Georg and friends have taken time away from the dreary task of commanding the Midsommer regiment. Armed with only Karlberg Ale, recklessness and a mixture of flintlock and air
rifled pieces they head for the Heath.
Hours into the day, when the sun is at its zenith and fortified with a good lunch they enter an area of stunted oaks and bushes.
A sound is heard, a tusked shape hurtles from the undergrowth. "Mine!" cries Georg as he attempts to fire.A misfire occurs and the beast is upon him.His brother officers flee the scene in terror.....................
Oh, oh. This could be very uncomfortable for Georg . . . indeed it could be fatal.
ReplyDelete18th century imagi-Europe awaits the news.
-- Jeff