The Hopes of a Nation

[stonewall]

The Second Corps of the Grand Pig Army was stationed on the western fringes of the woods, being sure to stay clear of the trees, just as they had nearly a year ago. The soldiers still wore their spike topped helmets and bore their spears proudly, but they seemed to bear an air of wariness that was absent upon their arrival. They no longer looked at the dense mass of timber with wonder and arrogance, but rather with loathing and anger. They had come looking to expand the influence of the Empire; now they wondered how in the world it was possible to quell the fiery wrath of the inhabitants of cursed forest.

Sitting on the same wooden stool as he had nearly a year ago was General Aloishis Sprog, the giant boar in charge of the Second Corps. His eyes were still as bright and sly as they had been, his mind was still as active as ever, and he still wore his grey vest over the clean white shirt, but he was not entirely unchanged. His swagger and arrogance seemed to have been lessened, and he had learned a hard lesson about running a campaign in Mossflower Woods. For he knew now that which he had totally overlooked nearly a year before: the natives of those bloody woods were not going to go easily.

When they had first arrived, Sprog thought that conquering a land made up entirely of uncouth, uncivilized woodlanders would be a cakewalk. They had not army, no real flag to rally around, not leaders… what was there to worry about? But in retrospect, as the boar brooded over his ill fated campaign, he had not counted on an intense will to remain uncouth, uncivilized, and leaderless. For despite their weak appearance, the locals of Mossflower woods had refused to be intimidated by a show of force, and when the Pigs had tried to occupy the heart of the forest, they had actually attacked. Not straight up fighting like any decent army would do, but that incredibly annoying hit and run tactic that the cover of trees seemed to make all that more effective. And after time, irritation gave way to fear; no one was quite sure that they were safe anywhere, and no one wanted to veer away from the main group. Soon, paranoia had set in, and as news continued to poor in as to who had been capped off the night before, it was apparent to the General that he was on the verge of controlling an utterly demoralized army. So, with no small reluctance, the boar had given the order to retreat back to their initial starting point on the western fringes of the woods, to give his pigs time to recuperate, and give Sprog time to write to his Queen Anne and alert her that he was having trouble.

That was over a month and a half ago now, and Sprog still felt humiliated, bitter, and angry at both himself for failing to achieve a mission, and at fate for not giving him a helping hand. He, General Sprog, who had defeated the Tigers of Moznan, had been defeated by a rag tag group of fur balls. No post confederation Pig army had been forced to retreat before. Despite all of his other accomplishments in the name of Queen Anne, this might very well be all Aloishis Sprog would be remembered for. Pride being a very large portion of the boar’s personality, the retreat was not going over very well.

And thus, with his reputation and career on the line, Sprog was understandingly nervous about opening the letter which had just arrived this morning, sent by the Queen. The boar knew that inside that letter may very well be his dismissal, and he was having a hard time steeling his nerves to read the parchment. He could face five armies at once and not blink, but to receive the Queen’s displeasure was a fate worse than death. She was the symbol of the Empire and all that was powerful, and all of the Pigs under her command were extremely loyal; to anger her in any way was utter blasphemy.

Finally, not being able to take the suspense any more, the boar forced himself to unfold the paper and made his eyes take in the message within, which read as thus:

General Sprog: (He was still being referred to as a General. That was a good sign.)


Your message regarding you and the Second Corps’ difficulties in the New World has been received and considered. While we here in the Capital City find it hard to believe that a General, who has been so stalwart a member of the Imperial Army for so long, could be dispirited so by a group of natives (Sprog winced. That hurt.), it is not the first time we have heard discouraging remarks from one of the armies that was sent over to claim the New World. (Sprog had to read over that again. Three Corps had been sent over upon the discovery of the new continent. It had never occurred to him that they might be having issues as well)

General Gargott and the First Corps, as you know, was sent to the northern coast (Elliot Gargott: Sneaky, devious, and self serving. Sprog had never liked him.) Despite initial success, the local population of birds has proven to be very hardy, and the weather has developed into impossibly cold conditions, and is claiming more of our soldiers than the insurgents. (Can’t fight nature. The northlands didn’t sound worth conquering anyway. Birds were annoying little twerps, impossible to govern at the best of times) Also, General Applegate and the Third Corps, who were sent south, (Ambrose Applegate: Fat, brave, pompous. Brave enough, but not really much of a General) did encounter an already existing kingdom, which referred to itself as Southsward, but apparently contained a fully disciplined army, which General Applegate claims he can not defeat without reinforcements. (That wasn’t surprising.) At first, the Senate debated whether or not to send you and the Second Corps down to Southsward to aid him. (Sprog felt a surge of delight. Fighting against an actual army and getting away from these infernal trees would be a dream come true!) But, on second thought, (Damn it) We have decided that, in order to deal with your insurgent problem, both General Gargott and General Applegate with march to the Mossflower area. As you are in the center, as it were, it will take less time for the others to come to you than to shift all of your forces either North or South. Hopefully, with three army Corps present, you will have no difficulty in destroying the rebels will to resist.

Both General Gargott and General Applegate will have all ready received their orders to come to your aid, and will likely be marching even as you read this. Act accordingly to make the advantage of numbers you possess work to the fullest.

From,

Queen Anne I.


Sprog stared at the signature of the Queen for a while, his emotions confused. He wasn’t being fired, and that was always a good thing; the others were running into issues as well, so it wasn’t just him who was being disgraced. But, confound it, he had hoped that he could get away from Mossflower! It wasn’t a matter of numbers, it the fact that the natives refused to be intimidated. If they could be quelled simply by overwhelming odds, Sprog would have had the job done long ago. He thought he had made that clear in his report.

Folding the letter back up and putting it into his vest pocket, Aloishis leaned back in his chair and sighed. Well, there was nothing for it now. The other Corps were already on their way. They would just have to work with what they had. How long away, he wondered. They were supposedly on the move already, but that didn’t mean anything. They had no way to communicate with one another. Where was the enemy? That was impossible to know. They were so busy hiding in those woods (Damn those trees!) that you couldn’t locate them until they had already stabbed you in the back. Would they find out about the other Corps moving in? If they didn’t, they would certainly be surprised when more Pigs appeared out of thin air. Maybe that would give them the psychological edge. Maybe the Woodlanders would lose moral. There was always that hope. There was only that hope. Damn those trees…

Sitting up straight again, The General realized that his Chief of Staff, Major Dorsey, was standing beside of him. Short, self important, but reliable. The pig clicked his hooves sharply. “Good day to you, sah! What news from Her Majesty?”

The tired, worn look on the boar’s face immediately informed the Major that all was not well. “Well, Dorsey, looks like we’re going to be here a little longer. General Gargott is coming down from the north, and General Applegate is coming up from the south.”

Dorsey frowned, obviously disappointed. None of the Second Corps was too keen on staying in the Mossflower region. “Well, sir, if you don’t mind my saying so, I don’t know what else they can do that we haven’t already done.”

Sprog nodded. “Don’t tell me, Dorsey, tell those lame brain big wigs in the Senate, who haven’t had the pleasure of touring the lovely Mossflower Woods with their own eyes.” Shaking his head, he looked despairingly at the Major. “Did you know I can’t sleep under trees anymore? I just get this feeling that something’s going to jump out at me from the branches.”

Dorsey nodded at what would have seemed like an odd statement nearly a year ago. “I hear you, sir.” Placing his hands behind him, the pig took a deep breath. “Well, General, what do you reckon we should do?”

The general stood up off his chair, straightening his posture. It wasn’t proper to look like he had already been defeated. Very bad form. Besides, a faint echo of the past reminded him, they were the Pigs! They weren’t feared around the world for nothing, after all! Was he, Aloishis Sprog, about to admit total defeat before a bunch of uncivilized barbarians? No, sir, the Pigs were the greatest race, and they would not take defeat so easily. He would have his revenge!

Feeling better after his mental pep talk, the boar removed another folded up piece of paper from his vest pocket and unfolded it, revealing a detailed map of Mossflower and much of the surrounding regions, that he had gotten off one of the locals. Staring down at it, for a moment or two, he pointed down to the mountains marking the northern boundaries of Mossflower. “If General Gargott is coming on down from the north, he’s going to have to come around these here mountains. Now, that’ll give him some cover from prying eyes, and if his appearance can shock the insurgents, we might put the fear of the Empire in them. But for that to work, his presence is going to have to be a surprise, so we’re going to have to make sure that no one is looking to the north any time soon. I reckon, if we move around here,” he said as he pointed to a square on the map representing Redwall Abbey, “then we can keep those critters occupied. The old red building seems to be of some importance to them, and if we can threaten it, they’ll rush to it like ants at a picnic.”

Dorsey listened, nodding understandingly. “They will that, sir.” He gave a small, mirthless chuckle. “Though I don’t know about wanting to draw off everyone from Gargott’s path. I reckon a dose of that coyote would do him a load of good.” General Gargott was not well liked among most of the officers.

Sprog grunted. “I’m hoping he’s dead by now.”

“The coyote, or General Gargott?”

The boar shrugged. “Both, I guess. That stab wound still hurts something awful in the mornings.” Confident that his plan was a good one, the General rolled the map back up. “Alright, Dorsey, see to it that you fill in those who need to know. And make sure you tell them that we’re getting reinforcements, that should boost their morale.”

The Major clicked his hooves accordingly. “Yes, sir!” He proclaimed, before going off to do the General’s wishes. Sprog watched him go, the quality of his plan starting to curve some of the nagging doubts still in his thoughts. There was no reason to be so scared of a bunch of ragamuffins! They had three Corps on the way, for land’s sake! And he had good, Pig troops with him, quality stuff, who knew that it was their destiny to rule the world. There was nothing to worry about…

Until a quiet, nagging voice appeared in his head, reminding him, “Just be sure that there’s no one else but the coyote and his friends to give you trouble.”

[cuiasodosharpedge]

"I'm not thinking' that'll be likely," the canine said, glaring at his opponent opposite.

"Why's that?" quipped the nemesis, "Have you been paying attention to what's happening at all? If I'm not mistaken, you're about ready to lose more than just a little."

Stalwart, he holds. "Jus' sayin' is'not likely..." His paw moved down, angrily tightening its hold. "Are you ready?" The opponent nods. In one quick flash, the move is carried out.

His piece jumps three spaces, knocking out four of his enemy's

"Well poke me with a stupid stick, Laz, you had me figured out better than I though!" exclaimed a jacketless and confused Cuiasodo Sharpedge.

His partner, however, was having a hard time hearing the coyote's congratulations over the clamor of his boasting.

"Yeah, that's right, Soupdog Dull-edge, Laz has one upped you again! Ain't never been beat at smackers yet!"

Cuiasodo rolled his eyes, speaking under his breath (which in his case was loud enough for all to hear), "I dunno what's worse; you refering to yourself in the third person or the fact that you called me Soupdog. Blech!"

“Alright, c’mon, you make your move now!”

“Now, why exactly do they call this game ‘smackers’ again?” As Laz began to pull his left arm back in preparation for a hook, Cuiasodo suddenly declined further investigation. “Hey-hey-hey, don’t go pullin’ that with me. We both know who’d wind up losing in a fight if it came down to it.”

“Yeah, sure, but if’n ya didn’t have that big blade ‘a yours you wouldn’t stand a chance ‘gainst my dukes!”

Under his breath, “They look more like Queens to me.”

“What was that?”

“Nutthin’.”

Simultaneously they stood up, one stretching, the other yawning. The former began to search about the clearing for his jacket.

“We really should get together like this more often, Laz. It really takes the edge off having to patrol all the time.”

The other coyote thumbed his nose, making a show of spitting into the far bushes. “Yeah, but this here game ain’t nothin’ compared to the real thing.”

“Hey, at least when we play ‘this here game’ I don’t have to worry about constantly finding the new players to replace the old ones who got their throats slit. Better replay value that way.”

The cursed thing was sprawled across a branch not two feet above. Jumping, he gripped the red rouge in his paws. Now he had it! Cuiasodo descended back down to earth, his bounty clasped tight. The red garb was flung over his shoulder yet his arms chose not yet thrust through the sleeves.

“Plus, with a game, you don’t have to worry as much when someone shouts ‘king me’.”

All at once there was no weight on the coyote’s right shoulder. A flash of red, then a squirrel had his jacket, the villain hanging not but three feet out of the coyote’s wide jumping range. At a loss for words, Cuiasodo grasped the blade handle, Laz following suit by tightening his fists.

“Gorram sucker jumped outta nowhere.”

“That’s very observant of you, Laz, but stating the obvious isn’t going to get my jacket back.”

The black clad canine rolled his shoulders, groaned. “Since when does a scummy jacket matter so-“

Laz could only see one of Cuiasodo’s eyes over his shoulder as the katana toting Sawa craned his head, but it was enough. Without uttering a word, his glare commanded, “You don’t wanna finish that.”

Whilst his thumb fondled the fibers entwined around the handle his brain began to work around the problem of scaling a tree when the thief could easily slip away. Then, he had a sudden thought, as if struck by lightening (but far less painful).

“Hey, you!”

“Plan’s going perfectly, Sharpedge!”

“Shuddup.” Bluntly, he sheathed his weapon. “Now, now, we just wanna talk. I am sure we can work this out without anybeast doing anything,” his eyes rolled over in Laz’s direction, “Stupid.”

“You are the one called Cuiasodo Sharpedge, no?” The squirrel apparently had a voice to contrast his raged features; were it to emanate from a body to match the tone, it would have to have been an aristocrat.
“I am the one called Cuiasodo Sharpedge, yes. And that item there is a piece of clothing that I call ‘jaket’ and I would really like it back because otherwise I will throw something called a ‘fit’. Hey!”

Into the air the squirrel launched, brown orange against dark green. Cuiasodo took off first, Laz following without a second (or even first) bidding. Branches, long forgotten loam, trees, something that probably used to be a bog; they were impediments all to his path. But, driven on by the desire to reclaim stolen property, and, incidentally, now unburdened by said stolen jacket, they were not a match for Cuiasodo Sharpedge. Thee front flips later, the pair came to the edge of a ridge. The squirrel stood at the tip of the drop off.

“Remember what I said about not wanting to anything stupid? I can feel my I.Q. dropping just a bit-“

Putting up a paw, the mismatched voice announced, “Before you slay me, take heed: behold.” The other paw pointed towards the drop off. Neither of the coyotes had to take a step closer to see.

Blots of pink and gray, armor from glimmering to dulled, tarnished and polished steel criss-crossed between the natural green patchwork. The soldiers were not attempting stealth tactics. An army of several score approached Mossflower wood, flanking the ridge.

“Pigs.” there was no what about it. “Sonovacat.”

“I though we sent those pink pansies packin’? Gorram, they just don’t know when to quit, do they? Bit too much fat between the ears, eh?”

The Sawa was un-amused. Deftly, he snatched back his jacket and signaled the squirrel to follow.

“We should try to warn the abbey, but Redwall is too far away. Backup from Salamandastron is out of the question; they couldn’t close the gap fast enough, nor spare enough hares for a fight like this. There’s only one place left…”

Following the expected path, Laz queried, “What?”

The other coyote’s eyes narrowed. “Did you know that there’s a fort around here?”

[Tarafrather T. Furthermore]

Ten meters behind the tree-line, Pvt. Tarafrather Toxowalter Furthermore, a ranger, lay invisible in the foliage. The young hare had been patiently waiting there for three hours; waiting for the sun to go down. His mission was straight forward. To perform reconnaissance and demoralize the enemy. Behind a screen of vines, Pvt. Furthermore lay concealed in a muddy, green cloak; half buried in the loam. Set beside him in the leaves were a harvest sack and a long, straight bag. The last guard patrol had passed by twenty minutes ago, so the ranger judged he could move a bit without being spotted. Taking a sheet of parchment and a charcoal pencil from the harvest sack, he began to scratch away at a word marked page.

…Pigs’ force is considerable. Tens of thousands. The encampment is aproximatly 200 meters from the treeline. The camp consists of some tents, a few large permanent structures and small wood dwellings. Numerous fires are placed randomly throughout. Guards patrol the pirimeter of the camp in pairs armed with spears and well armored. Foraging parties are sent into the trees, though with no apparent schedual. Two officers can be spotted semi-regularly on the eastern side of the camp. Labeled Officer A and Officer B. Officer A sends off the foraging parties but stays inside the camp. Officer B seems to be the one the guards report to. He often surprises the guards to keep them diligent. Officer quarters are located near the center of the camp… Walter was not the best of spellers… His grammar and Handwriting could use improvement, too.

The light was fading. Furthermore looked up from underneath his hood. It was almost time. He had observed the Pigs for a week now, gleaning as much information as he could from a distance. So far he had been successful in keeping his presence unknown. The day before yesterday, a foraging party had been sent out. They had come very close. Ten meters from where he was hiding. Luckily, he had been able to remain anonymous. But now it was time to let them know he was here. Carefully sliding the parchment back into the sack, Walter reached over and opened the long bag. Slowly, he pulled a long yew bow from it. With a slight rustle, he pulled himself up into a crouch. He selected a string and looped it over one end of the bow. Bracing that end against the ground, he bent it and strung it. Sliding a goose-fletched shaft from the long bag, Walter set it to the string.

This would be simple. He would slay or wound one target and then slip away. The trick was pick a target that would be the most demoralizing to hit. Officers were the first choice, but they did a good job of keeping out of the way. At the moment, there was a lone sentr y a bit to the left. What if the relief were to find him sleeping… Indefinitely? Pvt. Furthermore slowly drew back the string and sighted along the shaft. Wait. To the right were two Pigs on patrol, moving to the left in his field of vision. The Ranger turned his bow to the right, calculated the distance, sighted up and to the left and let fly. The Patrolling pig nearest the woods fell against his companion and then to the ground, an arrow through his wide neck. The other pig squealed in shock and the sentry ran over to investigate the disturbance. Pvt. Furthermore scooped up his gear and retreated stealthily through the forest like a spirit.

[Tass, Nathan and Brine]

**tass saw the pig fall , an arrow in his neck , he tried hard not to scream ,"what are these blasted monsters" he thought**dear major shard , I have sited some strange creatures , they fit the description of pigs**he said under his breath , what had started out as a nice walk to the had turned into combat recon , tass did not look like what he normally looked like , he was smeared with mud and grime and was covered with leaves , his claymore blade was also covered in mud to stop it from shining. he watched the other sentry pigs stand over their dead comrade , then one bolted of in the direction of what must have been the pigs main camp , the other pig just stood there , too shocked to do anything. there was thick foliage by where the dead sentry was , tass wanted to try out his combat skills on the shocked pig . tass crawled through the forest to were the shock sentry stood , tass stepped on A branch it cracked , the sentry turned around**so much for stealth , HAWAAYYY THE BRAWWWWWW!**tass leaped at the sentry and struck the pigs back , had the pig been of lesser size and girth he would have been killed , instead the pig let out A horrible roar that must have alerted the whole pig camp , tass struck again , this time at the head , he pig was not that lucky this time , the pig fell down , dead.tass could see more pigs running toward the spot where he was so e decided it was time to vanish into the forest.