Pigs in Planes: the Big Baad Sheep
Page 1
The Big Baad sheep
Pigs CAN fly!
Kweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep!
When the Alarm Squeal sounds it must be a job for Captain Peter Porker and the PIGS IN PLANES!
Paul Cooper is from Manchester.
He now lives in Cambridge with his wife and two daughters.
Read these high-flying adventures about the Pigs in Planes:
PIGS IN PLANES: THE CHICKEN EGG-SPLOSION
PIGS IN PLANES: THE SHARK BITES BACK
PIGS IN PLANES: THE BIG BAAD SHEEP
PIGS IN PLANES: THE MEGA MONKEY MYSTERY
The Big Baad sheep
PAUL COOPER
Illustrated by Trevor Dunton
PUFFIN
PUFFIN BOOKS
Published by the Penguin Group
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Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
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First published 2010
Text copyright © Paul Cooper, 2010
Illustrations copyright © Trevor Dunton, 2010
All rights reserved
The moral right of the author and illustrator has been asserted
Except in the United States of America, this book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN: 978-0-14-193104-3
Contents
MEET THE CREW
Chapter 1: Ram Raid!
Chapter 2: A Prickly Situation
Chapter 3: No More Mr Nice Pig
Chapter 4: A Pig in Sheep’s Clothing
Chapter 5: Blades of Grass and Blades of Steel
Chapter 6: Who’s Afraid of the Big Baad Sheep?
Chapter 7: Sheep-Dip of Death
Chapter 8: Let Your Inner Piglet Fly!
Chapter 9: The Sheep Who Would Be King
Chapter 10: Bushed
Epilogue
For Mathis
MEET THE CREW
CHAPTER 1:
Ram Raid!
‘Keep working!’ ordered Wing Commander Peregrine Oinks-Gruntington. ‘I want this floor clean enough to eat dinner off!’
‘As medical officer, I’m not sure that would be wise,’ Brian ‘the Brain’ Trotter answered as he scrubbed. ‘It was vegetable soup for dinner today.’
Peregrine wanted everything to be perfect at the base because in two days’ time the Air Chief Marshal of the entire PIAF (Pig Island Air Force) was going to visit the Pigs in Planes. The Wing Commander was already wearing his best uniform, despite the fact that it was at least three sizes too small.
‘Let’s hope our visitor’s forgotten about last year’s unfortunate incident with the tomato ketchup,’ Peregrine said darkly.
‘That wasn’t my fault!’ cried Tammy Snuffles, the PiPs mechanic, as she emptied the rubbish bin into a bag. ‘You know I can’t eat chips without ketchup, and that bottle had a really tricky lid! Anyway he shouldn’t have been standing under the window.’
Peregrine continued to supervise by watching the team intently and munching on chocolate biccies. ‘Wait a minute,’ he said. ‘Where’s Peter?’
Curly McHoglet, the newest of the PiPs, looked up from his dusting. ‘The captain’s niece and nephew are visiting for the day,’ he said. ‘Pete’s playing with them. They’re next door – listen …’
Peregrine cocked his head. From the next room came the sound of two little piglets’ voices, laughing. Peregrine scowled.
‘Captain Porker!’ he shouted.
Moments later Pete’s head appeared round the door. It was followed by two smaller heads, lower down.
‘Please explain what you are doing,’ Peregrine demanded.
Pete grinned, flashing his pearly-white choppers. ‘No probs. I was just teaching little Rasher and Runt here my favourite song when I was their age.’ He bent down to the little piglets. ‘Do you want to show everyone?’
The two little piglets squealed with delight. They lined up with their uncle and all three began to sing at the top of their voices:
‘I’m a little poopot,
Short and stout!
Here is my handle
For waving me about.
When I get all filled up
Hear me shout:
Don’t kick me
Or poo will fly out!’
As they sang, they did all of the actions, ending by jumping up and throwing their arms in the air.
Peregrine’s huge white moustache twitched crossly. In his opinion, children should be seen and not heard … and preferably not seen all that much either.
‘Are you aware, Captain Porker, that in less than forty-eight hours a VIP – a Very Important Pig – will be visiting? You have duties and responsibilities other than messing around like a little piglet!’
Pete shrugged. ‘I think it’s important to connect with your inner piglet sometimes, sir. I’m talking about the piglet that you used to be years ago – lots of years ago, in your case. You ought to try it yourself. Come on, Peregrine. How about just one quick verse of “I’m a little poopot”? You know you want to …’
There were times when Pete showed a unique ability to get Peregrine worked up. Now was one of those times. If the Wing Commander did have an inner piglet, it was buried deep under a lot of angry adult pig.
‘Why’s that large pig turning purple?’ asked little Rasher.
‘Maybe he doesn’t know the words,’ suggested little Runt.
As the children helpfully began to bellow their song again, Peregrine did what he always did to calm down. He shoved another biccie into his mouth. But this final treat proved to be too much for the Wing Commander’s overstretched suit. A shiny brass button pinged off his jacket and shot out at high speed.
It hit Curly right in the ribs. ‘OW!’ the trainee PiP cried, hopping forward.
Curly’s dusting feather jabbed Tammy in the side. ‘OI!’ the PiPs mechanic shouted, dropping her bag of rubbish on to the floor and bumping into Brian.
‘OOF!’ the PiPs medic gasped, falling sideways into his bucket and sending a pool of dirty water across the floor.
As Peregrine looked at the chaotic scene in front of him, his high hopes plummeted faster than a hot-air balloon after an unlucky encounter with a grumpy woodpecker. What chance did he stand of making a good impression on the Air Chief Marshal with this lot?
‘Is the large pig going to explode
?’ asked little Runt.
‘What will fly out if he does?’ wondered little Rasher.
The Wing Commander could feel a scream building in his chest. He opened his mouth, but was beaten to it by a sound from the speakers on the wall:
‘KWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!’
It was the PiPs Alarm Squeal. Somewhere in Animal Paradise, there was an emergency.
‘Quick! To the planes!’ shouted Pete.
The members of the flight team pulled off their aprons and rubber gloves and threw down their cleaning gear. They raced for the exit gratefully.
‘Be good for Uncle Peregrine!’ shouted Pete to his niece and nephew as he headed for the hangar.
Minutes later the PiPs had taken their places in the three SkyHog jets and were ready to take off.
‘Where to?’ Pete asked over the radio.
‘You’re going to Sheep Island,’ replied Lola Penn, the PiPs radio operator. ‘OK, cleared for take-off.’
Pete smiled. ‘Not baad,’ he said, chuckling to himself. The scream of the jet engines drowned out the other pigs’ groans as Pete hit the throttle and zoomed up into the dark evening sky.
‘PiPs are GO!’ shouted Tammy.
Once they had all taken off and fallen into formation, Lola explained the full details of the mission over the radio.
‘You all know about the Golden Fleece of Sheep Island, right?’ she said.
‘Er …’ answered Pete.
Brian’s voice piped up. ‘According to legend, the Golden Fleece was given to the very first ruler of the island, Ramses I, thousands of years ago. It’s been passed down to every sheep king or queen since then. If anything bad ever happens to the Golden Fleece, they say it will be a terrible disaster for the island.’
‘Oh, OK, that Golden Fleece,’ lied Pete. ‘What’s happened to it?’
‘It’s just been stolen,’ answered Lola. ‘Some Royal GrassEaters were transporting it in an unmarked truck –’
Tammy cut in. ‘GrassEaters?’
‘That’s what the sheep guards at the Royal Tower are called,’ explained Brian, who had read 1001 Woolly Royal Traditions from cover to cover several times. ‘The tradition dates back to –’
‘We don’t need a history lesson just now, Bri!’ said Tammy.
‘Anyway, a gang intercepted the truck,’ continued Lola. ‘They battered in the back doors and fled with the Fleece!’
‘Sounds like a tough mission,’ said Curly from his trainee seat in Pete’s plane. ‘Those ram raiders could be anywhere by the time we arrive!’
The three jets were approaching Sheep Island airspace now, but they were still a few minutes away from the capital, Woollyhampton.
‘You’re right, Curly, but there’s an electronic tracking device sewn inside the Fleece,’ Lola explained. ‘I’ll give you the right frequency and then you can follow the transmitter.’
The lights of Woollyhampton’s outer suburbs were coming into view below; the SkyHogs would be at the city centre any moment. Pete started looking for a place to land.
‘So how come the GrassEaters can’t just follow the signal themselves?’ asked Curly.
Lola gave her answer careful thought. ‘They … said they found the tracking technology a little bit tricky to operate because … Well, when it comes to brains, sheep aren’t exactly three bags full, if you know what I mean.’
‘Not really,’ said Curly.
‘Because sheep are stupid!’ Pete cut in with a laugh.
As the three jets came in to land, no one disagreed.
CHAPTER 2:
A Prickly Situation
It didn’t take long to land the SkyHog jets in an empty car park and hit the ground. Brian was already tuning in his trotter-held radio to the right frequency for the tracking device.
While they waited, Tammy turned to Curly. ‘Erm, why are you wearing a tea cosy on your head?’ asked the mechanic.
‘It’s not a tea cosy,’ said Curly indignantly, running one trotter over the yellow and purple garment. ‘It’s a woolly helmet cover. My nan sent it. She knitted it for me, to keep my head warm on missions. Do you like it?’
‘It’s, er … very fetching,’ began Tammy. ‘I like how it says “I LOVE PiPs” on the side.’
‘Brilliant, isn’t it?’ Curly gushed. ‘I could knit one for you too – my nan taught me how to knit, and she sent me a set of needles as well!’ He patted his jacket pocket. ‘I could make us all one! We could have matching woollen helmet covers!’
Pete smiled. ‘Sorry, kid. I don’t do knitted clothing.’
The radio in Brian’s trotters let out a beep. ‘This way!’ shouted the medical officer, starting to run. The other PiPs followed. It was late and the streets of Woollyhampton were quiet. Any sheep that were out and about soon dashed for cover when they saw a scrum of uniformed pigs charging along.
After a few minutes they came to a deserted area of large warehouses and factories, all closed up for the night.
‘I don’t understand,’ said Brian, peering at the tiny screen on his radio. ‘If these coordinates are correct, the Golden Fleece should be right about … here?’
The four pigs scanned the dark, empty streets around them. There was nothing that looked very suspicious or at all Golden Fleece-y.
‘Let’s have a look at that thing,’ said Pete, reaching for the radio receiver. He studied the signal. ‘Hmm. Whoever’s got the Fleece isn’t even moving. So where is it? It can’t have vanished into thin –’ He paused, then looked up. ‘Air! That’s where it is!’
The captain started running towards the nearest building. ‘Brian and Curly, you stay out here!’ he shouted. ‘Tammy, you come with me!’
‘Where?’ asked the mechanic.
‘ To the rooftops! The signal is coming from these coordinates, but not at ground level. It’s above us!’
The building’s front door was shut, but not many locks could stop Tammy Snuffles and her handy-dandy lock-busting hairpin. Moments later, they were inside the darkened lobby.
‘You check the emergency stairs, Tammy,’ said Pete. ‘I’ll take the lift up to the top floor.’
Tammy had to use a torch to light the darkened stairwell. She raced up to the first floor two steps at a time. She took a bit longer getting from the first floor to the second. By the time she’d reached the third flight, she had slowed down quite a bit. By the next flight of stairs, she was down to a steady plod.
She was grimly eyeing up the next flight, when she heard a noise. It came from behind the door between the two flights of stairs. With no time to call for back-up, Tammy gripped the handle and pushed open the door.
She stepped out into a dark corridor and pointed her torch into the gloom. A large figure loomed in a doorway.
‘Step into the light, pal, and don’t try anything silly!’ Tammy yelled. ‘Now where’s the Fleece?’ She shone the torch, but all she could see were two large yellow eyes staring out of the darkness.
‘Who are you?’ demanded Tammy, but the shadowy figure gave no answer. Instead, in a deep, rich voice, it said, ‘Look deep into the eyes.’
‘Yeah, right,’ said Tammy, and yet somehow she found herself unable to break the spell of those eyes. It seemed as if they were getting bigger and bigger, until she could see nothing else. Those yellow eyes in the dark were like pools of custard, and the PiPs mechanic felt herself falling in.
Meanwhile Pete was opening a door out on to the building’s flat rooftop. According to the tracker readings, the Golden Fleece should be here. The captain crept out of the little hut the stairs had ended in, edged along with his back to the wall, and then wheeled round the corner, adopting a deadly Kung-Poo stance.
There was no fleece, but Pete could see a little electronic device sitting on the ground. The transmitter! The thieves must have removed it from the Fleece.
Hoping that he wasn’t too late, Pete rushed round the next corner … and found himself face to face with a skinny sheep. Well, it was pr
obably no skinnier than the average sheep, but it looked this way because it had recently been sheared. In one hoof it carried a fleece, but Pete was pretty sure this wasn’t the sheep’s own. This fleece was oddly golden-coloured …
‘Stop right there, Ram-bo!’ shouted Pete. ‘You’re under arrest!’
The shorn sheep did not reply. It didn’t even look at him, or give any reaction at all. Instead it ran smoothly up the pitched roof that covered the main part of the building, then trotted unhurriedly along the ridge at the top. It showed no signs of fear or panic.
Pete began to scramble up the sloping roof after it. The surface was slippery and he almost fell several times. How had the sheep managed it so easily?
Must be a professional, Pete thought.
He began to tiptoe carefully along the ridge after the fleeing fleece-napper. It was harder than it looked, and the street was a long way down. Pete didn’t want to end the day as a ham pizza, but he didn’t want the sheep to get away either. He made his way past a skylight in the roof. He peeked down into the dimly lit main area of the building and smiled grimly when he saw the sign on the wall:
SUPERSOFT, SLUMBERTIME MATTRESSES
Underneath the sign, dozens of mattresses were stacked high. If he did fall, at least there’d be something soft to land on.
He looked ahead and saw that the sheep was nearing the end of the roof. There was nowhere for it to go!
‘Got you!’ Pete smiled to himself.
But the sheep didn’t stop, or even slow down. It speeded up, racing to the edge of the roof, and then leapt off. The warehouse was separated from the next by a narrow alley, and the sheep jumped across the gap like a trained athlete. It landed gracefully, then carried calmly along the next rooftop.
Gritting his teeth, Pete also speeded up and he too leapt across the gap to the next building. He landed in a heap. It knocked the breath out of him, but there was no time to rest.