The day began just like any other day. The sun rose in the East, the air was fresh with that special tang that the sea imbues, and life seemed good. But as always in that special corner of the world that our beloved Sir Peter inhabits, life was not always as it seemed. The winds of intrigue swirled about as the plans of that scion of evil, Manchoo Fooie, began to unfold.

When word of Sir Peter’s “visit” to the Manchoo Fooie leaked out to the pertinent embassies, the aether came alive with transmissions to and fro regarding the unfolding events and just what was to be done to rectify our hero’s situation. In France the Dieuxieme Bureau was alerted to begin coordination of a relief mission by forces of the Empire. In Washington, DC the War Department was briefed by the Secy of State and requested to dispatch a gunboat to the vicinity. Berlin decided that now was as good a time as any to send in the Seebattalion to lay claim to anthing not nailed down. Even St. Petersburg had thoughts of sending in an infantry force but on reflection decided against it. And as usual, Whitehall was empty over the weekend, so the British completely dropped the ball this time around and nary a red- or khaki-clad Tommy would be found within rally distance of one of it’s elite personages! On the local scene the Chinese district Warlord dispatched a unit of his personal guard to impose order since the rival Tongs were sure to take action if European troops were to come ashore at Toon Pang – home to the Manchoo Fooie’s fortress of evil.

Our first sign of unrest came as the starched uniforms of Leutnant Heinrich Stifft and his column of elite Deutches Dumkopf Detachment paraded into the outskirts of Toon Pang in search of the international scoundrel, Redway Cidnee alias “The Fat Man”. No sooner had they set foot into the shadows of the Temple of the Tawny Ptarmigan than the muskets of the infamous Tassafaronga Tong barked out in lethal fusillade. Three of the Kaiser’s Kremepupfs crumpled to the dirt and the chase was on! Herr Stifft, hiking up his starched undies, formed a defensive line and began backing away in the direction of Shan-ti Town. With his own troopers cranking off some well-aimed Mauser rounds, Stifft watched a batch of the Tassies dispatched to visit their ancestors. Meanwhile, even with foreign devils despoiling his beloved sleaze-market, the Manchoo Fooie held his minions in check.

Off to the north-east, the loyal retainers of the local Warlord, Lo Bloh, known to the peasants as the “The Fickle Fist of Fate” marched into town in search of that selfsame “Fat Man” – their purpose to hold him for a taste of ransome from the Germans.

At just that exact moment, the finely tuned forces of the French Empire docked their skiff and debarked in search of our restrained raconteur, Sir Petey! The detachment of Marines under the deft hand of Major Gaston LePew raced immediately toward the Tower of the Munificent Magpie, home base of the devilish Hong Kong Bong Tong.

As if this weren’t enough activity for our small port, the mighty USS San Poople steamed dockside with a squad of swarthy tars just itching for some action along the way while they also searched for our lost Lothario. And these boys would have the benefit of the resources of the American Legation at their disposal! (Unfortunately for them, this consisted of a well worn FIAT flatbed truck and a somewhat rusty Whippet “tank”.) And still Lipp Fatt and the Fooie fanatics kept their calm.

Soon the eastern fringes of Shan-ti came alive with the scurrying of Lo Bloh’s kakhi-clad troops as they scoured the hovels for signs of “The Fat Man”. As they approached the local Apothecary shop who should emerge but Redway himself and his ever-present assistant, “The Fez”. Trapped before they could even draw their weapons, the two scions of international intrigue went meekly to their fate – but as soon as the Warlord’s troops had turned a dark corner, “The Fez” managed to slip his captors and blend into the darkness. In a vain attempt to free his mentor, Fez fired off several rounds into the backs of his bosses’ tormentors and managed to bring down one of them before he went off to greet his ancestors in the great beyond.

Back over on the other side of Shan-ti Town, the retreating Germans were swarmed by the blood-thirsty Tassafaronga Tongers. Though the issue was never truly in doubt, the German rifle fire being deadly as ever, the Tongers managed to bring down several more Krautlys before being decimated. The final butcher’s bill was 10 Tongers moistening the byways with their blood while 2 more Dumkopf’s dropped from this earth. But being a true Prussian at heart, von Stifft drove his men on towards their quarry which now included Lo Bloh’s Warlord troops since they were in posession of “The Fat Man”. And the two upright Tassa-Tongers with their wily leader Boo Yah ran off in search of easier prey. And even still the forces of Manchoo Fooie sat still. (Just how long the Master of Evil would allow this to continue was on the minds of all present!)

Back eastward, the Warlords marched swiftly towards a safehouse to which they could drop their booty. But once again the flower of French chivalry would go off half-cocked! Major LePew could only catch a glimpse of someone European amidst the milling Warlordians and not having cleaned his pinch-nez for a fortnight, he naturally assumed it to be the hapless Sir Peter. This being the case, LePew ordered his Marines to open fire on the fast-marching troops before they could escape his field of fire.

Lo Bloh, with the crack of lead whizzing past his ears, quickly decided that perhaps another place of refuge might be the better choice. Thus, still under the sights of the French, he about-faced his remaining forces and headed towards the “safety” of the docks. Big mistake! Even a cross-eyed French Marine could hit a target when it acted like a duck in a shooting gallery! And so the might of Chinese polity in this region would soon fall to Lo Bloh’s eldest nephew. Under the fusillade put forth by LePew and his crack shooters, not only would the Warlord and his entire entourage be pin-cushioned but the poor helpless “Fat Man” as well met his maker on that spot. This would soon come to cause the French more grief than they could bear!

Finally, back at the Fooie-Dome, the air began to crackle with electricity. The Manchoo had finally had enough of his motionless minions and two red-beanied baddies disappeared in a puff of lightning-charged smoke! Using one of the countless resources from his endless bag of vile trickery, the Manchoo Fooie had “prodded” his forces to set forth to cleanse Shan-ti and Toon Pang of the foreign stain.

The gates to the Manchoo mansion creaked open and out poured a swarm of Fooie-ites under the stern hand of Lipp Fatt, the Manchoo’s chief operative. Like a cloud of locusts they swarmed through the streets and into Shan-ti and the invading Deutches Dumkopf Detachment. To and fro, fore and back the melee danced with first the Fooies and then the Germans gaining the upper hand. Each time the deadly mass changed direction, a pile of lifeless forms remained behind until Lippy decided that he was on the short end of the engagement. Swiftly as they had swept out they returned to the safety of the evil encampment. Alas, they left a third of their brethren scattered amongst the iniquitous dens and byways of Shan-ti – and the Germans were but little better off! Several more Prussian patriarchs would no longer have weekly letters from the front.

Bloodied but unbowed, the German force trudged their way through the dark recesses of Shan-ti Town. As they emerged from the smelly shacks they would encounter a mass of fire poured their way by our friends, the Froggies. This should have slowed the “DDD” but just as Herr Stifft was about to give the order to retreat, he saw the bloody hulk of their original quarry, “The Fat Man” lying in the shade of a cherry tree. Not wanting to see his mission a total loss, he led the remnants of his mighty troop towards the bulky mass. Luckily for them, there was a solid stone wall between the French and Cidnee’s body.

Not to forget about the heroic US Navy, while all the previous mayhem was transpiring our doughty tars set about firing up the vehicles at hand. Unbelieveably, the FIAT actually started on the first attempt and as soon as the squad could mount up it pulled out in the direction of the lair of Dr. Fooie. The whipped Whippet was normally a tad more cantankerous but it too belched out a cloud of oily black fumes on the first crank of the engine! CPO Snarky and Motorman 3rd class Waleoyl clanked out the gate in pursuit of the mighty FIAT and their ultimate aim – Casa de Fooie. Being polite, clean-living Americans, they waved jauntily as they left the French in their dusty wake.

Now, for reasons only known to the ghosts of the French, Major LePew continued his advance in the direction of the Tower of the Munificent Magpie and the ensconsed Bong Tong. Showing typical Gallic flair, LePew sent out a scout to investigate the inner recesses of the Tower – bad move, that! Besides the unearthly scream and subsequent half-gainer performed by the scout as he exited the fourth floor window, the ground around the Magpie Tower soon teemed with bunches of newly enraged Hong Kong Bong Tongers with dreams of Frogs’ legs on their minds.

As this battle was taking shape, the Naval parade was rounding the outskirts of Shan-ti and on the home stretch in their drive to Fooie’s fortress, the last four Germans (Stifft included) dragged the Fat Man’s remains in the direction of the docks, and the last of the Tassa-Tongers were scouring the docks looking for easy booty. Lo and behold they would come upon the shooting stage of the latest Otto von Pisney epic, “Priscilla Perilous and The Swarthy Stranger”. Noting that the camera crew was sited on the next pier over and that leading man, Harrison Handsome, was unarmed, the Tassa-Tongers jumped onto the decks of the floating stage (a nifty little runabout just ripe for stealing!) and tossed Handsome overboard. But they forgot to reckon the plucky heart of “Rufus the Wonder-Mutt”. Starring in his sixth feature, Rufus planted his paws in the chest of the first Tonger he could find and proceeded to send him to Davy Jones’ locker. But stout-hearted as he was, there would be no seventh movie in Rufus’ future as the next Tonger proceeded to punt him into the briny deep.

Meanwhile the French and the Bong Tong began a running battle as Major LePew finally deduced that his aim, Sir Petey, was holed up in the high-walled home of the Manchoo. With shots ringing and pole-arms swinging, the mass of bodies roiled its’ way towards the Manchoo leaving limp figures in its’ wake. Finally reaching the comparative safety of the hovels of Shan-ti, the French took up defensive positions and began plinking away at the onrushing horde of Tongers. It was a long drawn out affair, but the end was soon in sight as the last of the screaming Hong Kong Bong Tongers was cut down in mid-curdle. The end result was another emtpy Tong abode and a French force of only 4 strong men and Major LePew.

By now the Naval convoy had reached the wall of Fooie’s fort. From overhead, Lipp Fatt had his sharpshooters well placed to pick off any approaching threat. Slowly but inexorably the Navy began losing ratings to the musket fire. Just as slowly the mighty Whippet inched its way toward the heavy wooden gate protecting the mansion courtyard. Shuddering as it drove forward the tank cleaved the beams of the doorway and pushed through into the side of the Manchoo favorite flivver. Thus began the Navy’s final hour. With the gate destroyed, the Fooie-ites poured over the sides of the Whippet and the puttering FIAT truck. Their numbers having shrunk from expert sharpshooting, the tars were at a two-to-one disadvantage and while giving a valiant showing of elan they stood no real chance at success. Captain Johnny B. Goode, standing atop the FIAT’s cab and flourishing his pistol and cutlass made a glorious sight in defeat. Never having thoughts of quitting, the USN went down in a mad flurry of razor sharp polearms and axes.

With sounds of gunfire and swordplay in the distance, the French worked their way through the hovels and dens of Shan-ti trying to get in position to help the Americans – not too swiftly though. Finally LePew was in position to help the Navy, but he forgot to check out the one lone figure atop the walls of Fooie-dom. This guy was verily a crack shot as every time he squeezed off a round a Frog ate dirt. Three shots, three kills – not bad for a beginner! Soon it was to be a dance of death between the last standing European, LePew and the cunning Dr Manchoo Fooie. The waltz lasted but a short time as the evil Doctor’s slew of scientific monstrosities eventually zigged at the same time that LePew did.

And so once again the mastermind of deviltry, the mysterious Manchoo Fooie, reigned supreme over the roofs of Toon Pang and Shan-ti Town. All comers lay strewn along the byways and alleyways. It will be a while yet before our illustrious hero, Sir Peter, will make his jaunty way along the canals of Venice or the tree-lined avenues of Paris. Will the capitols of Europe and the Americas bring forth another rescue effort? You betcha! After all, we’re talking about Sir Peter, international man of adventure!