Well, we’re trying to connect to our satellite network, but we’ve forgotten the password and so we can’t link up to see what’s happened to the island. But…

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But?

We’re fairly certain it’s completely gone my Lord, radiation levels in that area are off the scale according to our remote detectors and there’s an odd glow over the horizon.

We were lucky to link up with the Leviathan.

Absolutely my Lord, the Ocean is so mind-bogglingly big that the onboard computer told me the chances of our underwater escape pod being picked up by a passing friendly submarine before the deadly radiation killed us were two to the power of two hundred and seventy-six thousand, seven hundred and nine to one against.

Reminds me of a telephone number I once had in Islington. Tell me, any news from the rest of the fleet?

We’ve made contact with the ISS Retaliation and the ISS Punisher, we’re trying to rendezvous with them now. The other vessels have still not responded.

Well, keep trying, We need to regroup what’s left of our forces.

Indeed my Lord, and what’s more, the Leviathan is a little low on supplies, she was headed back to base to restock when the island was nuked. I’m hoping that one of our other boats has some Cigars on board.

Boats?

Yes your Excellency, I’ve never been entirely sure why, but submarines are referred to as boats rather than ships. It’s all terribly confusing.

(A klaxon blares and the lights suddenly dim and turn red)

Uh-ho.

Let’s head to the Con’.

Agreed.

(The two men leave the room and head down narrow corridors to the crowded and sophisticated Con’ room where a group of worried looking submariners sit looking at their instruments. General Menace confers with the Captain before heading back to the Doctor)

There’s another sub’ stalking us. We spotted it up a few moments ago, they are currently right behind us in our wake, probably trying to work out who we are, we were lucky to pick them up.

Hostile?

Well, it can’t be one of ours my Lord, they are nowhere near. It must be hostile. The Captain suspects it is an American attack submarine – specifically designed to hunt boats like ours down and kill them.

Well that’s easily sorted, fly an American or a British flag or something.

Errr…my Lord, we’re underwater, we can’t fly any flags here.

Well, then get someone outside and paint a flag on the hull.

Ha ha ha…

You heard me.

Eh? I beg your pardon? My Lord?

You heard me. Get someone outside and paint a flag on the hull. Now. Do it!

Yes Sir. Right away your Excellency. (To the Captain). You heard the man – get someone kitted out and paint a British flag on the hull. Now!

(There is a scene of general commotion as the orders are passed on)

Heh heh heh. That’ll fool them.

Yeah, right. Errr…I mean, yes, of course it will your Superiousness – it’s a brilliant plan! (A distant scream is heard from the deck below) Well that’s something, it sounds like they just found a volunteer. (There are clanging noises as hatches are sealed and then, after a few minutes, metallic footsteps can be heard on the outside of the hull)

Excellent. Whilst he’s doing that, let’s see who we’re facing.

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