creature shoved its horns beneath the steering tail and tried to lever it up. The tank crashed down again as it failed. It tried again.
“Oi!” Wally drove the tank forwards.
“Cecil, take a peek and see what the bleeder’s trying to do, will you.”
Cecil peered out of the rear loophole. “Lawks, it’s coming after us again!”
The tank juddered once more as the back end tilted up and crashed down again.
“We can’t take much more of this.”
There was a brief stillness. Alfie held his breath.
Then Cecil piped up, jerking back from the pistol port in the rear door. “It’s trying for the roof again.”
Alfie found himself looking up at the roof, from where the noise, and jagged green spikes, of scrambling issued. Between them, Wally, Alfie and Frank tried to swing the tank and throw it off, but it clung tenaciously to the roof.
“What the hell do we do now?”
“Aaaugh. Shit!” yelled Cecil stumbling back over the differential. “It’s trying to get in!” After several attempts, a thin exoskeletal tube about two feet long appeared through the pistol port. He reared back and cocked his revolver at it. He watched, open-mouthed, as the end opened and something wet and glistening, like a tentacle, protruded from the chitinous casing.
“It, it’s a whatsit, a prob-sis? It’s trying to suck us out!”
“I don’t think so, son.” Jack edged past Alfie, put a hand on Cecil’s wrist and forced him to lower the weapon. “Don’t shoot in here, Ces. The bullet’ll ricochet.”
“Fellas,” said Norman,warily.
The tank began to rock as the beetle creature above them sought purchase. The rocking became more rhythmic. The tentacle, if that’s what it was, began to throb.
A vile thought took hold as Alfie watched. “That’s not a bloody tentacle, or a proboscis. It’s a bleedin’ short arm!”
Reggie blanched. “A what?”
The rocking became more urgent and the occupants of the tank were being shunted backwards and forwards with every thrust. Expressions of horror and disgust dawned on their faces as they realised what was going on.
“It’s not trying to kill us. It’s after a bon time,” said Norman.
Only Cecil still looked blank.
“It thinks we’re a lady friend?” Frank suggested.
Cecil frowned. “But this is a male tank.”
Alfie braced his hands against the roof as another enthusiastic thrust rocked the tank. “I really don’t think it cares.”
“Jesus! Well don’t just stand there,” bellowed Wally.
Cecil looked at them. “What do we do?”
Moral indignation flooded Jack’s face. “Well, I’ll tell you what I’m bloody well not going to do and that’s lie back and think of bloody England.” He grabbed a wrench and took a swing at the now tumescent and dripping appendage. “D’you know, Ces,” he said, “after this, I can see me and you is going to need a long talk about... country matters.”
Frank leered. “After this, I don’t think he’ll need one.”
M ATHERS WATCHED AS the giant beetle attempted to mount the Ivanhoe, using its mandibles to try to bite and hold the tank’s roof, its legs scrambling for leverage as it began to grind against the rear of the tank. All thought of its own safety washed away in a primal urge too strong to ignore.
The tank juddered forward, but the beetle was determined not to lose its mount and tottered forwards with it, almost comically, still attached.
Mathers felt a hint of shame that the ironclad should be misused so shamefully, as if it had been a faithful beast unwillingly put out to stud. He picked up a rock and hurled it at the creature, but it bounced off. He picked up another one and edged closer, this time aiming at its face. It bounced off a mandible. He felt light-headed, but didn’t stop. Whatever he was feeling, it wasn’t fear; it was... exhilaration. He picked up another rock and, yelling incoherently, he charged. He ran at the tank and, using his momentum, and the starboard gun barrel,
“Oi!” Wally drove the tank forwards.
“Cecil, take a peek and see what the bleeder’s trying to do, will you.”
Cecil peered out of the rear loophole. “Lawks, it’s coming after us again!”
The tank juddered once more as the back end tilted up and crashed down again.
“We can’t take much more of this.”
There was a brief stillness. Alfie held his breath.
Then Cecil piped up, jerking back from the pistol port in the rear door. “It’s trying for the roof again.”
Alfie found himself looking up at the roof, from where the noise, and jagged green spikes, of scrambling issued. Between them, Wally, Alfie and Frank tried to swing the tank and throw it off, but it clung tenaciously to the roof.
“What the hell do we do now?”
“Aaaugh. Shit!” yelled Cecil stumbling back over the differential. “It’s trying to get in!” After several attempts, a thin exoskeletal tube about two feet long appeared through the pistol port. He reared back and cocked his revolver at it. He watched, open-mouthed, as the end opened and something wet and glistening, like a tentacle, protruded from the chitinous casing.
“It, it’s a whatsit, a prob-sis? It’s trying to suck us out!”
“I don’t think so, son.” Jack edged past Alfie, put a hand on Cecil’s wrist and forced him to lower the weapon. “Don’t shoot in here, Ces. The bullet’ll ricochet.”
“Fellas,” said Norman,warily.
The tank began to rock as the beetle creature above them sought purchase. The rocking became more rhythmic. The tentacle, if that’s what it was, began to throb.
A vile thought took hold as Alfie watched. “That’s not a bloody tentacle, or a proboscis. It’s a bleedin’ short arm!”
Reggie blanched. “A what?”
The rocking became more urgent and the occupants of the tank were being shunted backwards and forwards with every thrust. Expressions of horror and disgust dawned on their faces as they realised what was going on.
“It’s not trying to kill us. It’s after a bon time,” said Norman.
Only Cecil still looked blank.
“It thinks we’re a lady friend?” Frank suggested.
Cecil frowned. “But this is a male tank.”
Alfie braced his hands against the roof as another enthusiastic thrust rocked the tank. “I really don’t think it cares.”
“Jesus! Well don’t just stand there,” bellowed Wally.
Cecil looked at them. “What do we do?”
Moral indignation flooded Jack’s face. “Well, I’ll tell you what I’m bloody well not going to do and that’s lie back and think of bloody England.” He grabbed a wrench and took a swing at the now tumescent and dripping appendage. “D’you know, Ces,” he said, “after this, I can see me and you is going to need a long talk about... country matters.”
Frank leered. “After this, I don’t think he’ll need one.”
M ATHERS WATCHED AS the giant beetle attempted to mount the Ivanhoe, using its mandibles to try to bite and hold the tank’s roof, its legs scrambling for leverage as it began to grind against the rear of the tank. All thought of its own safety washed away in a primal urge too strong to ignore.
The tank juddered forward, but the beetle was determined not to lose its mount and tottered forwards with it, almost comically, still attached.
Mathers felt a hint of shame that the ironclad should be misused so shamefully, as if it had been a faithful beast unwillingly put out to stud. He picked up a rock and hurled it at the creature, but it bounced off. He picked up another one and edged closer, this time aiming at its face. It bounced off a mandible. He felt light-headed, but didn’t stop. Whatever he was feeling, it wasn’t fear; it was... exhilaration. He picked up another rock and, yelling incoherently, he charged. He ran at the tank and, using his momentum, and the starboard gun barrel,
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