They stood around in a noisy, spirited huddle. The war was about to begin. Lightning and thunder rolled loudly above. Rain had started pattering down.
“This is the right time”, Tom said to Harry.
Harry nodded in agreement, “We must take our revenge. We should make him regret for our Dick’s blood.”
“He’s down”, Tom said looking at the huge figure of Gulliver lying a few meters away from where he was. “You charge!”
Harry moved close and sparred. Straight at Gulliver, hitting his forearm. Indeed Gulliver was down, he was caught off hand. Blood sprinkled ever so slightly from his strong forearms. Then Tom repeated the dose. Gulliver, in spite of his huge frame was helpless. His weapon hung from his fingers like a paralyzed limb, useless.
A host of their soldiers, waiting in the hiding, sprang into action, injuring Gulliver all over. The smell of victory was enough to gee them up, young as they were.
An old warrior, the senior most one, rebuked the spirited youngsters. “I’ve seen all these, boys”, he said, “Gulliver is dangerous. I feel we should plan the war on another day.”
The young blood hardly paid any attention. They kept on sparring at Gulliver.
The old warrior hid in a corner, face overcome with fear, looking at his young boys.
Suddenly Gulliver sprang into action. With a swipe he killed Tom, who crumbled in a heap on to the ground. Harry charged and got a similar swipe which invalidated him. In Gulliver's hands, the weapon swung like a rapier which swished through the air in expert arcs.
Gulliver pressed the weapon against Harry’s dark, incapacitated body. He was dead. A vein sputtered loudly, red blood flowed out and solidified. Without their leaders, their loyal army was vanquished in a trice.
The old warrior sat cowering in a corner, alone.
Gulliver said to his wife, “Ah, It was the battery. The bat is fine now with the new batteries. They are done with”. He blew a dead body from the mosquito bat, tossed it onto the table and crept into bed. His wife put an arm around him and snuggled close.
“Still they are not fully killed”, said she, listening intently. “I can hear a buzz”
“It’s alright, let’s sleep”, he said.
Gulliver and his wife slept peacefully that night. The old mosquito buzzed around, sadly, looking for a gap to launch at least a token attack. Sensing there was no hope, he escaped after a while, silently, through a crack in the window pane, vowing to come back again, to exact revenge for his beloveds' blood.
