Ye Olde Rusty Lantern Game 3

YORL Status:

Pot: A$160

Cards Burned: 6
Loose Ends: 2 - pink, Great Pyramids of Giza
Cards in Deck: 22

Play Order:
Alfvaen            [4 cards]
A Mean Hat         [6 cards]
K 2                [7 cards]
risE               [6 cards]
JT                 [8 cards]
saaremaa           [7 cards]
Slakko             [7 cards]
/dev/joe           [7 cards]

1936. Germany. In the spartan, sterile, secret underground laboratory of Herr Doktor Maximilian Hertz, Kapitan Hans Zumwald stood, silent and grim, in the antechamber, waiting for Hertz. The lightning bolts stood out on the shoulder patches, and the cold, dead grey of the uniform matched the cold, dead, grey of his eyes. Zumwald lifted his arm in a perfect salute as the Doktor shambled in, hunchbacked and bedraggled, from his inner sanctum. "Heil Hitler, Herr Doktor," he snapped, and his body snapped even straighter along with the words.

"Heil Hitler, Zumwald," said the little genius, looking up at him out of angry, bloodshot eyes. "Have I not told you, I am not to be disturbed here? My researches require the utmost concentration!

Zumwald looked at the Doktor, and the dead grey eyes seemed to find some life. "You must speed up the process. The British have cracked our codes, and if we do not act quickly, it will be too late."

Hertz snorted. "It is not easy to invent totally new physics, Kapitan. Ifyou continue to rush me like this, how can you expect me to understand the epsilon field well enough to bring the comets crashing into Britain as we have planned?"

Zumwald's perfect jaw clenched. "It is worse than you think. They have told the Americans, and I am told that Wyoming Johnson is on our trail"

"Gott in Himmel! Not Wyoming Johnson!" Their eyes met, and a careful observer might have detected more than a trace of fear in the eyes of both the twisted scientist and the ramrod-straight aryan soldier.

***

Across the Baltic, Wyoming Johnson was already sitting in the office of the Prime Minister. His battered fedora was still on his head, and his pipe, unlit, stood out from the corner of his mouth. "So, the Krauts are working on a comet-control-laser? No problem." The heavyset leader of the United Kingdom looked at him with gratitude.

"Thank you,.. err,... Wyoming... Can I offer you a light?" The PM crossed the room, pulling a matchbook out of his pocket and preparing to offer it to the intrepid globe-trotter.

Johnson's eyes flashed in anger, and he slapped down the hand of the Minister. "NO ONE touches my pipe," he said. Carefully retrieving his own matches from his pocket, Wyoming lit the pipe himself. "So, when can I cross the channel?"

The man clad all in black watched, motionless and silent, as Wyoming Johnson floated down, lazily drifting, in his red, white, and blue parachute into the south of France. Carefully, he raised his sniper rifle. To extract the current British radio codes had cost the life of more than one undercover German agent in service in the British army, and this man meant to make Johnson pay. "Well, Herr Johnson," he said to himself, as the wind buffeted the intrepid explorer from side to side in the sky, "I guess we'll have to let you live until you hit ground, at least."

As Johnson hit the ground, the man clad in black shifted his position. His eyes focused on the parachute through his scope, waving on the ground in the wind, about 500 meters distant. "Poor Amerikan," said the assassin. "Did you have a hard fall?" Once, twice, three times, the rifle twitched, and three bullets sped silently to the downed parachute.

Immediately, the man clad in black knew something was wrong. Johnson wasn't under the parachute! He swore to himself and leapt up, only to be met by a swift, sharp, blow to the head with Johnson's famous "singing stick." The lead pipe glanced off the German's skull, and Johnson grinned grimly, pipe jutting from above his lower lip.

"Mon Dieu, mon ami, you are too much," came a voice behind him. Wyoming turned around to face the speaker, a petit frenchwoman clad all in pink, with a cute beret on top of her vaguely strawberry blonde hair. "We had no idea that he was here until after the shots." We swept the area, we did, Wyoming, I promise you. And even then we did not know where he was. How did you do it, Wyoming?" she asked.

Johnson swiveled. "Marie! So nice to see you," he said. "You should know by now, I feel it tickle me in the base of my spine whenever there's peril. It's my danger itch! I knew that there might be trouble, so I kept the parachute moving and was out of it as soon as it was down. It was easy."

Marie smiled shyly up at him. "I missed you, Wyoming," she said simply. There was a pause, and the little pink woman flushed a little pinker.

"Let's go," said Wyoming, and little pink Marie led him to her little pink convertible parked not far away.

I can feel the heat closing in, feel them out there making there moves, thought Wyoming Johnson as the car sped through the French countryside. It^Òs only a matter of time before I slip up, then they will be on top of me faster than a comet through the night sky. He leaned back in the seat and gazed at the scenery blurring around him. His reverie was broken by Marie^Òs voice.

^ÓMr Johnson, could I interest you in some classical music?^Ô She indicated a tape recorder and a selection of tapes at his feet.

^ÓNo, thank you, I prefer Jazz.^Ô

^ÓPerhaps I could interest you in the music of the Ukraine?^Ô

Wyoming paused momentarily. ^ÓNone of that communist muck for me - I^Òm a red-blooded American dammit, good old US of A.^Ô His alliance confirmed, Marie handed him a tape from the glove compartment.

^ÓGood evening Mr Johnson,^Ô the tape began, although as Wyoming listened it was clearly morning, ^Óif all has gone as planned, the Prime Minister has divulged to you the identity of Dr Maximilian Hertz, the Nazi scientist we believe is behind this plot. At this time, I can reveal to you that he is currently en route to Egypt where the Nazis have cordoned off a site around the Great Pyramids of Giza. Just exactly what interest they have in this site is at present unknown.

"Your mission, Wyoming, should you choose to accept it, is to infiltrate the Nazi base at Giza and bring Dr Hertz back with you to Allied soil - dead or alive.^Ô

With a tense face, Wyoming awaited the ominous coda; ^ÓAgain, should you or any of your associated operatives be caught, the Allies will disavow all knowledge. Good luck. This tape will self-destruct in five seconds.^Ô

Masking the smoke with his lit pipe, Wyoming became pensive as the convertible pulled up outside the safe house. His journey proper, had only just begun.

Brown eyes stared at Wyoming through the slit in the door. "The password?"

"The password is 'the password is'," Wyoming quined.

"Tres bien, Monsieur Johnson." The door slid open to reveal an elderly Frenchman dressed impeccably. "You may call me Passenulpart. May I take your chapeau?"

"This thing doesn't leave my head," Wyoming growled as he pushed through the door. Marie, who followed close behind him, blushed pink again. "Now, what's the plan to get me into Giza?"

"Well, monsieur, it is very well known, peut-etre too well known, that you are an archaeologist. So les allemands will be expecting you to arrive under that guise.

"However, we have recently discovered that a shipping firm from Florence is being contracted to ship a large cargo of Egyptian relics. It will be leaving tomorrow, so you should travel avec grand vitesse... Train tickets for yourself and mademoiselle will be available under the name Dartagnan."

"Wonderful. Now how do we get there from here? And without being spotted by the Krauts?"

Passenulpart opened a door to reveal stairs leading down. "The bookshelf in the middle of the back wall. It opens by moving the copy of _Moby Dick_. Bonne chance, mes amis."

The journey through the tunnel behind the bookshelf was uneventful, if dark and cramped, and they emerged in one of the maintenance tunnels beneath the train station itself. German guards stood at the entrances to the station, but none seemed to be looking behind them. "I'll go get the tickets," Marie said. "You wait here."

From the schedule they had cut it close, but if they were to get to Florence in time they needed to. The train was already in the final stages of loading. Seeing Marie returning with the tickets, Wyoming went forward to meet her, almost colliding with another passenger, a German officer. His eyes widened with recognition. "Mein Gott--" he began.

That was as far as he got. Wyoming grabbed him before he was ready to defend himself, and threw him down into a clot of half-drunk Swiss who had obviously just arrived in France. "Quickly," Wyoming said as Marie dashed up. "With any luck we can leave him behind here. Go!"

They leapt onto the train just as it started moving. The harassed-looking conductor showed them to their stateroom, and they settled in to watch the German officer running alongside the train screaming for it to stop(before tripping and falling off the side of the platform).

"I'm going to freshen up," Marie said, and opened the bathroom door. An instant later, she screamed.

"What is it?" Wyoming said, rushing to her side. In the bathroom was a man, bleeding from a gunshot wound. He beckoned them closer.

"Epsilon," he whispered, and died.

"He was one of our agents," Marie said at breakfast. The body had been hurriedly concealed in the baggage car.

"So what is this 'epsilon'?" Wyoming asked Marie.

"It is complicated to explain," she said. "But I know that it is not what the Germans think it is. They think it is some new technological weapon. But the truth is much darker than that. Dr. Hertz has stumbled onto an evil force that would be much better locked away for eternity. 'Epsilon' is what it is called by those who know better than to say its true name. Do you read Greek, monsieur?" She traced several letters on the tablecloth. "Do not say it out loud, though. No matter what."

Wyoming twisted his head to read the letters, as he had seen them on so many ancient ruins. _Echthroi_. "I've seen something like that before," he muttered. "That was the Greek name, but the Egyptian name was...well, slightly different. And probably even more dangerous to say, I know."

When they returned to their stateroom, Marie suddenly motioned Wyoming to a halt in the hallway. "Someone is there," she whispered.

"Probably whoever offed your friend." Wyoming quickly doffed his fedora, opened the door from the side, and tossed it through, diving in low. The gunshot went high, as he had expected, and his tackle drove his opponent against the wall, the gun falling from his hand. However, the man had obviously been prepared for this eventuality, for with a flick of his write a knife appeared in his other hand. The blade flashed at Wyoming's face, but he managed to twist aside and it only took a slice out of his ear.

Then the man's grip relaxed. Wyoming rolled aside to see Marie standing with the gun pointed at the other man's head. "Not another move, monsieur, or you will also get to ride in the baggage car for the rest of this trip."

At Thu, 10 Dec 1998 03:20:17 -0500, it was noted that the Barkeep had failed to respond to a prompting message, and was removed.

JT asked the game to be declared moribund at Thu, 10 Dec 1998 03:20:17 -0500.

Page by: Joseph DeVincentis, Duncan Richer.
Last Updated Friday, October 30, 1998