No Rest For The Wicked [Addie]

[Nathan Whyte]

RAF Hornchurch
17th September, 1940

OOC: For the purpose of this thread, I’ll be a SGT and be flying with No. 603 SQN, RAF based at RAF Hornchurch.

It was really starting to get to them. The Germans had been coming for too long, they had been too hard, and now everyone was feeling the effects. Run-down, tired, drained both physically and mentally. They had a good supply of planes, the factories in the north of the Isles were churning them out faster than they could be lost, but pilots took time to train, and that meant those on the frontline couldn’t afford to lose any men, because there just weren’t the men to replace them.

Sergeant Whyte’s Spitfire floated down, the flaps and the landing gear were both out, and he gently coaxed the plane back as it touched the deck, the grass airstrip hoping to slow him down quickly as he turned the plane using the rudder pedals, doing a full hundred-and-eight degree turn before stopping alongside a fuel bowser.

He smiled to himself, as he removed the headset, and unbuckled himself from the seat. Sliding back the canopy, the Kiwi emerged from the cockpit. There was a smattering of applause from the groundcrew sat in, and on top of the bowser, as well as from the Land Rover next to it filled to the brim with ammunition. He reached in to the plane, grabbing his RAF jacket before jumping to the ground. They’d only been up for a scouting sortie, making sure there weren’t any Germans in the perimeter undetected. It was odd, they hadn’t appeared yesterday, they hadn’t appeared today.

”Corporal,” he called out as he walked towards the Landie, looking around. The man in question, Corporal Ernie Cullen, came walking towards Whyte, grabbing a notepad from the pocket of his grease-covered overalls. ”Yes Sergeant?”
”Just a refuel and re-ammo. If you have time, would you mind checking the oil pressure, looked a bit low but then again I was a little bit distracted up there. Some Jerry bugger thought it would be fun to try and interrupt my instrument check.”

This raised a smattering of laughter as the pilot slapped Cullen’s back before walking over to the dispersal building. It was literally a glorified garden shed, with a radio and a small gas cooker inside. He walked past the chair which he’d been sat in earlier, and reached down, picking up his tea mug. It was the distinctive one he always had, white with double blue stripes at the top with a large chip. He poured away the cold contents and walked inside. He’d been beaten down by Flying Officer Jane, a large man who barely managed to fit in his oversized uniform. The Officer was boiling up some water, and Whyte reached on to a shelf, pulling down a cardboard box full of teabags. He placed it on the small worktop and put one in both mugs.

”Makes a change up there.” The airmen had long ago given up the formalities of saluting and coming to attention, it was just too much of a hassle for all parties involved. ”Absolutely, after the other day…” he tailed off, but Nathan nodded
”Glad that’s done don’t expect Goring’s got too many birds left now..” There was a small chuckle, the joke wasn’t that funny they were both just glad to be down alive.
”Oh, absolutely,” concurred Jane as he pulled up a bottle of milk, ”take a seat outside, I’ll bring yours out when it’s ready.”

Nathan nodded his thanks as he exited, walking over to his canvas deckchair. He pulled off his lifejacket. It had warmed up a bit, so he took off his large woollen jersey, folding it up and placing it under the chair, before pulling on his jacket. Things were starting to quieten down now, the Germans were making less and less attacks everyday, he doubted he’d see them again today, maybe the next watch would get some action, but the landing pilots could probably sit back, and enjoy the warm morning.

[Catherine Olive Ross]

On another radio at Hornchurch - this time, one of the wireless carry-arounds one might expect in a civilian's place - a news anchor's voice could be heard, proudly reading off a report he had been in the middle of when one of the RAF lads had tuned in.

"...Incredible sight on the 7th of September, as a Jacob's ram could be seen running down the streets of London, bleating loudly enough for a group of rescuers to continue following it. In the span of two hours, the sheep had single-handedly - or 'hooftedly', in this case - led the small band to twenty different people, all buried beneath the rubble from the German's attack. He was reportedly seen even assisting, pawing at the detritus with his hooves, much like a dog would in the dirt. Furthermore, he saved the lives of an additional twenty people after alerting his masters to the presence of an unexploded bomb. The bomb, which was half-covered by a ruined building, caused the ram to panic, and thus brought attention to its presence.

"In honour of this, the ram, known by the name of 'Gareth', is being hailed as a local hero. His actions, not the least bit cowardly nor selfish, demonstrate how all of Britain can rally together against the German foe. London's very own 'Bomb-Sniffing Sheep' has been officially honoured for his actions, and is now travelling with the British army on tour. His next expected stop is Hornchurch, sometime in the morning. We shall keep you updated for when we receive a proper time!"

===============================

Gareth baaed loudly in the back of the Jeep, a Union Jack scarf tied around his neck so that he would look patriotic. Scratching behind his ears to keep him calm was Catherine Olive Ross - a sixteen-year old native of a town outside London. Beside her, Gareth's owner, the young shepherd George Weathersby, fidgeted with a tie he had worn just for the occasion. In a suit handed down from his father, Catherine in her best clothes usually reserved for church, the pair was to present the "Bomb-Sniffing Sheep of London" to the pilots at RAF Hornchurch, for morale's sake. Gareth, who acted more like a dog than a sheep, was seen as an example of what "The Call" could do to an ordinary being such as himself. It was seen as a perfect something for the soldiers to relate to, as most of them had lived a simple life before the war.

The driver had been on the rude side at first, but had grudgingly put his anti-black beliefs aside, all in the name of his job. A threatening glare from his commanding officer had been enough to shut him up; the CO had been a pleasant fellow, but was intimidating when angered. Said CO was now in the second front seat, turning his head back to look at the pair, a grin pulling at the sides of his mouth.

"Ready for the show, dears?" he asked over the rumble of the wheels. Catherine nodded, managing to catch his lips via lip reading; George nodded as well.

"Yes sir, Lieutenant sir."

"Right then - we're coming up to the gates now!"

[Nathan Whyte]

One by one, planes came coasting down before touching on the grass, taxiing and lining up. They all had to be ready to leave at a moment's notice if the call for dispersal came, so the moment they touched down they were refuelled, ammo restocked. Obviously, the pilots had to refuel and restock, and as they came back they collapsed on to the canvas-backed chairs making a series of grunts as they sat down.

The Flying Officer came out with a tray laden with tea and, luxury of luxuries, a packet of chocolate biscuits. Thanking him, Nathan took his drink, placing it on the grass next to him, and unfolded the newspaper on the floor. Reaching in to his pocket, he pulled out a pen and folded it over so he could carry on with his crossword. Tapping the top of the pen against his lip, he adjusted the paper and carefully filled in one word.

Looking up, he watched a jeep drive along the dirt road towards the shed. Bizzarely, there was a Union Jack wearing sheep in the back. "Will you look at that..." With a few "huh," noises, the rest of the pilots eventually turned to face it. "What the..." tailed off one pilot, before standing up, walking towards the road for a better view.

The jeep came to a halt, sliding slightly on the loose road. It was an unusual vehicle, a sheep, a red-faced man, presumably the farmer, a young black woman, and a notably racist army lieutenant from the anti-aircraft company on the field. Nobody was really expecting that, to which Nathan murmured "Maybe I'm more sleep deprived than I thought..."
"Nope, I see it too," Flying Officer Jane confirmed, standing up and sipping his tea. A hush came over as everyone looked at the new arrivals.

[Catherine Olive Ross]

If George looked any more stressed than he already did, he certainly was displaying it properly. His dark skin had reddened with nervousness - it wasn't even all that hot out, so he couldn't say it was that - and by the movement of his lips, he had been repeating the recently-practised commands of Gareth's over and over again. Gareth, for all intents and purposes, was now a source of entertainment; if he stood around all day, nothing would come of their "trips". Thankfully, George had been teaching Gareth some neat things on and off beforehand, so that had lessened some of the pressure considerably. Still, the fellow African-Brit looked a little faint.

The officer, noting this, muttered to George that the shepherd was to compose himself. George nodded, taking a few breaths as the officer stepped out of the vehicle, approaching the pilots with a merry stride and wide smile. In a booming voice designed to carry over gunfire, he said, "Gentlemen! I'm glad to see you're all in one piece. Hope you don't mind, but we've got a celebrity visiting us today. Exciting, no?"

Some of the pilots glanced at each other, then looked back at the officer. Raising a hand, one said, "Um...sir...not to be disrespectful, but what celebrity?"

The CO laughed at this. "Why, the famous Bomb-Sniffing Sheep of London!" This statement got only more confused looks from the weary flyboys.

"Um...'Bomb-Sniffing of London', sir...?" said another pilot. It was then that someone in the back piped up.

"Oi, I've heard of that! He was on one of the boys' wirelesses a while ago! He saved a bunch of people during the Blitz — led 'em around like a dog out of danger, I hear."

"Exactly," said the officer. "And now, he's here for your entertainment."

The man turned around.

"Care to join us, Mister Weathersby? Miss Ross?"

"C-coming!" came George's voice. He quickly opened the door on his side of the jeep, leading Gareth out by means of a rope around the neck. The black-and-white, four-horned ram trotted alongside his master without complaint, although he did shake his head a little to clear it. To George's relief, Gareth remained quiet as the pair stood before the pilots, Catherine quickly catching up and doing the same.

Here goes nothing....

"Morning, gentlemen," began George. "I am George Weathersby, shepherd and owner of Gareth, the Bomb-Sniffing Sheep of London. I trust you lads are feeling well this morning?"

[Nathan Whyte]

As the Lieutenant climbed out of the jeep, all of the airmen gathered around, forming a loose semi-circle, backs to the shed the jeep in the centre. There was a still silence, broken only by a "baa"ing sound coming from the sheep. "What's he saying, Kiwi?" one of the crowd said, met with tense laughter. Nathan just shook his head, he'd become used to the jokes.

Flight Lieutenant Bates quitened them down a sign of respect as the Lieutenant began talking. The Flight Lieutenant was senior so it was a signal for the army guy to speak. After a few sentances, Sergeant Whyte spoke up, "Um...'Bomb-Sniffing of London', sir...?" He was genuinely confused, and somebody murmured another joke in his ear, something along the lines of that if he hadn't heard of that certain type of sheep, it just wasn't worth knowing.

This joke went flat, and after a minor hubbub, the Lieutenant carried on, introducing the two people. The ruddy-skinned farmer came with the sheep on a rope. He didn't look like he suited the suit he was wearing, looking like the kind of person who would wear a checked shirt and a pair of jeans at the most formal of events. The sheep looked... like a sheep really. Four legs, fluffy, despite all the jokes made, Nathan couldn't really tell the difference between types of sheep, they all looked the same to him.

To break the ice, the Flight Lieutenant stepped forward to shake Mr Weathersby's hand, giving him a typically firm handshake, one unexpected by the RAF Officer's bony hands. "Mr Weathersby, on behalf of Bull Flight of 603 Squadron, RAF, I'd like to say welcome to our little corner, and yes, we are all doing well this morning. So sign of Jerry in the sky makes us happy, contrary to what you may here. And this, I presume, is Gareth."

[Catherine Olive Ross]

George shook the Flight Lieutenant's hand firmly. "I am glad to hear you lads are holding up. Yes, this is Gareth; he's here on a mission of good will, sir. Entertain you all today."

"Baaaaaa!" went Gareth, as if agreeing with his owner. On the contrary, though, he was voicing his discomfort as a nasty itch formed behind his ear. He immediately leaned onto George's leg and began rubbing the side of his head on it, treating the poor shepherd like some sort of fence post. George, of course, blushed a little, and managed to push Gareth back to the side.

"N-no, Gareth. You can be silly later," the farmer muttered to his sheep, said sheep shaking his head again. The Lieutenant who had brought the trio of "performers" to the pilots motioned for the airmen to sit down. Once they were set down, George would begin his show, Gareth and him to stand horizontally to the audience.

"Gentlemen of Bull Flight, 603 Squadron, I give you Gareth, the incredible Bomb-Sniffing Sheep of London!" began the shepherd, managing to control his voice, forming it into a tone a ringmaster would use. "Not only does he find bombs and lost people, but he does tricks, too! Observe his incredible prowess!"

Catherine stood off to the side, smiling softly as her friend performed. She was to be his "assistant" today, after the two had come up with a set of hand signals to indicate her participation. That way, she wouldn't have to rely on lip reading to get anywhere, and the show would go uninterrupted; by the looks of it, George had already begun to regain his confidence. Hopefully, Gareth wouldn't go and shatter it.

"For his first trick, addition!" continued George. He held up two fingers in front of Gareth's face. "Gareth, two - "

He then held up five fingers.

" - Plus five?"

The sheep snorted, pawing at the ground seven times. George then held up six fingers.

"Six - "

He held up eight fingers.

" - Plus eight?"

Gareth pawed at the ground fourteen times. In response, George patted him on the head, saying, "Good boy! Good sheep!" He then held up all ten fingers.

"Ten - "

Five fingers were held up this time.

" - Plus five?"

Fifteen times did Gareth paw at the ground. George once again praised the sheep, giving the sheep a good pat, then pulled an oat biscuit out of one of his trouser pockets. The ram accepted it greedily and without hesitation.

[Nathan Whyte]

The aimen took the signal, bringing their chairs around. Nathan settled in to his, sinking slightly and pulling off his forage cap. He tucked it under his belt, the RAF crest pointing outwards. He pulled up his tea, having a quick sip before deciding it was still too hot, and rather quickly putting it down.

Yet another hush descended as they eagerly looked towards the guests, but this didn't seem to put Mr. Weathersby, who seemed to be much more relaxed now. He introduced Gareth as a sheep of multiple talents, there was a quiet thought amongst the men that perhaps this farmer had too much free time. To most people, sheeps were a farm animal, they went in the field, they ate, they fattened up, and then they were shorn and killed. It wasn't the most exiciting life, but sheep weren't the most exiciting animal.

Nathan looked over towards the black woman. She didn't seem to be doing much, just standing to the side, a bit unresponsive. She hadn't said anything yet, she'd just stood there. He didn't dwell on it, and he turned towards the sheep. The farmer was holding his fingers infront of the animal, and Gareth was counting with his hooves. It was an old trick he'd seen many a time with dozens of different animals, but as Gareth finished, the Kiwi Sergeant joined in with the polite applause. He didn't want to intimidate Mr. Weathersby, it was probably bad enough looking at a bunch of battle-hardened pilots with revolvers at their hips.

[Catherine Olive Ross]

There was applause, but it was of the polite sort. The "counting animal" trick was overdone, a cheap children's trick compared to what others could do. Luckily, it was only a sample of Gareth's talents; plenty of time and plenty of patience had given George a few tricks up his sleeve.

"Thank you, thank you," said George, giving a short bow at the audience. He then turned back to Gareth, who was licking his lips - oat biscuits were his favourite, good to the last drop. With a whistle to catch the sheep's attention, George then said, "For this next trick, I shall need a bit of music. Lieutenant, if you could?"

The Lieutenant who had ushered George's party in nodded at the request. Quickly fetching a wireless, he switched on some random jazz music, turning up the volume so that all could hear. George whipped out another oat biscuit, which Gareth eagerly looked at, stepping back as if to catch the food in his mouth. The shepherd grinned, stepping back and giving plenty of slack on the lead.

"Gareth," he said, drawing a circle in the air with the treat, "dance!"

The sheep got up on its hind legs, and probably to the surprise of many, began hopping back and forth - and even twirling around - in a strange imitation of some sort of dance. He got down on all fours and kicked out, then dashed back and forth before getting on his legs and twirling again. The ram did this for a couple of minutes, then jumped forward and grabbed in mid-air the treat George had tossed him. A wave of the hand meant for the Lieutenant to shut off the radio, and that he did.

Catherine, meanwhile, had noticed the quick look one of the pilots had given her, and looked back. It was only for a fleeting second, though, as she needed to concentrate on what was going on with George. It felt a little awkward, being stared at by a stranger; she hardly ever left her small town, where she knew almost everybody. Then again, she and George both were black, so stares were expected in that day and age. It was just part of the attitude people had.

"Now, for Gareth's next trick," said George, "he will attempt to identify four different accents. I would like to ask a few volunteers from the audience - preferably a Brummie, an Australian, a Scotsman and a Cockney. Any volunteers?"

Four pilots stood up, walking forward to stand in front of the sheep. Gareth glanced at them, giving a little snort, but his attention was quickly brought back to George as the shepherd produced another treat. George then looked at the pilots, holding the treat high over Gareth's head, and said, "Gareth, look this way." He then pointed at the pilots, and the sheep looked at them.

"Right sirs, I'll need you each to say a quick, 'Hello,' if you don't mind."

The pilots looked at each other, then shrugged.

"Allroyt," said the Brummie.

"Wotcha," said the Cockney.

"'Allo," said the Australian.

"Awrite," said the Scotsman.

George grinned. Clicking his tongue, he then said, "Gareth, find the Cockney."

The sheep walked over to the Cockney.

"Gareth, find the Brummie."

The sheep walked over to the Brummie.

"Gareth, find the Australian."

The sheep walked over to the Australian.

"Gareth, find the Scotsman."

The sheep walked over to the Scotsman.

[Nathan Whyte]

The applause died off, with one or two men catching a sneaky glance at their watches, wondering how many more constructive things they could be doing. They wouldn't stand up and leave, for the sake of manners, but they were actively looking for an excuse to dissapear. Really, it took more to entertain people than a counting sheep, but at least the farmer was trying.

With a nod, the Lieutenant started playing some jazz music over a wireless. It was a tiny bit perplexing until the sheep started dancing. This was a bit unusual, and Nathan gave a bit of a laugh as Gareth began twirling on his hind legs. More people joined in, until you had the entire flight happily laughing away in their seats at the diminutive sheep. It wasn't so much that the sheep was funny, but the men were relieved to have made it through the worst of the air battle so far, and it was relief rolling off them, that they could be sat in this field instead of in the cockpit of a Spitfire fighting for their lives.

As Gareth returned to the ground, happily munching on his treat, Mr. Weathersby appeared much happier, much more relaxed, and quickly pulled some volunteers out. They all said hello in exuberently stereotypical ways, really trying to take the mickey out of themselves. With a quick command, Gareth began identifying each of them. It was clear that Weathersby really had been training this sheep up since it first discovered bombs, as it happily pulled off the trick, earning a much more sincere and spectacular round of applause. Nathan noticed that more and more people were turning up, forming a crowd behind the semi-circle of seats.

[Catherine Olive Ross]

"Thank you, thank you!" cried George, grinning broadly at the reaction he was getting. This was perfect! More people were coming, nobody was complaining, and Gareth hadn't tried to kill anything yet. Hopefully, the rambunctious ram's energy could keep being channelled into the tricks performed; the last thing George needed was a wild sheep on the loose. There was plenty of that back in his hometown.

"Next, dear Gareth will attempt to identify places on a map," said George, raising his hand and snapping his fingers. Catherine immediately darted over to the jeep, coming back with a map and a pot of ink in her hands. She handed these to George, who placed the ink on the ground, unrolling the map and showing it to everybody.

"No tricks," said the shepherd. "A plain map of the world as we know it." He then knelt on the ground, uncorking the ink pot, and clicked his tongue to call Gareth forward. Holding his hand out, George let the sheep place a hoof in his hand, which was then dipped into the ink. Gareth held that food up as George stood up, stepping black and laying the map upon the grass.

"Gareth," said George, "find Britain."

The sheep gave a small bleat, placing his foot down on the British Isles. After removing it, George picked up the map, showing the pilots a black hoof-print over the correct area. When everybody seemed to see it, George would put the map back down on the ground.

"Gareth, find Britain's colonies."

The sheep did so, stopping and raising his hoof for more ink when his hoof-prints began to fade. George repeated this with various other countries, including those in Africa, North America and South America. The routine only broke when the trick reached the Axis Powers, Gareth only staring intently at where they were on the map. George sighed, turning to the crowd.

"Well folks," he began, "I guess I forgot to teach that - "

Riiiiiiiip!

George immediately looked down at Gareth, who was now ripping apart the Axis Powers on the map, attempting to devour their geographic locations. George gave an expression and gesture of mock surprise.

"Gareth!" said the shepherd. "You can't do that, you naughty sheep!"

The ram only looked up at George, baaed, and went back to eating the map.

[Nathan Whyte]

As the applause yet again died down, the gathered airmen turned back to the farmer, who was growing with confidence each time. With due awe, they watched as a map was produced, now safe in the knowledge it would produce a spectacular little event. Nathan eyed the map, yet again amazed by the size of some countries compared to New Zealand. Neighbouring Australia dwarfed his little islands, but then countries like Canada and the Soviet Union dwarfed that, stretching out for hundreds of thousands of miles.

They applauded as the sheep marked out the British Empire and a few other countries, some of which many of the pilots would have struggled to point out on a map. The sheep was yet again showing off how well trained he was, and certainly was helping lift the spirits of the battle wearied pilots. They all let out a raucous laughter when Gareth tore apart and ate the Axis nations.

"We could drop that little guy out over France, I don't reckon he'd stop until he was eating Hitler's moustache!" The joke raised another laugh from the pilot's although Gareth remained oblivious, tamely chewing away at the edge of the map. The pilots broke out in to more applause, eagerly awaiting Gareth's next trick.

[Catherine Olive Ross]

As the pilots laughed, George leaned down to grab the map from Gareth, tapping on the side of the sheep's jaw with a gentle, "Let go." Gareth refused, however, and tugged backwards, making George nearly topple over onto the sheep. In response, George himself pulled back viciously, and the two began a fierce match of tug-o'-war. From what the shepherd could hear, the pilots continued to laugh themselves red-faced, which George appreciated despite feeling embarrassed at the same time.

Finally, George managed to wrestle away the map from his sheep, leaving a large chunk of the Mediterranean for Gareth to continue chewing upon. The shepherd motioned for Catherine to run to the jeep, which she did, bringing back three dug-up fence posts with pictures nailed them to. One was a black-and-white photo of Winston Churchill; the other two consisted of Adolf Hitler in black and white and an amateur drawing of Napoleon Bonaparte. With the ends of the posts sharpened, it was easy to stick them into the ground, facing the audience so that they could witness the next trick.

Once Gareth was done chewing - he had decided an ink-dotted map wasn't tasty after all, and had spat the remains onto the ground - George positioned him in front of the audience. "For his next trick," said the shepherd, "more identification - this time of people and things. Gareth, who are the pilots?"

The sheep raised his hoof and pointed at the audience with a loud, "Baaaaaaa." George grinned.

"Good boy. Now, where are the planes?"

Gareth turned towards the nearby runway, once again lifting his hoof, pointing and baaing in the planes' general direction.

"Excellent. Now, who are Winston Churchill and Napoleon B.?"

The sheep turned, and once more, repeated his trick with the pictures of Napoleon and Churchill. George pulled out an oat biscuit, and quickly fed it to his sheep, saying, "Good boy! That's a good Gareth!" He waited for his pet to finish before the finale of that particular trick. It was one that turned George's grin and eyes devious.

"Gooood boy..." began the farmer. "Now...where's Mister Hitler?"

Gareth suddenly stiffened, and moved towards the picture of Hitler. He snorted, pawing at the ground like an angry bull. Lowering his quadruple-horned head, his eyes focused into a glare, and readied himself for a charge.

"BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

With a baaing that sounded more like a roar, the now-ferocious sheep rammed into the picture of Hitler with all his sheep-y might. There was the audible sound of wood cracking as Gareth rammed again and again, and some might have wondered if he'd break through the entire fence post.

[Nathan Whyte]

Nathan was beggining to hope the act was going to an end. It was all good and well, but a sheep doing tricks soon lost it's novelty. The gesture was nice, the farmers were trying to do their part, but frankly, it was September, he was sure they could be doing more help to the war effort by being in the fields, reaping the harvest. Germany had a large fleet of U-Boats, which meant that Britain couldn't rely on food from allies, so they couldn't afford to waste anything, and had to maximise producition.

Even though he had the apprehensions, he still clapped and laughed politely as the sheep did some recognition of people and objects. He let out a louder laugh as he began smashing into the picture of Hitler. It was obviously a cheap trick to try and impress the pilots, but all the same he still smiled.

Flight Lieutenant Bates sensed the unease of his men, and stood up, clearing his through slightly, trying to think of the most tactful way to get a move on. "Mr. Weathersby, I thank you for your little display, but, ah, not to sound inconsiderate but we have jobs to get on with, so perhaps we could start rounding up this little performance." As he sat back down, he looked slightly uncomfortable, he was a very polite man for an Officer in the British armed forces, and he didn't really like interupting people and asking them to get a move on. Least of all somebody who looked so pleased with what he was doing.

[Catherine Olive Ross]

Catherine's eyes suddenly flickered towards the crowd. George continued to ready Gareth for another trick, oblivious to the undercurrent of tension among the pilots, happily believing he was still doing some good. He was too focused on the task at hand, a consequence of being a shepherd - if he didn't pay enough attention, he could find himself with two or three of his sheep bolting down the road. Catherine made a step forward to go and alert Gareth, but one of the pilots stood from where he sat, doing it for her. She could tell by how his lips moved, reading the words like the page out of a book.

George, upon hearing he had been dragging things on, blushed furiously. Stammering for a moment, he scratched the back of his neck, managing to compose himself a few seconds later. "I a-apologize, sir," he said nervously, "I, er...didn't realize what time it was. Sorry, sorry...come now, Gareth."

The shepherd let out a short whistle, meant to attract the sheep's attention, the ram still trying to bash Hitler's face in. He paused, staring at his shepherd for a moment, then continued on with what he was doing. George sighed, picking up the rope hastily; Catherine could see from his sudden, stiff posture that he was irritated. Of all the times Gareth had to be disobedient, he had to do it then....

Gareth baaed in protest as the rope was slipped around his neck, George whistling again and giving the rope a gentle tug. He turned towards the crowd, gently pulling Gareth along and saying, "Well, that's all folks. I hope you enjoyed this brief little show, and God bless you for all you do, sirs. I apologize for taking so long; first shows and what-not - "

"BAAAA!"

George jumped and turned around, just to see Gareth flying towards him; the ram had steadied himself for a bashing as George had talked. A loud, "HEEEEEEEEEE!" of pain was produced by the poor shepherd, the black-and-white sheep ramming into George's groin without mercy. As he fell to the ground, curling up and cursing loudly, the sheep shook its head vigorously, then turned and bolted away.

Catherine, of course, was on Gareth's heels, calling loudly for the sheep to return to her. Poor George was left to recover whatever dignity he had left.

[Nathan Whyte]

Shifting in his chair, slightly, Nathan watched George quickly trying to apologise for taking so long. From his seat, he made a small flick with his hand, indicating it was no problem. Making his goodbye's, the shephard slipped a rope over the head of the ram. However, the sheep did not appreciate this in the slightest.

With a loud baa, the sheep attacked, knocking down the poor farmer. There were a few flinches from the pilots as they imagined the pain George was in. Bates quickly reacted though, pointing at a group of pilots, Nathan included. "Get that sheep!" Picking themselves up, they began running over the grass after the sheep.

He soon caught up with the black woman chasing after the sheep, and he overtook her, slowly closing the gap between himself and Gareth. A few more moments, and he was close enough to dive on the sheep's trailing rope. As he flew towards the ground, he wrapped his hand around it, and used himself as a deadweight to slow the animal. However, it wasn't as succesful as he had hoped it would be, and Gareth carried on going, dragging Nathan behind him and leaving large grass stains on his uniform.

"Will you just stop..." he grunted as he was pulled, feeling his shirt get tugged out of his trousers, and he had a sudden fleeting hear of his trousers being pulled down. This fear was worsened as he felt a hand wrap around his ankle, Nathan knowing that it would only take a bad grip for his trousers to be yanked down.