KrycoVision is the sanctioned agent of the Unextended University. The Unextrended University does not exist in extended space.
The Third German War: By Barry Hutchings
It was probably bad planning on my part to think that I could combine an SAS raid in Germany with the Kent powerlifting championships. I had it in mind that the raid would be over by late afternoon, and, that if I hurried, I would still be in time to make the opening squat at Sittingbourne weightlifting club. I was obviously in denial. The full impact that we were at war with Germany - and for the third time - had not yet sunk in, and I was still wandering the pavilion in blissful ignorance. And then it occurred to me. The British army were hardly going to let me slope off to a powerlifting contest in a time of war. Not even if the raid did finish on time. Besides, the mathematics required to get me from Munich to Kent in half an hour were corrupt in the extreme. I sighed, and faced the facts of reality. I turned to Belfar, my brother, and voiced my concerns.
"I don't think I can do the two things in the same day."
Belfar looked pensive. "Yes, it would be a bit tight," he replied.
Around us, in the pavilion, people thronged in all directions. Most of them were in military uniforms. Others wore weightlifting leotards. There was an air of determination and sadness.
"When is it your turn to go?" I asked Belfar.
Belfar delayed his reply. "In about two weeks, like the rest of them."
"Lucky bastards" I said.
Belfar shrugged his shoulders. "It's just the draw of the lottery really."
We sat quietly for a while both contemplating the future, when Belfar suddenly pointed out a tall haughty woman in a smart military uniform.
"Recognise Christine Butler," he said?
"Oh yes." I was quite surprised. I hadn't seen her in years!
"She's done quite well you know", continued Belfar, "she's in the SAS!"
Well so am I, I thought! feeling aggrieved that Belfar had forgotten this, and that once again other people's achievements were recognised over my own.
"Christine... hi... how ya doing..."
Christine stopped; looked at us for a few seconds - then walked slowly towards us. She still had that arrogant manner that befitted her status. I remembered that she was the daughter professor Nathaniel Butler, my béte noir.
"Is it that late then," I replied. "I'm glad you've mentioned it. I'd better be going too!"
Christine looked at me with incredulous eyes.
"Are you on the Munich raid?"
I nodded that I was.
"But that's for SAS personnel only!"
"Exactement!" I replied. And I stood back, face smug, arms folded, waiting for her reposte, waiting for her shock and anger, waiting to bask in her incredulous gaze...
But these things did not happen. She put her hands on shoulders and looked in my eyes.
"You're a brave man Franklin, I'm proud to know you."
Then she hugged me. For a brief second I felt uneasy as the daughter of my béte noir, held me tight, then knowing that these were special circumstances, I hugged her too, so that she know that all the differences between us were now forgotten.
"To the raid," she whispered.
"To the raid," I replied, and we held each other tight for the first and last time, lest the war make it impossible that we could ever do so.
"Well," said Belfar after she had gone. "There's a thing for you!"
I remained quiet for a second, still emotional, then said, "like the last German war, this one is going to level our society."
Belfar nodded and showed me that he understood, then said, "you'd better go now Franklin, they're going to need champions in Munich."
We hugged, as brothers do, then separated, and turned to do our respective things. A few hours later I was on the road to Munich to fight the war.
Part 2: The Munich Raid
It seems hard to believe now, looking back, that the third German war ever happened at all. There is little mention of it in history books and even though I fought in it I barely remember it myself. It happened in '67 and its one campaign - the Munich Raid - was over and done with in a single afternoon.
It was a bit of a yawner. We grouped ourselves outside the city and waited for the order to begin our attack. I chatted to some of the other soldiers, telling them that I was in the SAS. It didn't cut much ice. Nobody was particularly impressed and I discovered that the British army was bemused as to prestige that was attached to the unit. I should have realised it myself. Contrary to what I had been told I did not have to pass a vigorous selection process. I was merely told what unit I was in. In hind-sight it would have better if I had, for when the time came to do some actual marching I realised how unfit I was for soldier's work!
We had a couple of skirmishes and captured a few prisoners. It was then that we realised that this war wasn't going to take long at all, and it was doubtful if the Americans were even going to be needed!
It seemed that the Germans, in their haste to rid them selves of their Nazi image, had thrown the baby out with the bath water. They really were the most un-soldierly looking bunch we had ever encountered. What Hitler would have made of them, God only knew.
These long haired layabouts certainly could not be compared to the square headed, jack booted storm troopers of 1939.
When interrogated, they claimed that making war was a German thing, and it was only natural that they should do so. When asked if their two defeats previous had taught them anything, they replied that they had learnt that loosing at war was a German thing as well.
When asked how it was they thought to fight a war in such an un-soldierly manner, they replied that the 1960's was an era of peace and love, and that their long hair and trendy clothing only reflected the times they lived in.
The colonel was totally beside himself. He had fought in the second German war, and to him, a German soldier was a different animal.
"You do realise that we are going to fight this war with no quarter given!" he told them.
"What do you mean," replied the prisoners spokesman.
"I mean - that unlike you - we British haven't forgot how to fight a war. We will do it properly. With guns, with tanks, with soldiers who have short hair!"
"That's a bit harsh isn't!" the spokesman replied.
"Well war is harsh, and you should have thought about that before you started it!"
The prisoners looked aggrieved.
"Well did you expect..." said the colonel. "Issuing a declaration of war!"
The colonel shook his head. "You should have thought about that..."
He turned to me. "Come on soldier, we might as well get it over with."
Part 3: War is Hell
For the third time in fifty years British troops had invaded the German fatherland. And because the foe we were fighting was so inept, we didn't bother with tanks, but used our cars and fired bazookas from the roofs as as we passed the massed ranks of the German army.
It was a one-sided battle, and after a while, when it was obvious we had won we packed up our things and decided to go home. We didn't even wait for a formal surrender. And as I waited for a lift home I heard an old lady moan about our behaviour and what thugs the SAS were. I really didn't feel good about myself.