Disclaimer: I do not own the characters to Calvin and Hobbes or Garfield, they are owned by Bill Watterson and Jim Davis respectfully. I do however, own everyone else.
His fight was over. The fort of G.R.O.S.S had been over run by General Rats victorious cats whom paraded in front of their many captives. Laying unconscious among his works, his friend Hobbes at his feet, the boy felt the sense of dread that most prisoners feel as the process came of clearing up the wreckage and removing the bodies.
Some of the more lucky ones were the only girls that remained behind. Candance and Susie were brought forth to several officers. Hands bound before them, they were helpless but did not need to fear of torture but were whisked away to somewhere unknown, possibly towards Muncie where hundreds of others have been sent. Why them so quickly was always a question.
They were lucky not to be treated as Hobbes was. When soldiers found him to be alive, if barely, they viewed him as a traitor. Instead of being unceremoniously put to death by a firing squad, his feet were tied and his body was dragged outside the fort, over the palisade he created, and dragged into the woods as well.
Some of the wounded were too far gone to be tended for. Still, Rat's gave for them to be treated well. That didn't comfort the soldiers. After having seen many their comrades killed, they wanted to even up the odds a little bit. Several members of the garrison were placed on stretchers in the fort's main compound, guards surrounding them with automatic weapons. No one knows exactly what happened next, but what did is fact. A burst of fire followed by a stream of lead came from the barrels of the guards. Bullets began to rip into the prisoners as they lay helpless, moaning, crying for their mothers. Before officers could put a stop to it, seven lay dead.
Rats stood there, looking this boy over. Though dwarfed by his appearance, the general still retained his sense of dignity and pride as he began to question his adversary.
"I must hand it to you, young one. You have managed to become quite a pain in the butt towards our revolution"
Calvin remained silent, chin jutted forward, firm, defiant.
"A large number of my soldiers are dead, but most of your number are as well"
"After you murdered them" Calvin spat.
An aide stepped forward, pistol in hand, "How dare you speak arrogance against the general" hissing through his exposed fangs, cocking the hammer and aiming it right for Calvin's forehead. Rats cooled him down before resuming.
"That unfortunate mishap was not on my account. Soldiers" he shrugged, "Nothing I can do about it"
Knowing he was not going to gain anything further from this, Rats ordered a soldier to take Calvin away, but to leave the rest of the prisoners at the fort to commence with it's destruction.
For two hours, picks, shovels, and cart loads of dirt were at a fever pitch as parties began to disassemble the out walls of the fort. Frames of wood, nails, and stone were removed and piled up. Whatever was not needed was burned, dumped, or buried not far away. As work proceeded, parties outside began to remove the vast collection of dead and wounded whose howling pleas of mercy or death echoed in the ears of everyone for miles. Such a grizzly task it was to care for them. G.R.O.S.S had made a very tenacious stand, though brief. What drove many to awe such courage was the fact that they knew that escape was impossible but most remained steadfast and refused to surrender until the very end.
When a break was called for some time after midday, fires were made using dismantled wood to brewup some hot tea or coffee.
"I thought cats hated this stuff" asked one of the prisoners.
"Shows how little you feeble humans actually know us" a soldier remarked taking a sip with sugar and cream. Rations were rather well received after a hard one victory. Rats issued fresh fish, tartar sauce, along with bread and butter to his soldiers. For his prisoners, he gave only a half loaf of bread and some water, that was it. Trading or barter with captors was forbidden.
Settling down in his head quarters, Rats sat in a crudely made lounge chair that over looked the fort. Aides were asleep or sitting around a fire as an orderly put in the fixings to a nice stew. The temperature was in the 90s, a dry day and there was little else going on. His soldiers had done their job and there seemed to be little to worry about in this sector, the war seemed to be a far distant memory. As the aroma from the stew entered his senses, Rats began to fall into a deep sleep. Time wore on, hours ticked by. Worked was resumed by those laborers and the fort was no longer what it appeared to be, more like a shell crater with no decipherable shape. Wounded were now removed and taken away to hospitals in Muncie, that left only the dead to which there was a load of to be buried. A lare trench was made in the field not very far away then each soldier was carefully buried as their name was marked on a roster. Most of them were strays and had no official name, only a street name so their true identity was never known, only to them.
Those not working began to fall asleep in the heat, under the shade of the trees after taking in their share of the stew. Everything was now slow. No concerns, no dread or worries, but that was about to change fast.
An officer attempted to paswthe lull by looking through his new field glass, binoculars, to identify some terrain features. Towards the north was a slight rise, virtually naked of any obstructions, just some green grass fed by the little stream that snaked through the woods nearby. Looking left and right, the Indiana country side was a rather boredom, either trees or cultivated farming fields. "This is why I hate this place" cursing loudly, "I hate those cows" A figure jumped into view, from behind that rise, then a second and third came in rapid succession. They seemed to be coming over towards him. Adjusting his lenses, the officer made it out to be humans, and more and more were coming over at a run.
"There are humans coming from the north!" the officer shouted, startling those from their sleep. He couldn't make it out whom exactly it was, militia, regular army, an alliance or what. Whatever they were, they were not friendly. This clod of humans made a jog towards the fort just as the weary cats began to stir from their fires and sleep. Stopping a good 400 yards short in a naked field and began to fan out to their left and right in a very thin line not more than twenty or so individuals making it up, with some fifteen feet in between each individual and began to send shots into the woods and fort to make their presence known. Officers jumped up and began to call for their commands, sergeants poked and prodded soldiers into line as shots whizzed by and through. One or two were hit at the fort, their bodies stumbled and fell amongst the dirt at the rim but that did nothing to prevent the Black Cats from forming up into an impressive line of battle.
In one steady motion, they present their arms and dealt one massive volley. Bullets smacked the earth and whined past their ears, yet not a single human in this line was hit. That may have been enough though to shake them up and they beat a hasty withdrawal towards the north.
Disturbed by this sudden attack, Rats stirred from his sleep and issued an order for his lead brigade to give pursuit, hunt them down, and destroy them, each and every one. No prisoners.
"Track them down" Rats ordered, pointing to that pathetic band, "and annihilate them. Those humans are too late to help those in the fort."
Artillery fire also came into play, sending deadly missiles hurling through the air. However, the humans ran so fast that most landed far short of their goal with no effect. With the order now in hand to give chase, a captured brass bugle announced the call to charge and the cats, with a mighty roar, spurted ahead, firing their weapons on the go.
Gratified that he had dealt with this pitiful band of rabble, Rats turned away to lay down and sleep but not here, but at his other head quarters closer to Muncie. A tent more suitable to his taste with a serveant and a plush pillow awaited him. That left his command in the hands of his aide, Colonel Falmouth, or "foul mouth" by his peers for his habit of cursing while trying to rid his hide of fleas by near constant scratching. All seemed to be going well though, so there was little for the colonel to do except watch as his soldiers dealt another blow to the alliance of dog and man. Going up towards the rise, banners in the lead, the faint cheers could still be heard as they finally went over without giving up a moment to pause only to be stopped dead in their tracks by a blistering hot volley delivered right into their face.
Dense white smoke began to rise up, unnerving an already anxious Falmouth. Something dreadful has happened. Most of his soldiers did not use black powder weapons that was giving off this smoke, someone else was there. A trap. It was a trap and he fell right for it. Immediately, he ordered his support battalions forward along with the artillery. At the same time, members of Black Cats began to spill over the rise, many wounded, in an unorganized retreat. Looking at them through his field glasses, Falmouth saw for himself, for through the dense smoke were heads of many humans, bobbing up and down, firing their weapons. There must have been hundreds of them. Even though distance separated the colonel from the battle, several bullets nipped the branches above his head and it began to rain leaves, telling a much different story. Already in a nervous disposition, Falmouth finally snapped when leadership was needed the most.
With pen and paper, he scribbled down a message to be given to Rats at his tent. "Have engaged an entire enemy division. Need reinforcements immediately" an orderly hustled off to find the general as the cats launched an ill-advised and disastrous attack against the rise. Humans up there were now in possession of captured semi and automatic weapons and they pummeled their feline opponents mercilessly. Officers were killed, sergeants wounded, and the common soldier was left thinking all was lost. Many milled about in confusion and raw recruits began to fire inadvertently into their own members. When artillery support came up to fire, even they felt the sting of human fire power. None of the weapons presented metal shields to protect them from small arms fire. Rats wanted his weapons to be light and swift, sacrificing protection for speed. For that, his soldiers paid dearly. In less time it takes to say it, thirty members were slain by their guns. Broken, the cats began to retreat back towards the fort. The humans now gave chase. With a cheer, they poured over the rise and right for them, firing their weapons from the hip. All artillery pieces were abandoned and subsequently captured and trained on their fleeing former owners. Here and there, a cat or small group would rally in the open to try and stem the tide, but these were hacked down, often the wounded being shot by feverish humans as they begged for mercy. The color bearers of the Black Cat's 3rd regiment, with it's entire color guard found themselves running for their lines with a hail of lead nipping at their heels. A major suddenly recognized that they carried the colors, ran ahead and ordered them to halt and flaunt their banners in order to rally the dispersed soldiers. So they formed up, two bearers in the center, a guard on their flanks, and four more in their immediate rear. Once formed up, they wheeled about to confront their foe and was immediately slammed by a volley that decimated all of them. One of the beaers still clung to life. As comrades retreated, stampeding over their bodies, he handed both stands of colors to prevent their capture
Watching the battle go horribly wrong, wounded and dead piling up at every moment, Falmouth turned to his aides to asked for direction. Only two members were there, and one was struck by a spent bullet that rendered him unconscious. Black Cats had retreat towards the woods, the only suitable terrain, but with most of their officers slain, they did not rally. Instead, regiments were intermingled, companies splintered, and platoons spread apart. Still, once they entered the tree line, the cats turned about and made a stand. Bullets began to fall on the humans whom were caught exposed. An officer ordered up the captured artillery to blast them out after seeing sharpshooters climbing up trees in. Salvo after salvo of deadly canister fire turned the thick pine and oak trees into splinters, and the cats were once again put into a route. Undaunted by the aspect of deadly close quarter fighting, the humans exploited their early gains by launching a head on charge. With knifes gleaming and shouts bouncing off the great many trees, the humans plunged right into the undergrowth and engaged in bitter hand to hand combat with the remnants of Rat's command. It was fierce, nothing like ever experienced by veterans. Heads were bashed in, wounded shot or stampeded, some were bayoneted and left pinned to the trunk of a tree. Private Geylo, a wounded black cat, saw the huans coming for them and called out, "I surrender, boys, don't shoot". They did anyways and slit his throat.
Seeing his command broken before his eyes, fugitives streaming back from the conflict, the shrill cries and spats of fire in his ears, Falmouth's mind at last snapped. Blood drained from his head, his complexion turned white and he collapsed where he stood. Thinking him to be dead, Lt. Colonel Merritt, a buff calico with a distinguishable brown, bean shaped, spot over his right eye, took command. He immediately ordered the entire command to fall back into the interior of the east woods, there they would rally and organize a proper defense. Whatever could not be carried had to be abandoned, that included a great many wounded, but with the tide of battle now placed against him, Merritt weighed his options, found himself to be at a lose, chose to cut his losses and save his command. Bugles and calls rang out, calling for all soldiers to obey. Some did, others didn't, or could not. One batch found themselves pinned down on the fort's south slope. Unable to flee with their comrades, they tried to make a break for the south, well away from the conflict. They made it off the field unhurt and hid out for two days in the wilderness until they were caught a patrol belonging to Dilger. As for the rest of Rats' command, they followed Merritt's order, moving east into the dense undergrowth of the east woods where the humans gave chase. Here and there, a running fight would ensue as cats attempted to make a stand. Sergeant Piper, a dominating eighteen year old took to the heels of a large group of Black Cats. At a dead run he jumped over a small creek, shot down one cat, butt stroked another, and tackled a third. The two were locked in a deadly game of combat on the ground of the forest. With skirmishes erupting all around them, Piper remained focused on this one enemy soldier. Ignoring claw slashes to his face and eyes, he took out a knife and plunged it into his foe's chest repeatedly until it stopped moving. Finished with that one, Piper continued on. Moments later, he was shot in the shoulder by one cat and stabbed by another, but ignored the pain and killed both with his rifle before returning back to find others. Such close quarter combat was common as the claustrophobic nature they surrounded themselves in allowed for only face to face confrontations. Just down stream from Sergeant Piper, Privates Rodriquez, and Dominic shot down a fleeing cat then began to take fire from the opposite bank. It was from a group of cats behind some foliage. Both sides were trading shots at one another as they began to form up into groups once again. 4th Regiment of the Black Cats, numbering just some 200 in number, rallied on the east bank and prepared to make a stand as other regiments streamed by without making an effort to join in. Routed artillery crews refused to pick up rifles and help out, intended voted to go in the nearest fort and render assistance, several miles away.
Separated from his command, a color bearer of the 1st Regiment, Black Cats, attempted to ford across the stream where he believed to be his regiment was. Two humans, clad in traditional hunter camouflage, stalked this prey for the banner in which it carried, a pure black silk flag four feet by four feet square. Unbeknownst to this cat, he climbed up the far bank. Thinking to be home free, he roared in delight, only to have a bullet slam through the back of his skull. His banner was picked up, but the cat did not die and was rescued by a medic.
The human drive became spent along the creek and both sides settled down to trading shots at one another but no one made an effort to carry the other side. Casualties were already extremely high and the day was very near over. A bugle call from the human's rear called for them to withdrawal back to the fort just as the sun began to set towards the west.
This was done, and the cats went to the east, thus both sides separated putting an end to this conflict. It was a hot, hard won day. Humans once again held possession of the fort, but they would not stay for long. Former prisoners of G.R.O.S.S, whom have hidden themselves in the shell of their fort, found themselves free from captivity once again. It was from their mouths that others heard of the titanic struggle and subsequent fall of their organization.
Sean was one of those fortunate ones. Sitting inside the hole that was his fort, a captured blanket draped over his shoulder to cover up his sun burned neck, hands nervously holding a cup of soda, a rare treat he surveyed his surroundings. Humans they were, much more matured than he or anyone else he had fought with before were all around. One holding up a captured banner, others with captured weaponry. They seemed to be intent of listening to his tale. One of them was an impressive figure, older and wise, with blue eyes and light hair, he sat on a cracker box, elbows resting on his knees as Sean started, "Those cats came over like a wave, but Calvin and his tiger kept them back. It was like trying to staunch a busted water main with a cork. We tried but it wasn't enough and they overwhelmed us."
That name that was given, Calvin, sounded familiar to this party. "You mean Calvin of the Great Calvin and Hobbes?" the leader asked.
"Why, yes" Sean replied, "You have heard of him?"
"Yes" he scoffed, "we were on our way to him when we ran into these cats."
"Well, you're a bit late" he scoffed, "They captured both of them and sent them to parts unknown".
Unsettled by this batch of news, the leader rose from his seat as his company remained silent but fixated on him. He was like Jesus and they were his disciples, they waited for what words would come from his lips, even the prisoners were intent on listening. Moving around the interior of the shambles, the leader looked at all of their faces. A hard march they were on, fought a fierce battle, and won, now they must do something else.
"Very well. We'll rest here for the night then we'll continue on and link up with the dogs in the south." he said. Once it was given, the company began to disperse to do their chores.
"Oh" Brian called out, "byt the way. Who are you?"
"Captain Miller and these are my Grays"