In France, the First World War is at its height and the Australian ‘SG’ Regiment is doing as good a job as any in providing top-class cannon-fodder. General ‘Melchie’ Murdock (on loan from the American Army) and Capt ‘Blackadder’ Bolt are in command of the Aussie diggers.
Melchie: Right then, Blackadder...you’ll have to stop staring at that infernal telegram machine...a watched kettle and all that...
Blackadder: I know, sir...but, as you are aware, I’ve applied for an announcer’s position on the Forces’ network, ‘Rank Radio’, and I’m waiting on some news on the success of my application...
Melchie (muttering): Pfffftttt...a radio station would have to be rank for you to get a job on it – are you sure it wasn’t the ABC you applied to...ho...ho...
Blackadder: Sorry, sir – didn’t actually catch that...
Melchie: Oh, I was just saying, Blackadder, that the ranks will be well serviced by being given the opportunity to listen to your dulcet tones...Oh, and by the way, Blackadder, we’re...well, you’re...going over the top soon, so you’d better get out into the trench and ready the company for doing their duty...
[Blackadder skulks out of the bunker and, after a while, Melchie hears an unmerciful scream coming from the trench outside. He exits and comes across Blackadder, who is clutching a hand to one of his eyes, wincing with pain.]
Melchie: What the dickens happened, Blackadder?
Blackadder: Ouch!! I was surveying No Man’s Land through the periscope, sir, and the Hun sent up one of their new NBN (“Nifty Bullseye Nullifier”) weapons and it damaged my cornea...there’s no way I can lead the attack now, sir...
Melchie: An NBN weapon, Blackadder? That sounds ominous...but, never mind, the men will have to go over the top without you...
[Melchie orders the diggers of A Company of the ‘SG’ Regiment to attack. Understandably, they aren’t too pleased – in Blackadder, they can spot a pretender a mile off...As they advance, with the Hun machine guns firing at will, the outcome is inevitable.
Later on, Melchie starts to gee Blackadder up for another tilt at the Hun positions.]
Melchie: Righto, Blackadder...that eye of yours should be right as rain by now – it’s about time you mustered B Company to do their duty...
Blackadder: Yes, sir, I’ll see to it right away, sir...
[Again, after a short intermission, Melchie’s snooze in his bunker is disturbed by the loud wimpering of Blackadder in the trench outside.]
Melchie: Whatever happened, Blackadder? You sounded like you have been hit amidships by a Hockey Howitzer...
[Blackadder is busily placing the last of about a dozen band-aids on his face.]
Blackadder: Erm...it was even worse than a Hockey Howitzer, sir...I was out doing a recce in No Man’s Land when the Hun fired another one of their secret weapons at me...It was one of those new-fangled cluster-bombs, containing a deadly spray of carbon tacks...I got them all over my face, sir – hence the plethora of band-aids...So, there’s no way I can lead the attack, sir...
[Again, Melchie accepts Blackadder’s excuse that he is not fit enough to go over the top, so B Company has to go without him. Their fate is no different to that of A Company.
Later on, whilst the artillery “softening-up” of the enemy is under way, Melchie again orders Blackadder out into the trench, to prepare C Company for their inevitable doom. Melchie bungs on his ear-muffs, and lies down on his four-poster to catch some shut-eye. A few hours later, there is such a loud knocking at the door, even his ear-muffs can’t stifle the sound of the racket. Very annoyed, Melchie drags himself out of his bed, opens the door, and sees a very sorry-looking Blackadder standing there with one foot in a cast, and accompanied by a very stern-faced Military Police Officer.]
Melchie: W...w..why, Blackadder!! What’s going on, Captain – I thought you would have been well over the top with C Company by this stage...And, what happened to your foot, Blackadder?
Blackadder: Well, it’s a long story, sir, but I’ll make it as brief as possible...I was drumming up some support with our Russian allies further down the trench, when I came across a very belligerent bunch of Bolsheviks – the Revolting Peoples Army they called themselves – and one of them ran over my foot with his zimmer frame...so I decided to go and get some medical help...
MP: Huh, good one, mate! We arrested you jazzing it up in the front stalls at the Moulin Rouge in the capital – that’s a funny place, and a long way to go, to seek medical help!
Blackadder (cheekily): And where else, Sherlock, would a person go to get some plaster of Paris put on their leg...heh...heh...
[Melchie assures the MP that if Blackadder survives the next push into No Man’s Land, he will be summarily court-marshalled and shot at dawn anyway. Meanwhile, Blackadder pleads that he is unfit to go over the top. By this stage, however, Melchie is at the end of his tether with the pretender, Blackadder.]
Melchie: Right, you...I have just about had it up to here with your malingering...when I give the order to go over the top, your sorry ass will be at the head of the line...
[Suddenly, the telegram machine sparks into life. Blackadder throws his eyes to the heavens, hoping it is a message from General Gina at GHQ, announcing his appointment to Rank Radio. Melchie rips off the piece of paper and begins to read.]
Melchie: START OF COMMUNIQUE – tell that pretender, Blackadder, he can’t announce for nuts – hence, we have decided to give the job to Corporal Jones instead – END OF COMMUNIQUE...
[Melchie stares for a few seconds at the telegram and mutters under his breath.]
Melchie: Hmmmm...I hope those geniuses had a third applicant, cos yesterday I had enough of Jonesey parroting in my ear and sent him out for some rugby practice in the mine-field...heh...heh...
And so, Blackadder, you can postpone the inevitable no longer...you are going over the top with D Company whether you like it or not...
Blackadder (resignedly): Yeah, fair cop, guv...but, if the Huns win, and in the unlikely event I survive, we’ll have a few nice coldies after they release us from the POW camp...
Melchie: Nah, I don’t think so, Blackadder...If the Huns win, they’ll certainly send me packing on the first available ship back to the States...
[An awkward momentary silence ensues between the MP (whom the officers neglected to dismiss), Blackadder and Melchie. After a while, Blackadder breaks the ice.]
Blackadder: Oh, and by the way, sir, why do they call our chaps, the ‘SG’ Regiment – it’s often struck me as strange...
[Before Melchie can speak, the MP gets in first.]
MP: Why, it stands for the “Stolen Generation” Regiment, sir – I thought you would have worked out that true courage only comes from overcoming adversity...
Blackadder: You...you...you mean, all those chaps of ours are actually Aborigines!! Why, they are as white as I am!!
MP: Yes, they may look white, mate...but at least they aren’t lily-livered like some other people around here...
