Incredibly our heroes have survived, but inevitably, just as the corpse arises from the lake, and the skeleton walks out of the cupboard we know that their ordeal is far from over. When we left them the priestess who looked uncannily like Sophie their nemesis, was suggesting they be served for dinner or at the very least have their heads miniaturised via the genius of skull shrinking technology,

Either way it doesn’t look good, and with the toms toms beating a menacing pulse, they’re not sure of they’re the main menu or the entree. Either way it doesn’t look promising. We return to our saga, and be warned, there are traces of Nuclear Submarine in this forthcoming episode.

‘Can’t we do something?  At least we’re inside, and with a bit of luck if we do something it may forestall their dinner arrangements’. Terry quick as a flash pressed the large toggle switch labelled ‘landing light’ and turned it on. The effect was instantaneous, whereas just moments earlier they were being menaced; the entire crowd, the priestess and the drums disappeared. The light, being an airport strobe light blinked and illuminated the ghastly scene before them more clearly than before. When the mists and fugue had obscured all but the totem with the Sophie look-alike as the effigy perched menacingly on top.

‘Jeez that worked a treat.

Do you think we can keep the lights on all night,

‘Nup’ Terry answered phlegmatically, ‘the battery she’s just about run out’.

We could see behind the frames of the village buildings, the outline as myriad heads peering out from the cover of the buildings as they studied the flashing, pulsating strobe from the  Rotodyne. They were curious now. And from the very rear of the throng, the priestess, began to walk cautiously back towards the aircraft. This time she was carrying a very large knife. As she waved it in the air, we could hear the villagers cry in a mournful and melancholy chorus. It was worser than a rendition of ‘Up there Cazaly’ or ‘Advance Australia Fair’ at a cricket match, and worser still, (we apologise for our grammatical in exactitude, but we cater to a Queensland audience) than having to attend an AUK-WARD Pact submarine presentation, or an ANZAC Day event.

‘I dunno Quent this doesn’t look nice’. Stealthily and deliberately the natives no longer afraid of the light crept closer. The lights from the Rotodyne, blinked their last, and then, like the slow moving wreck of an AUK-Ward Class submarine they just faded and then died.

 

‘Well that’s torn it, got any more tricks’? Ces enquired.

‘That’s about it, cept for these signal flares, and the anchor. What’s the anchor for’?

In case we’re marooned at sea, you see the Rotodyne floats.

Fat lot of use that’ll be halfway up a bloody mountain peak. Well, ya never know’.

It was then that the drumming renewed its melancholy beat. And the natives, led by their Sophie look-alike who was now leaping and cavorting in an ecstasy of blood-lust drew closer and closer. Until once again, we could make out her hideous countenance making obscene gestures through the opalescent screen of the Rotodyne cockpit. Space age met Stone age, and whichever way you looked at it, it was not nice.

‘Think of something, it’s still early and from what I can see they’re starting a fire, and look over there’. Sure enough, as they looked incredulously, they could see the large sombre silhouette of a large pot, a mighty cauldron, being dragged to the centre of the village Square. The Sophie look-alike pointed to the pot and made bloodthirsty gestures directed solely at us…

‘We’re buggered, what the hell can we do’?

‘I dunno, think of something’.

‘We’ve been in worse scrapes’.

Just then, as if by cue Sophie, the real Sophie bound and trussed let out a terrific roar; ‘Youse got one last chance, get me outta this or I’ll knacker ya, with my hubby’s elastrators, eat you fuckin entrails and stew yer brains in grandma’s camp oven. Let me out!  Do ya’s ear me’!!

‘All right then Sophie, but I warn you’, Ces demanded. ‘You’re on probation and I’ve gotta tell you, it’s a tricky situation and you might be able to help’?

‘Untie her’! Ces ordered, and busily we untied her. Sophie pushed, bit and punched at us, but it was small beer to being cooked and eaten. No sooner had she emerged she yelled; ‘What the fuck is going on? Are you frightened by a couple of natives. I’ll show you how to sort this out’.

With out so much as a bye your leave Sophie pushed us aside, grabbed the anchor and before we could stop her, opened the door of the Rotodyne and stood outside,

Moments later she stood face to face with the priestess.

 

The priestess was flummoxed, standing right in front of her was this white devil who looked exactly the same. The priestess pointed to the totem and said something in gibberish, and Sophie proudly, espying the native handicraft, burnished her glasses and pointed in Nicky Winmar fashion to her chest.  To her lapel, where in letters bright and bold it said, ‘Fair Work Commission Member, (accredited)’. The priestess touched the lapel, and then touched it again.  Then she licked it. Looked to her gathering throng. They moved closer. Sophie sensing the tension, did the only thing she knew.  It was pure instinct. Grabbing the anchor she heaved it with all her might and clobbered the priestess with 40 kilos of pig iron. The priestess collapsed. Sophie moved several steps forward and with jackboot firmly placed, plunged the sole of it onto the priestess’s torso and raised her arms in the air in a spirit of exuberant triumph. The crowd murmured, and then, to a man, they rejoiced. The new Sophie had conquered the old Sophie and the new Sophie perhaps was a promise of better things to come.

 

Or was she?

 

Find out in the next AUK-Ward inspired episode, ‘Sophies crowning achievement might be bigger than the coronation’. Or ‘Sophie clobbers and conquers’.