Watership Down Beyond The New World

by Sharks Potter

In 2012, Jamie McEwen went in search of his missing father. His search takes him on an adventure in a future world of giant talking rabbits... Meanwhile, four years after the Battle of Efrafa, Alan and the rabbits of Watership Down receive a strange visitor, encounter an old foe, new enemies, and embark on a grand adventure, which will determine the future of their world...

51. Flag of Truce

Crowley's party of mercenaries, accompanied by Woundwort and Vervain, had reached the lake at the foot of the Moldoveanu Peak. Their jeeps, all running on the last of their fuel reserves, pulled over on the edge of the lakeshore and the men, as well as Woundwort, Vervain and the captive Lucy, disembarked. After nearly two weeks of endless driving across Europe, the invaders were finally upon their greatest prize yet – the wealth of the entire, now long vanished, human world. And the one thing that attracted a gang of bloodthirsty thugs, other than the pleasure of killing, was the smell of booty.

The group had found the Arges River two days ago and, following the clues from Drake's journal, had followed it upriver, deep into the Carpathians, until finally they'd found the Moldoveanu Peak. Somewhere in this area was the first of the four Crypts, or so the journal indicated. Looking around them however, the mercenaries couldn't see anything, save for untouched mountain wilderness, just like everywhere else on the planet.

"There's nothing here," said Hirsh disdainfully, "You see, Crowley? Those Crypts are nothing but a lie someone cooked up! You've brought us all this way for nothing!" Behind him, the rest of the mercenaries were angrily muttering threats and curses, no doubt thinking along the same lines as well. Their sworn allegiance to Crowley seemed to waver all of a sudden; among mercenaries, a leader who could not keep his promises was a weak leader and therefore unfit to lead. Mutiny, even bloodshed, seemed imminent.

"If we can't find that ruddy Crypt soon, those ruffians will slit our throats!" hissed Hirsh in Crowley's ear, "We're almost out of food, even less fuel, and now we come up empty-handed! You dragged us out here on this wild goose-chase, only so that we can be thrown to the wolves, you fool!" Next to him, Woundwort calmly flexed his muscles and extended his claws, ready to show any traitor who even dared think of mutiny what the consequences of challenging him were, whilst Vervain cowered at his side. Crowley, on the other hand, appeared completely unconcerned, calmly focusing on his work.

Carefully surveying his surroundings, his eyes fell upon a rusting length of railroad track half-buried in the ground nearby – the same railroad the Watershippers had spotted from their airship. The track started on the edge of the lake, probably where a dock for arriving barges carrying the treasure had once been, now long gone, leading across the valley and up into the mountain. A direct path to the Crypt! Crowley smiled. As he always said, persistence always yielded results.

"Who's for turning back now?" he asked his men, who, only minutes before, had been considering mutiny, "This is the road to the Crypt! We are only hours away from the biggest treasure trove in history! For your services and hardships, gentlemen, you will all be entitled to equal shares of the booty, each worth more than every pay you've ever earned before combined!" The mercenaries cheered and applauded, excitedly firing their guns in the air. "And as for any man who still wishes to back out," added Crowley coldly, drawing his sidearm, "He will be forfeiting his share of the treasure and will be shot as a deserter. Any such person I should know about?" Not a single man moved. Satisfied, Crowley holstered his weapon.

"Excellent. Right, we are going on foot from here. Everyone, grab your gear and weapons. Forward, march!"

In an orderly manner, the mercenaries made their way up the mountainside, following the old railroad track. Crowley, Woundwort, Vervain and Hirsh led the way, the latter leading the handcuffed Lucy along at gunpoint. Despite their excitement at their imminent success, the four conspirators still had a few issues to clear up.

"You still haven't told us how the hell you propose we get all those art goods off this mountain, once we've found the Crypt," Hirsh pointed out, "What is the plan, set up a new outpost here to guard it?" Crowley rolled his eyes.

"Don't be so naive, Mr Hirsh," he reprimanded his associate, "Treasure is useless to us in this world anyway. No, the lads back there can help themselves to all the booty they can find as payment; their continued loyalty is the only thing we can buy with all that wealth, and the only thing we need. As for the rest of it, it will have to be destroyed."

"Destroyed?" exclaimed Hirsh, thinking Crowley had gone mad, "That's all of the world's national treasures up there! We've come all this way to find it and you just want to destroy it? That's insane!"

"If it's of no practical use to us, then it's only a liability," said Crowley indifferently, "In my line of work, there is no room for liabilities or sentimentalities. More importantly, it can never be allowed to fall into Johnson's hands. It would be allowing the enemy a victory over us. If we can't have it, then no one can."

"That treasure is the heart and soul of the lost human world," said Woundwort, who had been the one to suggest to Crowley that the contents of the Crypt be destroyed, as a form of scorched-earth policy against the Outsiders, who might still come looking for it. "The same human world my ancestor dedicated his life to destroy, in order to lead our people to greatness; the same world Alan Johnson sought to rebuild with my death. If we are to truly wipe it out, make every memory of it disappear under the dust of history forever, then no trace of its existence must be left."

"But, Sire," protested Vervain, who had had high hopes of exploiting mankind's lost treasures for their own gain, just to spite the Outsiders, "Surely, we can do better than that? Those treasures would be untouchable once in our possession and we could pass them off as our own. Nobody would ever know humans created them."

"You dare question my judgement, Captain Vervain?" demanded Woundwort crossly, giving Vervain such a stare, the latter recoiled in fear, wishing he had kept his mouth shut.

"Oh, no, Sire! I wouldn't dare!" cried the former Head of Owslafa, "Your judgement is flawless. It was just a slip of the tongue..."

"The reason Efrafa was destroyed in the first place was because I didn't foresee the importance of eliminating any loose ends my ancestor had left behind long ago," continued Woundwort, not taking his eyes off the cowering Vervain, "Even your most loyal followers can one day be your enemies, Vervain. No one can be trusted to keep such a big secret buried forever, no one. Suppose some future traitor worked out the truth and decided to use it against us? Or another human time-traveller came along and spread the word around? Suppose it came out that humans were once masters of the earth, who created us in the first place? That treasure is solid proof of a past world that cannot be allowed to endure, even in memory. It must all be destroyed!"

"Then it's settled," said Crowley, "We take whatever booty we can find and then napalm the Crypt until there's nothing left. If Johnson and his friends ever do find the site, all they will find is ashes."

"And the girl?" asked Vervain, who was dying for the moment when he would have the pleasure of killing his nemesis' daughter. Now that the first Crypt was almost within sight, there seemed no more reason to keep her alive, "Soon, she'll have outlived her usefulness. When do we kill her?"

"Only if and when I decide the time is ripe, and not a moment sooner, Captain Vervain!" said Woundwort sternly. Vervain groaned in frustration, but said nothing, knowing better than to question his master's wishes. No matter, he thought sadistically. It would only prolong the brat's mental agony further, knowing her time would eventually run out and that would be the end for her.

Although pretending she hadn't heard, Lucy felt fear and despair overwhelm her, realising time was running out for her. Although, like her father, she was determined not to die begging for her life, she couldn't just sit idly until she reached the end of the road. But what could she do? All her escape attempts so far had failed; and there was little hope anymore of her father getting here in time to save her. But unless she could figure out some way out of this and soon, her captors, she knew, would probably throw her on the fire when they torched the Crypt and watch her burn alive inside it. She stifled a sniffle, wiping away a tear rolling down her cheek.

Dad, wherever you are, please hurry...

Unbeknownst to the mercenaries, high up on the mountain, on the plateau where the now unsealed entrance to the Crypt was, the Watershippers were hard at work, preparing a surprise reception for Crowley and his goons.

For the past 24 hours, both humans and rabbits had been working vigorously, rigging improvised defences. Realizing that they should be expecting company soon, they had set to work immediately, making plans for defence. Bigwig had suggested using the cover of the surrounding terrain to spring an ambush, but the idea was quickly rejected when it became apparent that with their limited numbers, not to mention firepower, they would soon be overwhelmed.

The humans had combed the Crypt, hoping to find more weapons, but their efforts had come up futile. Although there were tons of weapons, dating from antiquity to recent history, including several historic aircraft and armoured vehicles that had played key roles in 19th and 20th century wars, they were all corroded or decommissioned, fit only for display in a museum. Worse still, there was no gunpowder or any other kinds of ammunition, and what few artillery shells they found were all duds. Then, Derek had come up with an idea.

Inside the Crypt's depot station, using leftover chain-hoists and tools, Derek and Alan carefully mounted the aircraft engine they had found, and which the former had restored to working condition, onto the stern of the barge and welded it to the hull on a sturdy bracket he had constructed out of spare I-beams. The drums of leftover fuel were also loaded onboard and hooked up to the engine's fuel system with hoses. Fortunately, their seals had remained airtight all these centuries, keeping the fuel from degrading. The massive excavator unit from a tractor had also been mounted to the front of the hopper-car. Throwing in an electrical panel with rudimentary controls for the engine, Derek had cobbled together an impressive, makeshift airboat-on-wheels – only, unlike his airship, this was not meant for travelling, but rather as a prototype weapon of war.

Outside the cave, the rabbits were busy clearing away the rocks and earth obstructing the ancient train tracks that led away from the Crypt and back down the mountain, and covering them up with leaves and pine needles so that they would not be noticed by any unwelcome company. That was crucial, if they were to lure the marauders into the perfect position – right in front of the Crypt's entrance – before sending the modified barge, hopper-car and all, ploughing straight into them with that massive excavator, pulverising the bastards in its path.

Outside the blast-door that led into the Crypt's main chamber, Hotdog was preparing for the second phase of their plan: by hacking into the door's control console computer, he had managed to access the self-destruct sequence program and reset the bombs' timer for a new countdown that would automatically initiate once the blast-door was closed. With the warning siren disabled, nobody would know about the explosives planted around the chamber until they went off, sealing off the Crypt for good.

After much deliberation, the Watershippers had agreed that the only way to save the contents of the Crypt from being looted was to seal up the Crypt in such a way that it could never be breached by anyone again. Of course, that would mean walking away empty-handed, literally sacrificing all of mankind's treasures, but it was better that letting it fall into enemy hands. The explosion would destroy the entrance, sealing it up, but the Crypt itself, designed to withstand even a nuclear blast, should remain intact, along with all the treasures. Hopefully, someday, they would be able to return with the right equipment to dig it up again.

While the rest of the rabbits worked, Sam and Pipkin were standing watch atop a rock overlooking the valley below. Suddenly, Pipkin noticed movement down by the lake.

"Look! There is a pack of hrudulil moving down there!" Staring through her binoculars, Sam saw it was indeed Crowley's marauders, who had left their jeeps and were making their way up the mountain on foot. Quickly crawling away from the edge before they were spotted, they hurried back to warn the others.

"They're coming, Hazel-rah!" said Pipkin urgently, unable to hide the fear in his voice, "They're headed straight for us!"

"How long do you reckon before they get here?" asked Holly.

"An hour, maybe less," said Sam, who was feeling just as scared as Pipkin was, only now realizing what they were really getting themselves into, "My God, it's a whole army down there!"

"Don't you lose heart now, Sam," said Hazel, firmly, but encouragingly. He turned to Derek, who was having trouble test-starting the engine, "How much longer?"

"I need at least another hour," groaned the engineer irritably, "The jets are still clogged with 700 years worth of gunk. I need more time to clean them out."

"We may not have more time," said Hazel urgently, "Can't you work any faster?"

"We're all doing our best, Hazel-rah," said a drenched-from-head-to-toe-in-dirt Violet, who had been helping the bucks clear the railway tracks outside the Crypt entrance using her famed digging skills.

"If we aren't ready by the time those ruffians get here, we'll have to make a stand," said Campion, not bothering to point out the obvious fact that they would all be doomed if they tried.

"Then let's make more time, so that we are ready," said Bigwig, standing up, "Holly, you stay here and make sure everything is set and everyone is in position as we planned. Silver, you, Blackberry, Campion and I are going down to do a reconnaissance. I'm sure we can think of some way to stall them."

"I'll come too," said Alan, also standing up. He had to find out about his daughter. Was she still alive or dead? Hazel seemed to want to protest, probably thinking, right now, they needed Alan here more, but ultimately didn't say a word. It would be pointless anyway, knowing his friend's fierce determination to get Lucy back. He had already lost three of his daughters; and he wasn't cruel enough to deny Alan, what might be, his only chance of rescuing his only child from the grasp of those savage murderers.

Leaving the rest of their friends to their work, the five companions hurried off down the mountainside, hoping to intercept the mercenaries halfway up...

Meanwhile, further down the mountain, several of Crowley's men were hacking their way through the thick undergrowth with hatchets and machetes, following the old railway line uphill. Although no doubt it had once been a clear path laden with gravel, landslides and unchecked mountain growth had long since covered up the tracks, making them difficult to follow.

Pausing halfway up an incline, Crowley surveyed the mountain again with his binoculars, zooming in on a plateau a short distance away. That had to be the spot. They were nearly there!

"Look sharp now, gentlemen!" he ordered, "The closer we get to the prize, the more likely we are to encounter any unpleasant surprises." Several of his men cocked their weapons at this warning, keeping their eyes peeled for any signs of movement. But there wasn't a soul to be seen...or so they thought.

Unbeknownst to the marauders, several pairs of eyes were watching them from a wooded ledge on the cliff right above the railway line. Alan, Bigwig, Campion, Silver and Blackberry stared down at the approaching enemy, who far outstripped them in both size and strength. Their eyes widened as they laid eyes on the resurrected Woundwort, who walked alongside Crowley, confirming Hyzenthlay's story that the pair were indeed now allies.

Alan felt his anger rise as he spotted Lucy, thankfully still alive and well, but held captive, looking so lonely and scared, while that blighter he remembered was called Hirsh marched her along with a gun to her back. He desperately wanted to take the shot, blow every one of those bastards to hell for snatching away his daughter, but, catching his friends' warning looks not to do anything rash, held his fire. If he let his emotions get the better of him now, he'd bugger up everything and Lucy would be dead long before he could get to her.

Hang on just a little bit longer, sweetheart, he thought. Daddy will have you out of there very soon...

"Well, there's no chance holding them back by fighting them," whispered Campion, "Anybody got a plan?"

"We need some way to distract them, slow them down," said Bigwig, "But, Frith in a wasp's nest, how do we do that?" Nobody answered him, all fresh out of ideas. Then, Blackberry suddenly noticed a large boulder resting precariously on the edge of the ledge nearby. Hurrying over to examine it, he realised it was hanging right above the railway path where the mercenaries were walking. He gestured to the others.

"If we dig under this hanging rock, we can send it crashing down to block the path. That should buy us some time."

"That's a very good idea, Blackberry," Alan praised him, "All right, lads, let's put our backs into it! Quickly now!"

Silent as snow, Alan, Bigwig and Silver, the strongest in the group, heaved with all their might against the boulder, trying to force it over the edge, while Campion and Blackberry vigorously clawed away at the earth underneath the rock so it would shift. Just as Crowley's group passed beneath them, the rock went rolling over the side, falling straight down at the mercenaries...

Hirsh didn't like this place one bit. The desolation of this damn mountain gave him the creeps. Up on this path, with a wall that was the impassable side of the steep peak on one side and the edge of a cliff with a long fall to the valley far below on the other, they were extremely exposed. Although Crowley was convinced Johnson would not try to follow them while they had his daughter hostage, and as for that mad rabbit Woundwort, he would only be too happy if his enemy showed up here, Hirsh could sense danger in the air. Suddenly, he noticed the shadow of something moving right above their heads. Looking up, he saw the falling boulder coming right at them.

"Take cover!" he shouted, ducking out of the way, Crowley, Woundwort, Vervain and Lucy following suit. All of the mercenaries scattered in opposite directions, trying to get out of the way of the incoming rock. Two men however were not so lucky. The massive boulder came crashing down on them, instantly turning them both into unrecognisable masses of flesh blooded flesh and shattered bone.

Coughing and splattering from all the dust the boulder had kicked up from the impact, the mercenaries regrouped: Crowley, Hirsh, Woundwort, Vervain and Lucy on one side, and the rest of the mercenaries on the other. From underneath the boulder, a single forearm protruded, fingers still twitching, with a small stream of blood oozing out all over the grass. That was all that was left of the two unlucky mercenaries. The boulder had completely blocked the narrow footpath, creating an obstacle between them, which, although not impassable with so much manpower, would still take a good half-hour to clear away.

"What the hell just happened?!" roared an ashen-faced Hirsh, realizing how close he'd come to have been killed. If he had not just happened to notice the shadow, he would have joined those two unlucky bastards, as would have Crowley, "Who threw this boulder? Were we ambushed?"

Not giving his two dead men another thought, Crowley calmly dusted himself off and got to his feet. "Nobody threw it, Mr Hirsh," he said indifferently, "It was just a landslide, probably caused by the wind. It happens all the time up here." But Hirsh was still far from convinced.

"There was someone up there," he insisted, "I knew we were being shadowed! We're not alone up here, Crowley!" Crowley rolled his eyes; he was getting sick and tired of Hirsh's paranoia.

"If you're too much of a coward to brave the hazards of the trade, then you know where the door is," he said coldly, "Only you have nowhere to go, but to certain death from hunger or some wild beast that will get you sooner or later. I wouldn't even grant a crawling worm like you the mercy of a bullet. I'd strongly recommend you keep your mouth shut. There is nothing out here that we can't handle!"

"Or maybe it is a sign that you're all going to get your comeuppance very soon, you pathetic wankers!" smirked Lucy, not missing the opportunity to play on her captors' fears. Alas, her remark didn't have the desired effect, as several of the mercenaries burst out laughing, obviously not in the least intimidated of what might be lurking up there. Crowley, however, didn't think this was a laughing matter. Marching over to Lucy, he slapped her hard.

"You will show proper respect to me and my men, or you will find life even more unpleasant than it already is," he snarled in her face, "And should your father or his animal friends try to get in my way again, the last thing you will see will be the look of horror on his face before your brains are blown out! Do you understand?" Despite the stinging pain of her bruised cheek or the threat of imminent death, Lucy didn't even sniffle; she continued to glare defiantly back at Crowley. Angered by her refusal to submit, Crowley raised his hand to strike her again, but Woundwort stopped him.

"Her courage is most admirable and deserves at least some respect," he said, "Let her be."

Although annoyed at being interrupted, Crowley's mutual respect for his ally won out and he calmed his nerves. However, he still wasn't about to let Lucy get off unpunished.

"Cut her food and water rations for a couple of days," he ordered Hirsh, "And for every word she utters without permission from now on, or any hint of disrespect or disobedience, she gets a day longer without food. That will teach her some manners." Giving Lucy a nasty smile, he turned back to his men, still stuck on the other side of the boulder. "Break out the levers and the block-and-tackle and move this bloody thing! Get to it, you fools!"

Hirsh stared up at the cliff from where the rock had fallen. Although it appeared deserted, Hirsh was sure he had caught of glimpse of someone up there when he had seen the rock fall. Landslide, bollocks, he thought. They had better watch their backs from there on.

Vervain, who was even more spooked by the accident than Hirsh was, whispered to his master, "This place might be the lair of the Black Rabbit of Inle," he murmured, with a slight tremor in his voice, "I can feel His presence all around us...!" Woundwort however wasn't in the mood to listen to anymore of his servant's superstitions.

"Your overactive imagination tends to get you into trouble, Vervain," he said warningly, "I'd keep it locked away if I were you."

Up on the ledge, the rabbits had had to restrain Alan, to keep him from jumping straight into the mob at seeing his daughter being manhandled and slapped, and giving them all away.

"Let go of me, you bastards!" he growled, eyes burning coals of fury, "That's my daughter down there...!"

"Be quiet!" hissed Bigwig, pinning him down by the neck, while Campion and Silver pinned his arms and legs, keeping him immobilized. "You can't help her, not yet! Get a grip on yourself, soldier, or I'll rip your ears off! That's an order!"

Thankfully, the military discipline drilled deep into Alan's psyche from his old WW3 exploits as a Sergeant in the Royal Marine Corps and later Bigwig's Owsla, won out and he composed himself. As much as it pained him to watch his daughter being hurt and not doing something about it, he dare not make a move yet, not until the enemy had reached the Crypt. When it was payback time, he swore, each one of those bastards would pay for touching his daughter in blood!

Leaving the mercenaries busy with the boulder, the Watershippers noiselessly slipped away and doubled back to the Crypt. If they were lucky, Alan figured, they had bought themselves another 20 minutes; that was exactly how much time they had left to make the final preparations for their battle plan.

Returning to the Crypt, they found everything was ready. The engine was finally in good working order, the hopper-car free from its chocks and ready to go; the blast door's control console was properly reprogrammed with a new 15-minute countdown that would initiate automatically once they closed the blast door. And Holly had his own part of the plan worked out.

By using the tops of the large shipping containers sitting in rows throughout the Crypt as hiding places for the Owsla, they could spring an ambush, should the mercenaries decide to send a reconnaissance party inside to check out the Crypt.

"Everyone has been assigned a position of attack and knows the drill," he informed Bigwig, "We are ready!"

"Excellent work, all of you," Hazel complimented them, "That just leaves us with one last problem to solve: how do we make our getaway once we've carried out our plan?"

The Watershippers quickly realised that even if they could take out a good number of the mercenaries using the barge, they would still end up cornered inside the Crypt. Even with perfect timing, there were bound to be at least some of the mercenaries left and they would still be armed and dangerous, not to mention they still held Lucy hostage. They couldn't even launch the barge until she was safe and out of harm's way. If it came to a stalemate and they were forced to make contact with the enemy, it would require being ready to make an escape on a second's notice.

Outside, their airship was ready for departure, its batteries fully charged from a small Korean War-era portable generator Derek had found on display inside the Crypt and restored; a major upgrade from their jury-rigged, wind-powered alternators. Several vintage US Army issue jerry-cans were used to store some of the fuel from the depot station for the journey. Obviously, the weight limitations of their airship only allowed them to take a finite amount of fuel with them, barely sufficient for the occasional recharge when there was no wind, but enough to get them to the next Crypt in North Africa.

"That will be Hotdog, Campion and Bluebell's job, Hazel," said Alan, who, anticipating this contingency, had worked out a strategy. He turned to a crude plan of the Crypt and plateau he had drawn on a tarp spread out atop a crate, "All right, let's go over this one more time."

"When the enemy arrives, the first thing they will notice is that the Crypt has already been breached; however, they won't know if we are still here or have already pulled out. They will then send in a reconnaissance party to check and report; we will take them out quietly as they enter the Crypt. I will then don one of their uniforms and go out, supposedly to report that the party was ambushed and everyone else was killed – that should allow me to get just close enough to get Lucy before they realize the deception. The second the first shot is fired, Derek will send that barge right into those bastards! They will scatter and there will be confusion. Hotdog will then bring in the airship and we get the hell out of here before they even know what is happening! The explosives will then seal off the Crypt, leaving Crowley and his thugs to lament over their lost prize!"

"You actually think a disguise will fox them again?" asked Blackberry doubtfully. "Surely, they will have learned from their previous mistake...?"

"It worked once, so it should work again, especially if they won't be expecting us to try the same ploy a second time. All I need is for the bluff to work for sixty seconds so I can get to Lucy. I just wish I had another gun to cover my back..."

"I'll go with you, Alan," offered Sam, standing up, "If those thugs can't tell the difference between their own men, then they won't be able to tell the difference between a man and a woman in uniform either." The Watershippers however were not the least happy with the idea.

"Have you gone crazy, Sam?!" exclaimed Derek, who would not in his wildest dreams think of allowing a woman, and his sweetheart for that matter, to expose herself to such terrible danger, "If something goes awry, they'll kill you or worse! Alan, tell her!"

"Absolutely not, Sam!" said Alan, "Derek is right. Making direct contact with those ruffians is a near suicide mission! I'm only doing it because I have a duty towards my daughter. No one else needs to risk his life!"

"But you need someone to cover your back, or else it will all be futile," insisted Sam, "There is no one else; Bigwig or any of his Owsla breaking cover would instantly give the game away; Derek is needed here to launch the barge, and Hotdog will be flying the airship. Two people would make the bluff much more convincing. It's a plain and simple fact."

"No, the plain and simple fact is that you will be meeting the Black Rabbit of Inle if you pull such a reckless stunt!" yelled Bigwig, several of his Owsla rabbits also voicing similar opinions. Violet gave the bucks a disgusted look.

"But you're not trained in combat," persisted Alan, now getting really annoyed at her stubbornness, "I would only end up having to watch out for you safety out there, as well as Lucy's. This is not a job for... well..."

"A woman?" asked Sam with a frown, "What, you think because I'm a woman I can't be taught how to fire a gun?" She picked up Robbins' handgun lying on the crate and passed it to Alan. "My mind is made up. If Violet can be admitted into the Owsla, then so can I. Now, will you teach me the basics or do we waste more time debating over the role of sexes in a war situation until the enemy catches us unawares?"

The Watershippers were utterly amazed by the transformation Sam had undergone since coming into the future world. From a timid, inexperienced young woman of the city, she was truly shaping up to be an honorary member of their community. At last, she was finally fitting into this new world like the rest of them!

Alan sighed. Although he didn't like it one bit, Sam still had the right to make her own decisions as they all did. Not to mention it would improve his chances or rescuing Lucy, if they could make a soldier out of her. He looked at Hazel, who reluctantly nodded his permission. Taking the gun, he led Sam to a deserted aisle between two shipping containers, to give her a crash course in combat shouting.

Sam soon realized that being taught soldiering by Alan Johnson was neither an easy nor a pleasant task. The man was strong, swift and capable of easily disarming any opponent at close proximity in the blink of an eye. After ten intense minutes of practicing drawing concealed weapons and mock shooting, only with the magazine removed in order to conserve ammunition, Sam finally managed to build up enough speed to get past Alan's defences and pulled the trigger on him before the man could react. Satisfied that she could at least react fast enough when faced with a real-life opponent, Alan nodded and handed her back the gun, locked and loaded.

"That's very good, Sam," he said, grabbing his own weapon, "Now, remember, don't shoot until I say so. When I do, just aim level with his chest and fire. Whatever you do, don't, I repeat, do not look into his eyes. If you freeze at that critical second, you've had it. And, whenever I give an order, you follow it without question or hesitation. If I say shoot, you shoot; if I say run, you run. Do you understand?" Shakily, Sam nodded, only now grasping what she was really getting herself into.

Alan consulted his watch. They only had about five minutes before the mercenaries would reach the plateau. "All right, we're ready. Now, let's cover up all traces of our work and man our stations. And good luck to us all!"

Crowley and his mercenaries had finally reached the plateau. The place appeared completely deserted. But, a quick glance at the cliff wall, where the entrance to the Crypt was, told them they were not the first at the finish line. The bricked-up entrance had been breached, very recently too by the looks of it, leaving a gaping hole leading into complete darkness. Someone had beaten them to their prize!

"It's Johnson!" raged Hirsh, "I knew that bastard was following us!" Beside him, Lucy grinned from ear to ear; against all odds, her father had made it here first and was going to rescue her! Her smile faded however when she felt Hirsh pull her close to him, as if for a shield, pointing his Beretta in her ear. All of the mercenaries were suddenly on full alert and grabbing their weapons, as if expecting an ambush. Flanked by his army, Crowley marched to the front with a bullhorn.

"DR ALAN JOHNSON, THIS IS GOVERNOR HARRY CROWLEY, RULER OF THE GLOBAL DOMINION OF ENGLAND, SPEAKING," he announced with a false, pompous formality, "THERE IS NOWHERE FOR YOU TO GO. IF YOU ARE IN THERE, I AM ORDERING YOU TO STEP OUTSIDE IMMEDIATELY WITH YOUR HANDS UP, OR I WILL BE FORCED TO DO SOME TERRIBLE HARM TO YOUR DAUGHTER!"

The mercenaries waited, but there was no answer from within. No movement, no sound of shots being fired at them, nothing. The Crypt appeared quite deserted.

"Those Outsiders are shameful cowards!" gloated Woundwort, "They realised we were coming and fled for their lives."

"Not to mention abandoning one of their own at our mercy," added Vervain. He turned to smile wickedly at Lucy, "You see, you stupid brat? Your father doesn't really care about you! All he cares about is saving his own neck!"

"Perhaps the chap is right, sir?" suggested Corporal Nicholls, the henchman who had snatched Lucy away from her father back on Watership Down, "Maybe they have pulled out?" Crowley however wasn't all that convinced. Only one way to find out.

"Nicholls, take Archer, Wilkes and Collins and go check that place out," he ordered, "If there is any unwelcome company hiding down there, flash them out with the napalm." On Crowley's orders, the reconnaissance party armed themselves with napalm flamethrowers and set off.

Vervain looked at Woundwort, "Shouldn't you go with them, Sire? After all, you are now immortal, invincible against any weapon the Outsiders might possess. You could finish them all off without breathing hard! And Johnson; shouldn't you have the honour of killing him yourself?"

"Those men are expendable," said Woundwort indifferently, "It would be an indignity for a military leader to be assisting in a simple reconnaissance, immortal or not. And as for Johnson, simply hunting him down and killing him is too easy. I'm not going to grant him such mercy."

"So, you aren't going to kill him?" asked Vervain in astonishment. After all, his master had sworn revenge against Johnson and his Outsiders from the moment he had returned from the dead. Woundwort rolled his eyes at Vervain's lack of foresight.

"Death is too lenient a punishment for an enemy like Alan Johnson," he said, "No, Captain Vervain. I have thought about this carefully. I have specific plans for Johnson; and our young friend over there will be the key to his undoing." He gestured at Lucy.

"That girl has a true warrior's spirit, just like her father," he said, with a slight twinge of regret, "I would have been honoured to have her join my side; but, unfortunately, she has long since made up her mind about turning down my offer. It is truly a shame that someone so young and with such potential should be wasted in the prime of life. But the never-ending pain her death will cause her father, which he'll be forced to witness as punishment for stealing my life away, will serve as my ultimate revenge!"

Nicholls led his reconnaissance party into the darkened Crypt, the mercenaries using night goggles to see their way. Passing through the depot station, they saw clear evidence that someone else had been there recently, including numerous fresh footprints all over the dusty floor, both human and rabbit, but no sign of life.

None of them noticed Derek Shaw lying flat on his stomach inside the barge, not daring to even breathe. He was sure those ruffians would hear his heart beating, or at least smell his sweat, very potent in this closed space, given he'd run out of deodorant years ago. Fortunately, he heard the mercenaries walk right past him, heading towards the open blast door, where his friends were waiting to throw them a surprise party. He smiled.

Inside the main chamber of the Crypt, Alan, Sam, Hazel, Bigwig, Fiver, Hawkbit, Dandelion, Blackberry, Strawberry, Holly and Silver were waiting, hiding in strategic points around the room. As for Hotdog, Bluebell, Pipkin, Violet and Campion, who still hadn't completely recovered from his injuries and therefore unfit for a full-scale battle, were back on the airship, currently hiding in the fogbank on the far side of the mountain, where they wouldn't be spotted by the mercenaries, waiting for their friends' signal.

The Crypt was basically a long room with a wide, central aisle running the full length of the room, with smaller aisles between the shipping containers branching off every few feet, which made it ideal for springing an ambush from above. The rabbits were positioned atop each shipping container, ready to pounce on the unsuspecting enemy as they walked by and, in the humans' case, take them out with a sniper's bullet or Alan's knife, before helping themselves to their weapons, radios and uniforms. The key to this plan would be speed and absolute silence, in order not to alert the rest of the mercenaries outside of their presence.

Alan silently cursed, noticing how few men Crowley had sent ahead to do a reconnaissance. It would not make much of a dent in reducing the enemy's strength by taking out only four of their men. Worst still, there was no sign of Lucy or Crowley for that matter, both of which had obviously remained outside. He would have felt a lot more confident if he could have gotten his daughter out of harm's way before the real bloodshed started, or at least taken the enemy leader hostage, in order to have some leverage. But it was too late to change their plans now.

Removing their night vision goggles, which they didn't need to wear inside the Crypt since it was illuminated, the mercenaries gaped like fish out of water at the sight of all those treasures laid out before them. For a moment, none of them moved. Then, gold fever kicked in and, with a frenzied mania, they fell upon the booty, ripping open cases and containers and greedily pocketing everything they could lay their hands on.

"Will you feast your eyes on this, lads! Goddamn jackpot!"

"We're filthy rich, boys!" chanted the mercenary called Archer, pocketing handfuls of ancient Egyptian gold coins, "We'll be settled in no time at all as bloody emperors! I call dibs on a million-acre estate, with unlimited booze and trophy hunting, and an army of those talking rabbit freaks to do all the slave labour!"

"Hey, those are mine!" snapped Collins, formerly Crowley's private pilot, to Wilkes, another thickset mercenary, who was about to help himself to a box of 18th century diamond jewellery from the lost Spanish fleet and which Collins had laid eyes on first. The mercenaries continued bickering and quarrelling, until Nicholls' voice stopped them.

"Stop fighting over that chickenfeed, you idiots!" he snapped, "There's plenty of treasure to go around. But first, we need to find that interfering bloke Johnson and put a bullet in his skull! Let's go!"

From their hiding places, the Watershippers watched in silence as the mercenaries slowly made their way down the central aisle, snatching up more trinkets to fill their already bulging pockets and vandalising anything else they didn't like. The humans felt their blood boil, as Archer slashed all the paintings he came across with his bowie knife, while Collins knocked over statues and ornaments, laughing as they shattered on the floor. Any why not? Like barbarians of the past laying siege to a majestic city, their instincts were solely to loot and pillage, with no consideration as to the cultural heritage they were destroying. Little did they realise, they were walking right into a trap.

Everything was going like clockwork. Bigwig nodded his signal to Holly, who in turn nodded to each of the Watership Owsla. They all braced, ready to make their move.

Just as the reconnaissance party passed beneath them, the Watershippers fell upon them, like elil going for the kill. Not expecting an attack from above, the mercenaries had no time to react. Bigwig and Holly fell upon Archer, who had paused to put out a cigarette against the face of the Mona Lisa for a good laugh. That attempt at defamation of the world's most prized piece of art, rather than remain on his guard, cost him his life.

He was knocked to the floor, the massive weight of the Owsla rabbits nearly crushing him like a bug. Bigwig quickly slammed his paw over the man's mouth to keep him from screaming, while Holly pinned his gun hand to the floor, using his buckteeth to bite the man's fingers and forcing him to drop his weapon. Archer continued to struggle until Bigwig managed to get a firm grip on the man's throat with his jaws and, with a sickening squelching sound, ripped his Adam's apple clean out.

Silver, Strawberry and Blackberry had tackled Wilkes, the former having landed on the man's shoulders and knocking him to the floor with a sickening crunch. But as they tried to restrain him, they realised there was no point; Silver's massive weight had snapped the man's neck on impact, killing him instantly.

Collins, seeing his partners attacked, furiously turned the nozzle of his flamethrower on his would-be attackers, Hawkbit and Dandelion. Before he could roast them however, there was a faint popping sound of a silent bullet and a bloody bullet hole appeared in his chest, direct over his heart. Before the last flicker of life left his body, he cursed his stupidity for not thinking to wear body armour. The rabbits nodded gratefully to Sam, who, seeing her friends in danger, had shot Collins dead in the nick of time using Robbins' silencer-fitted gun. Although shaken to the core, unlike with Mason, she did not lose her composure, reminding herself that this was war. Like Alan had said, this wasn't murdering innocent people, but rather protecting those she loved from dangerous individuals who meant to kill them all.

The only mercenary still standing was Nicholls, but who, unlike his inexperienced cohorts, was much more proficient in martial arts, a former SAS paratrooper, and able to hold his own in a fight. As Hazel and Fiver tried to pin him down by the arms, Nicholls managed to get one arm free and landed a painful chop to Fiver's neck, knocking him out cold.

"How dare you hit my brother!" roared Hazel, going for the man's eyes with his claws, but he was no match for Nicholls, who managed to lock both hands around Hazel's neck, chocking him and causing him to loosen his grip. In an instant he had turned the tables on Hazel, as he rolled over, pinning the Chief Rabbit of Watership Down to the floor, still keeping an iron grip with both hands around his throat. Hazel was turning blue, quickly losing the battle with suffocation.

"Die, you filthy mutant animal, die!" snarled Nicholls with a burning hatred, "So you thought you'd steal the Earth from us humans, eh? Well, humans will always rule, because we are stronger, smarter and you lot are nothing! You hear me, you carrot-nipping filth? Nothing!"

It would have all been over for Hazel, when, suddenly, Nicholls was seized by the hair from behind and thrown hard against a nearby shipping container by Alan. Knife in hand, the man advanced on Nicholls, who drew his own set of knives from his utility vest. Now evenly matched, the two opponents circled each other.

"I remember you," growled Alan softly, his eyes narrowing to slits as he recognised Nicholls as the man who had snatched Lucy away; the same man who had also shot poor Thethuthinnang. Nicholls smirked.

"Pathetic animal lover," he taunted Alan, "You really think you can win against us, Johnson? Now Mr Crowley is going to retaliate without mercy! You're going to see your precious daughter impaled next! Such a pity; I would have really loved to have a go at that tender little tart first..."

That was the wrong thing to say to such a protective a father as Alan Johnson. His anger fuelling his strength and speed, Alan ploughed through Nicholls' defences and buried his knife right in the centre of the man's abdomen. Nicholls' eyes went wide as the deathblow hit him. But Alan didn't stop there; yanking out his bloodied knife from the man's gut, with an almost maniac rage, he plunged it again, this time into the side of the man's ribcage, puncturing both lungs.

"This is for laying your filthy hands on my daughter, you bastard!" he spat at his fallen opponent, "You messed with the wrong family!"

Releasing Nicholls, he let the man sink to the floor in a pool of his own blood. It was only then that he noticed the radio that had fallen out of Nicholls' pocket. Too late, Alan realized it was on vox mode, which meant everything that was happening here could be heard on open audition on the other end! Their cover was blown! Quickly grabbing the radio, he muted the microphone, but the damage had already been done.

"How many of them are there still out there?" he demanded, shaking the dying Nicholls by his lapels, "Talk to me, you miserable bastard! What are they up to? Do they have my daughter?"

"They heard everything," mumbled Nicholls, coughing up blood. His face formed into a diabolic smile, a man who had just had the last laugh before going out with a bang, and didn't move again. Muttering a curse of frustration, Alan released Nicholls' corpse, who was of no use to him anymore. So much for their perfectly laid out deception plan.

"Take their weapons and ammo," he ordered Sam and Derek, who had left his post and come to see if his friends needed backup. Thankfully, save from a few bruises, none of the Watershippers had been hurt, while all four of the mercenaries were dead as doornails.

The three humans stripped the dead mercenaries of their utility vests and weapons, including their flamethrowers, sidearms, a couple of grenades, knives and all the extra magazines they could find, and geared up. Alan also pocketed Nicholls' radio. At least now they had a way of finding out what the mercenaries were up to.

"We haven't lost out touch, have we?" said Dandelion with a half-hearted sense of pride, while the rabbits dragged the bodies behind a nearby shipping container and out of sight. They might have taken out four marauders, yes, but there were still dozens of them waiting outside and now fully aware of their presence. "So what's the plan now, Alan?"

"Well, we no longer stand a chance of catching them unawares, all thanks to that blighter Nicholls," said Alan sourly, "We shall have to revise our plan. The biggest question right now is how to get Lucy..." As if on cue, Crowley's voice was suddenly heard over Nicholls' radio.

"Dr Johnson, this is Governor Crowley speaking again. I know you and your friends are in there and that you can hear me..."

Outside the Crypt, Crowley, Hirsh and Woundwort were monitoring the reconnaissance party over the radio. Suspecting an ambush, Crowley had instructed Nicholls not to report back, as was standard procedure, and instead keep the radio on open speaker, so that they could overhear everything that was going on in there.

At first, it seemed the reconnaissance party was doing well; they could hear the men gleefully helping themselves to the treasure (earning several jealous grunts from the other mercenaries who were been denied that pleasure, but which were quickly hushed by Woundwort's stern glare, warning them to be silent), when suddenly trouble struck. Over the radio, they could hear violent fighting, yells of pain, the sounds of the men being attacked and killed. It seemed they had been someone waiting for them down there! And Nicholls's last words quickly confirmed who it was.

"...You really think you can win against us, Johnson? They heard everything...!"

Crowley needn't hear the rest of it. His face contorted with fury. Good thing he had sent a reconnaissance party ahead, he thought, or else they'd have suffered much heavier losses and lost every advantage against the enemy. So Johnson thought he could fight them using cowardly guerrilla tactics? Well, in that case he would switch tactics too. If Johnson wanted to play this game, then they would play by his rules now.

"Tie the girl to that tree!" he ordered. Hirsh and another mercenary complied and, dragging the struggling Lucy by the arms, they tied her to a nearby tree, in plain view of the Crypt entrance. "Knowles, get the C4!"

Lucy paled with terror, watching Crowley put together a brick of C4 with a remote-controlled detonator. Arming the explosive, he tucked it under the rope binding her, direct over her chest. They were going to blow her up!

"That's right, blow her to bits, sir!" cackled someone in sickening amusement, "The birds will have a fun time picking up all her little pieces. Maybe they'll find her teeth to return to her daddy." Several of the mercenaries roared with laughter in anticipation of what, to their sick mentality at least, would be a great show.

Feeling absolutely terrified at what was coming, Lucy desperately looked at Woundwort; although she hated that rabbit with a vengeance for everything he had done, she hoped perhaps he would sympathize, remembering how he'd shielded her so many times from the mercenaries' wrath, and order Crowley to stop. Alas, this time, he merely gave her a cold shoulder, completely indifferent. As she had feared, he didn't really care about her or wanted her friendship, only use her as a mean to an ends. Beside his master, Vervain was laughing with glee under his breath, savouring the moment he had been waiting for for so long.

Detonator remote in hand, his thumb poised on the button, Crowley spoke on his radio again, "Dr Johnson, this is Governor Crowley speaking again. I know you and your friends are in there and that you can hear me. I am standing outside and I have your sweet little daughter next to me. I believe she has a message for you." He held the radio in Lucy's face. "Speak!" he ordered.

"Dad, I'm tied to a live bomb!" cried Lucy in terror, "Please, you've got to help me..!" But Crowley took the radio away before her father could answer her.

"I believe you get the message loud and clear," said Crowley coldly, "Now, you and your little friends have exactly five minutes to come out and give yourselves up! Any more tricks and she dies! The clock starts now."

Inside the Crypt, Alan felt his insides turn to ice at the sound of Lucy's desperate voice. Memories of his late wife being blown to smithereens by Robbins' bomb, which still haunted his nightmares to this day, came flashing back to him and he felt himself grow weak on his legs. He tried to answer back, but Crowley had already gone off the air. Noticing his distress, his friends tried to comfort him.

"Don't you dare lose it now, Alan!" warned Bigwig, almost like giving him an order, "Crowley is baiting you by playing on your fears; and you're more of a soldier than to let him gain the upper paw!"

Alan had to force himself to remain calm and think. Don't think about your fears, think of your mission, he thought to himself, think of your strategy... Thinking hard, he turned back to his friends.

"All right, this is what we are going to do. Listen very carefully, all of you..."

With only about thirty seconds left until time up, a voice was heard from within the Crypt entrance. The mercenaries saw several figures lurking in the shadows just beyond the opening. A hand reached out from behind the few remaining granite slabs with a white flag fashioned out of a handkerchief on the end of a stick and waved it.

"Flag of truce!" called the voice of Johnson, "Can my friends and I come out and make terms without being shot?" Crowley smiled.

"Very well, your flag of truce is acknowledged. You may step out one by one, in an orderly manner," he called back through his bullhorn, "There won't be any shooting unless it's on your part. If you're still armed, keep your weapons holstered or held high above your heads, with their safeties on. If a single weapon is so much as pointed in my direction or that of my men, there will be fatal consequences for the girl." To make a point, he held up the detonator, his finger poised on the button, for them to see.

"Do we gun them down once they are all out in the open?" asked Hirsh, feeling particularly vindictive, "Why waste time talking? I say we kill them all, and the girl, and be done with them!"

"And that we will, but all in good time, Mr Hirsh," said Crowley, who now had a whole new game to play, "After all, a soldier must respect a flag of truce...for now."

At that moment, the Watershippers emerged. Alan came out first, wearing Nicholls' flamethrower pack, but holding the extinguished nozzle above his head as instructed; behind him followed Sam, doing the same with Archer's flamethrower. The Watership Owsla followed right behind them, as they exited the Crypt one by one and lined up outside, their eyes fixed on the mercenaries, who kept their weapons steadily trained on them, ready to gun down anyone who made even the slightest false move. Crowley was satisfied. At long last, they had Alan Johnson and his troublemaker friends well in hand! Then, he realized some of Johnson's group were missing.

"What about your friends Mr Shaw and Mr Boone?"

"Not part of this expedition, I'm afraid," said Alan, hoping he sounded more sincere than he felt. Although noticeably still suspicious, Crowley didn't make a fuss. After all, even if Johnson was bluffing and had ordered a few of his men to remain undercover, to double-cross them at the first opportunity, he would know better than to allow that when they still held his daughter hostage with a fused bomb strapped to her. He gestured at them to come closer.

"That's far enough!" said Crowley, ordering them to halt. Both groups now stood only ten feet apart, glaring hatefully at each other. Alan looked at his daughter, still tied to the tree, giving her a reassuring nod that everything would be all right. But then, another mercenary, noticing what he was doing, stood between them, deliberately blocking his view of her.

The Watershippers stared in frozen horror at the resurrected Woundwort, who glared spitefully back at them. In another life, these Outsider scum had destroyed his warren and turned all his people against him, in an attempt to destroy his ancestor's noble work. Now, it would be his pleasure to destroy them all in return, after, first, making them suffer! His hateful gaze finally came to rest on his nemesis, whose face showed equal dislike, but surprisingly no fear. His face contorted with fury.

"You! So, we meet again, Johnson. I see you and your Outsider friends still tend to stick your noses where they don't belong. But your luck has finally run out!"

"And I see you're up to your old tricks again, having others do your dirty work like the slimy coward you are," spat Alan, "Only now you're reduced to being a lowly sidekick yourself. How the mighty have fallen. The great patriot of rabbithood, a servant to a human! What a joke! Does Crowley keep you in a hutch too like a pet?" he asked mockingly, "How does it feel being the lackey, General Cyclops?"

Woundwort's eyes blazed with hate and rage at the insult. He was about to strike Alan, but Crowley stopped him.

"Now, everybody, let's control our tempers and behave with some civility, shall we?" he said, putting up a false show of the peaceful negotiator. That scoundrel sure had some nerve to talk about civility when he was above kidnapping children and slaughtering innocent does, Alan thought with disgust. He looked Crowley directly in the eyes.

"So you are Colonel Harry Crowley, the man who sold out his country at the highest bidder and went rogue, in the interest of profit and power."

"A dedicated patriot, who seeks to restore his country to the order in which we once proudly stood," Crowley corrected him, with a slight hint of irritation. "And you are Dr Alan Johnson, the disillusioned scientist, wife-murderer and renegade who betrayed his own race to animals." Beside Alan, Bigwig growled softly under his breath, offended by Crowley's derogatory remarks about his kind, but, catching Hazel's warning look, held his tongue. Crowley turned to look at Sam.

"And you must be Samantha Fields, Dr Drake's secret messenger," he said, smiling nastily at the look of surprise on Sam's face that he knew all about her, as he did the rest of the colonists, "I have to say, I'm rather surprised it was you of all people whom Drake chose to send here, my dear. You poor departed brother would be turning in his grave, seeing you in the company of his own murderer."

"My brother was no brother of mine, not for a long time!" Sam spat, "His death only brings me great happiness, knowing he will never harm anyone else again!" Alan placed a comforting hand on her arm to calm her down.

"And this bunch," continued Crowley, ignoring Sam, and turning to look at the Watership rabbits as if they were scum of the earth, "Are your famous animal friends, whom you rub shoulders with and treat as your equals. Perhaps you mate with them too?" he asked, causing several of the mercenaries to burst out laughing at his lame joke. The Watershippers were utterly disgusted, but had more dignity than to let Crowley's taunting get to them.

"My friends, Mr Crowley, are not animals, they are lagomorphs; the successors of humankind and therefore entitled to equal rights as human beings," said Alan, calmly, yet the iciness in his voice was unmistakable. "Can't say the same for your bunch of pathetic oafs, though," he added, throwing his own taunt back at Crowley, "Tell, how much did Sven Shertok pay you to come here and do his dirty work?"

"I didn't need any pay, considering the honour of being selected for such an important mission," said Crowley importantly, "The earth is returning to mankind's rule where it belongs, Dr Johnson. Your friends' free reign over the world has come to an end."

"Return the world to mankind's rule?" scoffed Alan, "Would that be your rule, by any chance? A criminal and a cold-blooded killer? No, I'm afraid that won't do at all. In this new world, humans and lagomorphs only exist as equals, with full respect for each other's rights and beliefs. You and your goons obviously don't hold much regard for that philosophy and therefore your 'authority' means nothing to us."

"They are nothing but common wild animals, mutated freaks of nature, the result of a madman's failed experiment that should never have taken place!" snapped Crowley, looking as if he wanted to spit at the rabbits, "They stole our planet from us and now we are taking it back, by force if necessary! If you choose to stand in our way, Johnson, you will die like a traitor alongside them!"

"And we are prepared to fight you to the death if we have to!" retorted Bigwig, "You mole-snouted, muck-raking hrakamarlin shall lose a great many of your cronies before we are finished!" A conflict seemed imminent, but then Hazel, hoping to resolve this without bloodshed, spoke up.

"It would be better for all of us if we were to come to terms," he said. Crowley didn't even look at him, flatly dismissing him, probably thinking there was nothing to be said between him and the ringleader of a bunch of rabbits he wanted destroyed like wild animals. But Woundwort, intrigued by the offer, answered him instead.

"You wish us to make terms, Hazel? Oh, very well," he said, "These are my terms: your unconditional surrender, in exchange for your lives and your servitude. As per the terms of my alliance with Crowley, all my ancestor's lands are being reinstated to me, including the entire Meadows of Fenlo. My new empire will need plenty of slave labour to thrive and further bloodshed would be a waste of useful rabbits. Surrender to me now and I will convince Crowley to let you live as my slaves, and your does as the breeding vessels of my future warriors!"

"We could never agree to that, Woundwort," said Hazel firmly, "My people only believe in a life of freedom and peace, not slavery." His refusal only seemed to aggravate Woundwort, as he leaned forward, until he was almost nose-to-nose with Hazel.

"Then those who die first shall be the lucky ones," he said with a voice cold as ice, "But I will leave you and Johnson for last, so that I can force you to watch every last one of your friends being slaughtered!"

"Which will not be very long coming," added Crowley, "We outnumber you both in size and strength. Any resistance on your part would be futile."

"And what about my daughter?" asked Alan. Crowley smiled nastily.

"As long as you retain your corporation with us, she stays alive," he said, holding up the detonator again in warning. "You're going to help us find the rest of these Crypts and then you're going to give us the locations of every warren in England you know about, so we can begin our work of purging our homeland of these abominations." The time for talk was over.

Crowley drew his sidearm and pointed it direct between Alan's eyes, who didn't even flinch, "You are henceforth enemy prisoners of the Global Dominion. Take off that flamethrower and toss it on the ground!" he ordered. "Now!"

Alan complied and took off the flamethrower pack, and gestured at Sam to do the same. However, he didn't notice the pair fingering with something tucked under the pack's harnesses. Alan held up the pack.

"Like I warned you, Crowley, this will not do at all," he said, as if he hadn't a care in the world, "And you want to know why? Because, we, the Watershippers never give in to terrorists' demands!" With that, he tossed the pack at Crowley's feet. The man looked down, only to see, with horror, a grenade taped to the flamethrower's fuel tank with its pin pulled out.

"Grenade!" he bellowed, knocking several of his men out of the way and ducking for cover. Just as Alan also hit the ground, the grenade exploded, rupturing the tank and setting its highly flammable contents ablaze. Not a second later, Sam's pack, also rigged with a grenade, exploded too.

There was instant pandemonium. Shrapnel and burning napalm flew everywhere. Any man standing within ten feet of the blasts was instantly reduced to unrecognisable piles of shredded flesh by the flying shrapnel, before being immolated by the flames that followed. Several of the mercenaries screamed in agony as the burning napalm drenched them, causing their clothes to burst into flame and turning their flesh to charcoal.

Before the effects of the fiery blasts had even subsided, Alan was on his feet again, knife drawn, and making a mad dash towards Lucy. Luckily, in the confusion, Crowley had dropped the detonator, losing the only leverage he had over him. Giving the dazed mercenary leader lying at his feet a kick in the face, knocking him out cold, he sprang towards his daughter. He had almost made it, when a familiar oily voice stopped him in his tracks.

"Don't even think about it, Johnson!"

Turning, Alan saw Vervain standing nearby, his left forepaw resting on the detonator Crowley had dropped, ready to set it off. The evil rabbit had a vengeful smile written on his sadistic face. Alan barred his teeth.

"Step away from that detonator, Vervain!" he growled menacingly, cursing himself for not thinking to grab a gun first. There was no way he could tackle Vervain fast enough before the little bastard could press that button and blow Lucy to smithereens, "I'm warning you!"

"Not so tough now, are you, Johnson?" smirked Vervain, a murderous gleam in his eyes, "I have waited a long time for this! You and your filthy Outsider friends ruined my life; and now I ruin yours! You will have a lifetime of being tormented by the sight of your daughter dying, just like I had to endure all those seasons of being the outcast and laughing stock under that fool Groundsel and his mockery of a warren! An eye for an eye, Johnson!"

"You will get yours, Vervain! I swear it!" growled Alan, desperately trying to think of a way to distract Vervain and get that detonator away from him, but to no avail. Smiling triumphantly, Vervain poised his paw on the button.

"Say goodbye to your precious daughter, Johnson... Ah!"

Before he could set off the explosive, Vervain was suddenly tackled from behind by Blackberry, who, seeing Lucy in danger, had intervened in the nick of time. He shot a smile at Alan, who nodded his thanks. Quickly picking up the detonator and pocketing it for safekeeping, he hurried over to Lucy. Within seconds, she was free. Lucy hugged her father tight, sobbing with relief. At long last, she was saved!

"Stay close to me! I'll get you out of here," said Alan, pushing her behind him, shielding her best he could from all the violence unfolding around them. Looking, he saw several of the mercenaries had regrouped and were making a move towards them. But Alan didn't give them a chance to retaliate.

Raising the brick of C4 meant for Lucy he still held in his hand, he flung it straight into the path of the incoming mob, like someone playing a dangerous game of catch. Before the deadly explosive had even hit the ground, he had the detonator out in his other hand and pressed the button.

The latest explosion sent their would-be attackers flying sky-high, in a torrent of blood and dismembered body parts. But even that wouldn't keep the rest of the marauders at bay for long. Grabbing a discarded assault rifle, Alan joined the fight. All around him, he could see his friends had also engaged the enemy, struggling to keep the marauders away from the Crypt entrance. Before he knew it, he was caught in a furious fight with Woundwort.

Strangely completely unharmed by the napalm blast, the former dictator of Efrafa came charging at him full force, years of hate and a thirst for vengeance boiling up inside him. Gesturing at Lucy to stand back, Alan engaged his enemy.

"What's the matter, Woundwort, grown rusty in death?" he taunted him as they fought, "Resurrected or not, you still fight like the pathetic sissy I remember!" His remarks had the desired effect. His judgement clouded by his anger at being mocked by a lowly ithe, an animalistic rage overcame Woundwort as he came charging in for the kill.

"This is where it ends for you, you insufferable ithe!" snarled Woundwort, as he and Alan continued exchanged blows. "This time, you are the one who is going to meet the Black Rabbit of Inle! I will rip you to pieces, Johnson! Those deluded Outsiders made you their hero for defeating me, but even death can't stop the mighty General Woundwort! How does it feel, knowing your daughter will be forced to witness her own father's horrific demise?" He must have struck a nerve, because Alan, tired of playing games, raised the rifle into Woundwort's face and jabbed the nozzle into the evil rabbit's mouth.

"As good as it feels knowing that I'm about to deliver you to your own funeral, you sorry son of a bitch!"

Without another word, he pulled the trigger. A twelve-gauge round went ploughing through Woundwort's skull, blowing his brains out all over the plateau. The massive rabbit crumpled lifeless to the ground, the top half of his head completely obliterated. After all this talk about Woundwort having somehow gained immortality, all it had taken was one bullet to the head to finish him off. Quite mortal after all, Alan thought. He stared triumphantly down at Woundwort's corpse.

"Impervious to death, huh?" he smirked, "You may have fooled everyone else, Woundwort, but science never lies! Your so-called immortality is as real as a bunch of boll-..." He suddenly froze in mid-sentence, noticing something peculiar was going on. The texture of Woundwort's shattered head was changing. It was like watching foam building up inside a fizzy drink bottle that had just been shaken. Ruined tissue was rapidly regenerating at an impossible rate; within seconds, Woundwort's head was whole again, with not so much as a scar from the bullet wound remaining. The evil rabbit's eyes fluttered open, as if waking up from an afternoon kip, and he stood up, living, breathing and entirely healthy. Alan and Lucy stood utterly shell-shocked. This was impossible!

"Like I told you, Johnson, I have harnessed the powers of the gods!" smiled Woundwort, amused by their fear, "No mortal being can stop me anymore! I have risen above Frith Himself!" Alan responded by pumping several more rounds into Woundwort, but those too had absolutely no effect. If was like trying to shoot an incoming tsunami and hoping it would stop. Woundwort continued to advance on them like a hungry tiger.

His assault rifle empty, Alan desperately looked around for something useful. His eyes lit up when he noticed a net-gun lying beside the charred body of one of the mercenaries that had been killed by the napalm. Picking it up, praying it still worked, he fired it at his indestructible opponent.

The net came flying at Woundwort, wrapping itself around him like a spider's web, immobilising him. The warlord struggled, but even his altered metabolism that made him immortal didn't give him enough strength to break through the strong netting.

"Move!" Alan called to his daughter. Lucy paused for a second, looking in pity at the trapped Woundwort. "I told you, war isn't the way, Woundwort."

"It's the only way I know and will ever know," replied Woundwort, glaring back at her. But Lucy didn't wait to hear the rest of it. Taking her father's hand, they hurried back to rejoin their friends, who were being slowly pushed back towards the Crypt.

Glancing at his watch, Alan saw they only had six minutes left before the explosives planted around the blast door of the Crypt detonated, by which time they had better be gone. He grabbed his radio.

"Derek, release now!" he called. He turned to Sam, "All right, send up the flare, Sam!" Taking out the last of the colonists' signal flare from the 21st century, Sam pulled the safety clip off and shot it up into the sky. The red star glowed brightly up in the air, hopefully enough to signal Hotdog, currently hiding on the other side of the mountain with the airship, waiting for the right moment to extract them...

Inside the Crypt's depot station, Derek had powered up the aircraft engine he had mounted on the barge. Everything was working fine. Outside, he could hear a fight raging. His cue should be any second now as he continued listening closely to his radio.

"Derek, release now!"

On Alan's command, he pushed the makeshift throttle to full power and jumped ship. The chocks removed from under the wheels, the hoper car began sliding forward along the track, gathering speed.

Outside, the remaining mercenaries had regrouped and taken to their weapons, intent on smashing the resisting enemy. The Watershippers, spent and almost out of ammunition, were being forced back into a tight corner. Any second now, the mercenaries would overwhelm them and slaughter them all.

Suddenly, a new sound filled the air: the sound of a roaring aircraft engine gaining on them. Confused by that mysterious new sound, they realised it was coming from inside the Crypt's entrance. Before they knew what was happening, an armoured train hopper-car, carrying a large barge, came speeding out of the opening, heading straight towards them.

With that runaway Juggernaut of death coming straight at them, the mercenaries tried to run but found themselves in a tight corner: unlike the Watershippers, they were a large crowd, standing on a small, remote plateau with cliffs all around them. There was nowhere to run!

The heavy barge went ploughing straight into the mob, the excavator on the front of the hopper-car mowing people down like bamboo sticks. The screams of dozens of mercenaries being bashed into human mincemeat or pancaked under the wheels of the hoper-car filled the air.

With no one to stop it, the hoper-car continued its wayward journey along the same track that people had used to cart it up here seven centuries prior. But, after all this time, the railroad tracks were too corroded or overrun by earth and vegetation to support the weight of a hoper-car moving at such high speed. Striking an old landslide a short distance down from the plateau, the hoper-car derailed and went cartwheeling down the side of the mountain and into disaster.

Several hundred tons of steel went crashing down the mountainside, striking every exposed rock or tree in their path. The hoper-car was ripped apart, its wheels and the excavator torn clean off and flying in all directions like smashed children's toys. As the ruined hoper-car levelled off in the valley below, the barge also tore free of its moorings and, still propelled by its aircraft engine, slid off the barge and landed in the river, beaching itself in the shallows, not too far from where the mercenaries had left their jeeps. A new seaworthy vessel had just been launched, only with no one to witness or christen her.

Back on the plateau, a scene of total carnage had been left behind by the passing barge. Splatters of blood and minced human meat that, minutes ago, had been living people, stained the ground where the barge had come crashing through, squashing them like cockroaches.

The Watershippers, all luckily unharmed but fresh out of tricks and with only two minutes left until the explosives detonated, backed away from the remaining marauders. Although they had managed to take out many of them, the rest still greatly outnumbered them and had far superior firepower. With only three humans, armed with only one half-empty flamethrower, an assault rifle and a pistol respectively, the rest of them being mere rabbits with just their teeth and claws to fight back with, the Watershippers found themselves bracketed.

"Damn, I'm out!" yelled Derek, who had been trying to keep the enemy at bay with their last flamethrower, using up all its fuel in the process. The flame on the nozzle of the flamethrower dimmed and finally went out. Next to him, Alan had also run out of ammo, as had Sam.

Alan desperately looked up at the sky. Still no sign of Hotdog. What was taking him so long? Perhaps he hadn't seen their flare in the fog? What then?

"The bastards tricked us, you fools!" shouted Crowley, picking himself up from the ground, his face all bloody and battered, but still dangerous and in control. He drew his sidearm, "Kill them all!"

A last stand seemed the only option, when suddenly, out of the fog, a familiar airship appeared almost out of nowhere like the Flying Dutchman. The El-ahrairah-One! They were saved! Hotdog manoeuvred the airship down onto the plateau.

"Someone flagged down a flying taxi?"

"Run for it! Everybody onboard!" shouted Alan. Scooping up Lucy, who was still in handcuffs and unable to run, into his arms, he made a beeline for the airship's boarding door, the rest of his companions following suit. While Derek covered their backs, the Watershippers all piled into the cabin. Not a moment too soon, bullets began whizzing all around them, as the mercenaries opened fire, trying to bring the airship down.

"Take her up, Hotdog!" called Alan up to the cockpit, "We need to gain height!"

"Stop them!" yelled Woundwort, who had managed to free himself from the net, as he tore through the crowd, desperate to get to the airship before it took flight. There was no way he could allow himself the insult of letting his enemies escape him again. "Don't let them escape!"

Just before the marauders could reach them, everyone was finally onboard and the airship soared skywards – but not before Woundwort, with a mighty battle roar, gave a spectacular leap and latched himself onto the edge of the open boarding door. But, of course, he was powerless to pull the massive airship back down and found himself being pulled up into the air with it. Inside the cabin, Fiver, Pipkin and Violet gasped in terror.

As Woundwort struggled to pull himself onboard, to kill every last one of those miserable Outsiders who had bested him again, he found himself face to face with Bigwig, who loomed over him.

"We are all full up in here, Woundwort!" he growled, "Rather than immortality, ask the Black Rabbit for a pair of wings next time!" With that, he cuffed Woundwort hard across the face, striking his most sensitive spot: his eyes. Although immortal and impervious to death or lasting injuries, Woundwort wasn't immune to pain. With a yell of pain, he lost his grip on the boarding door and fell from the sky, limbs flailing and screaming in failure at letting his enemies escape him. He hit the rocky ground hard and the distinct cracking sound of many bones breaking was heard.

"Sire!" screamed Vervain in horror at seeing his master fall. Any normal rabbit falling from so high up would be dead for sure. He rushed over to the twisted and unmoving form of Woundwort lying on the rocks, fearing the worst. "Sire, please talk to me!" For a minute, he was sure Woundwort was dead and that all his efforts to bring him back had been wasted. But then, suddenly, Woundwort's eyes fluttered open again and he got back on his feet as if nothing had happened. There wasn't as much as a single mark on him.

"Are you all right, Sire?" asked Vervain with concern, only for Woundwort to furiously brush him off.

"Of course I'm all right, you insolent fool!" he growled, offended by being referred to in a manner that seemed to imply he was weak or vulnerable, "I am the Dark One and I am indestructible! Don't you ever dare question my endurance again!" An alarmed Vervain humbly nodded, muttering his sincere apologies.

"No, Sire, never!"

The marauders continued firing, but by now, the airship was out of their range of fire. Crowley signalled at them to hold their fire.

"Don't waste your ammunition!" he called, "Never mind them, we've still got what we came here for. Get some men down there and secure the Crypt...!" But, before the words had even passed his lips, there was a new noise; the sound of another, even bigger explosion. The ensuing shockwave knocked them all to the ground.

The entrance to the Crypt was completely obliterated by the blast, which were of course the explosives having reached the end of their countdown. The roof of the depot station came crashing down, amidst tons of fallen earth and rock from the mountain above. But the Crypt itself, safely built behind the sealed blast door remained untouched. Dark and silent as it had been found, all those lost treasures of mankind within sat once again, waiting for the future, when they might see daylight again...

Outside, the mercenaries, all drenched in dirt and dust from the explosion, got to their feet again, staring in anger and disdain at their lost prize. The entrance to the Crypt was gone, completely caved in, and all the treasure with it. Even if they had had heavy excavation machinery, it would take months, if not years, to penetrate the Crypt again. The enemy had cost them so many of their comrades and now their booty too!

"I am beginning to seriously dislike this Dr Johnson," muttered Crowley in silent anger. He turned to one of his remaining henchmen, "What's our status?"

"Nearly half the men dead, sir, and several more injured. It will take some time to assess any losses to the equipment and provisions."

"Put those who can't be patched up out of their misery and salvage anything that is still in working order," ordered Crowley. This had just become personal and Crowley was not born to be a good loser, "We are moving on to the next Crypt without delay!"

"Go to hell, Crowley!" yelled Hirsh, "You are going to get us all killed! That lunatic Johnson and his rabbits literally swept the floor with us and you insist on continuing in this folly! I wasn't born to die out here, on this godforsaken future earth!"

"So you would rather live like a coward?" Woundwort asked him in disgust, "Cowards are born losers!"

"I don't need a lecture from a bumbling, overstuffed oaf, who doesn't know when to mind his own damn business...!" retorted Hirsh, but should have known better than to insult the likes of Woundwort. With a roar of rage, Woundwort had him pinned to the ground, his heavy paw pressed hard over his throat, almost chocking him in the process.

"You will always show prospect respect when you are speaking to the Dark One, or I'll rip your throat out!" he growled, glaring into the terrified man's eyes, "Over here, rabbits are way above humans on the evolutionary ladder, and I stand even higher than that! Don't you ever forget that, human!"

"That's enough!" snapped Crowley, ordering Woundwort to release Hirsh, leaving the man sprawled on the ground nearly suffocated and utterly humiliated, "The fight's not here, it's out there. Johnson may have won the battle, but he hasn't won the war, not by a long shot! There are three Crypts still to be found and the race is still on. We will have revenge yet, gentlemen!" The mercenaries shouted their firm agreements, their loyalty to Crowley still strong and unwavering.

Looking down in the valley at the foot of the mountain, he spotted the barge still beached in the shallows on the riverbank. In spite of all the trouble Johnson had caused them, at least he had left them a ride to continue their mission. And as long as he had Drake's journal to help them find the rest of the Crypts, they were still in the fight.

"Get some men with winches down there and have them start rigging that barge for a sea journey. Our next stop is North Africa!"

The El-ahrairah-One had long since left the Carpathians behind. Inside the cabin, Derek had just finished sawing through Lucy's handcuffs with a mill-file. Her wrists were raw and badly bruised after being bound for days, and her face was all battered from the slaps Crowley had given her, not to mention dying of hunger, but otherwise she was unharmed. Lucy tearfully hugged her father, who hugged her back.

"I knew you'd come for me!" she cried with joy, kissing him on the cheek, "Woundwort and Crowley kept saying that you had all written me off, that you didn't care what became of me. I knew it wasn't true!"

"Was there any doubt about it?" asked Alan cheekily, poking his daughter in the ribs, causing her to giggle but then cringed, nursing her cheek, as if in pain. Alan frowned, noticing the large handprint-shaped bruise on her left cheek, from when Crowley had slapped her, and which was obviously still paining her. If that bastard or Woundwort ever dared lay a hand on her again, he thought, he'd rip them apart with his bare hands!

Hazel approached Lucy, letting the girl pull him into a tight hug, followed by each of the other rabbits in turn, all of which were overjoyed at her rescue. "We are so glad you are safe, young one. We all thank Frith and all of Prince Rainbow's messengers for bringing you back to us alive and well!"

"Thank you, Uncle Hazel," said Lucy, patting him between the ears, when she suddenly remembered the rest of her friends who had been taken prisoner by the marauders, and which she still didn't know what had become of them, "But, what about Aunt Hyzenthlay and the others? Are they all right?" Everyone's faces fell.

"I'm so sorry, Lucy," Alan said finally. He hated to break the news to his daughter, but he knew it would only do more harm than good to keep her in the dark, "The others, they... they were killed..."

Lucy felt tears appear in her eyes, as her father explained that, besides her, only Hyzenthlay, Sandwort and Little Threar had been rescued alive. Alan dared not go into detail of how they had found them all impaled on stakes, where they had been left to die slowly and in agony on Woundwort's orders. Noticing how upset she was, survivor's guilt quickly kicking in, he pulled his daughter close to comfort her.

"There is nothing to blame yourself for, sweetheart," he said, "The fact that you were spared doesn't make you in any way responsible for what happened to the others. Crowley and Woundwort did this out of sheer malice, to crush our spirit; but, unlike those cowardly scumbags, we are stronger. Today, we have struck our first vengeful blow back at those criminal invaders and will continue to do so until they are all destroyed! Won't we, you chaps?"

"You bet we will!" said Bigwig with an almost contagious confidence, "Them and that traitor Woundwort, who sold out his own kind to the enemy. We won't stop until we have rid our world of those murderers who seek to destroy us! Today's battle marks our first big triumph!"

"Only, we had to leave the treasure behind, didn't we?" scoffed Hawkbit, pointing out that, while they had succeeded in keeping the marauders from seizing the Crypt, they had left as empty-handed as they had come. "Not exactly a triumph!"

"I wouldn't say that," said Alan, turning to smile at Lucy, who smiled back. His one and only real treasure in this world was sitting right beside him where she belonged, safe and sound. And as for the treasure back at the Crypt, now buried forever, it could all go to hell for all he cared.

"Well, at least we saved mankind's treasures from being looted," said Sam, who, despite her own disappointment at not having at least managed to take some of the treasures from the Crypt, was thankful that they had all gotten out of there alive. The Watershippers all looked at her, utterly impressed by her performance on the battlefield earlier. As far as everyone was concerned, she had definitely earned her Owsla wings today, just like the rest of the colonists.

"You were brilliant down there, Sam," said Derek, kneeling over to kiss her. Sam blushed. "And that's why I think this is a good time as any for me to get on with something that I had been meaning to do for some time."

Reaching into his pocket, he took out the only thing that had made it out of the Crypt: a pair of beautiful gold wedding rings, lined with some of the finest diamonds imaginable, which he had personally chosen for this special moment. He got down on one knee in front of Sam.

"Samantha Fields, will you marry me?"

Sam was overwhelmed with joy. Her life had changed so much since coming here; from being poverty-stricken, unmarried and with little to no prospect for a future, now she truly felt like she had found home. Despite all the odds she had had to overcome, she had proven to her friends and to herself that she could fit in here. So what was there to stop her from taking the next big step and being with the man she loved?

"Yes, yes, I accept!" she said, barely able to contain herself, as she let Derek slide the ring on her finger. Never in her entire life had she owned anything so beautiful or so valuable. The two of them kissed. Everyone cheered and applauded excitedly at the couple, offering their congratulations and best wishes.

The El-ahrairah-One continued on its journey, heading on a steady south-westerly course back towards the Mediterranean and eventually the coast of North Africa, to Algeria, where they hoped to track down the next of the four Crypts, the Crypt of Science.

Author's note: This was one of the most difficult chapters in the entire Watership Down The New World saga to write. At first, I thought about splitting it, but then decided not to leave it hanging on another cliffhanger. Any quotes borrowed from the 1999 TV series belong to the Adams estate and the filmmakers. Enjoy and please review!