The council of Operation Pincer had reconvened in the early afternoon. Professor Gubbins had taken charge of this particular meeting.
"Let us recap on the facts of this problem." uttered Rusty, hands fidgeting nervously, the image of a sorcerer summoning an army of insects on his own body by accident.
"Crabs, as I'm sure you know, are generally dependant on moon cycles. Most species are more active during a full moon. This would explain the recent flurry of attacks."
"But not the rise of these titans themselves!" exclaimed the Colonel. "What does your science have to say about that?"
Rusty's eyes widened. Public speaking was stressful enough without being interrupted and accused.
"Who knows? Err, perhaps it's just a previously undiscovered species? These could be behind countless oceanic legends. Maybe it's a scientific project gone awry.'
"Or the spawn of Satan himself!"
"Or that." conceded Rusty, hoping that by agreeing, the Colonel would shut up.
"Regardless of their origin, we should be concerned with their demise." he continued.
Captain Thrustcock had had enough of this banter, and cut to the chase with his customary tact.
"So, have you any plans to tackle these behemoths?"
Rusty sighed inwardly at these military types and there bloodlust. Sure these crabs were dangerous creatures, attacking seemingly out of spite and malice as opposed to any survival instinct. But nobody else seemed remotely interested in the scientific potential of this undiscovered species!
"Well Max, before we can formulate a plan to stop these creatures, we need to study them, find weak points etc. To this end, I propose a trap..."
Rusty Gubbins proceded to relay his plan to the gathered crowd. At dusk, a handful of soldiers would gather on the beach, hoping to entice the crabs from the sea. Rusty would observe from a modified duck hunting hide, and if things became hostile, Max would swoop in and take out the blighters. Then Rusty could dissect the bodies. Despite the simplicity of his plan, he was concerned. It seemed too easy, something was bound to go wrong. Rusty couldn't shake an uneasy feeling.
He dismissed his doubts, how tough could a crab be anyway? Besides, each and every soldier was trained and dedicated to protect and serve, they could handle things if it took a turn for the worse.
That evening, as dusk began to pull its shawl of shadows ever tighter around Mother Earth, the soldiers had adopted their positions. Seven men had gathered around a small campfire, pretending to enjoy the murky British night. The fire had been kept small, as Rusty was not sure whether the crabs might be afraid of fire. Even without the conflagration, visibility was strong. It was a rare cloudless night, and the light of Luna's gaze was evough to banish the worst of the night's dark. Max was waiting on the nearby runway, to take off and save the day when the crabs invaded. He smiled to himself; killing crabs would be a nice change of pace from Nazis, after all. Rusty and his daughter Chess had taken refuge in the camouflage tent, ready to observe. Two other concealed tents contained a handful of extra soldiers, in case the crabs overran the ambush.
At around midnight, the tension that hung in the air began to morph into boredom. Twice, Chess had to nudge her father in the ribs to stop him from nodding off. The men around the campfire began to let their guard down, and chat amongst each other. One particularly vocal soldier was bemoaning their lack of valued sleep.
"Oh, I've been on my legs all day." He said, addressing nobody in particular.
"This bloody fire ain't enough to warm an ant's tit! This gun ain't half heavy either. Why do I need it, anyway? Giant crabs, pull the other one!" It was at that moment that the clicking began.
Faintly at first, then increasing at volume gradually, as if it's source was advancing cautiously. The men began to fidget anxiously at the disembodied noise. Rusty sprung to attention.
"That clicking sound. I'd recognise it anywhere, even if it's far louder than it should be. We're dealing with crabs of extraordinary size, by Jove!" He exclaimed to Chess. In response, she shushed him while grabbing his hand.
The crabs were visible now, faintly, in the distance. It was impossible to accurately assess their number, but there were about 20 of them, by Rusty's count. They fanned out, forming a ring around the fire, trapping the soldiers within. The men glanced around at these nightmares, each of them wondering the same thing. Was this an act of aggression, or where they timid of the flames? At the point of the circle closest to the shore, a parting appeared among the crabs. A hefting brute, even by giant crab standards, approached to fill the gap. One and a half times as big as the others, this King Crab was obviously a ringleader of sorts. A patchwork of tangled seaweed hung from his rear, trailing behind him like a cloak or cape.
"Just how advanced are these creatures?" thought Rusty. "Do they have a society? Possess critical thought? Can they scheme and create tactical plans?"
The circle of crabs all seemed to be surveying their leader, waiting for his command. King Crab seemed to consider for a moment, before stepping towards the fire. He considered the increase of heat, the burning light, then decided. It did not trouble him. He raised his pincer, emitted a particularly energetic click and the battle began!
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