Baron Zemo's Lair. - The Journal of Sir Mumphrey Wilton, Extract Eight: In which some sinister blighters attempt to shanghai us back to Shanghai and have to be reproved

Baron Zemo's Lair

The Journal of Sir Mumphrey Wilton, Extract Eight: In which some sinister blighters attempt to shanghai us back to Shanghai and have to be reproved
Monday, 30-Aug-1999 08:11:44
195.92.194.105 writes:

The Journal of Sir Mumphrey Wilton, Extract Eight
In which some sinister blighters attempt to shanghai us back to Shanghai and have to be reproved

Shanghai International Airport rather spiffing modern facility. Even able to purchase copy of Times, and Miss Asil got a catsuit that she took fancy to. Said she’s never had salary before, and was also looking forward to saving up and buying nice present for Visionary. Pointed out that genetic imperatives bred into her when she was cloned from Ms Waltz once again cutting in, and that perhaps the young chappie would be just as happy with a postcard. Hope Visionary has large postbox as Asil unable to decide which postcard he would like best.
Flew in local flight from Shanghai to the Grampus Islands, where we can pick up connecting plane to San Francisco. Remember San Francisco as rather jolly little town, but of course, there was a rather nasty earthquake since then, wasn’t there? Grampus Islands international airport not quite so impressive as Shanghai, in that it was one turf landing strip and a breeze-block terminal. Still, locals did their best to make us welcome with mango punch and grilled swordfish, so can’t complain.
Now I had noticed that one of the passport people had looked at us a little bit strangely back in China. At the time I’d thought that it was probably because Asil’s date of birth was eight months ago. It was only at Grampus International that we learned that in fact he was tipping off a devious and sinister international terrorist organisation to our passage. Yes, another devious and sinister terrorist organisation. Well, two as it turned out.
Since we had a bit of a wait spent some time chatting with fellow travellers, a Japanese businessman who was very keen to do something clever with microchips, which I presume are very small bits of potato, a rather plump lady returning to visit her son, complete with many photos of grandchildren whom I’m sure must be more delightful than they appear, a young couple returning from their honeymoon (Asil rather puzzled about all of this, suggested she have a quiet chat with her “doody-head”, which is apparently a technical term for genetic material donor), and others. All in all not an unjolly time.
It was sunset when the large mechanical flying octopus loomed out of the skies to overshadow the little airport. Certain degree of panic amongst fellow-travellers and airport staff as around a hundred chappies in puke-coloured outfits with buckets on their heads slid down ropes from the great beastie and starting pointing futuristic zap guns at people. Some massive speakers on the big flying cephaloid started blaring out, “Hail HERPES! Apply Penicillin and another rash shall come forth within six weeks!”
It didn’t take a genius to work out that the chances were that another baddie agency was trying to collect the large reward which the nefarious Baron Zemo had put out for recovering some mysterious plans I’d stumbled across. I mean, before I found out that I’d more or less accidentally come into ownership of the patent and design drawing for this puzzling dooberry I hadn’t been attacked by nefarious paramilitary organisations for years. So I decided it was time to do a bit of a disappearing act. There was a big fan grille behind where we were sitting and it seemed like a good idea to shift it half a minute or so into the future using the pocketwatch and absent myself behind it. By the time I’d turned round, however, young Asil had already got the mesh off. Resourceful gal, my amanuensis.
There was a certain amount of confusion in the terminal as the baddies burst in. The security guard fainted dead away. The loud fat lady warned the villains that her son knew the mayor of Hicksville, PA. The new hubbie protectively cradled his bride in the proper manner. Approved. The Japanese businessman… well, he just wasn’t there!
Jotted telephone number down on bit of paper and suggested that Asil crawl through ducts (after all, self is getting a bit portly for duct-crawling these days) and call a bit of help. Old chum I remember from last war, keeps his hand in. Thought I’d probably need help against so many agents of HERPES (which, I am told, stands for Hero Elimination Revenge Project Extermination Squad).
Rather nasty chap strode forward into the middle of the hostages. Only one not wearing bucket on head, which in his case I can’t say was an improvement. Told him as much later on. Big bald fellow with monocle and nasty-looking scar along one half of his face. “Wilton!” he shouted out, grabbing the newlywed lass and putting his pistol to her forehead. “You have ten seconds to identify yourself and surrender to me or this young woman’s death will be on your conscience.” Damn, I hate well-briefed villains.
Well, of course I couldn’t let him harm the lady, so I had to step out from my hiding place. “Here I am, you slimy gumboil,” I called out. “Now release that girl and I’ll not give you the damn good thrashin’ you so richly deserve.”
Monocle seemed annoyed by this. Can always spot the real bastards, and he was one of them. “You are brave now, Englisher, but soon you will grovel and plead for your miserable life before Count Wolfgang Fokker.” Actually misheard his name. Said so. Still, now he was pointing gun at me rather than young lady. Whole point of exercise really.
Unfortunately the Count wasn’t as stupid as he looked. “Very clever, Englisher,” she sneered, realising what I was up to. Then he swung round and shot the girl. “No!” shrieked the bridegoom. The American lady screamed.
Urgently wound back time to just before the fatal bullet. Then froze time long enough to shift girl over to ventilation duct where I’d been hiding. Took time to unload all but one shot from Fokker’s pistol, just in case. This time when he fired (one remaining shot) the girl just wasn’t there. Told him it was an old fakir trick I picked up from a hoodoo-man back in Cawnpore. He didn’t believe me.
Things might have turned nasty just then if the next set of baddies hadn’t arrived. “Gaaaaaahhhh!” came a loud cry, and suddenly the dozen or so bucket-heads guarding the hostages fell over. Looked up to see some young fellows in black robes standing over the fallen HERPES fellows. There was also a tall fellow with red face paint carrying a nasty-looking double-ended energy sword. He strode forward to confront the Count.
“Starseed!” Fokker snarled.
“Hardly,” hissed the newcomer. “We serve the Dark Side of the Gah! We have come for the Englishman.”
“Dirth Vortex!” the leader of HERPES snarled even more. “HERPES… attack!”
And suddenly there were lots of Dark Gah! acolytes and HERPES minions battling each other. It was a damned difficult job shifting the innocents around so that none of them got hurt in the cross-fire. Was concentrating so hard I hardly heard the click as Fokker cocked his revolver against my head. “You vill come with me, Wilton,” he warned.
Well, since I knew his pistol wasn’t loaded I knocked it aside and beaned the oik on the chin. “That’s Sir Mumphrey to you, you oily blighter!” I explained. Waited for him to get up and then knocked him down again.
Of course, bounders like that always have some sort of concealed weaponry, don’t they? In Count Fokker’s case it was some sort of electro-nunchakas (these were identified for me later. I thought it was two metal bars with a chain between them that zapped people, but what do I know?). Very nasty. Fortunately just then Dirth Vortex sliced across with that energy-blade of his, severing the weapon in two. “The Englishman is mine,” the Dark Gah! Master warned. “I already have his companion hostage. He will render up the plans to me of she will suffer the vilest of fates!”
Well, he may have captured young Asil but she’d clearly made the phone call, as the loud explosions from the artillery barrage on the HERPES octopoid now demonstrated. And another big loudspeaker called out, “Awright, you yahoos! This is Dan Drury of SPUD talkin’ atcha! You got exactly three seconds ta stop being sphincter-suckin’ bad guys and git ya hands in the air ‘fore me and my boys come down there and kick the living spit outta ya!” The noise came from the absolutely massive flying fortress thingy which they tell me is the helicarrier for an agency called the Super-Menace Principal Undercover Directorate. My old army buddy Sergeant Drury has come up in the world and is now Director of this agency that smites the ungodly.
Well, now we had three lots of johnnies in uniform hitting each other rather than two. Contributed by thumping Fokker again just to be certain he knew he was a repugnant pustule before chasing after Vortex. Out of corner of my eye saw young bridegroom running to embrace new wife, fat lady sitting on Gah! acolyte, and discarded clothing of Japanese businessman indicating that he might have been disguised Dirth. Also spotted Dan Drury with torn shirt ploughing his way through bucket-headed chaps to have a word with Fokker. Gathered it was something of a reunion.
Caught up with Dirth Vortex on the runway, where a little shimmering grey rectangle about the size of a doorway hovered in mid-air. Number of Dark Gah! acolytes leaping through it, so I assume it was some kind of escape route. “You will bring us the plans, Englishman,” Vortex hissed. “The girl is safe only as long as you do exactly what you have been told. You will be contacted. Do you understand?”
Understood all too well. Used pocketwatch to take a few precautions and then nodded. Vortex and minions vanish through grey oblong which then also vanishes. Damnedest thing. Went back to see how Drury was doing to find HERPES excrecences in full retreat. Smouldering flying octopus escaped into ocean, which Drury thought was cheating.
Nice to see Drury again. Didn’t mention kidnapped Asil, as per instructions of Dirth Vortex. Got to play this carefully. Will be contacted in 24 hours and therefore have only a little time to lay plans and make Dark Gah! Master Dirth Vortex sorry he ever thought of laying a finger on my amanuensis and sorrier still ever heard name of Mumphrey Wilton. Clearly needs to be taught lesson he will never, ever, forget.
Looking forward to it.

Mumph