It was an absolute massacre. The crabs assaulted the fenced in soldiers with terrible efficiency, removing limbs and severing torsos with Thierry pincers, stomping anything unfortunate enough to fall, and devouring what had already died. The soldiers unleashed multiple barrages of gunfire, but the crabs were unperturbed. Bullets pinged off their shells like hail on a car window, and the fire may as well have been non-existent. The relief soldiers sprung from their hideouts, to remove the pressure from their bound comrades and allow a window for a retreat. Such a window was denied however, even this rear attack did not phase the beasts, smthe nearest of which simply turned to face this new annoyance.
In mere minutes, there was not a single soldier left alive. The only sounds were crabs enjoying the last few tasty morsels of their latest hunt. King Crab was still uneasy though. He seemed to be searching, sniffing the air for clues. As if he could still sense live humans, somewhere out of view. Rusty and Chess remained in their hide, scared into silence, praying the crabs wouldn't find them too. But it was futile. The king had their scent. He would not stop until they were dead. It was right outside their hide now, raising a claw to smash through their illusions and trickery.
A sudden roar bellowed out across the beach, coming from the sky like a cry from God himself. A Spitfire was swooping down from above, aiming for the King Crab. Machine gun fire burst from its twin guns, scoring a line along the beach. Several of the shots struck the thick shell of the crab, and seemed to stagger him, without causing much damage. The other crabs clicked urgently, afraid for their leader and frightened of this devil of the sky. Smart as these crabs may be, there was still some innate fear, some primal sense that the sky brought death. Crabs have always known to fear the seagulls that circle overhead.
Dazed and angry, King Crab was unable to hold the morale of his warriors. Despite his efforts, the other crabs retreated back to the coast and to the safety of the deep. Furious, King Crab turned to follow his kin. With the attack over, the clean-up could begin. Every soldier involved in the ambush had died, horribly. The only survivors of the event were Max, Rusty and Chess. Each dealt with their grief in their own way. Rusty went to bed with a bottle of scotch and an ounce of tobacco, though sleep still eluded him. Chess felt that she owed Max her life, and wanted to repay him in some way. Max, for his part, felt his joystick was a little stuck and would require some attention to mend it. Chess seemed more than willing to help him out.
Meanwhile, off the coast, deep on the English channel, a U-Boat floated hidden in the depths.
"Mein Captain" came a voice through speakers on the submarine's control deck. "Mission report is demanded from the Fuhurer himself!"
A bald man, in pristine Nazi navel regalia removed his monacle to polish it. He considered his answer to the comms officer, before responding
"Tell him zat ze mission vas a partial success. Our agents terminated all essential targets and retreated, with little damage sustained. However, they showed some hesitation when dealing vit aerial assault."
"Of course, Captain."
The helmsman turned to face the Captain.
"Vat are our new orders, sir?"
"Zimple. It vas unfortunate zat zhe pilot and ze scientist survived the attack. Ve regroup and take out zere entire base!"
No comments:
Post a Comment