Karnage’s Revenge
Part 1

Talespin and its characters are property of Disney. Sam the Sheepdog and Ralph the Coyote are property of Warner Brothers. This story was written purely for fun. No money is being made from it. A special thanks goes out to my sister for all of her support, patience, and her excellent proofreading skills!

January 1938
Pirate Island
Thursday Night

One hundred sixty degrees south-southeast of Cape Suzette an archipelago of seven composite volcanoes, large and small, jutted from the dark, placid Pacific Ocean. Their jagged silhouettes, softened by a gossamer mist, stood out starkly against the face of the full moon. That humongous, shining orb seemed to float on the horizon directly behind the volcanoes. Continuous plumes of thick, sooty smoke issued from their peaks. An area not fit for habitation, you say? On the contrary, it was a hotspot of activity.

Inside the largest volcano was an enormous cavern illuminated by flaming torches embedded in the walls. The dancing firelight cast weird shadows over the stalactites and over the faces of the motley pirate crew gathered there. The leader of this rough band, a dashing brown wolf attired in a blue coat trimmed with gold buttons, grey pants, and black boots, was standing on a makeshift stage constructed of crates. A scabbard hung at his side. A menacing and - dare I say it? - slightly insane, air enveloped his very being. A dangerous combination. But he had to be a tad insane to attempt what he was about to attempt.

“Listen up with the ears!” the pirate captain - Don Karnage by name - bellowed. When his crew continued to gabble amongst themselves, he drew his sword, threatening, “Or you will all suffer the turnip and sandpaper treatment!”

The pirates immediately became silent and turned their full attention towards Karnage. Torture by turnips and sandpaper was nothing to laugh at.

“That’s better. I have call-ed you all here to make a spectaculous announcement.” He paced up and down the stage, running his finger across the edge of his sword. “Soon, very soon, we will plunder the city of Cape Suzette from top to bottomouses. Money, jewels, all the free food you can eat!”

A collective cheer arose from the pirates. Many threw their hats up into the air.

“However, we will not stop with the sundry plunder of Cape Suzette. We will go on to take over,” as Karnage paused for effect, all of the pirates leaned forward eagerly for the announcement; “the world!”

The pirates cheered again, louder this time.

Karnage clomped across the stage furiously, a pensive scowl on his rugged features. “This time will be different than the other attempts. I have made very, very sure about that fact.”

“You mean we’ll actually be able to carry something out of Cape Suzette besides a kitchen sink, Captain?” whined a lanky brown ferret with a droopy mustache - Mad Dog.

Karnage slashed at Mad Dog with his saber, who luckily ducked in time to avoid the blade; but the ferret wasn’t lucky enough to miss Karnage’s palm as it came in contact with his cheek. “Yes, that’s exactly what I mean, you eediot! Isn’t it painfully oblivious?”

Mad Dog nodded, rubbing his red cheek. “Definitely painful, Captain.”

“This time we cannot fail, for I have the most wonderful, most crafty plans!” Don Karnage’s chuckle turned into laughter bordering on maniacal. To himself, he added, “And I will finally get even with that estupid, meddlesome pilot Bahloo.”

Karnage hurled his sword towards a grainy black-and-white picture of a large grey bear who was flashing a confident grin and a thumbs-up at the camera. It was a cutout from the Cape Suzette Tribune touting Baloo’s latest heroic deed. The sword’s point hit Baloo smack on the conk.

Outside, an immense, black form slithered in front of the volcano, eerily blotting out the view of the full moon.

Friday Afternoon

It was a characteristic day in the south Pacific - faultlessly beautiful. Despite the fact that it was January, bright sunshine glinted off of the gently rolling waves of the sparkling azure ocean. A warm, but not-too-hot, breeze sent fluffy white cumulus clouds scudding across the brilliant blue sky.

The serenity of the scene was broken by the hum of twin Superflight 100 engines. An orange-trimmed, yellow Conwing L-16 seaplane burst through the clouds. Trailing behind the plane was a small figure.

“Wahoo!” Kit Cloudkicker shouted with exultation, laughing. From the big smile on his face, it was obvious that the thirteen-year-old brown bear cub was having the time of his life. Cloudsurfing was his favorite pastime. The boy swayed back and forth behind the airplane, clinging to a rope that had a handle attached to the end specially for his benefit. Sprays of opaque mist arose in the airfoil’s wake as he skimmed over the tops of clouds. Just for good measure, he let go of the handle and did a back-flip, catching the rope and simultaneously landing on the airfoil with practiced, graceful agility.

In the distance, ahead of the seaplane, a speck of green and brown land was visible through the clouds. It was the home of Louie’s Place - a nightclub situated on a small, picturesque tropical island just a tankful of gas away from Cape Suzette. The nightclub, a thatch-covered bamboo building constructed around a one-hundred-year-old wrecked sailing ship, was surrounded by palm trees and thick jungle vegetation. Looming behind the nightclub was a scraggy mountain. On top of this mountain was a gigantic red sign - ‘Louie’s’ - that could be seen from miles away.

Pilots called Louie’s Place the ‘garden spot of the South Seas’. It was indeed a pilot’s paradise. Pilots from the four corners of the world gathered there for refreshments (especially the world-famous Krakatoa Special), entertainment in the form of live bands, pleasant accommodations, refueling, airplane repairs, and, of course, to see the swinging ape who owned it - Louie himself.

All too soon - in Kit’s opinion - the tow rope retracted into the plane. The boy jumped off his silver, metallic airfoil into the cargo hold. With the push of a button, the airfoil folded like a fan; he concealed it beneath his olive green sweater. Whistling, he bounced into the cockpit and took his place in the navigator’s seat, buckling his seatbelt. He flashed a smile at the overweight grey bear wearing a yellow button-down shirt and red cap reposing in the pilot’s seat.

“Good clouds, Kit-boy?” Baloo asked jovially, playfully pushing Kit’s blue and red baseball cap down over his eyes.

“Great, Baloo!” Kit replied, his youthful voice exuding enthusiasm. He adjusted his cap, making sure that the bill was flipped to the back as became a proper navigator.

Languidly, Baloo observed, “Sure is a super-duper day.”

“Yeah, but when do we ever have really bad weather here?”

“Not too often, L’il Britches. I’ve lived here all my life an’ haven’t seen anythin’ worse’n rain or hail. We’re lucky enough ta be so far south, not like in Thembria where Jack Frost nips at yer toes all year round. Brrrr!”

“We had snow last Christmas, remember, Papa Bear?”

“Yeah, but that was an extry-special present from Santa.” Baloo winked at Kit, who grinned in response.

The Sea Duck descended towards Louie’s and taxied up to the docks where several monkey attendants swarmed around the plane, washing the windshields, refueling, etc. Pilot and navigator alighted from the seaplane and strolled towards the nightclub. Because it was the middle of the afternoon, the place was nearly empty; only three, identical grey panther pilots sporting maroon jackets with Shere Khan’s insignia on the shoulder were clustered about a table. Baloo and Kit perched on stools at the tiki bar where a large reddish-brown ape was busily preparing drinks.

“Hiya, Louie,” Baloo greeted.

“Be with ya in a sec, Cuz,” Louie said, slinging ice cream, milk, strawberries, bananas, and melon into a blender. He pressed the button to set the blender whirring with one hand while simultaneously mixing up a second drink with his other hand and one foot. Of course, he scat sang through the whole process. “Oh bow doo bow doo do bwah bwah do be bwah doo be dee dee dee doo...” He placed the frothy shakes on a tray and a simian waiter delivered them to the panthers.

“Lemme guess,” Louie surmised, smirking; he closed his eyes and rubbed his temples with his fingers, pretending to read their minds; “two Krakatoa Specials for the world’s most primo pilot an’ his navigator?”

“Not today, Innkeeper,” Baloo replied with a grin.

“What!” Louie exclaimed; his jaw dropped in amazement. “You comin’ down with somethin’, Baloo?” He placed a paw on Baloo’s brow. “That sundae’s your all-time fav.”

Baloo brushed Louie’s hand aside. “Still is, Pal, but me an’ Kit gotta save room for sweets later on. The boss lady’s throwin’ a big blowout bash for Higher for Hire’s one year anniversary.”

“That never stopped you before, Baloo,” Kit commented wryly with a covert wink at Louie.

“Yeah, an’ it shows!” Louie laughed. “When are ya expectin’ the little bundle of joy?”

“Yeah, yuk it up, you two, but now that ya mention it,” Baloo began thoughtfully, patting his ample stomach, “the ‘Big Guy’s’ feelin’ a little empty after runnin’ those tennis shoes ta New Fedora. A large Louie’s pizza piled high with anchovies would hit the spot.”

“An-an-an-anchovies! No way, no how, man!” Louie furiously waved his hands before him as he backed away from Baloo. His countenance was full of fearful repulsion as he averred adamantly, “You know that anchovies an’ Louie don’t jive, Clive!”

Baloo’s straight face finally cracked. Guffawing, he clapped Louie on the shoulder. “Just joshin’ ya, Louie.”

Louie wiped cold sweat from his forehead. “Never scare me like that, cuz!”

“Change it to a cheeseburger an’ fries.