Post by Sigurd on Jul 17, 2011 1:03:23 GMT -5
Prolouge:
The fat dormouse stared at his small audience, with consisted mainly of Dibbuns. The dormouse was far in his seasons, with a big heavy grey beard and all. Laying back on his wheelbarrow, he coughed a few times, before speaking, "So, ye' hearties wanta' hear the story of Tim the Terra'ble? Or of Rousy Randy?" he asked, all the while lookinga t the stars above.
A tiny mole babe shook his head, and tapped the ancient dormouse's footpaw with his own chubby paw. "Burr, no thankee, zurr! We'd a'muk rad'der in'goy ta' sto'ie o' ta' Captern' Williwaa', an' 'is 'ole Longy' Patroly'!" the babe replied.
Peering over his fat little chest, the dormouse shook his head. "Captain Williway, ye' ask? Now here'd ye' yu'guns hear 'bout that?"
A mousemaid, possibly the oldest of all the Dibbuns answered, "Frum Mista Pish Pu'sh!" she replied. "Tell us!" she added, with a triumphant look.
Soon, all the Dibbuns were cheering on the story of 'Captain Williway and his Long Patrol'.
"Cum'on, gerres' da sto'ie!"
"Tell us 'bout that no gurd' foxer!"
"Er, an' remember all ther booms!"
Sighing in defeat, the dormouse rested his head back down, and started to explain. "A long time ago, the Long Patrol sent several smaller tracking units to apprehend villainous vermin, and curs! In the most prestige of these units, was the famous Captain Raich Mogotomi 'Sharpears' Belloway-Williway, a grand 'ole hare. A great shot if'n I've ever seen 'un! Now, in this 'ere story, 'e was 'unting the fox, er, what was his name? Er, 'Cutterback' Finley! Ah, yes, that was it... A murderin' beast, that 'e was.....
Chapter One:
A stoat strode into a bar. More like a tavern, located at the edge of Mossflower. Several vermin sat in the chairs in that tavern, gambling, spitting, and drinking their problems away. Stoping at a table occupied by only a thin water rat, the stoat gently sat down at the second chair. "Bartender, get me your finest wine!" he called out, in a shrill, well educated voice. The rat who's table he sat at had been passed out, but the higher-pitched voice of the stoat woke him from this.
"Er, 'oo are ye'?" he asked, grinding his blackened teeth together as he did so. The rat took one long look at the stoat, before a giggle arose in his throat. The stoat was decked out in a shiny clothing, maybe golden, or creamy yellow, at the very least. He were a white undershirt, covered by the canary vest, rimmed black. His pants were the same color. His boots were jet black, and well polished, their copper buckles big and wide. He had three gold earrings on his left ear, and wore a short of black corsair hat, laced with gold. To make matters more ridiculous, he sported a huge waxed mustache. Seeing the rat laugh, he put on a grin, before getting up. As soon as he was up, his right paw flashed into his belt, pulled out his Flintlock Pistol, and Crack!
Thud! The rat's corpse broke through its chair, and hit the ground, covered in splinters. The vermin who were awake and sober all had their paws going towards their belts. Yet, as fast a blink of an eye, the stoat dropped his powerful, yet cumbersome pistol on the table, and pulled out dual six-rounded clockwork pistols. Faster, and with more ammo, but weaker and shorter ranged than his heavy pistol. Still, in the tight space he was in, he could easily dispatch at least twelve creatures.
"Anybeast who wishes to die, stand up!" he cried out, in his shrill voice.
Unexpectedly, one beast stood up. A ferret who had been playing cards (and losing) to his table mate, another ferret. His mate shook his head. "Oh, no, matey! You really gonna kill yoreself?" he asked. "Why, matey?"
The ferret grinned, as he replied. "Oh, I'm not gonna die, but I will take back all my money!" he replied, pulling out his own pistol, and slaying the ferret where he sat, two bullets into the heart. "What you want me to do, Chief?" he asked.
As he spoke, more and more tavern-goers would rise up, and pull out their pistols. The obvious leader was the stoat, though. "Search these blokes' pockets for 'spare change'!" he replied. "This tavern is now the property of Quincewald Q. Quabblertance, and his gang of Highwaymen!" he sated, boldly. Before the bartender could even stand to protest, Quabblertance shot him, three times in the chest.
Hours later, the crew of Highwaymen sat in a clearing not so far off, enjoying the vittles they had gotten. Quabblertance, or Quabbler, as he preferred to be called in his crew, sat on the outskirts of the sixteen beasts he commanded. His personal tailor, and hair-styler looked at his master, as he readied the mask for the night's work. The tailor, a stoat by the name of Conway, was shorter than Quabbler, and wore grubby clothes, with his head buried in a shapeless hat. His stubby goatee was nothing as near impressive as his master's mustache. The stoat only carried a pair of tailor's shears as a weapon, as opposed to Quabbler's various pistols.
Only about five of the crew, not counting Quabbler, were actually the face of the Highwayman operation. They were two big bulky ferrets, a lean weasel, a rotten-faced rat, and another stoat, shorter, but bulkier than Quabbler. These beasts wrapped their faces in dark barkcloth masks (as opposed to his black velvet one), and cloaks (also opposed to his creamy gold clothes), and would merely utter phrases as "Argh! This 'oad is ou's!" or "Pay up sweet'eart!" while Quabbler would do the real talking.
As night fell, the crew surrounded a crosseroads nearby their camp. Quabbler took the south-east side with the rat and a ferret, while the other three waited on the south-west side of the crossroads. Hidden further in the woods, the rest of the crew watched their chief, and head vermin work.
A lone beast strode down the south small, heading north. He wore a cowboy sort of hat, and a heavy poncho. Leaning on his shoulder was his gun, which appeared to be a rifle of some sort. The Highwaymen moved quick, flanking the fox.
"Drop your gun, and all cash!" Quabbler addressed him, his heavy pistol pointed at the fox's heart.
The fox's grip slackened on his rifle, but he refused to release it.
"I said-" Quabbler started, but was forced to duck, as the fox swunge the rifle forward, and using only one hand, fired it into the heart of the Highway-rat, who gapped at his wound, as he staggered back.
The rest of the group circled, warily, as the fox seemed to quickly reload...
Chapter two:
images.wikia.com/fable/images/8/8f/Soldierboy.jpg
(The basic Long Patrol uniform. Only on hares. Work from Fable 3)
The Long Patrol had branched off from one large force many years ago. When bandits and outlaws started to pop up, small units popped up to hunt them down. These were usually made up of thirty hares or less. One of the most renown units was the 51'st Regiment "The Broncin' Buckoes", Golf Company, Squad Seventeen, led by the fearless Captain Raich Mogotomi "Sharpears" Belloway-Williway.
Belloway-Williway was born to a wealthy family of hares. Ashamed of his heritage, the Captain left the Belloway (also the richer half in his name) behind, as well as his middle name. He was also one of the oldest hares to stay Captain, retaining the rank even into his thirty-fourth year. Despite many offers of promotion, the hare repeatedly turned them down. He preferred to catch outlaws than train levererts how to command a regiment, or shoot a musket.
Each hare in his squad was issued a standard .22 Slamandstron Musket. The rifles fired far, and shot true, but took a short time to reload. For charging purposes, they had been given bayonets, but the hares would not put them on their rifles, except when truly necessary, as they learned the extra weight makes it harder to aim the musket. The only other weapon in the squad was the Captain's sabre. An officer sword, polished, and carved beautifully by a Badger Lord. Every officer had one, though many didn't think about bring it into battle. They preferred to leave it at home, on a mantle, and bring an uglier, more worn sword to battle. Williway had decided that if it was good enough to decorate a home, it was good enough to decorate some outlaw's insides.
Currently, the squad had been after a notorious ferret, Durgum the Con. He was charged with five counts of vandalism, eighteen counts of conning innocent beasts, two counts of concealing a dangerous weapon in a town, or tavern, and one count of manslaughter. His bounty was 'Alive; 1,000 gold pieces. Dead; 800 gold pieces."
Captain Williway had his musket trained on the ferret, being careful not to hit the hostage.
Durgum was decked out in a long gown, with white face paint spread across his face. His lips and brows were painted red, with a heavy black wig on, greased up, and tied in a bun. In his paw was a heavy saw, position at a hogmaid's neck, as he stood behind her.
"One move, wabbit, and she gets ert!" he called out.
"Where will you be then, wot, wot? You'll have no hostage, you bounder!"
"Oh, I don't gots ta' wowwy 'bout than, wabbit! You'd neber let a poo' innotenet maid like hers die, would ye'?" he asked, with an evil grin.
Williway was forced to lower musket, "Fine, Durgum, you win, wot!" he shook his grim head, and he walked to side, musket pointed at the ground. "Rotten' bounder..."
Behind where the hare captain was, another hare kneeled, surrounded by his brothers in arms (who had also lowered their muskets). The ferret saw him raise the rifle ever so slightly, and before he could react, a flash was seen, and his face imploded, before then exploding all over the woodland floor, and the hogmaid's side. The body dropped like a nail, as two young lance corporals rushed forward, so the saw would not hut the hogmaid.
"Good shot, wot, O'Caffrey!" Williway applauded his Colour Seargent who took the shot.
Colour Seargent 'Missuscold' O'Caffrey was the best shot in the squad. A head shorter than the Captain, the hare was by far bulkier. Being a northern hare, his fur was bright white, and he wore a kilt, rather than the standard pants of the uniform.
"Ach, et' was a wee' shot, mah lairdee!" he chuckled, strapping his rifle back next to his pack. "Ahnybeast could've made it, mah Capten!" he said, before waving his paw to a plump lance corporal.
"Biscoot, gah, en' get us'n sum' vitters', ye' wee bonnie!" he commanded.
Saluting, lance corporal 'Biscuit' Buto, unstrapped his own pack, pulling out a small frying pan, and a pouch of vegetables, and packet of matches. Using some firewood a private had collected for him, the lance corporal started a small fire, before starting on the unit's dinner.
A corporal and private returned from escorting the frightened hogmaid back home (whereas the ferret had abducted her, after the unit had found him there). The corporal, who unlike any of the other young hares was not a sandy colored, light brown, with speckles of dark brown and black, but rather a solid coppery brown, saluted the Captain and Color Seargent, "Hogmaid back home, and is takin' a bath with 'er parents, sah, and sah! The gents have collected the bloody ferret's paw prints, and are diggin' a ditch fer him, wot?"
Nodding, the captain pulled out a parchment from his pocket. Unkrinkling it, he marked off the ferret's name, on a list of many outlaw. Pulling a fresh paper, and quill from his pack, and his monocle from its softbark case, he went about writing the report.
We have found Durgum the Con. Unfortunately, he held a hogmaid captive, and we were forced to execute him. In the package will be his pawprint, proving it it is his corpse.
About my squad's reward. Send one-hundred of the gold pieces to O'Caffery's account, and have Bublagum divide the rest among the unit evenly! If all goes well, we'll catch 'Eerie' Taf, and 'Cutterback' Finley before we reach Redwall Abbey, and we could dock there. I will send Salamandstron another letter when we arrive at our destination.
-Captain Raich Williway.
Handing the letter to the copper corporal, Pennycloud, he issued instructions, "Tell those 'ogs to mail that to the Headquaters when the mail carrier comes around, wot, wot! We travel northwest in the morning, gents! Get your blankets out, and get ready for a good night of sleep after a littel grub, wot?" he issued orders sternly, as he gently put his monocle back in its case, which he tucked back in his pack.
--
Brockshot 'Big-Guns' Redroar stared down across the coast from his balcony on the mountain of Salamandstron. Over to the north, he saw Fort Juskawhipper, a tiny speck in the dunes. Far below, on the turf closest to the Earth, but not the sand, he saw his hares tending to the land, as the sun was setting.
Salamandstron and its Long Patrol and branched and created many forts for the ever growing army, five of the forts scattered alongside the coast. Several more were inland. One was even a days march from Mossstone.
The Badger Lord leaned heavily on the rail, before giving a sigh. He wished he could visit that fort one day. The dunes had grown boring and insolent.
Chapter Three:
'Eerie' Taf was a stoat of tremendous size. Wearing a long barkcloth cloak, the stoat stood motionless, as travelers passed hour by hour. The massive stoat had no weapons, though he didn't exactly need one, being able to crack a skull.
He noticed an otter striding by, looking at a bounty poster. The otter was obviously a bounty hunter. Tucked in his belt was a sturdy pistol, and he wore a jacket made of fine dark brown leather. His cowboy-sort-of hat was tilted to keep the sun out of eyes as he inspected his prey's face.
The otter was unaware as two long, muscular arms reached out, and snapped his neck. Throwing the corpse in a ditch behind him (which no one saw behind the massive stoat, who looked oddly like a small oak tree), and inspected the poster.
A stoat witha dozen wavy lines tattooed across his face glared at the looker. The stoat had no neck, it appeared he was so muscular. Underneath, in neat handwriting, it read;
'Eerie' Taf, a master of disguise. Uses no weapon, save his own fists. He is an expert at camouflage. Charged with fifteen counts of aggravated murder, as well as dozens more unsolved
Alive; You will not capture this beast alive! Dead; 5000 gold pieces
Grimacing, the giant hurled the crumpled Wanted Poster into the ditch that its owner resided in. He soon was back to a motionless giant.
Over the horizon, he could make out some shape. And odd group, wearing matching clothes, and seemingly toting rifles. As they came closer, his eyes widened slightly.
Long Patrol!
There was twenty-three of them, he counted. Each carried a light rifle, or musket. The tallest hare, a patched up looking buckoe, seemed to be the leader. His fur was assembled of light brown, white, and some dashes of darker brown.
Gulping the stoat awaited them to pass.
"Stand tah attention!" Williway called out, having his squad line up in two rows of eleven. The first hare on the right was O'Caffery, the first hare on the left was a lance corporal who went by the name of M'Duk, though the unit mainly called him 'Sniffer'.
Sniffer was by far skinnier than the rest of the hares. He was also the only one to wear glasses. Not a monocle, but glasses. He had a bronze chain looped around his neck to the back of the glasses, as not to lose them. His most recognizable trait was his long, black nose.
"Well, Sniffer, laddie buck, wot you sniff, wot, wot?" the captain asked.
"Er', a lot of things, sah! Otters, hares, hedgehogs, moles, and, er'..." he paused, taking a heavy whiff. "Decaying bodies, wot?" he replied, confused, looking in the direction of Taf, still sniffing.
Before he could say 'stoat', a massive paw grabbed his neck, lifting him high up. The unit suddenly had their muskets out, pointed at the stoat. The hares had created a half circle, leaving his back to the ditch of bodies.
Lance Corporal Buto stepped too close, and was uplifted by the powerful stoat. Dropping his musket, he gave a frightful wail, "Auuuuuughhhhhhhh!"
Swinging around both his victims, the stoat roared. He was not prepared for the captain running forward, holding his musket' iron-sight to his eye. Trying to hit the officer with the hares, Taf lost much of his morale, as Williway swiftly dodge him. pressing his barrel up to Taf's chest, he fired.
Dropping Sniffer, he gripped the wound. Any normal beast would have immediately perished. But, not Taf. Swinging Buto, he smacked the captain back eight feet.
Landing on his back, Williway gave out orders. "Fire, chaps, wot! Try not to hit Biscuit, now, wot, wot! Give 'im blood 'n vinegar!"
Twenty musket shots went off, shredding through the stoat. The last thing Taf saw was the captain staggering up, as his head hit the ground.
"Who goes there, wot?" A sergeant bellow, peering over the sandbag.
The sandbag was positioned on a walkway behind the main gate of Fort Lud'n Vinger. The fort was wide, and made up of heavy wood, adn some redstone on the west side. There only to gates, also made up of heavy wood, one on the north side, and one on the south side.
The sergeant had been chosen to guard the south gate tonight. Peering over his sandbag, he saw a strange sight. Twenty-three Long Patrol hares, decked in full uniform (except one white hare, who wore a kilt rather than the standard pants), and a great beast behind them. Two strong bucks had tied a noose around its neck, and pulled it along. A heavy barkcloth cloak, or something of the sort, was wrapped around its torso.
"The Broncin' Buckoes, that's wot!" the response came from a tall, though well muscled, captain. He was a bit scruffy looking, his uniform covered in dirt. "We've caught 'Eerie' Taf, wot, and we need somewhere to hold him, until a prison escort comes and picks him up, wot!"
The sergeant peered over the sandbag, "'Ow'd you manage to wrangle him up alive, sah?"
"He wouldn't die, and we were low on gunpowder! Now, open your jolly flippin' gates, wot!"
The sergeant scrambled up, and peered below the catwalk. "Gorch, open the gates! Flip, get a holdin' cell ready! Bublo, get the Colonel!"
As the gate swung open, the unit marched in, with their prisoner in tow. The inside of the fort were weary looking, to say the least. There was little grass, and small fires were lit in the corners by the west wall. Soldiers stand by, them, drinking, and sharing tales. Another soldier lay across the fort, on the northern catwalk with his back on the sandabgs, and his cap's visor over his eyes.
A complex was built attached to the east wall. Made up of dry, heavy wood, it was two stories, with a dungeon for holding creatures underneath. A cellar door was located on the west side.
Two strong fort-stationed hares took the ropes that held Taf, and led him away to the basement, as a new hare stepped out of the complex, led by the hare called Bublo.
"Colonel Meriwhether Perkins, wot, wot, wot, wot?" he said, holding out his paw. Colonel Perkins was a thin hare, graying fast. His wispy mustache had all but faded away by now. He wore a heavy monocle over his left eye, and his right eye appeared to be made up of glass. Wearing a uniform similar to the squads, the only difference was his was light green rather red (as with all the fort-stationed hares;the red of their uniforms being replaced by green), as well as his pants were bright, shiny white, with green stripes. Tucked behind his left forearm was his stagger stick, a ash stick, lathered with oily black paint, with a copper head piece. He didn't wear the uniform cap.
"Captain Williway, sah!" Williway replied, saluting before shaking his superior's paw.
"Nice t'meet yer, Williway, me boy! Impressive, 'ow'd you wrangle up that big oaf!"
"T'was nothing, sah! If it is alright with you, could my squad stay here the night, and resupply on gunpowder, and maybe take some showers, sah?"
"Of course, Captain, wot, wot, wot, wot?" Turning to go back inside, he gestured for the junior officer to follow him.
The colonel took Williway to his personal quarters. It was small room, with a big bed, and a big armchair. There was a small cupboard by a door (which led to the officer's bathroom), in which he kept his clothes. Hanging in a glass-framed case behind his bed, was the Colonel's decorated vest. It resembled the standard hare uniform vest, only it was dark purple. Medals littered the vest, behind the frame.
"Wot are you up to, wot, wot, wot, wot?" Perkins asked the younger hare, sitting down in his armchair.
"We are after a group of outlaws, sah! We will find the last, Cutterback, and then head to Redwall Abbey, sah, to station ourselves for the rest of the summer, to the next, sah!" he replied, standing in military stiffness.
"Oh, sit down, laddie!" Perkins said, waving his paw. "My men have seen your Cutterback. At least his work, that they bloody flippin' have. A few highwaymen were found murdered by a powerful rifle, wot? It sounds similar to your fox's gun, don't it, wot, wot, wot, wo-"
Before the colonel could finish his final 'wot', the captain interrupted. "Can you show us, sah? Maybe me and my men may be able to head to Redwall sooner than later!" he said.
"Interrupt your superior again, captain, and I will have you demoted, wot!" Perkins replied, sternly. "He headed north, laddie buck! I will supply your unit with coats, and have my men show you his trail, wot, wot, wot, wot!"
The captain nodded, solemnly.
"Now, take a bath, and get some sleep, captain! I'll have an officer room appointed to you, wot?" Perkins said, dismissively.
"Nah, sah, I'll sleep with my men, but thank you for the offer, sah!" Williway bowed, and stepped out. Closing the door behind him, he went to see his troops.
"That 'uns got a future, wot, wot, wot, wot?" Perkins said to himself after Williway had left. "Yes, sah, he does...." he answered himself, before starting to snore.
Corporal Pennycloud, and Buto had started up a game of cards with two of the fort's soldiers by one of the fire. They used an old crate next to the fire as a table
"How much you gonna put up, Copper?" Buto asked Pennycloud.
"All in!" Pennycloud responded, throwing in a small bag of gold pieces in the middle of the crate. The fort soldiers folded. Buto eyed his cards. Sighing, he folded.
Pennycloud bursted out in laughter as he collected his cash, "Haha, I was bluffin', wot!"
O'Caffery lay down, with his head to the redstone wall of the west side, snoring loudly. By his side was Sniffer, who was reading a small book in the fire light. Next to Sniffer, a private who went by Darcy was writing a letter.
"Uh, dear Lora.... It's me, the love of your life, Big Bones Darcy... Nah, I'm too skinny to be called Big Bones..... Sniffer, what do you think, wot?" he asked his companion.
Looking over his book, the hare shrugged, "Underbite Darcy?" he asked, with a grin.
Darcy turned away. He was embarrassed of his stupid underbite. That jerk, Sniffer.
Chapter Four:
Quabbler had lost four beasts to that fox. He was going to get his revenge. The gang was heading north. They stopped by a store run by a pair of old moles, ransacking the place, they stole heavy jackets, and a couple of heavy rifles, along with gunpowder. They spared the moles, as they had to move quick after the fox.
Conway was fitted with a far too big coat, which dragged at the ground. He was armed with one of the deceased Highwaymen's pistols, which was large in his hands. He was in the rear of the group.
--
Finley stooped over the hare, wrenching his arms out of the jacket. It was a warm jacket, he decided, as he put it on. Kicking some dirt of the hare he had so mercilessly murdered, he walked into his hut, to get some shut eye.
As he lay across the bed, he thought about his new life. He'd settle north, out of the reach of bounty hunters. He'd become a hunter. Yes, that'd be nice. He reached for his double barreled shotgun. He had bought the designs from some rat who stole them from a badger lord. It took Finley three years, but he had created his own gun. It became his trademark, killing a beast in one shot.
But, that was fifteen years ago. He decided, he wanted to die of old age. Live the rest of his days out peacefully in the north. Of course, that didn't stop his from murdering creatures who were in the middle of his goals.
Closing his eyes, the fox drifted into a deep sleep....
Chapter Four:
Brigadier Briggo 'The Brigadier' Briggurton limped into the Badger Lord's room. The Briggurtons were always Brigadiers, ever since Briggo's great-great-grandfather. Briggo had gained his nickname as a leveret from his badger friend, who had laughed at the assumption he would actually retain the rank, as well.
Briggo was a short hare, with a barrel chest. He leaned on a mahogany cane. As a young Major, Briggo had been shot in the footpaw during a charge. Though he survived, he was never able to run again. In his younger years, he didn't require the cane, but after hitting fourty-eight, it became much harder to get around. The hare wore his decorative vest, dark purple, and covered in even more medals that Colonel Meriwhether Perkins. Like the Colonel, he wore bright white pants, with the stripes matching the color of his vest, in this case, dark purple. Briggo donned a large waxed mustache, with some wisps of grey in it.
Waving the letter he was carrying out, he called out in his baritone voice, "M'lord, we got word of Williway, his unit! The chaps slew another outlaw, sah!"
The badger slumped out of bed, opening an groggy eye at the hare. "Why'd you wake me this early, Colonel? And who is this Williway?"
As his lord grabbed a a dark blue robe, the Brigadier averted his eyes to the ground. "I wish you wouldn't sleep in the nude, sah, and it is three in the afternoon, sah! You overslept, again! And, aherm, this Williway is a Captain, in charge of a outlaw tracking unit, sah!" he replied. "His unit has caught over three hundred, and fourty-seven outlaws under his command, wot!"
"Then give him a promotion, Briggo!" the badger said, tying the robe's waist-sash tight.
"We have, sah, more than eighteen, wot? The chap turns each and every one down, bloodin' flippin' mad, don't you say?"
"Yes, indeed... Where is he now?"
"Trackin' down two more outlaws, 'Eerie' Taf, and 'Cutterback' Finley. Then, he'll be stationed at Redwall for a year!" he replied, reading the letter.
"Hmm.... Give me some time to think...." Badgershot replied. Pausing for a moment, he shrugged. "i think I'll take a bath!"
Briggo nodded, and headed out. As soon as he was out of hearing range, he sighed. "That badger loves being nude, doesn't he, wot?"
--
It was five days since the unit spent the night at Fort Lud'n Vinger. The hares had camped in the woods far north, just at the toes of the mountains. They and found the fox had killed an old hare, and ransacked his home. After burying the old one, they neatened up his house, and locked the door.
Buto and a private named Derby went about to pick up the old one's crops. 'No need to waste them, wot?' was what Buto said about the matter.
The unit had been supplied a weeks worth of food from the fort. The provisions were split into each hare's pack. They only had two more days left.
Williway stretched below a tall ash tree, gazing at the stars, while biting into some honey bread. The hare had donned a long brown frock coat over his normal uniform. So did ever other hare, except O'Caffery, who was raised in the cold climate of the north.
'Copper' Pennycloud was ordering a few of the younger soldiers to pitch their blankets, and get ready for bed.
Darcy sighed, as he scribbled down on a parchment. "Dear, Lora.... We are... chasing a fearsome fox to the mountains.... In case their is no delivery service up north, this will be my letter for some time....." he muttered as he wrote.
By the next morning, the hares had all stirred, and were eating breakfast by seven hundred hours. Grim looks were seen around the camp, as the hares grimaced about journeying into mountain country. It was summer, not the time of the year to climb a mountain. They were supposed to be at the abbey, enjoying peace and quiet, and meals galore.
Pennycloud reached for his musket, as he finished breakfast. Pushing himself up, he grimaced. "Well, eating slowly will make slower, not faster, wot!" he said, grimly.
The rest of the hares were forced to agree, and soon the entire unit was up, and marching down the path. A column lined up on each side of the worn path. Eleven on the right, ten on the left. Williway stood in the middle, and eight feet ahead of him stood Sniffer M'Duk, tracking the outlaw.
The trek into the mountains was hard. It took what seemed hours to move half a mile. And, as they got further up, more snow stirred on the path, making the trudging even slower.The units morale slackened, and every hare, besides O'Caffery seemed to be suffering of depression. Even Williaway kept his head down, and thought of Redwall to remain on task.
Eventually, the pass would narrow, so only one hare could go at a time. One long line was formed. O'Caffery took the lead, with M'Duk behind him. Williway followed in the rear.
Weeks passed on, as the unit marched through the wasteland. The hares would find crevices, and small caves for shelter, and would warp themselves up in their blankets and bundle themselves up. Firewood was sparse, and was used only when necessary. Most of the time as torch to see through the monsoon of snow.
On the fifth week, they saw their target. A fox wrapped in a heavy jacket, with a rifle of some sort across his shoulder. Shortly behind him, though, was a pack of vicious looking vermin....
Chapter Five:
"Aim carefully!" Quabbler commanded the stern looking weasel. They had finally caught up to that Highwayman killer.
In front of Quabbler were the three creatures trusted with the heavy hunting rifles. The only other Highwayman who survived that accursed fox's gun was the lean weasel he was scolding. The other two were a pair of heavy rats, usually made to carry kegs of beer, or heavy crates, they'd stolen. The hunting rifle didn't weigh much differently.
"Fire!" he commanded in his shrill voice, quickly covering his ears before the shots rang out.
Bang! Bam! Bang!
Every shot missed, though one rat was off by only a few feet. The fox spun around, and, seeing his pursuers, fired of a round from his shotgun. At such a far distance, the weapon was utterly useless, though.
Still, the fox moved fast, leaping behind a large rock, he used it as cover as he reloaded his rifle.
"You fools, you missed!" Quabbler screamed in his shrill voice. "You two!" he pointed at the rats, "Go that way, and me 'n the weasel will go the other way! Cut him off!"
The Highwaymen moved as quick as they could, but before they could get five feet to the rock, Finley opened fire. As they were close enough, the shotgun left a mark, right in the lean weasel's lower gut. The Highwayman dropped dead, and the fox took off through the snow.
"Fire!" Quabbler instructed the rats, but the fox was too far to hit. But, the stoat did hear something firing.
Thwup! Thwup! Thwup!
Rounds of light fire sounded after the fox, and the Highwaymen. Leaping behind the rock his enemy had used as cover, he looked over it, to see hare's reloading their muskets. One of them was shouting orders, "Clear through those chaps, and then we'll be after Finley! He can't get far in this blizzard, wot!"
Reaching over, Quabbler grabbed the heavy hunting rifle from the slain weasel. He wouldn't need it anymore.
"Retreat!" he called, shrilly behind in the rock. "And after that fox on the double!" Jumping up, he ran through the path, or trudged more like, almost waist deep in snow. The two heavy rats were close behind.
Conway lopped in the rear of the group, neck deep in snow. In front of him was a terrible smelling ferret. The cold didn't take away that odor. He heard the shots come after them.
Thwup!
He felt it sear the fur on top of his head, and the foul smelling ferret slouched dead, as snow piled upon him. Conway had no choice, but to climb under the corpse.
--
"Nice shot, wot!" Williway said, patting O'Caffery on the back. The Color Sergeant shrugged, reloading his musket.
"Och, t'was a simple 'un, laddie! Ah' personally enjoy tha'r small 'un climbin' unda' he'm!" he said, with a chuckle. "We'd best head afta' 'em, then get tha'r fox, laddies!" The northern hare said, nodding in agreement with himself.
Corporal Pennycloud couldn't help, but chuckle at the at the ill-fated stoat, who had to hide under the dead, fat ferret. Nudging Buto, he grinned, "Look at that oaf, wot! Blathering fool, lookit' him now, tryin' to get under that oaf!"
Buto snickered along with the the non-comissioned officer. The lance corporal had thinned greatly during the hard, cold weeks, but still retained some of a pot belly.
Sniffer pulled out a plain-cloth kerchief, blowing his nose into it. "Why murs't Ah' get dis' darn cood?" he asked Private Darcy, who stood next to him. Darcy shrugged.
"Beats me, Sniffs! Bet it's cuz of your big nose!" he said, with a little chuckle. Sniffer looked at his companion, with a baffled look.
"Well, sta'p mah' wheskas, Darcy, that was 'ude, wot!"
--
The fox had fled quickly into the snow, wrapping himself in his jacket. The Long Patrol found him! This was not good! They were only a short distance away, just under the ridge.
Diving behind a pile of snow, he peered out. He could just make the red on their uniforms as they trudged after him. His shotgun had no range. He'd have to get close to them to make some real damage, and the reload was slow. Finley threw off his jacket, mounting it slightly over the pile of snow, and started to crawl. Hopefully the hares wouldn't notice too soon.
Bullet-fire ripped through the snow-mound, and into the jacket a few paces behind. "No blood, wot!" a hare called out. Finley cursed the blaggarts as he crawled through the thick snow. The Highwaymen he could handle, but a Long Patrol Platoon was different.
--
Quabbler fell down as the musket ball entered his side. It was non-fatal, but still. An oafish ferret hit the snow, in a pile of his own blood. Dead. The hares had split up, it seemed, half going after the Highwaymen, and half after that damn fox. He peered back to see a highlander take aim with his musket. There was a muzzle flash and then a rat was dead. "Damn!" he swore, crawling away. This was bad.
Conway watched the hares split up, with a large chunk go after the Highwaymen, while five headed after the fox. He watched the hare leader, a coppery soldier and fat hare, and two others head after the fox. He almost felt sorry for them.
--
Finley had finally taken cover behind a rock. Eight shells. That was all he had. Four or five hares had come after him. They stood their ground, firing off shots from a distance. They probably didn't have much ammo, either. He'd just have to wait it out until they charged. Otherwise, he had no chance.
--
Minutes had gone by, and no progress was being made. "Three rounds left!" Copper whispered to Williway.
"Same" whispered a private.
"Ditto, wot!" Buto nodded. "Oh, wait, I have four rounds, wot! Not much of an improvement, though!"
Williway paused for a moment. "Fine, wot! We'll charge him. Bayonets on, lads!"
The fat dormouse stared at his small audience, with consisted mainly of Dibbuns. The dormouse was far in his seasons, with a big heavy grey beard and all. Laying back on his wheelbarrow, he coughed a few times, before speaking, "So, ye' hearties wanta' hear the story of Tim the Terra'ble? Or of Rousy Randy?" he asked, all the while lookinga t the stars above.
A tiny mole babe shook his head, and tapped the ancient dormouse's footpaw with his own chubby paw. "Burr, no thankee, zurr! We'd a'muk rad'der in'goy ta' sto'ie o' ta' Captern' Williwaa', an' 'is 'ole Longy' Patroly'!" the babe replied.
Peering over his fat little chest, the dormouse shook his head. "Captain Williway, ye' ask? Now here'd ye' yu'guns hear 'bout that?"
A mousemaid, possibly the oldest of all the Dibbuns answered, "Frum Mista Pish Pu'sh!" she replied. "Tell us!" she added, with a triumphant look.
Soon, all the Dibbuns were cheering on the story of 'Captain Williway and his Long Patrol'.
"Cum'on, gerres' da sto'ie!"
"Tell us 'bout that no gurd' foxer!"
"Er, an' remember all ther booms!"
Sighing in defeat, the dormouse rested his head back down, and started to explain. "A long time ago, the Long Patrol sent several smaller tracking units to apprehend villainous vermin, and curs! In the most prestige of these units, was the famous Captain Raich Mogotomi 'Sharpears' Belloway-Williway, a grand 'ole hare. A great shot if'n I've ever seen 'un! Now, in this 'ere story, 'e was 'unting the fox, er, what was his name? Er, 'Cutterback' Finley! Ah, yes, that was it... A murderin' beast, that 'e was.....
Chapter One:
A stoat strode into a bar. More like a tavern, located at the edge of Mossflower. Several vermin sat in the chairs in that tavern, gambling, spitting, and drinking their problems away. Stoping at a table occupied by only a thin water rat, the stoat gently sat down at the second chair. "Bartender, get me your finest wine!" he called out, in a shrill, well educated voice. The rat who's table he sat at had been passed out, but the higher-pitched voice of the stoat woke him from this.
"Er, 'oo are ye'?" he asked, grinding his blackened teeth together as he did so. The rat took one long look at the stoat, before a giggle arose in his throat. The stoat was decked out in a shiny clothing, maybe golden, or creamy yellow, at the very least. He were a white undershirt, covered by the canary vest, rimmed black. His pants were the same color. His boots were jet black, and well polished, their copper buckles big and wide. He had three gold earrings on his left ear, and wore a short of black corsair hat, laced with gold. To make matters more ridiculous, he sported a huge waxed mustache. Seeing the rat laugh, he put on a grin, before getting up. As soon as he was up, his right paw flashed into his belt, pulled out his Flintlock Pistol, and Crack!
Thud! The rat's corpse broke through its chair, and hit the ground, covered in splinters. The vermin who were awake and sober all had their paws going towards their belts. Yet, as fast a blink of an eye, the stoat dropped his powerful, yet cumbersome pistol on the table, and pulled out dual six-rounded clockwork pistols. Faster, and with more ammo, but weaker and shorter ranged than his heavy pistol. Still, in the tight space he was in, he could easily dispatch at least twelve creatures.
"Anybeast who wishes to die, stand up!" he cried out, in his shrill voice.
Unexpectedly, one beast stood up. A ferret who had been playing cards (and losing) to his table mate, another ferret. His mate shook his head. "Oh, no, matey! You really gonna kill yoreself?" he asked. "Why, matey?"
The ferret grinned, as he replied. "Oh, I'm not gonna die, but I will take back all my money!" he replied, pulling out his own pistol, and slaying the ferret where he sat, two bullets into the heart. "What you want me to do, Chief?" he asked.
As he spoke, more and more tavern-goers would rise up, and pull out their pistols. The obvious leader was the stoat, though. "Search these blokes' pockets for 'spare change'!" he replied. "This tavern is now the property of Quincewald Q. Quabblertance, and his gang of Highwaymen!" he sated, boldly. Before the bartender could even stand to protest, Quabblertance shot him, three times in the chest.
Hours later, the crew of Highwaymen sat in a clearing not so far off, enjoying the vittles they had gotten. Quabblertance, or Quabbler, as he preferred to be called in his crew, sat on the outskirts of the sixteen beasts he commanded. His personal tailor, and hair-styler looked at his master, as he readied the mask for the night's work. The tailor, a stoat by the name of Conway, was shorter than Quabbler, and wore grubby clothes, with his head buried in a shapeless hat. His stubby goatee was nothing as near impressive as his master's mustache. The stoat only carried a pair of tailor's shears as a weapon, as opposed to Quabbler's various pistols.
Only about five of the crew, not counting Quabbler, were actually the face of the Highwayman operation. They were two big bulky ferrets, a lean weasel, a rotten-faced rat, and another stoat, shorter, but bulkier than Quabbler. These beasts wrapped their faces in dark barkcloth masks (as opposed to his black velvet one), and cloaks (also opposed to his creamy gold clothes), and would merely utter phrases as "Argh! This 'oad is ou's!" or "Pay up sweet'eart!" while Quabbler would do the real talking.
As night fell, the crew surrounded a crosseroads nearby their camp. Quabbler took the south-east side with the rat and a ferret, while the other three waited on the south-west side of the crossroads. Hidden further in the woods, the rest of the crew watched their chief, and head vermin work.
A lone beast strode down the south small, heading north. He wore a cowboy sort of hat, and a heavy poncho. Leaning on his shoulder was his gun, which appeared to be a rifle of some sort. The Highwaymen moved quick, flanking the fox.
"Drop your gun, and all cash!" Quabbler addressed him, his heavy pistol pointed at the fox's heart.
The fox's grip slackened on his rifle, but he refused to release it.
"I said-" Quabbler started, but was forced to duck, as the fox swunge the rifle forward, and using only one hand, fired it into the heart of the Highway-rat, who gapped at his wound, as he staggered back.
The rest of the group circled, warily, as the fox seemed to quickly reload...
Chapter two:
images.wikia.com/fable/images/8/8f/Soldierboy.jpg
(The basic Long Patrol uniform. Only on hares. Work from Fable 3)
The Long Patrol had branched off from one large force many years ago. When bandits and outlaws started to pop up, small units popped up to hunt them down. These were usually made up of thirty hares or less. One of the most renown units was the 51'st Regiment "The Broncin' Buckoes", Golf Company, Squad Seventeen, led by the fearless Captain Raich Mogotomi "Sharpears" Belloway-Williway.
Belloway-Williway was born to a wealthy family of hares. Ashamed of his heritage, the Captain left the Belloway (also the richer half in his name) behind, as well as his middle name. He was also one of the oldest hares to stay Captain, retaining the rank even into his thirty-fourth year. Despite many offers of promotion, the hare repeatedly turned them down. He preferred to catch outlaws than train levererts how to command a regiment, or shoot a musket.
Each hare in his squad was issued a standard .22 Slamandstron Musket. The rifles fired far, and shot true, but took a short time to reload. For charging purposes, they had been given bayonets, but the hares would not put them on their rifles, except when truly necessary, as they learned the extra weight makes it harder to aim the musket. The only other weapon in the squad was the Captain's sabre. An officer sword, polished, and carved beautifully by a Badger Lord. Every officer had one, though many didn't think about bring it into battle. They preferred to leave it at home, on a mantle, and bring an uglier, more worn sword to battle. Williway had decided that if it was good enough to decorate a home, it was good enough to decorate some outlaw's insides.
Currently, the squad had been after a notorious ferret, Durgum the Con. He was charged with five counts of vandalism, eighteen counts of conning innocent beasts, two counts of concealing a dangerous weapon in a town, or tavern, and one count of manslaughter. His bounty was 'Alive; 1,000 gold pieces. Dead; 800 gold pieces."
Captain Williway had his musket trained on the ferret, being careful not to hit the hostage.
Durgum was decked out in a long gown, with white face paint spread across his face. His lips and brows were painted red, with a heavy black wig on, greased up, and tied in a bun. In his paw was a heavy saw, position at a hogmaid's neck, as he stood behind her.
"One move, wabbit, and she gets ert!" he called out.
"Where will you be then, wot, wot? You'll have no hostage, you bounder!"
"Oh, I don't gots ta' wowwy 'bout than, wabbit! You'd neber let a poo' innotenet maid like hers die, would ye'?" he asked, with an evil grin.
Williway was forced to lower musket, "Fine, Durgum, you win, wot!" he shook his grim head, and he walked to side, musket pointed at the ground. "Rotten' bounder..."
Behind where the hare captain was, another hare kneeled, surrounded by his brothers in arms (who had also lowered their muskets). The ferret saw him raise the rifle ever so slightly, and before he could react, a flash was seen, and his face imploded, before then exploding all over the woodland floor, and the hogmaid's side. The body dropped like a nail, as two young lance corporals rushed forward, so the saw would not hut the hogmaid.
"Good shot, wot, O'Caffrey!" Williway applauded his Colour Seargent who took the shot.
Colour Seargent 'Missuscold' O'Caffrey was the best shot in the squad. A head shorter than the Captain, the hare was by far bulkier. Being a northern hare, his fur was bright white, and he wore a kilt, rather than the standard pants of the uniform.
"Ach, et' was a wee' shot, mah lairdee!" he chuckled, strapping his rifle back next to his pack. "Ahnybeast could've made it, mah Capten!" he said, before waving his paw to a plump lance corporal.
"Biscoot, gah, en' get us'n sum' vitters', ye' wee bonnie!" he commanded.
Saluting, lance corporal 'Biscuit' Buto, unstrapped his own pack, pulling out a small frying pan, and a pouch of vegetables, and packet of matches. Using some firewood a private had collected for him, the lance corporal started a small fire, before starting on the unit's dinner.
A corporal and private returned from escorting the frightened hogmaid back home (whereas the ferret had abducted her, after the unit had found him there). The corporal, who unlike any of the other young hares was not a sandy colored, light brown, with speckles of dark brown and black, but rather a solid coppery brown, saluted the Captain and Color Seargent, "Hogmaid back home, and is takin' a bath with 'er parents, sah, and sah! The gents have collected the bloody ferret's paw prints, and are diggin' a ditch fer him, wot?"
Nodding, the captain pulled out a parchment from his pocket. Unkrinkling it, he marked off the ferret's name, on a list of many outlaw. Pulling a fresh paper, and quill from his pack, and his monocle from its softbark case, he went about writing the report.
We have found Durgum the Con. Unfortunately, he held a hogmaid captive, and we were forced to execute him. In the package will be his pawprint, proving it it is his corpse.
About my squad's reward. Send one-hundred of the gold pieces to O'Caffery's account, and have Bublagum divide the rest among the unit evenly! If all goes well, we'll catch 'Eerie' Taf, and 'Cutterback' Finley before we reach Redwall Abbey, and we could dock there. I will send Salamandstron another letter when we arrive at our destination.
-Captain Raich Williway.
Handing the letter to the copper corporal, Pennycloud, he issued instructions, "Tell those 'ogs to mail that to the Headquaters when the mail carrier comes around, wot, wot! We travel northwest in the morning, gents! Get your blankets out, and get ready for a good night of sleep after a littel grub, wot?" he issued orders sternly, as he gently put his monocle back in its case, which he tucked back in his pack.
--
Brockshot 'Big-Guns' Redroar stared down across the coast from his balcony on the mountain of Salamandstron. Over to the north, he saw Fort Juskawhipper, a tiny speck in the dunes. Far below, on the turf closest to the Earth, but not the sand, he saw his hares tending to the land, as the sun was setting.
Salamandstron and its Long Patrol and branched and created many forts for the ever growing army, five of the forts scattered alongside the coast. Several more were inland. One was even a days march from Mossstone.
The Badger Lord leaned heavily on the rail, before giving a sigh. He wished he could visit that fort one day. The dunes had grown boring and insolent.
Chapter Three:
'Eerie' Taf was a stoat of tremendous size. Wearing a long barkcloth cloak, the stoat stood motionless, as travelers passed hour by hour. The massive stoat had no weapons, though he didn't exactly need one, being able to crack a skull.
He noticed an otter striding by, looking at a bounty poster. The otter was obviously a bounty hunter. Tucked in his belt was a sturdy pistol, and he wore a jacket made of fine dark brown leather. His cowboy-sort-of hat was tilted to keep the sun out of eyes as he inspected his prey's face.
The otter was unaware as two long, muscular arms reached out, and snapped his neck. Throwing the corpse in a ditch behind him (which no one saw behind the massive stoat, who looked oddly like a small oak tree), and inspected the poster.
A stoat witha dozen wavy lines tattooed across his face glared at the looker. The stoat had no neck, it appeared he was so muscular. Underneath, in neat handwriting, it read;
'Eerie' Taf, a master of disguise. Uses no weapon, save his own fists. He is an expert at camouflage. Charged with fifteen counts of aggravated murder, as well as dozens more unsolved
Alive; You will not capture this beast alive! Dead; 5000 gold pieces
Grimacing, the giant hurled the crumpled Wanted Poster into the ditch that its owner resided in. He soon was back to a motionless giant.
Over the horizon, he could make out some shape. And odd group, wearing matching clothes, and seemingly toting rifles. As they came closer, his eyes widened slightly.
Long Patrol!
There was twenty-three of them, he counted. Each carried a light rifle, or musket. The tallest hare, a patched up looking buckoe, seemed to be the leader. His fur was assembled of light brown, white, and some dashes of darker brown.
Gulping the stoat awaited them to pass.
"Stand tah attention!" Williway called out, having his squad line up in two rows of eleven. The first hare on the right was O'Caffery, the first hare on the left was a lance corporal who went by the name of M'Duk, though the unit mainly called him 'Sniffer'.
Sniffer was by far skinnier than the rest of the hares. He was also the only one to wear glasses. Not a monocle, but glasses. He had a bronze chain looped around his neck to the back of the glasses, as not to lose them. His most recognizable trait was his long, black nose.
"Well, Sniffer, laddie buck, wot you sniff, wot, wot?" the captain asked.
"Er', a lot of things, sah! Otters, hares, hedgehogs, moles, and, er'..." he paused, taking a heavy whiff. "Decaying bodies, wot?" he replied, confused, looking in the direction of Taf, still sniffing.
Before he could say 'stoat', a massive paw grabbed his neck, lifting him high up. The unit suddenly had their muskets out, pointed at the stoat. The hares had created a half circle, leaving his back to the ditch of bodies.
Lance Corporal Buto stepped too close, and was uplifted by the powerful stoat. Dropping his musket, he gave a frightful wail, "Auuuuuughhhhhhhh!"
Swinging around both his victims, the stoat roared. He was not prepared for the captain running forward, holding his musket' iron-sight to his eye. Trying to hit the officer with the hares, Taf lost much of his morale, as Williway swiftly dodge him. pressing his barrel up to Taf's chest, he fired.
Dropping Sniffer, he gripped the wound. Any normal beast would have immediately perished. But, not Taf. Swinging Buto, he smacked the captain back eight feet.
Landing on his back, Williway gave out orders. "Fire, chaps, wot! Try not to hit Biscuit, now, wot, wot! Give 'im blood 'n vinegar!"
Twenty musket shots went off, shredding through the stoat. The last thing Taf saw was the captain staggering up, as his head hit the ground.
"Who goes there, wot?" A sergeant bellow, peering over the sandbag.
The sandbag was positioned on a walkway behind the main gate of Fort Lud'n Vinger. The fort was wide, and made up of heavy wood, adn some redstone on the west side. There only to gates, also made up of heavy wood, one on the north side, and one on the south side.
The sergeant had been chosen to guard the south gate tonight. Peering over his sandbag, he saw a strange sight. Twenty-three Long Patrol hares, decked in full uniform (except one white hare, who wore a kilt rather than the standard pants), and a great beast behind them. Two strong bucks had tied a noose around its neck, and pulled it along. A heavy barkcloth cloak, or something of the sort, was wrapped around its torso.
"The Broncin' Buckoes, that's wot!" the response came from a tall, though well muscled, captain. He was a bit scruffy looking, his uniform covered in dirt. "We've caught 'Eerie' Taf, wot, and we need somewhere to hold him, until a prison escort comes and picks him up, wot!"
The sergeant peered over the sandbag, "'Ow'd you manage to wrangle him up alive, sah?"
"He wouldn't die, and we were low on gunpowder! Now, open your jolly flippin' gates, wot!"
The sergeant scrambled up, and peered below the catwalk. "Gorch, open the gates! Flip, get a holdin' cell ready! Bublo, get the Colonel!"
As the gate swung open, the unit marched in, with their prisoner in tow. The inside of the fort were weary looking, to say the least. There was little grass, and small fires were lit in the corners by the west wall. Soldiers stand by, them, drinking, and sharing tales. Another soldier lay across the fort, on the northern catwalk with his back on the sandabgs, and his cap's visor over his eyes.
A complex was built attached to the east wall. Made up of dry, heavy wood, it was two stories, with a dungeon for holding creatures underneath. A cellar door was located on the west side.
Two strong fort-stationed hares took the ropes that held Taf, and led him away to the basement, as a new hare stepped out of the complex, led by the hare called Bublo.
"Colonel Meriwhether Perkins, wot, wot, wot, wot?" he said, holding out his paw. Colonel Perkins was a thin hare, graying fast. His wispy mustache had all but faded away by now. He wore a heavy monocle over his left eye, and his right eye appeared to be made up of glass. Wearing a uniform similar to the squads, the only difference was his was light green rather red (as with all the fort-stationed hares;the red of their uniforms being replaced by green), as well as his pants were bright, shiny white, with green stripes. Tucked behind his left forearm was his stagger stick, a ash stick, lathered with oily black paint, with a copper head piece. He didn't wear the uniform cap.
"Captain Williway, sah!" Williway replied, saluting before shaking his superior's paw.
"Nice t'meet yer, Williway, me boy! Impressive, 'ow'd you wrangle up that big oaf!"
"T'was nothing, sah! If it is alright with you, could my squad stay here the night, and resupply on gunpowder, and maybe take some showers, sah?"
"Of course, Captain, wot, wot, wot, wot?" Turning to go back inside, he gestured for the junior officer to follow him.
The colonel took Williway to his personal quarters. It was small room, with a big bed, and a big armchair. There was a small cupboard by a door (which led to the officer's bathroom), in which he kept his clothes. Hanging in a glass-framed case behind his bed, was the Colonel's decorated vest. It resembled the standard hare uniform vest, only it was dark purple. Medals littered the vest, behind the frame.
"Wot are you up to, wot, wot, wot, wot?" Perkins asked the younger hare, sitting down in his armchair.
"We are after a group of outlaws, sah! We will find the last, Cutterback, and then head to Redwall Abbey, sah, to station ourselves for the rest of the summer, to the next, sah!" he replied, standing in military stiffness.
"Oh, sit down, laddie!" Perkins said, waving his paw. "My men have seen your Cutterback. At least his work, that they bloody flippin' have. A few highwaymen were found murdered by a powerful rifle, wot? It sounds similar to your fox's gun, don't it, wot, wot, wot, wo-"
Before the colonel could finish his final 'wot', the captain interrupted. "Can you show us, sah? Maybe me and my men may be able to head to Redwall sooner than later!" he said.
"Interrupt your superior again, captain, and I will have you demoted, wot!" Perkins replied, sternly. "He headed north, laddie buck! I will supply your unit with coats, and have my men show you his trail, wot, wot, wot, wot!"
The captain nodded, solemnly.
"Now, take a bath, and get some sleep, captain! I'll have an officer room appointed to you, wot?" Perkins said, dismissively.
"Nah, sah, I'll sleep with my men, but thank you for the offer, sah!" Williway bowed, and stepped out. Closing the door behind him, he went to see his troops.
"That 'uns got a future, wot, wot, wot, wot?" Perkins said to himself after Williway had left. "Yes, sah, he does...." he answered himself, before starting to snore.
Corporal Pennycloud, and Buto had started up a game of cards with two of the fort's soldiers by one of the fire. They used an old crate next to the fire as a table
"How much you gonna put up, Copper?" Buto asked Pennycloud.
"All in!" Pennycloud responded, throwing in a small bag of gold pieces in the middle of the crate. The fort soldiers folded. Buto eyed his cards. Sighing, he folded.
Pennycloud bursted out in laughter as he collected his cash, "Haha, I was bluffin', wot!"
O'Caffery lay down, with his head to the redstone wall of the west side, snoring loudly. By his side was Sniffer, who was reading a small book in the fire light. Next to Sniffer, a private who went by Darcy was writing a letter.
"Uh, dear Lora.... It's me, the love of your life, Big Bones Darcy... Nah, I'm too skinny to be called Big Bones..... Sniffer, what do you think, wot?" he asked his companion.
Looking over his book, the hare shrugged, "Underbite Darcy?" he asked, with a grin.
Darcy turned away. He was embarrassed of his stupid underbite. That jerk, Sniffer.
Chapter Four:
Quabbler had lost four beasts to that fox. He was going to get his revenge. The gang was heading north. They stopped by a store run by a pair of old moles, ransacking the place, they stole heavy jackets, and a couple of heavy rifles, along with gunpowder. They spared the moles, as they had to move quick after the fox.
Conway was fitted with a far too big coat, which dragged at the ground. He was armed with one of the deceased Highwaymen's pistols, which was large in his hands. He was in the rear of the group.
--
Finley stooped over the hare, wrenching his arms out of the jacket. It was a warm jacket, he decided, as he put it on. Kicking some dirt of the hare he had so mercilessly murdered, he walked into his hut, to get some shut eye.
As he lay across the bed, he thought about his new life. He'd settle north, out of the reach of bounty hunters. He'd become a hunter. Yes, that'd be nice. He reached for his double barreled shotgun. He had bought the designs from some rat who stole them from a badger lord. It took Finley three years, but he had created his own gun. It became his trademark, killing a beast in one shot.
But, that was fifteen years ago. He decided, he wanted to die of old age. Live the rest of his days out peacefully in the north. Of course, that didn't stop his from murdering creatures who were in the middle of his goals.
Closing his eyes, the fox drifted into a deep sleep....
Chapter Four:
Brigadier Briggo 'The Brigadier' Briggurton limped into the Badger Lord's room. The Briggurtons were always Brigadiers, ever since Briggo's great-great-grandfather. Briggo had gained his nickname as a leveret from his badger friend, who had laughed at the assumption he would actually retain the rank, as well.
Briggo was a short hare, with a barrel chest. He leaned on a mahogany cane. As a young Major, Briggo had been shot in the footpaw during a charge. Though he survived, he was never able to run again. In his younger years, he didn't require the cane, but after hitting fourty-eight, it became much harder to get around. The hare wore his decorative vest, dark purple, and covered in even more medals that Colonel Meriwhether Perkins. Like the Colonel, he wore bright white pants, with the stripes matching the color of his vest, in this case, dark purple. Briggo donned a large waxed mustache, with some wisps of grey in it.
Waving the letter he was carrying out, he called out in his baritone voice, "M'lord, we got word of Williway, his unit! The chaps slew another outlaw, sah!"
The badger slumped out of bed, opening an groggy eye at the hare. "Why'd you wake me this early, Colonel? And who is this Williway?"
As his lord grabbed a a dark blue robe, the Brigadier averted his eyes to the ground. "I wish you wouldn't sleep in the nude, sah, and it is three in the afternoon, sah! You overslept, again! And, aherm, this Williway is a Captain, in charge of a outlaw tracking unit, sah!" he replied. "His unit has caught over three hundred, and fourty-seven outlaws under his command, wot!"
"Then give him a promotion, Briggo!" the badger said, tying the robe's waist-sash tight.
"We have, sah, more than eighteen, wot? The chap turns each and every one down, bloodin' flippin' mad, don't you say?"
"Yes, indeed... Where is he now?"
"Trackin' down two more outlaws, 'Eerie' Taf, and 'Cutterback' Finley. Then, he'll be stationed at Redwall for a year!" he replied, reading the letter.
"Hmm.... Give me some time to think...." Badgershot replied. Pausing for a moment, he shrugged. "i think I'll take a bath!"
Briggo nodded, and headed out. As soon as he was out of hearing range, he sighed. "That badger loves being nude, doesn't he, wot?"
--
It was five days since the unit spent the night at Fort Lud'n Vinger. The hares had camped in the woods far north, just at the toes of the mountains. They and found the fox had killed an old hare, and ransacked his home. After burying the old one, they neatened up his house, and locked the door.
Buto and a private named Derby went about to pick up the old one's crops. 'No need to waste them, wot?' was what Buto said about the matter.
The unit had been supplied a weeks worth of food from the fort. The provisions were split into each hare's pack. They only had two more days left.
Williway stretched below a tall ash tree, gazing at the stars, while biting into some honey bread. The hare had donned a long brown frock coat over his normal uniform. So did ever other hare, except O'Caffery, who was raised in the cold climate of the north.
'Copper' Pennycloud was ordering a few of the younger soldiers to pitch their blankets, and get ready for bed.
Darcy sighed, as he scribbled down on a parchment. "Dear, Lora.... We are... chasing a fearsome fox to the mountains.... In case their is no delivery service up north, this will be my letter for some time....." he muttered as he wrote.
By the next morning, the hares had all stirred, and were eating breakfast by seven hundred hours. Grim looks were seen around the camp, as the hares grimaced about journeying into mountain country. It was summer, not the time of the year to climb a mountain. They were supposed to be at the abbey, enjoying peace and quiet, and meals galore.
Pennycloud reached for his musket, as he finished breakfast. Pushing himself up, he grimaced. "Well, eating slowly will make slower, not faster, wot!" he said, grimly.
The rest of the hares were forced to agree, and soon the entire unit was up, and marching down the path. A column lined up on each side of the worn path. Eleven on the right, ten on the left. Williway stood in the middle, and eight feet ahead of him stood Sniffer M'Duk, tracking the outlaw.
The trek into the mountains was hard. It took what seemed hours to move half a mile. And, as they got further up, more snow stirred on the path, making the trudging even slower.The units morale slackened, and every hare, besides O'Caffery seemed to be suffering of depression. Even Williaway kept his head down, and thought of Redwall to remain on task.
Eventually, the pass would narrow, so only one hare could go at a time. One long line was formed. O'Caffery took the lead, with M'Duk behind him. Williway followed in the rear.
Weeks passed on, as the unit marched through the wasteland. The hares would find crevices, and small caves for shelter, and would warp themselves up in their blankets and bundle themselves up. Firewood was sparse, and was used only when necessary. Most of the time as torch to see through the monsoon of snow.
On the fifth week, they saw their target. A fox wrapped in a heavy jacket, with a rifle of some sort across his shoulder. Shortly behind him, though, was a pack of vicious looking vermin....
Chapter Five:
"Aim carefully!" Quabbler commanded the stern looking weasel. They had finally caught up to that Highwayman killer.
In front of Quabbler were the three creatures trusted with the heavy hunting rifles. The only other Highwayman who survived that accursed fox's gun was the lean weasel he was scolding. The other two were a pair of heavy rats, usually made to carry kegs of beer, or heavy crates, they'd stolen. The hunting rifle didn't weigh much differently.
"Fire!" he commanded in his shrill voice, quickly covering his ears before the shots rang out.
Bang! Bam! Bang!
Every shot missed, though one rat was off by only a few feet. The fox spun around, and, seeing his pursuers, fired of a round from his shotgun. At such a far distance, the weapon was utterly useless, though.
Still, the fox moved fast, leaping behind a large rock, he used it as cover as he reloaded his rifle.
"You fools, you missed!" Quabbler screamed in his shrill voice. "You two!" he pointed at the rats, "Go that way, and me 'n the weasel will go the other way! Cut him off!"
The Highwaymen moved as quick as they could, but before they could get five feet to the rock, Finley opened fire. As they were close enough, the shotgun left a mark, right in the lean weasel's lower gut. The Highwayman dropped dead, and the fox took off through the snow.
"Fire!" Quabbler instructed the rats, but the fox was too far to hit. But, the stoat did hear something firing.
Thwup! Thwup! Thwup!
Rounds of light fire sounded after the fox, and the Highwaymen. Leaping behind the rock his enemy had used as cover, he looked over it, to see hare's reloading their muskets. One of them was shouting orders, "Clear through those chaps, and then we'll be after Finley! He can't get far in this blizzard, wot!"
Reaching over, Quabbler grabbed the heavy hunting rifle from the slain weasel. He wouldn't need it anymore.
"Retreat!" he called, shrilly behind in the rock. "And after that fox on the double!" Jumping up, he ran through the path, or trudged more like, almost waist deep in snow. The two heavy rats were close behind.
Conway lopped in the rear of the group, neck deep in snow. In front of him was a terrible smelling ferret. The cold didn't take away that odor. He heard the shots come after them.
Thwup!
He felt it sear the fur on top of his head, and the foul smelling ferret slouched dead, as snow piled upon him. Conway had no choice, but to climb under the corpse.
--
"Nice shot, wot!" Williway said, patting O'Caffery on the back. The Color Sergeant shrugged, reloading his musket.
"Och, t'was a simple 'un, laddie! Ah' personally enjoy tha'r small 'un climbin' unda' he'm!" he said, with a chuckle. "We'd best head afta' 'em, then get tha'r fox, laddies!" The northern hare said, nodding in agreement with himself.
Corporal Pennycloud couldn't help, but chuckle at the at the ill-fated stoat, who had to hide under the dead, fat ferret. Nudging Buto, he grinned, "Look at that oaf, wot! Blathering fool, lookit' him now, tryin' to get under that oaf!"
Buto snickered along with the the non-comissioned officer. The lance corporal had thinned greatly during the hard, cold weeks, but still retained some of a pot belly.
Sniffer pulled out a plain-cloth kerchief, blowing his nose into it. "Why murs't Ah' get dis' darn cood?" he asked Private Darcy, who stood next to him. Darcy shrugged.
"Beats me, Sniffs! Bet it's cuz of your big nose!" he said, with a little chuckle. Sniffer looked at his companion, with a baffled look.
"Well, sta'p mah' wheskas, Darcy, that was 'ude, wot!"
--
The fox had fled quickly into the snow, wrapping himself in his jacket. The Long Patrol found him! This was not good! They were only a short distance away, just under the ridge.
Diving behind a pile of snow, he peered out. He could just make the red on their uniforms as they trudged after him. His shotgun had no range. He'd have to get close to them to make some real damage, and the reload was slow. Finley threw off his jacket, mounting it slightly over the pile of snow, and started to crawl. Hopefully the hares wouldn't notice too soon.
Bullet-fire ripped through the snow-mound, and into the jacket a few paces behind. "No blood, wot!" a hare called out. Finley cursed the blaggarts as he crawled through the thick snow. The Highwaymen he could handle, but a Long Patrol Platoon was different.
--
Quabbler fell down as the musket ball entered his side. It was non-fatal, but still. An oafish ferret hit the snow, in a pile of his own blood. Dead. The hares had split up, it seemed, half going after the Highwaymen, and half after that damn fox. He peered back to see a highlander take aim with his musket. There was a muzzle flash and then a rat was dead. "Damn!" he swore, crawling away. This was bad.
Conway watched the hares split up, with a large chunk go after the Highwaymen, while five headed after the fox. He watched the hare leader, a coppery soldier and fat hare, and two others head after the fox. He almost felt sorry for them.
--
Finley had finally taken cover behind a rock. Eight shells. That was all he had. Four or five hares had come after him. They stood their ground, firing off shots from a distance. They probably didn't have much ammo, either. He'd just have to wait it out until they charged. Otherwise, he had no chance.
--
Minutes had gone by, and no progress was being made. "Three rounds left!" Copper whispered to Williway.
"Same" whispered a private.
"Ditto, wot!" Buto nodded. "Oh, wait, I have four rounds, wot! Not much of an improvement, though!"
Williway paused for a moment. "Fine, wot! We'll charge him. Bayonets on, lads!"