Cap Mandrake
Posts: 23184
Joined: 11/15/2002 From: Southern California Status: offline
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**********No. 225 Group HQ, RAF, Moulmein, Burma, 07:20, Feb. 19, 1943********* Vice Admiral Sir G. S. Arbuthnot, KCB, DSO was an unhappy man. True, there is a lot of that going around, but, in this case I can't blame him. To begin, he had been brought down a notch or two. At the start of the war, he had been C-in-C of East Indies command, then, in some imponderable maelstrom of entropy, a single chad on his Admiralty Service Specialty Binary Inventory of Training and Expertise IBM card had been partly dislodged when a secretary at Whitehall had inadvertently interjected his ASSBITE card between her bottom and a misplaced knitting needle. The presence of the knitting needle at Whitehall had been a serious security breech and there are suspicions but that is a story for another time. In any event, he had been converted from an expert in naval warfare to a man who could do an outside loop in a Spitfire with his eyes closed, well, at least that is what his ASSBITE card said. Sure, he had protested. After all, he came from a long line of Royal Navy Admirals going back to the 18th century. He had sailed at Jutland. He recalled one particularly frustrating conversation with a clerk at Eastern Fleet HQ. "Look, I have a commission in the Royal Navy. Do you not see my uniform?" "Sorry sir, that is not what your ASSBITE card says. It says here...<refers to form>..expert in aerial combat and East Asian cooking." "Now look here, I DETEST curry." "Sorry sir, that's not what it says here." "But I sailed with Jellicoe!" "Sorry sir, there is no field for that." "Look, there has been a terrible mistake, is there no way I can be transferred back to the Royal Navy?" "Oh, yes sir. You need only petition the RAF Service Change Review Enterprise - West/ Uniformed-personnel." "SPLENDID..oh..sorry, I mean SWIMMING! Where can I find the....?" "Oh the RAF SCRE-W/U office, you mean, sir?" "Yes, yes, SCRE-W/U, that's what I want." "Why, it's right across the parade ground, 4th bungalow on the right, No. 22, sir." "SWIMMING!" <turns to leave> "Oh sir, I wouldn't advise you do that sir." <stops, looks a bit piqued> "Why is that son?" "Why, it's lunch time sir." <looks at watch> "BLAST! when will they be back?" "Oh, they won't sir." <now growing more angry> "Why is that, son?" "Well sir, they closed in January 1941. It seems nobody wanted to leave the RAF. Apparently it's the uniform sir. It acts like a chic magnet....." The Admiral shook himself from his unpleasant reverie...there was a job to do. (to be continued)
< Message edited by Cap Mandrake -- 9/7/2008 6:09:51 PM >
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