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The Tragic Tale of Brigadier General Sir Hercules Harrumph.
Topic Started: Sep 8 2013, 10:38 AM (237 Views)
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Brigadier General Sir Hercules Harrumph of the Queen's Own 51st (Extremely) Heavy Elephant Regiment sat in the howdah of Bessie, his command elephant, and gazed mournfully out over the steaming jungles. He had parked (or rather, Ranjit Singh, his mahout) had parked the great beast atop a small hill which rose clear of the the jungles and afforded a splendid view. But he was paying no attention to the view. He was, as usual, thinking vaguely of elephants. To be more specific, he was considering the enormous difficulties faced by a man who wished to make them fly.

From a little way down the hill came the sounds of a hundred sweating natives dragging a large, and heavy obstruction through the jungles. They were aided in this endeavour by Nigel, Clarence and Waldorf, three of the regiment's finest bull elephants. The Brigadier could just make them out as the struggled to move the huge object up the small path. It was his latest creation, a master work of engineering, carefully applied force, and years of good old British know how. But he was fairly sure it wouldn't work.

"It's the demmed venturis in the combustion chambers," he informed Ranjit Singh, who nodded wisely, despite having no idea what was happening. "They keep causing misfires, and the whole demmed thing goes off course."

With a sigh, the Brigadier gazed down once more upon the teeming native, who had finally gotten the massive object into position. Now they were wrestling it onto the ramp which stuck out of the hill. It was a sort of long cylinder, pointed at one end, flared at the other, and with a hole in the middle. A hole about the right size to accomodate a fully grown bull elephant.

By the time the Brigadier had climbed down, swished away a few flies with his fly swisher, and sauntered gloomily over, Waldorf the elephant was being helped into a leather helmet and enourmous goggles by his mahout, while various other indians were trying to convince him to get into the hole.

"Now then," barked the Brigadier, "Elephants, Indian, One into Holes, Elephants for the use of. Hurry up there my good man." Waldorf gave him a dirty look, but shuffled into the hole, and allowed himself to be strapped in.
"Good show," said sir Hercules, "Now then, you know the drill. Ascend to 10,000 feet, eject the rockets, and parachute down to a safe landing. Just like basic training, eh, what?"
He saluted the great grey aviator, and retired to a safe distance. The great grey aviator didn't salute back.

Sir Hercules, back ram rod straight despite his doubts (must put on a good show for the natives donchaknow?) watched as the final preparations were made, then tapped a knealing native on the back with his fly swisher. The native lit the fuse.

For a few moments, nothing happened, and then, with a mighty roar, the rocket, elephants for the use of, Mk.VIII took flight.

"Good lord." murmured Sir Hercules.
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