in one swift move he scrambled onto the Ivanhoe and began smashing at the beetle’s legs, which seemed to be the most vulnerable part. Smoke began billowing out from the smothered exhaust vents beneath the beetle. He was about to leap on its back in an attempt to stove its head in when a sheering screech ripped the sky.
A shadow flicked overhead.
Mathers looked up. A large creature like a manta ray swooped down over the rutting beetle. It had a long neck and small head, with a deceptively wide mouth and sharp teeth. The beetle, locked as it was in congress with the tank, neither knew nor cared.
The flying creature Mathers recognised; the men called it a jabberwock. They preyed on the herds of tripodgiraffes that roamed the veldt. It wheeled round and extended its hind legs and sharp talons, like a hawk’s. Mathers, unperturbed, threw the rock at it, less of a defence and more of a challenge. He stood on the beetle’s back as it humped and roared at the jabberwock in defiance. So close to death and he had never felt so alive.
By now, the beetle was hastily trying to dismount the tank but seemed to be having difficulty withdrawing.
The jabberwock screeched again as it dived towards the unnatural pairing. Mathers, stood atop the mating beetle, was prepared to meet the thing head on, though with what he had no idea and didn’t care. The struggling stone beetle freed itself and slipped clumsily off the back of the tank, tipping Mathers from its back. He put out a hand but found no hold and fell from the creature onto the starboard tank track before tumbling heavily to the ground by the sponson. His graceless dismount saved his life, as talons tore through empty air above him.
Winded and dazed, he shuffled back on his buttocks away from the tracks, for fear the tank should start up again and crush him. Shrieking in frustration, the jabberwock banked sharply and, talons first, slammed down onto the disorientated and satiated stone beetle. Using its great manta wings to stabilise itself, the jabberwock sought gaps that its sharp curved claws could lock under, while its head sought similar weaknesses on its prey’s back.
The beetle flailed pointlessly, unable to grasp anything of its attacker with its mandibles. Turning this way and that like a dog chasing its tail, desperate to dislodge its assailant from its back, it slammed into the tank, shunting it sideways. Mathers watched as the vehicle slid several feet towards him. He could only see the flapping of the great wings and hear the cries of the jabberwock, hidden from view by the tank.
His face and back began to prickle with drying sweat, he felt a wave of nausea rise up, and he vomited on the ground. What the hell did he think he was doing? His hands began to shake. Thinking of himself up on the tank beating that damn thing with a rock made him heave again. Jesus. His head began to pound.
There was a screech of triumph as the jabberwock rose from the ground, talons locked tightly onto the beetle. The stone beetle’s legs thrashed weakly, defenceless. The pair rose higher and higher as Mathers scrambled to his feet. Trembling, feeling faint and clammy, he staggered towards the tank.
The jabberwock cawed loudly and released the beetle, which dropped like a dead weight. There was a wet cracking sound as the beetle slammed down onto the tank’s roof. It clawed feebly. Triumphant, the jabberwock flew down and began to prise at the cracked carapace with a taloned foot. Its long neck and hooked beak began ripping at the innards, tearing its soft wet organs.
Thirty feet away, Mathers made to creep towards the sponson hatch, but the gimlet-eyed predator spotted him. For a moment, he thought it was going to attack, but it just extended its neck, screeched in his direction, warning him off, and went back to tearing at the beetle carcass.
The jabberwock kept one eye on him, jealously guarding its kill as it ripped and tore, throwing back its head to swallow lumps of offal.
A shadow flicked overhead.
Mathers looked up. A large creature like a manta ray swooped down over the rutting beetle. It had a long neck and small head, with a deceptively wide mouth and sharp teeth. The beetle, locked as it was in congress with the tank, neither knew nor cared.
The flying creature Mathers recognised; the men called it a jabberwock. They preyed on the herds of tripodgiraffes that roamed the veldt. It wheeled round and extended its hind legs and sharp talons, like a hawk’s. Mathers, unperturbed, threw the rock at it, less of a defence and more of a challenge. He stood on the beetle’s back as it humped and roared at the jabberwock in defiance. So close to death and he had never felt so alive.
By now, the beetle was hastily trying to dismount the tank but seemed to be having difficulty withdrawing.
The jabberwock screeched again as it dived towards the unnatural pairing. Mathers, stood atop the mating beetle, was prepared to meet the thing head on, though with what he had no idea and didn’t care. The struggling stone beetle freed itself and slipped clumsily off the back of the tank, tipping Mathers from its back. He put out a hand but found no hold and fell from the creature onto the starboard tank track before tumbling heavily to the ground by the sponson. His graceless dismount saved his life, as talons tore through empty air above him.
Winded and dazed, he shuffled back on his buttocks away from the tracks, for fear the tank should start up again and crush him. Shrieking in frustration, the jabberwock banked sharply and, talons first, slammed down onto the disorientated and satiated stone beetle. Using its great manta wings to stabilise itself, the jabberwock sought gaps that its sharp curved claws could lock under, while its head sought similar weaknesses on its prey’s back.
The beetle flailed pointlessly, unable to grasp anything of its attacker with its mandibles. Turning this way and that like a dog chasing its tail, desperate to dislodge its assailant from its back, it slammed into the tank, shunting it sideways. Mathers watched as the vehicle slid several feet towards him. He could only see the flapping of the great wings and hear the cries of the jabberwock, hidden from view by the tank.
His face and back began to prickle with drying sweat, he felt a wave of nausea rise up, and he vomited on the ground. What the hell did he think he was doing? His hands began to shake. Thinking of himself up on the tank beating that damn thing with a rock made him heave again. Jesus. His head began to pound.
There was a screech of triumph as the jabberwock rose from the ground, talons locked tightly onto the beetle. The stone beetle’s legs thrashed weakly, defenceless. The pair rose higher and higher as Mathers scrambled to his feet. Trembling, feeling faint and clammy, he staggered towards the tank.
The jabberwock cawed loudly and released the beetle, which dropped like a dead weight. There was a wet cracking sound as the beetle slammed down onto the tank’s roof. It clawed feebly. Triumphant, the jabberwock flew down and began to prise at the cracked carapace with a taloned foot. Its long neck and hooked beak began ripping at the innards, tearing its soft wet organs.
Thirty feet away, Mathers made to creep towards the sponson hatch, but the gimlet-eyed predator spotted him. For a moment, he thought it was going to attack, but it just extended its neck, screeched in his direction, warning him off, and went back to tearing at the beetle carcass.
The jabberwock kept one eye on him, jealously guarding its kill as it ripped and tore, throwing back its head to swallow lumps of offal.
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