Del nearly jumped out of her skin when seven large (and very clumsy) figures came blundering out of the bushes, waving rifles and yelling at the top of their lungs. However, after seeing Spook keel over in a fit of hysterics, she finally realised what was going on.
"Spook," she muttered, "You utter pool."
The Doctor yowled and skittered away, reaching for his screwdriver, but in the carnage of fleeing guests and whooping assailants he couldn't aim straight and simply resorted to running out of the mob as fast as he could. Elo took a step backwards, rolling her eyes and shaking her head. After sevearal more moments of carnage, Spook finally seemed to recover from her hysterics and barked:
"Get over here you twitsticks!"
Obediently, the figures stopped rushing about and plodded reluctantly over to stand in front of Spook, who glared at them imperiously. So, thought Del, this is the infamous Charlie Company? How did Spook get them here of all places? And, more importantly, why bring them here at all?
"Erm, Spook," she said, eyeing the company warily. "What are they doing here?"
"Isn't it obvious?" said Spook, as if the answer were indeed staring Del in the face. "If there's Vogon bashing to be had, we're gonna need some backup. These guys are the best in the business at making a racket, so I figured we might as well bring them along. Besides," she glared at the Doctor, "I thought he might turn up."
One of the cadets stepped forward, a tall boy built like a bull. "Sorry for making a mess, it was just a bit of fun." he said, voice thick with a strong Russian accent.
"Yeh, it was her idea, honest! We don't even want to be here, it was her who made us come!" wailed another, a porky fellow and the shortest member of the group after Spook.
"Shut it Goldsworthy!" yowled the company in unison. One grabbed Goldsworthy by the scruff of the neck and soon they were in a rolling, dusty, swearing heap on the floor. Del looked at them, then up at Spook, one eyebrow raised.
"You let these twits bring guns?"
"These things?" said the Russian, disentangling himself from the fray, "They don't work for beans."
"Got it in one Rakkers," said Spook. "But they do make damned good clubs... now, as you were saying about the Vogons, Elo?"