The Elite Force of Britain: a team of superheroes who banded themselves together to protect a town; a team of superheroes who decided to stick together when their initial job was done; a team of superheroes who could call upon each other in times of need; and a team of superheroes who make a difference. Mostly.

They thought of themselves as the original British super team; the trendsetters; the ones to watch and the ones to set the standards. However, that crown had already been taken.

Whilst on a mission under the stairs in the Secret Headquarters, Muriel Magnificent discovered a letter. The letter had been tucked away behind a loose brick, and dislodged as a battle against alien invaders took place above the headquarters. A large explosion that almost caused the stairs to collapse revealed the letter… and another secret.

Here’s the letter…

I’m delighted you’ve discovered this letter.

When last we met, we swore ourselves to secrecy, and with a little helping hand from our colleague El Pizzazz our memories were somewhat ‘covered’.

You probably have no clue as to who El Pizzazz is. Nor would you remember the others of our band who were together that fateful day when you came crashing through the skies. Charlotte ‘Angel’ Change, mistress of metamorphosis. The Strongman, Great Britain’s (if not, dare I say it!) the world’s strongest man. El Pizzazz, obviously, master of illusion and hypnotism. And little old me, Mistress De Leur, mistress of disguise.

Let me start at the beginning.

We were in the cocktail suite of the Pyramid Lounge, Angel Change and I. Angel had transformed herself into Frederick Clutterbuck of the Imperial Water Company, and I’d disguised myself as his wife Winifred. The Clutterbucks were next on the list of the international jewel thief known only as The Pumpkin. We’d safely hidden the Clutterbucks at our Lodge, and took their place early on in the evening. The cocktail suite was filling up nicely when we saw the Pumpkin arrive with his entourage.

He headed over to the bar, floozy on each arm, and we watched as he bought all those at the bar a drink and a cigarette. It wasn’t long before he noticed us sitting in a booth away from the bar.

He sauntered over, smug expression on his face. He’d left one floozy at the bar, and promptly dismissed the other one before he approached us. She tried to hit him with her handkerchief but missed and stood for a moment with a spoilt and disappointed look on her face before she trotted back to the group at the bar and draped herself around someone else.

“Mr Clutterbuck. Mrs” he said, nodding to me and offering Angel a cigarette. She politely refused, as Mr Clutterbuck usually would. He wasn’t a big smoker. “I’d like to do some business” he said, noticing the huge rock I was wearing around my neck. A ruby. With diamond encrusted chain. It was gorgeous, I must add.

The house band started to play the new, and very catchy, Charleston Beat, and very soon the suite was full of bodies attempting to do their own version of the Charleston dance. Some were good, some not so. But, it was new. Give them a few weeks, and they’d all be professional. However, I digress!

“It’s a trifle noisy in here” the Pumpkin said, “Let’s go to the Veranda and chat.”

Pretending to be one of the most influential businessmen in the region wasn’t easy for Angel: for one, it was her first case undercover, and also her first case as a man. Before that she usually became a cat or a butterfly or something. However, she went along with it.

“Excuse me a moment, Fred” she shouted over the band (Frederick always referred to his wife as Fred), “I will need to take this matter outside.” And with that, she and the Pumpkin left my company.

It was at that moment, two sinister looking henchmen in long trench coats and trilbies approached me, with one pressing what felt like a gun into my arm.

“Don’t make a scene.” Sinister number one said. “Come with us and we won’t hurt you.” Sinister number two stood in the way of all of the other dancers and patrons so they couldn’t see what was going on.

Sinister number one pulled me to my feet, and I tried to pull my arm away only for him to pull it straight back, my hand over my shoulder, which also highlighted the ruby. “Will you look at the size of that, Stan!” He exclaimed, eyes like saucers.

He dragged me outside, where I could see Angel and the Pumpkin struggling on the Veranda, a bar tender unconscious on the floor. I was taken over to Angel, where the hoodlums revealed the weapons they were carrying. Weapons not from our time. Well, 1924 that is.

It was at that point that the roof of the Veranda was torn off to the strangest sound ever imaginable, and the strongest of winds which strangely had an aroma of strawberries. Odd the things you remember.

Out of this wind, fell Bettystretch, Lycralad, The Firetop and Invisible Charlie. Angel and I didn’t know at the time that you were from 2014, and if we did, we wouldn’t have believed it anyway.

Thinking it was a set up, and the four newcomers were from our band of masked protectors – the Imperial Force of Great Britain – the Pumpkin and the henchmen tried to make their escape, only to be scuppered by the local constabulary.

Shortly afterwards, we found out, the constabulary were actually more henchmen in disguise, and they all made their escape good and proper. But, the Elite Force of Britain and the Imperial Force of Great Britain decided to join together to find and stop this team of unscrupulous jewel thieves once and for all.

The letter continues… and will continue here as well in due course…

12 Comments

  1. Arrgh the Elite.. seems the pumpkin wars started early ….. she droned on .. as the hero’s of yesteryear still pay the price.. ..
    Great piece of writing Tom.. can not wait for more..

    Like

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