Charge of the mice brigade

Slick crouched behind a mound of straw in the strawberry patch to eavesdrop on the Mouse Council meeting. He wanted to know exactly what was going on and exactly how the elders proposed to rid the land of the vile Ratscal and the rest of the rodent population.
"You're going to get us into trouble, Slick," whispered his sister as she nestled herself amongst a twist of golden straw.
"I don't care, Tawny. That rodent killed our brother and I want to know what's going to be done about him," Slick yipped as he stamped a paw down into the small squishy strawberry, half eaten by birds, that lay at his feet.
Slick pricked his ears and listened as his father spoke from on top of a rock pedestal beneath the canopy of a pink-veined rhubarb leaf, down to the elder mice that gathered on the ground below him.
"Alas, I have to warn you, fellow residents of Mousewell Hill, that we are indeed under threat," announced his father with his head hung low.
The gasps from the growing crowd of mice that scurried in from every direction was clearly audible.
"We will have to evacuate the house. The rats are closing in on us, lured in by the abundance of food, and we are powerless against them. They are too many and too mighty. The death of my beloved son, Twitch, is a sad testament to that fact. So I urge you now, one and all, to pack your belongings and move away from this place."
Slick was indignant.
"He's giving up?"
"Don't be sore, Slick," said Tawny as she reached out a paw to comfort him.
"I'm not sore, I'm angry. How can he just give up? Why should we be the ones to leave."
"Dad just probably thinks it's for the best."
"He's a coward."
Tawny gasped. "How could you say such a thing?"
Slick sighed and twiddled the end of his whiskers, the way he always did when he realised he'd either said or done something wrong.
"I'm sure dad didn't take that decision lightly. I'm sure he just thought there was nothing else that he could do."
Slick gave her a sly look and then sat up on his haunches. "He might not be able to do anything, but we can," he said before bounding through the straw away from the elders.
"What do you mean we?" shouted Tawny behind him.
Slick had a master plan. All he needed was help to carry it out. It didn't take long to convince Littlefoot, the promise of food was enough to assure his allegiance, and Woody was easily swayed to Slick's way of thinking too, anything so that he didn't have to move "yet again". With them on board Slick knew that other kinlings would join them. Soon he would have an army.
That afternoon, whilst the elders were busy sorting their own affairs, Slick gathered his troops beneath the kitchen floorboards. With just a faint light streaming through a crack in the oak above him, Slick delivered his manifesto for the defeat of the rats.
"Are we united?" he shouted.
"Yes!" everyone cried.
"Are we gonna let them drive us out?"
"No!"
"Can we defeat them?"
"Yes!"
The air was thick with optimism and as Slick explained the various parts of his plan he was envigorated by how excited everyone was. But whilst he was riding on a cloud his sister quietly pointed out the dangers he was exposing everyone to.
"Someone might get hurt, Slick. Are you really prepared to carry that weight on your shoulders? the responsibility? You saw how deflated dad looked just now in front of the elders. He blames himself for Twitch's death. It was him that ordered Twitch to guard the entrance to the den."
Slick stretched out his neck and stood as tall as he could. "This is different. This is attack, not defence. We have the advantage of surprise. And besides, there's safety in numbers."
Nothing could dissuade Slick from carrying out his master plan. It was now or never.
As the sun began to set and the house they lived within quietened Slick gathered his army.
"Woody, you're in charge of the trap. Scratch, you need a wooden spatula and a rock. Whiskers you get to the windmill, and Littlefoot you're with me."
Littlefoot raised a paw. "Slick, how do we know when to start, the assault?"
"You'll see them."
Littlefoot frowned and scratched his head. "But where are they coming from?"
Slick tapped his paw impatiently on the dusty earth of the house's foundations. "The first rule of combat. Know your foe. The rats live in the sewer. That grate in the yard on the otherside of the back fence leads to their home, their present home. They don't like the sewer as it's smelly, which seems strange to me because they stink. Anyway, they want to move. They want to move to somewhere nice."
"Like here!" chirped Littlefoot.
"Exactly, Littlefoot," said Slick, shaking his head. "But here is nice. Here is dry and warm and cosy and not smelly and wet. But if they move in, we have to move out."
"But we don't wanna move out," retorted Littlefoot.
Slick clapped his hands. "Exactly, we don't want to leave. So the only want we can stay here is if we fight them, to the death...or as close as we can get to it."
"Yeah!" everyone cried and barged past Littlefoot, sending him into a spin.
Slick climbed up the drainpipe beneath the sink and broke through into the kitchen cupboard behind everyone, except Littlefoot.
Slick heaved him up. "Aw Littlefoot you need to lay off the nuts. You're turning into a real porker," he said.
"I can't help it. I don't burn it off as quickly as I used to," replied Littlefoot.
"Well, you'll have plenty of opportunity to shrink that waistline tonight. That's for sure."
By the time they climbed out of the cupboard and into the kitchen everyone had disappeared. With only the stream of silvery moonlight shining in through the kitchen window to guide him Slick skidded across the smooth linoleum to the cupboard on the other side.
"What are we lookin for, Slick?"
Slick squeezed himself through the narrow gap between the door and the unit, feeling grateful that the owners of the house didn't have cupboards that closed properly. "We're looking for an incentive," he said just as he spotted something that would work perfectly.
With his jaw clamped round the bag he pulled and heaved and dragged it out of the cupboard, practically crushing himself beneath it.
"Peanuts!" whispered Littlefoot, with eyes as wide as marbles.
"They're not for you, so keep your grubby little paws off," Slick said and dragged the peanuts out through the cat flap and across the lawn.
On route they passed Scratch who'd swiped a wooden spatula from the jar in the kitchen and was resting it over a rock amongst the grass. Then they passed Whiskers in the flower bed. He'd tipped a miniature windmill over until it rested on the concrete edging. Just ahead was Woody and a few others. They's just finished digging a large hole and were busily lining it with black, plastic bin liners.
"On schedule, Woody?" asked Slick.
"Just about, Slick. Few more minutes I think."
"Excellent," he replied before gnawing a large hole in the bag of peanuts.
"I thought we weren't supposed to eat them," said Littlefoot.
"I'm not," said Slick. He spat out a lump of clear plastic and carried on gnawing.
"He's making a hole," said Woody.
"So are none of us getting to eat the nuts then?" asked Littlefoot.
"No," replied Woody.
Before Littlefoot could ask yet another question about the purpose of the nuts, Slick dragged the bag toward the fence at the back of the garden, leaving a trail of them on the grass, as they slid out of the bag.
When the bag was empty Slick tossed it to the side and scurried back through the grass. Behind him he could hear the pitter patter of fat paws and the grating sound of plump tails dragging through the grit. It was them. There were on their way.
Slick was so busy making sure he was out of harms way he forgot about Littlefoot. But when he turned to find him he heard a squeal and then saw a plump, brown rat with black beady eyes and sharp white teeth clamped round the pink tail of Littlefoot.
"Ratscal," hissed Slick. "Let him go!"
"Or what?" spat another Rat. It stepped out from behind Ratscal and sneered at Slick.
All Slick could think about was his brother. The sight of Ratscal clutching Littlefoot made his blood boil and his stomach twist itself up into a knot. As Ratscal advanced Slick puffed out his chest to make himself bigger and meaner.
Ratscal tossed Littlefoot into a clump of dandelions and let out a wicked chuckle.
"There's no escape, Slick, brother of Twitch," he sneered.
"You're right there," Slick said and turned towards Whiskers. "Let 'em have it, Whiskers," he yelled.
Slick ducked as Ratscal and his followers were pelted with rocks. They smacked off their heads, their rumps, their stumpy legs and anything else that was in their path.
Slick could hear the yelps and squeals of Ratscal's cronies as they tried to shield themselves from the stony missiles. But as they darted to and fro some ran headlong toward Scratch. The moment one of them stepped onto the end of the spatula, Scratch jumped down onto the other end and propelled through the air. Others headed toward Woody who was waiting, the string of the plastic bag clenched between his teeth and when two rats fell into his hole and into the bag he pulled the drawstring tight, sealing them inside the bag.
Ratscal narrowed his eyes and skulked towards Slick. He ran a rough tongue over his pointed nashers. Slick stood his ground. He wasn't about to run away. But just as Ratscal crouched down, ready to pounce at Slick a clear bag was pulled over his head causing Ratscal to stumble forward. He knocked his head against a large rock jutting out from between two dandelions. When he got up his eyes seemed as though they were rolling around in his head and he staggered two and fro before tipping over and passing out.
Everyone began leaping and jumping about, celebrating their victory over their foe, everyone except Slick. From behind him approach Tawny.
"I heard the fracas from inside the house," she said. "So you got what you wanted then?"
Slick stared at the still body of Ratscal. "Not everything," he sighed. "But then the biggest Mouse Army in the world can't give me that."
Tawny raised a paw and placed it on his shoulder. "You avenged him. I think he'd be pretty darn pleased with that," she said.