Chapter Text
"Alright boys, let's run Iron Fist again." Lemmy growled. It was the band's final day at Morgan Studios, and unbeknownst to them..... their final day in the year 1982. Phil counted the band in on what they had decided would be the eponymous lead single to their upcoming album. The band knew they had to put their entire Motorheadussies into this one, because they had to follow up on the commercial success of their seminal album Ace of Spades (1980). If this album flopped, they could lose their deal with Bronze Records.
Eddie stopped the band in the middle of the take. "Ay, Charlie, turn up the volume in my monitors would ya? I can hardly fuckin' hear myself!" Charles slid the fader up on the mixer, but felt a sudden jolt. He watched from the mixing booth as the members of Motorhead vanished in a flash of light.
"Bloody fuckin' 'ell." Lemmy mumbled.
"Got the wind knocked out of me." said Phil.
"Did they let a fucking donkey in the studio?!" said Eddie. "What kind of grounding issue causes everyone's monitors to electrocute them?! Also where the fuck are we?!"
It seemed that the band was no longer in Morgan Studios. They were outside, and the ground was covered in an inch's worth of snow. Lemmy spotted a football game going on in the distance.
"Must be one of them World War I reenactment groups. Look at those Pickelhaube helmets. Always wanted one of those."
"No time for your German shite, Lemmy!" Eddie snapped. "We need to figure out how the shock knocked us clean out of the studio and all the way over to this football field. And how we're not fucking dead because of it!"
"Awfully uneven for a football field, innit?" Phil remarked. Just then, one of the football players noticed the band sitting on the ground and decided to hurry over in their direction.
"Who are you lot?" the man said curtly. "You Germans?"
"Wh- no. We were just at the stu-" Lemmy tried to explain but was interrupted.
"Why are you decorated with German medals?" the man barked. "And why aren't any of you in uniform? What division are you from?"
"I uh. Bought them." Lemmy said. "We're Motorhead. I'm Lemmy Kilmister, these two are Phil Taylor and Eddie Clarke."
"I'm not familiar with any Motorhead division." said the man. "You'd better get straight with me right now boys, or I'll have you all sent to London and charged with desertion."
"London!" Eddie exclaimed. "Yes, we need to get back to London. Where are we and how do we get back?"
"I see." said the man. "You boys are shellshocked. We're just outside of Ostend. I imagine you all probably fled combat in Artois helping out the French. I hear it's not going well over there. You're lucky you got here when you did, we've declared a truce in honour of Christmas. I reckon a game of football would do you boys some good." The man helped the members of Motorhead get off their feet, and introduced himself as he did so. "I'm Colonel Jack Seely. I'll be your supervising officer until I can return you to your division." Colonel Seely made his way back to the football match while the band tagged along a few feet behind.
"I can't tell if this bloke is just really into it or if there's something else going on 'ere." Lemmy whispered.
"Fellas," said Phil, "I think we need to consider the possibility that we've..."
"...travelled through time." said Eddie.