24. ST MARY’S INSTITUTE OF HISTORICAL RESEARCH INCIDENT REPORT
Competition entry by Amanda Green
Security Section Technical Report by Louisa (Lou) Natic
Napoleon and the Rampaging Rabbits, France 1807
I have been informed that it is my responsibility to record “this complete and utter shambles…” Also known as our jump to France 1807 to see exactly how, according to lead historian Stan Still, “a bunch of bunnies could foil one of the greatest military strategists of all time”. It was my first solo jump as a security officer, but I was confident everything would be absolutely fine. What could possibly go wrong?
Entering the pod, Still and Sharp took positions at the console. The techies finished their checks. Asking the Chief if we were fit for duty, he raised an eyebrow at me, stating the pod was ready, but he could not confirm the fitness of the crew. Rude. We settled in, then Sharp turned the funniest shade of green I had ever seen. Opening the door, she projectile vomited into Hawking. There was a loud sigh from Chief Sparks. Sharp mumbled about chicken last night, and something being wrong with it. Silence descended over Hawking as the Chief and I scanned the surrounding area for any signs of Mrs Salt, our ladle-wielding head of kitchen, but the coast was clear. I escorted Sharp to sick bay, recounted the event, suggesting she be quarantined for her (and everyone else’s) protection. The doctor agreed.
I had left Still to recruit a second historian. I returned to the pod to find Eileen Dover in the second chair, and because you can never have too many historians on a jump, Justin Case suspiciously loitering by the lockers. Asking why he was there, Still told me just in case. I knew who he was but let it go. Historians are weird.
As Still initiated the jump I realised three things.
Firstly, the kettle was out.
Secondly, Dover had a rubber chicken in her basket.
Thirdly, the pod was home to the biggest tarantula in the world. And it had decided to nest in my hair.
It was utter chaos. In my haste to rid myself of the gargantuan tarantula, the kettle had been knocked over, the basket overturned under the console, and Case was laughing his tits off at me “screaming like a girl.” Dover managed to extract the monstrosity from my hair, proclaiming it to be no bigger than a money spider. Still mopped up the console, declaring it to be “All Absolutely Fine” while ignoring the small wisps of smoke coming from it. Thankfully, we had landed where we wanted to be, a small, wooded copse at one edge of the field just before dawn. Now we waited. The historians declared it was time tea. Dover retrieved the basket, shoved the chicken back in, and pulled out the biscuits.
Chocolate Hobnobs,
God-tier biscuits.
It’s the only reason we keep the historians around.
Hours later, carts arrived carrying rabbit filled cages. Still activated the recorders. Case commented on reports putting the number of bunnies anywhere from a few hundred to thousands. No one else appeared so we went back to drinking tea. Still and Dover discussed the likelihood of Napoleon’s defeat by bunnies. Case snoozed on the floor. I contemplated why Dover had a rubber chicken while looking for the killer tarantula.
Napoleon arrived mid-afternoon. Stepping out of his imperial coach, he was in high spirits, laughing with his officers as they waited. Rifles were checked and drink flowed freely. The rabbits were being prepared for release. Case wanted to exit the Pod for a closer look, but Dover thought the risk from the rifles was too high. I agreed with Dover. As lead security officer, I had the final say but I had spotted the monstrous tarantula on the control panel so was a little distracted. Still ignored everything. Laying eyes on his idol in person had turned him into a teenage girl at a boy band concert. There was drool.
I feel it necessary to preface the next part of my report by saying:
This. Was. Not. My. Fault.
Things happened quickly. The tarantula appeared, watching me with beady eyes, smirking. I raised my mug, slamming it on the mighty beast who escaped. My mug shattered. There was a startled yelp of surprise from Case followed by an angry shout from Dover. My nemesis had been sat on the door open button. When I went in for the kill it released the door which Case had been pressed against, in an attempt to get as far away from Dover as he could, who was brandishing the rubber chicken at him. He fell through the door, caught hold of the chicken and pulled Dover down. Both were now outside. Still stifled a laugh, went to help them, but caught his foot on the basket, tumbling forwards on the pile, uttering “bollocks” before his voice was drowned out by Dover’s shriek of pain as he landed heavily on her knee. No one seemed to have heard us. Asserting my authority, I told them to be bloody quiet. Dover’s knee was already starting to swell as we helped her to a chair. She clutched the chicken to her breast and scowled. Taking advantage of the distraction, Case and Still got closer to the action. With Dover safe, I left to secure the other two reprobates. Sorry, historians.
We stood in awe. Thousands of bunnies enjoyed a lovely summer’s afternoon. History reported bunnies were released and immediately attacked. This was incorrect. Case had his recorder out, documenting the serenity of the scene. Still was taking close ups of Napoleon. I commented on the discrepancies, Still agreed. It was at that moment that pandemonium erupted around us. A sudden feeling of uneasiness coupled with nausea and dizziness descended on us. I had experienced this during training and knew it was the sonic dispersal alarm on the pod. We quickly retreated, instant relief as the door closed behind us. Dover sat, stroking the chicken in her arms. We turned off the sonic device, but the damage was done. Napoleon and his officers recovered quickly but thousands of bunnies were marauding. Laughter turned to shrieks and shouts as the bunnies appeared to organise themselves into two, attacking from each side. Napoleon tried to shoot at bunnies advancing his position but was soon overwhelmed, retreating to his carriage. The bunnies gave chase, and Corsican profanities emanated from his carriage alongside the occasional flying bunny. In the field, bunnies clambered over officers, who used anything they could find to beat off the ferocious attack. When only the victorious bunny regiment remained, we turned off the recording equipment, secured the pod and returned to St Mary’s.
In sick bay, Dover was found to have suffered a spider bite which had quickly become infected, accounting for her attraction to the rubber chicken. Once sedated, the Doctor was able to remove the chicken from her grasp, and its location is now a closely guarded secret.
It was never decided how the sonic device was activated. Dover claimed no memory of the event. I must conclude that it is possibly that Napoleon’s defeat at the paws of the rampaging rabbits could be attributed to St Mary’s.
However, I reiterate. This was not my fault
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