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Operation Code Named Sushi!
Operation Code Named Sushi!
Operation Code Named Sushi!
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Operation Code Named Sushi!

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Take a Chinese Industrialist, and then add a Nationalist Generalissimo, a Royal Princess and Old Leatherface to the mix. Jolles puts on his chefs hat to cook you up a recipe filled with plenty of shoot-em-up excitement. Then stir briskly with lots of insane characters as well as historical ones. The result is Operation Code Name Sushi!. One whale of a kidnapping and a hell of a joyride.

Jolles will tickle you with the feather tip of his words. This is an interactive book, and without you the heroes will never win. So get ready to do some serious singing as well a lot of cheering. Reader victory is in your hands. So sit tight in your seat folks and grab hold of its edges, because you're seconds from blast off!
LanguageEnglish
PublisheriUniverse
Release dateNov 21, 2008
ISBN9780595839711
Operation Code Named Sushi!
Author

Jerold Jolles

Jerold Jolles is a drifter. a man in quest of himself. A guy who never found his nitch; you might call him a square peg in a round hole. A vivid imagination and lots of itchy funny bones make up his anatomy. In spite of a hard life filled with illness and being alone, he still finds humor. He lives in Albuquerque, New Mexico.

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    Operation Code Named Sushi! - Jerold Jolles

    Prologue

    National Geographic Magazine August 1934

    The Palace of Jade

    By Lord Alfred Frigidbottom

    "Well Geographic readers here we are again. Our last adventure together found us on the plains of Kilimanjaro, the heart of deepest Africa, examining the mating habits of the wildebeests. This time as a special treat we are here in history soaked China learning of its wonderful past and feasting our eyes on its many hidden treasures. Together with my beautiful wife. Pamela. and Sir Jeffrey Waggelsbee snapping pictures, we will share our latest adventures with you all. Oh that funny looking Chap behind the wheel of the Ford Model T. why that’s Gunda, our driver from India. Smile for us Gunda. Show the Geographic Society all your missing front teeth. That’s a good boy.

    This time we will stop at the fabled Palace of Jade on the way to the Great Wall of China to meet with a Chinese Chap called Dear Sweet Daddy Wonton."

    The Model T Ford bounced along the dried out dirt road in Western China. The rains were sparse that year and the yellow clay turned to dust. It was a dust that blew away the hopes and dreams of China’s teaming masses. Chinese coolies beat and kicked the sides of their starving water buffalo’s hardly noticing the foreign devils and their putt, putt, putting devil machine.

    Pzzzzzz!

    By Jupiter, that dag blasted radiator was overheating again. I simply must write a letter of complaint to that American Chap Henry Ford. Gunda please pour some good old H2O into little Nellie, won’t you boy? Gunda kicked at the tires. It was better than kicking at those bloody British.

    Work hard now Gunda, like a good boy. Remember hard work is honey to a man’s soul. Oh really like this hard working Indian needed to hear that from a bunch of lazy whites. The little Geographic party had another problem, they were lost. However, with a healthy knowledge of the local Chinese dialects and a National Geographic map in hand, Sir Jeffrey approached an old Chinese Coolie. The Chinaman was perched atop his half starved water buffalo. The old Chinese pointed to himself, as if to say, What? Who? Me?

    Yes my good man, you. The two men put their heads together, blabbering and jabbering and I might add polabbering.

    Well, here we are, at the side of the road sharing tea and crumpets with the local Chinese folks. There was a photo taken by Sir Jeffrey. Oh! Here is a picture of Gunda making funny finger signs at the camera. He really is quite the clown. Notice the way his middle finger sticks straight up.

    The Ford Model T, rumbled, bumped and skittered down the dusty road. Deep ruts, made by other automobiles and countless ox drawn carts, made the way nearly impossible. The hours crawled by with the only sound other than our stomachs’ groaning in worry being the occasional back fire of our dear Lizzie. The radiator started its infernal hissing again. This time, we had no water to quench its dry parched metal throat.

    When all seemed lost and even, our stiff upper lips were dripping with moisture. Far off in the distance we gazed longingly at our goal. Mount Wonton. My Geographic friend’s it is the largest mountain in all of Western China.

    Mount Wonton rose over fifteen hundred feet straight up to heaven like a wall of emerald green. Yet, it was only the foundation, a fit setting for a crown jewel. "The Palace of Jade was a marvel of engineering, but all that can be explained to you dear readers later. While Sir Jeffrey Waggelsbee snapped picture after picture simply the most dreadful thing happened, Our automobile broke down beyond any faint hope of repair.

    Gunda laid down in the shadow of the tin Lizzy then went fast to slumbering. Here is a picture of us by the side of the road sharing crumpets with the local children.

    Captain Yang, of Daddy Wonton’s royal guard, peered down at the valley far below. He was busy searching the tiny ribbon of road for the expected guests. The young handsome Chinese soldier carefully focused Daddy Wonton’s prized pair of binoculars getting a better look at the tiny dust cloud far off in the distance. Suddenly the dust cloud disappeared.

    They must be in trouble. Yang mused to himself.

    Yang turned to the two other soldiers who were standing by his side awaiting his commands.

    The guests of our lord and master are in the valley below. Run and tell Daddy Wonton. When you have done that, gather soldiers, horses and mules. Our guests appear to be in trouble. The soldiers ran to alert the Palace Garrison and inform the greatest tycoon in all the Orient.

    Lady Pamela shouted out in pure elation. Look there! A column of Calvary seemed to be coming to the rescue. The rescue party composed of a dozen Royal Guardsmen with extra horses and packed animals halted before the stranded party. Captain Yang jumped off his white charger in one swift fluid motion landing on his feet.

    Noble guests welcome to the domain of our dear sweet Daddy Wonton. Wang moved his arm left to right as if presenting something. He was showing off his masters lands. Over a thousand seasons ago, the Wonton Dynasty ruled much of China from here to as far as the Great Wall. That I am sorry to say was before China was conquered by the Mongol infidels from the north. Lord Frigidbottom began to ply Captain Yang with questions. The River Loo and the city beyond are on my National Geographic map, but I don’t know anything about them. Please, I have so many questions.

    My Lord Wonton reserves the right to answer your questions. Please, we must hurry up the mountain before it gets too dark and it becomes too dangerous.

    Frigidbottom scribbled on his notepad while he rode along.

    Dear readers. He wrote, "We followed the horse trail ‘round and ‘round the mountain. In the gathering twilight servants took up their positions on both sides of the lit torches. Others ran along by our side. In the distance, there were two huge gates. A servant took a long, wooden club its end wrapped in canvas and slowly beat a huge gong again and again. Bong, bong, bong! The Palace beyond sprang to life. Electric lights filled every window flooding the Palace in a golden light. Searchlights were turned on then rotated to the right and left then up and down bathing the sky in brightness like some Hollywood movie premier.

    A red carpet was unrolled just as the column came to a halt. The tip of the carpet touched the toes of the Geographic explorers. The band struck up the American hit tune Hooray for Hollywood. A beautiful, athletic young sixteen year old lover of Daddy Wonton’s burst into song and dance. She marched back and forth like a soldier punching the air for emphasis. Then, she twirled, skipped and twisted: a glow of supreme happiness lit up her face."

    Hooray for Hollywood

    That screwy, bally hooey Hollywood

    Where any office boy

    Or young mechanic

    can be a panic, with just a good looking pan face.

    Any bar maid can be a star maid

    if she dances with or without a fan.

    Hooray for Hollywood where you’re terrific if you’re not even good.

    Where anyone from Shirley Temple to Aimee Semple

    is equally understood.

    Come on and try your luck you could be Donald Duck.

    Hooray for Hollywood.’

    Suddenly the young girl started quacking like a duck then she waddled back and forth knees bent and arms a flapping. Our little party of National Geographic explorers simply stood there mouths wide open. An older woman, beautiful and gentle, knelt down then untied my boots.

    Please kind sir let me remove your hot shoes and put soft slippers upon your tired feet. Now readers, how can one resist an offer like that? The British noble man allowed the smiling servant to perform this appointed task, her soft cascading trusses brushing against his hand. Lady Pamela shot her smiling husband an angry look that melted away his grin.

    Keep on smiling you big oaf and you can forget about getting any from me tonight.

    None… Dear Pamela?

    You heard me! She whispered these words of knowledge to him ever so sweetly so as not to create an incident and embarrass the sweet thing now down at her feet. Pamela gripped the Chinese woman’s hair lightly then ever so tightly, not simply to keep her balance but also to take out her aggression. The girl whimpered in pain. Those three stalwart explorers and the nearly toothless gent from India were led through two golden doors into the main hall of the Palace of Jade. There at the top of a high curved staircase was a little bald headed man.

    Blimey Cold Ass! A title Lady Pamela fondly and sometimes not so fondly used when speaking to her husband. That bald little blighter has a head like a forty watt light bulb.

    Shhhh…

    Don’t shush me! I’m the one who does the shushing in this family.

    Welcome! Welcome! Welcome dear people. Welcome to my little house. Little! Ha! That was the height of an understatement. I mean this Daddy War bucks was really loaded. So just who was he kidding, with those remarks? I guess it was just his way of rubbing salt into an open wound. Daddy Wonton slowly walked down the staircase I emphasis the word ‘majestically’ sort of like Douglas Fairbanks Senior making a grand entrance onto an MGM sound stage. This guy had real class.

    Daddy Wonton please, I have many questions.

    Yes. Yes my friend I know you do, but have patience, there’s a time and a place for everything.

    Lord Frigidbottom felt embarrassed, after all weren’t the British the masters of decorum and to be shown up by a Chinaman of all sorts. What’s this world coming to?

    Slap, slap, slap. Daddy Wonton clapped his hands. Young man appeared putting cool silken robes over sweat stained shirts and a sweaty dress.

    It’s too bad you don’t remove your clothing. The silk would feel so much better on your bare skin but I know how you westerners are and I honor that. Now Lady Pamela mused to herself smiling.

    Huh. Practical, especially if the handsome, young Chinaman who robed her could disrobe her.

    Honey, you’re the one who is smiling now.

    Shut-up…Cold Ass!

    My Geographic readers: A very great lady appeared hand in hand with two young children. When I say great, I mean great around the middle and great around well everything else too. She had great bulging muscles in her arms, legs and her tummy tum tum She wasn’t comely, neither was she homely. She was just big boned from head to toe. Big boned I say just like her mother who was Swedish. That huge woman bowed low to her lord and master. A deep red sash was wrapped around her belly, from it hung her jewel encrusted scimitar a razor sharp gift from her father. I was told he was a chap called One Ton Metoo. He wasn’t really a ton, but for all intents and purposes he could pass for a ton. Of all Mama Metoo’s brothers and sisters, she was the runt of the litter.

    The scimitar was a gift from the last Empress of China during the Boxer Uprising in 1900 to her father. You see the Boxers would flip ‘One-ton’ on his side then grabbing his arms and legs they would roll him into the British positions. ‘One-ton’ Metoo presented the scimitar to Mama Metoo on her twenty second birthday. Since the Chinese fought against the British in the Boxer rebellion, Daddy Wonton warned Mama Metoo not to bring up the origin of the curved weapon. He knew the perfect way to put the fear of Buddha in her. He would cut off her supply of bonbons for a month. Candy, my friends, was the way to this woman’s heart. Ah-huh! Mum, mum good!"

    One Wild and Crazy Warlord

    Chapter #1

    Noble Lady and Gentlemen, I would like to introduce you to my children. This is my twelve year old son, Little Mouse: my son, take a bow. The skinny, wiggly, beady-eyed boy bowed. Then, he planted a sharp kick square onto Mama Metoo’s shin.

    Oww! Lord Buddha. Have mercy on me, please!

    Cold Ass look at the boy’s eyes will you? They look like my Uncle Harold’s eyes, all beady just like a criminal’s. You know Uncle Harold. He’s in the Nottingham Prison for killing some poor old postal worker.

    I know your Uncle Harold, my dearest, and I’m trying to forget him.

    Don’t get all smart Ass with me, Cold Ass.

    If you want me to turn it off, I will… Get me?

    Father if I don’t curse will you give me some money? Daddy Wonton handed a gold coin to a servant who ran up the staircase handing the golden coin to the boy.

    Do you think that would work on our young Wilbur, Cold Ass? Lord Frigidbottom really had no good answer to that question yet the idea opened new vistas for him to consider. Think about it, peace and quiet for cold hard cash."

    Daddy Wonton interrupted their impolite whispering by introducing his beautiful thirteen year old daughter, Royal Princess Moongold Wonton. The child’s mother was Princess Fou-yon. Reader you may have heard of her. She kept her maiden name becoming Chow main Fou-yon Wonton. Now do you remember her? Princess Fou-yon was quite a dish. In fact, you could say to feast upon her was like enjoying an entire Chinese dinner. Egg roll if you please. Moongolds brother was quite jealous of her. Perhaps, it was because he was the son of a poor working girl Ms. putting on the slippers.

    Thank you, noble lords and lady, for gracing the home of my dear father and my dead mother. My dead mother wishes you all peace, joy and happiness. In reality the dead mother was at that very moment yelling. Devils, British bastards get out of my house! Moongold bowed low in a sweet and humble way. In fact everything about the child was sweet and unspoiled. She was a breath of fresh air, next to her crying, moody brother, Little Mouse.

    Hear! Hear! Jolly good show. Sir Jeffrey started to applaud. In just a jiff, or should I say bit of a mo, all four of the Geographic Explorers joined in. Yes even Gunda the Hindu, felt right at home in the presence of this loving, welcoming warm and unspoiled child.

    The party of explorers was ushered into the main dining hall, and that’s where Gunda’s right at home feeling quietly disappeared. He was being ushered straight into the kitchen for his dinner with the servants.

    Chinese musicians strolled the dining room with their western violins, playing gypsy melodies. The turtle soup-de-jour was served with oyster crackers.

    Cold Ass, what’s that funny stuff floating in the broth along with the turtle meat?

    Don’t ask.

    Why?

    My dear, sometimes there are things we just shouldn’t know.

    The main course was an absolutely delightful treat to the human taste buds. It was chilled cold duck with ginger spice tucked in under each duck wing. A dish one might say that was simply well ‘de-lish.’ A servant cut up the ducks placing them on gold trimmed china plates. He served each duck on a bed of steaming rice and piping hot vegetables. The hot seemed to add to the cold in a most delightful way.

    Serve the wine! Daddy Wonton commanded. ‘Ms. Put on the Slippers’ the wife of Daddy Wonton entered the dining room with the bottle of cold Rothschild 23 in hand. Daddy picked up his wine glass of cut crystal. Then he jiggled it in Ms. Put on the Slippers’ soft, dainty pale face. She poured just enough for Daddy to sample it on his fine gentleman’s pallet.

    Ah la la mum mum- ummm! Fruity.

    Late that evening the explorers were taken to their rooms for a good nights sleep. They then opened boxes of imported Swiss Chocolates. A note expressed Daddy Wonton’s apology. Mama Metoo got to the boxes first and ate any chocolates that didn’t have nuts in them. She has allergies you know.

    Lord Frigidbottom and Lady Pamela were readying themselves for bed.

    Well my dear, we’ll take pictures of the Palace tomorrow. After one more dinner tomorrow night, we’ll be off to the Great Wall the following dawn.

    What about the automobile, Cold Ass?

    Daddy Wonton said his mechanics will take care of everything and he’ll include a couple of Jerry cans of petro to boot.

    That’s certainly good of the blighter. Lady Pamela turned off the light. Soon the only sound filling the room was her freight train snoring.

    Sir Jeffrey was sweating and grunting like a pig. He was giving the old heave ho to the gymnastic girl who sang and danced to Hooray for Hollywood. It was more like Hooray for Sir Jeffrey.

    Oh my Lord, please stop! Don’t stop, keep going! Stop! Go! Stop! Go!

    What are you prey tell, a traffic signal my dear?

    You’re asking yourself, where in the Palace did Gunda spend the night? Why in the kennel. Where else?

    Gunda pulled the blanket from the sleeping Great Dane. Quit hogging the blanket will you. It’s cold at night.

    Grrr!!! The great dane rolled over and went to sleep on Gunda just like our Indian friend was a Serta perfect sleeper mattress from the dim and hazy future. Well Gunda sure didn’t need the blanket any more.

    Gunda fingered his knife. I’ll use it only if he bites.

    The next morning found Sir Jeffrey taking pictures of the palace grounds and the patrolling Royal Guardsman. Princess Moongold posed for Sir Jeffrey holding a bouquet of flowers from the Palace botanic gardens. By Godfrey she even has Shirley Temple dimples! The Geographic photographer wondered up a hundred foot high minaret following its long winding staircase. He passed stain glass windows which let in the light in a multi-colored hue. The top window processed two handles that could be pushed outward. Sir Jeffrey did just that both to his amazement and joy.

    The British Geographic Photographer found him self literally standing above the clouds looking down upon the tops of the heavens: he snapped pictures of the Palace and the city of Wutan, nestled across the River Lo. The River Lo was indeed low from China’s infernal drought. Yet in good times the River was full of sampans that filled Wutan’s teaming dockyard.

    Daddy Wonton told Lord Frigidbottom of a planned project similar to the New Deal projects of America’s President Franklin D. Roosevelt.

    Yes my friend, I plan to build a suspension bridge connecting Mount Wonton with Wutan City. I intend to use cheap labor. The idea is not to pay them good salaries. Just give them a smile and a promise. You know Capitalism certainly the best word in the whole English language.

    Frigidbottom didn’t know how to answer that, so he didn’t.

    Yes I shall call it the ‘Daddy Wonton Golden Passion Bridge’ after me of course! Lord Frigidbottom am I not progressive and enlightened?

    Lady Pamela snorted at that one.

    My friend, does your wife have a head cold?

    Alfred Frigitbottom gave his wife such a look as if to say stifle woman!

    When the sun set and the moon came out the party of explorers met for the last time in the Palace of Jade. All were seated at the banquet table of course except for Gunda. It was time for a very special guest to make his appearance. Folks meet Snake Eyes the not so friendly neighborhood warlord. Why was he called Snake eyes you ask? Well it’s funny you should ask that. You see Snake is a compulsive gambler and he lost his kingdom in a crap game.

    Seated about the table was Daddy Wonton at its head with Lady Pamela to his left, an empty chair to his right, and completing the gathering were Sir Jeffrey and Lord Alfred Frigidbottom. There was a commotion in the Palace.

    Captain Yang entered the dining room. He’s here, Lord!

    That’s right. I’m here! F-a-a-r-t-t… A short, smelly muscle-bound man entered the dining room. Twin ammo belts stretched from his shoulders to his hips in a big well for a lack of anything better to say an X. A juicy piece of tobacco slithered around in his mouth just aching to be spat. A pearl handled Yankee 45 cal. pistol was stuffed in his pants, and a bowie knife hung from his belt. That folks was Snake Eyes, the not so friendly neighborhood warlord. Snake sported an oily Fu-Manchu mustache that hadn’t been washed in a month. Just like the rest of him. Boy of boy that place was reeking.

    Daddy Wonton immediately got up from his seat of honor and pointed to the chair directly across from Lady Pamela. It’s funny that the Warlord would be seated there.

    Please my friend have a seat. I am so happy to see you.

    Ummm…Give me liquor!

    Of course of course Daddy pointed to a servant. Bring a bottle of my finest French Brandy.

    Cigars…I want cigars too! The stinky little man pounded the table.

    Yes! Take a whole box nothing is too good for my business partner.

    Lady Pamela, getting used to the swamp pit aroma, made a comment directed towards the warlord. Something she would soon regret doing.

    You must be a very powerful man. How did you become friends with Daddy Wonton?

    Snake Eyes didn’t bother to answer her she was but a woman. He removed his smelly slippers then rubbed his bare feet up and down the British noble ladies legs underneath the dining room table.

    Do you want me to buy you?

    I beg your pardon! Lord Alfred Frigidbottom put a protective arm around his Pamela’s shoulder.

    Daddy smiled. I do not think she is for sale.

    Everyone’s for sale at the right price. We can have an auction, I bid five-thousand pounds sterling.

    Ummm what I could do with that. The British nobleman pondered to himself while hesitating.

    Alfred!!!

    I’ll just bet Sir Jeffrey and Gunda would keep quiet about it for the right price. That boy was thinking up a storm.

    Alfred!!!

    No. Not at any price.

    A box of cigars and a bottle of brandy were presented to the Chinese warlord. The servants bowed then withdrew.

    Tell me Daddy Wonton. Sir Jeffrey changed the subject. How did you and the Warlord become such good friends? Since Waggelsbee was of the male gender it was quite all right to ask a question and have it answered.

    Daddy Wonton lit up a cigar then sucked in blowing out a grand blue white smoke ring. It floated above the head of Snake giving him an angelic crown. Angelic my eye.

    Five years ago my friend Snake Eyes came into my domain with an army of two thousand mercenaries. He was fleeing the National Army of Generalissimo Chaing Kai Shek. The Nationalistic General was the follower of that pesky reformer Sun Yat Sen vowed to line my friend and the other warlords up against the wall and shoot them.

    Ummm The Warlord enjoying his cigar was blowing smoke rings now.

    Snake and I found a mutual use for each other. Yes it sticky business at first but in time our relationship grew strong.

    Yes that is true friend Wonton.

    I personally rode my horse into the Nationalist Army Camp and brokered a peace between Chaing and Snake Eyes. I offered that Nationalist rascal three hundred thousand Yankee American dollars and my personal vow of responsibility to keep the peace. Do you know why I like the Generalissmo? I like him because he looks a lot like me.

    Now Snake keeps the peace in my kingdom and collects my taxes. I in turn supply him with luxuries.

    Yes together we are strong.

    Yes Snake. In unity there is strength. Now reader I swear to you that was the whole Yin and Yang of their relationship.

    Little Mouse entered the dining room for a good night kiss from his father. Snake liked the boy, but he acknowledged that he was a little demon. If the warlord ever had a son he hoped his boy would be just like Little Mouse, totally without morality.

    Little Mouse dropped to his knees. There was something small and square in his hand. Daddy’s son began to crawl on all fours under the table.

    Huh! The boy, he is coming.

    It was Lady Pamela who broke the silence. What’s he doing and what was that thing in his hand?

    Little Mouse inched forward over the slippered feet of Sir Jeffrey and Lord Frigidbottom. To his left were the dirty smelly feet of Uncle Snake.

    No better not stop there. he thought. The dainty, soft feet of a woman were just across from him. Mouse found his goal. The boy touched her feet so that Lady Pamela stared hard at the warlord. No! She thought to herself. Those weren’t toes touching her. Those were clearly fingers.

    What’s he doing?

    Snake Eyes smiled revealing rotting teeth. Lady Pamela smelled sulfur.

    My God what’s he up to? Something started to burn. It was her silk robe.

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