Holmes here. With Lestrade fighting to the North, the Yard has engaged my services to hold the fort in London. These are dark days. The mobs have scented weakness and are hungry for power. Pursuant to warnings of all out gang war on the streets of the City of London, we rushed over and arrived in the nick of time. As we advanced North up Main Street, the Brick Lane Anarchists advanced South along the same road. The Working Class Hero was giving the gob like a good’un right up to the moment when WPC Sniper Sue (heroine of the Yard!) put a bullet through the man standing next to him. The sudden realisation that Sue can easily take a man’s head off from the other edge of the board took the wind out of his sails and the suddenly windy one found he had an urgent appointment in the cemetery to the West. A cemetery through which the Turkish Secret Service had been creeping East in the hope of taking the Anarchists in the flank. Cue the biggest eyeball to eyeball punch up ever experienced in these Small Wars so far. An engagement mostly featuring cold steel at eye watering proximity punctuated by bursts of high intensity fire. No gouging, except in the eyes; no low punches, except below the belt; one straight kill or slow lingering death to be the winner. Nothing seemed disallowed though, frankly, I think using a Maxim at point blank range is a little unethical. It was going to be overtime for the gravedigger when he turned up the following day.
Meanwhile, the Country House Mob had sidled in from the East and were already amusing themselves. Suddenly a flightless chicken hurtled through the air. We all knew what this meant. Cluck, cluck, boom!. It was time to take a decision. And it was an important one with so many of her Majesty’s (God bless her!) worst enemies in the same place. To our North, those who would overthrow her; to our East, those who would replace her with their own usurper; to the West, those keen on having a Sultana instead (dreadful fruit, if you ask me). It was a seven pipe problem but I only had one with me. Undeterred, I considered the options. At the minute, they were piling into each other but, as soon as the real established order came close, all thoughts would turn to the acquisition of nice blue uniforms provided they had attractive red stains on them. We had to concentrate our attack. It did not take long to realise that Main Street was a grave waiting to happen. That left the flanks. Our left was mostly blocked off by a huge warehouse. Only a narrow alley allowed further progress. Through which came a succession of terrible screams, pleas for mercy and horrible gurgling noises. On our right, a warren of grim, forbidding lanes were occupied by grim, forbidding louts. Putting Watson in charge of Special Branch to hold the right, WPC Sniper Sue in the centre to provide covering fire, I lead the boys in blue towards the alley on the left in order to locate the enemy. I need not have bothered. They came to us. AvYourArmOff and his clockwork crocodile barrelled out of the alley. We did not have too much trouble with AvYourArmOff. It only took four officers several turns to arrest his corpse for resisting arrest. But, from bitter personal experience, we can assure you that these blasted clockwork crocodiles are a pain in the posterior. Despite being surrounded by five men, that rapacious reptilian automaton repeatedly managed to break through the cordon using the simplest of tactical plans. It ate one of the officers around it. We lost three men before we were finally able to short circuit it. Not to worry. Scattered over the road were enough parts to construct two replacement Constables. Thank heavens for Dr Jekyll and his secret laboratories.
Resting our weary limbs, we looked for good news on our right. There wasn’t any. After their last kicking, the Country House Mob have equipped themselves with some serious hardware. The rain of fire from Smirking Poirot’s (Hercule’s evil twin) arc rifle, Colonel Saunders’ Kentucky frying arc cannon and catapult launched exploding homing chickens had turned Special Branch into Special Fried Branch. Only Dr Watson had managed to outdistance the exploding poultry long enough to plug Flash Harry creeping down the road. Good work, Watson! Nice to see the Baker Street spirit in action. Frustrated at Watson’s indefatigable opposition and frightened of Sniper Sue’s inhuman accuracy, the Country House’s minions attempted to creep round under cover and rush Sue. Sadly for the hopelessly deluded ones, Sniper Sue (heroine of the Yard and top totty!) evaded their clutches and proceeded to gun down the bad butler and his evil sidekick, the criminal cook. The rest ran for cover like the curs they are!
However all in all, this won’t go down as a success in the annals of our crime capers. The Turks and the Brick Lane boys and girls did not leave much of that part of the city standing. Damage might have been less if the Country House Mob hadn’t insisted in lobbing exploding chickens into the general melee. Add into that the unfortunate number of plucky civilians who leapt up to catch our stray bullets and the superintendent has gone a very nasty shade of red. Not quite as red as the Janissary commander though since his boys were well and truly spanked by Petunia and Cynthia of Brick Lane. That won’t do much for their misogyny.
Inspector (acting) Sherlock Holmes,
The Yard.
P.S. Incidentally, it is quite obvious that all our red-headed officers were selectively targeted. This is gingerphobia! We shall not rest until those guilty of this heinous crime are bathed in red themselves. You have been warned you ‘orrible shower!
P.P.S. We use a limit of eight civilian casualties before you are out. It increases the tension noticeably.
Pictures:
WPC "Sniper" Sue waits in the shadows of a ruined house for the foolishly over-confident.
Holmes and Watson stand on the old bridge discussing the options for the attack.
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