactical skill in isolated operational conditions. When they’re on their own our crews can operate the subs but aint worth shit when it comes to thinking through the unexpected. That needs natural talent and it’s hard to find. Ann has it.
M0wer: What about Gabby?
Agent 2: Wow! She was a bonus. A natural killer and smarts off the scale. We reckon Gabby will be very useful if we need someone to lead a land incursion during the Tai River operation.
(Mower knows that Agent 2 isn’t telling him everything but ASIO also have their methods. With information from Kevin Fuk Ho and by interrogating the managers of every Chinese Takeaway in Brisbane, ASIO have established that both China and the USA have plans for Australia if things go horribly wrong.
With the destruction of the Australian source of mild, controllable gases the only Chaotigen available has been synthesized from more volatile sources. This means that any release of the gas in the USA and Europe will result in the virtual destruction of rational government throughout most of the world. However the effectiveness of the gas is reduced by seawater and distance, which in effect leaves Australia mostly clear of the worst effects. China has therefore planned to move its government and one billion of its most essential citizens into Australia. This would of course lead to a small war with Australia, which the Chinese estimate will last about 1 ½ hours. The Chinese would then be free to release Chaotigen in the USA, Europe and Asia.
The Americans are unaware of this contingency plan and, in fact, have a similar idea themselves - but without the war, preferring to offer a fair price instead.)
Mower: Okay, you’ve got my cooperation. What do you want?
Agent 2: We have another leetle operation in the pipeline and we’d like you to keep an eye on our asset. It’s only a small matter but it will be good for Australia so we don’t see a conflict for you here.
Mower: Who’s the asset and what’s the operation?
Agent 2: The asset is an Australian called Andy McDuck. He’s just been elected to state parliament in Queensland and he’s agreed to help the CIA with establishing a new gambling city in one of your least favoured areas of Queensland. We’re thinking of calling it ‘Aus Vegas’. We need somewhere in Australasia to launder CIA funds that are being redirected into a few black ops we have running in the region and Andy likes what we’re offering him to help us do that. The problem is he’s not exactly the brightest guy you could wish for so we need a local baby sitter. What do you say?
(A smile briefly twists Mower’s mouth. He guesses this is the CIA’s way to start a centre for the possible New America if the Chinese adventure goes wrong. Mower is tempted to ask if the CIA intends to build a White House Casino and a Senate Casino and a Congress Casino but he keeps that to himself. Mower knows this would be the best way to start a New America exactly like the old version. There would be room for The Mob with the gambling and vice, together with a Government based on good old American values of greed, corruption and really crass TV Studio audiences. Nice. Still, the Chinese option would be worse – just.)
Mower: Agreed.
(The two men have stopped walking and are next to a large, black, shiny van. It is obviously a CIA vehicle because no Australian could afford the extras on it. Agent 2 gently pushes Mower against the side of the van and the ASIO man feels a slight bump that seems to impact his entire body all at once.)
Agent 2: Sorry about that, Dicky. Just a little burst of EMP to wipe the flash drive you’ve been recording our conversation on. Uh…you might need to get a new watch and phone – send me the bill. And by the way, your guys with the directional microphone will only have white noise to listen to. See you around.
(Agent 2 climbs into the van, which moves away soundlessly. Mower strokes Alice and doesn’t look forward to retrieving the ASIO recorder from her arse where it nestles next to the CIA transmitter. Still, it was the bandages and band-aids that had enabled Mower to identify the CIA mole in the Brisbane ASIO office a couple of months before - so it wasn’t all bad.)
TO BE CONTINUED
(Scorch and Dave join the others at the fallen log. It is dark and cold on the beach.)
Scorch: Mower said to wait for him. He’s having a scout around looking for a way off the island.
(Further along the beach Mower is creeping soundlessly toward the jetty. Apart from the gentle slap of small waves there is absolute silence. As he gets closer to the jetty a shape looms out of the darkness; it is a boat. Mower can see the bulky form of a large outboard motor at the stern and the boat rocks slightly in the minimal swell of the shallows. With a great deal of trepidation and suspecting a trap, Mower wades hesitantly around the boat and then, taking a deep shuddering breath, he clambers aboard.
Back at the log some of the councillors are becoming very anxious.)
Mayor Porker: Mower’s taking his time. What if that American comes back? Christ, it’s cold.
Scorch: I’m sure I hit the Yank. I definitely heard a yelp when I was firing.
Grimy: That was me. You scared the shit out of us waving those bloody guns around. Where did you learn to shoot the things anyway?
Dave: Gabby showed us how, but that was the first time I’d actually fired the thing. It was really cool. Oh, Scorch; will Gabby be okay do you think?
Axeman: With all those explosions and the flooding we saw? Not a chance.
Mayor Porker: Jesus, Axeman, I thought Sean was a total prick but that was a lousy thing to say. Look at what you’ve done to these children. Come on sweethearts, Gabby will get through; she’s smarter than any of us so if anyone can survive that mess, it will be Gabby.
Axeman: Christ! Sweethearts? The bleeding little bints have only just finished firing a thousand rounds at another human being!
Scorch: Another human being who was trying to kill us and we’ve still got a few rounds left, arsehole. You might want to keep that in mind.
Grimy: Shhhh! Someone’s coming….. it’s Mower. Thank goodness for that.
Mower: We’ve got a boat.
Mayor Porker: Brilliant!….. Why the glum face?
Mower: The boat is courtesy of the CIA.
Axeman: I don’t understand.
Mower: There was a note left with it. I’ll read it to you.
(Mower unfolds a single sheet of paper and holds a key ring flash light over it. He reads aloud.)
Mower: Hello Dicky,
Sorry about the theatricals but it was necessary for each of you to smell a little of your own death here. I knew you would try some crazy stunt, Dicky, but I thought you would just try to rush every one through the door and then I could fire high and disappear while you scrabbled in the dirt. How the hell did you figure out where I was? And those kids you’ve got with you are really something aren’t they? Anyway, the point is I think you all understand a little more about fear and a little more about the CIA. Remember, if you can’t keep your mouths shut we WILL be right behind you. It may also interest you to know that the Chinese only got a handful of people away from the island. They left in a high-speed boat and we believe they are transferring to a sub somewhere off Morton Island. For obvious reasons we can’t interfere with that. The important thing is we’re sure they believe the mine collapse was a natural disaster. You guys almost fucked that up with the grenades but the CIA team had the place packed with C4 so no harm done and no evidence. By the way, don’t worry about your Gabby and Ann. They are with us and they are going to be fine and very useful. It’s just another reason for you to all keep quiet – if you want to see your friends again that is. So, guys, enjoy your boat ride. Safe journey. There are meat pies and peas in the hotbox and beer and lamingtons in the icebox, hope that’s okay.
I need to see you next week, Dicky.
Regards, Jim.
Mayor Porker: Jesus.
Mower: Let’s go home.
(Ann slowly opens her eyes. She hurts all over and wonders if she is dead. She turns her face carefully to the right. Gabby is in a bed beside her and she looks bruised and battered but is breathing evenly. Ann remembers waking earlier and the room had been in darkness. There was a sea breeze blowing over her and she could hear gunfire. She was sure she had heard Mower’s voice in the distance shouting at someone to “cease fire”. There was a lot of clattering and clanging as though someone was climbing a steel ladder and then a soft American voice had said,
“Don’t worry Ms. Appuladay, you’re with the CIA and quite safe. My name’s Jim and I’m gonna take real good care of you. Just you rest now.”
The American had smoothed her brow gently. His hand was very wet.)
TWO HOURS LATER.
Agent 2: You awake Ann?
Ann: Yes. What do you want?
Agent 2: Just seeing how you are, is all.
Ann: No. What do you want?
(Agent 2 tries to get himself more comfortably positioned. Ann is astonished to notice that the American moves around by crawling. The roof is very, very low.)
Agent 2: It’s like this Ann. The CIA has had you under surveillance for some time. We first became interested in Ann Appuladay when some Australian crackpot tried to sell US TV a show about a local revolution in Jimbeerbom or some place.
Ann: Yuteman – and the place was Jimboomba.
Agent 2: Yeah, whatever. Anyway, we were very impressed with the way you handled yourself in that show. You’re a natural tactician and you think fast on your feet. We reckon we could use you if you’ll agree. You will end up very rich, I can assure you of that.
Ann: Oh, come on. Do you take me for a complete idiot? You would have a million “natural tacticians” in the USA.
Agent 2: That’s true but very few with your attributes and none of those with your level of tactical skill.
Ann: What attributes are you talking about?
Agent 2: 40 inches. Your height.
ONE WEEK LATER.
(True to his word, Agent 2 had asked to meet Mower. The ASIO man was now standing in the middle of Beaudesert Park waiting for the American and wondering “Why here? Why Beaudesert.” Mower is grimly hanging on to the lead of his bull terrier named Alice. The CIA presented Alice to Mower in gratitude after a successful joint operation during which Mower had confessed to Agent 2 that being in ASIO was a dog’s life. As usual, the mutt is playing up.)
Agent 2: Hi Dicky. Good to see you again. You look well and so does Alice. She still giving you trouble?
Mower: What do you expect? She was a gift from the CIA – probably wired to record everything I say. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kick seven different kinds of shit out of you?
Agent 2: Because last time you tried it I broke your nose.
Mower: Okay, that’s good enough. What do you want?
Agent 2: You’re right. I want something from you but I reckon if I’m to succeed in that I’m gonna have to give you a real good reason for last weekend. Am I right?
Mower: Bullseye.
Agent 2: Fair enough. Let’s walk as we talk, Dicky. No sense in making it easy for your guys to pick up the audio.
Mower: Whatever. You were saying about last weekend?
Agent 2: That was something wasn’t it? You’ve probably guessed that it was the CIA behind all that TV show crap about The Gilligan Factor. Apart from dealing with the mine on Coochie we had to check out a potential asset in a stress and team situation and the TV show thing was how we decided to do it. I thought it was stupid myself but it’s not up to me, we got top people paid to be stupid.
Mower: What potential asset?
Agent 2: Ann Appuladay. She is a very talented little lady and she made some pretty good moves last weekend. With a bit of coaching she’ll be perfect.
Mower: Apart from the obvious questions like ‘What the fuck are you talking about?’ and ‘Huh?', why does the CIA need Ann Appuladay?
Agent 2: You ever hear of the Tai Chan Pei Delta, Dicky, or the Tai River?
Mower: No and no.
Agent 2: It’s where the Chinese have been testing their chemical weapons. There are some seriously fucked up people in the Tai Chan Pei Delta. One minute they could care less, then they try to kill each and a day later they flat out deny anything happened at all. The main processing and experimental labs are near the banks of the Tai River. There’s very little chance of getting close to the place without being discovered and an attack on a Chinese facility on Chinese soil would be an act of war which would give the Chinese all the excuse they need to begin immediate gas attacks on the USA. There are so many weird people in the USA we could never be sure the attacks were taking place until we were all too fucked up to respond. There is only one way we might covertly destroy the gas facilities on the Tai River and it’s been decided to take the risk. We’re going to send a team up the Tai River and Ann Appuladay will be the Tactical Officer.
Mower: So I’ll ask again, why Ann?
Agent 2: Because we have developed a submersible capable of operating undetected in enemy waters. This sub can’t be detected because it can blend with the bottom of any body of water. We call them Ray Fish and they measure only 1.2 metres from top to bottom. The only problem we have with the Ray Fish is crewing them. A submariner of average size can’t operate effectively in the extreme height restrictions for more than a few hours. For this operation they need to be on top of their game for at least five days. The US Navy has been recruiting and training hundreds of dwarves from all over the free world and so far we have been successful in training for technical duties. The problem has been leadership and tactical skill in isolated operational conditions. When they’re on their own our crews can operate the subs but aint worth shit when it comes to thinking through the unexpected. That needs natural talent and it’s hard to find. Ann has it.
M0wer: What about Gabby?
Agent 2: Wow! She was a bonus. A natural killer and smarts off the scale. We reckon Gabby will be very useful if we need someone to lead a land incursion during the Tai River operation.
(Mower knows that Agent 2 isn’t telling him everything but ASIO also have their methods. With information from Kevin Fuk Ho and by interrogating the managers of every Chinese Takeaway in Brisbane, ASIO have established that both China and the USA have plans for Australia if things go horribly wrong.
With the destruction of the Australian source of mild, controllable gases the only Chaotigen available has been synthesized from more volatile sources. This means that any release of the gas in the USA and Europe will result in the virtual destruction of rational government throughout most of the world. However the effectiveness of the gas is reduced by seawater and distance, which in effect leaves Australia mostly clear of the worst effects. China has therefore planned to move its government and one billion of its most essential citizens into Australia. This would of course lead to a small war with Australia, which the Chinese estimate will last about 1 ½ hours. The Chinese would then be free to release Chaotigen in the USA, Europe and Asia.
The Americans are unaware of this contingency plan and, in fact, have a similar idea themselves - but without the war, preferring to offer a fair price instead.)
Mower: Okay, you’ve got my cooperation. What do you want?
Agent 2: We have another leetle operation in the pipeline and we’d like you to keep an eye on our asset. It’s only a small matter but it will be good for Australia so we don’t see a conflict for you here.
Mower: Who’s the asset and what’s the operation?
Agent 2: The asset is an Australian called Andy McDuck. He’s just been elected to state parliament in Queensland and he’s agreed to help the CIA with establishing a new gambling city in one of your least favoured areas of Queensland. We’re thinking of calling it ‘Aus Vegas’. We need somewhere in Australasia to launder CIA funds that are being redirected into a few black ops we have running in the region and Andy likes what we’re offering him to help us do that. The problem is he’s not exactly the brightest guy you could wish for so we need a local baby sitter. What do you say?
(A smile briefly twists Mower’s mouth. He guesses this is the CIA’s way to start a centre for the possible New America if the Chinese adventure goes wrong. Mower is tempted to ask if the CIA intends to build a White House Casino and a Senate Casino and a Congress Casino but he keeps that to himself. Mower knows this would be the best way to start a New America exactly like the old version. There would be room for The Mob with the gambling and vice, together with a Government based on good old American values of greed, corruption and really crass TV Studio audiences. Nice. Still, the Chinese option would be worse – just.)
Mower: Agreed.
(The two men have stopped walking and are next to a large, black, shiny van. It is obviously a CIA vehicle because no Australian could afford the extras on it. Agent 2 gently pushes Mower against the side of the van and the ASIO man feels a slight bump that seems to impact his entire body all at once.)
Agent 2: Sorry about that, Dicky. Just a little burst of EMP to wipe the flash drive you’ve been recording our conversation on. Uh…you might need to get a new watch and phone – send me the bill. And by the way, your guys with the directional microphone will only have white noise to listen to. See you around.
(Agent 2 climbs into the van, which moves away soundlessly. Mower strokes Alice and doesn’t look forward to retrieving the ASIO recorder from her arse where it nestles next to the CIA transmitter. Still, it was the bandages and band-aids that had enabled Mower to identify the CIA mole in the Brisbane ASIO office a couple of months before - so it wasn’t all bad.)
TO BE CONTINUED
5/8/09
The Gilligan Factor - Part 7
Ann and Gabby have yanked out the pins on four grenades at the mine face. They are now running hell for leather for the dark mouth of a monorail tunnel they hope will lead to safety. The problem is, about a thousand Chinese may want to stand in their way and…………..
Hang on a minute. Sorry about this. Just have to stop the blog for a bit. Got to catch my breath. Times like this get me so bloody tense. I don’t know if you have ever written this kind of rubbish but it can really fuck up your karma I’ll tell you that for nothing. I’ll just have to lean back against this wall for a minute. Take a couple of deep breaths. Think of the colours, think of the colours. Sorry if I’m rambling a bit but I try to do this relaxation exercise I was taught at classes I was forced to go to years ago. It was my boss at the time who made me go. He was such a dipshit and I’d been trying to save his miserable company from disaster but he kept sticking his stupid oar in and bollocksing everything up. You know how they do. After about the second, or was it the third time I’d thrown him out the window – can’t remember now - but he insisted I go to these relaxation classes or I would have to leave before I killed him. Bit of a cleft stick really but there you go. Anyway, you have to go down through these colours until you reach a deep and peaceful plane and you can then…….SHIT! THE GRENADES!
(Ann and Gabby pound frantically along pathways twisting between the machinery and packing cases on the cavern floor determined to put as much space between them and the grenades as possible. They race around a stack of machine parts and crash into a group of Chinese coming the other way. It is mayhem and the Chinese do not recognise the pair as the enemy. Anne and Gabby scrabble down a side turn just as the first grenade explodes. The concussion is a solid thump of sound followed by another. The third explosion blends with the first two but the fourth is in a class by itself. The ruptured diesel tank becomes a swelling fireball of heat, smoke and noise. Other fuel drums, split by the combined violence, add hellishly to the express wave of destruction ripping through the cavern. It is a firestorm consuming flesh and steel without pause and it reaches for the two tiny figures desperately scrambling into the monorail tunnel. There is an open industrial bin against the wall of the tunnel and pure instinct causes Ann and Gabby to leap into it just as the first blast of super heated air howls into the tunnel. The blast slams the lid shut and the bin is swept up in a hurricane of fire sending it careering along the tunnel smashing and crashing against the walls and tumbling like a leaf. From high up in the gallery the Bogan councillors watch in horror.)
Mower: Jesus Christ! The whole place is going up. We’ve got to get out of here!
Mayor Porker: What about Ann and Gabby? What’s that noise?
Mower: Noise? The whole place is blowing up, which noise do you mean?
(There is a creaking sound echoing among the bursts and clatter of collapsing machinery. The creaking becomes a grinding and then cracks begin to appear in the walls of the cavern. The cracks open and huge chunks of rock break away and crash down into the blaze. This is followed by bursts of water which soon become great gouts of foaming sea forced through the walls to meet the firestorm head-on and fill the cavern with broiling steam.)
Mower: The sea is breaking through! Run! Get out!
Mayor Porker: Ann and Gabby!
Mower: We can’t help them now. Run like hell, I’ll use the last of these grenades to try to seal the tunnel behind us. Now go!
(The group need no other urging and they sprint toward the surface with Mower at the rear trying to drag the last of the grenades from his holdall. Behind him the cavern walls implode, crashing and bursting, crumbled and smashed by a million tonnes of Morton Bay. The sea bellows into the underground complex crushing everything in its path. It blasts through every crevice and passageway including the monorail tunnel where it sweeps up a battered industrial bin, hurling it end over end along the tunnel.
Above the rapidly rising maelstrom Mower is still fumbling with the grenades as he stumbles along the tunnel. He has no idea that one of the huge tanks ruptured in the cavern contains the non-inflammable gas Borene and a cloud of Borene is being forced ahead of the water. Mower begins to slow down and starts to wonder why he ever bothered to get out of bed this morning. Perhaps if he sits for a while the water he can hear roaring and tumbling towards him will give him a nice wash and make him feel a little better. On the other hand, who gives a shit anyway? He has often missed a shower or two when he is on an operation so…….)
Muffled Voice: Come on buddy! Get up! Let’s get you outa here.
(Mower looks up and glances briefly at the dark figure wearing some kind of breathing apparatus. The annoying bastard is dragging Mower to his feet and they are stumbling and running together. Then the figure stops and presses some kind of electronic device he has been holding. Behind them there is an almighty bang and the crash and rumble of a cave-in.
Muffled Voice: That should hold it a while. Those grenades would never have worked. Not enough grunt in ‘em. You need good old C4 for that.
Mower: Who the fuck are you? No don’t bother; I don’t give a fuck who you are. Just let me lie down for a while.
Muffled Voice: It’s me. Jim. Agent 2? CIA? Come on Dicky you’re not that far gone yet and we still need to get out of here; that rubble won’t hold the water back forever.
Mower: Jim? What’s the CIA doing here on my patch? Lemme go! I need to rest.
Agent 2: No can do, Dicky boy. And as far as the CIA is concerned, well, we’re just helping out as usual. Come on, move it!
(Agent 2 drags Mower along the tunnel and the progress is slow which cannot be said for the industrial bin whirling through the monorail tunnel although its rate is decreasing as the water climbs to its natural level. Inside a low groan can be heard but it is muffled by the tonne of par-boiled rice that had been left to cool inside the bin before the disaster hit. The rice was a week’s food supply for the mineworkers who have now been atomised by the action of fire and water and are no longer peckish.
When Ann and Gabby hurled themselves into the bin the rice folded around them like an air bag. They are therefore shaken, traumatised, but relatively unharmed. The bin reaches the end of the tunnel and bursts through the sand into the open air where it tumbles lazily toward the deep water of the man-made harbour and the certain death of its two occupants by drowning. The bin hits the surface with bone jarring force and for a while it seems as if it might recover and float but it eventually settles and begins to sink under the weight of the rice and passengers. Just before the top of the bin disappears the water around it churns and the tips of eight steel claws break the foaming surface. They grip. The bin is slowly dragged back and down. In moments it is as though nothing has happened and Coochie Mudlo settles gently, imperceptibly into the calming water of Morton Bay.
The sky darkens as night begins to fall. For the stumbling, panic-stricken Bogan councillors who have at last emerged into the open air on the other side of the island, the darkness is just one more hazard in a day they would rather forget. A sentiment approved of heartily by the CIA agent who herds them all into a mouldering concrete blockhouse standing in a mangrove swamp. Inside there are battered chairs and a stained table on which a laptop computer rests. The room is lit by the harsh, brilliant glare of a pressurised gas lamp hanging from a rusted hook.)
Mayor Porker: Is everyone here? Anyone missing?
Scorch: Gabby and Ann aint here are they, dick-head?
Mower: Let me just sit down for a minute. Where’s Jim?
Grimy: Who’s Jim?
Mower: The CIA agent. He brought me here.
Shizeknicker: Vass ist diss CIA agent? You came out of da tunnel with some guy and I haf carried you here. Da guy just disappeared.
Fondleschaft: I haf not seen no CIA agent. Vass diss all a lousy American plot?
Mayor Porker: You must know what’s going on Prime Minister or whoever the hell you are. Come on, tell us.
Kevin Fuk Ho: All I know is the CIA were getting very wound up about the Chinese activity. They approached me and I told them what I’ve told you. After that, I just don’t know.
Mower: You spoke to the CIA but you didn’t think it was worth mentioning to your nearest ASIO rep?
Kevin Fuk Ho: They said they had some kind of plan and if I went along I would be able to continue as Prime Minister of Australia and nobody would ever need to find out about my Chinese background. I swear they told me no more than that. In fact, I’d begun to believe I was on my own again, which was why I asked for your help. God, this is a bloody mess. All those poor people dead because of me.
Scorch: Fuck ‘all those poor people’ there’s only two we care about you arsehole! You killed them right enough and I’m going to kill you!
Computer Voice: Don’t even think about it kid! Mower, open the laptop!
(After a shocked hesitation Mower goes to the table and lifts the laptop cover. It is already turned on and a bilious green image flares on the screen. It is a night vision view of CIA Agent 2. He is supporting an RPG launcher that seems to be disconcertingly pointed directly at them from the laptop.)
Agent 2: Well, Dicky, It’s a sad end but I’m afraid the good ole boys of the CIA can’t take chances on all this getting prime air time. And, please, nobody move in the direction of the door. You’ll just die a little sooner is all. You know how it is.
Mower: For God’s sake, Jim, these people don’t have a clue. They could never be a threat. None of us have a clue what you’ve been up to.
Agent 2: I wish I could believe that Dicky, but there has been some embarrassing collateral damage here. You know how we feel about being embarrassed. If we let you go, the first thing one of you will do will be to get on TV telling the world how we were involved in the deaths of two Australians and God knows how many Chinese. I did try, Dicky, I told them - these guys will keep quiet in the interests of world security while we tie off this Chinese operation. But I suppose it’s better to be safe.
(While Agent 2 has been talking Kevin Fuk Ho has been pacing the room like a trapped animal. He is wringing his hands and muttering to himself. Mower is staring intently at the screen and occasionally glancing up at Kevin Fuk Ho. Mower continues to argue desperately with the CIA agent but seems to be frantically working on a complex problem at the same time.
Despite her fear, Scorch has noticed Mower’s slightly odd behaviour and she follows his glances from the screen to the wandering Fuk Ho and back again. After watching the screen and Fuk Ho for a few circuits the penny drops. Of course! The CIA agent must be close by and as Fuk Ho marches around the room his highly polished head mirrors the harsh glare from the overhead gas lamp. As he passes each of the low windows spaced around the sides of the blockhouse a flare of light is reflected into the darkness outside. Scorch watches the screen with Mower and notices again that when Fuk Ho passes the north window the light intensified green image on the laptop brightens perceptibly. Scorch nods at Mower who holds out his hand as a sign to wait while they watch Fuk Ho make one more circuit. The North window is confirmed and Scorch moves slowly to the side pulling Dave away with her.
Mower continues to argue furiously with Agent 2 battling to buy the time the kids need. Scorch explains the situation quickly to Dave and they both take up position at the north window but hidden from outside view.)
Mower: Jim, you must give us a chance. You can’t just kill us all in cold blood.
Agent 2: Oh, come on Dicky, you’ve been there. It’s like falling off a log. Bye now – sport.
Mower: NOW!! Hose the arsehole!
(But the kids are already firing and waving the M4s in rapid arcs in the hope of hitting something – anything. On the screen Mower sees the CIA agent’s face jerk with shock and then Agent 2 automatically fires the RPG but his aim has shifted and the grenade explodes in the trees above the blockhouse raining fire down around it. The screen flashes and goes blank as a random shot hits the camera and still Scorch and Dave blast away in all directions.)
Mower: Keep firing kids! The rest of you OUT NOW! Head east till you hit the beach and wait there! Scorch, Dave, I’m going to clean up that bastard. When I tell you to cease fire, please do it or you’ll shoot me in the arse.
(Mower pulls out a Rimstinger 9mm and runs from the blockhouse. As he turns to head north he screams at the kids to cease firing and, holding his pistol before him like a sword, he dodges through scrub lit by burning trees. Fifty metres from the blockhouse Mower finds the shattered remains of a laptop and night vision camera. An abandoned RPG launcher is tangled in a Farsa bush but there is no sign of Agent 2. Mower strains to hear sounds other than the crackle and spit of the mangroves burning - but there is nothing else to hear.
At the very edge of the water the rest of the group huddle behind a fallen tree. They are terrified, confused and shivering. They wait for Mower and fail to notice the vague shape that only slightly disturbs the shallow water as it slowly passes them by.)
TO BE CONTINUED
Hang on a minute. Sorry about this. Just have to stop the blog for a bit. Got to catch my breath. Times like this get me so bloody tense. I don’t know if you have ever written this kind of rubbish but it can really fuck up your karma I’ll tell you that for nothing. I’ll just have to lean back against this wall for a minute. Take a couple of deep breaths. Think of the colours, think of the colours. Sorry if I’m rambling a bit but I try to do this relaxation exercise I was taught at classes I was forced to go to years ago. It was my boss at the time who made me go. He was such a dipshit and I’d been trying to save his miserable company from disaster but he kept sticking his stupid oar in and bollocksing everything up. You know how they do. After about the second, or was it the third time I’d thrown him out the window – can’t remember now - but he insisted I go to these relaxation classes or I would have to leave before I killed him. Bit of a cleft stick really but there you go. Anyway, you have to go down through these colours until you reach a deep and peaceful plane and you can then…….SHIT! THE GRENADES!
(Ann and Gabby pound frantically along pathways twisting between the machinery and packing cases on the cavern floor determined to put as much space between them and the grenades as possible. They race around a stack of machine parts and crash into a group of Chinese coming the other way. It is mayhem and the Chinese do not recognise the pair as the enemy. Anne and Gabby scrabble down a side turn just as the first grenade explodes. The concussion is a solid thump of sound followed by another. The third explosion blends with the first two but the fourth is in a class by itself. The ruptured diesel tank becomes a swelling fireball of heat, smoke and noise. Other fuel drums, split by the combined violence, add hellishly to the express wave of destruction ripping through the cavern. It is a firestorm consuming flesh and steel without pause and it reaches for the two tiny figures desperately scrambling into the monorail tunnel. There is an open industrial bin against the wall of the tunnel and pure instinct causes Ann and Gabby to leap into it just as the first blast of super heated air howls into the tunnel. The blast slams the lid shut and the bin is swept up in a hurricane of fire sending it careering along the tunnel smashing and crashing against the walls and tumbling like a leaf. From high up in the gallery the Bogan councillors watch in horror.)
Mower: Jesus Christ! The whole place is going up. We’ve got to get out of here!
Mayor Porker: What about Ann and Gabby? What’s that noise?
Mower: Noise? The whole place is blowing up, which noise do you mean?
(There is a creaking sound echoing among the bursts and clatter of collapsing machinery. The creaking becomes a grinding and then cracks begin to appear in the walls of the cavern. The cracks open and huge chunks of rock break away and crash down into the blaze. This is followed by bursts of water which soon become great gouts of foaming sea forced through the walls to meet the firestorm head-on and fill the cavern with broiling steam.)
Mower: The sea is breaking through! Run! Get out!
Mayor Porker: Ann and Gabby!
Mower: We can’t help them now. Run like hell, I’ll use the last of these grenades to try to seal the tunnel behind us. Now go!
(The group need no other urging and they sprint toward the surface with Mower at the rear trying to drag the last of the grenades from his holdall. Behind him the cavern walls implode, crashing and bursting, crumbled and smashed by a million tonnes of Morton Bay. The sea bellows into the underground complex crushing everything in its path. It blasts through every crevice and passageway including the monorail tunnel where it sweeps up a battered industrial bin, hurling it end over end along the tunnel.
Above the rapidly rising maelstrom Mower is still fumbling with the grenades as he stumbles along the tunnel. He has no idea that one of the huge tanks ruptured in the cavern contains the non-inflammable gas Borene and a cloud of Borene is being forced ahead of the water. Mower begins to slow down and starts to wonder why he ever bothered to get out of bed this morning. Perhaps if he sits for a while the water he can hear roaring and tumbling towards him will give him a nice wash and make him feel a little better. On the other hand, who gives a shit anyway? He has often missed a shower or two when he is on an operation so…….)
Muffled Voice: Come on buddy! Get up! Let’s get you outa here.
(Mower looks up and glances briefly at the dark figure wearing some kind of breathing apparatus. The annoying bastard is dragging Mower to his feet and they are stumbling and running together. Then the figure stops and presses some kind of electronic device he has been holding. Behind them there is an almighty bang and the crash and rumble of a cave-in.
Muffled Voice: That should hold it a while. Those grenades would never have worked. Not enough grunt in ‘em. You need good old C4 for that.
Mower: Who the fuck are you? No don’t bother; I don’t give a fuck who you are. Just let me lie down for a while.
Muffled Voice: It’s me. Jim. Agent 2? CIA? Come on Dicky you’re not that far gone yet and we still need to get out of here; that rubble won’t hold the water back forever.
Mower: Jim? What’s the CIA doing here on my patch? Lemme go! I need to rest.
Agent 2: No can do, Dicky boy. And as far as the CIA is concerned, well, we’re just helping out as usual. Come on, move it!
(Agent 2 drags Mower along the tunnel and the progress is slow which cannot be said for the industrial bin whirling through the monorail tunnel although its rate is decreasing as the water climbs to its natural level. Inside a low groan can be heard but it is muffled by the tonne of par-boiled rice that had been left to cool inside the bin before the disaster hit. The rice was a week’s food supply for the mineworkers who have now been atomised by the action of fire and water and are no longer peckish.
When Ann and Gabby hurled themselves into the bin the rice folded around them like an air bag. They are therefore shaken, traumatised, but relatively unharmed. The bin reaches the end of the tunnel and bursts through the sand into the open air where it tumbles lazily toward the deep water of the man-made harbour and the certain death of its two occupants by drowning. The bin hits the surface with bone jarring force and for a while it seems as if it might recover and float but it eventually settles and begins to sink under the weight of the rice and passengers. Just before the top of the bin disappears the water around it churns and the tips of eight steel claws break the foaming surface. They grip. The bin is slowly dragged back and down. In moments it is as though nothing has happened and Coochie Mudlo settles gently, imperceptibly into the calming water of Morton Bay.
The sky darkens as night begins to fall. For the stumbling, panic-stricken Bogan councillors who have at last emerged into the open air on the other side of the island, the darkness is just one more hazard in a day they would rather forget. A sentiment approved of heartily by the CIA agent who herds them all into a mouldering concrete blockhouse standing in a mangrove swamp. Inside there are battered chairs and a stained table on which a laptop computer rests. The room is lit by the harsh, brilliant glare of a pressurised gas lamp hanging from a rusted hook.)
Mayor Porker: Is everyone here? Anyone missing?
Scorch: Gabby and Ann aint here are they, dick-head?
Mower: Let me just sit down for a minute. Where’s Jim?
Grimy: Who’s Jim?
Mower: The CIA agent. He brought me here.
Shizeknicker: Vass ist diss CIA agent? You came out of da tunnel with some guy and I haf carried you here. Da guy just disappeared.
Fondleschaft: I haf not seen no CIA agent. Vass diss all a lousy American plot?
Mayor Porker: You must know what’s going on Prime Minister or whoever the hell you are. Come on, tell us.
Kevin Fuk Ho: All I know is the CIA were getting very wound up about the Chinese activity. They approached me and I told them what I’ve told you. After that, I just don’t know.
Mower: You spoke to the CIA but you didn’t think it was worth mentioning to your nearest ASIO rep?
Kevin Fuk Ho: They said they had some kind of plan and if I went along I would be able to continue as Prime Minister of Australia and nobody would ever need to find out about my Chinese background. I swear they told me no more than that. In fact, I’d begun to believe I was on my own again, which was why I asked for your help. God, this is a bloody mess. All those poor people dead because of me.
Scorch: Fuck ‘all those poor people’ there’s only two we care about you arsehole! You killed them right enough and I’m going to kill you!
Computer Voice: Don’t even think about it kid! Mower, open the laptop!
(After a shocked hesitation Mower goes to the table and lifts the laptop cover. It is already turned on and a bilious green image flares on the screen. It is a night vision view of CIA Agent 2. He is supporting an RPG launcher that seems to be disconcertingly pointed directly at them from the laptop.)
Agent 2: Well, Dicky, It’s a sad end but I’m afraid the good ole boys of the CIA can’t take chances on all this getting prime air time. And, please, nobody move in the direction of the door. You’ll just die a little sooner is all. You know how it is.
Mower: For God’s sake, Jim, these people don’t have a clue. They could never be a threat. None of us have a clue what you’ve been up to.
Agent 2: I wish I could believe that Dicky, but there has been some embarrassing collateral damage here. You know how we feel about being embarrassed. If we let you go, the first thing one of you will do will be to get on TV telling the world how we were involved in the deaths of two Australians and God knows how many Chinese. I did try, Dicky, I told them - these guys will keep quiet in the interests of world security while we tie off this Chinese operation. But I suppose it’s better to be safe.
(While Agent 2 has been talking Kevin Fuk Ho has been pacing the room like a trapped animal. He is wringing his hands and muttering to himself. Mower is staring intently at the screen and occasionally glancing up at Kevin Fuk Ho. Mower continues to argue desperately with the CIA agent but seems to be frantically working on a complex problem at the same time.
Despite her fear, Scorch has noticed Mower’s slightly odd behaviour and she follows his glances from the screen to the wandering Fuk Ho and back again. After watching the screen and Fuk Ho for a few circuits the penny drops. Of course! The CIA agent must be close by and as Fuk Ho marches around the room his highly polished head mirrors the harsh glare from the overhead gas lamp. As he passes each of the low windows spaced around the sides of the blockhouse a flare of light is reflected into the darkness outside. Scorch watches the screen with Mower and notices again that when Fuk Ho passes the north window the light intensified green image on the laptop brightens perceptibly. Scorch nods at Mower who holds out his hand as a sign to wait while they watch Fuk Ho make one more circuit. The North window is confirmed and Scorch moves slowly to the side pulling Dave away with her.
Mower continues to argue furiously with Agent 2 battling to buy the time the kids need. Scorch explains the situation quickly to Dave and they both take up position at the north window but hidden from outside view.)
Mower: Jim, you must give us a chance. You can’t just kill us all in cold blood.
Agent 2: Oh, come on Dicky, you’ve been there. It’s like falling off a log. Bye now – sport.
Mower: NOW!! Hose the arsehole!
(But the kids are already firing and waving the M4s in rapid arcs in the hope of hitting something – anything. On the screen Mower sees the CIA agent’s face jerk with shock and then Agent 2 automatically fires the RPG but his aim has shifted and the grenade explodes in the trees above the blockhouse raining fire down around it. The screen flashes and goes blank as a random shot hits the camera and still Scorch and Dave blast away in all directions.)
Mower: Keep firing kids! The rest of you OUT NOW! Head east till you hit the beach and wait there! Scorch, Dave, I’m going to clean up that bastard. When I tell you to cease fire, please do it or you’ll shoot me in the arse.
(Mower pulls out a Rimstinger 9mm and runs from the blockhouse. As he turns to head north he screams at the kids to cease firing and, holding his pistol before him like a sword, he dodges through scrub lit by burning trees. Fifty metres from the blockhouse Mower finds the shattered remains of a laptop and night vision camera. An abandoned RPG launcher is tangled in a Farsa bush but there is no sign of Agent 2. Mower strains to hear sounds other than the crackle and spit of the mangroves burning - but there is nothing else to hear.
At the very edge of the water the rest of the group huddle behind a fallen tree. They are terrified, confused and shivering. They wait for Mower and fail to notice the vague shape that only slightly disturbs the shallow water as it slowly passes them by.)
TO BE CONTINUED
5/6/09
The Gilligan Factor - Part 6
The Prime Minister has revealed all including his naked head. The Bogan councillors are stunned by the revelation that Kev is Chinese and that there are dastardly Chinese plans for the downfall of the Western world. All seems lost. Ann Appuladay, however, suspects even more strife is on the way to the crew from Bogan Chitty.
Now read on.
(Ann Appuladay and Mayor Porker casually cross the briefing room to a door partly hidden by a screen wall. Ann opens the door and Mayor Porker follows Ann through into what appears to be a food preparation area. There are long trestle tables, heavy with all kinds of beautifully prepared food. Ann is tugging at Mayor Porker’s sleeve and trying to tell her something important but Porky has noticed something she has not seen for many years. Among the delicious array of tempting dishes is a small plate of biscuits. The plate is of translucent, delicately rose-patterned and impossibly thin china. Mayor Porker is sure that if the plate is lightly tapped it will chime for several months. The plate is nice but it is on the plate that we find the source of Mayor Porker’s fixation. Arranged in a radiating, overlapping pattern are golden sugar biscuits straight from childhood dreams. These biscuits are rectangular with that sort of piecrust edge that proper biscuits have and they sparkle with just the right amount of sprinkled sugar. Certain older people throughout Australia search longingly for these biscuits and never ever find them. They are similar to the shape and size of the Paradise Rich Shortbread biscuits that Woolies sell but that similarity ends with size and shape. The biscuits Mayor Porker has long craved were baked in batches of a thousand on huge black-crusted trays slid into a brick built wood-fired oven. The fat, jolly baker thought of other things and pounded dough while the biscuits baked but he would always return to the oven at the precise moment, not a second before or later, when his heart told him the biscuits were perfect. One hour later Nanna would call at the Bakers and buy a pound of them and the baker would tumble them from the brass weighing dish into a large brown paper bag and curl the top down tight so that……………….)
Ann Appuladay: Mayor Porker! What the hell is wrong with you? Please listen to me – the corridor outside the briefing room is crawling with armed Chinese. We think they are going to round us all up, or worse!
Mayor Porker: What? Um..armed? In the corridor? How do you know - who’s we?
(Ann points upwards and Mayor Porker looks up to see a small grill near the ceiling. She can just make out a shadowed face behind the grill.)
Mower: Porky! It’s me - Mower.
Mayor Porker: Jesus, Mower, how did you get in there?
Mower: Not through this grill obviously. I’m in a service tunnel. They run all over the island. The point is, we can hear and see most of what is going on through these grills and what we can see is a build up of Chinese gunmen in the corridor outside the room you’re all in. We don’t have the firepower up here to take the gunmen out but we might be able to draw them off so your group can make a break for the service hatch that will get you into these tunnels. The service hatch is ten metres to the right when you leave the main room.
Ann Appuladay: Can you get this grill open?
Mower: Yes, but the opening’s too small; you might manage to get through it Ann, but the rest couldn’t.
Ann Appuladay: Don’t worry about that. Just don’t do anything until I get back. I’ll be three minutes.
(Ann returns to the meeting room and talks quietly to Grimy Hobo. He then finds Shizeknicker and Fondleschaft and they all go to a corner of the room jumbled by backpacks, holdalls and general clutter. They collect the weapons taken from Garth Cutler and make their way to the kitchen area where Mayor Porker waits impatiently. Ann Appuladay holds up one of the Rambo44 grenades.)
Ann Appuladay: Mower, can you use a few of these?
Mower: Strewth! Brilliant! Just let me get this grill open.
Ann Appuladay: We’ll wait in the briefing room until we hear the grenades then we’ll make a break for the service hatch.
Mower: Okay, give me about two minutes to set up. I suggest you get everyone into this kitchen area, well away from the fireworks.
Ann Appuladay: And Mower, don’t try to come down into the corridor – when we break out we’ll shoot anything that moves. Come on, Mayor Porker, let’s round our mob up and get them back here.
Mayor Porker: This biscuit tastes like a wad of bog paper.
(With a maximum of confusion and dispute Mayor Porker and Ann manage to persuade everyone into the small kitchen. It is just in time, heavy explosions shake the walls and when they all crowd back into the briefing room the door to the corridor is hanging off its hinges. In the doorway stands a dazed but heavily armed Chinese gunman. Ann raises her automatic and fires but, for some reason, the weapon is jammed and the Chinaman swings the barrel of his assault rifle toward Ann. There is a thunderous burst of fire throwing the gunman back into the corridor and the tiny figure of Gabby scuttles to the front of the group. Gabby fires one more burst into the Chinese soldier and then disappears into the corridor. Ann clicks the safety on her automatic to off and follows.)
Mayor Porker: Mr. Rudd, despite your interesting little speech you’re still the elected Prime Minister of Australia so stay close to me at all times. Arnel, get to that hatch and make sure it’s open. The rest of you, keep low and follow me. Everyone! Move! Now!
(The frantic group sprint along the corridor. They can hear bursts of gunfire as Ann and Gabby keep the Chinese back. Shizeknicker wrenches open the service hatch and finds Mower waiting on the other side. Together they scramble to get the group into the service tunnel. The last are Gabby and Ann who throw themselves through the hatchway amid a whining clatter of shrapnel from a grenade that Ann has tossed back up the corridor as an afterthought. When they reach the top of the service tunnel and are safely in the high gallery, Mower and Ann throw three more grenades back down the narrow access tunnel leading to the service hatch. The group drop to the floor as a series of shuddering explosions shatter and collapse the access tunnel, sealing it completely. Mower then leads them to the opening overlooking the mine. Below them the cavern floor is like an angry hornets nest of Chinese troops and mining personnel.)
Ann Appuladay: We have to get down there.
Mower: That’s crazy. We should just follow this tunnel to the surface. Tell her, Porky.
Mayor Porker: He’s right, Ann. It would be suicide to go down into that lot; we wouldn’t last one minute.
Ann Appuladay: Look, we don’t know what’s waiting for us on the surface. If that mining operation isn’t shut down and for some reason none of us make it off the island then it will be the end of everything we know. I think the Australian people and the rest of the free world deserve a few suicides, don’t you?
Mower: Okay, but even if we could do something there’s no way we could get down there without being seen and shot to pieces.
Gabby: There’s a power cable fixed just a metre along the wall and it leads across the cavern to those lights above the crushing machines. I used it to climb down last week when we explored this area.
Mower: That will never take my weight.
Ann Appuladay: No, but it will take mine. Let me get in position then throw a grenade as far as you can into the north section of the cavern. That should get their attention and I can slide across. I need a belt or some kind of strap to wrap over the cable, come on Grimy, you don’t need your trousers - give me that belt. And Mower, I need four grenades. If they spot me just give me as much covering fire as you can – then get out fast!
(Ann climbs onto the sill of the opening and reaches across toward the cable. She will need to jump to grab it – but not until the diversion begins. She nods to Mower. He pulls the pin on a grenade and hurls it high and far. It strikes some drums stacked on the cavern floor and clangs around in the steel work drawing the attention of some of the Chinese. The explosion that follows is spectacular and so violent that nothing about the tiny figure skidding down a wire is worth a look from the screaming Chinamen, in fact the second figure that follows the first down the same wire also gains no attention. Down near the mine Ann pulls Gabby back into the shadows.)
Ann Appuladay: Jesus, Gabby, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?
Gabby: I had to come with you, I know the way out.
Ann Appuladay: There is that.
(Working quickly while Gabby guards her back, Ann jams three of the grenades among the tangle of pipes jutting from the rock of the cavern wall. She positions the fourth grenade between the side of a large fuel tank and a massive diesel engine.)
Ann Appuladay: Okay, Gabby, which way is up and out of here?
Gabby: The monorail tunnel. It leads straight to the surface near the artificial harbour. There aren’t too many Chinese in the tunnel usually but the bastards are running everywhere at the moment so it will probably be a shit fight.
Ann Appuladay: Well, that doesn’t sound too bad. Heh, heh. Now, we’ll pull the pins and run like hell for the tunnel. You do the first two grenades in the wall and I’ll take the third and the one on the diesel tank. Get ready. Go!
TO BE CONTINUED.
Now read on.
(Ann Appuladay and Mayor Porker casually cross the briefing room to a door partly hidden by a screen wall. Ann opens the door and Mayor Porker follows Ann through into what appears to be a food preparation area. There are long trestle tables, heavy with all kinds of beautifully prepared food. Ann is tugging at Mayor Porker’s sleeve and trying to tell her something important but Porky has noticed something she has not seen for many years. Among the delicious array of tempting dishes is a small plate of biscuits. The plate is of translucent, delicately rose-patterned and impossibly thin china. Mayor Porker is sure that if the plate is lightly tapped it will chime for several months. The plate is nice but it is on the plate that we find the source of Mayor Porker’s fixation. Arranged in a radiating, overlapping pattern are golden sugar biscuits straight from childhood dreams. These biscuits are rectangular with that sort of piecrust edge that proper biscuits have and they sparkle with just the right amount of sprinkled sugar. Certain older people throughout Australia search longingly for these biscuits and never ever find them. They are similar to the shape and size of the Paradise Rich Shortbread biscuits that Woolies sell but that similarity ends with size and shape. The biscuits Mayor Porker has long craved were baked in batches of a thousand on huge black-crusted trays slid into a brick built wood-fired oven. The fat, jolly baker thought of other things and pounded dough while the biscuits baked but he would always return to the oven at the precise moment, not a second before or later, when his heart told him the biscuits were perfect. One hour later Nanna would call at the Bakers and buy a pound of them and the baker would tumble them from the brass weighing dish into a large brown paper bag and curl the top down tight so that……………….)
Ann Appuladay: Mayor Porker! What the hell is wrong with you? Please listen to me – the corridor outside the briefing room is crawling with armed Chinese. We think they are going to round us all up, or worse!
Mayor Porker: What? Um..armed? In the corridor? How do you know - who’s we?
(Ann points upwards and Mayor Porker looks up to see a small grill near the ceiling. She can just make out a shadowed face behind the grill.)
Mower: Porky! It’s me - Mower.
Mayor Porker: Jesus, Mower, how did you get in there?
Mower: Not through this grill obviously. I’m in a service tunnel. They run all over the island. The point is, we can hear and see most of what is going on through these grills and what we can see is a build up of Chinese gunmen in the corridor outside the room you’re all in. We don’t have the firepower up here to take the gunmen out but we might be able to draw them off so your group can make a break for the service hatch that will get you into these tunnels. The service hatch is ten metres to the right when you leave the main room.
Ann Appuladay: Can you get this grill open?
Mower: Yes, but the opening’s too small; you might manage to get through it Ann, but the rest couldn’t.
Ann Appuladay: Don’t worry about that. Just don’t do anything until I get back. I’ll be three minutes.
(Ann returns to the meeting room and talks quietly to Grimy Hobo. He then finds Shizeknicker and Fondleschaft and they all go to a corner of the room jumbled by backpacks, holdalls and general clutter. They collect the weapons taken from Garth Cutler and make their way to the kitchen area where Mayor Porker waits impatiently. Ann Appuladay holds up one of the Rambo44 grenades.)
Ann Appuladay: Mower, can you use a few of these?
Mower: Strewth! Brilliant! Just let me get this grill open.
Ann Appuladay: We’ll wait in the briefing room until we hear the grenades then we’ll make a break for the service hatch.
Mower: Okay, give me about two minutes to set up. I suggest you get everyone into this kitchen area, well away from the fireworks.
Ann Appuladay: And Mower, don’t try to come down into the corridor – when we break out we’ll shoot anything that moves. Come on, Mayor Porker, let’s round our mob up and get them back here.
Mayor Porker: This biscuit tastes like a wad of bog paper.
(With a maximum of confusion and dispute Mayor Porker and Ann manage to persuade everyone into the small kitchen. It is just in time, heavy explosions shake the walls and when they all crowd back into the briefing room the door to the corridor is hanging off its hinges. In the doorway stands a dazed but heavily armed Chinese gunman. Ann raises her automatic and fires but, for some reason, the weapon is jammed and the Chinaman swings the barrel of his assault rifle toward Ann. There is a thunderous burst of fire throwing the gunman back into the corridor and the tiny figure of Gabby scuttles to the front of the group. Gabby fires one more burst into the Chinese soldier and then disappears into the corridor. Ann clicks the safety on her automatic to off and follows.)
Mayor Porker: Mr. Rudd, despite your interesting little speech you’re still the elected Prime Minister of Australia so stay close to me at all times. Arnel, get to that hatch and make sure it’s open. The rest of you, keep low and follow me. Everyone! Move! Now!
(The frantic group sprint along the corridor. They can hear bursts of gunfire as Ann and Gabby keep the Chinese back. Shizeknicker wrenches open the service hatch and finds Mower waiting on the other side. Together they scramble to get the group into the service tunnel. The last are Gabby and Ann who throw themselves through the hatchway amid a whining clatter of shrapnel from a grenade that Ann has tossed back up the corridor as an afterthought. When they reach the top of the service tunnel and are safely in the high gallery, Mower and Ann throw three more grenades back down the narrow access tunnel leading to the service hatch. The group drop to the floor as a series of shuddering explosions shatter and collapse the access tunnel, sealing it completely. Mower then leads them to the opening overlooking the mine. Below them the cavern floor is like an angry hornets nest of Chinese troops and mining personnel.)
Ann Appuladay: We have to get down there.
Mower: That’s crazy. We should just follow this tunnel to the surface. Tell her, Porky.
Mayor Porker: He’s right, Ann. It would be suicide to go down into that lot; we wouldn’t last one minute.
Ann Appuladay: Look, we don’t know what’s waiting for us on the surface. If that mining operation isn’t shut down and for some reason none of us make it off the island then it will be the end of everything we know. I think the Australian people and the rest of the free world deserve a few suicides, don’t you?
Mower: Okay, but even if we could do something there’s no way we could get down there without being seen and shot to pieces.
Gabby: There’s a power cable fixed just a metre along the wall and it leads across the cavern to those lights above the crushing machines. I used it to climb down last week when we explored this area.
Mower: That will never take my weight.
Ann Appuladay: No, but it will take mine. Let me get in position then throw a grenade as far as you can into the north section of the cavern. That should get their attention and I can slide across. I need a belt or some kind of strap to wrap over the cable, come on Grimy, you don’t need your trousers - give me that belt. And Mower, I need four grenades. If they spot me just give me as much covering fire as you can – then get out fast!
(Ann climbs onto the sill of the opening and reaches across toward the cable. She will need to jump to grab it – but not until the diversion begins. She nods to Mower. He pulls the pin on a grenade and hurls it high and far. It strikes some drums stacked on the cavern floor and clangs around in the steel work drawing the attention of some of the Chinese. The explosion that follows is spectacular and so violent that nothing about the tiny figure skidding down a wire is worth a look from the screaming Chinamen, in fact the second figure that follows the first down the same wire also gains no attention. Down near the mine Ann pulls Gabby back into the shadows.)
Ann Appuladay: Jesus, Gabby, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?
Gabby: I had to come with you, I know the way out.
Ann Appuladay: There is that.
(Working quickly while Gabby guards her back, Ann jams three of the grenades among the tangle of pipes jutting from the rock of the cavern wall. She positions the fourth grenade between the side of a large fuel tank and a massive diesel engine.)
Ann Appuladay: Okay, Gabby, which way is up and out of here?
Gabby: The monorail tunnel. It leads straight to the surface near the artificial harbour. There aren’t too many Chinese in the tunnel usually but the bastards are running everywhere at the moment so it will probably be a shit fight.
Ann Appuladay: Well, that doesn’t sound too bad. Heh, heh. Now, we’ll pull the pins and run like hell for the tunnel. You do the first two grenades in the wall and I’ll take the third and the one on the diesel tank. Get ready. Go!
TO BE CONTINUED.
5/5/09
Sorry About The Wait
This isn't a continuation of 'The Gilligan Factor'. To be honest, things have been a little fraught for me lately but I've almost finished the next episode.
In the meantime you might want to follow the new link in the right hand column for 'Bogan Soapbox'. It's a new blog I've started for when I just want to let off steam about something. It may or may not interest and/or amuse you. I thought it was better to do it this way rather than keep interupting the flow of my bed-time story blog.
Now where was I with Gilligan? Yeah, blowing stuff up! Ripper!
In the meantime you might want to follow the new link in the right hand column for 'Bogan Soapbox'. It's a new blog I've started for when I just want to let off steam about something. It may or may not interest and/or amuse you. I thought it was better to do it this way rather than keep interupting the flow of my bed-time story blog.
Now where was I with Gilligan? Yeah, blowing stuff up! Ripper!
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