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When Pigs Fly and Bunnies Parachute
Nobody remembers why we started fighting at the beginning, maybe it was for more land, or maybe the pigs were jealous of our living conditions. While we live in nice clean homes, the pigs roll around in mud to clean themselves. Whatever the reason, 20 years after the war began, the fight continues to rage on.
I’m the commander of the 14th bunny infantry unit. We tend to work alone, but for this attack, we are grouped up with the 15th bunny artillery unit, and the 200th airborne unit. Our primary weapon is the Bunny Blaster, capable of kicking out damage that the pigs only wish they could duplicate. On the ground we are unstoppable, with the opponent’s weapon being the puny Pork Pistol. Unfortunately, that is where the advantages end for us. In the air, we are greatly overmatched with the Flying Pigs doling out destruction and leaving our Air Force decimated. Often times, in the middle of battle, bunnies can be seen parachuting to the ground after their planes have been shot down. Flying Pigs dart through them, causing even more damage. Also, our explosive, the Easter Egg Cannon (EEC), which may be more powerful than a Bacon Bazooka, is cumbersome and requires 15 Cottontail Cars to transport a single one. This is a major drawback, considering that the Bacon Bazooka can be carried by a single pig, and still deal out quite a bit of damage. In my opinion we are overmatched, but since when has anybody asked for my opinion?
We’ve been marching for a couple days now, and my fellow bunnies are disheartened and losing spirit quickly. They lose morale quickly, but I have fire in my heart that can only be quenched by revenge. We lounge around camp, massaging our sore paws when my phone goes off. I pick it up and hear the general on the other end. After he tells me what to do, I relay the message to the rest of my squad, “We attack the base tomorrow at dawn.” A rowdy cheer comes from the throats of my bunnies, and it boosts the spirit exponentially. “Finally we can act and do what we’ve been trained to do,” I think to myself, “and I can avenge my friend.”
The next morning we ready our attack on the heavily fortified Piggy Compound. All of our pilots go into the air in a synchronized attack, signaling the beginning of the invasion. Soon the EEC’s join in attacking the base, softening up the base so my infantry unit can attack in a little bit. We rise out of the trenches and start charging towards the base, hoping to catch the pigs in relative disorder. There are holes in the reinforced walls of the base, making it easy to penetrate deep in pig territory. “This is too easy,” my second in command says to me, and I realize that he is right. “Stop the advance, it might be a trap,” I tell the rest of my squad. I call the general asking for some air support, and am shocked to find that the Flying Pigs have utterly destroyed every plane that we sent at the beginning of the invasion. I look out and see the remains of hundreds of planes lying in burning heaps on the ground, and the sky is filled with the parachutes of all the bunnies descending from where they were shot down.
It is then when I see my enemy, General Pork Chop. He’s the one who prematurely ended my friend’s life in a surprise one manned attack on our campsite. He came at night; I still shudder about the thought of how easily we were penetrated. He silently took out the sentry, was making his way towards the center of the camp where I, the most senior officer, was sleeping. My assumption is that General Pork Chop was there to assassinate me. My friend came out of his tent that night and saw the general skulking towards my tent. He leaped out of the shadows in the way only a bunny can do, and tackled the general before he could kill me. The general had a knife with him, that’s how he took out the sentry, and stabbed my friend. The commotion woke me up and I rushed out to the sound, and what I saw was the worst moment of my life. There was General Pork Chop with his knife in my friend’s chest. The general looked up at me, but ran away when he heard the rest of the squad coming out to see what the commotion was. I sprinted over to my friend and held on to him with his final breaths. The next day we held a funeral that was something that my outstanding friend and warrior deserved. I couldn’t stop crying throughout the entire funeral.
After that day, I was sent back home to be evaluated by doctors, but was cleared and now I’m back in the war. This is the first time I’ve seen General Pork Chop since that night, and even though it’s been a year, I will never forget his face.
We still have to deal with the possibility of a trap though, so I push that memory out of my head while a couple volunteers and I head over to the potential trap area. We peer around the corner and seeing nobody there, cautiously head toward the center of the base, where the living quarters are. Just before we give the all clear sign to the rest of the squad, the pigs pop up, and fire their Bacon Bazookas and Pork Pistols at us in the center of the street. I am blown back against a building by the blasts and knocked out.
When I awaken, I find myself in a hospital room. I look over and see General Pork Chop looking over with the President of the Pig Republic right next to him. “Nice to see that you’re awake,” says the president in a raspy voice. I’m considering using my false tooth with a Pig Weed capsule inside (Pig Weed is poisonous to rabbits). It’s created for the purpose of not divulging classified information, and right now I’d consider this a situation where I could be tortured soon. “I don’t want to hurt you, but if you don’t cooperate with me, I will,” the president says snapping me out of my thinking. Of course I’m not going to cooperate, and I tell him so. He and Pork Chop just leave without saying another word. I sit around waiting for my food to arrive, but it doesn’t come. After a couple days of no food, I start to get worried and look for a way out of the cell. Unfortunately, there’s nothing to escape out of, since there is only the guarded door, and 3 bare walls with writing on them. Looking closely at the writing I find a mention of a tunnel in bunny language. The only way that anybody could understand that is if they lived in my country. The writing says something about the previous bunny creating a tunnel that he was going to escape out of, and he says that he would write on the wall just before he escaped. I see no mention of him escaping, which must mean that he had been eliminated before he got his chance. That sucks for him, but is a lifesaver for me.
I locate the entrance to the tunnel; all I have to do is move some of the bricks away. I’m shocked that the pigs haven’t found the entrance, but then again they are stupid. I make my way into the tunnel, making sure I cover up the entrance again and snake my way through the narrow chute. I come out conveniently in the kitchen and steal some food so I can build up my strength again. After eating I make my through the compound, trying to find my way out. Unfortunately, I don’t know how to read pig, so I can’t read any of the signs. I open a door, hoping to be able to find some way out, and stumble in on General Pork Chop having a nice big meal of eggs and bacon. He looks shocked and before he can utter a word, I attack him, my pent up rage from the death of my friend being unleashed in one moment. Pork Chop jumps out of the way, surprisingly quickly for a fat pig. He then proceeds to crouch in his pig jitsu fighting stance, and pounces on me. I fight with tooth and paw until I force him off of me. We back away from each other breathing heavily. This time I decide to attack first, and go in with a fake punch with my paw, and instead smack him with my ears. It’s a move I’ve been practicing for a couple years now. Pork Chop had no chance to defend before I land a bone crunching hit. Thinking I knocked him out, I back away. Every time I have done that move in the past, it has knocked out my opponent right then, but somehow Pork Chop begins to rise like a drunken gerbil. He’s swaying back and forth, but he’s still up and fighting. I step up, and picturing him standing over the body of my fallen friend, hit him so hard he flies backwards, and out a window that I haven’t noticed until now. I look out the window, and see him sprawling ten floors below with shards of glass sprinkled around his body. I look away reminding myself that I can’t stop to look at him, I still need to escape.
I escape quite simply; most of the pigs were out fighting around the country, so they don’t have many guarding the compound. Plus the compound was made to keep bunnies out, not in. After the adrenaline wears off, I find myself lost. For so long I had been driven by the singular mission to avenge my friend, but now that it’s finished, I don’t know what I should do. The appeal of war has worn off, and I can’t keep fighting. My squad is dead, and I’m presumed dead, so I decide to disappear. Someday, maybe I will find the thing that will give me the drive that avenging my friend gave me.