Cows In Action 6 Read online

  Contents

  Cover

  About the Book

  Title Page

  Dedication

  The C.I.A. Files

  Prof McMoo’s Timeline of Notable Events

  Chapter One: The Present of Doom

  Chapter Two: Trapped in 1066

  Chapter Three: The Christmas Camp

  Chapter Four: The Norman Cowquest

  Chapter Five: The Domain of Danger

  Chapter Six: Menace by Moo-nlight

  Chapter Seven: The Daisy Dilemma

  Chapter Eight: The Turkey of Terror

  Chapter Nine: Moostaken Identity

  Chapter Ten: Festive Fury

  Chapter Eleven: Cow-er from the Power

  Chapter Twelve: The Squirts that Saved Christmoos

  About the Author

  Also by Steve Cole

  Copyright

  About the Book

  JINGLE BULLS, JINGLE BULLS!

  Genius cow Professor McMoo and his trusty sidekicks, Pat and Bo, are star agents of the C. I. A. – short for Cows In Action! They travel through time, fighting evil bulls from the future and keeping history on the right track . . .

  A festive BOOBY-TRAP sends McMoo, Pat and Bo back to Christmas, 1066 – where they find William the Conqueror at the centre of a sinister MYSTERY. Who has filled medieval London with modern Christmas decorations and oven-ready turkeys – and why? How is a SAVAGE Saxon chief linked to a missing C.I.A. electrical expert? The Battle of Haystings may be over, but the BATTLE for CHRISTMOOS is just beginning – and the whole of history hangs in the balance. . .

  It’s time for action. Cows In Action.

  To Jack and Ethan O’Meara

  THE C.I.A. FILES

  Cows from the present –

  Fighting in the past to protect the future . . .

  In the year 2550, after thousands of years of being eaten and milked, cows finally live as equals with humans in their own country of Luckyburger. But a group of evil war-loving bulls – the Fed-up Bull Institute – is not satisfied.

  Using time machines and deadly ter-moo-nator agents, the F.B.I. is trying to change Earth’s history. These bulls plan to enslave all humans and put savage cows in charge of the planet. Their actions threaten to plunge all cowkind into cruel and cowardly chaos . . .

  The C.I.A. was set up to stop them.

  However, the best agents come not from 2550 – but from the past. From a time in the early 21st century, when the first clever cows began to appear. A time when a brainy bull named Angus McMoo invented the first time machine, little realizing he would soon become the F.B.I.’s number one enemy . . .

  COWS OF COURAGE – TOP SECRET FILES

  PROFESSOR ANGUS MCMOO

  Security rating: Bravo Moo Zero

  Stand-out features: Large white squares on coat, outstanding horns

  Character: Scatterbrained, inventive, plucky and keen

  Likes: Hot tea, history books, gadgets

  Hates: Injustice, suffering, poor-quality tea bags

  Ambition: To invent the electric sundial

  LITTLE BO VINE

  Security rating: For your cow pies only

  Stand-out features: Luminous udder (colour varies)

  Character: Tough, cheeky, ready-for-anything rebel

  Likes: Fashion, chewing gum, self-defence classes

  Hates: Bessie Barmer, the farmer’s wife

  Ambition: To run her own martial arts club for farmyard animals

  PAT VINE

  Security rating: Licence to fill (stomach with grass)

  Stand-out features: Zigzags on coat

  Character: Brave, loyal and practical

  Likes: Solving problems, anything Professor McMoo does

  Hates: Flies not easily swished by his tail

  Ambition: To find a five-leaf clover – and to survive his dangerous missions!

  Chapter One

  THE PRESENT OF DOOM

  Very few cows wear Santa hats, and none at all are known to put up Christmas decorations. But on the day before Christmas Eve, inside a tatty old shed on Farmer Barmer’s organic farm, two cows were wearing Santa hats, putting up decorations and singing carols at the same time.

  One was Pat Vine, a young bullock. The other was his big sister, a milk-cow called Little Bo Vine.

  Untangling his home-made paper chains, Pat sang a festive farmyard carol: “Oh, little coop of Beth the Hen! How still we see thee lie . . .”

  Bo took up the tune as she stuck tinsel to the barn walls with chewed bubble gum: “I just sat on some holly and it brought a tear to my eye . . .”

  “Those aren’t the words!” Pat protested.

  “The real words are boring!” Bo snorted. “Anyway, I prefer something with a killer bass line.”

  Pat sighed. He and Bo were both Emmsy-Squares, a very rare breed of clever cattle. But while Pat was quiet, thoughtful and liked to do things properly, Bo’s life was a furious frenzy of fashion, fighting and painting her udder strange colours (today it was berry red). However, they did have one other thing in common . . .

  They were both star agents in the C.I.A. – short for Cows in Action! – a crack team of commando cows from the twenty-sixth century.

  The C.I.A. were a kind of time police, whose job was to stop anyone trying to change the past. As a result, although Pat and Bo lived in the twenty-first century, they had adventures all through history. And the shed they were decorating was no ordinary shed. It was their transport . . .

  The first ever time machine!

  “Hello, you two!” A large beaming bull barged through the barn’s double doors. His coat was red and white, a pair of glasses was perched on his nose and he was waggling a piece of wire in one hoof. “Sorry I’m late,” he went on, “but the weather’s so cold, it took me longer than usual to pick the lock on the main farm-gate.”

  Pat grinned to see the brilliant, brash (and very slightly bananas) Professor Angus McMoo. “Welcome back, Professor!” McMoo was an Emmsy-Square too – astoundingly clever, and Pat’s all-time hero. “Where have you been?”

  McMoo clapped his hooves together for warmth. “I was out posting our letters to Farmer Christmoos.”

  “Ah! Just think,” said Pat happily. “Every Christmas Eve that jolly red bull flies through the night sky, on top of a big barn pulled by turkeys, delivering presents to farm animals all over the world!”

  Suddenly, a jaunty jingling noise rang out.

  Bo gasped. “That’s not him now, is it?”

  “Nope.” McMoo kicked aside a hay bale to reveal a big bronze lever in the wall. “It’s the C.I.A. festive hotline. We’re picking up a Christmas message from the twenty-sixth century – let’s hear it!”

  Pat’s stomach tingled with excitement as McMoo yanked hard on the lever and a rattling, clanking sound started up. Tinsel twitched and hidden panels in the walls spun round to reveal reams of dials and switches. Cables wormed out of the woodwork like rubber snakes, pumping power into the horseshoe-shaped bank of controls sliding up from the ground. A computer screen swung down from the rafters and a large wardrobe, stuffed full of clothes from all times and places, popped into view by the far wall. In a matter of moments the lowly cattle shed had turned into an incredible control room, and the image of a big, tough, black bull appeared on the computer screen.

  “Merry Christmoos, Yak!” cried McMoo. “How’s the Director of the C.I.A. today?”

  “Annoyed,” growled Yak, holding up a dense tangle of wires and bulbs. “I’m supposed to be decorating C.I.A. headquarters. But I can’t get these fairy lights to work, and my top electrical expert – Daisy Micklepud – has disappeared.” He sighed. “I hope she’s OK.”

  Bo blinked. “Why wouldn’t she be?”


  “Daisy was last seen working on a captured time machine,” Yak began. “Some of my agents found it when we raided a secret F.B.I. base last Tuesday.”

  Pat caught his breath at the mention of the F.B.I. – short for Fed-up Bull Institute. They were a gang of bolshy bulls who wanted to change history for their own evil ends.

  “We’ve always wanted to study one of the F.B.I.’s time machines,” Yak went on. “Normally they self-destruct – but this one broke down before it could. Daisy was trying to get it working again – but nobody’s seen her for two days.”

  Bo was wide-eyed. “Maybe it did self-destruct – and blew her to bits!”

  “Or maybe Daisy just took it home to work on it there,” said McMoo quickly, glaring at Bo. “Anyway, Yak, tell you what – why don’t I fix your Christmas lights for you? The Time Shed can bring us to 2550 in no time at all!”

  Yak smiled. “Thanks, Professor! Much obliged.”

  “Maybe we could stay for a bit,” Pat piped up.

  “Yeah, you can take me out clubbing, Yakky,” said Bo. “We’ll have a right laugh!”

  “Great.” Yak rolled his eyes. “See you soon, guys.” And with that, the screen went blank.

  “Looks like it really is the holiday season!” said McMoo happily.

  Just then, a raucous, ratbag yell carried from across the field outside. “No, no, NO! You pea-brain, you’ve done it all wrong!”

  Bo covered her ears. “Sounds like Bessie Barmer is on the warpath again.”

  “I shan’t be sorry to leave her behind for a while!” said Pat with feeling. Bessie was Farmer Barmer’s enormous wife. She had the body of a gorilla and the face of a gorilla’s bottom. She hated all the animals and couldn’t wait to turn them all into pasties and pies.

  “Honestly, a one-legged turkey with a dodgy beak would do a better job of hanging these decorations,” Bessie’s bellowing voice went on. “And I should know – my family have been expert Christmas decorators for centuries.”

  Bo tutted. “She’s always going on about her amazing ancestors. As if anyone cares!”

  “What do you mean, I said they were fine before?” Bessie raged on. “I was at the shops! I can’t be in two places at once, can I?”

  “I do hope not!” McMoo started darting about the shed, checking the controls. “Now, let’s get ready to go. Goodbye, Farmer Barmer. Hello, future Christmas!” He paused and looked at Pat hopefully. “Just a quick cup of tea first, eh?”

  Pat grinned and put the kettle on. The professor was crazy about his cuppas, and drank them by the bucketful. The kettle soon came to the boil, but then—

  BANG! BANG! BANG!

  The shed doors rattled as someone knocked on them loudly. The cattle froze in alarm.

  “Oh, no,” hissed Pat. “What if it’s Bessie?”

  “I can’t turn the Time Shed back into an ordinary shed when I’m this close to take-off,” McMoo whispered frantically. “Bo, whoever’s out there, get rid of them.”

  Bo charged over to the doors and flung them open with a loud moo. She trotted outside . . . and moments later came back in, carrying a neatly wrapped package under one arm.

  “Someone’s left us a present!” she announced. “And the weird thing is, I saw Bessie marching away from the shed . . .”

  “Bessie?” Pat shook his head in amazement. “But she hates us!”

  “Who cares, I love pressies!” said Bo, ripping through the wrapping paper.

  “Careful, Bo,” McMoo warned her. “Perhaps I should take a look first—”

  But it was too late.

  Without warning, a sprig of holly burst out from the box like a dark-green bat. It zoomed around the Time Shed, its three berries glowing like evil eyes.

  “What is that thing?” cried Pat. Bo ducked as the holly-bat shot over her head. “Someone’s idea of a joke?”

  McMoo dived out of its way. “Or an evil F.B.I. trap!”

  “You mean you think that thing’s been sent from the future?” Pat gulped. “But why?”

  As he spoke, the holly-bat flew at the Time Shed’s main power cable – and slashed straight through it with dagger-sharp wings.

  “Pat. Bo. Get back!” The professor roared.

  A massive explosion shook the shed, and the cows were sent tumbling. Pat stared in horror as vicious purple energy spat from the slashed wire. He grabbed hold of Bo’s hoof as the Time Shed began to spin and splinter. Bales of hay caught fire, instrument panels erupted in sparks and levers started working by themselves.

  “What’s happening?” Bo shouted over the jerky whine of the shed’s engines.

  “Raw time power is flooding the shed!” McMoo stared helplessly at his melting instruments. “We’re taking-off – for who knows where or when – completely out of control!”

  Chapter Two

  TRAPPED IN 1066

  Pat choked on smoke as the Time Shed shook more and more fiercely. Dials exploded and switches shot about the room like bullets. “Professor,” he shouted, “isn’t there anything we can do?”

  “We’ve got to stop our flight before the shed breaks apart!” McMoo galloped back over to the big lever in the wall. “If I can turn the Time Shed back into a cow shed it should cut the power . . .”

  “But we’re still travelling through time!” Pat protested. “Is it safe to change back?”

  “Not remotely,” McMoo admitted with a mad grin.

  “Well it’s not safe to stay flying either,” Bo shouted. “Get on with it!”

  “Right, hang on to your Santa hats!” McMoo grabbed the lever and pulled with all his might. A dreadful rasping, grinding noise started up. “Did it!”

  “But not very well by the sound of things!” said Bo, covering her ears.

  The panels in the wall were swinging back into place, but sparking wildly as they did so. The horseshoe of controls slid jerkily into the muddy ground. Piles of clothes burst out of the enormous wardrobe. Then the Time Shed turned upside down and the C.I.A. agents were hurled into the decorated rafters. McMoo and Bo grabbed hold of some tinsel while Pat clung on to a string of fairy lights for dear life.

  At last, with a sickening crunch of unseen gears, all the lights went out and the Time Shed turned the right way up again. McMoo, Pat and Bo dropped to the floor in an untidy sprawl.

  “I’m glad I sent that letter to Farmer Christmoos asking for some lucky escapes this year!” said McMoo weakly.

  “The flipping F.B.I.,” Bo scowled. “Where do they get off, attacking us at Christmas?”

  Pat let out a shaky breath. “I wonder where and when we’ve landed?”

  “Let’s take a peek,” said McMoo.

  Pat and Bo joined the professor as he cautiously opened the door. A gust of cold wind blew inside the smoky shed, and the three cows gulped down the fresh air. Then they peered outside . . .

  To find thirty bearded men in shabby trousers, tunics and cloaks – each holding a spear and a shield – standing on a cold hillside, staring up at them in total amazement!

  “What are they looking at?” Bo frowned. “Haven’t they ever seen three cows in a shed before?”

  Pat looked down – and gasped. “I doubt they’ve ever seen three cows in a shed that’s floating ten metres above the ground!”

  The grubby-looking men yelled in fright, turned on their heels and ran away, babbling in a strange language.

  McMoo looked thoughtful. “I think they were speaking old Anglo-Saxon . . .” He grinned at his two friends. “I knew that long-distance course I took in early-British languages would pay off some day!”

  “What were they saying?” asked Pat.

  McMoo cleared his throat. “Roughly translated . . . ‘Oooooh! Oh, dearie me! It’s a secret weapon! Norman witchcraft! Flee for your lives from the invaders!’”

  “Humans are weird,” Bo declared. “How can a shed be a weapon? And who’s Norman Witchcraft, anyway?”

  “Not who, what,” McMoo told her. “The Normans were a bunch of people who lived in N
ormandy in northern France. They invaded England in 1066, led by William the Conqueror. Then they killed poor old King Harold at the Battle of Hastings, and managed to take over the country.” He puffed out his cheeks and whistled. “Imagine that – the last successful invasion of England. What a turning point in history! What a—”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Bo interrupted. “Can’t you stop us floating? I’m getting airsick!”

  “Sorry – the Time Shed’s power gasses are lighter than air, and they must be leaking out through the floorboards into the atmosphere . . .” McMoo pulled a piece of chewed gum from behind Bo’s ear, rushed over to the broken power cable and stuck the ends back together. “There!” The shed sank gently down towards the hillside. “That should slow the leak until the self-repair systems kick in.” McMoo looked around at his burned-out barn and sighed. “But those systems run off the energy banks, and I’m afraid it will take some time for them to recharge.”

  Pat frowned. “And until then we’re stuck in 1066?”

  “We might as well make the best of it!” McMoo passed Pat and Bo a special silver nose ring each. “Pop in your ringblenders while I dig out some clothes from the wardrobe, then let’s ask the natives exactly where we are.”

  Pat fixed the brilliant C.I.A. gadget to his nose. Any cow wearing a ringblender could pass themselves off as a human being – so long as they were wearing the right clothes. The clever gadgets also meant that cows and humans could understand each other, so C.I.A. agents could fit in as locals wherever and whenever they ended up.

  “One day, you’ll take us to a time that had funky fashion sense,” Bo complained, squeezing into a long, linen slip, then pulling a blue woollen dress over the top.

  “I don’t think I look too bad,” Pat declared. He was wearing pale-blue trousers and a brown tunic, with a wide leather belt around his waist. The professor put on a similar outfit, topped off with a long blue cloak that he fixed round his neck with a bronze brooch.