Of Ants and Dinosaurs

11 The Second Dinosaur–Ant War

The Ivory Citadel, which had been rebuilt atop the ruins of its predecessor (destroyed in the First Dinosaur–Ant War), was the largest ant city in the world. It had a population of 100 million ants, covered an area roughly equivalent to two football fields, and was the political, economic and cultural centre of the Ant Federation on the continent of Gondwana. The modern-day megalopolis bristled with high-rises, the most famous of which was the Federal Trade Tower; at five metres, this was the tallest building in the ant world.

Ordinarily, the citadel’s winding streets pullulated with a continuous torrent of ants going about their business, heading this way or that but always in unison. Since their high-rises did not require stairs – because ants could access any floor simply by slipping in from the outside – these rivers of ants often seemed to defy gravity, flowing in vertical waves all the way up the sides of the city’s skyscrapers. The citadel’s airspace was also generally a hive of activity, whirring with squadrons of diaphanous-winged drones. Most striking of all were the wind turbines that crowned the rooftops, as luminous as meadows of white flowers in full bloom.

Today, however, the usually bustling metropolis was deathly still. All of the citadel’s permanent residents had been evacuated, as had the vast numbers of ant workers returned from dinosaur cities. A mighty flood of several hundred million fleeing ants surged out from the eastern perimeters of the citadel and into the distance. To the west, a chain of towering metallic mountains had sprung up from the formerly endless plains: ten grotesque Gondwanan bulldozers had lined up side by side, their blades blocking the skyline in a cloud-scraping steel wall. The Gondwanan Empire had issued an ultimatum to the Ant Federation: if the strikers did not return to work within twenty-four hours, the bulldozers would level the Ivory Citadel. As the sun sank below the western horizon, their long shadows cast the city into darkness.

Early the next morning, the Second Dinosaur–Ant War began. A breeze cleared away the morning mist, and the newly risen sun shone upon a battlefield that seemed impossibly huge to the ants and claustrophobic to the dinosaurs. On the western perimeter of the Ivory Citadel, ant artillery units fanned out in an impressive twenty-metre-long line. Several hundred large-calibre guns glittered in the sunlight, the size of our firecrackers. Set back from the frontline, more than 1,000 guided missiles stood by in their launchers, each weapon about the length and breadth of one of our cigarettes. A covey of Ant Airforce reconnaissance planes circled the city, like tiny leaves caught in a whirlwind.

In the distance, the ten Gondwanan bulldozer operators started their engines. An almighty rumbling filled the air and as the vibrations travelled through the ground, the citadel shook as though rocked by an earthquake. The glass windows of its high-rises rattled in their frames.

Next to the bulldozers stood several dinosaur soldiers. One of them, an officer, raised his megaphone, angled it towards the city and began to shout.

‘Listen up, little bugs!’ he yelled. ‘If you don’t come back to work smartish, we’re gonna drive these handsome ’dozers right on over to your city and flatten it. It’ll be the work of minutes – eh, lads?’ He swivelled round briefly to smirk at his soldiers. ‘In fact, as you know, bug-lets, we don’t even need to go to that much trouble. To quote the immortal words of an esteemed general of the First Dinosaur–Ant War: “This city of yours is smaller than one of our kids’ toy sandpits. The children could flood it just by pissing on it!” Ha ha ha!’

There was no answer from the Ivory Citadel – not even to remind the officer of the unfortunate end that particular dinosaur general had met in the First Dinosaur–Ant War.

The dinosaur officer did not hesitate any longer. With a decisive wave of his claws, he screamed ‘Forward!’ and the bulldozers began to advance, picking up speed as they went. A soft hissing sound rose from the citadel, only just audible beneath the roar of the bulldozers, like air escaping a balloon. Thousands of superfine white threads shot out from the city and lengthened rapidly, as though the buildings had sprouted hair. These were the smoke trails of the ants’ missiles. The barrage of missiles soared over the open ground between the city and the bulldozers, raining down on the hulking great machines and the dinosaurs behind them.

The dinosaur officer caught one of the missiles in his claws. It exploded in his palm with a puff of smoke. He yelped in pain and flung the fragments away, but when he opened his claws to look, only a tiny flap of skin had been torn off. Several dozen more missiles struck him, detonating with sharp pops all over his bulky frame. As he swatted at his sides, he burst out laughing. ‘Oh, your missiles are just like mosquitoes! I’m itching all over!’

The ant artillery began its bombardment. The line of guns flashed with fire, as though someone had lit a string of firecrackers and tossed it onto the Ivory Citadel’s doorstep. Shells pelted the dinosaurs and their vehicles, but the explosions were drowned out by the ear-splitting thumps and clunks of the bulldozers and the ammunition left nothing but smudges on the cabin windscreens.

Less than two metres in front of the bulldozers, more than 1,000 ant aircraft suddenly rocketed straight up from the ground, their gossamer wings glittering in the sunlight. They propelled themselves over the tall blades of the bulldozers and alighted on the vibrating yellow metal of the vehicles’ front hoods. Looking upwards, all the ants could see was the endless shine of windscreens reflecting the blue sky and white clouds overhead, obscuring the dinosaur drivers inside.

In the centre of each engine hood was a row of vents plenty wide enough for the ants to scuttle through. Once inside, they found themselves in a dreadful universe of gargantuan steel pipes and enormous spinning wheels. The suffocating air stank of diesel and the incessant din rattled the ants into numb stupefaction. But they had been well primed by their superior officers. They braced themselves against the swirling gales generated by the huge cooling fans and followed their predetermined route, marching over the rolling ridges of the pipes, unfazed by the tangle of tubes, being natural experts at mazes. The units tasked with finding the engine’s spark plugs quickly located them: four towering pagodas some distance ahead. It was not necessary for the soldier ants to approach the plugs – in fact, they had been warned that the electric fields around the plugs could easily kill them. Instead they focused on the lone wires that dangled from the top of each spark plug; these trailed on the ground near the ants, each one about as thick as the ants were long. Coming to a halt beside these wires, the soldier ants removed the mine-grains they’d been carrying on their backs and deployed them, three or four mines to a wire. They set the timer knob on each mine, then quickly withdrew.

Unlike the miniature incendiary devices used in the First Dinosaur–Ant War, these mines were specially designed for disconnecting wires. A brief but brilliant indoor fireworks display ensued: blasts popped and crackled, neatly severing the four wires, and the broken ends fizzed and sizzled in a blinding shower of sparks as they made contact with the metal casing.

The disconnected spark plugs could no longer ignite the fuel. The loss of motive power brought the bulldozers to an abrupt halt, and inertia threw several ants off the pipes.

While all of this was happening, other ant contingents had gone in search of the fuel lines. These were much thicker than the spark-plug wires, and through the clear plastic walls the ants could clearly see fuel coursing down the tubes. They clambered on top of them, encircled them with a dozen mine-grains each, then retreated, mission accomplished.

The bulldozers had advanced about 200 metres when they suddenly stopped, one after the other. Two or three minutes later, six of them burst into flames. Their dinosaur drivers hopped out of the cabs and fled. Before they’d got very far, several of the burning bulldozers exploded. The ants standing guard around the Ivory Citadel could see nothing but thick smoke and sky-high flames.

The drivers of the four vehicles that had not caught fire returned to them. Buffeted by the heat coming off the other bulldozers, they lifted the hoods to check the engines and soon worked out what the problem was. One of the dinosaurs instinctively pulled a signal rod from his pocket. These rods could emit ant pheromones, and the dinosaurs used them to summon ant maintenance technicians. The driver stared at the flashing signal rod for a long time before he remembered that the ants no longer worked for him. Cursing, he stooped to reconnect the wires himself, but his claws were too big to fit inside the engine and pull the wires out. The other three dinosaurs were having the same problem. One of them had the bright idea of using a twig to hook out the wires, but even then his clumsy fingers could not re-join the wires, which repeatedly slipped from his grasp. Pretty soon, the drivers had no choice but to leave their bulldozers to the mercy of the flames that were now spreading from the vehicles alongside.

Observing this, the ants erupted into cheers, but Field Marshal Jolie of the Ant Federation Army, who had directed the battle from an armoured car, responded with cool-headed pragmatism and calmly gave the order to retreat. In fact, the artillery and missile units were already long gone. As the remaining ant troops winged their way east, the Ivory Citadel became a true ghost town.

The dinosaurs, meanwhile, were gazing shamefacedly at the row of blazing bulldozers. Pretty soon their embarrassment turned to fury. The officer was apoplectic. ‘You loathsome pests,’ he spluttered, ‘did you really think you could get one over on us? Seriously? We only brought those bulldozers along for a lark. Watch carefully now, you pea-brained parvenus! Mess with the mighty Gondwanans and see what hell your toy city reaps!’

Ten minutes later, a Gondwanan bomber flew low over the Ivory Citadel. As its massive shadow engulfed the city, it released a bomb the size of one of our tanker trucks. An eerie scream echoed through the air as the bomb plummeted towards the city’s central plaza. There was an earth-shaking boom and a thick black column of dust rose 100 metres into the sky. When eventually the dust settled and the smoke cleared, all that was left of the Ivory Citadel was a blasted crater of scorched, pulverised soil. Turbid groundwater began to well up through the base of the crater, submerging all remaining traces of the ant world’s greatest city.

The dinosaurs were also wreaking their revenge over in Laurasia. Greenstead, the Ant Federation’s hub city on that continent, was annihilated at almost the precise same instant. Its handsome high-rises and chic metropolitan cityscapes were razed by the high-pressure hose of a Laurasian fire engine. When the water jets ceased, there was not a solid structure still standing, just a sticky, stinky, inglorious mudflat.