Satan wasn't available, so Brad will be GMing Rob through an RPG based on the classic gamebook Under The Wire. Brad is the DM, and Rob plays his character, Alistair Braggart.
Catch up with The Story So Far
When last we left our intrepid hero, he was accused of being a Nazi spy. Let's find out what happens regarding that, shall we?
Brad: Suddenly, you remember a conversation which you had several weeks earlier with Flight Lieutenant Clank. You had been talking about London and happened to mention the air-raid shelter outside the Armed Services Club in Piccadilly. His reply had been vague and you got the impression that he didn't know what you were talking about. But he had told you that he was stationed at Hornchurch, just outside London. It seems a bit strange that he would not have been into the West End on leave, and the first stopping point for every pilot was always the Armed Services Club. You voice your suspicions to the assembled officers, and they decide to question Clank. Under questioning, it comes out that Clank is an Abwehr agent - a German.
Rob : That...was surprisingly easy to determine.
Brad: He was born in England and lived there most of his life, but was recruited early in 1935 by German agents. Since then he has been posing as an English officer, being placed in camps to inform on the escape activities of their occupants. It was only your memory of his one slip up that unmasked him. The sentence of the court martial is death for the spy. One night he is bundled out of his hut and thrown across the warning wire.
BRAGGART: "Bit harsh. Couldn't we have...buttfucked him or something?"
Brad: The guards see nothing but a frightened man and shoot him without further investigation. Your name has been cleared and you are free to return to your escape activities.
- Escape with August Dechant
- Escape with John Stallard
Brad: John Stallard is the man responsible for organising diversions and bluffing his way past the guards. Well, THIS should be a DDM high point...
Rob : Did he previously sell meat?
Brad: Most of his men are seasoned Goon-baiters and Scroungers and there is not much he cannot lay his hands on.
Rob : Why does Goon-Baiters sound racist?
Brad: He has two schemes going on at the moment, and offers you the choice of either one:
- Working on a uniform bluff through the main gate
- Helping organise an escape in the rubbish van which comes to the camp weekly
Rob : Oh, that rubbish van idea sounds *so* me.
Brad: TRASH WIZARD, HO!
Rob : He takes the train. Craazyy.
Brad: For several days you help make false lids for the rubbish cans so that a man can climb in and out of them easily. The plan is to let three men escape in this manner.
Rob : Is this Oscar the Grouch's back story?
Brad: God, I hope so.
Rob : He's a grouch because of his fallen POW comrades. LET'S WRITE GROWN-UP DEPRESSING SESAME STREET.
Brad: The rubbish will be collected in a few days' time. The waiting is almost unbearable, but finally the time passes and the day arrives. The van drives into the camp at 9:00am, and by 8:45am - just after Appel - you are safely hidden in a rubbish bin. Crouching in the darkness, you hope that whoever has the task of lifting the can onto the van will not drop it.
Rob : What would've happened had Appel overrun?
Brad: It would have to update to iOS 6. You hear the sound of approaching feet and the can in which you are hiding is lifted and carried for a short time, then dumped with a clang onto the back of the van. You wait a little longer before hearing the engine start and feeling the motion as the van drives towards the main gate. The stench in the vanis disgusting and you feel a strong urge to cough.
BRAGGART: *Cough*. "Wait, fuck. I mean...*Rubbish rubbish rubbish*."
Brad: After pausing for a few seconds at the main gate, the van pulls away again.
BRAGGART: "Oh, I'm old cheese and stuff. Eeeeew."
Brad: You wait a few minutes before cautiously lifting the lid of the bin to peer out. Through the wooden slatted sides of the vehicle you can see trees and the road outside the camp. You have made it - so far.
Rob : ...Surely that should say 'You have made it so far.' I guess it works either way.
Brad: Clambering out of the can, you help the others to extricate themselves and then, one by one, you drop out of the open back of the van. Deciding to split up, you shake hands and take leave of the others. Which way will you go?
- South-West towards Switzerland
- North-West, towards Belgium
Rob : Towards Switzerland. Can't say I'm especially excited about it. Not that I'm against the idea. Just...meh.
Brad: You head off into the forest, constantly turning to make sure that no-one has seen you. Gradually the camp fades from view and, afraid of getting lost, you try to decide in which direction you should be travelling.
Rob : I thought I'd done that. Switzerland.
Brad: After maintaining a brisk pace for fifteen minutes of so, you enter a clearing. A small wooden hut with logs piled up beside it lies ahead.
- Investigate it
- Skirt around it and keep moving
Rob : Investigate it. Maybe I'll find Bigfoot. I've heard his house is near Switzerland.
Brad: Listening at the door you can hear only a low murmuring sound. Cautiously, you enter the hut. The owner is sleeping deeply on a makeshift bed.
- Leave immediately
- Try to steal some food without waking the slumbering man
BRAGGART: "I reckon I can get away with i-*COUGH*."
Brad: As you take a step forward a floor board creaks under your weight. Instantly, the woodcutter leaps and makes a grab for his axe.
Rob : I cough to mask the sound.
Brad: As he brandishes the lethal weapon, you realise that you can do little but give yourself up.
Rob : So the guy has Mel Gibson and/or Danny Glover trained on me.
Brad: Or Joe Pesci, at a push.
Rob : Point.
Brad: The woodcutter indicates that you should sit down. He grabs a length of rope and ties you up. This got Fifty Stalags of Grey quick, didn't it?
BRAGGART: "Wait, what was the name of that mountain...?"
Brad: Wagging a discouraging finger at you, he leaves.
BRAGGART: "FUCK! Brokkenbakk!"
Brad: You sit alone on the floor cursing your bad luck and wishing that you hadn't gone into the hut in the first place. A few minutes pass and then you hear several voices outside.
Rob : Is it a-Ha?
Brad: The door opens and the grinning face of a German soldier appears.
Rob : Damn.
Brad: You have no option but to surrender. Unceremoniously you are transported back to the camp, and brought to face the commandant.
COMMANDANT: "You have caused my men some considerable problems, but more importantly, you have made me look a fool."
BRAGGART: "You helped."
COMMANDANT: "The Luftwaffe cannot be held accountable for disruptive and reckless prisoners such as yourself, Braggart."
BRAGGART: "I reckon the RAF would have me. Ask."
COMMANDANT: "I have no alternative but to hand you over to our own escape experts. Recently we have established a new camp, Oflag IV C, in a castle built by Augustus the Strong, King of Poland, and Elector of Saxony at the turn of the Sixteenth century. It will become better know to you by the name your fellow prisoners have given it: Colditz."
BRAGGART: "That sounds...lovely?"
COMMANDANT: "You will find the regime there a little less, well, gentleman-like. Goodbye, Braggart."
BRAGGART: "I'll bring a jumper, doesn't sound warm."
COMMANDANT: "We will not meet again."
BRAGGART: "In which case, goodbye FUCKFACE."
Brad: Stunned, you salute, and resign yourself to the fact that you may not see England again until the way is over.
COMMANDANT "Who can tell?"
BRAGGART: "Guitarist for Alice in Chains."
Brad: As you are escorted to the truck for transit to your new home, your mind turns over all sorts of ploys and ideas. Colditz will be a tough nut to crack. Your adventure in Stalag Luft 14 ends here...but who knows where it will really end.
Rob : Well, that escalated quickly.