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 every one else.
Garfield had launched a bold counter attack to the south of Muncie with the hopes of breaking the stalemate that had formed against the newly formed united dog army. From the start, it went off well, despite a early warning from a jumpy soldier. They still managed to push back the dogs under the leadership of Dilger up to his supply depot, but the attack fell apart and the dogs counter attacked, pushing the cats back all the way to the first line of trenches. Now, they waited until Garfield could move up his Kitty tanks to exploit the break.
By now, the two sides were hammering away at one another over the open ground. Dilger was doing his best to evacuate the immense amount of wounded that lay before him, and he was desperately short handed of stretcher bearers, doctors, and now soldiers. Units were mixed up, prisoners had to be dealt with, and supplies were needed. It was all too much. Twice, he collapsed from exhaustion but was helped up and refused to leave his post. The Shepard went up and down the line, encouraging and damning, defying the bullets that sailed past his ears.
"You were almost hit!" an aide cried
"Was I hit?" Dilger responded.
"No, sir"
"Then do not worry about it."
To the rear of the lines, the Kitty tanks were finally whipped into motion. Finding out before that the ground was soft, too soft for their weight crew members tried ingenious methods to get moving. Planks of wood were placed underneath treads or extensions of the treades themselves were added, making them wider and therefore spreading out their weight. Slow and painful as it was, the battalions gained ground and by 1100 hours, the first tanks were going over their own line right behind General Rats. Greatly relieved to see them at last, the General climbed up the turret to the first one, "Well it's about damn time you finally showed up!" He need to hit them now with all we have," he told his staff. "Don't worry about our flanks. Get your soldiers up and hit them in the belly as hard as you can. I'll get the tanks to support our advance you just worry about the cowards."
Climbing onboard that tank, the general began to direct where he wanted fire to be put so he could renew his counter attack. "I want fire there, there, there, and there." he yelled.
"What about that trench?" the commander asked.
"To hell with it. It's narrow enough for you to cross, I've been through it. Just get this bucket of bolts moving."
Staying around, bogged down in a shallow skirmish line was not good news for Garfield whom now was contemplating a withdraw. So many of his precious soldiers were lost. He wished to be alone in his map room where he grieved over the possible death throws of his cause. To add more thorns to his side, Rats attacked with such deliberation, and such speed, that several pockets of resistance were bypassed or ignored. Small squads, or even individuals, were working on the flanks and in no man's land. Even so, Rats wanted to attack again, immediately while his enemy was weak along with him.
Shells began to crash through Dilger's lines. 37mm guns had slow velocity but they were deadly to infantry when they did hit. The field was aglow with burning wood, buildings, and brush. No one wished to stomp them out, instead, the dogs hunkered down in their lines, waiting for the next attack.
Far away to the north, Calvin was sitting it out. Though he could hear the rumble of the guns, he could not watch the fight the could decide his fate. Next to him came a tap on the wall.
TAP TAP TAP TAP
TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP
One eyebrow was raised. What was that? It repeated itself soon after. Whomever it was on the other side was trying to communicate with him. He had no knowledge of Morse Code. But he tried. Before him, on his bunk, lay a tray with a metal spoon. Food wasn't much, swill. Taking up the spoon in his hand, Calvin placed his ear to the wall and tapped on the moist wall, gentle at first.
TAP TAP
There was a moment of silence
TAP TAP TAP TAP
TAP TAP TAP TAP
It must be a code, he thought so he repeated what this person was giving
TAP TAP TAP TAP
TAP TAP TAP TAP
It must have opened the flood gates for once Calvin did that, the person from the cell on the opposite side began to tap to communicate and others began to tap. He was not alone and his heart filled with happiness from a long time.
He was, but those in the field were caught in a dilemma. They saw the tanks come up and pummel Dilger's lines and it looked like they would be swept aside once again like this morning. One of the groups that was bypassed was a group of six dogs from mixed units, one was from Dilger's original command. They were stuck behind a small knoll, trying to stay out of sight to avoid the fire power going over their heads. A sergeant was in command of them, and he was encouraging the weak minded to stay true to their comrades, do not give up or give in. Shells were going off in concert. Tanks were lined up behind the trench hub to hub slamming shells and belching fire as quickly as possible. If an individual could be singled out through the haze, often a dozen would fire onto it and keep firing until the target was no longer visible. When none was to be had, gunners took a rough estimate on the range and fired with their comrades flanking them firing off one after the other in a steady rythum. Rats was worried. So many shells were obliterating the earth, generating smoke, dust, and debris, that they could no longer see where shells were landing and ordered the fire to slacken off a bit so the haze could lift, but the gunners ignored his order and continued to fire with unrelenting vigor.
The dogs had nothing to combat such an onslaught with. All of their heavy weapons were to the rear, far out of range, useless. Soldiers just had to lay low, hug the ground as much as possible, and deal with it as the barrage went on for thirty grueling minutes, then, it stopped and the tanks could be heard rolling forward with rumble that of a buffalo stampede.
Venturing out into the vacant land, the attack was on once again. No one challenged them this time except for their left flank. That one group of dogs that was overlooked, they counted themselves as lucky for they managed to scrounge up two old Bazookas, M-9 collapsible versions, a handful of rockets, grenades, and rifles and submachine guns between them.
As they crossed over their lines, the tanks let loose one more volley that sent mountains of dirt and debris high into the air as the lumbering beasts crawled forward through the soft terrain, machine guns chattering and cannons booming. Infantry clambered out of their holes and advanced behind the tanks as rounds sent by the dogs nicked and dinged off the tanks armor.
The sergeant was amazed to see the tanks go by in a near perfect line formation. Perfect discipline, but what also caught his eye was to see their sides, vulnerable sides. The group found themselves at the very flank of the enemy, in a position to cause great damage and confusion if they act upon it. Exposed to his rocket launchers, and the infantry were oblivious to his presence the cats were asking for a beating . Ordering his two weapons up on to a line, the sergeant told them to aim for the engine compartment, right below the commander's copula. Flanked by riflemen, the team steadied themselves and waited as the tanks went by, then the sergeant gave the order and the bazookas roared.
WOOOSH
WOOOSH
BAM!
BAM!
Two direct hits in rapid succession. Flames engulfed two of the tanks as they came to a halt. Crewmembers began to bail out through hatches and the riflemen began to pick them off. By now, the cats were aware of being flanked and the infantry turned to meet them. As the gunners reloaded, the sergeant tried to have the supporting infantry pinned down as more tanks presented themselves. Through the growing inky blackness created by the burning of gasoline, the cats did not use diesel engines, two more tanks were turning left to deal with them.
"Hurry up!" the sergeant yelled, "They are coming!"
Looking down the sight of his carbine, he zeroed in on a orange cat, a young calico of sorts laying on his belly looking about aimlessly, as if lost or disoriented. One squeeze of the trigger, and the cat's head dropped. One down. He then switched towards two others that were taking a knee close by and firing at him. Their bullets were going high over head. Must be green soldiers, unaccustomed to the recoil of their weapons. The sergeant took his time, gathered up the head of one target in his sight and fired one, dropped him, then the second soon after. Easy. A burst of machine gun fire from a tank caused him to drop down behind the knoll, cursing, almost hit.
One gunner came up and found his target had moved to within 100 yards of them, machine gun sending lead in their direction. Hiding behind the rise to avoid the fire, they had to wait several seconds before the gunner braved the cats to fire off a round. It went straight and true, striking the front plate where the shape charge burned white hot, melting metal and flesh. The compartment began to burn and the crew bailed out where they were shot down before getting too far.
Even with the group causing havoc on the left, most of Rat's soldiers and tanks crossed the field and found that the front line of the dogs was manned only by wounded too far gone to be evacuated. They fired off a few rounds of machine guns before being killed. Where did they all go?
Dilger decided that it was futile to hold such a position with his numbers, so he withdrew his command south, past his supply depot. What could not be carried was torched to prevent its capture. To further complicate his plans, there was no time to lay down mines, though there were many in stock or dig antitank ditches, trenches wide and deep enough to prevent a Kitty tank from cross. What the German Shepard planned on was a type of guerilla war unseen by the cats. Small squads armed with grenades and mines waited for the tanks to come close and ambush them. Since there was no time to arm and bury there disc mines, soldiers armed them with tilt rods, about a foot lone rod attached to the mine, when pushed just a half a degree, the mine would explode. It was a stiff fuse, so it wouldn't go off from wind or when thrown so they literally hurled them at incoming tanks like Frisbees. Smoldering wrecks marked where they had struck along the trails, avenues of approach. Infantry support was lagging behind, exhausted and eyeing delicacies the dogs had left behind, some had paused to feast on meats, cheese, and play with toys, leaving tanks exposed. Just south of the depot, seven tanks were burning with the bodies of their crew dangling out of their hatches. This was just one of the many ambushes that was successfully pulled off and General Rats was in a tirade, whipping slackers into line. Officers were also ones falling away at the wayside. Those that refused to get back were simply shot.
Once an ambush occurred, cats would plaster the area with shell and rifle fire, flushing out the dogs. The advance would resume for about 100 yards and would repeat itself. Casualties on both sides were heavy.
Rat's was adding more and more pressure against Dilger as his troops went further south, unrelenting. "Don't give them a chance to breath!" he told his officers.
They were not. Clashes were frequent, bloody, and moving. To add further havoc, Garfield also committed a squadron of his aircraft to give support to the tanks. It was rather late, but when those flying boxes soared overhead, dogs began to grow unnerved. Soon, strafing runs then salvos or rockets and hails of bombs were falling ambush sights. However, the dogs were not entirely unsuccessful. In their progress. Fed up of taking such an onslaught, Private Oscar Deveraux, one of the few humans serving in the ranks, took up a captured enemy machine gun, held it in his hands and began to spray the air as the aircraft began to break off into attack formation. Tracer rounds marked where his fire was going, he carefully led his target and fired burst after burst. This small man, no more than 5" 6', stood in a plowed field while the two sides were pitted against one another. Without worry he reloaded and continued to fire as bullets nipped his clothes and shot off his hat. Finally, he saw one Kitty plane coming out of a dive. Banking to the north, it exposed it's vulnerable underbelly and Oscar fired a burst. A trail of white smoke plumed from the craft as it drifted away. Seconds later, it exploded in a giant orange flash.
Other luck came from behind. Some units were bypassed and managed to work on the enemy rear, such as that anti tank squad whom attached themselves to stragglers and walking wounded. Getting out of No man's land, the sergeant directed them to a path of hedges to conceal themselves in the south so they could get oriented. Being behind enemy lines made many privates and raw recruits scared. Cut off from the rest of their units, debates raged on what to do, fight their way out or surrender to the next cat they saw. Sergeant would have none of it. "We're getting out of here," he told them, "Even if I have to drag you all over the country side."
As they waited, a sentry spotted a large group of cats coming down from the north. It was a fresh batch of soldiers coming to exploit the breach. They had rifles, pouches of grenades, even machine guns, and mines. "Great," the sergeant muttered, "We can't run and we certainly cannot win a fight against them."
Going down his line, the sergeant came across a wounded Dalmation that had join up as they were leaving the field. He remembered the incident well. The squad was moving up to the depot, aflame, to see if there was anything left of value when a call came out from behind them, "Hey! Hey! Don't leave me out here!" Looking back, the sergeant found this dog crawling across the field using his two fore legs. Darn creature was wounded. Picking him up, the unknown dogs gave his name, "Sergeant Wilcox, I was taking out a bunker over there and those pesky cats tried to use me for target practice." He was game still despite his wounds. After a quick application of bandages, the squad was off towards the sounds of battle. Now they lay there, beside a road, elevated only by a few inches witha shallow drainage ditch on both sides. It was paved, but needed work. Large crackes and pits proved it had been put down years ago. No one said a word as they caught sight of their target moving parallel to them. Judging from the way they marched, four abreast with several in depth, rifles at the shoulder ready with file closers on the flanks,marching in a steadytempo, these were regulars not recruits. So close in fact that they could see the pupils of their eyes. Two trucks in the rear were holding officers, sitting up triumphantly in their seats were being selected by the antitank gunners while rifle men singled out targets of their own.
"Give them hell!" the sergeant screamed. Cats turned to where the voice came from and were slapped in the face by hot lead.
WOOSH
BAM
WOOSH
BAM
Both trucks burst into flames and animals tumbled over board completely engulfed. Stunned at first, the first ranks of the column were cut down by the dog fire while those behind began to step backwards, firing in return, blindly. Reloaded, the bazookas fired again:
WOOSH
WOOSH
Their aim were clusters of soldiers that were seeking to hide behind the disabled vehicles. Gaining the upper hand, the sergeant rose up and sprayed the road with his captured Mp-5 and charged forward with a howl. Closely following him was the remainder of his squad. Flushed with victory, they jeered, yelled, screamed as they hurled grenades and fired from the hip. Routed, the cats fled north in the area in which they came. For a while, perhaps a half mile, the dogs gave pursuit, shooting and stabbing wounded and any whom tried to surrender. This was a war of no mercy was asked or given. For all their efforts, the dogs did not receive one casualty while the road they battled over was paved with enemy dead.
Regrouping at the ambush sight, the head sergeant looked at his ad hoc squad with delight. They were not familiar with one another, yet acted as a well oiled machine. He was impressed by their abilities, courage, and determination.
"I say we go on to Muncie!" Wilcox shouted. Everyone laughed.
"We need to help out our comrades, the sergeant replied, "they need us."
They rummaged through the enemy dead and found mines which they used to block the road before going off to the south in the hopes of finding their units. Along the way, they found disabled tanks, dead and dying from both sides. In their hearts, they felt remorse, regret, and hatred. Most did not understand what this war was all about. Dogs had their place and so did the cats, now that balance was disturbed, by whom was the question.
"You've seen enough of this war?" Wilcox asked the sergeant.
"Yes I have," he replied, "And only the dead have really seen the end."