[pshrynk]

Lieutenant Biggles sat behind his desk and sipped his espresso. Damn! That's good! Glad we went over to Marc's and pinched his working model, leaving our busted one behind.

He reviewed the day's roster with apprehension. there was a New Guy coming in. Biggles would, of course, always refer to him as New Guy. Early stage Alzheimer's was a bitch. He pressed the button on his desk, ringing his orderly.

"You There! Bring me the roster on New Guy, would you?"

The orderly shuffled in, lowering his head to get through the door. "It's Alf, if you wouldn't mind. Here's the folder."

"Thanks, er, You There!"


Biggles perused the file, at one point getting out a magnifying glass to really peruse the crap out of it. He took notes. And then made other notes to remember where he'd taken the notes. Then jotted a quick note to remind himself that taking notes did not work unless he actually used ink in his pen.

"So, this guy thinks he's Royalty, does he?" Biggles adjusted the cheap tin crown on his head and tried to remember why he was here. "We'll just see about that. No room for Royalty in Her majesty's Flying LLama Squadron!"