Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of Garfield or Calvin and Hobbes. They are owned by Jim Davis and Bill Watterson, respectfully. I do own Dilger, Captain Miller, and his Grays.
Garfield gripped the table tightly, his face was low and dirty. Haven't cleaned himself in some time, his eyes were cast on a large set of his defenses. Blue lines made of pencil showed where his forces were digging in and blocks of blue showed where new units were formed up and waiting to be placed. There was a lot. What a mess. To the north of Muncie, were several green tokens, representing partisan units under his control. Those that swore an oath of loyalty to the cats were now waging a war, an irregular war on others like them, such as Miller and his Grays whom were moving further north, undaunted about what they faced. Somewhere out there, Percy was on the prowl with orders to destroy him and his kind. It was only a matter of time before the two forces clashed in a pitched battle, but it wasn't going to happen yet. Instead, the next great battle, which would far outweigh anything previous, would go south.
"How many soldiers do we have in the south?" he asked lowly.
"Uh, about 65,000, sir," came a reply.
"How many does the enemy possess?"
"Not sure, but it's far less than what we have, including our tanks."
Nodding silently, Garfield again surveyed his map. Situation was growing critical. In other places across America, uprisings were meeting mixed conclusions. What was being gained in one place was being lost in another. The focal point was placed on him. Muncie was the cat capital and if it should fall, then the revolution will be squashed. He must attack. Do it now while the enemy is still weak. Hit him with all your might and it might just turn out differently. Do or die.
"Issue an order to General Rats, I am having him removed from his division and placed in full command of this attack. I want him to realize that everything is at stake at this. No one is to fall back on this. Either we conqour or die."
His staff was mystified over this, but they obeyed, summoning the dirty general from his post to the west and bringing him to the southern sector. Here, he was given a full table to show where his troops were, and his armor, and artillery. It was an impressive sight to see so many soldiers, but Rats was not out of touch for long and immediately called his officers into council.
"Everything is at stake," he said, "I don't have to tell you the consequences if we fail, for there will be none of us left. Attack and drive and keep driving until the enemy gone. No one is to fall back. If someone turns coward, shoot them."
As the night wore on, the Grays were still on the moving, so was Percy, Calvin sat in his dank cell, listening to the taps of his neighbors against the wall trying to keep in touch with one another. It was sweet sound to here, though he didn't understand what they were saying, it was their own little code. But, knowing that he wasn't alone, he rested his body against wall and listened as the taps went on like rain on the roof top. As for Rats, he was in a tight spot. Surrounded by all of his officers, he laid out his plan of attack, it would come in the daylight, rather unrepentantly with weather on his side. It was forecasted to have a heavy mist that will conceal their approach. There would be no artillery support until later on. His infantry would go out across no man's land in a giant wave fashion and overwhelm the dogs with sheer numbers. Many of his soldiers also lacked arms or ammunition, so if a soldier had a weapon, another would follow close behind. When that man was hit, the man behind would pick up his weapon and carry on. Rather like the Russians. Surprise was the key. Dogs were sure to be prepared. They were not stupid and they also had humans with them, which meant that they also knew how to fortify their positions with mines and machine guns. It would be a costly assault if it was screwed up, and he knew that many a brave cat would not come back from this. That night, when it was all over, General Rats tried to go to sleep at four in the morning knowing what the day will bring and he wasn't able to gain a wink.
His fellow felines in the trenches were not better off. Though their officers could not tell them what was happening, they sensed something was up when all of the officers were called back for a meeting. For some time now, they had dug holes and turned great ountry land into a virtual desert. No a soul dared to cross it. As they looked out across the field, a mist began to form in the early morning, they clung to their rifles tightly and waited as the minutes ticked by ever so slowly. For many, it was their first fight. Sergeants, veterans, were there to cheer them up. "It's not so bad," one said, "Just kept running and shoot at anything that moves." H- hour was ticking closer and closer. 0700, and the mist had turned the scenery an eerie pale gray. There was to be no chatter, calls, or yells.
When General Rats stepped out of the trenches, that would be the signal. It would be difficult under these circumstances, but this tough general was confident he could pull of a great counter stroke. Dogs on the other side were still completely oblivious to anything coming their way. Trenches were still being dug to protect themselves from enemy snipers and artillery. To the rear, vast amounts of supplies, mostly captured, were being stowed away inside buildings, abandoned by their tenements. New recruits were coming in, and there was Dilger in the midst, trying his best to keep everything organized. He was placed back in command of his defense company, or what was left of them. Of the original contingent, only seven were left unharmed. About six more replacements came in to bolster their ranks to 90 in number. As they waited for the day to begin, many were vast asleep, taking advantage of a rare lull from the enemy to sleep.
He stepped out onto the field and continued to walk forward. As he did, sergeants stepped out as well, followed closely by privates. This first group formed a arrow tip. As they advanced, the rest of the cats came out of their trenches to march forth. Rifles at the ready, bodies hunched forward, they went through the heavy mist. The distance between both lines in many cases was about 200 yards, yet it seemed like an eternity to cross for those new to fighting. There was not a shot fired at they finally closed in on their unsuspecting prey.
In the forward lines, the few dogs that were awake were dazed, numb from the siege. They could not hear anything up to this point, but the cats were creeping up at them. It wasn't at a run, but at a diliberate pace. One dog sat up in his hole and drew in a deep breath of clean air to fill his lungs. It was good day, he thought.
As he sat there, something up front caught his eye. It was a figure. A cat? Not sure. As he rose, his rifle was cocked and ready. Then, behind that figure came several more and his mind knew instantly what it was.
"Holy s…." a bullet cut his words off.
He fell face first into the dirt.
"Damn," Rats cursed. Someone had fired a shot, now they knew. "Charge!" he yelled spurting ahead. With a wild yell, his cats swarmed in from all sides. Roused from their sleep by the cries of wounded and whizzing of bullets, dogs came out of their dugouts to be confronted by a wave of enemy soldiers coming right for them.
Some panicked and fled, only to be shot down just as soon as they left their cover. Others cowered to be taken prisoner, still some resisted. In no time flat, Dilger came out to see his forward line be consumed. But this dog was not one to give up so easily. "Now we are going to have some fun," he told his aide as he went out to his main line where he could be seen bounding from place, exposing himself needlessly to enemy fire, he tried to get dogs and humans alike into his main line. Humans, were stunned to see talking animals, but they soon shook it off when Dilger kicked them in the seat of their pants to get them moving. Wounded needed to be removed, ammunition brought up, along with support if there was any chance in throwing the enemy back. As a wave of soldiers came through, shouting at the top of their lungs, throwing threats and taunts at the dogs, Dilger ordered his company to fire away. As the best trained unit in the Dog Army, the Defense Company held the center of the line in the minds of everyone that was there. When the company commenced fire, they swept away all those in the field. In just seconds, fifty cats lay dead or dying. But more and more came up, far more than Dilger could withstand. It wasn't a pretty sight. One here and one there would break away and run to the rear, but security would be there to catch them. Then, by Dilger's order, he began to move his forces back. He couldn't possibly hold them back with the numbers he had, and they had, he would be slaughtered.
Company by company began to abandon the line in good order, to a predestinated fall back point 300 meters to the south. Several large buildings, abandoned by their tenements, were being used by the dogs as a supply depot. It had to be defended. As the dogs pulled back, they began to dig frantically into the soft soil or forded up inside the houses. As they did, the cats busted into the main line with unbelievable fury. Hand to hand combat was everywhere as the last of the survivors retreated. Making sure everyone had gone, Dilger himself found himself caught up in the action. A cat jumped in and demanded his surrender, but was promptly shot in the face. Two come came over and shot his aide but were clubbed down soon after.
"Dilger, you must leave," his wounded aide said, laying on his back, shot through the belly. Having refused to be removed, the aide said he would cover the withdrawal.
Garfield's counter attack was producing fruit by the hour. Ground had been gained, and a break through of the enemies line had destroyed several units whole, including that new volunteer company. All that stood in their way now was Dilger's second line which was a stonewall to a tidal wave. Undaunted by the aspects of a quick death, the cats came forward without orders. They tasted victory, they tasted blood.
From afar, the light show was intense enough to be seen by Captain Miller. Sitting on a small knoll, they watched as the battle played out before them like theater. It was hard to tell what exactly was happening because of the mist, but they were nervous. What was happening out there? They felt helpless to do anything about it from here.
Dilger wished he could be there because a bullet hit above his head.
"Wow, that was close," he yelled as he went behind a building. Following him close was an entourage. All around them, soldiers were doing everything they could, in a state of haste and panic. Some dug, others jumped into windows, others just stood up and shot at shadows. Encouraged by officers, the dogs held on as General Rats finally rallied up his command sent them forward at last to clean up the last bit of resistance.
Shouting and yelling, cats of every shape and form came up, they hurled grenades and charged through their own explosions. Casualties didn't matter to them at all. Each yard was covered by dead and wounded. Despite having lost hundreds in one dash, the cats came in and clashed with the main line in feierce fighting that broke out amonst the buildings. There were six of them in a line fashion, three abreast then three behind with about ten feet in between. Segregating each building was a low stone wall about three feet high. When the two forces collided, broken fights occurred all around and somewhere in the middle of it, Dilger was trying to make a miracle. His losses were heavy and no reinforcements were promised
One house was owned by cats, the one next door, dogs, and they shot through windows at one another at point blank range. Through the streets, they brawled with their paws and teeth, gnawing at one another as bodies rolled over the slain bodies of comrades. Puddles of blood were as high as their ankles. More cats were coming, down the main street, in a professional manner. An officer was in the lead, a sword in hand. They were the first of Garfield's Regular army, professional soldiers. The officer was a proud fellow, brave, and smart, but he was ignorant to realize that the first target the dogs aimed at was that one officer.
"Get him!" Dilger shouted, pointing at him.
Dropping to one knee, quickly, a rifleman immediately let loose one shot, and that one officer collapsed to the ground with a thud. His followers hesitated at that instant, allowing dogs to deal more shot into their ranks that fell more, but officers behind prodded and pushed them into attack and they surged forward. Looking around for a safe place to retreat to, Dilger sighted a house that dogs currently occupied.
"Get to that house, quickly!" he ordered, grabbing and pulling soldiers out of line and sending them running to safety.
It was a close call, for the cats were swift, light on their feet, in chasing down Dilger's troops. Several soldiers stopped and fired their weapons to try and take down more of their foes, but they piled through the one wooden gate entrance of the compound and shut it behind them. An officer with Dilger climbed the steps towards the front door. Locked. "Figures," he muttered. By pounding on the door, a sergeant answered through an adjacent window, "What do you want?"
"Let us in," the officer roared.
"No, this is our place. Find your own," then he promptly closed the window for good.
Disgusted, the officer reported back to Dilger that there was no dice in gaining entry. "Then break the door down!" his CO roared back.
Small pockets were going at it at corners, alleyways, even roof tops. There was no line at all, just a mess. In order to rectify the situation, a pair of artillery pieces were wrestled for the cats and began to systematically belch canister fire into the tangled mass. Shot bounced off walls and shattered windows.
"What should we do?" someone yelled.
"Commit the armor!" Garfield bellowed, slamming his fist onto the table. It was back at the fat tabby's head quarters.
"Yes, sir," his aide saluted before scampering off.
At the assembly point, the crews of the Kitty tank battalion were waiting to go. The battle was there in front of them and they wanted to be the cavalry that arrives to achieve the great victory. Brainwashed with the belief that they were the greatest and their foe weak, cats of this force were hardheaded and ignorant to outsiders, even of their own kind. When word finally came down to begin their advance, their commander decided not too for reasons unclear. "I have time," he said from his turret, "The enemy is not going anywhere."
The aide exploded, berating the commander for his arrogance and threatened to shoot him if he didn't get moving. He even went so far as climb up onto the turret and point a pistol right at his head. That settled the argument.
This sort of disobedience was unheard of, but by then, it didn't matter. It was too late. Slowly, the cats found themselves being hit from all sides by small squads of dogs. Their foe was determined, attacking to the point of sheer recklessness, in total disregard to their own lives, they threw themselves at the felines with fury and actually began to beat them back towards the main line.
Fighting was still be waged inside the buildings, stubborn squads were still hiding out inside and needed to be flushed out, but Dilger did not want to miss a golden chance, and he sent the bulk of his soldiers to keep on the pressure. As they jumped into the holes, dogs would come running up right behind them and jump in, firing machine guns as they did. One Dalmatian set up a machine gun and cut down at least fifty of the enemy as they tried to flee back towards Muncie. Bravery wasn't all on the canine side. Private Salmon, found himself alone with a pouch full of grenades. When he noticed a large formation of dogs forming up to attack, he began to arm and heave the grenades at them as fast as he could. When they were used up, he picked up a Car15 rifle and fired off a full magazine before he was wounded and captured. General Rats was helpless to see his soldiers being slaughtered after the fighting in the supply depot. His flanks were unsupported and more and more enemy soldiers were being added into the fray. There was no control, just chaos. His aide was killed, and his couriers were captured in the retreat. None of his junior officers in a position to lay control, every cat for himself. And where was the General? He was at an outpost, observing.
Even some female cats decided to join in. Three such tabbies took control of a machine gun in a bunker after the crew were killed. With one feeding a constant flow of ammunition, and another sorting through the boxes for more, the third just laid it on thick against all that approached their position.
Sergeant Wilcox, a stray Dalmatian, seemed to draw a lot of attention from snipers and machine gunners alike, must have been his coat. No one wanted to be with him because of his streak of bad luck, so he found himself pinned down in a field in between the two lines, the advance one now overtaken by the cats, and the main line held by the dogs. They were shooting at one another, and anyone crossing this field was cut down. A few could be seen hunkering behind bodies or in some depression of soil, but they were spread out and scared too stiff to move. When the heat died off a bit, Wilcox decided to try and move to get a better look at this one machine gun. Inching forward and to the right, he came across a engineer with a satchel full of explosives. With glee, he took them, might be of use. When the shooting started up again, Wilcox lay flat on his belly, playing dead, when it stopped, he crawl forward.
It was now 1000 hours and the counter attack was stonewalled. Trying to gain on his success, Garfield was urging more and more of his followers to commit themselves. His tanks, that he sent at 0930 were still at their starting point. In his haste to launch a counter attack, Garfield neglected the fact that it had rained heavily the night before and now the fields were soaked. Tanks were too heavy to cross and a few became bogged down as they progressed forward. Still, they hurled shells and fired off their machine guns in support. Wilcox was still there as well. He inched close enough to this machine gun inside a earthen bunker, it was made by the dogs with a forward and backward firing slit made from lumber in case of an attack from the rear. Smart. When he felt confident to attack, he froze. All he had was a rifle, a handful of ammunition, and several blocks of c-4. For all he knew, there could be an entire company around this bunker. Thinking long and hard, a burst of fire went right over his head. Dropping onto his belly, Wilcox decided what his chances were. If he went forward, it could mean death. He looked back across the field that he ventured across, bodies were intermingle in hideous ways. Couldn't go back. Like so many others. Couldn't go. Rummaging through his satchel, he found several blasting caps and fuses. He didn't know how to arm a block or how much to use so he just guessed and prayed. When it was all done, the fire slackened once again and the Dalmatian went forward. Coming at an angle to the right, the cats inside could not see Wilcox's approach. A trench connected this bunker with similar ones down the line. To Wilcox's surprise, no one was in them. Climbing in, he looked left then right, not a soul around, just distant flickers of light coming from the muzzles of rifles and machine guns. The one close by fired again. Cautiously, he came forward towards the entrance, it was closed up.
"Better not waste the explosives," he thought, "might need them later. Just use the rifle, attack fast. How many could there be?"
With a solid kick, Wilcox busted in, surprising the three female cats whom were shocked to see him. They stared at one another for a brief moment, one was on the gun, the second feeding the ammo, and a third at hand with two boxes of it. Number two suddenly began to reach for a pistol and Wilcox fired his rifle. Caught in the hip, that one fell. Number one dove for a pile of empty boxes just as number 3 dropped hers and reached for a rifle. In a instant, both foes shot at one another and both were hit. Falling on his back in the entrance, Wilcox began to move himself back outside using his left leg all the while firing inside. The cat couldn't be seen from this vantage point, but as long as he kept shooting, she couldn't hit him. That cat was also firing blindly, bullets ripped apart the door frame. Once outside, Wilcox found his explosives, armed them and promptly threw it inside, "screw you!" he screamed before slamming the door shut.
There came from screams then a thunderous boom and the roof went skywards then collapsed on itself. Debris fell all over him and Wilcox temporarily lost consciousness.
What a mess. Several sergeants and a handful of privates were holed up inside one of the houses. Cats. They knew that their comrades had fallen back, thus trapping them behind enemy lines. They took up a vote whether to surrender or try and cut their way out. Seven wanted to give up, and eight wanted to make a run for it. They lined up, burst out the door and tore like hell across the field, jumping into holes or depressions whenever possible. Bullets nicked their heels and soared overhead. One had his ear clipped by one but surprisingly, they all made across the main trench towards the second trench. The main trench was all but lost at this point. The counter attack was only four hours old and it was used up but the cats tried again and again to solidify their gains. They had won some but lost many and it still wasn't over….