Chapter 7: For the Millions!
By Jeffrey Kieviet
“When Winston Churchill heard about the attack on Pearl Harbor, he broke out a bottle of champagne and said, ‘We’ve won the war.’ His generals looked at him like he’d lost his mind. America’s pacific fleet was wiped out, France was overrun, and the Luftwaffe was bombing London. Churchill said America is like a giant boiler. Light a fire under it, and there’s no limit to the amount of heat it can generate.” – Lex Luthor
“You done f*cked up now…” – Winston Churchill
The beach of Normandy was littered with bodies oozing their fluids into the endless ocean, the once pearly blue surf now looked like rancid clamato juice and smelled just as horrid. All of the maimed and decrepit bodies belonged to Nazis or Italian fascist soldiers, all except one. Gargantuan in stature, the dead kaiju occupied a quarter mile of beach, riddled with bullet holes, stab wounds, burns and explosions, its amphibious carcass gave the air that clammy-fishy smell. The kaiju’s blue blood leaked from its body like a broken faucet that your wife keeps nagging you to fix and you say you’ll do it eventually but you just never get around to it so she hires a Mr. Fix-It who happens to look like a male model and now your wife has left you all because of some stupid leaky faucet… the blue blood mixed down shore off of the main mayhem, giving the place where waters met a surreal purple glow.
Shark Horse observed the carnage with a detached pride; he had outdone himself this time. Back in the secret Nazi compound, he’d single handedly dispatched a hundred Nazis. 200 tops. But this… there were thousands. Tens of thousands. Hundreds of tens of thousands. Millions.
Of course, he wouldn’t have been able to accomplish such a magnificent massacre had he not been in control of the once living kaiju. But even a Godzilla-like monster is mortal, and there had just been so many damn Nazi scum. Thankfully, Shark Horse had killed them all before allowing the kaiju’s body to fail. He’d tried to wade back out into the ocean, hoping the body would be swept away, but he’d only made it a few steps before blood loss and physical damage caused his link with the beast to fail, and the corpse toppled like Jenga tower. A Jenga tower knocked over by an annoying little brother who knew he no longer had a chance to win.
So Shark Horse walked the beach, taking his time dining on the delicious Nazi blood, the one true thing that could satiate his hunger. When a familiar voice called from the top of the beach.
He looked around. Shark Horse couldn’t see where the voice was coming from, but the memorable charm chilled him to his core. Heading away from the surf, Shark Horse made his way up the beach. Over a dune, where the sand joined the grass, he found the source of the evil voice.
A grotesque sewer rat, almost hairless and covered in sores and scabs stood on its hind legs, staring at him, and it smiled with Dr. Josef Mengele’s sinister grin. “Do you know the meaning of the name ‘Joseph?’” the rat asked in Mengele’s German accent, villainy seeping from every syllable. “It means, ‘God will increase.’ And it is very suiting, don’t you think? For I have increased the Führer’s army ten-fold, and you have increased your power beyond measure. Controlling such a beast as that tempestuous kaiju? Very impressive. Where are your little turtle friends?”
Shark Horse grimaced. He wanted to devour the hideous rat fiend, regardless of how disgusting the thing was, he could swallow it whole in one bite. But he needed answers. Time for a little quid pro quo.
“Safe. Back in their home,” he answered. Shark Horse recalled how banged up the turtle-chimeras were after their battle with the kaiju, poor Raph had it the worst, a gaping gash was all that remained of his right eye. Once Shark Horse had taken control of the kaiju and the action had died down, Leo had received a call on his shell phone.
“Please-a! Helpa me. They founda me. Oh, mama mia!” There was a terrified scream as Mario Emmanuel III’s voice was replaced by the similar Italian rattle of Luigi Mussolini.
“You-a better come quick, Shark Horse. I-a wouldn’t want you-a to-a miss the final showdown…” The line went dead. After another minute, Leo’s shell phone got a text with a short, simple message: “D-Day.”
The turtles wanted to help, but Shark Horse saw the state they were in and told them to take care of themselves, hide out, heal, live to fight another day. Besides, he now controlled a kaiju, he could handle whatever Mussolini’s descendent had in store for him.
“Raph’s hurt pretty bad, guys,” Mike had said in a pleading tone.
“Shut up, bitch! Agh-“ Raph had cried as he tried to stop the puss leaking from his eye socket.
“He’s right Raph,” Don chimed in.
“Let’s have Master Splinter look at you,” Leo commanded.
“Master Splinter is probably off cooking pizza in his underground production facility with his new best friend Gale,” Raph mocked in a hurtful tone, although the hurt seemed to resonate more in regard to his relationship with Master Splinter than because of his injury.
“All the same,” Leo said, “Shark Horse can handle it from here.”
And with that, Shark Horse had controlled the kaiju, walking into the ocean until the water was well overhead. Whatever military was left undamaged in the epic battle stayed in Hawaii to treat their wounded, plus once Shark Horse was fully submerged, he took off like a torpedo toward the only fitting location this war could conclude: the beaches of Normandy, the World War II parallels leading to the inevitable D-Day.
Now, staring into the ugly rat face of Josef Mengele, Shark Horse knew this was the end. “How are you alive?” Shark Horse asked. The last time he’d seen Mengele, Shark Horse had bit the man in twain.
“Like you,” Mengele replied, “as a chimera I can control other beings. In that last moment before you… ate me,” the rat shuddered, ”I felt for the nearest living thing and drifted, made a jump into the despicable creature you see before you.” The thing spread his shriveled arms as if to present himself in a formal bow. “Although, I haven’t been able to transfer forms since that fateful day. Yesterday, if memory serves me right.”
Shark Horse thought about it. Had all this really happened in just one day? Killing the Nazis, meeting Luigi Mussolini & Mario Emmanuel III, training with the chimera-turtles and battling the kaiju? It felt like a lifetime ago. He chuckled to himself. Literally, a lifetime ago he had been Joseph “Dark Horse” Sigo. Now he was an unstoppable force. Mengele seemed to be an unkillable object. What happens when an unstoppable force meets and unkillable object? Just before he could leap and try to destroy the terrible doctor, another figure stepped out from behind a rock.
The green hat and the mustache were a dead give away, even before he heard the Italian accent. “Woah, woah, woah, nota so fast.” Luigi Mussolini held his poor chubby brother in front of him like a shield, a gleaming knife held to Mario’s throat.
Risking his bulbous Adam’s apple, Mario squeeked, “the turtles? They-a are alrighta?”
Luigi tightened his grip on his hostage.
“Yes,” Shark Horse said, “they are alive.”
Mario shed a single tear, and smiled with a sad relief.
“You-a see,” Mussolini said, “we-a did nota think you-a could stopa so many. Buta you-a have proven to-a be a fromidable foe-a.”
“That’s ‘formidable,’ asshole.” Shark Horse grinned his toothy grin. The turtles pentiant for grammar had worn off on him.
“I see-a.” Mussolini mused. “Doctore, showa him, will you-a?”
The rat pulled a small remote from him back and clicked a button. The earth shook and trembled. For a second, Shark Horse feared Mengele had created a device capable of causing earthquakes, but when the ground split in front of him, he saw a mechanical tube rise from the ground. A gleaming metal contraption that erupted into a point, at least 50 feet tall.
“In this vessel,” Mengele explained, “is the frozen body of Adolf Hitler. We have waited decades for the technology to bring him back to life. I thought the answer lied with you. I was wrong.”
“Wait, your plan wasn’t for me to get addicted to Nazi blood so I would be forced to bring back the Third Reich so I would have a food source?” Shark Horse was a bit taken back.
“What? No! That’s ridiculous. That’s…” Mengele’s eyes gleamed. “Actually, that would have been a really good idea. But no. Nazis just taste good. Everyone underestimates German cooking. Regardless. You see, you are more than the common chimera. Look what you did with the kaiju! Surely, somewhere in your blood lies the answer to this mortal coil from which we all must shuffle one day. I hoped to be able to bring the Führer back from the frozen wasteland he calls home by unlocking your genetic code. But another answer has risen. Disney.” The word seeped venom.
“Disney?” Shark Horse was confused. The mad doctor had surely lost his mind.
“Disney-a.” Luigi echoed.
“Disney-a?” Mario queried back.
“Yes! Disney!” Mengele’s voice was booming, even coming from the small rat throat. “Have you not been paying attention to the news? Disney ownes everything: super heroes, Star Wars, mermaids & princesses. They now have enough money to buy God.” Shark Horse was not sure if Mengele was speaking metaphorically. “And since the late & great Walt Disney was also frozen, just like our leader here,” he gestured to the spaceship, “the good people at Disneyland have finally found a way to undo the freezing process. They have brought Walt back! We have the technology, I just got off the phone with Walt a few minutes ago and he wants to bring Hitler back almost as much as I do. Once we are done with you, Joseph, the Third Reich will rise again!”
He laughed a maniacal, evil, super villain laugh. Luigi joined in as well, a cacophony of psychotic laughter. Mario began to weep silently to himself.
“You’re insane! Look, just let Mario go and we can get you 2 some professional help. Maybe some Xanax or something.” Shark Horse didn’t know what else to say. How do you reason with crazy people. You don’t, you just kill them!
Shark Horse leapt at the tiny rat-man and crashed head first into an invisible force-field. Blood began to pour from his snout. He must have broken his nose. He moved to the left and then to the right, looking for a way around the unseen wall, but on both sides he bumped into the same force-field.
“That is right, poor fool!” Mengele yelled at him. “While you have been sitting here wasting time listening to our plans, unbeknownst to you I have trapped you in an impenetrable box. The box is shrinking, can you feel it? Any moment now you are going to be crushed into a tiny cube of broken bone and bleeding death.
“Anda this isa the last thinga you-a will see-a before you-a die!” Luigi Mussolini’s face smeared in a look of intense pleasure and horrific guilt as he slid the knife across Mario Emmanuel III’s throat, blood spurted like that stupid leaking faucet and sprayed towards Shark Horse, painting the invisible box with red.
The last twinkling of a star died in Mario’s eyes as he fell face first into the sand. But there was no time to worry about that now, Shark Horse could see the outline of his invisible death trap in graphic, bloody detail. The box was shrinking, he didn’t have much room, he didn’t have much time!
So he did the only thing he could think to do: he sat. Trying to fold his hind legs under him as best he could, he placed his front hooves together in a lotus-prayer position, and meditated. He sought his center, his peaceful place as the turtle-chimeras had taught him to do. With every ounce of his being he reached out, trying with a desperate last hope to find some salvation. And then he found it.
They say after death the brain still sends out electric impulses for a few short minutes. This is true. Some people think this is what heaven or hell is, the last couple blips your brain makes as you die, some sort of eternal dream. But Shark Horse didn’t want the dream. He just wanted one final impulse. With everything he had, he grabbed the kaiju’s brain and swung the beast’s monstrous clawed hand down on the box as hard as he could. It didn’t break.
But it cracked.
A small, silver sliver splintered the left side of the box. So Shark Horse stood and charged and burst forth like a baby from the womb of that cheating whore who got knocked up by Mr. Fix-It.
Dr. Josef Mengele & Luigi Mussolini stood for a moment in shocked terror. Fast as a rat deserting a sinking ship, Mengele jumped into the spaceship and slammed the door behind him. Luigi ran after him, pummeling his fists, shouting and crying to be let in. But Mengele looked out of the portal window with a look of dismay on his rat face. Mengele lifted his remote control to the window so Luigi could see it, and he pressed a button.
With a blast that knocked both Luigi and Shark Horse to their backs, the spaceship plummeted into the air, taking Mengele & the frozen body of Adolf Hitler to hide among the stars.
As Shark Horse got to his feet, he told himself he would stop them. With whatever it took, he would not let Hitler return to power. But they could wait until another day. Right now, he had Mussolini to deal with.
Luigi Mussolini was crawling to his feet. He grabbed the knife next to the dead body of his brother. Half-brother. Whatever. Pathetically, he brandished the knife toward Shark Horse, the blade glinting in the sun as Luigi’s hand trembled with fear. Shark Horse grinned his fearsome, toothy grin, and the knife fell, blade first, sinking into the sand.
Then Shark Horse reared and, with a sound that was a cross between a horse’s whinny and a shark’s growl, he cock-slapped that fascist bastard so hard his head flew off, soaring a thousand feet, and landing in the ocean with a soft splash.
Now I know what some of you are saying: wasn’t Sea Wind, the original horse Joseph Sigo transmitted into, a mare? A female horse? Well, you’re right. But “clit-slapped” doesn’t have the same ring as “cock-slapped,” does it? But that’s exactly what happened. Even as a female, Shark Horse is hung like a horse.
Mengele had escaped. Mario Emmanuel III & Luigi Mussolini were dead. So much had happened in little over a day; Shark Horse needed time to figure out his next move. So he waded out into the ocean, swam to its deepest depths, and meditated. He had a lot to think about.
For some reason, Japan had stuck their head where it didn’t belong. Sending a kaiju to Pearl Harbor was just despicable and America had to retaliate. After working a small deal with the French government, America was able to claim what was left of broken body of the kaiju. Using 3,000 helicopters, they were able to live the behemoth from the shores of Normandy and fly it high into the sky. Once they were generally located over the island of Japan, the ‘copters flew up and up, higher and higher, until the air was so thin it could hardly support them. Then simultaneously, they released the payload.
If you recall, the way we ended World War II was by dropping a couple nukes on Japan and, while atrocious crimes against humanity, it did seem to put a stop to all their fartin’ around in our affairs. And since, with the recent kaiju attack, we didn’t actually know what faction of Japan was our enemy, we figured dropping a beast the size of a small city anywhere on the island would send the message loud and clear.
The creature hit with the force of small warhead, sending bits of scaly flesh and blue blood all over the country, causing far more damage to property and morale than any atomic weapon. We haven’t heard any retaliation since. Go ‘Merica!
But don’t worry, Shark Horse will return in: Let Them Eat Cake!