Brass Jester
Rune Priest
The Journal of Jake Montana – Thrilling Pulp Tales of Action and Adventure!
Episode 4 – Return From the Desert
The biplane droned on over the endless desert sands. Francisco shifted uneasily in the rear cockpit.
‘You know where we are going?’
Jaques looked back, his eyes were hidden under the leather goggles but he grinned. ’Oh yes my friend. I scouted this out last time we were here. We land and bury the stuff. No-one will find it. The we find a buyer, come back and get it, sell it and retire on the proceeds. Simple.’
‘How much do you think we’ll get?’
‘Ten thousand … each.’
Francisco sat back in the basket seat and leant back on the ring where the Lewis gun would have been mounted.
‘A man could live for a long time on ten thousand.’
Approacjing the mesa at the head of the wadi, Jaques side-slipped and expertly planted two flares, then planted two more at the far side.
‘Not a brilliant runway, but I’ve landed on worse – often there was no flarepath.’
‘That was good,’ approved Francisco.
‘I was a bomber pilot in the War, no point in dropping them anywhere except into the trenches.’
Case downed his drink and looked out of the window. Usman had not yet returned; Jake sat; his Colt readied across his knee.
‘So, what was the deal? Who did you cross?
Jack turned and sat down. ‘I don’t know. Look, the British Raj was collapsing, loads of princes and petty Rajahs were shifting their wealth out of India. We were paid five hundred pounds per flight, to fly to Athens, Malta or Tripoli. We got greedy.
We refuelled at Tripoli and Malta, then flew on to Athens. When we landed, I was arrested on charges of smuggling guns to the partisans. That bastard Francisco double-crossed me; I saw him taking to the Chief of Police.’
‘What happened?’ Case shrugged. ‘After being kicked around a bit, I was thrown into jail. There was no trial; they don’t like gunrunners. I was there for four years. I suspected that the Spanish bastard would come looking for me, so I changed my name to Jack Case. Easy enough to do in a Greek jail where they don’t give a shit who foreigners are.’
‘How did you escape?’ Sarah lit a Lucky Strike.
Jack shrugged. ‘I didn’t. One day, some official- looking guy turns up and says I’m to go with him. The police seemed only too eager to co-operate The deal was, fly the DH37 to Malta and then to Tripoli, then train an Arab pilot to fly it.
‘Who was the buyer?’
‘A rich Arab called Hassan el – Rabat.’
Sarah glanced across at Case. ‘You’re sure? I’ve met him, at Fort Fitz a year or so ago. Why does he want a British aircraft – as I recall, he’s not too keen on the British.’
Jake glanced at his wristwatch.
‘It’s three p.m. What’s keeping Usman?’
Scene 2
Grand Hotel, Tripoli, 3pm
A knock came at the door and an America voice called –
‘Hi. Tom Mix said you needed to be lammed off. I’m your guy – Charlie English.’
Charlie English was middle-aged and wore a light suit and a fedora. Jake felt he looked familiar but couldn’t place him.
On the street Charlie had a Chrysler Airflow waiting, he took the wheel and the others piled in the back. They pulled out into the crowded alleys and heaving throngs of the Medina.
Suddenly there was a ripping burst of gunfire and bullets punched through the body of the car. Charlie cursed as he fought the wheel (‘they’ve hit a tyre.’) The Chrysler scraped along a wall and then straightened up.
Case glanced back and exclaimed ‘Sacre bleu. You must be joking!’
They were being pursued by a Rolls-Royce Phantom lll, leaning out of the windows were several swarthy men firing MP 38 sub-machine guns.
‘Drive Charlie – can you lose them?’
‘Trying to, bub. Under the back seat – loaded chopper. Make every bullet count’
Jake pulled out a loaded Thompson sub-machine gun and smiled. Now he knew who Charlie English was.
The pursuing goons fired again but scored no hits; Jake returned fire with the chopper and saw one of the goon’s pitch forwards out of the window. The Phantom drew level and tried a side-swipe, being a heavier car it forced the the Chrysler into a spin across the plaza, scattering the crowd; Sarah yelled at Charlie to ‘go left’ and they swerved into a narrow alleyway; the Rolls missed the turn.
The car came out into a crowded souk; the Rolls came in from another direction but had to swerve to avoid a herd of camels. The driver lost control of the car and it crashed into a wall; exploding into flames.
‘That was a Rolls-Royce,’ moaned Case
Scene 3
They drove for some time around the outskirts of the city; finally, Charlie stopped the car.
‘Here we are.’
Jake gaped. ‘You idiot! This is the Grand. This is where we started. What are you pulling?’
Charlie’s expression hardened. ‘Look bub, I’m on your side, see? But don’t mess with me and don’t make out I’m a palooka.,
Usman approached the car, grinning as usual.
‘Come quickly. I have rooms for you. I saw this in The Wizard of Oz. Or was it Prisoner of Zenda? No matter. Bad guys expect you to go somewhere else, so best disguise is to stay where you are.’
Jake spoke to Charlie and handed the Thompson back.
‘You might need this again.’
Charlie gave Jake a long stare, then shook his head. ‘Nope. I’m on the trolley now.’
Scene 3
Grand Hotel, Tripoli 6pm
‘Who is he? Charlie?’
‘”Chopper” Charlie – freelance hit man for the Chicago gangs in the 1920’s. Expert with the Thompson SMG – his maxim was “make every bullet count.”’
‘So, where do we go from here? There can’t be many owners of Rolls-Royces in Tripoli.’
So, the car was destroyed?’
The voice was guttural and harsh, even when speaking Arabic.
‘Yes, Excellency.’ The flunky hesitated, then fell prostrate. ‘Excellency, the team despatched were from the Camorra and were highly recommended.’
‘The car was British and expensive. It is of no matter. Anything British deserves to be destroyed. Now, bring in the delegates. Have they been primed that they must not speak English in my presence?’
============================
GM Notes
It would have been a lot better if Jake was driving (being a Ace), but there was no reason (in the fiction) for him to do so.
Again, this went in a direction I hadn’t expected, but to be chased by a Rolls – Royce!
I hadn’t used the full Chase rules out of SWADE and I found them confusing at first and not really intuitive. There was a lot of modifiers to keep track of, I used some red and green counters to show plusses and minuses.
Continue reading...
Episode 4 – Return From the Desert
The biplane droned on over the endless desert sands. Francisco shifted uneasily in the rear cockpit.
‘You know where we are going?’
Jaques looked back, his eyes were hidden under the leather goggles but he grinned. ’Oh yes my friend. I scouted this out last time we were here. We land and bury the stuff. No-one will find it. The we find a buyer, come back and get it, sell it and retire on the proceeds. Simple.’
‘How much do you think we’ll get?’
‘Ten thousand … each.’
Francisco sat back in the basket seat and leant back on the ring where the Lewis gun would have been mounted.
‘A man could live for a long time on ten thousand.’
Approacjing the mesa at the head of the wadi, Jaques side-slipped and expertly planted two flares, then planted two more at the far side.
‘Not a brilliant runway, but I’ve landed on worse – often there was no flarepath.’
‘That was good,’ approved Francisco.
‘I was a bomber pilot in the War, no point in dropping them anywhere except into the trenches.’
Case downed his drink and looked out of the window. Usman had not yet returned; Jake sat; his Colt readied across his knee.
‘So, what was the deal? Who did you cross?
Jack turned and sat down. ‘I don’t know. Look, the British Raj was collapsing, loads of princes and petty Rajahs were shifting their wealth out of India. We were paid five hundred pounds per flight, to fly to Athens, Malta or Tripoli. We got greedy.
We refuelled at Tripoli and Malta, then flew on to Athens. When we landed, I was arrested on charges of smuggling guns to the partisans. That bastard Francisco double-crossed me; I saw him taking to the Chief of Police.’
‘What happened?’ Case shrugged. ‘After being kicked around a bit, I was thrown into jail. There was no trial; they don’t like gunrunners. I was there for four years. I suspected that the Spanish bastard would come looking for me, so I changed my name to Jack Case. Easy enough to do in a Greek jail where they don’t give a shit who foreigners are.’
‘How did you escape?’ Sarah lit a Lucky Strike.
Jack shrugged. ‘I didn’t. One day, some official- looking guy turns up and says I’m to go with him. The police seemed only too eager to co-operate The deal was, fly the DH37 to Malta and then to Tripoli, then train an Arab pilot to fly it.
‘Who was the buyer?’
‘A rich Arab called Hassan el – Rabat.’
Sarah glanced across at Case. ‘You’re sure? I’ve met him, at Fort Fitz a year or so ago. Why does he want a British aircraft – as I recall, he’s not too keen on the British.’
Jake glanced at his wristwatch.
‘It’s three p.m. What’s keeping Usman?’
Scene 2
Grand Hotel, Tripoli, 3pm
A knock came at the door and an America voice called –
‘Hi. Tom Mix said you needed to be lammed off. I’m your guy – Charlie English.’
Charlie English was middle-aged and wore a light suit and a fedora. Jake felt he looked familiar but couldn’t place him.
On the street Charlie had a Chrysler Airflow waiting, he took the wheel and the others piled in the back. They pulled out into the crowded alleys and heaving throngs of the Medina.
Suddenly there was a ripping burst of gunfire and bullets punched through the body of the car. Charlie cursed as he fought the wheel (‘they’ve hit a tyre.’) The Chrysler scraped along a wall and then straightened up.
Case glanced back and exclaimed ‘Sacre bleu. You must be joking!’
They were being pursued by a Rolls-Royce Phantom lll, leaning out of the windows were several swarthy men firing MP 38 sub-machine guns.
‘Drive Charlie – can you lose them?’
‘Trying to, bub. Under the back seat – loaded chopper. Make every bullet count’
Jake pulled out a loaded Thompson sub-machine gun and smiled. Now he knew who Charlie English was.
The pursuing goons fired again but scored no hits; Jake returned fire with the chopper and saw one of the goon’s pitch forwards out of the window. The Phantom drew level and tried a side-swipe, being a heavier car it forced the the Chrysler into a spin across the plaza, scattering the crowd; Sarah yelled at Charlie to ‘go left’ and they swerved into a narrow alleyway; the Rolls missed the turn.
The car came out into a crowded souk; the Rolls came in from another direction but had to swerve to avoid a herd of camels. The driver lost control of the car and it crashed into a wall; exploding into flames.
‘That was a Rolls-Royce,’ moaned Case
Scene 3
They drove for some time around the outskirts of the city; finally, Charlie stopped the car.
‘Here we are.’
Jake gaped. ‘You idiot! This is the Grand. This is where we started. What are you pulling?’
Charlie’s expression hardened. ‘Look bub, I’m on your side, see? But don’t mess with me and don’t make out I’m a palooka.,
Usman approached the car, grinning as usual.
‘Come quickly. I have rooms for you. I saw this in The Wizard of Oz. Or was it Prisoner of Zenda? No matter. Bad guys expect you to go somewhere else, so best disguise is to stay where you are.’
Jake spoke to Charlie and handed the Thompson back.
‘You might need this again.’
Charlie gave Jake a long stare, then shook his head. ‘Nope. I’m on the trolley now.’
Scene 3
Grand Hotel, Tripoli 6pm
‘Who is he? Charlie?’
‘”Chopper” Charlie – freelance hit man for the Chicago gangs in the 1920’s. Expert with the Thompson SMG – his maxim was “make every bullet count.”’
‘So, where do we go from here? There can’t be many owners of Rolls-Royces in Tripoli.’
So, the car was destroyed?’
The voice was guttural and harsh, even when speaking Arabic.
‘Yes, Excellency.’ The flunky hesitated, then fell prostrate. ‘Excellency, the team despatched were from the Camorra and were highly recommended.’
‘The car was British and expensive. It is of no matter. Anything British deserves to be destroyed. Now, bring in the delegates. Have they been primed that they must not speak English in my presence?’
============================
GM Notes
It would have been a lot better if Jake was driving (being a Ace), but there was no reason (in the fiction) for him to do so.
Again, this went in a direction I hadn’t expected, but to be chased by a Rolls – Royce!
I hadn’t used the full Chase rules out of SWADE and I found them confusing at first and not really intuitive. There was a lot of modifiers to keep track of, I used some red and green counters to show plusses and minuses.
Continue reading...