From: mathew@mantis.co.uk (mathew)
Newsgroups: talk.bizarre,alt.prose
Subject: Battlefield
Date: 12 Nov 92 15:59:32 GMT
Followup-To: talk.bizarre,alt.prose.d
Organization: Mantis Consultants, Cambridge. UK.


                                 Battlefield
                       by mathew <mathew@mantis.co.uk>

Alex flattened himself onto the soft earth.  The ferns would probably conceal
him adequately, but if the enemy saw him it would mean failure, maybe even
death.  He tried to slow his breathing to an almost silent whisper, and
listened intently to the voices of the two men as they approached.

"...want regular patrols in this area."

"Yes, sir."

"And you, Lieutenant, are to report to me personally, the moment any of your
men sees anything suspicious, understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"We've got a big offensive planned in the next few hours, and the last thing
we want is for saboteurs to sneak in and destroy our Jeeps."

"Jeeps, sir?"  The Lieutenant sounded momentarily confused.

"Yes, Jeeps.  This is a military operation.  Remember that."

Alex began to sweat.  They had stopped walking, and were standing beneath a
tree only metres away from him.  If they came any closer they were bound to
see him.  He cursed his luck at being too large to fit into even the biggest
military uniform back at base.

"Yes General.  Er... Sir?"

"What is it man?"

"Shouldn't we be getting back now, sir? You told Mister... er, Commander
Jenkins that your tour of inspection would only take a few minutes."

"Oh... very well.  Lead the way."

They walked briskly back the way they had come, and Alex let out a slow sigh
of relief.  Once he was sure they were out of earshot, he reached into his
jacket pocket and took out his red and yellow Mr. Microphone, sliding the
power switch on.

"Hello, Control? This is Walsh.  I'm behind enemy lines.  Over?"

He stared at Mr. Microphone for a moment, then suddenly felt very foolish.

"Er, sorry Control.  I forgot.  I wish you'd given me one of those walkie-
talkies.  It's not fair, Atkinson gets all the good stuff.  Just because he
gave you a present at the Christmas party."

Alex paused.  What had he been about to say? It was so hard to think
straight.  Probably a side-effect of being in the heat of covert manoeuvres. 
Ah, yes, now he remembered...

"Er, me still.  Walsh.  Er... sorry about what I said just now.  It's just
it's hard to do my job without the proper equipment.  Sir.  Anyway, sir, I'm
behind enemy lines.  I just overheard one of their Colonels talking to a
Lieutenant about some sort of thingy they're going to do in the next hour or
two.  Something big.  Involving Jeeps.  Or at least, that's what they said,
sir.  I'm in sector E5, outside Freeman, Hardy and Willis.  I'm going to
carry on advancing."

He switched off Mr. Microphone, sat up, and carefully slid out of the
ferns.  He stood up in the corridor and brushed himself down, then started
advancing towards the clump of cacti to the east.  Suddenly he realized that
the dirt would give away his hiding place if anybody passed by; he jogged
back, and carefully brushed the dirt into a small pile behind a nearby
rubbish bin.  Finally satisfied, he padded softly towards the cacti once
more.

                                   --------

"I'm telling you, sir, the man's an idiot.  We should never have sent him on
such an important mission."

General Grant put down the My First Sony, sighed, and stood up.  His
International Rescue uniform emphasized his slight paunch as he leaned over
the desk towards Captain Anthony Chase.  "He may not be an expert in the
field, but my God Anthony, he can get a train set working in minutes.  An
ordinary person like you or me, we'd take hours just to lay the bloody
track.  Then we'd have trouble connecting up the transformer -- I remember
one Christmas I got a Scalextric set.  The damn cars kept going backwards.
Eventually I had to ask my Dad.  But Walsh, he'd get it working in no time. 
And none of that fooling around with those damn track cleaning erasers,
either."

"That's as maybe, sir, but I still don't think we should have sent him behind
enemy lines.  What if they capture him? He'll tell them everything."

"Yes, but what does he know?  Nothing.  Except where we keep the replacement
bulbs for the rally cars.  But he'd never tell them that.  Not unless they
had a receipt."

The General's Second in Command looked pensive.  "What do you think the enemy
are up to, sir?  Walsh said something about Jeeps."

"Yes...  I don't like it.  I wonder what they mean by Jeeps?" He ran a hand
through his thinning blond hair and scratched his nose.

"Perhaps they mean Dinky toys, sir."

Grant considered this for a moment.  "Don't be silly, Anthony.  They couldn't
possibly be talking about Dinky toys."

"Why not?"

"Because there..."

"Sir?"

Grant frowned.  He looked up at Anthony.  The young man suddenly looked
inexplicably odd in his camouflage-coloured plastic overalls and Lone Ranger
holsters.  "It's a funny thing, but you know I was about to say that they
don't make Dinky toys any more."

"I don't understand, sir."

"It's the damnedest thing, but I suddenly had this feeling, something about
the company going bust.  Does that make any sense to you?"

Anthony considered the matter.  "Not really, sir.  I mean, everybody has
Dinky toys, sir."

"Do they, do they indeed..."  Grant took a cigarette from his pocket and
began to blow into it, sending small clouds of fine white smoke into the
room.  "Where are our Dinky toys, number two?"

Anthony looked around at the shelves.  There were Care Bears, Masters of the
Universe action figures, WWF playsets, but no Dinky toys.  "I think...  I
think I must have sent them away to the warehouse, sir.  For safekeeping."

"Good man.  Excellent thinking.  Keep at it and you'll be in for a
promotion."

"Thank you, sir."

General Grant stubbed out the unlit cigarette, stood up, and began pacing
around the office.  "I'm worried, Ant.  Suppose they mean...  Tamiya
buggies?"

Anthony gasped.

"Exactly.  Pack a Tamiya Jeep with explosives and it'd be a deadly assault
vehicle.  And there's only one place where they could have got Tamiya kits."

"Where's that, sir?"

Grant paused, grabbed his Sooty and Sweep magic wand, and waved it for
emphasis.  "They must have seized Toys'R'Us."

"But there's still one thing I don't understand, sir."  Anthony glanced
around, stepped closer to the General and whispered in his ear.  "I gathered
from our Top Secret Intelligence reports that Toys'R'Us were completely out
of rechargeable batteries."

Grant nodded, a worried look on his face.  "You're right.  You're absolutely
right.  Those bastards must be using Duracells.  We're dealing with desperate
men; they're obviously prepared to sacrifice irreplaceable resources in the
attack.  And desperate men fight to the very end."

                                   --------

Field Marshal Sir James Clark cut a dashing figure in his World War I style
trenchcoat.  His khaki chinos were carefully pressed, but the effect was
rather ruined by brown polo-neck jumper, which still had the adhesive label
on the front saying 8.99.

He marched briskly towards the front of the store; the guards saluted as he
approached.  He walked past them and through the doors, and began striding
past the perfume counters.

"Sir?"

He halted and turned back.  "What is it, Private Evans?" he snapped.

Private Evans burst into tears.  "Sorry, sir, it's just..."

Clark softened.  "Sorry, Tracy.  I shouldn't have snapped at you like that.
We've all been through a lot recently."

"I know, Sir.  It's just that I still can't get over what happened to
Sandra."

Clark patted her on the shoulder.  Yes, Sandra.  That had been their first
indication that the situation was serious.  Private Jones had been captured
by enemy agents and tortured with a food processor for vital intelligence
information.  The staff had found her body in Soft Furnishings later that
night.  They had immediately started guarding the perimeter of the shop 24
hours a day to prevent further raids.

"There, there... Come on, Trace.  Come with me to the Officers' Mess and I'll
buy you cod and chips.  Come on, stop crying.  Your mascara's starting to
run."

"S-Sorry sir.  I only wanted to ask you if you wanted to try our new
camouflage range."

"What's that?"

Private Evans brightened up and snapped into her sales patter.  "Well, sir,
ordinary camouflage paint can leave your skin greasy and your pores
clogged.   But our new camouflage range includes Plenitude action liposomes,
to help protect and enhance your skin.  As well as a wide range of facial
treatments in black, grey, green and brown, we also have a selection of
camouflage eye shadow and eyeliners."

"Well, er..."

"Here, Sir, let me give you a demonstration."  She rubbed in a little
foundation to one of the Field Marshal's cheeks, then gently brushed more
colour over the top.  "Note how the greens and browns blend together to
emphasize your cheekbones and bring out your natural skin tone."

Clark looked in the mirror.  A slightly chubby face stared back at him
through docile-looking brown eyes.  Was that a grey hair amongst the black? 
Wouldn't do to let the troops see their officers with grey hairs.  It would
be bad for morale.  Still, the makeup did make him look much younger and more
handsome.

"It's very good, Tra... er, Private Evans.  Come on, I'll buy you lunch."

They made their way up the escalator and through kitchenware to the
restaurant.  Corporal Bell was already there, drinking coffee.

"Morning, sir."

"Morning, Corporal.  Any news?"

Bell considered.  "Well, sir, General Jenkins is still away with his
negotiating team, trying to forge an alliance with Dixons.  We need their
radio equipment, and they need our food, clothing and fashion accessories."

"Quite.  Any more casualties?"

"One, Sir.  Harris.  He was out on a secret intelligence mission, trying to
gather information about troop movements near Radio Rentals.  I'm afraid the
InterSport Texas Homecare Republic have the area sewn up tight.  He didn't
stand a chance."

                                   --------

Karen peered out through a pair of 2x50 folding binoculars she had stolen
from the camera shop.  Outside, there were a few consumers wandering
uncertainly down the side streets.  Crazy fools -- didn't they know there
was a war on?

She sighed.  Border patrol was the most boring duty of the lot.  This
particular restaurant was only accessible via the glass lift, or by going
outside the shopping centre and climbing the stairs, so there was little
chance of any action.  Most of the troops in the shops below seemed to have
forgotten about it entirely; they were too busy trying to cope with the
shifting patterns of allegiances.

She put down the binoculars and glanced down.  From up here, she could watch
their movements in safety through the tinted glass.  That guy from the toy
shop was crouching behind one of the potted plants, peering into C&A.  He'd
have to be careful, or they'd spot him.

She looked back outside.  There was some sort of movement in one of the
streets; a man was approaching, carrying a placard of some sort.  Karen
grabbed the binoculars again for a closer look.

It was a policeman.  He was advancing slowly towards the main entrance.  The
notice he was carrying said:

                               THERE IS NO WAR
                               PLEASE COME OUT
                             WE WILL NOT HARM YOU

Karen sighed and picked up the rifle she had obtained from the outdoor sports
shop.  What kind of fools did he take them for?  Surrender?  Did he think
they were mad?


mathew