Disclaimer: I do not own the characters to Calvin and Hobbes, nor The Batman, nor Kim Possible. They are owned by Bill Watterson, Warner Brothers, and Disney respectfully.
"Take the machine guns from the tanks and mount them on the jeeps" said Captain Simmons as he dismounted from his vehicle and walked towards the damaged, but still up right, courthouse. Inside there was a Kim Possible and a famished Ron Stoppable with their naked mole rat.
"What will happen to us now?" Kim asked as she brought her cup of warm broth down from her lips.
"Which ever you wish" Simmons said as he sat down beside her. His uniform, green with specks of black spots was not the most becoming but it served it's purpose. He removed his steel helmet and rubbed his hair, "we need all the available man power we can for the tasks that lay before us"
"I can't leave him" she said, touching the hand of Ron Stoppable.
"I understand. I'll leave a medic to tend to him, but we'll be leaving here and heading off to deal with the enemy." Finished, he stood up and walked towards the door.
"Captain," said Kim, that made him stop and look back, "I hope you catch him." he smiled, dawned his helmet and walked out. At his jeep men were at work. They had found a length of pipe and were mounting a machine gun. Captain Miller sat in the passenger seat, trying to relax, drinking from a canteen.
"How are they doing?" he asked, meaning the boy and girl.
"Hungry but they will survive." replied Simmons.
"Good. We liberated the town and we're on the doorsteps of the enemy."
"I'll say. Take a look at this" he pulled from his breast pocket a folded map. Unfolding it on the hood of the jeep he said, "I picked this up from a dead officer not too long ago. "This details the lay out of the enemy at their citadel up the hill. They have but a handful of tanks and a few hundred men."
"But they still out number us" said Miller
At that moment Lieutenant J.J. McMahon, a thin man with firery red hair and a temper to boot approached. He was a leader of a platoon of scouts just back from a venture up the road.
"Sir, Garfield's citadel is over three acres big and has over five hundred men and a thousand goons defending it. We will not stand a chance against them" said the lieutenant.
"No, but if we strike now, while we are off balance, we can knock them out of the fight, at least for a little while" the captain smiled.
Nodding in agreement the lieutenant walked away from the jeep down the line of vehicles towards the rear.
"Simmons," said a worn out Miller" Garfield still has tanks. How do you expect to handle them?"
"We have Molotovs" replied the wounded but still game captain.
"That won't do much good unless we can get close. The citadel sits on open ground. They have the advantage. Use the jeeps, do drive bys"
"Are you daft?" laughed Simmons "That something from Los Angeles"
"That maybe, but I believe it will work" Miller replied as he reclined in his seat and rested his twisted ankle on the bonnet on the hood of the jeep. In the back of the jeep was a mounted thirty caliber machine gun, newly implemented to handle the waves of snow goons.
"You have much faith in my men?" asked Simmons as he approached and sat in the driver seat.
"I do." he responded, "we have the tide of war in our favor. We have great allies and the right tools. If we use them right we can win this swiftly."
Looking at the Captain Simmons wondered. Neither of them had time to shave in the days since starting this campaign. They were tired, as were the rest of the men, but they were in high spirits. They had conquered a town and turned back an armored assault now they were on the door steps on Garfield's home. This war was nearly over. Hungry, worn out, deshoveled in appearence, filthy, but high in spirits, the militia went on, up the road towards the home of the great tyrant.
"This can't be" roared Garfield "they are coming here?"
"Yes, sir" said the cowardly orderly.
"They must be stopped. I lost the town, I lost tanks, and I'm about to lose the goons. I won't lose the war. I want everyone that is capable of bearing a weapon to be on the line right now. Get all the ammunition available up here. Every man, cat or not, on the line within the hour."
Nodding the orderly ran out of the room leaving the leader to stare out the window at the setting sun towards the west. He drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. "This is nearly over."
Down below the goons were breeding, building up their depleted their numbers. They were massive in stature, tree trunks for arms, and firery coals for eyes. "I will throw in my reserves as soon as they engaging the main body. They will overwhelm them like they have done before" he thought.
"When will they come?" he wondered. "Dusk" that would be the best time."
"When will we attack?" Miller asked.
"Dusk" said Simmons. "By then the men will have eaten and the jeeps will have their machine guns to handle the waves of goons."
Nodding Miller capped his canteen and massaged his twisted ankle. It was sore, couldn't walk on it. He didn't complain. As he tried to relax an orderly came with a kit, a bowl of hot soup.
"Thank you" he said taking the precious piece. There was no silverware, he would have to sip it. He took a nip and tasted chicken and broth. It was warming for the soul.
Just a few miles down the road the last of the tanks were coming up. "Sir, we have but six tanks left. The rest we were forced to destroy on our way back up here" said Tank Division commander Kat Oriskany as he pleaded with Garfield. "Sir, we must withdrawal."
"No," the orange tabby roared, "we will make our stand here. I will rather die than accept defeat"
He would have his wish for down the road came the winding column of Simmons' command.
"Are you serious about a Molotov drive by?" Simmons asked a quiet Captain Miller.
"I'm confident it will work" the captain responded with a smirk.
Throngs of people were choking their way into the citadel. They, like so many, were searching for a place of sanctuary. There was a horrid hurry when a sentry cried, "Here they come!"
From down the road came the winding column of Simmons' men. Men were standing erect on their jeeps, weapons at the ready. Seeing the towering building before them the recon element under MacMahon gunned their engines and charged towards the gates. The guards did not bother to try and stop them. Instead, they fled into the growing darkness. Crashing through the gate the three recon vehicles charged towards the idle tanks of Oriskany's command and began to light the wicks of their Molotovs. Hurling them at the engine compartments and the driver's periscopes they cast the last elements of the armored might alight.
"The way is clear" McMahon screamed into his radio, "Charge!"
With that the men leapt at it.
The citadel was choked full of soldiers. Some were wounded, others sought to seek a place of refuge, others were cowarding and trying to find a place to flee. As Simmon's and his men came up there was a spattering of fire coming from the machine gun nests that dotted the defenses. It was responded by a tidal wave of automatic fire from the hands of the militia.
Still nursing an open wound the captain urged his men on. Goons formed up in the open and charged towards the humans whom refuged to back down. They tackled the beasts and bashed in their brains in bitter hand to hand combat. Garfield could feel his heart enter his heart enter his throat as he saw what was playing out before him. The goons were being brushed aside like chaff to the wind.
An aide came to his side, "Sir, we have more goons ready to be committed on your order"
"Send them into the slaughter" he said in his low tone.
From around the citadel came a wave of goons of all imaginable proportions. Seeing them coming their way Simmons and Miller were waiting for them.
"Let them have it!" they commanded. The jeeps opened up with their top sided machine guns and blew through them like beams of light through the darkness.
"Come get some" cursed the gunners as they fed the bullets into their guns. Hundreds fell but more kept coming. Simmon's group continued to push their way through the line. Private Richard Kruger carried with him a small banner of the American nation. He carried it folded up in his breast pocket. When he spied the citadel he wanted nothing more than to plant the flag on the roof the building as a trophy of their victory. As he and his squad battled the goons in fierce hand to hand combat, where the bayonet and the fist reigned supreme, the humans gained the edge when the cut through the formation and continued to surge towards Garfield's head quarters.
"Stop them" the fat tabby cursed.
Simmon's men hurled grenades and ran after them. As the exploded they mounted the sandbags of the machine gun nests and sprayed the interiors with automatic fire. It was a massacre. Garfield's soldiers turned yellow and threw down their weapons and instead fled towards the relative sactuary of the basement or towards the rear of the headquarters. Others threw up their hands in surrender. "Don't shoot, we surrender" they said both cat and human alike. The goons were the only ones that did not seem to want to give up the fight. The reserves were committed but Simmons threw his last dice and rolled a seven. His jeeps, with their machine guns, kept them at bay. It was a far cry from the third battle of the Alamo where they were fighting with stone and catapults. It was a time for revenge. Miller wanted it back for his lost company. Simmons wanted it back for all the debredations that Garfield had caused, and for the common soldier they all had their personal agenda.
"Kill them all" said Captain Simmons as he watched his men charge across the open field towards the citadel and mount the steps. Up they went, hurling grenades and spraying the once illustrious building with lead. The columns were pock marked with dents from their fire. Priceless paintings were destroyed when Molotov cocktails were ignited and caused a fire to start, but Simmon's men went right on to it. Through the congressional hall they went, battling through strings of stagglers, stalwarts whom refused to surrender and fighting up the gold plated staircase towards Garfield's main office and roof top. Leading the way was Richard Kruger, his flag now in hand. What he needed was a flag pole to let the flag of the country to fly from. A length of pipe lay on the floor. He scooped it up and found a staircase that led towards the roof. As he went up he tied the small flag to the pipe and, after kicking down the door that barred him entrance, he was on the roof and gallantly waved the banner for all to see. On the highest peak he stabbed the pipe into the ground and cheered. Down below the men dawft their hats and let out a cry, they had won. All that was left was to find the leader, Garfield. He was somewhere in the wreckage.