.

Chapter 3: Glory

Author's Note 1a: This chapter has a significant amount of violence and gore. If you do not want to read about that, please scroll to the end, where I will provide a summary of the chapter.

"To arms! These ships bear the flag of bloomin' evilbeasts! To arms! Prepare, buckos, and the Long Patrol will never fall, just as it never has!"

General Tenac's aging but powerful voice boomed across the beach, calling the Long Patrol around him. The old general leapt up onto a log-bench and started waving a red-hilted claymore. "We are here to save folks, wot! Colonels Longleep and Woodsorrel, gather your hares! Colonel Miggory, take yours and patrol the coast, make sure none of these bounders are attacking from other places, wot, and send word for hares stationed around the island, wot! Make way for the rats, too, let them escape outta here. Quick about it, lads. Run!"

Fabian vaguely knew that, as an officer, he'd have to do something, and started waving his sword in the air to signal his hares. Really, though, all his attention was focused purely on the approaching ships, and how he could become a hero again. "To arms!" He called, voice high-pitched with euphoria. "Follow me, buckos!" Out of the corner of his eye he saw a couple of his lieutenants lining up behind him.

The boats were getting closer, cutting through the waves with their sleek, Floretian designs.

Colonel Woodsorrel was having his hares crouch down behind the big log-benches, and was calling for more archers. Colonel Alfar Miggory had divided his forces in two, sending one half left along the coast and one half right. General Tenac had collected a couple companies and was having them guard the retreating rats back to safety, while Tenac himself was discussing tactics with Woodsorrel. Madam Mrokka had organized her rats, and they began a calm march towards the ruins of Castle Marlfox. Megree joined them, trying to look like he was going to defend the rats and not just run away. A few of the younger and stronger rats joined Woodsorrel's regiment. Fabian shook his head. There was no glory in hiding behind logs, surveying the coast, and helping vermin. Fabian ordered his lieutenants to line their troops up on the beach and in the waves, ready to catch any vermin who'd come up. Fabian stood to the left of the pyre, ready to charge.

The boats were getting closer. Fabian could see the shapes of vermin running around the deck of the closest one. A score of small cutter boats had been dropped in the water, loaded with vermin, and were getting closer. Soon enough, the battle would begin. Soon enough–

A tremendous bang shook the air. Then came the high-pitched whine in Fabian's ears. It sounded like the air itself had shattered. There was a dull thud to his right, but he could hardly hear it. As the whine faded, there was screaming. Screaming to the right of him.

Fabian's mouth went dry. To his right lay the remains of one of the squadrons that had been stationed in front of the pyre. Three were torn to pieces, the two survivors screaming, wounded. Fabian barely recognized the headless form of the sergeant of the company. The sergeant's name had been Murbik. What happened? The survivors' screams turned to whimpers. Fabian opened his mouth to call for a healer, but no sound came out. He heard the creak of stone. He looked at the pyre, and saw it was crumbling. A large, black, bloody ball was embedded at its base, and cracks spread from the ball. It was toppling. Toppling towards him. With a startled yelp, the hare leaped out of the way. It didn't even fall towards where he had been standing. It hadn't been toppling towards him, that was a pathetic thought. It fell right onto the survivors, fire blazing down, stifling their whimpers.

There were shouts of confusion and fear among Fabian's troops. There were shouts from behind him, among the rats. Tenac was shouting for order. Madam Mrokka was shouting for order. There was no order. The ship had just destroyed an entire squadron from a distance. It was hot. Heat from the burning, crumbled pyre. Fabian took a shaky step away from–

A second bang shook the air. This time, the screams came from behind. Whatever the ship was shooting, it had landed among the rats. The calm retreat turned into a panicked flight. Rats scrambled toward the trees, trying to get away, trampling others who were unfortunate enough to fall. Mrokka's cries for order were lost to the chaos. Megree gave a frightened squawk and took to the sky. Fabian's cloudy mind wondered if he'd ever see that eagle again.

Fabian took a step backwards. This was not natural. He could fight vermin up close, on even terms. Not when his soldiers were picked off like flies in the Toadlands. This must be some dark sorcery. Vafír Silvertung was raining down destruction from the heavens. There was no glory to be found here.

A third bang came, and something dark whizzed by Fabian's left. Fabian's ears fuzzed up again, and he couldn't hear. If he could, what could he do? His sword hung limp at his side. He couldn't fight this. He couldn't find glory here.

An idea came to him. General Tenac. Tenac would know what to do. He'd been around forever. Fabian remembered how Tenac drove the vermin back at the Battle of Redshore. Tenac would know what to do about a magic fox who brought death from the sky. Fabian turned to where Tenac and Woodsorrel had been discussing tactics, and his hope faded.

Where Tenac and Woodsorrel had been standing, there was a giant pile of woodchips as half their bench-log had been destroyed. Woodsorrel's corpse had been flung to the side, his right arm and half his chest missing. Amid the woodchips were only bits of Tenac. A bloody arm, an ear, a red-hilted claymore gripped by a disembodied hand. The general–

Bang. This time, though, the pain was not just limited to his ears. He was flung to his right, thrown off his feet. Soaring, he thought, randomly, before he crashed into the ground.

There was something wrong with Fabian's left arm. Something painful. He looked down at it. There was a chunk of wood, the size of a swordblade, flung from the blast and explosion of a log-bench. It had hit him. It hit him hard. His arm was bent at the wrong angle, twisted and broken. He lay there for a while, staring at his ruined arm and breathing heavy.

At the back of his mind, he realized that, with Tenac and Woodsorrel dead, and Alfar out scouting, he was the highest-ranking hare on the beach. He was supposed to be in charge. Part of him whispered that this was his chance to seize glory. He imagined leading a heroic charge, seizing victory from the narrow jaws of defeat. But, still, he just laid there.

"Colonel!" came a shout. A pair of paws grabbed at his shoulders, pulling him up. The only thing Fabian registered was the pain being pulled up caused his arm. He wanted to lay back down. Lay down, on the ground, where he could ignore this nightmare.

"Colonel!" said the voice. Fabian turned, seeing some young hare, a bottom-ranking trooper. He didn't recognize the lad. "Colonel, do you need to go see a healer?"

Fabian may have nodded, he may not have, but the young hare started pulling him on regardless, yammering away. "Are you incapacitated? Do you need fa– Lieutenant Mollos to take over, wot? Should we send word for Colonel Miggory? I think he ought to know what's happening, wot. You can nod, you know, you don't have to talk, wot. Come on Colonel, hurry up, those boats are getting closer and closer and—"

Bang. This one hit again the already-ruined pyre, sending flaming wood and stone into Fabian's panicking troops. The score of vermin-filled cutter boats were starting to engage the hares in the waves, only now there were twoscore boats, all filled to bursting with vermin. More were coming as the great ships took anchor near the shore. Along their decks, Fabian could see large black tubes, manned by about a dozen vermin each. One tube rumbled, and then—

Bang. Faster than any eagle, a black dot flew through the air from the rumbling tube, and flew out into the forest. Maybe it hit a family of fleeing rats, maybe it didn't. Fabian didn't know. It felt like he'd never know anything for sure again.

The vermin and hares were fighting in the waves. Though the cannons demoralized the hares, they fought hard. Not an inch of land was given freely, and soon the lake was turning a dark red.

The vermin looked strange. Many of them had mottled, long fur of multiple colors—a few were black and red, some were gray and blue, some yellow, purple, and white. Their blades were curved and some of them were double-bladed, on both sides of the hilt. They killed hares just as easily as if they were straight as an edge.

Some lieutenant, it looked like Mollos, led a counterattack. With cries of "Eulalia!", he led a company on an organized assault of one of the boats, boarding it. A part of Fabian itched to join Mollos. A heroic charge for victory, one to make a song out of. His right hand fumbled at his waist, looking for a sword, but couldn't find it. It had fallen when—

Bang. Mollos' courageous effort ended as his boat was torn to splinters by one of those blasts, water and wood flying through the air, and war cries becoming screams.

The young here helping Fabian gave a startled cry at the explosion. "Father!" Without looking back, he drew his sword and started running into the fray.

A green-and-orange rat cut him down with a double bladed sword as the young hare reached the water. A tall hare knocked the rat across the side of the head with a claymore. A pale blue weasel stabbed the tall hare.

With a start Fabian realized the vermin were already encroaching the beach. Too close, too close. His hares still fought hard, but another score of cutter boats had joined the battle, and some vermin were breaking through the lines. The pale blue weasel was running at Fabian. Fabian just stood there, his useless left arm dangling at his side, pain giving way before numbing fear. Part of him wanted to fight this weasel, forge redemption in the fires of battle. He tried to remember how he faced Siv Skullsmasher, the courage that served Fabian there, but the memory seemed like a dream. Most of him was just afraid, and froze. He would die. He would never find glory, he would never find redemption.

Just before the weasel reached him, a black-furred hare captain stabbed it through the gut. "Run, Colonel!" He called, engaging an orange-red stoat. "Get Woodsorrel's troops and… and do something! Eulalia!"

The spell broke, the war cry like ice water dunked over his head. Fabian turned and ran. He stumbled, he fell, but he got up and ran more. He had a purpose. He would gather Woodsorrel's troops. They were still well-defended behind the log benches. He would gather them, and have them charge to the water, and catch the vermin before they reached the pyre. Fabian would be leading that charge, finding glory on the battlefield like he was young again. Some of Woodsorrel's hares looked to Fabian. There was hope in their eyes. He would lead them, he opened his mouth to call them forward. With cries of Eulalia, they could still win this battle.

But no sound came out of his mouth. His feet didn't stop running. He passed the corpse of Woodsorrel and the bloody remains of Tenac. There was no glory in that pile of splinters and gore. There was no glory fighting against some dark sorcerer. There was only death, painful death. The pain in his arm was returning, adding to his fear.

He kept running. He ran past the bench-logs. He stumbled again, but he got up again. He ran to the forest, like he was a scared rat. There were confused cries among the hares behind him. There was another ferocious bang. There were more cries behind him, this time of pain and fear. Fabian didn't want to be involved with that. He didn't want to hear the screams. He didn't want to hear the bangs. He didn't want to see hares looking to him as he led them against a creature who could and would kill them without having to see his victims' face.

Glory was not enough of a prize. Fabian ran.

Author's Note 1b: Summary - At the beginning of the chapter, General Tenac and his colonels organize the army. Colonel Alfar Miggory scouts to see if the vermin are attacking anywhere else, Colonel Woodsorrel ducks down behind the log-benches, and Colonel Fabian Longleep put his troops in the front, right along the water, as Madam Mrokka and Megree leads the rats on a retreat.

The ships, bearing the flag of Silvertung's empire, use some kind of ranged technology to blast away the Long Patrol's plans. Many of Fabian's hares, a few rats, and General Tenac and Colonel Woodsorrel are killed by this technology. Fabian's arm is broken by a piece of wood flung by a blast. The vermin arrive on the beach in scores, and start winning against the confused hares.

After being nearly killed, Fabian's mind breaks as a result of his fear of this blasting technology. He gives up on glory and deserts the Long Patrol, running for the forests of the Big Island.

By the current plans, it will be a while yet before I have another really violent chapter.

Author's Note 2: In the Forward to my copy of Redwall, Brian Jacques writes:

"My chief delight and satisfaction is annually to desert the world of modern technology."

Heh. I suppose this is what fanfiction is for.

Author's Note 3: This is how most of the fic will be organized: Three chapters dedicated to one of the main protagonists, then switch to another three chapters for another protagonists, along with a smattering of viewpoints from side characters and antagonists.