For a brief second, Morellius thought he saw a mismatched rabble of rabbits and hares standing at the top of the hill. But then the next second, they were gone again, and Emperor Morellius thought no more about it...

On the other side of the hill, there was chaos. Christ's captive-bred holy army was running around, supposedly under the command of a jet-black rabbit with crooked whiskers that Jesus had put in charge of military matters. The rabbit, which also had a bald patch on his back where he had been branded with a cross just as crooked as his whiskers, stood barking orders at such a pitch they were almost inaudible. And in the middle of the chaos, Peter Rabbit stood, with Mopsy, Jack, Mont'mar and Jesus Christ himself. Faces belied grimness.

"Mopsy, stick close to me," said Peter.

"I'm sticking close to Jack!" she said.

"And I'm sticking close to Jesus..." Jack said through clenched teeth, for Jesus was only feet away, even if he wasn't listening.

Peter glared at Jack. But Jesus seemed to have craftily delegated the job of getting his feet dirty to the jet-black rabbit, and would probably be found safely bringing up the rear throughout the battle's duration.

"It wouldn't do for these rabbits to lose their saviour," Jesus had told them when he'd introduced the jet-black rabbit named Adolf.

Plus if Jesus was sticking to the back, and Jack was sticking close to him, and Mopsy close to Jack, she was probably safer there than she would be with him, Peter quickly realised. He told Jack to take especial care.

Suddenly, Ball'rdo and several other hares came running out of the nearest tunnel, their fur wracked with dirt and spluttering dryly.

"It's the sub-warren," Ball'rdo told them.

Peter immediately feared the worst.

"It's collapsed!"

And that was it. "How's the rest of the haven?"

"It's fine," Ball'rdo assured him, shaking his head. "It's just that part, so close to the surface. Five thousand paws caused too big a vibration!"

For that is what they now faced. Peter pushed his way through the crowd of captive breds obediently following Adolf's every command (well, those they could actually hear, anyway). There were about two hundred amassing at the top of the hill, each one a volunteer. Adolf had had the idea that they would send a first wave down to meet the enemy. Each one would inevitably be killed, but it would weaken the enemy's forward flank, as well as slow them down. By the time they reached the top of the hill, the rest of the holy army would be below ground.

As Peter waded through the ranks, he didn't see any fear. These captive bred rabbits had the conviction of God in their hearts. They waited in eager lines to step forward. Another step forward, and the enemy would see them. But Adolf was waiting as long as possible, making Morellius' army climb as high as possible and wear themselves out. Each of these captive breds might have the chance to kill perhaps three natural born enemies before falling themselves.

And those were good odds.

Adolf had fallen silent, all his orders given. His men were serene; not resigned to their fate, but waiting patiently to do their duty. Behind the lines, the rest of the holy army was filing into the tunnels. Peter pushed to the front and stepped out. The army below could see him. Peter's breath was stolen from him.

Such a cry went up that it deafened Peter and rang in his ears long after the fighting had started. The enemy was still a good few minutes away, but when they saw their first target, the entire mass of them appeared to speed up. That was all good, thought Peter. They'd be even more tired by the time they got here.

Peter stepped back from the edge, though the enemy war cries continued. He walked swiftly along the line of rabbits awaiting the final order to go over the top. He found Adolf bang in the middle, with a gap all around him, so that his first assault was divided into two groups of one hundred rabbits each. Peter realised Adolf had no intention of dying with them either. He nodded in acknowledgement as he used the gap around Adolf to return to the hillside behind. The jet-black rabbit had a perpetual scowl on his face, and a mad, mad glint in his dark eyes.

With a minute to go before the enemy arrived, the rest of the holy army was almost completely below ground. Adolf had delegated further, and there were more anonymous jet-black deputies in command of each tunnel into the haven. There were seven tunnels. The holy army set to defending four of them. The other three were left to the combined forces of the haven and Mont'mar's hares.

Peter watched the last of their fighters lining up patiently to go below ground. The lines looked like worms. There was one for each of the seven tunnels. Soon only a dozen rabbits and hares remained above ground. These included Jesus, so obviously Jack and Mopsy as well, plus Mark, Tom, Benjamin.

Mont'mar and Ball'rdo were there too.

"May God be with us," said Jesus.

And then it began.

Adolf slowly raised his paw. (His was a long, sad story, but this was a gesture his owner had often practised in front of him. That was before his owner's mother had caught her son branding his pet with a swastika signet ring and taken Adolf away.) All eyes were on him, waiting for the signal to move.

But the impending cacophony was now so loud some of the rabbits holding the front line found their eyes closing impulsively. Yet still Adolf let the enemy draw closer, and closer, until his troops could smell them.

Then he brought his paw down.

"Kill 'em all!" he hollered. But he stayed where he was.

Their wait over, the other two hundred bounded over the hilltop as one. If the wall of rabbits creeping up toward them looked imposing, how must have it seemed to those below, seeing two hundred rabbits raining down?

Fox Mulder, who had volunteered without knowing he didn't have to, was in the second line, but wanted to be in the first. He was completely deafened. Their war cry was drowning out that of the enemy, who had stopped in their tracks. It didn't matter that Mulder and his comrades were outnumbered six to one. Adolf's shout didn't seem like a rallying cry anymore; more like a prediction.

Boxer was leading from the middle, which he'd thought would be the best place for him. He had no intention of dying today. Better to live a coward and make your excuses later than die a hero. There were five hundred rabbits in front of him willing to do that. However, even from where he was, he could see who was coming to fight them. It was the captive breds. Jesus Christ had betrayed him!

One day I'm gonna nail that bastard to a tree, he thought.

And then the two armies met...

The captive breds threw themselves at Boxer's men with teeth and claws already in action. When they collided with their smaller kin, blood started to fly immediately. There was nowhere for the Emperor's army to go. They were packed in and couldn't retreat. And there were still those at the back trying to push forward. So those at the front could only defend themselves as best they could.

Mulder struck a fierce blow against the nearest rabbit and then bit down deeply at his neck. He'd never tasted blood before, but he liked it. When he looked up again and gave a war cry, the blood of the enemy flowed from his jaws. There was nowhere else for him to go either. There were comrades at each shoulder, and more behind, drooling with jealousy that they hadn't got a kill yet.

But they soon got their chance.

In the first minute of battle, there had been only two captive-bred casualties, but Boxer's front line had been fractured. There was all of a sudden space to move, and the invaders took full advantage of it, pouring through the gaps left by their fallen comrades and mounting an almighty counter-strike.

Fox Mulder fought on, but found himself increasingly separated from his comrades. The dynamics of the battle had changed. Their army was making no more forward progress. But neither were Morellius' forces. The next side to break the stalemate and make headway would be the victors.

Up at the top of the hill, Adolf watched proceedings keenly. A battle of such close combat as this was now impossible to control. He could see the enemy was having more success on the undermanned eastern flank, but that his men were having more luck on the western flank, where they were more populous. If they weren't careful, they would get encircled. Of course, those fighting the battle were oblivious to this. Adolf could but watch as things developed.

The rabbits all around Boxer were ravenous. He felt the crowd tighten, pressing against him on all sides. They could all see what he could see. A dust cloud was emerging at the front. Blood and the occasional limb went flying up into the air to both cheers and gasps. Everyone wanted a part of this.

Everyone, that is, except poor Herman. As an attempt to further redeem himself, the disgraced courtier had volunteered to lead his battalion into war ahead of everyone else. Now his regiment was decimated and he was fighting tooth and nail (or claw) himself. Others were coming up from behind, but they didn't come to relieve those still fighting, they came to relieve the dead.

And this is how Boxer hoped to win it. His men were falling faster than their larger captive-bred counterparts on the other side, but there were more of the smaller, swifter natural borns. It was all a matter of keeping the fight going long enough for the more plodding captive borns to be worn down. Then even the smallest of his men could dispatch them. That's how progress would be made.

The fighting continued.

The frontline was getting increasingly broken up, though Adolf was to glad to see from the hilltop that his men had noticed they were letting too many attackers through on their eastern flank and were spreading out.

There were distinct pockets of fighting, like focalised skirmishes within the larger battle as a whole. As more natural borns poured through the gaps, they had only seconds to decide which direction to go in. Then they joined one of four or five different melees. There were no real sides here. It was just a free-for-all. There were captive breds caught between natural borns fighting other captive breds fighting other natural borns. But again, the captive breds had the biggest advantage when it came to close combat. Soon they were fighting around bodies, not each other.

Fox Mulder was caught in the same fracas as Herman. Mulder had had to give up blood only a few minutes after discovering his taste for it. There just wasn't time to stop and bite everyone he killed. No sooner had he crushed one beneath his superior weight than another came running at him.

The landscape of the battlefield had changed dramatically. No longer was there room to charge at one another. Bodies were piling up. There were trenches between them where people had fought on as their comrades fell.

From the top of the hill, Adolf could see how the battle was slowly turning against his troops. Fortunately, nobody on the ground could see this. He still had over a hundred men left. Morellius was already down three hundred.

And so the fighting continued, to some, it seemed, forever. Fox Mulder was getting increasingly tired. His mouth was dry. He was feeling a little dizzy, numb to the pain of his minor wounds. Still he fought on, as the pockets of fighting broke up amongst the piles of resulting corpses. When he stopped for air between scuffles, he swore he could see enemy cowards hiding in the piles.

Boxer found himself slowly edging forward, nudged on by those squashing him on all sides, moving up to fight as those ahead of them were killed. He was at such an angle that he could see how much damage the enemy was doing. But he could also see their numbers were depleted significantly. He might lose another hundred rabbits, but victory, he felt confident, was now assured.

Herman was killed when a group of six speckled white captive breds recognised him, broke off from their fighting, and ganged up on him. They left him dying but not dead, and he was promptly trampled underfoot by a surge of his own comrades charging forward to avenge his death.

Fox Mulder was killed when he thought he had enough room to taste blood one more time. He bent down over what he assumed was a corpse, and got his nose bitten off for his troubles. As he ran around blindly, the blood running into his eyes, a couple of natural borns caught him off-guard.

As soon as his forces were reduced to less than fifty, Adolf knew this battle was lost. But he'd known that was inevitable, anyway. With less and less captive breds to fend off the invaders, the Emperor's army was able to despatch them at an exponential pace. Perhaps the survivors expected him to send reinforcements, Adolf thought. But that had never been the plan at all.

He didn't stay until the final slaughter. The eastern flank was already lost, and natural borns were already climbing the hill so that they could encircle his troops, as predicted. As they closed in, Adolf turned his back and headed down the other side of the hill. Soon, he knew, the invaders would follow.

NOTES:
Not an entirely successful chapter at all. Writing action, particularly battle scenes, particularly epic battle scenes, is much more difficult than I'd ever imagined. It's difficult to keep it grounded in specific characters rather than taking a bird's eye view. Still, this project's about me finding my strengths, weaknesses and interests. And this area is a weakness I'll be leaving to Tolkein in future. The political machination side of this story appeal to me much more than the straight drama and straight action.

I chose to name the captive bred general Adolf because of a recent debate I got into with a couple of Christians online who maintained the Holocaust was insignificant in the greater scale of things. Seeing as I view the Holocaust as the 'pinnacle' of Christianity's 'achievements', the name is very apt. Especially considering how things turn out...