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Cuttlefish -> Der Rattenkrieg (11/3/2008 10:34:45 PM)
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September 14, 1944
Location: Osaka/Kobe
Course: None
Attached to: Disbanded in port
Mission: None
System Damage: 0
Float Damage: 0
Fires: 0
Fuel: 475
Orders: Escort Hiyo to Tokyo
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I wanted to post this on Halloween but didn’t get it finished in time. Here it is anyway. It’s a little (well, maybe a lot) off the wall but I hope it is entertaining nonetheless.
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“I still think we should’ve tried that freighter back there,” says Pokey Pete as he and Gnawing Jack make their way down the pier, sticking to the shadows even though it is 3 am and no humans are in evidence. “I like freighters.”
Pete and Jack are both shades of gray. Many brown rats are, despite the name. Their scientific name, rattus norvegicus, is even more misleading. The point of origin of the species is not precisely known but it almost certainly was not Norway. Pete and Jack themselves prefer the term “wharf rats”.
“Naw, I’m looking for something better,” says Jack. The two of them round a stack of crates. “Ah, and there we are!” His whiskers twitch. “An Imperial Japanese Navy destroyer. First class travel, my friend. Come on, let’s join the navy and see the world!”
“A warship?” says Pete in dismay. “Are you sure? They’re so clean. Give me a nice messy freighter any day.”
“Yeah, but these days sailors are eating a lot better than civilians,” says Jack. “There’s going to be good food aboard, and plenty of it. Besides, I hear the war has really heated up to the south. We might call somewhere, jump ship, and pretty soon get a chance to get aboard an Allied ship heading back to Australia. That’d be great, eh? I hear those Australian she-rats are really something.”
“Yeah, or the ship might catch a torpedo or two and then we’d have to swim for it,” says Pete gloomily.
“Don’t be such a pessimist,” says Jack. “Besides, our chances are a lot better on a warship than on a merchie these days. Those Allied submarines are murder. I want to be aboard something that carries depth charges.”
“All right,” says Pete, “you talked me into it.” The two rats peer across the narrow stretch of water towards the destroyer. Pete reads the characters on the side. “Hibiki?”
“Yeah,” says Jack. “One of the special-type destroyers built in the early 30’s. Akatsuki-class, I think. I had a cousin who traveled aboard Shirayuki back before the war. That’s a Fubuki-class, pretty similar to this. He said they’re a pretty good ride, a little excessive roll in rough weather but nothing too bad.”
“The OOD looks alert and the gangway is well-lit,” says Pete, looking the situation over. “Rat-guards on all the mooring lines look secure.” His beady eyes fall on an electric cable which snakes from the pier to the ship. “Check out that cable. Think we can make it?”
“I think so,” says Jack. “Just don’t bite it. I had a cousin who bit a cable like that once and it fried him like an egg. Let’s go.”
Their plan works well and a short while later both rats are aboard. They slip silently along the scuppers, find an open hatch, and are soon below decks.
“See, what did I tell you?” Jack says. “Piece of cake.” They are now between the second and third decks, following a wiring conduit aft.
“I dunno, Jack,” says Pete, his whiskers twitching nervously. “It’s really quiet here. Why isn’t there anyone around?”
“They’re probably all in the food storage lockers gorging themselves,” says Jack. “Hey, here’s a nice nest.” They’ve come to a junction with a vertical pipe. Some enterprising rats long ago made a hollow in the insulation surrounding the pipe. The two rats poke their noses in. The nest is dusty and long disused.
“Weird,” says Pete. “I don’t even get much scent. No one’s been here in a long time.”
Jack slips inside. “That just means no one will complain if we move in,” he says. His front paw comes down on something round and hard. “Hey, what’s this?” He pokes at it. Insulation slips aside to reveal a grinning rat skull, incisors gleaming dully in the faint light. Jack recoils with a squeak.
“Something bad happened here,” says Pete softly. “Something real bad. I can feel it.”
“Quiet,” hisses Jack. “I hear something.” From down the conduit comes the rapid patter of feet and the sound of hoarse, ratty breathing. The two look, transfixed, and a brown rat comes into view, racing towards them. Its face is a mask of fear and they can already smell its panic.
It has nearly reached them when suddenly something huge looms behind it. It is a head out of nightmare, flat and scaled and with glittering, malevolent eyes. The fanged jaws gape wide and the head shoots forward with unbelievable speed. The jaws close around the torso of the newcomer with fearsome force.
The brown rat’s eyes bulge and a gush of blood stains its jaws. It scrabbles futilely as it is pulled relentlessly backward into the darkness, its front claws leaving long scratch marks in the floor. Before it is whisked out of sight it seems to see them for the first time.
“Run!” the brown groans. “Get out while you can!” Then it is gone. A moment later comes a hideous slithering sound, followed by a drawn-out squeak of agony and then the crunching and snapping of breaking bones. The conduit is filled with an awful reptilian musk and the scent of fresh blood.
Jack and Pete turn and flee as fast as their paws will take them. They retrace their steps in blind panic and don’t bother with the cable. They simply hurl themselves off the ship and into the ocean below. Later, back on the pier, the damp and shivering rats take a last look at the destroyer.
“So,” says Pete after a moment. “What do you say we try the freighter?”
“Sounds good,” says Jack. The two rats head back the way they came.
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