Little Pigs
Even if Pig House 4 fell, Rasher had promised that the wolves weren't going to get his bacon.
Of course, promises didn't count for much these days. The Council of Pork had promised that they would never give into the Angry Birds, that every egg taken by the pigs would remain in custody of the pigs, that no matter how many forts were shattered, that no matter how angry the birds got, the pigs would never give into their depredations. But as the birds showed themselves to be more fanatical than the pigs had anticipated (the black birds had even detonated themselves like suicide bombers), the pigs had given in. The eggs were returned, the war was over. And weakened and demoralized as they were, that had left them ill prepared to face their new enemy.
"Our foe nears," came the voice of Corporal Slosh – a small big with a small belly, drafted in to hold the line against the unstoppable message. "Our scouts estimate that they will be in range of Pig House Four within the next five minutes."
Rasher nodded. He wondered how the denizens of Pig Houses 1-3 had felt when they heard those words. What they'd thought when they'd seen this new foe approaching.
"Shall we-"
"We hold for now," Rasher declared. "Be brave. Our enemies will not have our bacon."
Slosh nodded and waddled off. Leaving Rasher alone with his thoughts and worries.
It hadn't helped matters that the pigs had been expecting a war from the sky, not from the ground. Pig House 1, made of hay, had fallen easily. Pig House 2, made from sticks, had fared little better. Their enemies blew a bitter breeze, and outside the safety of their forts, the pigs had been easy pickings.
"In range!"
"Steady," Rasher declared. "Steady."
Pig House 3 had fared better than the other two. Made of bricks, the wind of the west could not breach its walls. And when their foes had climbed down the chimney, the pigs inside had met them with a burning fire, and plenty of flamethrowers. Their foe had retreated.
"They're holding! They're forming ranks!"
Rasher winced – the enemy had retreated from Pig House 3, only to burrow under it and set off explosive charges. The birds collapsed structures from above, their new enemy from below. And once the lower levels had been breached, the pigs had no chance.
"This is the end!"
"Our friend, the end?"
"No, the actual end!"
Rasher sighed – so it had come to this. Pig House 4, made of concrete, armed with anti-aircraft guns jury-rigged to single out ground targets. But would it be enough?
"The end!" a pig wailed. "The end has come to rend!"
"Stand firm!" Rasher oinked. "Let us hear them."
He walked out to the wall to see his foe. Lined up in rank and file – the wolves were not like the birds. They attacked as a group, not one at a time. As one, they marched. As one, they looked upon the defences of Pig House 4. And as one, they chanted.
"Little pigs, little pigs, let us come in!"
The war-cry of the wolves. Rasher looked around his soldiers. They knew what to say. Knew how this would go. And as one, they responded in kind.
"Not by the hair of our chinny-chin chins!"
Rasher wondered whether that was the best war-cry they could come up with. They hadn't needed one against the birds – the birds had let out various squawks and cackles, but no words. The wolves needed something more than simple rhymes.
"Then we'll huff, and we'll puff, and we'll blow your house in!"
"Steady!" Rasher yelled. "Steady!"
As one, the wolves drew in air. And as one, they blew it back out with the force of a hurricane. And as one, the pigs grabbed onto whatever they could.
"Hold on!"
It availed the wolves nothing. Pig House 3 had withstood the wolves' gale, Pig House 4 was even better protected. The breeze blew over them without incident.
"Say," asked Private Porker. "If Pig House Four falls, is there another?"
"Pig House Five," answered Rasher. "It's an underground fallout shelter with a laser fence."
"Oh. Cool."
The wolves looked agitated. But Rasher knew that they wouldn't give up so easily. Whether it be through brute force or brute cunning, the wolves would show themselves to be the brutes they were, and brutally tear apart any pig who dared stand up against their brutality.
Brutal, thought Rasher.
So the wolves got onto their fours. The wolves let out a howl that was as deafening as the wind they had unleashed, if not as powerful. And the wolves began to charge.
"Steady," Rasher declared. "Steady…steady…Fire!"
The AA guns let out a song of defiance. The pigs sung the songs of farms long gone. Of a nation shamed seeking to regain its glory. Of mush and slosh and a thousand other things.
And so the Wolf-Pig War entered its turning point.
And Rasher could only hope that this time, the pigs prevailed.