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 Daffy Development Part 1

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Phlegm

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Number of posts : 757
Registration date : 2007-04-26

PostSubject: Daffy Development Part 1   Mon 5 Feb - 13:27:58

Daffy Development

So Oberon returns at last as a much needed boost to our number. He has also succeeded in finding a new recruit, Daphne Cokmeister, who he assures us is a bodyguard par excellence. However this is open to some doubt, as he also assures us what a highly successful trading expedition he has just concluded but when we prepare to open the vaults to clear space for his enormous profits he actually has nothing to show for it.

We are still somewhat in limbo with the lost delaying our cunning plan by procrastinating about the handover of their captive where a deadly ambush will finish off the main red sash force.* We decided to continue with preparations for the attack on the butchers once the guards have been drawn off.

*In our dreams

Oberon and Daf* decide to gather vital intel that could make the difference between life of death when we initiate operation Red Splash. They tirelessly criss-cross the city, shaking down underworld informants, alertly eavesdropping in the markets, docks and taverns, shrewdly sifting countless fragments of information that could be that crucial piece of the jigsaw that brings us total success.

*So called he assures us with equal conviction, because she hits like a truck

They discover nothing.

The rest of us decide to reconnoitre the sewers which apart from being our natural habitat, are also the preferred avenue of attack to keep it discrete. The Smiths form one team, Marsala and I the other. The sewers are a rank place, stinking of, well sewage, bustling with the rustling of unseen rats that flee from our hooded lantern lights, a place where a misstep could be fatal and fetid disease, darkness and decay are our constant companions.* We wade through the muck, avoiding the peak times when the flow of effluent peaks.**

*And Marsala
**Just before and after EastEnders apparently


Our aim is to map out ideal routes and possible lines of retreat for our raid, and we chalk hidden symbols that will aid our navigation on the night of the attack. We are also seeking useful areas suitable for ambushes or anything else unusual to our advantage. We don’t want any surprises when the real thing kicks off.

I manage to lose Marsala at one point and stumble on an old pump station that contains a number of large crates but before I can investigate I am unexpectedly joined by three red sash gangsters. As Cilla Black is both dead and absent, I quickly conclude that this is not a prelude to filming an episode of Blind Date* and I quietly settle behind some cover whilst easing my shotgun into position.

*Although number two looked like he might scrub up well…

After a few tense seconds one of the trio walked over in my direction unbuckling his belt to reveal his best friend and I realised with horror that one of two things was about to happen and neither of them held any appeal for me. Honestly where is Marsala when you need her? She’d know what to do.

Still I had an idea myself and I shot number one even as he caught sight of me and regretted his poor choice of weapon. The sound was deafening and I did not even hear the sound of three bodies hitting the deck as his companions dropped into cover, confused I hoped, not having seen where the shot came from.

I was somewhat dazed but anticipated the gang trying to run for it and I drew a bead on the exit accordingly. Nothing happened for long seconds except the ringing in my ears continued. Then, something hard was pressed into the small of my back. Had my luck changed? I slowly put down the gun and turned slowly spreading my arms in the universal ‘let’s talk about this lads’ gesture’.

I just had time to recognise number two and then my reflexes took over. Number two had committed the classic schoolboy error of pressing his pistol against me rather than keeping it out of my reach. He was probably the type of guy who if you handed him a rifle and told him to cover the street from a window would do so by leaning out of the window.

I swung my left arm against his right, sweeping the gun away and punched him in the face with my right in one smooth movement. Well that was the plan and it went perfectly except for two tiny details: The gun went off as I swept it away and I felt a sharp pain in my ribs, and my punch missed. I pulled my own pistol and shot number two point blank and then dropped back into cover, even deafer than I had been moments before, still number two was even deader.

I looked frantically for the third thug but could not see him. Had he slipped away? I could still hear nothing. No sign of Marsala either, surely she would be coming to help me? Or maybe not we weren’t exactly close. Note to self, try not to shoot the next moving target I see without being fairly sure it’s not her. I decided if there was to be more firing I wanted to make sure whoever I hit stayed down and grabbed my shotgun and cautiously began systematically searching the room, shotgun leading.

Suddenly I caught sight of a booted foot protruding from the edge of one of the crates. I swiftly made my way round and surprised the third gang member from behind discharging my shotgun into his skull just behind his left ear with spectacular results. Marsala now arrived, descending a ladder from above. The crates we discovered contained three fairly small calibre canons but no gun carriages. The pick of the body’s loot- a set of keys that we hoped would prove useful in the attack. Fortunately I was only bruised my armour absorbing most of the shot I took.

As usual we curried favour with the lost, handing over three bloody red sashes as further evidence of our bad assedness and they were suitably impressed and the plan was back on. We set up Oberon as observer on the night, to signal us when the coast is clear, or at least clearer. The plan ran as smooth as clockwork, right up until the second the operation started.

Observer Oberon as he will never be known, observed the Red Sash party leaving by cart. I suppose we should be grateful we got that much. How many? Who knows? Not eagle eyed Oberon. Oh there goes another nickname he’ll never have. Anyway we moved in, the keys unlocking an access hatch. Peering through the crack I could see quite a few bodies and movement in the gloom, and wait- blue coats? Not good.

A hurried conference and we decided that a cowardly use of poison gas to bring horrible choking death to innocent and guilty alike in contravention of every civilised law of war and god, was in fact the solution to our problem. Marsala lit the blue touch paper on the deadly cocktail of drugs we had long harboured for just such a mass murder opportunity and I popped it through the hatch. We then retired speedily, realising as we did so from our pre survey work that we were in fact below the outbuildings at the rear and not the main building. D’oh!
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