Hogan's Dirty Dozen and the Deathly Ring of Sith

We waited in line. We all felt a reluctance to take the step across the border, to go behind enemy lines, into Darth Voldermort's Mordor. And it was worse now. Now that we all knew that one of us was a mole. I couldn't believe that one of us was betraying us to the Dark Lord's Klingons. We had been together for so many missions. So many missions against such overwhelming odds.

I ran through the team... Who could be the traitor?

One thing was for sure, it wasn't the Sarge! No way! He was straight as a die and he'd brought us back in (more or less) one piece so many times. Sure, he had a bit of a close friendship with Mr Daniels and he'd never been the same since that last mission into the White Witch's land when his entire platoon had been turned to stone and for which he blamed himself, but no way would he sell us out..

Similarly, I couldn't picture Big Dutch pulling any secret-message-in-the-old-oak-tree stunts. Apart from anything else, he didn't have the smarts. Strong as an Ox. Heart of an Ox. IQ of a not-very-bright Ox. I could see him sacrificing himself for the platoon. "You go on without me, guys... This Orc-axe in my side is only holding you all back..." He did that every mission.

And the Lieutenant? No.. He would go to pieces, like every time. It was my turn to slap him when he got hysterical. I was looking forward to it...

"Bronx" Louis Fingers? He would be too busy working his magical black market deals - getting us Federation food packs and Elven bread with no questions asked - and getting Dwarf ladies into the kind of trouble that they would find it hard to explain thirteen months later (Dwarf ladies never did anything quickly, or so Bronx Louis told us).

What about the new guy? Slitheryn von Saruman with his shifty glances and unexplained absences. I wasn't convinced. He'd probably just turn out to be a robot put into the team to carry out some unfathomable secret task for The Corporation. We usually had at least one secret replicant on every mission.

I couldn't see who it could be but there was no point wasting any more time out here in the open where the feathered agents of the Evil One With No Name (EOWNN for short) could report our position (the Ravens), attack us (the Eagles) or steal our thimbles and brooches (the Magpies). The Sarge was shouting at his bottle of whiskey, so it was up to me. I cleared my throat and called out "Come on chaps! Into the Valley of Death and all that!"

Hang on! Who called their fellow Joes, "Chaps"? And was that a British accent? If there was one thing I had learnt, it was that the bad guy always had a stupid Limey accent... It was then that I realised... I was the mole!