RABID TIMES

Volume 4 - Compilation

EARLY ALLIANCES

Reported by the Rat Kings; Briggs and Louis.

Our top rat agents make ideal spies. Small, quiet and sneaky, they can go anywhere and do anything (within reason; piloting a jet, for example, we'll leave to our larger kin). It is not out of the question for us to add a bundle of brown cotton wool to our tails in order to go undercover. Right now we have many spies in the midst of King Fuzzball's army. Some of them are highly regarded amongst the rabid squirrels.

Our undercover agents manage to find some time to themselves each night, during which they report back to us. Last week we received a series of messages suggesting that the rabid squirrels are allying with a number of other species. We use the word 'allying' loosely; maybe 'not killing as often' would be more appropriate. Still, we informed the Master Hunter. He frowned. Then gave us some chocolate. He knows how to please rats.

We have been asked to boost the ranks of the great Rabid Squirrel Slayers by finding our own allies. Us two rats are well known amongst the small rodent community, so we thought we stood quite a good chance of recruiting some troops.

First, we approached the bats. This is harder than it sounds, what with us being a mostly ground-based species. Waiting until dusk, we wandered o'er hill and vale until spotting a flawlessly flying black blur. Adjusting our excellent night vision, we realised that we had found Lord Sleekwing himself, ruler of the bats! We shouted to him, but he couldn't hear for the gnats. Using the initiative for which RSS agents are famous, we lobbed a few stones at him until a direct hit brought the bat noble crashing to the floor.

Lord Sleekwing is a serious chap. He rarely smiles, and our news of the amassing rabid squirrels certainly didn't help. Still, an intelligent creature, he volunteered to join us.

"My bats are your bats," he said majestically, then fluttered away into the night.

We paused briefly to watch BBC News and to gnaw on a turnip. Midway through the sport news, we received a message on our intercom. It was Fries, our Canadian correspondent.

"Briggs/Louis, you there? Over." she said. We confirmed.

"I spoke to that chipmunk leader, Chief C. C. Chipmunk, as you requested. Over."

"Yes? Over."

"He refused to join us. Then I let him into my villa and told him to help himself to my sunflower seeds. He agreed to join. Fickle creature, but kinda cute. Over."

The chipmunks had allied.

"One last thing. Evil Eric's rabid chipmunks have joined the rabid squirrels. It was inevitable, really. Over."

King Fuzzball had created Evil Eric himself. During the brief period that Fuzzball lived in America, he had eaten a number of chipmunks. One particularly hardy chipmunk survived the ordeal, but became infected with rabies. Eric has since built up a small but elite group of rabid chipmunks.

We had now built up quite a force. We had been refused by the rabbits (but personally we can't imagine them being much use in a war, feeble vegetarians) and the voles (who decided that if they continued to live near water they would be safe), but we still had one species to try tonight.

This last species was not one of rodents, but we come into contact with them on a regular basis. They are a lot more powerful than many people imagine, and are very common. Humans trust them, and even feed them. These organisms go by the title of ‘ducks’.

As we approached the duck colony, hundreds of beady black eyes turned to focus on us. Hundreds (but only half as many hundreds as for the eyes) of elongated beaks, finely lined with little sharp teeth, turned to us and quacked. Hundreds of enormous webbed feet stamped up and down in aggression, and little white feathers flew in all directions. The duck army is mighty.

Nervous, we trotted up the leader who goes by the name of The Duck! It is an impressive mallard. We politely made our proposal. The Duck looked at us down its beak. If ducks could sneer, it would have done. It quacked. Once. Quietly.

Next thing we knew, we were being escorted off the property by four particularly large ducks. They had refused the offer.

It had been a fairly successful day. We were a long way from defeating the rabid squirrels, but were now a couple of steps nearer.

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THE BATTLE OF FARNDON FIELDS

Sly Backstabber used his unusually adept eyesight to count his enemy. He turned to Fuzzball.

"There are thirty-two of them, your Almightiness," he snivelled.

"Thirty-two? Ha! They don't stand a chance!" Fuzzball replied in squirrellish.

"I don't think we should underestimate them, my King. What are your tactics?"

"Well, I thought we'd charge at them as quickly as possible and then eat them."

"Wonderful. May I suggest holding a few squirrels in reserve? I will lead them myself."

"Fine. But we won't need any help."

Both rabid squirrels turned to face the enemy. They simultaneously spotted the human, riding towards them on a magnificent bicycle (magnificent, but quite impractical on these ploughed fields). He was carrying a white flag.

"So... they want to talk," observed Sly.

King Fuzzball plodded over to the flag-bearer. King Fuzzball ate the flag-bearer. In one mouthful. His troops cheered. Fuzzball turned to them and shouted, "CHAAARGE!” The battle had begun.

Agent Morris put down his binoculars and turned to the Master Hunter.

"They're coming, sir," he said.

"Hmm," said the Master Hunter, obviously hoping to inspire his troops. "Morris, take a platoon of soldiers around behind the enemy. The rabid squirrels may have more, better-armed, better-trained, better-dressed (Morris silently disagreed) soldiers than us, but we still have the element of surprise. Fetch me my tortoise!"

"Tortoise, sir?"

"Yes."

The rabid squirrel army was now halfway across Farndon field. They were beginning to tire, but the prospect of a meal of warm human flesh was spurring them on. The rabids began to scream war cries at the top of their voices.

As the rabids came into range, the Slayers began picking them off with their crossbows. This opportunity was short lived, however, as the squirrels were now running unstoppably fast.

King Fuzzball the Almighty was the first rabid squirrel to reach the human opposition, and he immediately engaged the Master Hunter in a battle to the death (or to three hits, whichever happened first). The Master Hunter drew his epée, Escargot de Mer, and also held up a remarkably tortoise-like shield. Fuzzball reached for his sabre, Blood of Many.

"On guard, Master of Hunters," growled Fuzzball.

"On guard, King of Fuzzballs," reposted the Master.

Elsewhere amongst the masses, the rabid squirrel mob had engaged the Slayers. A series of brawls were in progress, each involving a couple of agents and thrice as many squirrels. The rabid squirrels circled each victim, leaping up at them. Each agent could only try to fight off the squirrels, while simultaneously having to look in every direction so as not to be caught by surprise. It was difficult going, and only the more experienced agents were making any progress.

Meanwhile, Agent Morris's platoon had tried to sneak up on the rabids from behind, but Sly Backstabber had been expecting this. He had instructed his rabids to lay traps all around them, and so now Farndon Field had become Mine Field. Each time Morris's men tried to move, they set off a mine, which exploded, covering them with mauve custard. Sly's squirrels found this highly amusing, and shortly the Slayer platoon was forced to retreat to licks its wounds and custard.

The Master Hunter was now one hit up in his swordfight, having successfully pulled off his legendary 'Preying Mantis' special move. King Fuzzball was being worn down, preferring power moves to stamina fighting. He lunged at the Master Hunter, but was parried. Discarding his tortoise, the Master Hunter took another sword, as did Fuzzball. Fuzzball slashed both sabres at the Master Hunter's head, severing it, but he didn't have right of way so was disqualified. Leaping dramatically, the Master Hunter flailed distractingly with one sword, while stabbing Fuzzball with the other. He had won! The duellers shook hands, and parted. King Fuzzball the not-quite-so-Almighty withdrew his troops.

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Please do not eat. Unless you’re hungry.

END OF VOLUME

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