“What do you have there?” asked Sam.
“A special something,” said the pilot. “Fitted it myself. State of the art. It’s called an M134 General Electric Mini-gun. 7.62 mm. Full-clip capacity of 5,793 rounds per minute. 7.62 x 51 shells, 1.36 kg recoil adapters. Muzzle velocity of 869 m/s.”
“Nice,” said Sam. “Then open fire on those alien sons of bitches.”
“Ten-four, Chief,” said the pilot, and he opened fire.
And down below and through the streets of Hollywood now roared that truck with the robot Jack at the wheel and all that dangerous acid on board. Along Hollywood Boulevard, past the Roosevelt Hotel, and Grauman’s Chinese Theatre and the Hollywood Wax Museum.
And, “Rat-at-tat-at-tat-at-tat-at-tat,” went the M134 General Electric Mini-gun. And Sam Maggott cheered as tracer bullets scoured the sky. And he bawled, “You’ve hit one. You’ve hit one.”
And the pilot had.
A saucer wobbled, spiralled, span. The chicken pilot squawked.
And down and down the saucer went to strike the home of Sydney Greenstreet. Who was presently being loaded into an ambulance with many broken bones. Which really wasn’t fair. But there you go.
“Well done,” cried Sam, patting the pilot. “Oh no, one’s turning around.”
And a single saucer was. The helicopter did nifty manoeuvrings. Hollywood residents looked up from their poolside soirees, rubbed at their rectal probings and said, “I told you so.”
“Whoa!” went Sam, once more clinging on for the life of himself. “Shoot that mother, will you?”
“Doing my best, Chief, doing my best.”
And down below the robot Jack drove onward in his stolen truck. Up now and towards the Hollywood hills in pursuit of the saucers. And police cars screamed after him, all flashing lights and wailing sirens. And cars swerved and passers-by took to their heels.
“Onward, ever onward,” cried the Eddie in the Mother-Henship, “and engage the fiendishly clever miniaturisation units that will enable us to sweep through The Second Big O without touching the sides.” And his paw pressed the special button and in other craft wing tips did likewise.
“And did you see that?” shouted Sam. “Did they just get smaller, or are they suddenly very far, far away?”
“Bit of both, I think, Chief.” The pilot rattled away with the M134 General Electric Mini-gun.
The robot Jack’s truck bumped up the grasslands, but lost neither speed, nor size.
“Onward!” cried the remaining Eddie. “Onward, ladies. Onward into the future pages of chicken world history. God of All Chickens, I love this job.”
And onward they swept towards the Hollywood sign.
And onwards too swept the robot Jack, his truck bouncing all about, but roaring ever onward.
And after him the black-and-whites, doing what black-and-whites always do in situations like these: crashing into one another, flying off cliffs in slow motion, having the occasional bit of comedy relief with blackened-faced officers staggering from wrecked police cars to the sound of incidental music going, “Wah-waaaah.”
“They’re going through, Chief,” cried the helicopter pilot. “They’re going through The Second Big O.”
“Then pull up. We’ll get them on the other side.”
The pilot yanked back on the joystick. “Oh my God!” he shouted. “The controls are stuck. Oh my God! Oh my God!”
“Don’t go without me, you rotters!” And the robot Jack put his foot down harder.
And then it all happened.
As it always does.
In slow motion, with some really great shots.
Picture it if you can.
The flying saucers moved from the horizontal into the vertical plane and swept one after another towards The Second Big O of the Hollywood sign.
The great big truck with its dangerous cargo did its own kind of sweeping up, which involved its wheels leaving the grasslands and the performance of a rather spectacular flying leap forward into the Hollywood sign.
To be joined there, at that very moment, by Sam Maggott’s helicopter, big guns blazing and controls all gone to pot.
And then that explosion.
With the flatbed canister-load of sulphuric acid crumpling forwards, releasing its lethal load, swallowing up the robot Jack.
That big explosion. As of truck and sign and helicopter. And of a few surviving police cars, too.
And of the lone Air Force jet, which hadn’t actually been scrambled but had been taken aloft by a young black pilot who was hoping for a job in the space programme with NASA.
And, by golly, at least a good half-dozen flying saucers that hadn’t quite done the sweeping through The Second Big O thing.
And what a big explosion that was!
And all in slow motion, too.
And cut, and print, and that’s a wrap.
Hooray for Hollywood.
26
“What was all that?” The Eddie at the controls of the Great Mother-Henship, which had now swelled back to its regular size, glanced into the rear-view mirror and called out in alarm. “What happened back there? Speak to me, ladies.”
Chicken voices clucked into his headphones.
“How many ships lost? Six? No, seven! That’s outrageous, impossible.”
Further chicken voices confirmed the sad news.
“Oh well, never mind,” said the remaining Eddie. “There will never be a shortage of chickens. And they died nobly in a glorious cause. Their names will be forever remembered. Whatever they were. Does anyone remember?”
Further voices clucked.
“What, no one? Well, never mind. Onward, ladies, on to victory. You’ll have to double up in all the soul-sucking-jar jobbies. Beam down those rays, suck up those souls and then we’ll nuke the place.”
Chicken voices cackled in a merry kind of a way.
“And then you’ll nuke the place?” asked a certain voice, which did not come through the headphones.
The remaining Eddie swung around in his chair. “You?” he went. “How’s this?”
“How’s this?” said Eddie Bear. “It’s me, that’s how it is.”
“But you’re dead.” The other Eddie pawed the autopilot. “You’re as dead as a donkey dodo.”
“The rumours of my death have been greatly exaggerated,” said Eddie, padding his way to the centre of the cockpit.[47] “As you can see, I am in remarkably fine fettle. And not too dead at all.”
“No!” And the other Eddie threw up his paws. “This cannot be, it cannot.”
“Well, it can be and it is,” said Eddie, squaring up before his other self. “And personally I think I deserve an award for my acting. I certainly had you fooled. And do you know what? Now that I’m back on my side of the barrier, back in my own world again, I feel fine. I’m as healthy as, and it’s time to set matters straight.”
“Time for you to die properly,” said Eddie’s other self.
“I think not,” said Eddie, making the fiercest of faces. “Now land this craft or know my wrath – I’ll bite your blinking head off.”
“Land this craft?” The other Eddie laughed.
“I really hate it when you laugh like that,” said Eddie Bear.
“Well, it is of no consequence to me. Guards, take this resurrected bear and throw him out of a porthole, or something.”