Disclaimer:

All characters of "Chip'n'Dale Rescue Rangers" cartoon series are property of the Walt Disney Corporation and are used without permission for the sole purpose of personal entertainment. All other characters and events depicted in the story are a product of author's imagination.

Texts of songs "Slender Frame" and "The Living Daylights" by a-ha are all property of their respected owners and are used without permission for the sole purpose of personal entertainment and needed mood creation.

Offensive Care

by Gyrotank

Chapter 1

Overhead Hardships

*1*

December 8th, evening

The winter enveloped the city little by little, gradually infiltrating the houses through windows and doors while the inhabitants were absent. It announced its presence in the evening, forcing people who came home seeking warmth and comfort to rush to the kitchen in a hurry instead and hop impatiently around the boiling kettle, longing to prepare another cup of something hot to warm up. At times like this it doesn't matter whether it's your fifth or tenth cup that day, because you need it like never before. It's one of those simple pleasures you miss the most when you can't have one. And tall black-haired man standing on the windswept railway platform, his fine-featured face half-covered with thick scarf, waiting in impatience bordering on agony for the train with the most important cargo in his, his family's and his business' history, knew this particular feeling all too well.

A young gaunt man wearing glasses with thick lenses that hid short-sighted but keen and tenacious glare came up to him.

"Coffee, Mr. Vernier?" he asked.

Mathieu Vernier, American of French origin, turned to him and took a plastic cup with his hand, trembling from the cold and anxiety. The coffee made by vending machine was disgusting for the taste of the owner of three restaurants, but still came in handy.

"Thanks, Steven. Any news?"

"Nobody says anything for sure. But I managed to call through to the man in charge of cargo transportation in the area. Name's Sanders. He should come here any minute."

"Great work, Steven. Where would I be without you?"

The consultant smiled lightly but said nothing in response to his boss' phrase du joir. He wasn't expected to answer anything in the first place, and Mr. Vernier would be very surprised if his assistant said something.

By the time Olmer Sanders, head of the local office of Pacific branch of Union Pacific Railroads, arrived, the restaurateur had finished his second cup of bad but hot coffee. The stout man roused by the late and irate phone call was quite out of puff after his hasty stroll from the parking lot and had to catch some breath before addressing his vexed clients.

"I'm honored to meet you, Mr. Varny!" he started right off the bat. "It's a rare opportunity to behold such a client in person! The birds of your feather usually don't come down to receive the cargo personally!"

"My name is Vernier and I'm starting to regret of not staying in the skies!" annoyed Frenchman said through his teeth. He rolled up his sleeve in an emphatic manner and looked at his golden watch. "My cargo was scheduled to arrive two hours ago, Mr. Sanders! That's preposterous!"

"I know, sir," the head railman made a helpless gesture. "But I can't do anything here—"

"And who can, then?" the cargo owner asked with meticulous curiosity. "Whomever I ask both here and in Sea-City, all say that's not their business! Terrible, plainly terrible…"

"Sometimes trains are overdue, mister—"

"No! Not this time! Not today! Not this train!" Vernier crumpled the empty plastic cup and flung it into the litter-bin nearby. "I can wait no more! I've wasted too much time already! In five minutes I'll leave and won't be coming back! My lawyers will come back instead and—"

Prolonged tooting cut his infuriated speech short. Vernier, Steven, Sanders and the group of loaders gathered around a big container at the far end of the platform gambling habitually to while away the time, looked in the sound's direction. Tooting repeated and slight jingle of rails heralded the train's arrival. Soon a black mass of locomotive appeared, piercing the darkness with the bright shining of its five headlight-eyes.

"Here it comes, Mr. Varny!" said the Union Pacific representative. "As you can see, everything's all right!"

"Maybe for you the two-hour delay is 'all right', but for me it isn't! And my name is Vernier!" the businessman snapped, but now his anger was mainly for the sake of appearances and image. He was rejoicing inwardly, for this cargo was worth sticking around on the cold platform until the next day.

He was waiting for two refrigerator-cars stuffed up to the top with exclusive Caspian Beluga caviar. This delicacy grew even more precious now, when very severe restrictions were imposed on the catch of this particular kind of fish on the verge of extinction. But he, Mathieu Vernier, as usual pulled all the wires and by means of persuasion, threats and effective fund investment won for his firm the right to purchase truly huge consignment of caviar which will be the high spot of the Christmas Eve culinary programme of his restaurants.

None of his richer competitors believed he would pull it off. But he did it against all odds, got ahead of them and now had all the rights to anticipate the real inrush of the clients from the very top of society. The city will remember Vernier's Christmas Caviar Season for a very long time!

The train was still moving along the platform, but Vernier, hardly suppressing the desire to break into run, which would be unbecoming for his status, strode rapidly in the direction of the two white reefer-cars coming out of the dark. He walked alongside the train, reading attentively the registration numbers written on their sides. They consisted of ten letters and numbers, but he needed neither checking with the records in his smartphone nor asking Steven. He knew them by heart and could recite without looking at any time of day and night.

For six previous months he literally lived by this caviar project and now, looking at these cars, he felt like a mountain-climber who conquered Everest. To tell the truth, it was Everest indeed, and his ticket to the premier league of restaurant business. The time has come not only for quantitative but for qualitative progress. And it was here, beyond the metal doors of the refrigerators.

"Open them, quickly!" Vernier hailed at the workers, then turned to his assistant. "Is everything ready, Steven?"

"Certainly, boss!" the young man reported, handing him silver bucket with ice-covered bottle of champagne. He ran for it without waiting for Vernier's order, as soon as the very first hooting of the diesel locomotive was heard.

"Great job, Steven! Where would I be without you! Where are the beakers— Oh, here they are! Give them out to everybody, this event must be celebrated! Mister Sanders, join in, don't be shy!"

"Please, mister Vernier, you are too kind…" Sanders said, beet-red of the honor bestowed on him. You don't get an opportunity to drink champagne with such a bigwig every day, especially the one to become one of the most prominent and respected citizens in the nearest future. It also meant that Olmer had to drink with common loaders, but he reasoned that if Mathieu Vernier didn't find it blameworthy, he had nothing to worry about all the more. On the contrary, it was another opportunity to make a good showing as a thoughtful manager who doesn't loathe the company of the ordinary workers.

"Get ready with the bottle, Steven!" Vernier went on giving orders. "But don't rush! I want the cork to fly out exactly when the doors start to open! You hear that?!" he shouted at the two workers standing near the doors. They didn't like the idea of working with the locks while their buddies were drinking champagne, but they happened to be the ones to draw unlucky lots and had to comply. So they nodded with lenten looks, unlocked the bolts and pulled the door to the right. Its movement was met with loud joyful screams and cork plop, but when it came to a stop, an eerie silence reigned, and the rattle of its wheels against the guides sounded unnaturally loud and just as drearily as clanging of death knells.

The glass of champagne slipped out of Vernier's hand and shattered, covering his shoes and pants with sparkling drink and crystal splinters. He paid no attention though.

"Wh-wh-what's that…?" he stammered at last. He was looking at his long-awaited cargo and understood nothing. The train was here, as well as the two fridge-cars loaded with beluga caviar. That is, they should have been loaded with beluga caviar, and not with the stacks of boxes of some cat food.

"Proceed with unload, mister?" one of the loaders asked casually. He barely restrained himself from smiling widely at the sight of the arrogant money-bag who lost all his haughtiness in a brink of an eye.

"What…? How…?" businessman asked and suddenly exploded. "WHAT DOES THIS MEAN?! WHAT'S THAT?! STEVEN?!!" he shouted grabbing his equally shocked assistant and shaking him violently. "Where's my caviar?!! Where?!! MISTER SANDERS!!!"

"Mister Vernier… Mister Vernier…" the chubby man prattled. "I don't know what it is… Must be a mistake…"

"MISTAKE?!! I'll show you what 'mistake' is!!! You've got one hour! No, half an hour to correct this mistake!!! After that I'll call your boss in Nebraska and make HIM deal with it!!! And with you, too!!! And I don't care a straw about time zones!!! GOT IT?!!"

Olmer Sanders took out his cell phone and, barely hitting the needed keys, went on calling all the offices and homes, arousing every single man having even the tiniest connection to this train. Steven ran after the train engineers and they made several laps around the train counting and recounting the cars. Everything was alright. Everything was in place. Everything. Except the most important thing.

"It's a catastrophe…" Vernier thought sitting at the edge of the platform and smoking one cigarette after another. He didn't have them having quit almost a month ago, so he borrowed a pack from one of the workers. Five minutes ago he would have despised the very idea of it, but now he didn't care. After such a failure you had all the reasons to set out to seeking for a loading job yourself.

This caviar meant everything for him. He dared to resolve to unthinkable expenses to get it, expectant to be repaid with a hundredfold, and now… Where to get the money to pay his credit with? Where to get the money to get his two restaurants out of the pawn? He mortgaged them to finance the building of the third and most luxurious one, which opened in the central district of the city recently and was about to become the center of his Caviar Season and a Mecca for the cream of the society during the holidays. How to pay the uncovered building and advertising expenses now? How to meet the eyes of the family, not to mention the competitors he left behind…

"It's them… It must be Piccolieri… Or Gomez… Or this old swindler Forknife…" he kept telling himself. They must have done it. Nobody else was rich and powerful enough to press all the buttons and cook everything up to make him, Mathieu Vernier, 'impudent parvenu' and their most dangerous competitor, get two railroad cars filled not with exclusive caviar but with cat food from "Happy Tom Factory".

* 2 *

In contrast with the noise, bustle and panic reigning at the cargo terminal platform, on the opposite end of the station everything was quiet and still. Squeaking of the lamps dangling on the wind was the only sound, and the game of light and shadow on the cars awaiting for the trip or resting from the run across the country was the only visible movement. That's why any misstep and any strange sound were like a bolt from the blue.

"Quiet, morons!" a large cat in exquisite dark-blue suit hissed at his clumsy henchmen. He tried to step carefully for two reasons: not to make any noise and not to stain his suit against the dirty car. Mole, Mepps and Wart had no such fears, though, and moved along much faster than their boss (good news) but constantly stumbled against the cross-ties and each other (bad news).

"But Fat Cat, there's no one here!" Mepps complained. He muffled himself up with the empty sack he carried to fight off the night's chill. "You said no man would come…"

"But it isn't a reason to make noise, is it? You should always be on guard. Better we hear somebody coming first than that somebody hears us first. Am I right?"

"Sure you are, boss!" the three gangsters reported in chorus. Fat Cat clutched his head.

"If only you worked as zealously as you agree with me, you'd be priceless! Hurry up! Watchman can return any minute!"

"But if we worked zealously we wouldn't have time to agree with you zealously!" Mole observed thoughtfully after some short as for him pondering.

"And I thought you are totally hopeless, Mole… Get your sack and move on!" the cat pointed at the two coupled reefers. They looked just like those Vernier had been waiting, which wasn't surprising at all because those were exactly the ones he was waiting for.

"Oh, my precious, my dear!" Fat Cat said blissfully as he walked up to the cars. He tenderly passed his paw over the car and winced with disgust at the sight of the dust stuck to his fingers. "Ugh, these people are such dirty creatures that you can barely touch anything… Wart, Mepps! Open the car!"

"You know, boss, I still can't understand how you did that" the alley cat said pointing at the car. In order to get to the door locks he would have to take off the warm sack he's got used to already. So he decided to stall for some time knowing all too well that Fat Cat likes to give long and detailed explanations of his ingenious plans.

"It's elementary, Mepps!" the feline purred. "Let's suppose you wanted to steal two cars full of caviar leaving the same amount of overdue cat food instead. What would you do?"

"Well, I'd sneak at the train station at night with a sack of canned food, open the car, fill my sack with caviar and put the cat food I brought with me in its place…"

"Indeed, Mepps, indeed! And you'd be going hence and forth for a week carrying heavy sacks on your back. And why? Because you are used to do everything by yourself using everything but your head in the process! But I know how to use my head and make the others work for me. That's why all the dirty work was done by Humans! That is, not all the work, don't worry! You'll have your fair share of it, too!"

"Thanks, Fat Cat, you are too kind!"

"Oh, Mepps, please, I never forget about you, my faithful helpers… See those numbers on the car? It's identification number. People wrote it into the register while making up the train. And if another number gets written there somehow, they'll hitch two cat food cars instead of two caviar cars. Note, Mepps, they will hitch the cars, deliver them and unhitch them. All we, that is, you have to do is unload them… Hey, why are you still here?! Go, unload it!"

Mepps took his comfort sack off and with a sad 'meow' went to the car, which was even colder than the December air. Mole was fiddling with the lower lock, and the cat had nothing to do but climb to the upper one silently cursing Mole who always managed to find a way to do as little work as possible. Mepps avenged him fully, though, by stepping on his head and jumping to the lock, pushing off with all his might as much to reach the lock as to make Mole feel the most of it. But when Mepps got to the lock he found something strange about it.

"What are you dawdling over there?!" Fat Cat shouted with anger. He couldn't wait to see the caviar which, according to the invoice, was his rightful property.

"Can't open it, boss!" Mepps answered from above. "Rocket's on the way!"

"Push it away… WHAT?! What rocket?!"

"Big one, boss! Looks like powerful…"

Giving up all his prejudices, Fat Cat ran up to the car to look at this 'rocket' in person. He jumped on the Mole bogging him down into the embankment gravel and started climbing paying no attention whatsoever to the dirt densely covering car's sides.

"Here it is, boss!" the thin cat said, handing his boss large red and white fireworks rocket. Fat Cat studied it and a sudden realization struck him. He rapidly climbed up to the roof, almost pushing poor Mepps down on the ground and, barely pulling himself up, froze with his mouth wide open at the sight of the dense rows of fireworks covering the roofs of both refrigerators.

"How did it get here?" he asked himself. Nobody loads the fireworks on the roofs of fridge cars. But if people hadn't placed them here, then who…

"RESCUE RANGERS!!!" Fat Cat screamed out loud.

"…away!" the answer came from the cars on adjacent tracks. The feline criminal looked there and saw numerous fires rushing to his cars along the invisible fuses.

"BLOW THEM OUT! DON'T STAND AND STARE! EXTINGUISH THEM!" Fat Cat roared. He waved his hands around him in search of the nearby fuses. He found and tore three of them, but there was horde of fires incoming, so it was rather poor consolation.

"DO SOMETHING!" he yelled at his henchmen rushing about below. Their wish to help boss was so sincere, and their impulse so unanimous, that they simultaneously ran to the nearby ladder not helping but interfering with one another.

Fat Cat moved along the car as fast as his shape allowed (that is, not fast), his hand swishing the air like a saber, tearing the threads. He knew he wouldn't have time to tear them all, but kept moving with his tongue hanging out, fighting for his caviar to the end. He hoped against all odds that if he tore at least some of the threads there would be no salute, or at least it would be too weak for humans on the station to see.

But, just like in all his previous struggles against the Rescue Rangers, his hopes never came true. And not just because at night the explosion of even a single rocket is visible from miles away, but also because due to the elaborate fuse system covering all the surface of the cars' roofs, even one little fire was more than enough to launch the whole carnival arsenal.

"A-A-A-A!!!" Fat Cat screamed seeing the roof turning into one sparkling carpet. Totally desperate, he grabbed the nearest rocket to tear it off, but at that very moment its fuse burned out and it skyrocketed with a loud sizzling carrying ill-starred feline along with it. Having no desire at all to participate in the salute that first-hand, Fat Cat let it go and landed upside down into the large heap of sand between the tracks.

His henchmen looked at the rockets flying off en-masse first, then at Fat Cat's tail sticking out of the sand and decided that while they can do nothing about the former, they can still help the boss at least somehow. So they ran to dig him out, but this non-trivial task turned out even more difficult because of the rockets exploding with thunderous rumble, which caused the trio to duck their heads instinctively, and Fat Cat's manners, or rather lack of them. His legs and tail madly threshed the air not allowing the trio to grab them and pull him out. But when they finally managed to dig him out, they instantly regretted it, for there was no gratitude from Fat Cat but another fit of rage.

"WHAT TOOK YOU SO LONG, IDIOTS?!" Fat Cat yelled. "Why do I feed you and keep you?! You have no idea?! So do I!!! Come on, dumbsters, get those Refuse Rangers while they are here! They art here somewhere! Mepps! Climb on that car!" he pointed at the direction from where that very '…away' came which was the primary source of his nightmares for many years already. "Wart! Mole! Surround the cars on the ground! We can't let them go! Not this time! MOVE!!! MOVE!!!"

* 3 *

"Hey! Look! What's that?!" Olmer Sanders shouted pointing at the fireworks exploding in the skies over the far end of the station. Everybody looked there, then turned to the chief of station security who also inevitably became involved in the fuss around the fridges. The man in question grabbed his walkietakie but didn't have time to push the button. The device came to life by itself and emitted a mix of statics and anxious voices belonging to several of his subordinates at once.

"Number-One's here!" chief of security answered. For about a minute he stood listening to the cacophony, then turned to the people around him.

"It's on the sidetracks at the very edge of the depot!" he said, not even trying to conceal his bewilderment. "Two refrigerator cars that arrived from Sea-City earlier this day started launching fireworks. I don't understand…"

"TWO REFRIGERATOR CARS FROM SEA-CITY?!" Vernier shouted. "Quickly! We must go there! Those are mine cars, I know!"

"But sir," the trainmaster tried to object. "Your cars are here…"

"THESE ARE NOT MY CARS!" the businessman yelled even louder than before. "MY CARS ARE FILLED WITH CAVIAR, NOT CAT FOOT! WE MUST HURRY!!!"

He darted in the salute's direction right across the tracks. Faithful Steven ran after him, then others followed. Chief of security was the last to run. He contacted the main office and asked to temporarily stop all the locomotives in the depot. This rich man had given them all too much trouble already and the security man didn't want him to get hit by the train to cap it all. Not during his shift at least.

* 4 *

A black rectangular box on Chip's belt shortly vibrated twice. The chipmunk pressed his paw against it sending acknowledgement signal, then tapped Dale on his shoulder. It felt wooly because his friend wore a late-autumn variant of his Hawaiian shirt — a knitted pullover of the same colors. Chip was in his usual outfit as zipping up his jacket was enough to make him completely prepared for meeting face to face with the Californian winter season.

"Let's go, Dale, before they fully recovered! And something tells me this place will get too crowded soon!"

"Yeah, let's go!" Dale stood up from the car's edge and cast one more glance at the salute and the Fat Cat gang's comedy show. "It turned really cool, don't you think? The real holiday salute!"

"For everyone but Fat Cat, I'm afraid!" the leader of the Rangers added.

The friends laughed and ran down the queue of cars. Somewhere in the darkness to their right Monterey Jack and Gadget were running down the similar roofs to the same destination, the 'Ranger Wing'. Zipper was way behind them. His natural abilities allowed him to move around the depot without the help of ropes and thread bridges, that's why his task was to ignite the fuses tied to the farthest and the hardest to reach cars. By the time he comes, his friends will be seated and ready to take off.

"There they are! I see them! They are here, boss!" Mepps' voice came from behind them.

Chipmunks looked back and saw the alley cat running after them, his mouth wide open and the tongue hanging down, almost touching the roof. His size and weight didn't allow him to use the thread bridges Chip and Dale used, so he leapt across the gaps between the cars, landing with tremendous dins which kept growing louder and louder.

"He's catching up, Chip!" Dale screamed.

"Don't worry!" his friend answered confidently. "Our rope won't hold him, and the other train is too far away for him to jump! Come on, we're almost there!"

They loped across two more cars and finally reached their destination. It was Rangers' standard climbing rope arrow stuck to the car's side; the other end of the rope was attached to the container on the well car some two tracks away. All they had to do was to climb to the other side and unfasten the rope. Then they'd be unreachable and nothing would prevent them from reaching the LZ.

"Go, Dale!" Chip slapped his friend on the back. The red-nosed chipmunk rapidly and skillfully went along the rope. Chip looked at approaching Mepps one more time. He is too far to catch us, he reasoned, and followed Dale. He was at the middle of the rope when it started shaking and twisting violently.

"I got you, Rescue Ranger!" Mepps shouted with joy. "Let's play rollercoaster!"

He kept swinging the rope up and down, from side to side. Chip clutched to the aerial bridge with all his might and slowly but steadily kept moving along. This wasn't his toughest climbing experience, and he was pretty sure his hands and legs wouldn't fail and he'd make it.

Unfortunately, the rope failed. The end tied to the container tore off sending Chip flying along the cars, tumbling in the air.

"CHIP!" Dale yelled, horrified, and darted in the same direction. When he reached the car near the place where Chip's fall ended, he froze.

His friend was lying on the ground on his chest, his hands and legs spread out. He wasn't moving, but it wasn't his biggest problem. It was Wart leaning over him with a cadaverous smile on his scaly face. But Chip turned out lucky enough to reach the coal cars, and Dale didn't need to rack his brains over a way to save him for too long. Choosing a piece of coal of right size and weight and covering himself from head to toes with a coal dust in the process, Dale dropped the brick down, right on the nasty lizard's head. Wart appreciated chipmunk's choice and spread-eagled on the ground next to Chip.

"Chip! Buddy! How are you?!" Dale kept lamenting while descending from the car. He ran up to the friend. "Say something, please!"

"Dale… Leg…" Chip answered, his teeth gritted in pain.

Dale looked at his friend's leg and knew they're in trouble. Apparently, Chip was unlucky to land on his right foot, which was now unnaturally twisted under his leg. With a trauma like this you clearly can't run or jump. Truth to say, it would be hard even to crawl…

"Ah, Rescue Rangers! I found them! I caught them!"

Scream of joy brought Dale out of the stupor. It was Mole. The prospect of catching his boss' most hateful enemies filled the digger's heart with utmost happiness. He was approaching slowly, his hands spread out wide.

"Don't touch my friend!" the chipmunk ruffled up and assumed Rocky Balboa's boxing stance. "Run while you can! Or else…!"

Mole shrank somewhat in the face of the angry Ranger. "Oh, he's so serious…" He glanced sideways at Wart lying on the ground, whose head and shoulders were absolutely black. "He beat Wart black and… very black! If only I had something long and heavy, like a shovel, I'd kill two birds with one hit…"

"We're chipmunks, not birds!" Dale answered. Mole hesitated to come up with a suitable answer and Dale never heard his thoughts on the matter. He heard loud "BANG!" instead, produced by the square-faced shovel heft which landed on the underground dweller's head.

"Oh, shovel… Thanks…" Mole broke into thankful smile and fell down across Wart.

"My mama always said that havin' a fire stand around is good thingah!" Monty observed in didactic tone while shaking off his hands.

"Monty! You're just in time! Chip's injured!" Dale waved his hands above his head and Aussie ran towards him.

"Oh-h-h," he said darkly observing Chip's foot. "That's some bloomin' serious stuff! One of mah old buddies, the one who earned his livin' by pinguin racing, got something like this when 'is black and white partner cracked up on a curve and… well, it took 'im quite some time to heal! We need to take Chip to the hospital!"

"Looks like if we not hurry, someone'll have to take all of us to the hospital!" Dale said tugging at Monty's sleeve and pointing at the direction of two caviar cars.

The salute has been fading down already, but it provided enough light to discern a huge incoming shadow. Fat Cat was running on all fours like a cannon ball covered with thick grey fur protruding in all directions. He pressed his ears to his head and opened mouth so wide as though he wanted to swallow the three Rangers at one go.

"Monty, haven't you got another shovel by chance?" Dale asked dumb but natural question.

"Sorry, but my shovel business is in crisis these days…"

"Go… Leave me…" Chip uttered weakly. His face became disfigured with pain as he tried to rise himself on elbows and turn to face Fat Cat. "I'll handle it… Leave…"

"Hey, Chippah-lad, don't forget yourself and us!" the strongmouse almost shouted at him. He turned the second chipmunk. "Dale, lead da way and signal Mayday! We're right behind ya!"

Clasping Chip with both hands, Monterey lifted him from the ground and ran after Dale. I should definitely start losing weight… he thought listening to the heavy breath of a mad cat coming closer with each leap. That decides me — tomorrow I'll start keeping a diet!.. No, after New Year! Celebrating New Year while on a diet is plainly stupid…

"Monty…"

"Yeah, kid?"

"Drop me… You won't get away with me… I'll draw him away from you… He knows I'm the leader, he won't miss such an opportunity…"

Monty didn't deign to answer. First, he had lived long enough to understand that there's no use in commenting nonsense. Second, he had hard time breathing, not to mention talking…

"The platform… ends…" Chip made himself heard again. He pointed forward at the white border rapidly approaching. Beyond it a gravel belt started which gradually changed into a shriveled grass.

"I know…" Aussie answered. He has been pondering what to do next for some time already. Should he maintain his speed, jump off the platform and keep running? Even if he manages to land on his feet, he'll still lose his speed, and if he stumbles, that will be it… Jump off lightly and snuggle up to the platform, hoping Fat Cat won't notice and fly way over them? Could work, but the feline is far from stupid, and where to run next… Even Dale found a place to hide somewhere…

"Hey, wait! Where is he?!" Monty wondered and suddenly heard the chipmunk's voice very close to his right ear.

"Don't stop, Monty! Keep on running!"

Monterey Jack was so astonished he almost did what he was told not to, but restrained himself. He partly didn't have time, partly didn't want to look back to see what's happening there, so he went on running to the very edge of the platform. "STOP!" interior voice of self-preservation shouted. "KEEP RUNNING!" interior voices of reason and experience insisted. Monty went along with the majority and decided to maintain speed.

I wonder what Dale's plan is, he thought. Where did he come from, to begin with?.. Does he have any plan at all? What does he want me to do? Fall from the platform with a loud wallop? Or gather speed and take off, kinda like that 747…?

Turned out, it was the latter. With only a handful of inches remaining between him and the edge, Monty felt a powerful jerk and his legs stopped feeling the ground. He kept moving them in the air for some time, but then stopped this useless activity and just stared down on the gravel and grass way below him.

"How do you like it, Monty?"

Aussie threw his head back and saw Dale's smiling face right above him. Behind the chipmunk the shady form of 'Ranger Wing' could be discerned in the night sky. And then Monty understood everything…

"A-A-A-ARGH!!!"

A long loud wail coming from behind pierced the air, ending with a hollow rumble and a rustle of gravel.

"What was that, Dale?" Monty asked. His collar was tightly clenched by gripper on the end of the plane's telescopic arm so he couldn't look there for himself.

"Ah, nothing of particular interest! Just cars, tracks and Fat Cat who didn't manage to brake in time and is now looking at us from the heap of the gravel he made with his own fat mug. He's waving and yelling something, must be wishing us a safe flight. In other words, peace and harmony!" Dale informed him and laughed so loud and catching that not only Monty but even Chip despite his sharp pain couldn't help laughing.

* 5 *

Fat Cat got out of the gravel, spitting and shaking off his once exquisite suit now reduced to rags. Boiling with impotent rage, he shook his fist at the small plane. Despite his mouth being opened for the loudest scream possible, the cat said nothing. He was too short of breath to say even the shortest word, and besides no words was needed at all. Once again the Refuse Rangers defeated him and escaped leaving him totally empty-handed. Well, almost totally…

"Look what I found, boss!" Mepps ran up to Fat Cat and handed him Ranger's rope arrow he tore off that car. "It's Rangers' equipment! And we got it! It's a trophy! A gift of fortune!"

"Nice gift…" Fat Cat whispered through set teeth watching the crowd of people running by with Mathieu Vernier leading the way. Here they reached the refrigerators, opened the doors, and the rail depot resounded with the loudest scream it ever heard. It contained all kinds of emotions at once: surprise, distrust, relief and boundless joy of a man who first lost everything and then found it all again.

"THIS IS IT!" the businessman shouted. He was beside himself of happiness and jumped around like a schoolboy who was told he didn't need to go to school tomorrow. "THEY ARE HERE! MY BOXES! I KNOW THEIR NUMBERS! IT'S ALL HERE! MY CAVIAR IS HERE!"

"NO! IT'S MINE!" Fat Cat shouted waving the invoice above his head. "It's mine! Mine! Mine…"

He rumpled up the document now not even worth a paper it was printed on and threw it away in the dark. "Why?" he kept asking himself. "Why do they always interfere? Why they always happen to appear in the wrong place in the wrong time? How they do it?! HOW?!"

"Boss, may I keep it?" Mepps pleaded pointing at the arrow. "Please, boss!"

"Sure, Mepps, sure you can…" Fat Cat took the arrow and stuck it to alley cat's nose. "You can have it all!"

"Dangz, bozz! You are doo gind!"