Quoi! Ce n'est pas La Marseillaise!So, we could sing together ! It will be wonderful !
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Wraggles To The Rescue!
- Thread starter Wragg
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messaline
Crucified Amazon
Si mais c'est en code ...(it's coded)Quoi! Ce n'est pas La Marseillaise!
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
So, we could sing together ! It will be wonderful !
The Germans will do every possible effort to make the singing off key!
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
I' ll remind you. Hercule Wragglot was about to gather the suspects, in order to find out who is the traitor!Somebody remind me which story this is, dashed if I can remember
And, donnerwetter, Herr Major, I mean, great scott, Squadron Leader, hurry up please! Dying on the cross is one thing, Having to do it in front of a SS platoon singing 'Erika' or loudly citing experts from 'Mein Kampf' from their Donnerbalken is a fate worse than just crucifixion!
After a good deal more bellowing and unprintable German, Repertor eventually got all of them standing upright and in some sort of order, standing in a row in front of Messaline.
“Well done, Corporal,” said the Lieutenant, in a near-perfect English accent. “A fine effort. Now perhaps you’d be so kind as to have your men place their weapons on the ground, and stand with their hands in the air. You could do the same yourself, if you wouldn’t mind.”
The SS already there swivelled round, and pointed a great deal of unpleasant looking artillery at Wraggles and the others.
The shocks were coming thick and fast now, it was more than Wraggles could do to keep up with them. His brain was spinning as he set his gun down on the ground in front of him, and carefully stood back up, hands raised high. Clearly something or someone had given them away, but what, or who?
An SS-private was sent to search them, which he did, none too gently, relieving Wraggles of his knife, and Algy of the wrench that had been intended to drag Messaline’s nails out of the wood.
Behind them, Messa groaned, her last chance of rescue foiled before her very eyes. Wraggles could imagine her despair, he wasn’t feeling all that cheerful himself.
“Well, Gentlemen,” continued the Lieutenant with his studied politeness. “Isn’t this pleasant? We’re delighted that you have been able to join us. Of course, we were expecting you. Which of you is Wragglesworth?”
Wraggles nodded. “Me.”
“Very pleased to meet you, Squadron Leader. I am SS-Lieutenant Schiller. Now then, to business. Firstly, I am sure that I don’t need to spell out to you the fragility of your position. You are an English serviceman wearing the uniform of an SS Private, a uniform which daylight will reveal is still stained by the blood of its original owner. I have the absolute right under international law to execute you, and I shall indeed do just that. And yet, I am a reasonable man, and I can offer you a choice.” He took the safety catch off his Luger. “I am prepared to expend a bullet, which we can ill afford, and put it through your brain; a quick and merciful death, if you just supply me with the answer to a simple question. Or, you can choose, as Messaline did, to be stubborn and unco-operative. Which is it to be?”
“Perhaps you will permit me to ask you a question, first?” Wraggles had nothing to lose.
“Come, now Squadron Leader. You are in no position to bargain. Besides, I can guess your question. You wish to know who informed us of your impending visit?”
Hardly daring to breathe, Wraggles nodded slowly.
“Well, I shall be delighted to tell you, just before I shoot you. If, and only if, you answer the following question to my satisfaction.”
Wraggles just gazed at him, fighting to remain calm.
“WHERE IS BARBARA WORRALSON?????”
“Well done, Corporal,” said the Lieutenant, in a near-perfect English accent. “A fine effort. Now perhaps you’d be so kind as to have your men place their weapons on the ground, and stand with their hands in the air. You could do the same yourself, if you wouldn’t mind.”
The SS already there swivelled round, and pointed a great deal of unpleasant looking artillery at Wraggles and the others.
The shocks were coming thick and fast now, it was more than Wraggles could do to keep up with them. His brain was spinning as he set his gun down on the ground in front of him, and carefully stood back up, hands raised high. Clearly something or someone had given them away, but what, or who?
An SS-private was sent to search them, which he did, none too gently, relieving Wraggles of his knife, and Algy of the wrench that had been intended to drag Messaline’s nails out of the wood.
Behind them, Messa groaned, her last chance of rescue foiled before her very eyes. Wraggles could imagine her despair, he wasn’t feeling all that cheerful himself.
“Well, Gentlemen,” continued the Lieutenant with his studied politeness. “Isn’t this pleasant? We’re delighted that you have been able to join us. Of course, we were expecting you. Which of you is Wragglesworth?”
Wraggles nodded. “Me.”
“Very pleased to meet you, Squadron Leader. I am SS-Lieutenant Schiller. Now then, to business. Firstly, I am sure that I don’t need to spell out to you the fragility of your position. You are an English serviceman wearing the uniform of an SS Private, a uniform which daylight will reveal is still stained by the blood of its original owner. I have the absolute right under international law to execute you, and I shall indeed do just that. And yet, I am a reasonable man, and I can offer you a choice.” He took the safety catch off his Luger. “I am prepared to expend a bullet, which we can ill afford, and put it through your brain; a quick and merciful death, if you just supply me with the answer to a simple question. Or, you can choose, as Messaline did, to be stubborn and unco-operative. Which is it to be?”
“Perhaps you will permit me to ask you a question, first?” Wraggles had nothing to lose.
“Come, now Squadron Leader. You are in no position to bargain. Besides, I can guess your question. You wish to know who informed us of your impending visit?”
Hardly daring to breathe, Wraggles nodded slowly.
“Well, I shall be delighted to tell you, just before I shoot you. If, and only if, you answer the following question to my satisfaction.”
Wraggles just gazed at him, fighting to remain calm.
“WHERE IS BARBARA WORRALSON?????”
RacingRodent
Consul
Well "dah, dah, dah" as a closing caption might say. Cue the ominous music and tune in dear listeners to next thrilling instalment of Wraggles to the Rescue, same time next week on the BBC Adult's Hour
Last edited:
windar
Teller of Tales
Maybe they should ask "Who is Barbara Worralson?"
A proposal for a suitable front page already?.
Nice but shows up as very low resolution on my laptop screen
Mr Lucky...
Well I had to entertain myself while you and the rest of the rescue team were floundering about. Let me know when you need my help.
Well I had to entertain myself while you and the rest of the rescue team were floundering about. Let me know when you need my help.
Very soon, dear girl, very soon... how the hell else are we going to get out of this muddle?
Very soon, dear girl, very soon... how the hell else are we going to get out of this muddle?
?