Part 3, Second Last Chapter, of RFV.

NINE

 

    A surprised Roger found himself on a stage in a small hall in front of an audience of tough looking SS troops. Conveniently, they all spoke english.

    “Is this where all the screaming and groaning was coming from earlier?” he asked Rolf.

    Rolf grinned. “Losing contestants,” he explained then he and Herman strolled offstage.

    A few chords of brash organ music rolled out and Kapitan Kurty bounded onstage. He had changed his uniform jacket for a glittery garish gold showbiz-type jacket which had the Division’s crossed whips emblem on the wide lapels. The audience cheered.

    “Hi Kameraden!” called Kapitan Kurty. “And it’s a warm welcome to another edition of BLACK-JACK-BOOTS!!”

    “BLACK-JACK-BOOTS!!” yelled the audience.

    “Da-dar-a-da-da-daaahhh!” played the organ.

    “And our contestant tonight, all the way from a planet that does not exist anymore �" Roger White! Let’s hear it for Roger!”

    The SS audience cheered and applauded.

    Kapitan Kurty put an arm round Roger’s shoulder. “A bit nervous?” he asked.

    “Just a little,” Roger replied, smiling weakly.

    “No need to be. Tell us a little about yourself.”

    “Well my name is Roger White, I’m a Fleet--”

    “That’s enough,” Kapitan Kurty interrupted, beaming. “No need to try to get interesting. Like most quiz shows we specialize in a lack of integrity, don’t we?”

    “OF COURSE WE F*****G DO!!” yelled the audience.

    “Well let’s get on with the show. Roger, we’re going to have two rounds of questions. The first round has some general questions, the second deals with just one subject. With me so far?”

    Roger nodded.

    “Okay, so it’s straight into the first round…Roger, could you just stand a bit closer to me so the audience can see you better.”

    Roger shuffled over a bit.

    “That’s excellent,” said Kapitan Kurty. “Just use the bloodstains as your marker.”

    Roger glanced down. There were some dark red marks on the floor. Fresh red marks. He swallowed.

    Kapitan Kurty took an envelope from a small table next to him, opened it and removed a sheet of paper. “Here goes,” he gushed. “Three questions for you, Roger. Answer two or more correct and you’re through to the next round with the chance to win some fabulous prizes. Less than two correct,” he said, grinning at the audience who were waiting expectantly, “and it’s FERTILISER TIME!!”

    “FERTILISER TIME!!” they screamed back.

    “What’s that?” asked Roger.

    “Rolf shoots you. Your body is taken away and turned into fertiliser,” Kapitan Kurty kindly explained.

    Roger swallowed.

    “First question, Roger. An easy one to start with…where did the Battle of Hastings take place?” Kapitan Kurty asked, smiling out at the audience.

    Roger frowned. “The Battle of Hastings…mmmhhh…on Pluto?”

    The organ played a flat chord and the audience booed.

    “Wrong!” scolded Kapitan Kurty. “That was the Battle of Pluto you were thinking about.”

    The audience laughed.

    “And the next question,” Kapitan Kurty went on. “It’s a bit more difficult this time so concentrate. Ready?”

    Roger concentrated hard but nothing changed inside his head. Still, at least he seemed to have stopped saying things he didn’t want to. Now if only he could manage correct answers.

    “What is the longest river in the known Universe? No help from the audience please.”

    “The River Pluto!” someone yelled and the others laughed derisively.

    Roger’s face creased in thought. He scratched his head. “I know this,” he muttered.

    “The River Hastings!” a voice yelled from the more boisterous section of the audience.

    “I said no help from the audience!!” Kapitan Kurty raged petulantly.

    The SS laughed and whistled at him.

    “If you’re going to be like that,” he said, his lip trembling, “I’ll go off. I shall, I shall.”

    “OOOHHH!! I SHALL!! I SHALL!!” the audience mimicked, stamping their feet.

    Kapitan Kurty raged. “If you go on like this I’ll have you all sent down the mines!!” he yelled at them.

    “PROMISES PROMISES!!” responded the audience.

    Roger was still thinking about the answer to the question then he grinned. “It’s the River Elim on the planet Andaz,” he answered. “I should know because I fell in!”.

    The audience laughed.

    “Correct answer!” gushed the Kapitan. “You lucky lucky boy! That’s one correct answer! Isn’t he a lucky boy?” he asked the audience.

    “GET ON WITH THE F*****G SHOW!!” yelled the warm-hearted crowd.

    Kapitan Kurty ignored them. “Lat question, Roger,” he said. “Get it right and you’re through to the next round. Get it wrong…” his eyes twinkled sadistically, “and it’s FERTILISER TIME!!”

    “FERTILISER TIME!!” echoed the delighted audience.

    “An here is your question,” the Kapitan said, adopting a serious tone. “Complete the following well-known phrase or saying…’These papers are tomatoes’--”

    “’with big hairy testicles’!” Roger finished quickly.

    “Cooorrreeecccttt!!” yelled Kapitan Kurty, dancing up and down and hugging Roger.

    The organ played some bright tinny music and the audience cheered and applauded.

    “Here’s your prize for the first round,” gushed Kapitan Kurty. “It’s a BLACK-JACK-BOOTS pen and pencil set!”

    “BLACK-JACK-BOOTS!!” yelled the audience.

    “And now we move on to the second and last round of the Quiz,” said the Kapitan. “And to find out your subject matter, we’ll play SPIN THE GERIATRIC!!”

    The audience whistled and cheered.

    The organ played some tinny music and the curtains behind them parted. There was a large disc on the wall behind them. The disc was divided into different coloured triangular sections and an old man had been strapped across the middle of it on a board.

    “Now we’ll ask Rolf and Herman to SPIN THE GERIATRIC!!” yelled Kapitan Kurty.

    To wild applause from the crowd, Rolf and Herman came back onstage, They waved and bowed then Rolf took the board at the geriatric’s feet and Herman took it at his head.

    “ONE!!” yelled the crowd as they gave the board an experimental push.

    “TWO!!” yelled the crowd as they took a firm grip.

    “THREE!!” they yelled and the geriatric started spinning.

    Upper and lower dentures flew in different directions as he went round, talcum powder sprayed out from everywhere and rolls of yellowish bandage started unwinding, indicating that the spinning geriatric had taken the precaution of having had his legs lagged for the winter. Slowly he stopped spinning and came to rest vertically.

    “And what will Roger be answering questions on!?!” Kapitan Kurty trilled excitedly.

    Herman looked at the red triangle next to the geriatric’s head. “History, mein Kapitan!” he answered. He reached into the triangle, took out an envelope and gave it to the Kapitan.

    The curtain closed.

    Kapitan Kurty opened the envelope and took out a sheet of paper. “Same format as before, Roger,” he told him. “Two or more correct and you can win some fabulous prizes. Less than two correct and it’s…”

    “FERTILISER TIME!!” yelled the enthusiastic audience.

    Kapitan Kurty smiled. “Right, here’s your first question…’Ein Volk, Ein Blut, Ein Reich, Einstein’ �" which comedy trio had a hit with that song way back in 1940?”

    Roger didn’t hesitate. “The Lower Bavarian People’s Indoor Hill Walking Combo,” he said.

    “Correct!” said Kapitan Kurty, beaming.

    The organ played a few bright chords and the audience cheered.

    “Question two.”

    A hush fell over the dead people in the audience.

    “Arrested for indecent exposure in 1937, Joseph Stalin bounced back a few years later to start a campaign of terror to control the USSR which included forced labour camps and the brutal murder of millions of innocents. Why did Joey never collect the Nobel Peace Prize?”

    “Because it would have meant going to Stockholm and he couldn’t stand being away from Shuky, his pet whippet?” hazarded Roger.

    The organ played a flat chord and Kapitan Kurty shook his head. “Wrong! Joseph Stalin never collected the Nobel Peace Prize because he was a murdering psychopathic b*****d, is the correct answer.”

    “Oh.”

    Laughter from the crowd.

    “Here comes the last question,” said Kapitan Kurty, “and it’s a trick one, so watch it…In 100BC, the Roman Emperor Hadrian started to march south from the Nile. He halted his legions at the Congo because he was feeling a bit shagged out but they pushed on the following afternoon heading for the Zambezi. When they halted a couple of days later for a smoke and a cup of tea, what did Hadrian have on his sandwiches �" was it, a) the prow of the Titanic, b) a whale, c) a slice of cold meat or d) the upper lip of Christopher Columbus?”

    Roger frowned. The audience fell silent. It was showdown time. A correct answer and there were some fabulous prizes waiting. A wrong answer and it was Fertiliser Time.

    “FERTILISER TIME!!” shouted the crowd.

    “Was it the prow of the Titanic,” Kapitan Kurty asked softly, “or a whale?”

    Roger’s finger travelled up towards his nose.

    “HE’S GOING TO PICK HIS NOSE!!” chanted the audience.

    Roger flushed and dropped his hand.

    “Or a slice of cold meat,” went on Kapitan Kurty, “or the upper lip of Christopher Columbus? Remember, it’s a trick question.”

    “The upper lip of Christopher Columbus,” said a confident Roger, “but he had the crusts cut off the bread.”

    “YOU’VE DONE IT!!”” yelled Kapitan Kurty, hugging him.

    Amidst brassy organ music, pandemonium erupted in the crowd �" Fritz Pandemonium. He’d swallowed a miniature grenade for a dare and it had exploded. Bits of him went flying round the crowd. Blood sprayed out absolutely everywhere…well, alright, not exactly everywhere, for instance none of it reached Venus or Mars but there was a jolly lot of it splashed over the soldiers sitting next to him.

    “Congratulations Roger!” yelled Kapitan Kurty. “You’ve won the chance for some superb prizes!”

    The curtains parted again to reveal a conveyer belt running across the stage. The Kapitan led Roger over to it and they ducked underneath then turned so they were still facing the crowd.

    “You see this conveyor belt,” said the Kapitan.

    Roger nodded.

    “There are going to be some absolutely fabulous prizes running along it. After the belt stops, you’ve got thirty seconds to remember as many of them as you can.”

    “And I can take them away!?” an excited Roger asked.

    “Of course,” Kapitan Kurty said generously.

    “Did you just say ‘generously’?” Roger asked, frowning.

    Kapitan Kurty shook his head. “No, I said ‘of course’, generously.”

    Roger’s frown deepened but he let it go.

    “Good, I see you’ve let that frown go,” said the Kapitan.

    “Of course,” Roger said generously.

    Kapitan Kurty looked at him. “Did you just say ‘generously’?” he asked.

    “GET ON WITH IT!!” the audience yelled impatiently.

    Kapitan Kurty sneered at them. “Philistines,” he whispered to Roger. “They can’t appreciate a nice bit of literary surrealism.”

    Roger nodded understandingly.

    “So you know what’s going to happen?” Kapitan Kurty asked, resuming his quiz master role. “There are going to be wonderful prizes passing along this belt and you get to take away all the ones you can remember. Understand?”

    “Of course.”

    There was a seat next to the conveyor belt and the Kapitan indicated it to Roger.

    “A chair!” Roger shouted excitedly.

    The audience laughed.

    “It’s for sitting on while you watch the prizes passing along,” Kapitan Kurty said dryly.

    “Oh sorry. Thought we’d started.”

    “The prizes will start coming along shortly,” Kapitan Kurty explained patiently. “Of course, there is a catch!” he said, grinning at the audience who knew what was going to happen. “And the catch is?”

    “BLINDFOLD!!” yelled the audience.

    Roger’s mouth dropped open. “You’re not going to blindfold me, are you?”

    The Kapitan nodded.

    “But I won’t be able to see any of the prizes! I won’t be able to win anything!” Roger whined.

    “That’s the catch,” Kapitan Kurty said to him. “A bit like life, isn’t it?” he mused.

    Rolf came back onstage carrying a blindfold. “Count yourself lucky,” he said to Roger as he was tying it over his eyes. “You should have seen how we blindfolded the last guy.”

    “How did you do it?”

    “Took his eyes out,” Rolf said with relish. “Hot poker.”

    “Now stop that!” Kapitan Kurty scolded. “You’ll have him blanching again.”

    Roger blanched anyway.

    The organ played some bright music and the conveyor belt started rolling along.

    “Here come the prizes!!” Kapitan Kurty said excitedly.

    “OOOHHH!! FANTASTIC!! WONDERFUL!!” the audience called appreciatively as they saw the prizes start to appear.

    “Now try to remember as many as you can,” the Kapitan instructed.

    Roger was moving his head up and down but he couldn’t see anything through the blindfold. “Puck!” he yelled.

    “Should we help him?” the Kapitan asked the audience.

    “YES!!” they yelled generously.

    “Did you just say ‘generously’” the Kapitan asked.

    “OF COURSE WE F*****G DID!!” yelled the crowd.

    Kapitan Kurty shook his head. “Okay Roger, we’re going to help you.”

    Roger thought his blindfold was coming off.

    “Slow the conveyor belt down a bit,” ordered the Kapitan.

    The prizes passed along slower then went out of sight offstage. When they had all passed, the Kapitan removed Roger’s blindfold and he stood up.

    “Now you have thirty seconds to remember as many prizes as you can,” he told him. “Ready?”

    “But I didn’t see any of them!” Roger complained. “How do I know what they were?”

    “I’ll help you,” Kapitan Kurty offered. “You’ve been such a good contestant you deserve some help. If you watch me. I’ll mime what some of the prizes were. Right, start the clock!”

   “TICK-TOCK!! TICK-TOCK!! TICK-TOCK!!”yelled the audience.

    Just the a loud hooter sounded and Roger thought it was the clock starting.

    “Mein Gott!! Mein Gott!! It’s an air raid!!” Kapitan Kurty screamed. “Everybody get out the hall!! Now!!!”

    The Kapitan and the SS troops began rushing out the hall. A puzzled Roger watched the rapidly retreating backs then wandered out behind them.

     Outside, he strolled into the middle of the street and was stunned at what he saw. It looked like something he’d seen in a film about World War Two. German soldiers were running about and taking cover in ruined buildings. A burning Army jeep lay on its side, smoke drifting up from it. Further down the street was an anti-aircraft gun surrounded by sandbags which was firing up at the sky and as he looked up, he saw the reason. There were several Spitfires up there and the leader was preparing to attack.

    “Take cover, idiot!!” the Kapitan yelled at Roger then ducked into an air raid shelter.

    Not far away, the lead Spitfire was already screaming along, stitching up the road ahead of it with machine gun bullets.

    Confused by all the confusion, Roger stayed where he was. A mistake. Along the street, the anti-aircraft gun emplacement took a direct hit and two soldiers were shot and thrown over the sandbags. Roger’s mouth dropped open and he felt the old familiar hand of panic cup his testicles.

    The Spitfire was now very close. Hypnotised, he watched the road being ripped apart by the twin line of bullet holes coming straight towards him.

    “Oh puck!” he muttered and screwed his eyes shut and held his breath, waiting to be torn to shreds.

    A few feet away, he felt the road being kicked up by the bullets. He stood rooted to the spot as they ripped through him.

    “CUT!!” a voice yelled but Roger didn’t hear him.

    The Spitfire roared past and he felt himself buffeted by its slipstream. One eye crept open and he peered down, not expecting to see his lower legs. The bullet holes in the road ran straight between his boots and carried on behind him but he didn’t appear to be injured.

    “CUT!!” yelled the same voice again.

    Roger opened his other eye and examined the rest of himself. Nope. Still no injuries.

    “What the f***a you doin ina ma movie!?” the voice yelled at him.

    Roger glanced over to his left. A small chubby hirsute cigar-smoking safari-suited man was coming towards him. Instinctively Roger knew he was Italian.

    “What the f***a you doin ina ma movie!?” he asked again, reaching him.

    “I beg your pardon?” said Roger, surprise written all over his face.

    “Don’ta gimmie that ‘bega youra pardon’ crap. You justa ruin ma scene. Whata you doin here? Who ara you? Why you gotta surprise written all over youra face?”

    Roger didn’t know which question to answer first.

    “So you don’ta know whicha question to answera first, eh?” the chubby Director said, looking Roger up and down.

    Roger glanced round about. From behind the ruined buildings the film crew had started coming out �" make-up girls, cameramen, technicians, other actors. All along the street, the German soldiers who’d been ‘killed’ by the Spitfire picked themselves up and stood about talking and looking over. Roger’s eyes widened as he took it all in.

    “So whatcha doin here?” the Director asked him again.

    Suddenly Roger remembered that he was dressed as a miner and was still blacked-up. “I’m lost,” he admitted. “I’m a miner and I’m going to the main pit on Klyzemadex to start work there.”

    “Well you justa ruin ma scene,” the Director told him, angrily.

    “Ah, sorry about that,” said Roger. “So you’re making a film, are you?”

    The Director nodded. “It’sa Worlda War Two movie whena the Germans fighta the British. I make it fora the Germans thata live here.”

    Roger nodded then remembered the real SS and Kapitan Kurt. He glanced round about. No sign of them at the moment. Time for a quick escape.

    “Well, I’ll be off,” he said, starting to stroll down the street. “Sorry if I spoiled your scene.”

    “Stupida bloody b*****d!” the chubby Director cursed after Roger’s retreating back. He shook his head and sighed. “Okay everybody - places!” he yelled. “Letsa shoot thata damn Spitfirea scene again!”