Blackadder Goes Forth: Baldrick's Last Cunning Plan

Thank God. We lived through it. The Great War,

1914 to 1917. Hip hip,

hooray.

I'm afraid not. The guns have stopped because we're

about to attack.

Not even our generals are mad enough to shell their own men.

They think it's far more sporting to let the Germans do it.

So we are, in fact, going over? This is, as they say, it.

I'm afraid so, unless I can think of something very

quickly.

Company, one pace forward.

Oh, there's a nasty splinter on that ladder, sir.

A bloke could hurt himself on that.

Stand ready.

I have a plan, sir.

Really, Baldrick? A cunning and subtle one?

Yes, sir.

As cunning as a fox who's just been appointed professor of cunning at Oxford

University?

Yes, sir.

On the signal, company will advance.

Well, I'm afraid it'll have to wait.

Whatever it was, I'm sure it was better than my plan to get out of this

by

pretending to be mad.

I mean, who would have noticed another madman

around here?

Good luck, everyone.

Down!