The Lubbock Battle

Author's Comments.

The Complete Battle of Lubbock was a joint collaboration between John "LT COL Iago" Hollinsgworth and myself, with contributions from Ron "Dark Paw" Bernier and Andrew "Admiral Marlin" Weitzman. General LonGears guest appearance is curtesy of Doug Holzworth. A thank you also, to Greg Rapaway for having Cmdr Rick Andersen give the memorial for those who fell at LuFI. Also to Chris Hemme for loaning some of his Missouri Buns to Iago. These authors hold © 1996 over various portions of this story.

This story first HTML-ized June 30-July 3, 1997 by Scott Bernier

Posted over several days the last full week of July, 1996, this story was originally conceived in late fall of '94 with an original goal to post in 1995. Due to real life problems and lack of a decent Internet connection by John, this was postponed time and again with several false starts, including Operation Spam-O-Tage (further below) Along with Lubbock Preparationsin May of '96 (one of our ever-changing dates for the battle--"The Ides of May" to quote Iago as he intended to call the battle at that time.), until that fateful week in July, '96. John's connection miraculously fixed itself in mid-July and we wasted no time ironing this plot-out and getting it posted. Approximately two days later John's account went down again. I and several others have been in contact on and off since then by John, and he has left the group for personal reasons. Those reasons have nothing to do with anyone else on the group...he simply felt it was time to move on. Good luck in life and may the wind always be to your back, John! The link above was his last known address. If it still works, I'm sure he wouldn't mind fan mail dealing with this story.

Several smaller stories led-up to this battle over the two year period, including
Operation Spam-A- Tage which is the final trigger that causes Iago to attack Lubbock.

I couldn't see a better way to set-up the links, than to reprint it the way John and I did so to the newsgroup, with the additions of the posts before and those after the actual battle.

[off] [LUBBOCK] The REAL posting order
Newsgroups: alt.devilbunnies
From: "Lt. Col. Iago" 
Date: 23 Jul 1996 10:30:45 -0600
Organization: DevilBunnies News<->Mail Gateway

The Complete Battle Of Lubbock's posting order is as follows:

Preparations was written by John Hollingsworth and is the prologue connecting Operation Spam-O-Tage to the actuall battle.

The Actual Battle

1. Preparations are over
2. Dark Paw begins their assault
3. Life At Ground Zero - Part 1
4. Life At Ground Zero - Part 2
5. The Battle Begins
6. Blue Squadron advances
7. Life At Ground Zero - Part 3
8. Life At Ground Zero - Part 4
9. Orange Squadron hits the towers
10. Vermillion Squadron enters
11. Blue and Aqua Sqadrons meet
12. LuFI Pilot breifing
13. LuFI cropdusters prepare for takeoff
14. Leopold volunteers
15. Most of the cropdusters are destroyed
16. Leopold dies
17. Iago receives Leopold's last transmission
18. Orange Squadron enters the bunkers
19. The southern half of battle continues
20. The surviving cropduster dumps its chemicals
21. Oullette prepares to meet Iago+
22f. Enter the Killer Tanker+
23f. Top Bun - Part 1+
24f. Top Bun - Part 2+
25f. Top Bun - Part 3+
22b. Iago finds Oullette+
23b. Oullette and Iago battle+
24b. Oullette dies
25. Iago gets blasted
26. The retreat commences
27. Epilogue - StillWarren falls

+ - Denotes stories falling in a concurrent time frame.

John Hollingsworth
***alt.dbs ON***---====---************************
---====---
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
*       Lt. Col.         *    "Whomever steals my technology makes me
*       -=Iago=-         *    inconvenienced.  Whomever steals my
* StillWarren Command         *    territory truly makes me poor."
* Devilbunny Militia          *    -apologies to Shakespeare's
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *    *    Iago

Additions to the end/epilogues/aftermath:

Fudd side Epilogue 1 of 3
Fudd side Epilogue 2 of 3
Fudd side Epilogue 3 of 3

Maine Fudd Vol. reaction

The Survival of the 6th BunnyMarines

Andersen's Eulogy

The Reunion

Oullette's Will

Lubbock Preparations Series posted by John Hollingsworth, this continues from Operation Spam-O-Tage.

***Pampa Outpost Warren***

>************Tightbeam Activated***********
>********BUNIX ENCRYPTION ACTIVATED********
>********PRIORITY: Emergency Status********
>
>Lt.Colonel, 
>
>    I am attaching the results I have found with the report.  
>
>    Lubbock Fudd Intelligence is suspect in the contamination
>of the Spam™ In Question.  Cross-referencing dust sample
>contained in the pink product with our dust sample inventory
>show the texture, mineral structure, and granularity of the
>dust to be that of the lower Panhandle of Texas.  
>
>    Sir, if it was not LuFI, then we have a bigger problem to
>take care of than Oullette, and more to destroy than Reese.
>
>Mentat Bovet
>StillWarren Laboratories

Iago lost his cool. He became a raging lunatic, ripping hard copies of reports, shreading whatever or bunever he could get his paws on, and destroying furniture that happened to be within reach.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN THAT OULLETTE HAS A SPAM-O-MATIC?!?!? DIDN'T THAT [pig-13]ING FOOL GREYTAIL SUCCEEDING IN DISMANTLING THE [pig-13]ING THING BEFORE HE LEFT?!?!?" Iago screamed at a RegBun standing at the entrance. He almost strangled the poor bun to death before dropping him in favor of a chair that was flung across the room shortly thereafter.

"I WANT GREYTAIL IN HERE **NOW**!!! "

****thirty seconds later****

"Sssir?!? You wanted to see me? "

Iago had visibly calmed. That's what made his officers nervous: they never really knew when they were about to get ripped to pieces emotionally when they had appearantly made a mistake. "Either Iago's going to simply reprimand me as if I were as unimportant as a kit, or he will gut me here and now " GreyTail thought as he came into the room.

Iago's unky00t smile didn't help the bun's growing nervousness.

"Ah, yes, Lieutenant. Come in. Sit down. Make yourself at home. "

The lieutenant seated himself across from Iago with his ears flat to his head, unable to fathom Iago's next action.

"Would you like some carrot juice? No?" the commander said sweetly. "Maybe a Bunhatten - General Strength, perhaps? " Iago's tone became dark and sadistic with his mention of the special drink.

After a pause to collect himself, he continued. "When you were attacked in Lubbock on Columbus Day back in '94, did you destroy everything of value?"

"Yessir. The computer banks, the Bunix code, everything," GreyTail stated with total confidence.

"Even the Spam-O-Matic? "

GreyTail looked his superior officer directly in the eye. "I personally supervised the destruction of the Spam-O-Matic. I destroyed the Cutonium cells myself. I was unwilling to let the enemy get such technology for fear of what they might do with it."

GreyTail's sudden assurety took Iago by surprise. "You. Personally. Destroyed. The Cutonium?"

"Yessir."

Iago was dumbfounded. With an apologetic tone, Iago waved at GreyTail as if very distracted. "Dismissed."

A very confused GreyTail stumbled out the door, wondering his fate not for the first time in his life.

Iago couldn't make sense of it. *How could he have gotten a Spam-O-Matic? No monkey could have built one, since none of those apes would be able to stand the Cutonium that helps to power a Spam-O-Matic.*

The Lt.Colonel hopped over to his laptop. (At least Iago was in enough control not to destroy that.) "Computer: Pull up an inventory listing of every Panhandle Warren, circa 1994."

The screen paused for a moment, then a windows flooded itself with the information requested.

"Now find all warrens with Spam-O-Matics listed in the inventories and print-out to the LaserJet™."

The system worked and crunched numbers, then the LaserJet ™ began to kick out the requested pages - all thirteen of them.

Iago took one look at the printer and cancelled the print job. There was no way that he was going to look at the long form of the cargo in each warren.

"Computer: just give me a listing of the warrens, by name and in alphabetical order, that carried a Spam-O-Matic. Removed any warrens in Lubbock Proper."

Only ten names shone on the screen.

"Now, cross-reference that list with the current Spam-O-Matics that are still known to exist from those warrens and give me the names ONLY of those warrens that have not accounted for their devices."

The window only produced one name:

#ShalloWarren

Now Iago was truly angry, for his anger plateaued and subsided almost completely from view. He fired up what was left of the intercom.

"Attention: This is the Lt.Colonel speaking.

"At 2200 hours on Friday evening, all bunsonnel except for the standard shell compliment will leave via BunnyMover, beer truck, and transport to our positions near the town of Lubbock.

"We are hearby on code yellow and consider yourself on battle readiness. We have strong reason to believe that LuFI is responsible for, among other attrocities, the recent lacing of devilbunny remains in Spam ™.

"We are stepping up our attack to ASAP. Be advised all scheduled leave is cancelled, and no one may leave the ground of POW unless personally authorised by me.

"As you were."

Lubbock Fudd Intelligence was going to burn indeed.

***somewhere north of OKC, OK***

The O'Douls truck that was in the transport bay was not Bovet's idea of luxury, but this was a time of battle for StillWarren's troops, even if StillWarren Proper was under no immedate threat. It was a necessary precaution for the medical team that Bovet had assembled for the upcoming battle.

As they travelled down I-35, nearing the Oklahoma City border, Bovet wonder what his feeling of panic, paranoia, and raw fear were in his office. Unable to find an answer, he turned back to the mundane roar of the transport's tires on the interstate pavement. Hopefully the seven hour drive would remain uneventful.

***2300 Hours, Wednesday***

Iago, BlackPaw, GreyTail and the rest of the senior staff were awaiting the arrival of the O'Douls truck as it came rolling into the largish storage building just south of the railroad tracks off of Duncan Street.

"Mentat. Good to see you, old friend."

" It's good to assist you toward a path of glory for our kind, Iago," Bovet mentioned somewhat loftily, but meant no disrespect.

The two buns hopped to the lift that would take them to the awaiting BunnyMover that would carry them to the heart of the warren 150 feet below.

"We are on yellow alert, Bovet," Iago stated. "After receiving your reports, I decided that we will be moving out in just shy of 48 hours from right now to our positions near Lubbock."

"A wise move, commander," the mentat stated with an aire of regality. "We should erradicate these Fudds before more harm is done to the Way of Cuteness."

"Quite correct. We will need to be in position. I plan to be ready to rendezvous with the General and Admiral as soon as we arrive so that we may attack the former Reese AFB by the date of the 15th.

"We'll call it the Ides of May and won't let the Fudds forget their defeat. They'll hate us even more, giving our diplomats like BunnyHugger the chance to feed the general populace with images of ky00tness and the like.

"Very good, sir."

The lift finally stopped its plumment to the center of the warren. "I'll see you in the morning, sir?" the mentat said expectantly.

"Yes. Come to the conference room on level 8. We will be discussing the role of StillWarren troops in the battle at 0800 hours."

"See you then, Iago. Good night, commander."

"Good night, Bovet. Dream of Glory and Honor."

"I will sir. Good night."

**************Three days later***************
*********Lubbock 2ndary Command Post*********
************ShalloWarren Remains*************

StillWarren troops had made it to ShalloWarren without incident, and were getting settled in for the short time that they would be spending at the temporary command post at teh former ShalloWarren Outpost.

Construction buns were burrowing out what they could in the dry Panhandle dirt while engineering buns were coming in with well water to secure and shore up the walls of the newly re-excavated tunnels.

Standard militia buns were takign occupance in the burned-out quarters of the decimated warren where it was livable. More buns cleaned out the mess of the Fudd raid on ShalloWarren in those burrows too damaged to be deemed hospitable.

Iago lopped out to the hallway and surveyed what he could from his burrow door. The warren leader and para-military commander Grizzle (so named for his grizzly appearance due to one-too-many battles) had once lived and occupied the very burrow Iago was now standing in. It gave Iago the willies to be rooming in the very place of a dead bun. "At least he died in battle. The old bun wouldn't have it any other way."

Bovet and Iago were appearantly on the same wavelength, for at that moment, the mentat's door opened and the wise scientist hopped up to the doorway. "Is your room as spartan and burned-out as the rest?" he asked dryly.

The commander always hated Bovet's terms sometimes: He could be so human. But he was too good of a mentat to get rid of. "No. My quarters are probably the least damaged of the bunch. How are yours?"

"Acceptable, commander. Acceptable."

There was a pause as the two buns tried to soak up as much of what they could of the damage for the upcoming battle. They both needed to be emotionally prepared. Iago was to be responsible for thousands of buns, the commanders of other warrens, and other battalions. Bovet was to head the varied medical teams that would help in the clean-up during and after the battle.

Iago sighed. It was all he could do to relieve his tension. "Are you ready?" he asked Bovet. His question was the kind of question that an old friend asks more out of politeness than to gather information.

"No. I never am. You?"

"Yes and no. Everything is in place, but I'm never ready for the moment until it happens. My nerves are a mess up to the battle, but then I'm surprisingly steely when the time comes for it.

"I'll be ready. Everything is in place. "

The two buns chatted then next few hours away about old times and good times and about when they originally met after J Ryan killed Memlar and Mador to set up OKHHQ just two years before. Little did they know what was really brewing in Oklahoma.

********Lubbock 2ndary Command Post********
************ShalloWarren Remains***********

It was late at ngiht when the 6th of the DBN's BunnyMarines arrived. As the first beer truck pulled into the crudely renovated docking bay, Iago's officers gasped as the buns of Dark Paw hopped down from the compartment they had been left alone in.

These buns looked like the pariahs of Bunnykind to Iago, but he fought his natural insticts to show disgust and instead smiled warmly to them.

"Welcome to what remains of the former ShalloWarren. This is the home of our secondary command post for the upcoming battle. Thank you for coming ."

Iago turned rather officially to the bun that appeared to be the leader. The largish bun had appearantly seen much battle, and was wearing a patch over his right eye. Iago assumed this bun must be General Fang.

"General Fang, I presume."

"Yes. You must be Lt. Colonel Iago."

"Yes. I trust your trip with the 6th was satisfactory."

Fang smiled dryly. "As best as could be expected when you command a group of buns that have lost their ky00tness. I --"

There was a small commotion from Iago's MPs as they surrounded the human they felt was a symp. They were barking at the figure to drop his weapons and disarm or be shot. Iago and Fang both lopped over.

"Guards, what is the meaning of this?!?" Iago asked impatiently.

"Sir, this human symp is carring a lot of firepower. We cannot allow him to remain here unless he disarms."

"General, could you please tell me what's going on. Now."

Fang looked at Iago with little if no emotion. "Gentlebuns, this is Shifter, our weapons specialist. He is a necessary part of out group, and I must ask you to let him keep his weaponry. This is a bun trapped in morph armor, you see, and he must be given your trust. If you cannot trust him, we, the Dark Paw will pack up on a BunnyMover to the closest terminal for home.

"Lower your weapons. Let him be," Iago barked to his buns.

They didn't move.

"NOW. Are you deaf? That's an order!"

The MPs then lowered their guns warily.

"You two. Report to my office immediately. We have some things to discuss. Keep in mind these buns are here to aid us, not hinder us."

"Yessir." The two buns lopped off quickly in a dejected manner. Iago couldn't care less. He was furious, although his demeanor emminated a more calm and comforting attitude. He would deal with his troops later.

"I apologize, General. I've not had a security breach yet, by symp or otherwise. These buns were just acting under a standing order of mine: No symps are allowed arms when more than 15 buns are assembled. I'm sorry that they didn't consult with you or me before acting."

"No problem, commander. Now, I and my buns are tired from the trip to ShalloWarren. We would like to head to our quarters now. Will you please show them to us?"

"Certainly." Iago pointed to two buns and flicked his ears. They moved to be near Iago. "General. The buns of Dark Paw. Please follow me." And Dark Paw followed him down a corridor to their home for the next few days.

***********Lubbock 2ndary Command Post********
**************ShalloWarren Remains************

All the field commanders were now present. Captain BlackPaw had been getting Blue Battalion ready, making sure the troop morale among all the buns was high.

General LonGears was present, ready to take the thrust of the battle with Crimson Squadron. Lt. Bunderbolt had reappeared just as mysteriously as he had disappeared. Iago's other junior officers were all present as well, ready to take their troops to a glorious finish.

The Admiral and Commandant Herringbone were not there, however. They sent their warmest regards with Lt. Brisbane and General Fang when the 6th arrived.

All was ready for the battle. Lubbock was sure to fall.

**************Three days later***************
*********Lubbock 2ndary Command Post*********
************ShalloWarren Remains*************

StillWarren troops had made it to ShalloWarren without incident, and were getting settled in for the short time that they would be spending at the temporary command post at teh former ShalloWarren Outpost.

Construction buns were burrowing out what they could in the dry Panhandle dirt while engineering buns were coming in with well water to secure and shore up the walls of the newly re-excavated tunnels.

Standard militia buns were takign occupance in the burned-out quarters of the decimated warren where it was livable. More buns cleaned out the mess of the Fudd raid on ShalloWarren in those burrows too damaged to be deemed hospitable.

Iago lopped out to the hallway and surveyed what he could from his burrow door. the warren leader and para-military commander Grizzle (so named for his grizzly appearance due to one-too-many battles) had once lived and occupied the very burrow Iago was now standing in. It gave Iago the willies to be rooming in the very place of a dead bun. "At least he died in battle. The old bun wouldn't have it any other way."

Bovet and Iago were appearantly on the same wavelength, for at that moment, the mentat's door opened and the wise scientist hopped up to the doorway. "Is your room as spartan and burned-out as the rest?" he asked dryly.

The commander always hated Bovet's terms sometimes: He could be so human. But he was too good of a mentat to get rid of. "No. My quarters are probably the least damaged of the bunch. How are yours?"

"Acceptable, commander. Acceptable."

There was a pause as the two buns tried to soak up as much of what they could of the damage for the upcoming battle. They both neede to be emotionally prepared. Iago was to be responsible for thousands of buns, the commanders of other warrens, and other battalions. Bovet was to head the varied medical teams that would help in the clean-up during and after the battle.

Iago sighed. It was all he could do to relieve his tension. "Are you ready?" he asked Bovet. His question was the kind of question that an old friend asks more out of politeness than to gather information.

"No. I never am. You?"

"Yes and no. Everything is in place, but I'm never ready for the moment until it happens. My nerves are a mess up to the battle, but then I'm surprisingly steely when the time comes for it.

"I'll be ready. Everything is in place. "

The two buns chatted then next few hours away about old times and good times and about when they originally met after J Ryan killed Memlar and Mador to set up OKHHQ just two years before. Little did they know what was really brewing in Oklahoma.

blue

Capt. BlackPaw looked across the street toward General Fang's position. BlackPaw then looked down the street. All of his forces were in place to cover the Dark Paw. BlackPaw turned again toward Fang and nodded. Fang returned an unemotional, even glance back before nodding, then the older bun disappeared from sight.

A moment passed. BlackPaw became wary, but not quite nervous. He looked up from his position at a sergeant on a rooftop. The sergeant . BlackPaw had not made their move yet.

More time passed. BlackPaw began to wonder if something had gone awry. Then he heard a soft *thud* to his far left. The captain turned to see a human body lying in the nearly deserted street. Its throat was completely removed, its eyes now just ghostly reminders of what they once were.

BlackPaw watched in awe as five more humans fell silently. Not a one had the smallest chance of screaming, yet the faces of the corpses (what was left of them) were frozen in expressions of complete and utter horror.

BlackPaw thumped in Militia Code (known to humans as Morse Code -BlackPaw maintained Morse had merely been a symp under Militia control) the command to commence the full support of what the Dark Paw had started; the conversion of Holcum.

The whole of Blue Squadron silently slithered from their positions and began to partake in the carnage.

Colonel Jean-Paul Oullette walked across the portion of Reese AFB that has been traditionally the Lubbock Fudd Intelligence, or LuFI. Since the announced closing of Reese, Oullette had managed to sell-off enough of his mineral rights in the region to buy the base for a bargain sum of $3.5 million without seriously denting the cash reserves used to fund the operations of the facility.

It was another hot, dry July day. Excruciatingly windy, as usual, but there was little of the dust so frequent to Lubbock and the Panhandle of Texas. *El'Mar, how I wish I was still in Maine,* the Colonel sometimes thought. *This barrenness is sometimes rough on the soul. Some places are too uncute, even for Fudds.*

This day seemed like a pleasant and normal one. The troops were shuffling about the base, new recruits were honing their blunt skills into more refined fighting techniques, and things were running as normal.

Then Oullette froze. Something was just not right. He couldn't put his finger on it. There was no rational explanation for it. It was as if a sixth sense suddenly snapped to attention inside the grizzly Fudd.

Something was terribly amiss.

The Colonel turned on one heel and very quickly headed to the communications center. Something had to show up there if something was as tragically out of sync as he felt it was.

-----
Col. Jean-Paul Oullette, Commander of Lubbock Fudd Intelligence
"A guy once said that if he owned Hell and Texas, he'd live in Hell
and rent-out Texas!"--Bella English of the Boston Globe.

The comm center was not quite a center yet at LuFI. Reese had not completely closed out its operation, so the control tower and adjoining facility were not yet available for the Fudds to acquire. But Oullette had felt that a move to a larger facility was required and not an option. The size of LuFI's personnel had grown. There were military successes against Iago's minions, making that obnoxious fluffer a greater threat than ever before. Especially, since no one had heard a word from that bun since he had been trounced in banter with the squirrel, Aldin Busheytail, the previous year. This worried Oullette more than anything else. Nothing was worse than a silent military bun. Things had become more complex indeed.

The temporary home for the new Communications and Command center was a disused C-147 hanger that was closest to the radio control tower. Mismatched did not begin to describe the small amount of equipment versus the contrast of it to the huge hanger.

Oullette had just arrived, his muscles on red alert from the adrenaline pumping through his system. That sixth sense, that voice in the back of his head was getting louder, and it was saying only one thing:

"Get out while you can!"

Oullette strided up to the main desk, snapping a casual and moving attention to those stationed to C&C duty this afternoon. He then walked up to Sgt. Mac Groundim, 2nd in command, who was in charge of Electronic Watch this shift.

"Sir, what's the matter?" the Sergeant said with concern wrinkling his brow. Maine was the last place he's seen his superior quite like this. That had been the day he had learned about the bunny operations at Namakata Lake.

"I'm not sure yet, Mac. That's what I'm here to hopefully find out," he said as he turned from Groundim to the Private Jackson at the Decoding station.

"Jackson. Any communiques from NoCo, HUNTER, or other strongholds?"

"None, sir," the enlisted man stated officially.

"What about other Fudd or Fudd-like message systems? Any activity?"

"No sir."

"What about suspected BUNIX™ code?"

"Not any more than we usually read. The readings are so unclear that the few bursts within the ten miles of LuFI are too short and too varied to really discern if they are passing echoes or actual transmissions.

"Since we eradicated the warrens at Shallowater and Abernathy, there haven't been anything but echoes and broken transmissions from the old defense systems. I can't tell if what we're seeing is shadowing from cross-country transmissions, broken and weak distress calls, or actual BUNIX-type bursts in our area."

The colonel frowned. "And we can't pinpoint it or triangulate the signals?"

"No sir. The bursts end before we can get even a generalized idea where to get a fix on them. And there are the distress signals that flare up now and again."

Groundim stood bolt upright from where he had been sitting as if a scorpion had just stung him.

"Yes, Sergeant?" the colonel asked quizzically.

"Sir, do you think it's possible..."

"Yes," Oullette butted in. "I know what you're thinking. We may be Spam ™ by this time tomorrow."

Iago stood up on his haunches at the edge of Farm-to-Market Road 2378 and smiled. Today was to be a glorious day for BunnyKind. Cuteness would rule the day while the UnCute fled in their shame from defeat. Just a few miles to the east of their position lay the former Reese Air Force Base, home of Lubbock Fudd Intelligence.

All had been prepared. Orange Squadron was with Iago to the west of the base. The mysterious Dark Paw were present to the south, already finishing their killing spree in the little town of Holcum, protected and aided by the numbers of Blue Battalion. Lieutenant Bunderbolt headed the new defensive strategy of the "Bear Traps" at all roads heading into the Reese area while Corporal Lightning kept guard with Green Squadron to the north of US-84. The General was present, traditionally taking Crimson Squadron as his own. Lieutenant GreyTail had a notably lesser role covering the General's fuzzy haunches with Vermillion Squadron.

Even the city of Lubbock was not spared from the Cute. Giant Barney dolls and symps costumed as Easter Bunnies were still being seen around the town, although it was nearly the 4th of July. Cuteness was about, and Iago was glad.

To hamper and frustrate the Fudds further, Iago commanded his symps to make sure that the supply of Vanilla Extract was as low as possible. Captain BlackPaw "met" with the managers of the local stores to make sure that when the supply ran out, it stayed that way. The strangle hold was apparently effective.

"The time has come, Oullette." Iago nearly spat the words as he uttered them. "I will remove your little annoyance of LuFI from the face of Gaia forever. You will be destroyed!"

As Iago said the word destroyed, he rose up on his haunches even higher and signaled the first sign with his ears. All the buns of Orange Squadron moved up as close to the road as possible, ready and waiting for their commander's next command that would mean death for many of them. The troops were tense and ready for the action of battle.

Iago suddenly began thumping wildly and broke the radio silence through his BunnyArmor's headset.

"All positions: Move out! Repeat: All positions: move out! This is not a drill!! MOVE OUT!!!"

And the fluffy hordes moved en masse toward a doomed Fudd outpost.

blue

The conversion of Holcum had been more like the destruction of Holcum. Ordinarily, according to a Standing Order from Iago, all humans able to be converted must be given the chance to convert. If they do not choose the Fluffy Way, then they were killed mercifully.

But these were not ordinary circumstances. This was battle.

BlackPaw and his squadron followed the buns of Dark Paw across State Highway 114 to begin the attack on Reese AFB and Lubbock Fudd Intelligence in advance of the rest of the squadrons. Blue Squadron would be the initial aggressor on LuFI. BlackPaw marked that as symbolically important.

They followed General Fang and his crew through the newly made hole in the fence, conveniently torn open by Shifter, the bun in Morph Armor.

BlackPaw took off his armor's mask to give commands to his buns without disrupting radio silence. "Group Alpha. Take your positions and good luck. Group Beta. Follow Dark Paw. Keep them appropriately covered. Move out!"

BlackPaw replaced his mask before following his buns to the east. He watched half of his squadron set themselves up for the pending airborne chemical attacks from the cropdusters GreyTail had informed them of.

A tear trickled down his cheek as he moved on. Some of his best buns would die the horrible death that only chemical warfare can bring. He would lose many friends this day.

>    Groundim stood bolt upright from where he had been sitting as
>if a scorpion had just stung him.
>
>    "Yes, Sergeant?" the colonel asked quizzically.
>
>    "Sir, do you think it's possible..."
>
>    "Yes," Oullette butted in.  "I know what you're thinking.  We may be Spam ™
>by this time tomorrow."

"Sir, I recommend that we call a general readiness about the base and go to re......"

Alarm klaxons, warning alarms, and red emergency lights activated without warning. The computerized voice-over started repeating in its stale and monotonous drone,

Intruder Alert: Perimeter J9 compromised.
Intruder Alert: Perimeter J9 compromised.

Oullette grabbed the nearest intercom handset and keyed in the override for the computerized voice and silenced the alarms.

"Attention all personnel: Assume battle positions. This is not a drill. Repeat: Assume battle positions. This is not a drill."

Jean-Paul turned to Mac as troops scurried around and about the old hanger. "Mac," he said, taking the large man's hand in a handshake, "this may be it. We're unprepared for this assault right now. Half the troops are on holiday leave"

"Take care of yourself, Mac. We may not make it out if this one alive."

Oullette then took a less personal and more official tone.

"Begin execution of Plan GF."

Mac nodded heavily then saluted Jean-Paul. "May it be an honorable battle, sir ."

The colonel smiled briefly and saluted back before turning to leave for his position in the battle to come.

Mac was worried. Oullette must really have felt this to be the last battle of LuFI: Plan "GF" stood for "Grand Finale."

The word spread quickly and quietly over the troops. All knew what it meant if the Colonel was initiating Plan GF. Battle-honed Fudds begin moving-out quietly to their preassigned areas as described by this battle plan. No outward offensive would be taken against the enemy. Instead the enemy would be lured deep within the base and smothered, one way or the other.

Sergeant Fitzanko was one of these Fudds of LuFI. He was a veteran of both the Columbus Day Battle in Lubbock in 1994 and the Battle of NoCO the following spring. He had been promoted after the later battle to full drill-sergeant. His assignment may have seemed like a cowardly one to most. He was to get the raw, green recruits out and away from the battle. There were pre-assigned rendezvous points to the west of Reese Air Force Base near the towns of Sundown and Petit so that they may survive long enough to get complete training to fight against the Evil that Fluffs™, so that there would be Fudds to fight another day. If LuFI were to ever fall to the Fluffy Hordes™, any surviving Fudds were to gather at these two points for evacuation out of the area. SGT Fitzanko would also be in command of the survivors unless someone of higher rank arrived.

Fitzanko contemplated his orders as the last of three Hum-Vee's was loaded-up. He never really liked them. He hated running from the enemy, but like any good soldier, he respected his superiors and followed his orders. As the three Hum-Vee's filled with LuFI's 18 latest recruits pulled-out and to the west of base, heading over open country, Fitzanko looked back at the base and saluted his comrades who stayed behind, knowing he'd probably never see any of them again.

orange

The forces all moved with only the slightest of delays toward the home of Lubbock Fudd Intelligence. Orange Squadron was the first to move in, but because of their distance to the outer perimeter, they would not be the first to make it. It would be the buns of Dark Paw and Blue Squadron that would make first contact with Reese, and Iago had to assume that they had made it through already.

That didn't matter to Iago. Orange Squadron's first duty was to get through the eastern fence, then take out the two radio towers that stood to the western edge of Reese. Reaching that goal was his only concern at the moment.

As they moved, Orange Squadron met no resistance. No mines filled with shrapnel or HU or HVE, no bombs or mortars from inside the base, and no humans along the fence trying in vein to sharpshoot what buns they could. There was simply nothing to stop them.

This only mildly worried Iago as he watched the Missouri buns that had volunteered to be at the front of the pack start to rip through the metal chain-link and head toward the more northern tower. They were an efficient bunch, trained by Major Campion and the late Patch Fluffbuns, and led by Captain Nibbles. Iago couldn't stop from admiring their devotion and dedication as he watched them during the advance.

It was now Iago's time to enter the compound. He and the middle pack of buns bounded into the new hole and started to work on the electric circuit boxes on the radio tower. Several engineering buns were working on the eastern side of the structural supports. (It was hoped that the two towers would be tall enough to lay across at least one of the air strips and block some of the modified cropdusters that were apparently used by these Fudds in the past.)

As his buns worked, Iago noticed that Nibbles and the Missouri buns that were part of Orange Squadron had succeeded in destroying the electrical supply to the towers. Most of the buns had started to reposition themselves to the north of the tower, regrouping for the assault on the compound proper.

The engineering buns of the first group had sufficiently weakened the eastern side of the northern tower. It had begun to lean. Unfortunately, the buns had forgotten to account for the wind that was pushing hard from the northwest, and the tower began to stray to the south as it began its journey to the ground.

Iago screamed, "Look out!" but at least fifteen buns were turned into patties in a matter of seconds while a few other buns were injured by the upheaval of the asphalt that was displaced by the tower.

Iago stopped what he was doing for the moment and barked a few orders. The buns that had stopped their work on the southern tower resumed their work, adjusting for the wind, and several med buns started to scramble to the injured to escort them back to the command post.

They could not afford the loss of more buns before Fudd blood was shed. To lose buns to friendly fire was just not acceptable to Iago.

Finally the southern tower came crashing to the ground. However, the second pole was too short to do any major damage to the closest runway; it was just too far south and way too short to impede a Cessna-sized plane from getting airborne.

"Let's go! Move it move it! We've got a battle to win. Orange Squadron. Regroup and Move out!" the commander yelled into his BunnyArmor's headset as his section of buns began to push across the airfield, hoping to make it to the building without too many casualties before attempting to overwhelm the Fudds.

Vermillion

Vermillion Squadron pushed along at a speedy rate. The terrain to the east of the former Air Force Base was not too uneven, even for the pock-marked Panhandle, so the going wasn't as rough as the corporal had expected.

Lightning could still see the General pushing hard toward the corner where the empty living community of Reese Village and the base proper met. Lightning admired the General. How a bun could have survived what he had and be leading the primary assault battalion baffled the corporal.

Lightning's buns entered the living complex with no resistance. Vermillion's buns spread out and secured the perimeter of the area as the main body of the group pushed to the west -- directly toward the heart of the base itself.

The corporal found it disquieting to find the base so devoid of life so far. His uneasiness was only steadied by Lt. GreyTail's ability to persuade the President of the United States to close Reese. It was a blessing to the StillWarren regime that Iago said he had been hoping for. Still, the grizzly commander found so little resistance -- especially by humans -- unsettling.

Crimson's buns were starting to push into the same areas that Vermillion's buns had just begun to secure, and both squadrons were blending together nicely. As the corporal moved in with his buns, he noticed the larger frame of the General pushing through the masses. Lightning noted the General's position, then followed him in toward the base itself.

*This will be a glorious day that bunnykind will remember for years to come,* Lightning thought as he veered to the south with Vermillion Squadron while the General peeled off for a more northerly attack route.

blue

The other half of Blue Squadron traversed the distance to the barracks in less time than BlackPaw had anticipated. He twitched the command to pull up his HUD battle clock in the visor of his armor. Blue Squadron and Dark Paw were a good thirty seconds ahead of schedule. BlackPaw grinned and turned off his clock.

"Good work, Blue. We're ahead of schedule," the captain breathed into his armor's comlink. "Let's keep ahead of the other squadrons."

As the mass of buns met the bunkers, the buns with a blue paw print stamped on their armor began to spread out to attack and clear the barracks. The orders were clear: Blue was to secure and "clean up" the south end, then proceed toward the north end of the base.

The first few buildings were empty. Totally devoid. Apparently the Fudds didn't have use for this many buildings yet.

Then the barracks were starting to fill out nicely. Abandoned Fudd belongings in one shed. A Playboy or two between newly overturned mattresses in another. Old decrepit farming equipment abandoned by the military or some farmer from years past.

Yet there were no humans found yet. "They must have known we were here by the Cuteness Geometers," BlackPaw thought as he shredded a long-since abandoned mattress. "That's not a favorable situation."

Finally, BlackPaw began hearing reports on his squadron's secondary channel that the most advanced troops of Blue had bumped into the 6th Bunny Marines of Aqua Squadron under the command of Lt. Brisbane.

BlackPaw silently moved to the front of the pack to meet up with Brisbane. "Lt. Brisbane. We are ahead of schedule," the captain mentioned to Brisbane on the command channel. Brisbane chuckled. "Aye. The 6th narry be late tae 'n engagemen', Commander."

"Let's go kill some Fudds," BlackPaw said to the older bun as he turned to follow the joint squadrons into the thick of battle.

The briefing was quick for LuFI's cropduster division. They couldn't be caught at a more inopportune moment. Half of LuFI's 24 cropdusters were undergoing routine maintenance as required by the FAA, including complete engine overhauls. This meant that only one dozen planes would get a chance to attempt to rain-down death from the skies over the varmint invaders.

The converted Cessna cropdusters of LuFI each carried 1000 lbs of a biodegradable bunnycide discovered and produced through research by the Agricultural Department at nearby Texas Tech University. No one would admit it, but the deaths of nearly every jackrabbit in the field next to TTU between Brownfield Highway and 19th Ave during the first weekend of April back in 1994 was the result of a successful testing of this bunnycide agent. These same cropdusters also helped make the Columbus Day Battle of '94 a Fudd Victory. A thousand pounds of bunnycide was enough for each plane to make 5 passes over a battlefield. The filter in Bun-Armor would provide protection against the agent, but death came painfully, quick to the unprotected.

Corporeal Wolfe and Corporeal Wisnoski were two of the twelve who were fortunate enough to not have their planes in maintenance. They glanced at each other as the captain at the head of the briefing stated that Plan GF was in operation. That changed the whole game plan. It meant that the pilots once off the ground were to make one, and only one, sweep of the battlefield and then get out. They would then scout-out the surrounding region, attack any devilbunny parties they see and provide air-support for any retreating Fudd forces. But the bottom line was that they needed to get away from LuFI as quickly as possible.

All eleven glanced at the twelth pilot, the rookie, Jamerson as the captain finished the briefing. Those whose planes were undergoing repair had tried to trade places with him, but under Plan GF, there were no compromises. Those with the planes had the right to fly them and Jamerson could not be disuaded.The captain finished the briefing quickly and all shook hands before moving out to the waiting cropdusters.

Wolfe was going through final flight checks in his cockpit when someone rapped on the window. He looked out to see Wisnoski in his flight suit.

"What are you doing, we're under attack! Get to your plane!" Wolfe yelled to be heard over the drone of the prop.

"I know, but I just have to know, Wolfe! What is that metal cylinder under your belly?!" Wisnoski asked.

Wolfe smiled. "An inside joke, Wiz! I was joking with the Colonel off-duty one day and said that if he ever initiated Plan GF I'd steal his Moxie ™ supply and dump it on the devilbunny forces! He took me seriously and that thin-walled keg under there was mounted soon afterwards!"

"Well it looks like you'll find use for it today! GOOD LUCK!" Wisnoski saluted his friend and dashed to his own plane as Wolfe saluted back.

Wolfe put on his head-set. "All pilots, this is Cprl Wolfe, prepare to launch and initiate Operation Deadly Rain, I repeat all planes launch immediately."

Wolfe looked next to him to the rookie, Jamerson and gave him a thumbs up.

One by one, the cropdusters rolled down the runway at the former Reese Air Force Base.

blue

Sub-mentat Leopold was a para-military bun of Blue Squadron. He'd never been through militia training officially, but was a survivor of the StillWarren Massacre of 1994 and a protege of Memlar himself. He'd been in Blue Squadron from the days of Lt. BlackPaw, and was a valued bun. Iago would put him in no better paws than a bun he could trust.

He had seen his share of battles, and his mottled, mangy fur showed it. The bun was a pariah of sorts. He'd lost all outward Cuteness to further the Cause. Yet buns of all hops respected him.

That's why he stepped forward for the command position when the crew for the anti-air raid portion of Blue Squadron was announced. All of the senior staff were befuddled. This was obviously a suicide mission for those who volunteered, and a decorated bun like Leopold was the last to be expected to step forward for such a gruesome mission.

Iago had asked him at the time, "Do you know what you are doing, bun?!?"

Leopold remembers smiling a small and humorless smile. "Yes, Colonel, I do." Iago withdrew: The bun's unsightly scars left his smiles patchy and a bit disturbing, and the look of insane determination was in Leopold's eyes.

"But you'll most likely be killed!!" Mentat Bovet almost yelled in his frustration.

Leopold turned to his direct laboratory superior in the lab and smiled another wry smile. "Yes, I probably will be."

He remembers rising on his rear haunches and looked at the senior staff. "Look at me. I'm a mess. I'm a bun well-aged beyond his years. I've seen my first commander, my mentor even, die on the battlefield. It was a Fudd named J Ryan that killed Memlar and Mader.

"Let me command the anti-aircraft defensive against LuFI. If I am to die, let me die with honor and with the knowledge of having made a difference!"

The senior staff somberly nodded. Leopold was right. There was no chance of getting him to change his mind, and there were few more qualified than Leopold. They somberly appointed him field commander of the sub-division of Blue Squadron.

Now was the time for Leopold to carry out his destiny. "Buns! Into Position Apple!"

Several rows of buns were formed, paws clutching the electronic trigger that would open the cages and release the birds skyward.

Leopold looked north. The first cropduster was approaching them at greater and greater velocity. The Cessna got closer and closer, then took flight.

"Steady."

The plane began to release its noxious spray of potent chemicals.

"Steady!"

The plane was almost overhead... closer... closer...

"NOW!"

Each bun, taking light chemical burns, triggered a switch attached to the bun equivalent of an index finger, which in turn opened the hatch of the cage strapped to the buns back. Then the next digit was triggered, shocking the pigeon inside. The pigeon, being trained beforehand, flew straight up.

It isn't not pretty what a propeller does to several dozen pigeons.

The mass of blood and gore managed to shatter the windshield of the Cessna, killing the pilot after much pain and suffering. His turbo-prop began to careen to the southeast at a far too steep of angle.

The Cessna was totally destroyed from the resulting explosion. It sprayed a barrage of shrapnel and burning fuel back at the base, as if to taunt the death squad of Blue Squadron.

Leopold leapt in joy. The first plane of the LuFI Squadron was destroyed successfully. Only a few buns were seriously injured, and they were already replaced by the next squad of buns.

There was little time to rejoice, however. The next cropduster was already taxiing to the runway, followed by another plane getting ready to embark upon the other of the two runways.

"Baker and Chocolate positions now! Baker group; take the east runway. Chocolate group; take the west. I'll be between the runways," Leopold said as he ran forward of the group, well aware that the worst chemical burns from the bunnycide spray would be met the further north of their position.

Buns scurried to their places as the first of the two planes became airborne.

"This is going to be a longer day than I expected," Leopold shrugged.

Wolfe watched in horror as the first plane taxied, took-off and nosedived, exploding on impact, followed soon afterwards by the next 4 planes.

"What in El'Mar is going on!" he yelled over the head-set.

There was static and then another pilot replied. "It's the bunnies! They're using AARRRGGGHHH!!!!!" (static) the pilot was cut-off as his plane followed suit, nosediving into a fireball.

Wolfe slammed his instrument panel in frustration. With winds out of the south, they couldn't use the east-west runways and had to face south on take-off, flying directly into the enemy. *What were the fluffers up to?* Wolfe thought.

Two more planes went down and then one word came over the radio as another plane crashed. "...PIGEONS!!!!" Wolfe's eyes narrowed to daggers as he heard his comrade, Wisnoski's voice for the last time. The buns were using birds to trash the planes on take-off.

"Aim for those buns!" Wolfe screamed in frustration as another plane crashed. Only he and the rookie pilot, Jamerson were left.

"Understood, sir!" Jamerson radioed back as he taxied in front of Wolfe and increased throttle.

"You get back here, rookie! That's an order! I'll take care of those buns!" Wolfe screamed back in frustration, but it was too late, Jamerson was already beyond the stopping point on the runway. His plane lifted a mere 30 feet off the ground and nose-dived into the mists of the devilbunnies, exploding on impact.

"NNNNNOOOOO!!!!!!!!" Wolfe screamed, fighting back tears as his plane took-off unhindered. He flew southward in shock for 15 minutes, before turning back towards the base. There wouldn't be much air support for Plan GF.

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Leopold was barely conscious. The last thing he remembered was the plane. It didn't take off as it should have. It rose into the air. He remember signaling his buns to wait, then he turned around. What he saw made him loose his lunch.

The cropduster did not assume a standard airborne approach toward the buns. Instead, he made a kamikaze run at the buns.

The plane had gotten maybe thirty feet off the ground, then took a nose dive toward the buns of Blue Squadron. Leopold remembers running, but apparently, he didn't quite make it to safely.

Before him were burning, shattered remains of a plane that once was. And all around the plane were the bodies of half of Blue Squadron, poisoned by the sudden release of gasoline and the deadly bunny pesticide cargo.

*The impact must have knocked off their gas masks,* Leopold thought mournfully.

He tried to move, but found that his legs would not respond. There was an intense pain unlike any he had felt before in his middle back, yet oddly enough, he could not feel his hind paws at all. Then it hit him: shrapnel had severed his spinal cord.

With unbun-like power, Leopold dug his claws into the arid Panhandle soil and pull himself around. He began to pull himself a good twenty feet from where the crash's shrapnel had pinned him. *Must...get...out...of. interference,* the dying bun said in desperation. *Must...report...to....Iago *

After he had exhausted most of his energy, Leopold could drag himself no further. He patched in his communicator, hoping the battery in his suit was still operational. Thankfully, it was.

"Iago. This is Leopold. Suicide squad. All dead. Request evac and medical from Green Squadron.

"Eleven targets destroyed. Twelfth status unknown. Leopold out."

The bun had no more energy left to hold himself up. He collapsed on the grass between the twin rows of tarmac, hoping either evac would come soon, or that he would pass out before he died.

And Leopold's career, as well as his life, ended that day between twin runways in the desolation of the southern Panhandle of Texas. It was a painful, lonely death of a soldier that was not meant to live through such a brutal experience.

Orange Squadron regrouped quickly, watching the last of the Fudd cropdusters make a break for it before scrambling across the blacktop of the runway.

As the buns hopped along, they noticed the half of Blue Squadron lying on the other half of the runway, dead or dying. There were the smoldering remains of one ill-fated cropduster, an apparent kamikaze run that took out most of the buns still left from the A Group of Blue Squadron's attempt to stop the aging Cessna's chemical warfare.

Then his comlink crackled to life. It was a general broadcast. That meant trouble.

"Iago. This is Leopold. Suicide squad. All dead. Request evac and medical from Green Squadron.

"Eleven targets destroyed. Twelfth status unknown. Leopold out."

Before Iago could respond, his HUD stated that the connection had been terminated at the source.

Iago silently blinked in an automatic macro on the display to signal Lt.GreyTail to send a rescue-and-recover detachment to the south of the runway.

The thought of those buns' deaths only steeled Iago's hatred of the Fudds and what they stood for. His appetite for destruction was now sharpened and honed like a well-cared-for dagger or sword. Oullette would pay the price, at least as Iago saw it.

orange

Iago entered the bunker area of Reese, keeping an eye peeled for Oullette as he ripped out throats of humans who dared get in his way. "He would be in a central location for something like this," the commander muttered to himself as he disemboweled a Fudd that had the nerve to swing an axe at him.

Iago barked into his comlink. "Orange. Move toward a central position. Drive them back until we can find their main location."

The mass of Orange Squadron found the largest bulk of Fudds.

Iago hurried as best as a bun can hurry in battle to the front of the pack. The greatest concentration of humans were here, apparently protecting something. Iago guessed this was Oullette's bunker -- or a trap.

Iago turned between slashes to find a lieutenant. "Gather 10 buns and meet me on the top of the Engine Maintainance Building. We'll get into it by an alternate route."

south blue vermillion aqua

The battle intensified. Vermillion Squadron had managed to separate a large segment of Fudds and drove them to the south to further isolate them from their compatriots. At the same time, Aqua and Blue Squadrons moved in from the south to seal the Fudds to a fluffy death.

As the numbers of Fudds slowly diminished, many buns fell under the axe. They were not green Fudds, and had been trained well under the auspices of Oullette and Company. They were efficient, working back to back in pairs, slicing and popping ten buns for every Fudd that was wounded.

However, the numbers were starting to wear on these Fudds, and they had no backup to cover them. They had been carefully separated by Red Battalion, and were now starting to dwindle in both number and physical strength.

As the fluffy hordes attacked the doomed Fudds, they never saw fear in the eyes of their opponents, rather an almost insane glimmer of determination. These were not green recruits, but well-honed weapons of the Army of Fudd.

The fighting continued longer than any bun or Fudd had ever seen in a single skirmish outside of the Battle of NoCo.

Cprl Wolfe came back upon the base and couldn't believe his eyes. Below him was a huge fluffy horde all over the Fudd complex. What little good could one cropdust do against so many devilbunnies? Then he spied one group on the south runway. There were many Fudd and bunny bodies staining the runway crimson and two lone Fudds fighting back to back.

Wolfe nosedived his plane towards the enemy and opened the chemical sprayer. A brownish cloud fell behind the plane as he passed over the two Fudds and many buns dropped to the ground quivering. Wolfe pulled up and away, but not before seeing the last two Fudds succumb under a fluffy wall of death.

"NNNOOO!!!! EL'MAR DAMN THEM ALL!!!!! I'M TOO LATE!!!!" he yelled as he turned the plane around towards the west, following his orders to seek-out any other bunny back-up groups and provide cover for any retreating Fudd forces. Tears freely fell from his face.

Oullette moved towards the maintenance building and away from the center of battle. He knew that Iago would follow. If Iago was like any of the numerous buns he fought over the years, he would sniff the Colonel out and follow him to the battle site that Jean-Paul had chosen.

SGT Mac Groundim stepped out of the shadows. "What took you so long, Jean-Paul?" he whispered to his CO.

"The traffic was worse than usual," Oullette replied quietly, pulling out a bottle of HVE mixed with Moxie ™ that he poured liberally on several nearby tables.

"Now all we can do is wait."

Ever since the Battle of NoCO, the Fudds of LuFI had taken a liking to a microbrew produced by Coopersmith's of FT Collins. That brew was green chili beer. The resulting Blessed Urine was dubbed Spicy Yellow Death by the BHX himself. Those who were willing to talk about this nasty beer and the resulting substance would comment, "it burns on the way down and on the way out."

Like any other Fudd base, LuFI had urine collection and blessing facilities. The Spice Yellow Death was then stored in a central water tower on the base, the numerous underground cisterns, but most importantly it was stored in LuFI's 8,000 gallon tanker truck. This truck had been transferred to Reese from Pease Air Force Base in NH when it had been closed and the Fudds knew how to put it to use. The tanker/pumper had two rig-size diesel engines, one to move the vehicle, and the other to pump the liquid contents of the tank. The high-pressure water gun on top could shoot water up to 150 yards. The pressure of the water coming out of this gun could crush human bones at 50 yards.

This greenish-yellow monster of a truck roared out of its storage garage with its sirens blasting, heading towards the center of the fight, literally blasting buns apart on its way. Many a bun died under its high-pressured Spicy Yellow Death and it may have turned the tide of the battle in favor of the Fudds if it weren't for four brave buns.

SGT Corporeal Buckey had been a survivor of the (Lubbock) Columbus Day Battle of 1994. He fortunately wasn't near the monster tanker truck when it began it's spray of death. But he knew that if somebun didn't do something, then they would lose this fight and Buckey didn't want to go through another loss.

That's when he spied the nearby T-28 jet, the trainer jets used by the Air Force. No weaponry, but they could do 2.5 G's or more depending on the gutsiness of the pilot. Buckey had never flown any aircraft before, but he was game for anything once.

All this flashed through his mind while he leapt at a Fudd and ripped his throat-out. As the Fudd fell, Buckey noticed there was a lull in activity in the immediate area. He signalled to a half-dozen buns and they advanced towards the waiting aircraft.

SGT Corporeal Buckey (astonishfluffed) for there were no humans guarding the jet and one like it nearby. The later's engines were partially disassembled. Buckey prayed to both Frith and Inle that the first jet was operatable.

"Any of you know how to fly?" he asked the 6 who had accompanied him.

One bun stepped forward and (salutefluffed). "I do sir! Private O'Hare, Missouri"

*It would be a Missouri Bun,* Buckey thought to himself. He then said aloud, "What kind of flying?"

(scuffturfwithpaw) "Well, mostly the Microsoft ™ Simulators, sir, but..."

Buckey (glarefluffed) at the O'Hare. "Very well, you'll have to do. Can you fly one of those?" He pointed to the T-28.

O'Hare nodded excitedly, "Sure I can, but I'll need a couple more buns to reach the rudder controls."

Two more buns stepped forward voluntarily before Buckey could ask. Buckey turned to the other three buns. "Provide us cover until we're airborne and then go kill some Fudds!"

The buns saluted him and did as they were told.

O'Hare went through a quick flight check as he pulled the pilot's seat as far forward as it would go. Buckey sat into the copilot's seat beside him in the T-28¹. *What am I getting myself into?* he thought to himself. The other two volunteers were already on the floor of the small jet, one operating the left flap peddle, the other the right.

"Strap in the best you can, sir," O'Hare said to Buckey, snapping Buckey out of his thoughts. O'Hare looked down on the floor. (readyfluff)?

The two buns on the floor (affirmfluffed) back. O'Hare placed his feet on the backs of the two buns and turned back to Buckey. Buckey gulped and nodded. O'Hare gentley brought the throttle-up and the jet began to lurch forward, taxing towards the runway.

*This isn't too bad,* Buckey thought a moment too soon as O'Hare jammed the throttle to take-off speed and pulled back on the stick.

"YYYYYEEEEEEEHHHHHHHAAAAAAA!!!!!" O'Hare yelled as they became airborne. Buckey simply screamed in terror as he was buried into the back of the seat.

O'Hare controlled the rudder by pushing down on the appropriate bun. O'Hare did a few roll-overs, getting a feel for the craft as they leveled-off and Buckey turned green right through his fur. Once O'Hare was satisfied that the volunteers understood his style of control, he turned again to Buckey.

"Now what, SGT?"

Buckey looked back at him blurry-eyed. "I...I thought you only have had time in simulators..."

"Sir, you didn't let me finish. I'm a convert who served 5 years in the Air Force prior to becoming a bunny. The buns offered me what the Air Force couldn't...plenty of blood and gore. This is my first flight since conversion. Now then sir, why did you want me to fly this jet?"

"We need to take-out that tanker truck down there."

(incredulousfluff) "With what? This is a trainer. If you had stated we'd need weapons, we could have looked for an F-14 or F-16. This is an air base after all!"

"A recently shut-down air base, Private. I am open to suggestions..."

"Then there is only one thing to do, sir." O'Hare circled about to the north of the base, turned southward again and nosedived at an insane speed towards the tanker yelling "YEEHAA!" at the top of his bunny lungs. Buckey wet his seat.

1--Some folks have written to me stating the T-28 trainer is not a side-by-side design. Well, I've toured Reese Air Force Base and they had a side-by-side trainer marked as a T-28. I guess the Air Force messed-up during their last open house at Reese!

The Fudds saw the jet take-off and saw it circle around and wondered who it could be. The T-28's were for training only and they had no weapons. So who was in it? Then they saw it nosedive towards them.

The driver of the tanker saw it too and abandoned his seat and ran, knocking buns over as he went until one tripped him. The bun prepared for the killing blow when he looked-up, saw what the Fudd was running from and turned tail also.

The gunner wasn't so fortunate. He was too busy hosing fluffers to look-up in the sky. Nor could he hear the roar of the jet over the roar of his water gun and it's diesel engine.

"Prepare for ejection!" O'Hare yelled.

"What?" Buckey managed in reply.

"I said prepare for seat ejection, unless you want to die when this jet hits that Fudd monstrosity down there!" As he finished his sentence, the two other buns leaped off the rudder pedals onto the seat and O'Hare hit the eject button and they flew upwards and away.

The jet slammed into the tanker and exploded, sending shrapnel and urine everywhere in the immediate vacinity. The tanker became one of the largest pieces of junk in the world rather than one of the largest tanker/pumpers.

Buckey, O'Hare, and company floated, though unconscious southward and landed hard about 2 miles south of the base. None of them would be awake to hear Iago's last command of the battle.

orange

Getting into the building that Oullette was in was more difficult than Iago anticipated, but not one of the twelve buns were injured getting into the building.

As the buns crept around uneasily, there was no resistance. No humans clumsily announcing their presence boastfully, as if an ego attack will numb the opponent. No bombs. No automated shotguns or HVE burst. No HU-coated flooring. Absolutely nothing that they expected.

Iago was very uneasy. It felt like a trap for sure. This was just an old warehouse with unused computer terminals and electronics equipment.

"Buns; prepare to bail out. This looks like a dead end," Iago said without much care to the volume in his voice.

"That's sounds like something a bun would say," Colonel Oullette said, stepping out of the shadows behind Iago's group. He was wielding a well-sharpened fireaxe - standard Fudd issue, and was accompanied only by Sgt. Mac Groundim.

"You're mine, Iago," Oullette breathed with repulsion.

"Correction: you are MINE!" Iago venomously stated, jumping at Oullette's throat.

Iago leapt for Oullette, but was deflected by the butt of the Fudd's axe head, planting Iago into a bundle of dusty computer parts. Oullette made a strong, well-placed swing at the cardboard box, which resulted in spraying half the contents of the box upon the hardened cement floor. But Iago was not there.

As Oullette began to knock the rest of the box's contents onto the floor, Iago had ripped a hole in the back of the box and made his way to a higher position.

Oullette looked in the empty box, perplexed, then turned in reflex. His axe cleanly sliced through one armored bun, cleaving its head from the body while the other bun was mercilessly popped with Oullette's free hand.

Another bun lept at Oullette, only to find herself lying on the floor. Before she could turn around, the colonel brought his axe down. The doe's skull was crushed instantly.

Iago lept from his position, narrowly missing Jean-Paul's throat. Before being backhanded into the back of Sgt. Groundim, Iago managed to swipe a hunk out of Oullette's cheek. Oullette was taken aback, but it didn't slow him down any.

Iago jumped onto Groundim's head, then proceeded to sink his vorpal claws in. Groundim began to scream in pain, and made an attempt to stop Iago from clawing his head open. He unfortunately forgot about the buns that he was fighting off, and they lept at Groundim. Iago jumped from Groundim's cranium and left his buns to finish off the grizzled Fudd.

The bun almost made it to his destination -- another cluttered computer table -- but Oullette had soaked the table in HVE and a little Moxie ™. Iago touched down on the table, then rebounded back toward his opponent. His armor didn't cover the bottom of his paws in recon mode, and he hadn't the time to switch to standard mode armoring when Oullette appeared.

As Iago's paws began to smolder, the commander yelped in a growing pain that he had not known in a number of years. The sticky concoction was there to stay, since Oullette was unlikely going to allow Iago to take a break in the buck's room to wash the acidic goo off his paw.

He looked up to see Oullette above him, axe above his head, ready for the killing blow.

Iago's life passed before his eyes.

As Oullette pulled the axe down, two armored buns leapt to intercept the blade. The bun that attacked from Jean-Paul's left only got in the way of the axe head, causing the blade to bury itself deep within the bun's metallic armor and the bun's furry body. The other bun -- a bun of extremely large proportions -- managed to slam itself into Oullette's right arm, causing the original aim of the axe to stray from its intended target.

The axe came down. The dying bun at the business end of the axe groaned a final grunt as the axe severed his spine. The giant bun was too stunned to move, giving the Fudd enough time to turn to decapitate him. As Oullette began to pivot back from the giant bun, two of Iago's troopers leapt at him, turning the human's front side back toward Iago.

As Oullette caught attempted to fend off the attackers, dropping his axe and catching the two, one in each hand, Iago leapt at the Fudd. He landed in the middle of Oullette's chest, sinking his vorpal claws into the relatively soft flesh of the human's body. Oullette howled in excruciating pain. He looked into Iago's eyes with extreme hatred.

"SEE YOU IN HELL, SHORTLY, FLUF...!!!" the colonel managed to scream and then gurgled as Iago ripped the Fudd's throat out. Oullette's body fell backwards against the cement floor with a thud, Iago landing on top. The two buns Oullette was holding *POP*ped brutally as the Fudd breathed/gurgled his last breath.

Iago wanted to collapse. His feet were killing him. His lungs felt as if the very fires of Hell were racing through the bronchial tubes of his respiratory track. Every muscle in his body ached of fatigue that was only rivaled by the feeling of exhaustion he felt when they attacked OKHHQ to reclaim StillWarren from J Ryan. None of the other eleven had survived the battle.

Then he noticed the lump on Oullette's chest and pulled from his shirt pocket a small black box with wires attached to it with a blinking red light. The time between flashes was increasing towards a steady light. That's when Iago smelled the stench tainting only found in processed natural gas. *Propane,* Iago thought. *That bast*&# is going to blow up the base!*

Iago manually keyed in a panic button on the inner arm of his armor. A widebeam to all available bun channels was opened.

"ALL BUNS! RETREAT! AMBUSH!!!! ALL TROOPS!!! RETREAT!!! PROPANE IS LOOSE! GET OUT OF REESE! IT'S A TRAP!!!!!"

Iago galloped at high speed toward the closest door that he could find. He frantically hoped that the door would collapse when he threw all of his weight against it.

Iago leapt at the door, turn in mid-flight to throw his armored weight at the door at the sacrifice of his shoulder.

He contacted the door with a resounding thud, but the door stayed put.

Iago was beginning to wonder if attacking Lubbock was such a grand idea after all. Visions of a grey squirrel at Will's Bar a year before appeared in his mind. Aldin had warned him that attacking LuFI would be very costly. He scampered back to a good distance, then tried knocking down the door again.

Again, the door mocked his escape with a loud and echoing ka-THUD!

Iago ran back to the place he had leapt from, then stopped. He realize he had a small semi-automatic pistol stored in the belly of his armor.

Then he realized that propane is EXTREMELY flammable, and quite easily annoyed. Annoyed propane had the habit of erupting into flame very quickly. Iago looked at his gun and realized that the propane would become far more than annoyed if he fired his weapon, so he began to run toward the door again.

This time, Iago leapt for the door, vorpal claws engaged. He clambered up the side of the steel door as quickly as a bun can climb. He found a weather-battered fiberglass skylight that was not secured to the roof very well. Iago worked his way to the light and slammed a paw into the translucent fiberglass.

The first blow did nothing to damage the skylight. However, the second was cause enough for the sunlight of late afternoon to blast through.

He clambered through the hole as best as he could, nearly falling to his death several times before actually getting through the opening. As he quickly and frantically approached the end of the building, Iago noticed that bun and human alike were trampling on one another to get out of the complex. Few looked like they were calm enough to make it out. The logjam was beginning to worsen, and buns and Fudds were all getting stampeded.

Iago scrambled toward the edge of the Maintainance Hanger and ran with all the speed that his lapine features could give him.

He didn't know how he actually survived, but Iago found himself with claw extended and sans breath attached to the side of a warehouse adjacent to the mainainance hanger. He regained his breath as best as he could, then slid down the side of the hanger via a drainage flue for the gutter system of the building.

He rounded the corner of the hanger on his left, turning toward the west. West was the runway. *If I can make it to the runway,* Iago thought with more survival instinct running than reason.

After two more hangers, Iago made it to the runway. Some buns and Fudds made it to the runway, but most were still trying to crawl over the logjam of bodies that had begun to accumulate between the runway and the other hangers.

Iago turned to head toward his buns when the most powerful explosion in all of Texas since the natural gas explosion near Brenham, TX in 1989 knocked him out and carried his body a good one hundred meters from where he had been just moments before.

Brisbane, BlackPaw, and GreyTail's combined forces were quite harrowing for the Fudds of Lubbock Fudd Intelligence. The humans fought with great vigor, and many a bun were slaughtered that day by the axe or by hand.

As they were closing in on the shrinking numbers of the Fudds, everybunny's comlink crackled to life.

It was a widebeam to all available bun channels. It was Iago's voice.

"ALL BUNS! RETREAT! AMBUSH!!!! ALL TROOPS!!! RETREAT!!! PROPANE IS LOOSE! GET OUT OF REESE! IT'S A TRAP!!!!!"

All buns stopped their attack and began to turn away from the fight. At first the Fudds didn't know what to think and gave chase, yelling and screaming. Then one of them caught the scent of propane in the air and began to yell, "PROPANE! THE COLONEL HAS INITIATED THE FINAL DEFENSIVE! EVACUATE THE AREA!"

The mass of panicking humans and fluffy evil bunnies made a mad dash out of the base.

Iago awoke from his impact-induced unconsciousness to the smell of smelling salts. GreyTail was standing over him, watching the commander for signs of life. He smiled a worried smile and ed. "Sir, it's good to see you."

Iago was groggy from the blast, yet he remember vaguely that this bun before him was a junior officer of some kind, and they had been in a large battle recently.

The other bun began to speak.

"Iago, many didn't make it. Apparently, Oullette rigged an explosion of some kind, and 85% of our forces were wiped out.

"I'm sorry, sir. I have gathered up as many buns that are still alive and ambulatory to help in the clean up, but be advised that fire conditions prohibit a good rescue-and-recover mission. The fire departments in Lubbock Proper and many volunteer firefighters are on their way as we speak, sir."

Iago nodded. It was coming back to him. He was still a bit groggy, but he now began to remember the moments just before being knocked unconscious.

As Iago was being carried from the battlefield to retire to ShalloWarren, a comm bun approached the group, frightened for some reason.

"Sir," the comm bun piped, "You better take a look at this ." The bun handed Iago a Newton™ portable pad to look at.

Iago pushed a few commanding keystrokes into the touch interface, patching the transmission through.

The message he was seeing was recorded by his own paw.

>*******BUNIX WIDEBEAMWIDEBEAMWIDEBEAM*******
>
>    This is StillWarrem Command, Stillwater, Oklahoma.  If you are seeing
>this message, the compound known as StillWarren Command is captured,
>destroyed or under siege.
>
>    Send reinforcements cautiously.  Enemy forces may be responsible for
>the destruction or incapacitation of StillWarren.  Be advised that
>StillWarren Command has been aware of possible hostilities against it
>and reasonable precautions have been made ahead of time.
>
>    If you receive a second automated message, assume StillWarren lost.
>Do not attempt a rescue mission.  Repeat: If you receive a second
>automated message, assume that StillWarren is lost.

The commander's ears drooped and his posture sagged futher than any battle fatigue could cause.

"Can you establish a communications line, private?" Iago said as he started to frantically throw switches on the panel before him.

"Nosir. You set the communications grid of StillWarren to block out all transmissions when the beacon's 1st signal is initiated."

"Dammit! Can't you do SOMETHING?!?!?!?" Iago screamed.

The private hunched down, ears flat as if Iago had physically wounded her.

"I'm... I'm sorry. I'm sorry, private.

"You don't deserve that. I'm... I'm still loopy from the explosion, and that widebeam. It's the last thing that I expected right now."

Iago collapsed on the stretcher as he was hoisted into the back of a transport. "Patch any other developments to this pad."

SGT Fitzanko and the recruits were the first to arrive at rendezvous point near the town of Petit about 20 miles west of Reese. He stared in shock and disbelief with his troops as the base to their east exploded in a huge fireball that covered the eastern horizon. About 10 minutes later another group of Hum-Vee's and jeeps arrived from the north traveling at a great rate of speed over the flat West Texas Farm-to-Market Road 303. A Fudd leaped out of the lead jeep and rushed-up to Fitzanko and saluted.

"SGT Fitzanko, SGT Courtez. We've just come from the remote transmitter/receiver near the town of Pep. The transmitter was dead when we had arrived, but the receiver was still active." Courtez handed Fitzanko a print-out.

"We blew the station-up before continuing down here," Courtez continued as Fitzanko continued to read. "There is a group of about 50 bunnies on our tails that will arrive hear in about 15 minutes. I know you only have recruits with you, but we need to dig-in or run now."

Fitzanko's face turned as sour as if he had bitten into a lemon as he read the print-out. "The buns had been jamming our ability to receive transmissions for days!" He looked Courtez in the face with stern determination. "We dig in. If we can't turn this bunch, we'll be little use to this poor guy in Arlington, given he's still alive."

"Understood!" Courtez saluted and passed word to his troops. Fitzanko did likewise with the recruits, placing veterans to either side of each recruit.

Cprl Wolfe was too close to the base when the gas exploded into a fireball, enveloping the base. His small Cessna bucked under him like an enraged bull as he fought to keep the plane in the air. Once under control, he continued to spray the buns until he was out of bunnycide. He made one more nosedive at one group for good measure and the buns scattered. Wolfe was just a package of mixed emotions ready to burst at the seems. He turned westward in search of survivors.

What he saw several minutes later angered him. He could see a group of about 25 or so Fudds to the west huddled in a defensive stance. Blood and gore surrounded them and a few of their own lay on the ground. There was a group of about 40 buns regrouping close to the Fudds. Wolfe ground his teeth in frustration for there was little he could do. Then he remembered the canister. He checked his fuel gauge, noting he still had half a tank and put his plane into a nosedive.

Courtez was a little too accurate in his estimate on the buns' arrival. In the initial onslaught, 10 buns died, but 4 Fudds had also gone down. This was not good. They would outlast the buns if the buns didn't get reinforcements, but not many of the Fudds would survive.

That's when they heard the tell-tale buzz of a diving cropduster. The buns looked up and some (fearfulfluffed).

(STOMP!) "Nothing to worry about, Bucks!" the commanding bun yelled to his troops. "He's just trying to scare us. I've got reports that that plane ran-out of ammo some time ago. See, he's aready pulling up..." The command buck stopped in mid-statement as he saw the canister drop from underneath the plane.

"Scatter!" he yelled, but too late as the canister impacted in the center of the bun group.

SSSSSPPPPPPPLLLLLLOOOOOOOSSSSSSHHHHHH!!!!!!

Shrapnel flew everywhere, ripping through bun armor, followed by bunny cries of pain as Moxie™ found its way into the now damaged armor and did its damage.

The Fudds charged with new found hope and energy and the few uninjured and non-seriously injured buns retreated. The Fudds made quick work of those who were left behind or fell behind. Courtez and Fitzanko ordered those under them not to give pursuit.

Once satisfied that the devilbunnies had withdrawn and would not plan a counter attack, Cprl Wolfe landed his cropduster not far from the battle scene. He was greeted with cheers as he got out of the plane. He looked about angrily.

"I don't deserve this! I'm no hero!" Wolfe yelled as he thrashed his way through the crowd and up to the two sergeants. "I lost my entire squadron!..."

"Enough Corporeal!" Fitzanko yelled. "We've all lost a lot of good friends this day. We can only honor their memory by going on."

Wolfe calmed down slightly, fell to his knees and simply cried. All left him alone for about an hour as more stragglers from the remains of LuFI arrived at the rendezvous point. Wolfe then felt a hand on his shoulder he looked-up to see SGT Courtez.

"Whether you believe so or not, you did save lives this day, Cprl. That's why you're heading east. A distress call was sent-out from Arlington. SGT Fitzanko is taking 9 Fudds to investigate. He wants you to scout ahead for him via air. I'll be escorting the other survivors through New Mexico and hopefully to NoCO. It's not an order, Cprl, but the SGT would like to have you along."

Wolfe cleared his eyes and stood-up. "I would be honored, sir."

"Good, then go get your plane fueled up, you leave in 20 minutes."

And so the 30 or so Fudds who had once been part of the great Fudd stronghold at Lubbock Fudd Intelligence split into two ragtag teams, one heading south and then east towards Dallas-FT Worth and the other towards the west into New Mexico.

Author's note: Wolfe and Fitzanko were created and handed-over to "Ozzy Fudd". He created a new Fudd base just north of Dallas. He, sadly, is currently in lurker mode.

"...it is not known how many where present...."

[click]

(scene of a fiery holocaust in the West Texas Desert)

"...the base was in the process of shutting down and going private when..."

[click]

"....the worst gas explosion in the history of Texas and possible the US occurred earlier this afternoon at the former Reese Air Force Base...."

[click]

"....could be the worst disaster in US history. It is believed that as many as 2,500 were on the base when the explosion occurred. At this time no known survivors..."

[click]

Eugene set the remote control down and turned to Major Blake. If a bun could turn pale, than Blake was pale. Paler than SGT Eugene Pomerleau.

"It's on every channel, Steve. They're gone..."

"The Colonel carried-out plan GF..."

"Plan GF, sir?"

Blake snapped out of his daze and turned to Eugene. "Grand Finale. The Colonel vowed no bunny would sit in his command chair. Any Fudd who had served at LuFI for more than 6 months knew about the plan. The ultimate defense plan...a jihad style plan. If you're going to die, take the enemy with you, and that's what the Oullette did. LuFI is gone, but you can rest assured that they took many devilbunnies with them in that fireball."

Blake hopped off the couch and headed towards his office. He turned one last time towards Eugene. "Inform the troops of what has happened. I want this outpost on heightened security until further notice. I am not to be disturbed except for an emergency. I've got reports to prepare for NoCO, including Oullette's last orders which I've kept a copy of sealed in my office."

SGT Pomerleau saluted his commanding officer and followed his orders. Blake went into his office, ripped his chair apart with his claws and then (weepfluffed) for more than an hour before starting his reports.

Major Steve Blake and SGT Eugene Pomerleau, Maine Fudd Volunteers

by Andrew Weitzman

Lieutenant Brisbane surveyed with horror the clawing mass of humanity and devilbunny caught in the gaps between the buildings of Reese Air Force Base. The discipline of the devilbunny militia had evaporated the moment Iago had screamed out the nature of the trap the Fudds had set. All that was left was a chaotic rout that cut off the 6th BunnyMarine Company from any hope of safety.

The only satisfaction was the fact his buns had kept their heads. With desperate pride, he surveyed the troops of the Sixth. They crouched in a defensive posture a hundred feet away from the bunker, ready to cut down any human looking a last-ditch chance at glory. The wounded tended their wounds behind the front ranks; the sad forms of the twelve fatalities the unit had suffered lay in honor at the center of the formation. There was fear in their eyes, but none of them bolted from their assigned positions

"Always ha' wanted tae die at parade rest", Brisbane remarked with gallows humour. One of the sergeants answered him with a knowing chuckle.

"Better'n drowning sarh," the crusty NCO remarked.

Brisbane stiffened. Drowning...

Motioning the sergeant to follow him, the lieutenant began a rapid search of the grounds. The faint smell of propane leaking into the air spurred on his efforts. They must ha' it somewhere about, he thought. He concentrated his attention to the flank of the bunker--where a group of LuFI troops had stood with SuperSoakers only a few minutes before.

Brisbane smelled the pit before he saw it. Ammonia fumes stung his eyes as he looked out at the rough pool hacked out of the Texas dirt. A sluggish yellow liquid lay stagnant in the pool. Siphoning hoses and pumps were abandoned all around it's edge. The reserve supply of Blessed Urine stank even worse than the Fudds who had produced it.

"Quick end, sahr?" the NCO asked. His muzzle twisted in a sneer at the thought of suicide over the rightful--if decidely fiery--death awaiting them.

"Sarn't, be getting th' other on the horn!" Brisbane snapped. The scar marring the right side of his muzzle twisted as he smiled an insane grin. "We be going fer a dip."

Lieutenant Brisbane focused most of his attentions on his intimate parts. No sense, he reasoned, surviving this as a eunuch. He glanced at the rest of the BunnyMarines. They were quickly slathering themselves with the mixture of soil and used engine oil. Pans of the heavy grease, harvested from the motor pool at the base, were emptied in record time.

Brisbane withdrew the heavy, whitish putty from a pouch on his battle harness. "Swimmer wax" was standard issue in the Corps; it was used to seal off the inner ear from water, and was a rough defense against sonic weapons. Deftly, he applied it to his nostrils and eyelids as well as his ear canal. He moved blindly to the deadly pool of human waste; he paused as his hindpaws touched empty space. He hyperventilated, flushing his bloodstream with oxygen.

And then he dived in.

He felt the concussions of his fellow buns hitting the Blessed Urine. The agony of burning flesh he half-expected did not come; the improvised barrier of oil matting his pelt saw to that. He let gravity pull him down to the bottom. His heart slowed while he settled into the light trance every BunnyMarine learned to induce in case of getting trapped underwater. A bun could survive three minutes without air if no effort was expended. Brisbane intended to use every second of that to his advantage.

A minute passed. Another. Brisbane felt the air turn to lead in his lungs. Colours began to flouresce against his eyelids as asphyxia took its toll. A faint pain blossomed on his skin when a tiny amount of urine seeped through the protective film. Not able to stand it any longer, Bribane shot to the surface. Rolling onto his back, he gulped down more air to feed his shaking body. The odor of propane was very strong.

It was worse when he went back down. He was forced to kick-swim to the bottom, using up his precious air supply. More of the blessed urine soaked into his skin; his head nodded while the poison took its toll. With despair, he realized he was craving for another trip to the surface after just a minute and a half. He was going to die.

Then, with a great roar, the propane exploded above his head. Churned about by the explosion, Brisbane still had enough humour to think that he hoped the Fudds enjoyed rabbit soup.

Iago stared at the bun standing at stiff attention before him. Patches of grimy, jade-colored fur stood out from the mass of blisters and burns on his hide. Seventy buns in a similar condition stumbled, wobbled, and limped out of the inferno formerly known as Reese. They gathered, expectant, in a semi-circle around the astonished commander.

"Who--" he asked.

"Lieutenant Brisbane," the ragged bun said in a raspy voice. He snapped a quick salute. "Reporting in wi' th' 6th BunnyMarine Company."

Brisbane paused...and flashed a buncanneer's grin.

"Ready further further orders, lieutenant-commander. Oh, may be gi'ing ye a bit o' advice? Th' water be a tech warm this time o' year..."

+++++++++++++
Andrew Weitzman      aweitz@CAM.ORG  
Writer extraordinaire for alt.devilbunnies
"The Sicilians have a saying: 'Make friends with your enemies or kill 
them.'  Which would you prefer?"--Lieutenant Giardello, _Homicide: Life 
on the Street_

Andersen read through the report on LuFI and shook his head.

After a moment of reflection, he sighed. He'd never gotten a chance to meet Colonel Oullette, although they had, of course, communicated from time to time.

Lubbock was gone, up in flames. Much as NoCo had gone, once; but there would be no rebirth. A few survivors, perhaps, but so many more had been lost. One of the great strongholds of Fudd had died, and with it many of the best the Army had.

There was little question, now, in Andersen's mind, what was next. The bunny hordes had tried their strength, and found it sufficient. Soon the General's gaze would turn north from Lubbock, and west... soon NoCo itself would be imperiled, once more.

He had been trying to prepare, over the last few months. He had been almost absent from the banter of the war, almost invisible, as he drilled and strengthened the troops and defenses of his stronghold, and quietly conferred with officers and sergeants.

He would return to that labor, soon, but first he would need to pay tribute to the memory of LuFI, and that of Oullette.

******** BunnyStumper Encryption [Widebeam to all Fudds] ON ********

[enclosed is an excerpt of Commander Andersen's words at the memorial service for Col. Jean-Paul Oullette and the Fudds of Lubbock, and a request that all flags at AoF bases be flown at half-mast]

Many of you will have heard the reports by now of the last battle of Lubbock Fudd Intelligence. I am not here to repeat them, or to narrate a tale for you, because I cannot. No one here will ever know all the acts of heroism which our comrades performed on that dry plain. No one will ever know what went through their minds as they knew that this would, indeed, be their last battle.

I can tell you a little about what they must have done and known, though. I can tell you that they died well, each striking down many times his number in rabbits. I can tell you that they must have known fear -- for who among us does not? Yet, they fought on, one and all, until the last had fallen, for they were Fudds.

I can tell you that they had a fire as great as they earned to carry them on to their reward. I can tell you that they are heroes now, as they were in life, and in the hands of Elmer. I can tell you that the spirit of Lubbock lives on, as does the spirit of every Fudd who ever dared to lift an axe against the paw of tyranny! That it will outlive those who slew them as long as any among us can lift an axe -- or any among those who will come after us! And come after us they will, as we follow now in the steps of the heroes of Lubbock, until humans need fear no longer the hop or the fluff of the enemy.

We will carry that spirit, and that fire, within our hearts long after we have done justice a thousand times over for those who died that day. May it sustain us, as it sustained them, in strength and honor.

[transcribed and sent by Sgt. Larry Emerson]

******** BunnyStumper OFF [end and transmit] *******

-- 
Rick Andersen; Commander, Army of Fudd
An officer, still rarely a gentleman       Quis custodiet ipsos Fuhadorum?
One devilbunny, one bullet -- substitutions as required.

Before you read Oullette's Will. You should read The Reunion.

Timeline: the following takes place soon after the Battle of Dunwich (contact Scott Mayo for details) and two days after The Reunion.

From: Major Steve Blake, Maine Fudd Volunteers
To: All Fudd forces
RE: LuFI update and Colonel Oullette's Last Will and Testament

My fellow Fudds. First, I want to thank our Commander Andersen for an excellent memorial service for those who perished at LuFI. Today I have some lighter news.

The number of survivors of the LuFI battle has risen to 412, most of which happened to be on leave when the attack took place. Most of them have been reporting into me either via tightbeam or in person for reassignment. Our local psychiatrist has been working overtime with these soldiers for many of them blame themsleves for the lose of LuFI since they were on leave during the battle. If any base commanders out there want some of the Fudd's toughest soldiers, many of whom need good, meaningful assignments to help them get over this tragedy, please drop me a line.

Also, Captain George Stickney, currently unassigned, who formerly worked with me at Lubbock Fudd Intelligence, risked his life, by going back to the remains of LuFI and successfully retrieving several documents that were not destroyed in the explosion and resulting fireball. Among these documents was Colonel Oullette's Last Will and Testament. I am the executor of the will. However, I shall not bore you with the lawyereese within said will. I shall only translate the highlights as follows:

The Colonel requests that if LuFI is destroyed that no efforts to reclaim the area be made for at least one year. The Colonel proceeds by ordering that any surviving members of his forces obey this request. It is the belief of the late Colonel that the Lubbock region's natural uncuteness will exact its toll upon any surviving devilbunnies within the region.

Some of you may have known the Colonel was a rich man. He had made proper and timely investments over the years, eventually consolidating in oil and mineral rights. Even I didn't realize how much he owned until recently. The Colonel's assets include the mineral rights to nearly seven-tenths of Cochran County and another four-fifths of Yoakum County in West Texas. He has willed this as follows:

70% of this is to go to the surviving family members of those who died by the Colonel's side in his last battle.

5% is to go towards the funding of a future offensive to retake Lubbock and its environs from the devilbunnies if LuFI has fallen.

The other 25% is to go to the Army of Fudd general fund to be spent as needed unless LuFI still stands. If the later, then 20% goes to the AoF and the other 10% (counting the 5% above) goes to LuFI.

The only problem with this division of the mineral rights is that those two counties are now behind enemy lines with the fall of LuFI, making the mineral rights worthless until and when we can resecure that region.

The rest of the will is next to pointless for it deals with the disposal of physical property that was destroyed when LuFI went-up in flames.

That is all for now. Ehl'mar be with all of you.

Major Steve Blake, Commander Maine Fudd Volunteers

*****End BunnyStumper Deluxe Widebeam*****

End