By Paul McCartney
MOTOR CARS, HANDLE BARS,
BICYCLES FOR TWO.
BROKEN HEARTED JUBILEE.
PARACHUTES, ARMY BOOTS,
SLEEPING BAGS FOR TWO.
SAYS THE SIGN IN THE SHOP WINDOW.
SAYS THE JUNK IN THE YARD.
DA DA YA DA DA DA,
DA DA DA,
DA DA YA DA DA,
DA DA DA DA DA DA DA.
CANDLESTICKS, BUILDING BRICKS,
SOMETHING OLD AND NEW.
MEMORIES FOR YOU AND ME.
SAYS THE SIGN IN THE SHOP WINDOW.
SAYS THE JUNK IN THE YARD.
DA-AH-AH-AH – WO-OH-OH-WO.
(c) Northern Songs Ltd.
Jake’s eyes wandered over the piles and piles of Enforcer waste that grew around what he and Chance called a “house”. What his life had come down to.
He had become an Enforcer to help people. Now he was just fixing their cars. Chance said that was helping.
Not like Jake wanted.
About three weeks ago Feral had kicked them both on their tails out of pure spite. And now, here he was. Stuck with this all around.
The pilot of Pan Am Flight 206 came suddenly over the PA system, halting what conversation was going on between the six or so passengers on the jet.
“This is Captain Utena. We are about to hit a bit of turbulence…but it’s nothing to worry about. We should be out in a matter of minutes.”
“Bloody hell.” John Lennon, a man with dark, mean eyes, a fine, oddly shaped nose, and a few extra pounds slumped even further in his chair, if that were possible. He was weary, worked to the bone, and this was the last thing he wanted.
“Perhaps you should get your seat buckle on, John?” Brian Epstein, the Beatle’s manager, suggested.
“What Eppy? Are you me mum? Bet you wish you were. Then again, me mummy’s dead, so how you reckon that one out?”
The quiet dark haired Englishman slunk back into his seat, obviously mortified.
Its true what they say: those you love most hurt you the most.
Paul McCartney, a man of about the same age as John, with the same haircut but more cherubin features leaned over in his seat. “Lay off, will ye?” He griped quietly.
John just gave him one of his nasty, cheeky grins.
Suddenly, the plane began to bounce.
“Who boy.” George Harrison, the youngest of the group clutched his seat with his lithe fingers. His long bangs bounced into his brown eyes.
Ringo Starr looked over at him, his sad blue eyes sympathising. A reassuring smile grew under his rather large nose, but George ignored it, terrified.
The plane began to jar this way and that horribly. Up in the cockpit, the pilot could not believe his own eyes. In front of him, the clouds formed a large, purple and silver swirl. It crackled with lightning, and the pilot tried to steer clear of it, when suddenly a large green flying lizard flapped out of it. It hit the plane in the nose, jarring the pilot and copilot unconscious.
Back in the passenger area, a suitcase fell out and hit Mel Evens(?) and Niel Aspinal on the head, rendering them unconscious as well.
The plane was sucked into the vortex.
Jake stood up and scream at Ann Gora on the television.
“God damnit! That should be us! But we can’t do a fucking thing here! It’s not any fucking fair!” He reached down onto the coffee table and grabbed the nearest thing-a coffee mug. He reared back, ready to smash it into the screen when two large, strong, chestnut-on-gold arms grabbed him.
It was Chance Furlong, his best friend, who was, for once, remaining calm.
Jake continued to struggle, his much smaller, thinner chocolate body writhing in Chance’s arms. He looked up at the orange tabby wildly, tears streaming through his fur.
“That should be us, damnit. We should be there helping them.”
He looked back at the scene on the television. The katizens were running about, screaming, trying to get away from the Pastmaster and his creatures.
After a while, Jake stopped struggling and just broke down into sobs, his tears soaking his best friend’s arm. Meanwhile, Chance looked back at the television. A large passenger jet came through the portal. It looked odd, a different sort of model the kat had never seen before. A dragon came right back after it, and the Enforcers only paid attention to the monster. The jet disappeared off camera, and Chance knew where it was headed.
Jake looked up from Chance’s arm, a little more in control. “Yeah?”
“You have that controller thingy right?”
“The one where you can bring down other aircraft?” Chance was indicating something Jake had built out of the various scrap that lie around their property.
“’Course I do, why?”
“I’m thinking we just might need it.”
Ringo looked out the window to see the dragon, then the portal, then a city and the dragon again. Then, by a blast of light, the dragon was knocked away.
John looked over next to him at Paul. But what he saw was a large, hairy monster.
Paul looked over at John, and saw a huge hairy monster.
After much looking and much huge hairy monster seeing, the boys came to a conclusion.
“Oh my god, look at me…”
John found himself to be covered in thick, silver fur. Paul had a cream colour, George had a dark brown, and Ringo was yellow. Brian was a light bluish colour, but he had passed out right after they went through the portal.
“We’re all…. cats.” Paul whimpered.
“Very observant, Macca”, John spat nastily.
“You’re not making this any better by being yourself.” Paul shot back.
“What the hell else is there to do?”
“SHUT UP!” George yelled suddenly.
Everyone turned to look at him.
“We’re over a desert…and it looks like we’re landing.”
“Good! That means we still have a pilot!” Ringo. Always the optimistic one.
“Good. I’d like to have a few words with him.” John stood up, extending his sharp, shining claws. He walked to the front. The cockpit door was locked.
“Damn it all to bloody hell”, John cursed. Finally, with a roar and a hiss, John threw himself against the door, and went flying against the control panels.
“Why is the nose dropping, Jake?” Chance watched as the plane began to rapidly descend.
“I don’t know, but at that velocity, they’ll explode on impact. Pull them up!”
“OH GOD WE’RE GONNA CRASH! JOHN THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!” Paul flew at John extending his own claws and ripping at his bandmate’s throat.
“It’s not my fault the pilots *choke* disappeared!” John tried, futiley, to pry Paul’s hands from his neck.
“Great. I got it up, and we’re going in for a landing!”
“Chance…I’ve never seen this sort of craft before…what if the Pastmaster pulled them from some weird alien dimension?”
“I guess we’ll find out soon enough.” The jet touched down in the sand.
Paul started to bang John’s head into the floor.
“We *thud* are *thud* gonna *thud* die!!!” THUD THUD THUD
Back in the cabin, Ringo tried to wake Brian up, and George watched out the window as something took the plane back up into the air and then started to land them.
“Brian? Mr. Epstein?”
Brian moaned and opened his eyes. What he saw was a large, black on orange tabby looming over him.
“OH MY GOD!” He started to climb up onto the seat. His eyes darted to George, and he began to wedge himself into the wall.
“Brian! Its Ringo!”
“You’re not Ringo!” Brian protested in his proper English manner.
“Yes it is! Look at yerself! We’re all like this!”
Brian dared a glance at himself and saw it was true. In a sudden anguish, he fell into his seat, sobbing.
George looked up from the window.
Chance and Jake approached the jet cautiously. The only weapons they had were their bodies: hard muscle and razor-sharp claw. Chance jumped up onto the side and hung with one arm. He easily pried the door off it’s ill constructed hinges and threw it down into the desert sand.
The first thing he saw when he poked his head in was a couple of tomkats killing each other in the cockpit.
Guess that’s what happened? He thought. He looked over toward the cabin area and saw another tomkat walking toward him. He climbed into the plane and looked at the lankily tall tom. The dark brown kat held out a paw cautiously.
Chance looked oddly at him, and took his paw lightly. “Um…hello.” Aliens….he thought. They weren’t different in appearance, but they did have a halting, accent-laced speech. “Can you tell me what happened?” He asked slowly.
“You speak the language then?” George raised an eyebrow at the gold tabby in front of him.
“Er…if you mean the one we’re talking right now, yes.”
Chance felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around to see a bloody, helpless looking silver tabby.
“Help me, please! He’s insane!” John managed to choke out before he was knee bombed into a seat by Paul. Chance grabbed Paul by the scruff and pulled him back.
“Slow down, geez…” Chance placed Paul back on the ground, holding him back with an arm. John wiped the blood from his nose all over his arm.
George looked toward the door as a smaller feline climbed into the cabin.
Jake glanced around at the sites. In back, there was a blue kat hyperventilating into a bag while an orange tabby watched. In the seat in front of him lie a broken, half-conscious silver tabby. Beside Chance was a tall tom and then a quite livid looking one.
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Disclaimer: SWAT Kats: The Radical Squadron is copyright to Hanna-Barbera Cartoons Inc. All Rights Reserved. © 1995. All other characters and material within this page are the property of their respective creators.