Jago & Litefoot & Peggy (3)

The wine bar erupted with panic and confusion, as the patrons rushed to escape the hail of glass shards that had blown inwards. As people fled out of the venue, one male figure was noticeable by their lack of movement. He stood upon the threshold, ignoring the flurry of activity around him. He was dressed in deep blue biking leathers, and holding in his arms a long cylindrical device with a concave dish at one end. He spoke with a strong, deep, and slightly accented voice.
"Stark! You will pay for your sins!"

Amidst the chaos, Peggy Carter remained resolute. In a fraction of a second, she had surveyed the situation. Howard was in danger, an armed assailant stood outside, and the crowd were rushing outwards.
"Mr. Jarvis! Take Howard out through the kitchens. Get yourselves far from here!"
"But Ms. Carter..."
"Now, Jarvis! I can handle this character."
Knowing better than to argue with a force of nature, Jarvis led Howard quickly away though a swinging door at the rear of the bar.

This retreat did not go unnoticed by the figure wielding the sonic cannon. He roared in frustration and charged forwards, intending to follow his quarry. After a few steps he froze again, noticing the barrel of a gun aimed directly at him. Peggy stared him down, with a crippling glare. She began to speak, keeping her pistol trained on the leatherbound assailant.
"Would you kindly drop your weapon? There's a good chap. On the authority of SHIELD, I'm placing you under arrest for reckless endangerment, attempted murder, and conspiracy to terrorise. You have the right to remain silent, anything you do say could be considered resisting arrest. Trust me, you don't want to see what happens to you then."
"Foolish woman! You defend a monster such as Stark? The monster of mechanism? The designer of destruction? The man whose devices have been used to destroy countless lives!"
"On the contrary, I defend a room full of innocent bystanders from a man wielding a weapon. Especially when that weapon is untested."

Peggy knew she had to stall this guy just a little longer. Jarvis needed time to get Howard far enough away, and she couldn't risk attacking until the patrons were out of range. Thankfully, she noted that the bar was almost empty, save for two older gentlemen observing the situation. Unfortunately however, the activity had drawn a larger crowd of bystanders who were gathering outside.
"None of these people deserve to be hurt. So why don't you just lower your weapon, and we can discuss this in a civil manner."
"Silence! You stall to protect Stark. Enough lies!"
The man pulled the trigger of his cannon. The air between him and Peg shimmered briefly, as she cried out in pain. Peggy fell to her knees, suffering under the onslaught of discordant sound. She couldn't think, head full of noise, mind full of torment and turmoil. As she fell to the ground, her military instincts held out for a brief moment, as she fired a single shot from her pistol. The bullet struck her assailant in the left shoulder, causing him to lower his weapon too. With a snarl, he ran out of the bar again, pushing through the crowds.

Meanwhile, Jago & Litefoot had been observing the commotion since the criminal cove had attacked. They had been poised to intervene until weapons were drawn, forcing the pair to bide their time. They watched in horror as Agent Carter was struck by a direct blast of the sonic weapon, and subsequently slumped to the floor, unconscious and unmoving.

PGL: "Henry, we must get after that ruffian at once!"
HGJ: "Are you sure Litefoot? He seems like a particularly dangerous sort. Perhaps this is best left to the authorities?"
PGL: "Nonsense! This is just the sort of strange event our particular talents are best suited for. Don't tell me you haven't missed our adventures."
HGL: "Well, not exactly... But I'll admit that my appetite for adventure has wained somewhat following that business with the frogs."
PGL: "Well, I'm off in pursuit of the blighter. You can remain here and see to that poor lady he attacked. That might be better suited to your expertise."
HGJ: "Oh Corks! Alright Professor, good luck. I'll be right behind you as soon as I've sorted the sorry situation seen before us. Please try to avoid confronting this cruel cove, George. I am too fond of you for you to suffer at his hand."

Jago & Litefoot & Peggy (2)

A debonair man wearing a crisp tan suit sat at a table in the Hoopy Frood. He sipped from a drink filled with bright fruit, and a colour as luminous as the walls, while he scanned the room. His gaze sought out the ladies of the establishment, but today he needed to meet one woman in particular. This was indeed Howard Stark, industrialist, genius, weapons manufacturer, womanizer and part time media mogul. The latter mostly as an excuse to jet around the world in the company of beautiful actresses, while writing it off as a tax expense. Sitting beside him with a decidedly more nervous demeanour was his similarly well dressed companion and butler, Edwin Jarvis. Jarvis wrung his hands in mild frustration while glancing repeatedly at his watch. It was unlikely Ms Carter to be late, and the waiter at the bar had absolutely no idea of the correct method of pouring wine. He was about to go and instruct him as to his shortcomings when Howard leapt to his feet.

"Peg! It's been some time, so good to see you again! Glad you could join us." Howard extended his hand to shake the hand of the approaching figure, before pulling her closer into a light embrace.
"I'm glad to see that no matter how much times change, you remain as constant and immutable as ever." responded the female figure, smiling at her old friend. Agent Peggy Carter, founder of SHIELD, had worked closely with Howard during WW2 and beyond. Although since the war, she had mostly be cleaning up his messes after his "toys" ended up in the wrong hands. Peggy wore a striking blue coat, with a large, wide-brimmed scarlet hat covering her immaculate hair.

The trio returned to sit at the table again.
Agent Carter was the first to speak.
"Mr. Jarvis, my  old friend. It's such a joy to meet you again."
"The feeling is mutual, Ms. Carter, believe me. My life has been somewhat less exciting since our last adventure."
"For which I'm sure your wife is pleased. How is Anna?"
"She is quite well, Ms. Carter. Somewhat overworked and stressed of late, but in good health."
"Jarvis here has something of a new career at present. Go on, tell Peg your news." interjected Howard, with a knowing wink.
"You mean to say you're no longer an eternal butler to the eternal man-child? Howard, how do you cope?" questioned Peggy, displaying uncharacteristic suprise.

Jarvis blushed a deep crimson, before responding.
"I've taken more of an advisory role in Howard's affairs, except for significant occasions. Otherwise I'm just a manager for Mr Stark's new team of manservants. I've needed to take a step back and spend more time with my darling Anna."
"Is everything all right Mr. Jarvis?" asked Peggy.
"Dont worry, Ms. Carter. It's for the best of resasons, really. She, er, we, um... We have a daughter."
Peggy's eyes widened in shock.
"But, I thought..."
"Oh no, it's not our biological child. We decided to adopt, given Anna's condition."
"Oh, Edwin! My sincerest congratulations, send my love to Anna! How long have you kept this from me? What's her name?"
Jarvis blushed an even deeper red before continuing.
"Well, given the circumstances, there was only one name that came to mind." He removed a photograph from his wallet and passed it to Peggy.
"Her name is Margaret. Named after our dearest friend and ally."
"Oh Mr. Jarvis!"
"In fact, we should very much like you to be her Godmother, if you'd oblige."
"Of course, Mr. Jarvis. Of course I will! Howard, is this why you summoned me here?"

Howard's smile fell slightly.
"Honestly Peg, no, it's not. There is a more serious matter that requires your attention."
"Oh for goodness sake, Howard, what have you lost this time?"
"Nothing, nothing at all! Well.... A prototype device. But it doesn't work! I hadn't finished it."
"Yes, but knowing our luck, that just makes it more dangerous. What if the function of this device, anyway?"
"It was designed for crowd control, non-lethal subduing of combatants, via the manipulation of carefully modulated sonic projections."
"In other words, Ms Carter, a sound gun."
"So, anything else you can tell me about this thing?"

Suddenly, the glass front of the bar shattered inwards, accompanied by a high pitched warbling noise.

Jago & Litefoot & Peggy (1)

The year is 1963, the swinging sixties are well underway, flower power is rising, Bettlemania has gripped the world, and a certain sci-fi show is about to air for the first time. It is in this setting that the intrepid investigators of infernal incidences and supernatural sleuthing known as Jago & Litefoot have found themselves in. These Victorian gentlemen have swapped the industrial revolution for a cultural revolution, quite by chance, and against their will. While the dashing duo figure out some method to return to their proper time and place, however, they must acclimate to their modern surroundings.

HGJ "Professor, I don't know why you dragged us to this lamentable location of libations. What was wrong with Higgies?"

PGL "Really Henry! You should broaden your horizons, we can't go to the same venue every night."

HGJ "It was good enough when we went to the Red Tavern, George."

PGL "Yes, but we belonged there, in our own time. Everything here is new to us, think of the future as a foreign destination to holiday in."

HGJ "I don't know about you, but my first port of call on holiday is to find my home comforts, like a good pint of ale."

PGL "We really are different people, Henry. Come now, when else will we get such an opportunity to explore a time beyond our lifespan, in such detail?"

HGJ "The rest of our lives, if we can't find a way home."

PGL "Oh, my dear friend. I know you miss our own time, I do too. But we know we get home eventually, Ellie told us so. So we should try and enjoy ourselves while we can."

HGJ "I suppose you're right, Litefoot. Sorry to sour the mood with my self indulgent sighs."

PGL "That sounds like the Henry Gordon Jago I know!"

HGJ "Indeed! While I have always preferred a perfectly poured pint of pale ale, perhaps some French fermentation will suit my libationary lust. Heh, a wine bar, the future really is a different place. What was it called?"

PGL "The Hoopy Frood, apparently. I don't get it either. And I don't much care for this decor."

HGJ "Take it from someone in the theatre business, this is a grotesquely garish assault on the sense of sight!"

PGL "All of these bright, clashing colours, and angles and curves. What happened to style, and sophistication?"

HGJ "It's like this place was decorated by an ill parrot who's eaten a magician's handkerchief."

PGL "At least they know their wine here. You should try the '58. It's got a fruity nose, and hints of chocolate and cinnamon, with a nutty finish."

HGJ "It's no good George, it's all Greek to me."

PGL "I'll have you know that this is Italian. The finer things are wasted on you, it would seem."

HGJ "Do you see that woman over there? In the fetching hat?"

PGL "The red one? Yes, it is rather striking, isn't it. Very fitting for this place. What about her?

HGJ "See the men she's with? The chapter on the left, with the moustache? That's none other than Howard Stark!"

PGL "Am I supposed to know who that is?"

HGJ "He's a genius, Millionaire, Inventor, Philanthropist, and Entertainment mogul. Met him once at a party at the TV studios. He's got a hand in pretty much every industry."

PGL "How fascinating."

HGJ "Though if I were you, I'd be more concerned with where his other hand is. He's got a bit of a reputation."

PGL "Oh, I see. That poor girl. But what's a man of his stature doing in a place like this?"

HGJ "Haven't the foggiest. CORKS!"

The patrons of the bar swung around in shock as the glass front shattered inwards with a resounding crash.

Dawn of the Crabs: Chapter 7

Night was drawing in, and Rusty had his plan in motion. The giant Nazi crabs would surely infiltrate the base soon enough. However, before Rusty could implement his idea, they had to destroy the spy patrolling the skies. The enemy had to lose their aerial advantage, or all would be lost! The soldiers had been busy all day, packing up the  equipment most critical to the war effort, and setting up explosive traps around the interiors of the base. Several trucks full of staff and equipment were ready to retreat, but they could not leave until they were unobserved by the Nazi forces. The enemy needed to be unaware of the retreat, so his ruse could work.

Captain Max Thrustcock was already in the cockpit of his Spitfire, completing the last of his pre-flight checks. He smiled wryly to himself, thinking of his goodbye with Chess, and her final gift to him, before pushing such carnal distractions from his mind. He would need full concentration to play his part in the upcoming battle. His radio squaked with a burst of static, before the voice of Professor Gubbins eminated from it.
"Captain, our coastal scouts have not yet picked up any sign of our clawed cretins. I don't understand it, night has fallen, the moon is full, and there's little cloud cover."
"That's not good, Rusty. Perhaps you've overlooked something about the behaviour of these crabs."
"Take to the skies, see what you can find out."
"Over and out"

Rusty let go of the radio headset, and leaned back in his chair. He ran his tobacco stained fingers through his thinning hair, sighing. What could he have overlooked? He thought back to his childhood, trips to the beach. He used to observe crabs in pools, scuttling about. He thought of one breed that always amused him, that would burrow into the sand to hide....

"Queen Victoria's frilly undergarments!" he cried! They're tunnelling in! Rusty ran to the Colonel's office, informing him as to his theory. Even as they issued an alert across the PA system, they knew it was too late. The sounds of scattered gunfire began to ring out across the base, followed by the ominous clicking of the monstrous brutes. Rusty's ears pricked up, as a female scream pierced the sonic maelstrom.
"Chess, no!"

Chess had been sitting alone in her room, waiting for the evacuation order and hoping that her Max would return to her. Slowly, she became aware of a trembling beneath her. Initially, she thought it was due to her thoughts of Max, but soon realized it was coming from the ground. She took a step back, hugging the wall as the floor in front of her buckled upwards. Disturbingly quickly, a massive crab emerged from the hole, and turned to face her. It stood between her and the door. It was all she could do to let out a cry of help.

Moments later, Rusty and the Colonel appeared at the door behind the beast.
"Blooming Daisies, look at the size of it!" cried the Colonel.
"Get away from my daughter, you bastard! Have at thee!" yelled Rusty, holding his cane in an offensive position. With a twist of the handle, a spike emerged from the base and began to arc electricity. He plunged the stick into the crab's flesh, finding a slight chink in its impervious armour. The crab slumped, twitching slightly. Rusty beckoned to his daughter to join him.
"A device of my own creation, handy to have a prod for my rambles in the Countryside." said Rusty, to answer the quizzical Colonel. "Now get out before it comes to!"

Meanwhile, in the air, Max became aware of the commotion at the base via the radio chatter. The crabs had burrowed in, and he couldn't help! They were all inside the base, he could do nothing to help. Nothing except find the spy who should be in a glider, observing the chaos below. His eagle eyes scanned the skies around him, looking for any glimmer of light. If the crabs could utilize the moon, so could Max. He bemoaned Rusty's crude radar device, apparently this enemy craft was too stealthy to register. Typical of the boffin types. There! Max blinked, had he actually seen it? A ripple in the mist in front of him, the glint of moonlight off of a canopy, it was true! There was an aircraft in front of him, gliding silently, without it's own power source. Incredulous! Max smiled to himself, before gripping his controls. "This thing has no power, so no manoeuvring. Bullseye!"

On the control deck of the Nazi U-Boat, there was panic.
"Spy ship destroyed captain!"
"Lost visualization sir!"
"Ve no longer can monitor the experiments!"
The Captain of the vessel looked peeved at the ineptitude of his crew.
"Then use the backup systems. Monitor their transmissions!"
The crew scrambled to fulfil their command. Soon, radio chatter to and from the base came through to the submarine.

"Captain Max Thrustcock, returning to base."
"Acknowledged, Captain. We have managed to contain and destroy the crabs in your absence. Thanks to the work of Professor Gubbins."

The crew of the submarine fell silent. The Captain spun around to face Dr. Brachyura.
"I zought your creatures vere unstoppable! Zis is unacceptable, our veaponry has been destroyed, and ze scientist and ze pilot live still!" Yelled the captain.
"It is impossible, just impossible. This cannot be, there must be a mistake!" said Dr. Brachyura, in a feeble defence.
"And yet it is true. Enough of your experiments, it is time to resort to German engineering to save zis mission. Prime ze V2 rockets. It is time."

Keys were turned, switches flicked and buttons pressed. The sub surfaced, at the behest of the Captain, the missile was primed and fired. A hatch slid open on the vessel, and the mighty V2 roared up into the air. Aboard the ship, it's progress was tracked via radar. Moments later, they confirmed a hit on the coordinates of the base. All radio chatter died out. A cry of nervous energy range out.
"And so it is that our greatest adversary in this var is extinguished. Prepare to journey home. Haha, enough of your games Thrustcock, 've have had ze last laugh!"
"Hahahaha!" a warm voice cut across everyone, coming from the radio.
"Vhat in Himmel?"

Captain Max Thrustcock roared through the skies, Rusty's ruse had worked! After destroying the glider, they had successfully convinced the Nazis that the crabs were defeated. While the base was evacuated, the submarine had surfaced and destroyed the base, and all of the crabs, for them with the V2. Helped with the munitions, fuel and explosives stored in the base. Rusty, Chess and the Colonel had made it out on the final truck. That just left Rusty, in the air and gunning for the surfaced submarine. It didn't take him long to spend his payload and sink the vessel.

"This is Captain Max Thrustcock, heading home. I could do with some food. Who fancies seafood? Over and out!"

Dawn of the Crabs: Chapter 6

The following morning, the members of Operation Pincer gathered in gloomy silence to discuss the aftermath of last night's assault. The Colonel wasted no time in heaping the blame on the science boffin.
"Rusty, your damn plan was a shambles! 12 good men dead, for your precious scientific data. And you're no closer to finding a weakness of the bally things. I knew we should have just bombed the devil out of them."

Rusty let the Captain run out of steam before responding. While he was a timid man by nature, he had a fierce edge when his beloved scientific method was insulted.
"With all due respect, Colonel, we can't just bomb the ocean, like you suggest. It's a pretty big place, we can't spare the ordinance. And even if we could, detonating that quantity of explosives in the water is a horrendous idea. Besides, we did obtain some usable data."

Rusty took this opportunity to polish his glasses, he was at ease now, entirely in his element.
"We know that the crabs have a leader, a rudimentary society, and possess a cunning intelligence. We know that they are unperturbed by fire, and are impervious to small arms fire."

"In other words, the bastards are invincible and we're doomed!", the Colonel moaned.
"That's not what I said. In fact, they were slowed down, staggered and deterred by the higher calibre ammunition of our aircraft. I theorize that heavy weapons may prove sufficient. Even if their shell is impervious to our weapons, the shockwaves of an sufficiently large explosion may liquefy the soft meat inside."
"So, just bomb them then?"
"No, we'd need something more powerful than anything we have in our arsenal. But don't worry, I have a cunning plan..."

A figure burst in through the double doors of the meeting room, out of breath and in some distress. Several of the gathered group jumped to their feet in alarm. Only Max remained seated, unflinching in his calm composure.
"Bond! Nice of you to join us, what on Earth is the matter with you?" exclaimed the Colonel, hairs of his moustache standing on end with alarm and indignation. Bond gathered himself before responding.
"Well, everyone. We have managed to intercept some encrypted communication from an enemy U-Boat just 40 miles from our coast!"
The room erupted in a flurry of voices and alarm. As it settled, Rusty could be heard to utter "Fucking hell!".
"Thanks to the work of Turing and the boys in Bletchley, we've managed to decrypt it. Turns out they're not only aware of these crabs, but responsible for them!"
"Some sort of sadistic scientific project of Hitler, no doubt." spat Rusty, angry at this perversion of science.
"Yes, and this fits with some intel gathered by our spies not too long ago. A Dr. Brachyura of Japan was spotted in Germany."
"The geneticist?" asked Rusty? "And one of the leading experts in harnessing the energy of the atom?"
Bond smirked joylessly.
"I expected you to be familiar with his work. Looks like he's behind some Nazi project to create a biological weapon. And we're the test case. Oh, and some worse news, apparently they are planning another assault for tonight!"

Max stood up from the table. He had grown tired of this endless discussion, but relished the idea of flying another combat mission.
"So, what's our play?"
"Hold on, Captain." admonished Bond. "We still have a problem. Somehow the Nazis were able to observe last night's raid. Either they've got some impressive surveillance technology, or there's a mole on our side. We can't make a plan until we plug our leak."
"Oh, that would explain things."
"Explain what, Mr. Thrustcock? If you have any information pertaining to a spy among us, share it immediately!"
"I wouldn't worry about a spy, sir. There was something in the air with me last night, sir. Some form of silent craft, or so I thought. Could have been a glider. I didn't speak up because I thought I may have been imagining things, but it fits. They've got eyes in the sky."

Rusty jumped to his feet, in joy.
"Eureka!" he cried. "That's it, that's our plan. Listen up everyone, I know how to solve this problem."

Dawn of the Crabs: Chapter 5

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!"

Dawn of the Crabs: Chapter 4

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!