The Manchoo Fooie surveyed the rolling hills stretched out in the morning splendor beneath his Fortress of Doom. Joining him in his morning cup of Lapsang Soochong this fine day was our redoubtable hero, Sir Peter de Gee. As the Manchoo’s unwilling (or was that unwitting?) guest lo these many months, Sir Peter had come to a realization that he was in the presence of not just a scion of evil, but perhaps the ultimate manifestation of cunning and deviltry to grace the planet since Bealzibub was a puppy! Would that he could escape his chains and warn the world of the mouldering menace at hand.

In the Manchoo’s employ currently are many of the foulest dregs of the South Asian docksides but perhaps the worst of the bunch are Fooie’s three captains of crime – Lip Fatt, supernumerary par excellance and the Manchoo’s oldest confederate; Count Wladziu Numnutzki, disgraced shirt-tail relation to the Romanov’s and all-around double/triple agent; and “The Fez” – ex right-hand man to Gruenstrasse Cidney until that unfortunate incident involving a fake lead pigeon (or was it some kind of bird of prey?) These three would be the headmen of the Manchoo’s malevalent minions charged with keeping any rescue attempts for Sir Peter at bay.

As fate would have it this day, Lip Fatt and the Manchoo’s personal guard were scattered about the near bastions of the hilltop fortress. Count Numnutzki and his Trotzki Tongers were spending some free time enjoying the comforts of the Temple of the Jade Gerbil (especially the excellent gong-stylings of Cheech “Mondo-Mallet” Chong ). Meanwhile The Fez and his crew were holed up at the FooFoo Pavilion deep within the Forest Prime-Evil from where he kept in constant contact with his spy-in-the-sky, “One O’Clock Wong” and his burping Bleriot. Such were the forces arrayed across the countryside ready to do battle with any newly-dispatched Rescue Mission.

And so it was that on this fine sunny morn that the Forces of Goodness and Light should arrive on the scene to effect the release of our hearty hero. From dockside in the little fishing village of Gung Pow came the intrepid French Marines under the watchful eye of Major Gaston LePew in company with an elegant bit of French farce. Newly arrived in the Far East was the latest from the laboratories of Louie Pasture et fils – the vaunted Gallic Aural Earwig. Glistening in the morning mist, the Earwig, when fired, would emit a tremendous sub-sonic blast which when encountered by mere human flesh would cause the target to flee the field in abject terror! Unfortunately, the aiming mechanism had not been at the top of the priority list at the factory and only the winds of fortune could predict just where the sound field would fall! Being possibly as dangerous to the shooter as the shootee, the job of actually firing the device was given to Corporal Puneshmenté, low man on the company totem.

Downtown Gung Pow

The opening strains of our little playlet were to be sung by the probing Portuguese as they approached the lair of Count Nummie and his troop. Trading shots with the insurgents, the Portugee came out on the short end due to not having their sights adjusted properly. (At least that’s their story and they’re stickin’ to it!) The Chinese muskets out shot our poor Euros but thankfully there were a lot fewer of them than Lisbonians. Seeing the outcome of this first volley, Capitán Waldo ordered his Stun-Cannon forward and cranked off a salvo. Here at least the Portuguese were successful as those few Tongers that were caught out in the open were laid prone – some for longer than others. This allowed the Portuguese to approach and let off another round of fire while the upright Chinese were still in process of reloading. This time the Portuguese were a bit more on target and a couple of the Count’s followers found their exit visas stamped permanently!

This prompted the Count to crank up his own bit of devilment in the form of a huge mechanical scorpion-shaped killing machine! Scorpio, as we will call it, clanked forward into the midst of a group of unsuspecting Commandos; and, grabbing two of them in its’ metal claws, proceeded to squish the life out of them. Seeing this occur caused Waldo a bit of a pause and he decided to try to clobber the beast by running over it with his Steaming Cannon. The metal monster proved much too agile for such a ploy, but at least Waldo gave his troops time to regroup at a spot away from the Scorpio.

The Outskirts of Town

Noticing some movement out of the corner of his eye, LePew halted his headlong rush before he got himself into a truly dire strait. Quickly advancing to the rear, the Major called hurriedly for the Aural Earwig to be prepped for fire. Carefully adjusting the fire controls with the heel of his boot, Cpl. Puneshmenté covered his eyes and gingerly pushed the fire button. After what seemed an eternity, the machine wheezed, coughed, sputtered and burped before letting forth with a blast of low frequency sonic mayhem. Somehow the Earwig actually managed to be close to hitting what it was aimed at! In the blink of an eye (or the tweak of an ear) the Fezniks scattered to the four winds. Only one poor sot became crazed enough to charge headlong into the waiting bayonets of the French Marines and he was dispatched straight away. This bolstered the Froggy morale to such an extent that they were certain of an easy victory over the Manchoo – wadda bunch a’ maroons!

Way off in the distance, the strains of the Preussens’ Gloria could just be made out over the sounds of the battle. The Germans were advancing! Ever soooo slowly, but they were advancing. Fregattenkapitan Pfannekuchen had just about decided to leave the mighty mechanical beast behind when, lo and behold, it decided to get its’ collective gears in order. With a screeching wail, Monstrodamus took its’ first baby step forward – then another – and before you could whistle Gotterdammerung, it was off to the races! Once more, starched collars crisp and creases sharp, the vaunted Seebattalion was headed towards its’ destiny.

The Navy Prepares to Off-Load!

Such was the method of the Manchoo’s most insidious weapon, a true creature of the mind, The Unseen! Swift in it’s attack and devastating in its’ effect, the mighty Gatling Carriage had been silenced before the crew had any chance to react. Try as they might, the crew could not be revived. Only days later, when safely back aboard ship did the men regain consciousness. And even then, they had no recollection of what had happened to them!

Seeing the ease with which their enemy was able to attack them brought our sea-going heroes up short. Not only could he seemingly attack at will, he could do so without exposing himself to danger! This might not be so easy after all – but orders are orders, so tightening their web-gear they advanced.

Back over with the Frenchies, things weren’t going even this well! Having gathered his forces back together, the Fez once again set out to test the level of French morale. This time, when called upon, the Earwig decided to prove that the quality of Parisian technology left just a bit to be desired. Several times the device just sat there and hissed as Cpl. Puneshmenté bashed the firing button. When it finally did decide to blast out another portion of sonic insanity, the beam was so far off target that only 3 finches and a punch-drunk squirrel left for locations unknown! And to make matters worse, the device immediately split a seam and wheezed into permanent quietude! So much for mechanical assistance, now it was up to Major LePew and his steady (?) troops to deal with the Fezzites.

Temple of the Jade Gerbil

Fortress Fooie!

Long View Towards Foo Pavilion

By now one would have thought that the battle was winding down into a final assault of the Fooie’s Fortress of Doom, but such was not the case at all. Having spent the time til now in cover, the Fooies headman, Lipp Fatt brought forth both his two-legged followers as well as his furry, four-legged ones. That’s right, there were more dastardly doings afoot! At Lipp’s beck and call were the foulest of the Shanghai sewers, Rizzo-the giant rat of Borneo and his flea-bitten horde, the Rat-Pack! Out of the ground they came like a flea encrusted wave, heading straight for the US Navy. Surrounding several tars, they overran the poor sots and left little in their wake but a couple of pea-caps and a half-eaten boot before they were finally beaten back.

Shaken by the fuzzy assault, Max Power had all he could handle keeping his men advancing. But advance they did – straight into the glaive-wielding forces of the evil Fatt. Although the seamen had picked off several of the tongers with gunfire, the evil spearmen were undaunted. The melee was bloody beyond belief with both sides taking severe losses. And when the fanatics did back off to regroup, back came Rizzo for another round of chomping! Amazingly, even under this constant attack, the US Navy did itself proud and never wavered.

Again and again the onslaught continued – first the four-legs, then the two – it was relentless! But finally, the Navy prevailed and the Fooies were sent packing. The heavily depleted patrol gave a cheer and began regrouping for the march up the hill and the Fooie Fortress. But Max had not seen the approaching Germans and the look on the face of Fgtkpt. Pfannekuchen.

Many years ago, in another place, Max had met the German commander’s family under less than ideal circumstances. Being the fun-loving sea-goer that he was, Max had been smitten by a buxom freulein and given her the thrill of her lifetime. Then, as oft happens with men of the sea, duty called and Max took back to his ship leaving a heart-broken lass on shore. There she was comforted by her older brother who vowed to avenge his sister’s slighted honor! And now the opportunity presented itself.

Looks Like a Landing Strip to Me!

Another Look at the Gerbil Joint

When the smoke cleared (figuratively, that is) both officers were hors d’combat, having nailed each other in one unmentionable organ or another – the German having aimed purposefully but Max because he was a miserable shot! Dragging their seriously wounded leaders off the field, both squads decided against any further action for this day.

And so it was that our suave man-about-the-world was seen bravely waving to the departing forces while he was trussed across the bonnet of the Manchoo Fooies mighty Morgan 3-wheeler as the Manchoo did a victory lap or two around the field of battle.

Buck up Sir Petey, the forces of Good will keep trying to snatch you from the Master of Evil until success is theirs!

Fooie's View of the Scene