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Lost the Plot - Episode 5. The Journey. Part 2


By Monkey1 & Crouch n'Hold
July 25 2006

Owing to technical difficulties this story is posted in 2 parts. The story of the Falcons' bid to escape from the island continues. With Captain Matthew Burke in charge, nothing can go wrong, or can it?

“Cast off forr’d”. Yelled Perry.

 

“Do what mate?” replied Andy Long.

 

Nobody really had a clue what this meant & they didn’t have any ropes to cast off anyway. The confusion continued with the next order from the boxy thing.

 

“Cast off aft, fend the warps t’ starboard, slow ahead both”.

 

The players who had been trained for hours to polish boots & inspect haircuts had no idea what to do. Parling who had been an amateur sailing champion at the age of 9 but was deemed to be fit only as a passenger, whispered a few instructions to pull on various ropes & the ship started to ease out of the dry dock that was now a wet dock.

 

Once through the breakers they were able to set sail for the open ocean. The boat, sorry ship, handled like a pedigree, unfortunately like a pedigree cow but at least it floated, seemed likely to remain floating & went forward when the wind blew.

 

“You need to tension the sail”. Parling whispered to Able Seaman Harris.

 

“Do what mate?” he replied.

 

“Oh just pull that rope tighter”. Said Parling who was now getting irritated by the incompetence of the so called crew, possibly a little envious of their haircuts.

 

“What rope?” asked Harris.

 

“That bloody wire you have in your hand”.

 

“But that isn’t a rope”. Continued Harris.

 

“Well there wasn’t any rope on the plane so they used the electrical wiring instead. This is a ship, that wire is attached to a sail so we call it a rope”.

 

“Hurts your hands this stuff” continued Harris grumbling “How come they couldn’t find any rope but they found a JCB when they wanted one”.

 

The ship sailed into the sunset, well it would have except it was 9 in the morning. The motion of the sea would soon sort the old salts from the land lubbers.

 

In the boxy thing at the front Dowse had appointed himself as Navigator on the flimsy basis that he steered the scrum. “I say, where are the loos?” he asked.

 

“We call them heads aboard”. Coughed Cap’n Burke now sounding like Noel Coward.

 

“Well where are the heads then?” he asked.

 

“There aren’t any”. Answered Perry, still with his face stuck in his binnacle.

 

“Over the side”. Suggested Petty Officer Elliot who had taken the wheel.

 

“Not on my ship”. Barked Cap’n Burke.

 

“Over the side when Captain Pugwash isn’t watching”. Whispered passenger Shaw who was lying with his back to the outside of the boxy thing hoping for some amusement to start.

 

Micky emerged from his hatch at the back (aft) of the boat (ship), covered in grease & looking agitated. He made his way to the bridge at once. The little boxy bridge was too crowded for him to get in. He really needed to speak urgently to the captain but he & Perry were now gazing into the distance through binoculars, scanning the ocean for enemy shipping or mines.

 

Squashed into the back corner was Very Petty Officer Grindal so Micky voiced his concerns to him in a strange Scottish accent.

 

“She canna tek much more Jum. She’s overheatin an a splut ooer the crank spurtle, I cannae fux it wuthoot reducin power”.

 

Petty Officer Grindal realising that this was bad news squeezed & shuffled his way to the captain across the crowded bridge.

 

“Captain sir”. He said, hoping that was a good enough form of address.

 

“Yes. What is it?” said Captain Burke now doing a very good impression of Noel Coward. “Can’t you see that I am busy?”

 

Grindal couldn’t see that the Cap’n was busy at all so he continued.

 

“It’s the Chief sir, something about the engines & Dilithium crystals, he will have to reduce power to fix a splut”.

 

“Where is he?” asked Captain Burke so quickly it was becoming difficult to understand him.

 

“He rushed back to his engine room”.

 

“Look above your head”. Grindal looked but saw nothing of significance.

 

“This is a sailing ship Petty Officer, there are no engines. Ask the Chief to report to the sickbay”.

 

“We don’t have a sick bay”. Replied the now confused Grindal.

 

“Well get him drunk, anything to sedate him”. Suggested the captain facing the first crisis aboard his ship.

 

“I’m pretty sure he is already drunk”. Replied Grindal.

 

“Tell him I can hear a rumble from his number three propeller shaft” Suggested First Officer Perry “that should keep him down there for hours”.

 

Grindal slowly managed to make his way back to his corner of the little boxy thing & passed the message to Ordinary Seaman Wilson who went off to tell the chief.

 

First Officer Perry had become bored with the binaccle, it didn’t do anything & smelled very unpleasant. He had joined the captain scanning the horizon through binoculars as that looked like a very important thing to do & reminded him of the important looking people in the old war movies.

 

At first he wasn’t sure, he cranked up the binoculars to maximum power & there it was, no doubt at all, a ship.

 

“Enemy vessel dead ahead sir”. He reported.

 

“All hands to action stations, man the main guns forr’d & aft, close all watertight doors”. Instructed Captain Burke knowing instinctively what to say.

 

“We don’t have any guns sir, none of the doors are watertight & we don’t have one of those siren things, you know, the ones that go NEEE NAAAR NEEE NAAAR”. Answered Petty Officer Grindal who’s job it was to pass orders to the minions.

 

“Bang a tea tray then”. Suggested the Cap’n.

 

“We don’t have a tea tray sir, it was used to make the toile, I mean the heads sir”. Replied the Grindal now getting even more confused.

 

“I thought you said we didn’t have any heads”. Replied the Cap’n.

 

“We do now sir, Thum, I mean Admiral Thompson kicked a hole in the tea tray & that is now the heads”.

 

“Thank God for that”. Said a very relieved, well soon to be relieved Navigating Officer Dowson. “Where are the heads then?”

 

“On the poop deck”. Replied Very Petty Officer Grindal.

 

“Should have guessed”. Said Navigating Officer Dowson. “And where pray tell is the poop deck?”

 

“By the foc’sle”.

 

“By the what?” asked Navigating Officer Dowson. “Oh it doesn’t matter”.

 

“Full ahead all engines. Message to the chief to give us everything he has”. Continued Captain Burke. Grindal’s brain now hurt & he just ignored it.

 

“Oy, chuck some more sails up. Pugwash wants to see what this bucket can do”. Yelled Shaw who was now beginning to enjoy himself.

 

“We haven’t got any more sails”. Said Harris who appeared to be the only one of the crew actually involved in making the ship move.

 

Passenger Tom May who failed to qualify for Perry’s crew on account of having dodgy hair chipped in “We used all the seat covers to make that big sail and…”

 

“Mainsul”. Corrected Perry from the Bridge

 

“…and all the sick bags to make that funny triangle thingy at the front”.

 

Perry stayed quiet having no idea what the little triangle thingy at the front was called.

 

“We need to make more sail. See to it Number One”. Ordered the Cap’n.

 

“Yessa”. Replied Perry, he stamped his splendidly polished boots, & crushed Navigating Officer Dowson’s toes. He slowly shuffled & squeezed his way out of the little boxy thing & went around the ship barking orders like a true Marine, er Royal Marine. Realising that they had no further use for last year’s home shirts he quickly had them made into a sail and soon they were flying along, gaining on the other ship.

 

As they got closer they could see that the other ship was sinking slowly, indeed it looked like it had been sinking for some time. It was only just managing to keep afloat and as the Falcons drew level, the impressive bow wave from their ship was too much for it and the other vessel sank into the depths.

 

 

“Come about & search for survivors”. Ordered Captain Burke.

 

They slowed and began to search the sea but all they found was a Leeds Tykes shirt. This was taken to the bridge.

 

“No survivors but we found this”. Grindal said as he passed the soggy shirt to the Cap’n.

 

“It was them or us”. Said Captain Burke, staring whistfully into the distance. “In every battle there is tragedy, it is a cruel sea. It was a close run thing, that could have been us sinking to the depths. They were a brave & worthy enemy but victory is ours. In every victory however we must remember…”. His attempt at a rousing & emotional speech was interrupted by a call from above.

 

“Land Ahoy”. Shouted Quite Ordinary Seaman Morris who was probably not the best choice to send up the mast but there were only so many players with suitable haircuts.

 

And polished boots.

 

“Make for that shore”. Ordered Captain Burke. “On that far horizon we could find our salvation or a test of ourselves. It is up to us to….”

 

Fortunately the drivel was drowned out by the sound of thirty rugby shirts, forty five plush velour seat covers & two hundred sick bags ripping through the air as the sails were turned to head towards land.

 

A strong wind at their backs helped to carry them swiftly to the shore. Captain Burke studied the land as they drew nearer and was relieved to see people on the beach waving a friendly welcome. Civilisation at last. As they drew closer he could make out what looked like a giant inflatable polar bear. He could make out the distinctive Falcons shirts. Some of these cheapskates were even wearing old shirts instead of the nice new ones.

 

The horror dawned upon him. This was the island they had just left that morning. Much worse, this was the part of the island with the supporters.

 

“Hard a starb’d”. He shouted. “Steer course three five zero, full ahead both engines”. They had no engines and nobody knew what course three five zero was because the binnacle was actually a toilet pipe but the crew got the general idea. They were in great danger of being stuck on a remote island with the supporters.

 

They tried to bring the little boat, er ship about to escape but the wind was too strong and they were crap sailors. Micky emerged from his hatch shouting “Any more Jum & she’s goin to blow. Yull hae tae tek her doon to warp three”. Despite their pathetic efforts they were being carried swiftly back to the island.

 

Rob who had sat all through the journey still working on his plan of escape locked eyes with Touchline as he picked him out among the group of drunks. They stared at each other seemingly unaware of anybody else, an unspoken loathing stretched between them.

 

The boat was swept along out of control and a wave dashed it against the rocks. It was broken beyond any hope of repair as the Geordies who built it were ship builders & union rules forbade them to undertake ship repair work.

 

The drunken supporters rushed to help the players ashore & all were safely rescued. Soon drinks were being passed round and the players were shown around the camp. Sheeny showed them the shelter proudly.

 

“It’s a bar”. Said Rob, incredulous.

 

Anna was the only one from the boat who remained distant. She didn’t trust the supporters, suspecting they were the only other people on the island who could have taken the missing five. These could be the ‘others’.

 

Still as prickly as a porcupine chewing on a thistle she asked in her increasingly Spanish accent “What food do you have? My players need food to eat”.

 

“Divvunaa a word yu seayin pet, can ya taalk English like?” Replied Leipy.

 

She gave up on the tall one who spoke Martian & tried Mally thinking a female may be more understanding.

 

“Way chuck, nobbut here like but int’jungle thur a ship. Right queer like up on th’ill un it packed t’gunnels wi pies n’lard”.

 

“You have no food here?” she asked.

 

“Nay lass, couldn’t carry drink AND food. Kids ‘ad chiken nuggets n’chips. Keep goin back t’get scran but allus come back wi beer. Fancy a John Smiths?”

 

“Show me ship”. Demanded Anna “We take ten players. We go now”.

 

“Ay up lass, keep yer air on”. Replied Mally and she led them into the jungle. Pod went too to act as translator being fluent in both crap Spanish & crap Yorkshire accents.

 

As they went through the jungle they exchanged stories of the last eight days. Anna told of the ‘others’, of players disappearing and the wasps taking Walder. Pod told of the ship full of drink, drunken parties, Leipy’s hooch and building a bar, pretty much a story of drink or the results of drinking.

 

“Oh and we found a hatch”. She slurred, belching cider fumes.

 

“Hatch, what is zees hatch?” Anna asked.

 

“Oh it’s like a small metal door with lots of handles, couldn’t open it though. It’s in a part of the jungle that’sh very pretty”. She walked into a tree.

 

They returned from the ship with as much food as they could carry and no drink. While they were away Burkey had got a barbie going having dropped his Noel Coward accent with the loss of his ship & gone back into Aussie mode. The food was left for the backs to cook and soon the air was filled with delicious smells.

 

“The hatch, you show me now”. Demanded Anna.

 

“Hang on for jusht a teensy minute, I need to eat something. No sholid, hee, ssssolid, you shee not drunk really. What was I, oh yesh no food for eight days. Hee, maybe I am a little tipsy.”

 

Pod fell over & passed out.

 

Anna turned to Mally. “Show me zees hatch. You show me now”.

 

Mally gnawing on a chicken drumstick went with Anna & a group of players & showed them the hatch. It looked military so Perry being an ex-Marine, Royal Marine that is, was ordered to try & open it. He turned the levers and pulled but it would not budge. He scraped away some of the soil & moss to see if there was a lock.

 

In red letters he revealed the word ‘Bar’.

 

Micky pushed him out of the way, yanked at one of the levers & the hatch opened.

 

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