Shireroth

Ops Control Room, Sudelwynn SDI Battery, Monty Crisco

“And you can inform the Count any militiamen attempting to ‘inspect’ our missiles will swiftly become intimately acquainted to one as I shove it up his arse and blast him into orbit…”

And with that the base commander, a Colonel on a brevet commission with a captain’s pay and a non-commissioned officer’s fondness for vulgarity slammed the phone down.

“Another call about County Decree 4 Sir?” The obligatory adjutant, a lieutenant, full rank & full pay, enquired in a somewhat sardonic tone. It had only been the ninth call put through from Cercé in the past hour.

“You’re damn right. Impudent bastards. This is government property no matter which stinking hole of a subdivision it happens to be situated in and those scumbags aren’t getting in here without a fight.”

“So I take it we will not be surrendering control of this facility then?”

“What do you think? Call a parade. Main Courtyard, 30 minutes.”

“Yes Sir.”

***30 Minutes Later, Main Courtyard***

The stern 100ft tower which constituted the main structure of the Panopticon Horus Docking Berth loomed tall over the main courtyard of the Sudelwynn SDI Battery which doubled as the site’s parade ground.

“Parade, parade… ATTEN-SHUN!”

The staff sergeant bellowed the command, his face turning a vivid crimson as he did so. Everyone assembled there did so as instructed. Satisfied that nobody had displayed the sheer effrontery to disgrace his parade through failing to heed the word of command, the staff sergeant neatly turned 180 degrees and snapped to attention, saluting the Colonel.

“Sir! I have the honour to report 40 officers, 238 technical staff, all ranks and grades, 30 SDI Security Detachment Guards and 56 Site Watchmen all present and correct on parade Sir!”

“Very good Sergeant, have the men stand at ease.”

About the staff sergeant turned again.

“Parade, parade… STAND AT…. Ease.”

364 pairs of boots stomped in unison. The Colonel stepped up onto the rostrum, his command was formed up around him in the middle of the courtyard in a hollow square formation.

“Men, I need not remind you today that we are in a perilous situation. The rebel scum have violated the long standing ceasefire and betrayed the trust of our beloved Kaiseress, they demand the surrender of this facility. I hope you all know me well enough by now to know that I have no intention of giving them the satisfaction. Our orders from the MoMA are simple. We are to hold this site, to give every resistance to any attempt to take from us what we hold, and to destroy what we cannot hold.

Now here then are my orders. The Panopticon Tower behind me here shall become our redoubt. PAC-3 Launchers 1 through 5 are to be sited for air defence, the remainder are to be parked up as a laager round this point. Of us here only the Security Detachment are actually under arms, the rest of you are to arm yourselves with staves, Molotov Cocktails, whatever you can bodge or improvise in the time available. Your job, men, is to deliver a sound beating to anyone who tries to break into the facility. Should things turn nasty the guards will provide covering fire while personnel retire to the designated redoubt. We have our THEL to protect us against the larger varieties of ‘incoming fire’ I want their maximum elevation and minimum depression checked, lest we can’t improvise something nasty for any unwanted guests.

Now that is all I have to say. Get to it men. We hold until we are relieved. Long live the Kaiseress!”

“Vivat!” was the answer, reverberating around the courtyard.

“ATTEN-SHUN! Parade, parade… DIS-MISSED!” and they did, quite expeditiously.

The staff sergeant was quietly confident that it was a matter of months rather than years before he got made up to warrant officer, especially after a finely turned out parade such as this held at such short notice.

The Colonel on the other hand was less than 100% confident of seeing another dawn. Accordingly his were focused on more immediate concerns.

The parade being finished the adjutant caught up with his commander.

“I’ve found the C4 sir. Where do you want it placed?”

“Come on lad I’ll show you.” Was the laconic reply.

From a hilltop away from the SDI battery, Major Lancaster watched the parade dismiss through his field glasses. His 5 other man sat in the grove of trees behind him, special forces all of them. Though called 'Militia' they were far from a rag tag group of townsfolk and conscripts, these were among the best trained troops in Monty Crisco.

"Captain, signal base. Tell them the Imperial forces look to be in it for the long hall. Ask for updates at the other sites if you can."

Captain Linch simply nodded as he sent a coded message to their field command center.

"Major, orders are to continue observation mode and take no action against the base. Standard stealth procedures to be observed."

"Right, if they approach we melt into the countryside. Right men, let's change position. See if we can't get a better view from that grove over there."

(Loud tinkling bell)

A DSSI Mk.IV Landship (with optional deep-freeze unit and rotating illuminated plastic clown came of the hill.

"Get your Ice Cream! Tutsi-fruity, Chocolaty! Rock Road!"

Hey, boss, I think I see a good spot over by the gate!"

"Looks good to me!"

The Imperator Rex Emeritus of Lac Glacei soon took full advantage of the situation. Soon two more Landships with animated dancing plastic ponies joined the formation.

A shocking pink dirigiblle began dropping cases of Otter Pops on both sides of the fence.

"Sir... what do you reckon that is?"

"I have no idea... OPEN FIRE! ALL LASERS ON THE TARGET TO YOUR FRONT WITH THE FUCKING DANCING PONIES PLAYING THE FUCKING ANNOYING TUNE!"

"Sir!"

"Yes, Captain?"

"They're attacking the ice cream vendor!"

"I can see that."

"Should we help them?!"

"We have our orders. No contact."

"We should do something!"

"Summon the medics."

----

30 minutes later 4 choppers bearing the obvious emblems of medical personnel enter the scene, landing near what was once the Ice Cream vendors. Medics jump out with equipment and scramble to help who they can.

"Over here, we got some survivors. You there! It'll be alright sir. Hang in there."

Minutes later The Imperator Rex Emeritus of Lac Glacei was loaded onto a medical chopper and along with a few of his surviving men, air lifted to a militia field hospital.

Gasping into wrist communicator, "Launch the Rancid Fudge Missles!"

The Rancid Fudge Missles (with whipped cream covering fire) had been the ultimate weapon in repelling the Cyberian invasion of Rozcentia in the dim past.

They had not been fired en picque since then. However, as Lac Glacei no longer had a fixed spacio-temporal co-ordinate, the mssiles materialized .3 seconds after the command was given, burying the SDI site in rapidly hardening fudge sauce that had a shelf date of 1976 ASC.

The blimp was joined by two others began spraying the area with soured whipped cream.

His Imperious Sundaeness smiled, and at last gave into the painkillers adminstered by the medics. He barely heard the medics rremoving him from the chopper, falling into deep sleep at the base hospital.

"Captain?"

"Yes sir."

"What am I looking at?"

"It appears to be fudge sir."

"As in the stuff my granny used to make for me as a kid?"

"umm... I suppose so sir."

With a heavy Sigh. "Send in the report Captain. They really aren't gonna believe this.."

Well I suppose we could always have a consignment of spoons shipped in.

"A messenger at the gate, sir"

Captain Klodz was not about to tell the Colonel that the was a costumed clown at the gate, red rubber nose and all, carrying a dispatch case. He didn't believe it himself.

The Captain sighed and came to the gate himself.

"The Colonel is busy having his uniform cleaned and re-starched. What in the name of Bozo's great aunt do you want?'

"Special Delivery. sign on line six!"

The Captain scrawled with the stub of pencil provided. As the clown stood at mock-attention, he opened the dispatch case.

It contained only a jar of maraschino cherries and a note.

The note said,

"I'd send nuts, but you have enough of those inside already. Whoop, whoop, whoop. Viva count Erik!"

(signed)
I.R.E.

The clown ran as fast as his giant floppy shoes would allow.