"Right, Arthur," Tommy drawled, slugging back a shot of Irish, "we need to take the boys up to the farmyard, get that Radio truck out of there, the Mosleyist BUF have got annoyed with the radio broadcasts about the Lord- L ieutenant of Barfieldshire and his misdeeds. Using a clever bit of triangulation, have tracked the radio truck down, and want to take it off air, permanently." "Right you are Tommy!" Arthur looked up from the racing pages of his copy of the newspaper. Funny how even during a period of intense strife, gambling carried on. "Break out the Lewis gun, sort out the rifles, I'll meet you all here in half-an-hour. I'm just off to call in a favour with the Singer Defence Committee. We need their woman-power, as Rotherfield-Peppard has got the Fuzz involved." Tommy swung on his coat, donned his cap and strode out into the sunshine. "Oh good, should make it a more interesting fight!" muttered Arthur with glee. Mort had...