Alabama Island had been well chosen for the attack. Its small size and pureness of air meant the scent of its human inhabitants was rich in the air. And its isolation meant no help would be coming soon. The Kudos ran aground on the island’s rocky southern shore and the rats came pouring out from the hold. Thousands of them in an immense, hungry wave. They locked onto the most proximate scent and charged that way at a furious speed. Within minutes they were upon the three Marines sent to sink the Kudos before it made landfall. The Marines were travelling in a light armoured jeep with mounted cannons and missile turrets. The weight of the weaponry and the inaccessible rocky terrain made for slow progress. But also there was an overriding skepticism that burly Marines, battle hardened veterans of the Artic War, could ever be troubled by a few rats scurrying about. The rats that swarmed the jeep, however, were full of intent and immediately sniffed out the access points in the gaps in the gun turrets and up through the undercarriage. They lunged upon the Marines in a mass of vicious teeth, flaying them into strips.
The Marines’ hideous screams were relayed back to the busy Action Centre of the Alabama Island Marine Base where the base commander, Major Emsly, and his second in command, Lieutenant Beamy Carlitto listened on ashen-faced.
‘What shall we do, sir?’ queried Carlitto, her voice wavering.
The screams lasted a while longer and when finally they ended they were replaced by the grotesque sounds of rodents feasting. Emsly strode angrily to the communication controls, pushing away the communications officer and cutting off the line. He puckered, sucking his lips into his well-trimmed goatee. ‘We can have jets scrambled from Alaska in ten minutes. But they will have no weapons against this onslaught. Nothing short of firebombing the whole island.’
‘The reconnaissance drone has arrived on the scene,’ said the communications officer, returning to the controls unfazed at being manhandled. He put on the large central screen the live feed of the massive army of black rats surging across the island.
‘The Polar Bear Conservation Centre will be next in their path,’ said Carlitto. ‘Then us.’
Emsly nodded and turned grimly to the communications officer. ‘Put us through to the Conservation Centre on the emergency channel.’
‘Yes, sir.’
The door to the action centre opened to the 198cm tall Sergeant Hex Carter fully utilising his gaping stride. ‘The source of the explosion has been confirmed, sir. It was the Fork 20 Missile itself. It must have misfired just as it was being fired at the Kudos.’
Emsly took in the news bitterly. ‘Casualties?’
‘Four dead. Twelve wounded, five seriously.’
‘Damage?’
‘Extensive, sir. A Fork 20 will always mean business.’
The next question was vital, so Emsly said it very clearly: ‘Can the central building still be sealed?’
‘Large sections of the roof and wall have been lost. So the answer is no, sir.’
Emsly nodded stiffly. ‘Do what you can on scene. Prioritise preparing the wounded for evac.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Carter and stomped his way out of the action centre.
‘Evacuation with what?’ murmured Carlitto. ‘We only have the one attack chopper on base and it will not carry all of us.’
‘All of us, unfortunately, is a dwindling number.’
‘It must be sabotage. Fork Missiles do not misfire.’
‘We do not have the luxury of being able to draw conclusions. We are under siege and we have decisions to make. Do we use the chopper to evacuate what wounded we can or do we use it for offensive purposes, and that means assuming that we are indeed under attack?’
‘Hundreds of Marines were lost in the securing of this island. If we evacuate, the United States would be technically foregoing its protectorate status. Other nations will file claims and it will take years to run through the courts. That might be what this whole incident is about.’
‘I get that. But death in battle has never been less honourable than by being consumed by rodents.’
‘We do not have the luxury of drawing conclusions,’ Carlitto fired back.
‘Touché.’ Emsly smirked and activated the base intercom system. ‘All personnel are to assemble on the parade ground,’ he gnarled into the mike. ‘That includes the sick and wounded. And empty out the armory. We are under attack and by the flagpole is where we’ll fight.
Carlitto waited until he was off coms before murmuring, ‘Outdoors we will be completely exposed. Indoors, such as in this room, we will only have doors to defend.’
‘Doors and air vents. And I would not like the sort of death that would be had if they caved in under the weight of rats. Trapped in a room to be eaten alive would certainly lack honour. What our enemy has is numbers and plenty of them and so what we’ll need is resupplies and reinforcements. That means sky drops.’
‘Sir, the Conservation Centre is not responding,’ said the communications officer, hunched over his transmitter.
‘They may have their hands full,’ said Emsly grimly. ‘Forget it. Contact the Artic Command Centre in Alaska. Inform them of our circumstances. Tell them we have a code red.’