Tomerton Village

The helicopter soared over the jungle majestically for an hour, before winching us down through the tree canopy. This was not our endpoint. Jeff explained: 'We're going on walkabout. That's South Aviana over the river. We're not invited, we're not welcome, and we're going to let ourselves in.' 'First trick is getting past the border post. Yatesy, you like a bit of fancy dress?' Puzzled, i discovered we were disguising ourselves as natives, to slip through the border crossing. Jeff and Mike had perfected the look, but i was struggling: Bemused, they quickly spotted the problem 'Marmite? You're using Marmite. Pommy slop - throw that out, you need this'. Vegemite. Revolted as i was, i slathered it all over myself. We passed through the border post untroubled (even with Jeff calling out 'gidday' to the guard). Further into South Aviana, we slipped into the jungle to find a weapons cache and return to our jungle gree...

From the pages of Ian Fleming & Commando Comic, comes this four part action adventure epic... In the dead of night, a shadowy figure lurked at my doorstep. With silent precision, he picked the lock. Inside, the prowler moved from room to room, looking for something. Or someone. Till he found what he wanted. Lights snapped on, and a booming voice commanded: 'Captain Yates - stand to attention!' To be quickly ammended - 'Good god man, at ease! Get dressed Yates, and find your passport'. +++++++ In the kitchen, Brigitte and Stephanie were good enough to cook breakfast while the Brigadier briefed me: 'We have unconfirmed reports from a reliable source of something big, and we're sending you North Aviana to find out. You'll rendezvous with our associates at the airport, who will escort you to the site. Then contact me with your findings as soon as you can. It's a nasty part of the world Yates, watch your back - and good luck...

After weeks of training i was ready. i knew the course like the back of my hand. There was only one serious rival, and i had his mark. First prize in The Tomerton Dash would be mine. Arriving on the day, i collected my race bib and moved to the change rooms. It was here i first caught glimpse of my competitors. A scruffy bunch of chancers. And he, Gordon Goodney. I gave a terse greeting. Peculiarly, as i dressed, all the others disappeared into the one toilet cubicle together - from where i heard scraping and snorting sounds. I assumed this was race nerves, and felt even more confident in myself. Shortly after, they all tumbled out, behaving most oddly. Davey Ravey kept waving his hands in the air (almost as if he was dancing to some imagined hypnotic music). Gary Gurner was chewing furiously and kept sipping from a bottle of sports-pop. Barth Whitey really wasn't well. But Goodney himself was looking pepped, focused, ready to race. At the starters gun, we were off. I expec...