I watched horrified as the hostage was brutalised. Beheaded. In this single act, a stark escalation of the violence, the Extremist Western Australian Rabbits breached the 2033 Second Calicivirus Treaty. Enraged, I reached for my gun. It was useless to me, outnumbered as we were, but its cold steel was comforting and I felt less impotent in the face of this act of terror.
I knew what would come now, it was inevitable. The Australian Federation of Humans and Natives would have to respond, to attack. To take the offensive. The Second Calicivirus would be unleashed again. Rabbits would die in the thousands, forcing their allies to respond. Forcing the Northern Cane Empire to take charge. Our long running peace with the Cane Toads would be shattered, and the might of the Canes would devastate the Federation. The Rabbits would then repopulate the southern parts of Australia once the Cane’s returned to warmer, more comfortable climes.
This signalled the end of human Australia. The end of everything I hold dear.
I looked at my remaining men. Young, inexperienced and frightened. But brave, oh so very brave. I smiled at them and nodded; I received nods in return. They understood. Guns were gripped, swords were loosened in their scabbards.
We might be outnumbered, we might be doomed, but we were here, and this crime could not go unanswered. It was time to take the offensive.
It was time for a hare-cut.
I know what you are asking. You’re asking, “Did he really just spend 238 words on a dad-joke?”
Yes I did.
And I regret nothing.