Peter already heard the voices. He pushed past Kurt and headed through the hedgerow. Mopsy glared at Kurt and followed her father. They broke out onto the roadside just as the wintry sun emerged from behind the clouds.

And there, filing up to meet them, was Angus. And Travis. And Chris and Dave. And Eleanor. And Guinevere. And Harry. And Mildred and Horace. And Arthur. And Geoffrey. And Mavis and Gregory. And Daniel. Gibson. William. Lloyd. Elliot. And another few hundred behind them too...

"Hello, Peter," said Angus in a low voice.

"Grandpa!" Mopsy cried, running to him.

"Not only alive, but more alive than ever," said Angus, but his voice was muffled, his mouth nuzzled as it was, in her back.

Peter didn't speak. He was afraid that if he spoke and none from the procession of rabbit refugees shuffling along the A414 spoke back, that the mirage would be exploded. For it couldn't be true, could it? Yet he so wanted it to be, that he didn't move from the top of the grass verge, lest the sun stop shining in his eyes and the rabbits were revealed to be just dancing shadows.

"What could I do?" Kurt mumbled in his ear. "Three hundred rabbits turned up asking for you. I didn't have much choice..."

Peter glanced at him quickly. But when he looked back, none of the rabbits had turned into dancing shadows. None of them had gone.

"Yes, you did," Peter told him distantly.

Then with a wry, knowing smile at Kurt, he bounded down the slope to join the others. Angus embraced him like a son too.

"So what the hell happened?" he demanded.

Travis sighed. "Guess you were right about mankind, Pete."

"Not long after you left," Eleanor explained. "Men came and destroyed both warrens. They turned them into vast burial pits..."

"Some died," Angus said. "Nicholas and Genevieve."

"And my Damien," Eleanor added sadly.

"We were all homeless," Travis continued. "But then I remembered where you'd gone. Somewhere the rabbits aren't about to let some stinking human turn their home into a mass grave! Thought we might fit in..."

Peter's face fell. He stepped back.

"You shouldn't have come..."

Just then, the hedgerows exploded with rabbits, and all the refugees huddling on the curb leapt out into the road in fright.

"Tom?!" Angus hissed.

Most of the refugees ran further out into the road as several dozen bloodied, wheezing rabbits poured out of the hedgerow, fell or jumped down the verge and then collapsed in an exhausted, terrified heap at the roadside.

But Angus recognised his estranged son.

"Tom, what's happened? Peter, what's going on?!"

Peter glanced between him and Travis.

"It's your war, isn't it?" Travis cried excitedly.

"He wishes," Kurt muttered.

Peter shook his head slowly.

"You shouldn't have come," he repeated.

More and more rabbits came bounding out of the hedgerow. Benjamin Bunny came struggling out of the top. He'd been hopping like mad to escape Adolf's lot, and had ended up leaping right into the hedgerow halfway up.

"Benjy Bunny!" Mavis and Gregory cried.

"Mumdad!" Benjamin called, as he pulled himself free of those tighter higher branches, plopped onto the verge and rolled to the curb.

"Oh, Benjy Bunny!" his parents wailed.

Benjamin leapt to his feet, spotting Peter. "Pete, they're right behind us! We can't hold them back any more!" he cried shrilly.

"Hold who back?" asked Angus. "Peter?"

"Hey, where's Mark?" Travis wondered.

"He's dead!" snapped Peter. "Get it?"

He took another step back and snorted loudly.

"You shouldn't have come!" he shouted. "And I'm sick of saying it. There is no war against mankind at Roadkill Turnpike. Can you see any humans? No, there are only rabbits. And those are all the warmongers you'll ever need!"

Much of the muttering and crying died down. Everybody, old friends and new friends alike, turned to stare at Peter, somewhat pitifully.

Mopsy, frowning, left Angus' side and came towards her father. But instead of embracing him, she brushed past, close enough to whisper in his ear.

"Just how much more hope do you need, pa?"

He turned after her. What did she mean by that?

"Well, I'm sorry, Pete," Travis said through his teeth. "We didn't know what else to do. We had nowhere to go and no-one to lead us."

Suddenly, something twigged...

"What was that?" Peter whispered.

"Is there anything we can do?" Angus asked.

"Yes," Peter said firmly. "Travis can repeat what he just said."

Travis frowned. "About being homeless?"

"No. About being leaderless..."

Peter's eyes began to flit back and forth. Angus had seen the expression many times before, but this was the first time it didn't fill him with dread. Peter Rabbit was coming up with another one of his grand schemes...

He stood up on his hind legs and looked at the rabbits lying defeated by the roadside, and the hundreds watching them from the tarmac. Then he cocked his head and listened to the sounds of the approaching enemy.

"You," he said, snapping a paw at Kurt. "How many did you say? How many rabbits was it? Two hundred? Three hundred? More?"

"I-I don't know," Kurt stammered.

"What is it, Pete?" asked Angus.

Peter ignored him. He climbed to the top of the grass verge. He could almost feel the aura of the enemy; they were now so close at his back. Those that were not quiet already were silenced when he raised his paws.

"Hear me!" he called. "Hear me now!"

The rabbits began to gather in around him.

"Do you hear that?" he asked, gesturing behind him with a paw. He remained silent for a moment. Only the deaf wouldn't have heard the rabbits crashing through the trees behind him. "In seconds, you will see it too."

Naturally, this caused much alarm.

"You will see what we are up against," Peter continued. "You will see what we have been fighting. Rabbits! We have been fighting other rabbits. This is the Great War of Roadkill Turnpike you have heard in all the legends. But the enemy is not man anymore. The enemy is us! Those that desire, nay demand freedom, those that want to forge their own destiny, those that would happily die beneath the claws of any who would deny us this. Here... here, my friends, we are man!"

Which was probably the last thing any of Peter's old friends ever expected him to say, given the cloud under which he left, but it did the trick. It was the haven's revitalised forces that started the contagious cheering.

Peter climbed back down to Angus, Travis, Mopsy, and now Tom, Kurt, Benjamin and Ball'rdo too. They gathered round.

"So what's the plan?" asked Ball'rdo.

"Morellius," Peter said decisively.

Mopsy raised her eyebrows.

"We go straight for the top," he went on. "Leave them how those humans left you, Travis. Leaderless and lost. We can only hope that without him, the rest of the rabbits will abandon the cause. So take out Boxer and Adolf too."

"Adolf's mine," Tom growled.

Peter nodded. "Let this lot take on the brunt of the fight. The rest of us will target specific rabbits. And let's just hope I'm right."

"You will be," Angus said.

"I better be. This is it, folks. No second chance. We fuck up; that's it. We're finished. They win. We die. Simple as..."

"So let's do this," said Tom.

"Fucking A!" went Kurt.

All decided, they began to split.

"Umm, guys?" said Benjamin.

They turned back round again.

"What does the Emperor look like?"

Meanwhile, Adolf had just joined his men and entered the trees. Now that they were on the cusp of victory, there was no reason for him not to have a fair share of the action. So many had passed through the wood ahead of him - both fleeing rebels and his own men - that clear paths had been beaten through the foliage. Adolf and his men flowed through the channels. He could already see the road...

Suddenly, their progress was stopped.

Rabbits ahead of Adolf were abandoning the well-trod courses through the undergrowth and hopping into the scrub. The tops of the plants quivered like a wind was passing over them. The rabbits made a loud rustling. But as Adolf listened, that rustling was replaced by another sound. The sound of fighting.

Ah, yes, that was it! Adolf realised. The rebels were hiding in the bushes and his men were running in and flushing them out!

Adolf left the pathway and dived into the vegetation after another rabbit. He kept sight of that rabbit's behind and followed his bobtail. The thick foliage kept springing back in Adolf's face, but he kept going.

Suddenly a heavy root came out of nowhere and tripped him up. He went head over heels, head over heels, then quickly leapt back to his feet. But he'd lost sight of that bobtail. He ran extra fast to catch up.

He arrived in time to see seven rebels toss the old bobtailed bunny up in the air and kill him before he touched the ground again. Adolf skidded to a stop.

Seeing their new toy arrive, the seven rebels dumped their old one to the side unceremoniously and hurtled toward Adolf.

But there was nobody following his bobtail. Seven against one? Hmm, maybe not, thought Adolf. He spun round and charged back into the bushes. A straight line would see him away faster, but a crooked one might lose them.

Soon he'd lost track of which way he was running. This was a fool's battle, fighting the enemy in such an environment. It gave the weaker opponent with a greater command of the terrain an unfair advantage.

"Out into the open!" he cried as he ran.

And then he realised he'd just given away his position. But he couldn't hear his pursuers behind him any longer. He'd lost them.

"Out into the open!" came a few echoes.

Then Adolf could see daylight again. He could see the hillside, littered with the corpses of rabbits locked in this war forever more.

But as the foliage became thinner, and the trees opened up, and he broke out into the searing brightness of a premature summer sun, he was struck giddy and dumb by the true horror of the latest development...

Not only had the rebels mustered enough reinforcements to double their number, and not only had they managed to drive Adolf's men out of trees, but now Adolf himself was stuck thirty feet behind enemy lines!

Suddenly somebody took him from behind and bowled him over. They rolled, and somewhere mid-tumble Adolf slashed a couple of stone-sharpened claws across his attacker's throat. Adolf got up and spat on the dead rabbit.

But there were plenty more where he came from...

Peter's men managed to push the rabbits of Roadkill Turnpike back as far as the base of the hill. Then the element of surprise was lost and fighting downhill gave the enemy back an advantage. The fight became entrenched.

There were now roughly six hundred rabbits fighting for either side. Only a rearguard action having been fought at the bottom of the hill, there weren't any bodies left over from previous battles. As the corpses mounted up, Peter could get a good idea of who was winning. But right now it was pretty even.

He wasn't right at the front. As soon as the Emperor's forces had started fighting back, the front had shattered. The haven was fighting Roadkill Turnpike behind the Roadkill Turnpike line, and Roadkill Turnpike was, in places, fighting the haven behind the haven's line. Peter never had control.

As he took on rabbit after rabbit, including some tough captive breds he needed help with from the nearby Ball'rdo, half his attention was always on the fact that Mopsy was right behind him and wouldn't leave. Taking breathers between scraps, he turned his head to check she was okay.

She was stuck here now. Backward or forward, either side, there were fights everywhere. Luckily, Peter had Angus close by. He was too old to fight, but he was an extra pair of eyes for Peter. And for Mopsy too.

Kurt, Chris and Dave were also nearby, fighting with fervour. Either they were trying hard to make up for their desertion, Peter thought, or it was simply a case that the rest of the haven were exhausted by a week of war.

Indeed, the new arrivals had made all the difference. Most of them had never fought before, so their offensive style was a largely defensive one. But they had such fresh enthusiasm and new conviction that it was catching. It revitalised the weakened haven, as if their presence alone gave the rest hope.

As Peter slew, he smiled.

But there was still no sign of Emperor Morellius...

Tom was somewhat behind Peter. The closer to the front you were, the less you could discriminate over whom you could fight. And there was only one rabbit that battered and bruised old Tom wanted to fight, Adolf.

Travis was with him. They still had to take on sporadic enemies that emerged from the trees with gusto, all of whom died looking thoroughly shocked that perhaps things weren't going quite as well as Adolf had conceptualised. Travis enjoyed the kill, but when he looked into a rabbit face, he saw man.

"So... who... this Adolf... who is he?"

Travis finally got to ask during a break in fighting.

"The fuck that killed Mark," Tom replied.

Travis frowned and looked down at the ground.

"How will I recognise him?" he growled.

Meanwhile, Adolf himself was trying to find the end of the frontline so that he could slip round to the other side without fighting. But there were so many rabbits on the battlefield that the front was several hundred rabbits long.

Those of them on his side but stuck behind enemy lines too were dwindling in number. Huddling into small hordes, they took on already weak-looking sections of the enemy line, from behind, forcing them into two-way fights. In places, they even managed to break through, only for the rebel front to close in from both sides and swallow the stragglers before they could rejoin their allies.

Adolf skirted from group to group, hovering at the back, but not right at the back, so that those all around him would take the brunt of the attacks, but he could always slip away easily and run to the next group if things went belly up. The battle would not be won by these rabbits, and Adolf had no intention of dying with them. He made quick progress across the battlefield without fighting.

But as he ran the particularly long distance between one little horde and the next, he found his perspective suddenly shift. He was no longer merely behind the front line, but flanking the bulk of the fighting as well.

Wriggling his way into the safe centre of this new group, who were all chanting boisterously, completely oblivious to just how quickly their lives were coming to an end, he saw the battlefield from the side.

And how the rebels were pushing his men back. They were actually managing to drive them uphill! Adolf couldn't believe it. It just didn't seem fair. Why hadn't the rebels brought out these reinforcements whilst his army had been laying waste to the haven? Bringing them out now smacked of foul play...

As he watched, what was left of his front line retreated, inch by bloody inch, until they were at the point on the hill where the incline was sharpest. An amusing spectacle followed, as a captive bred took on one too many rebels, got killed, and his corpse rolled down the hill and bowled them all over. Suddenly, this tactic was adopted all along the front, as his men started using the rebels' own dead as missiles against them. Adolf was pleased with his resourceful army.

But it didn't hold the rebels back for long. Soon Adolf's men had run out of corpses to hurl downhill, and the stalemate was broken.

Adolf's latest group suddenly collided with the enemy line, and whilst they blustered forward, Adolf stepped back and clear. The enemy closed in around them like the steel jaws of a manmade rabbit trap. They chomped a few times, crunching bones, silencing screams, then spat out the remains as the enemy marched onward and upward. Adolf's stomach churned, and he spun round.

But there were no more groups to latch onto. They'd all been similarly swallowed up and distastefully regurgitated, and now Adolf was alone behind enemy lines, but for a few natural-borns who had seemingly switched sides. In the aftermath of war, Adolf decided bitterly, there would be no mercy.

As he stumbled about, weaving in and out of individual one-on-one fights where the front was weakest and he felt he could still sneak through, he realised why things were going wrong. It was obvious, really...

All his men thought he was dead!

Good, loyal soldiers they may have been, but Adolf knew what they needed most now was their leader. But nobody had seen him since before the rebel counter-strike and without him, they were lost. If only they could see the battle from his side of the frontline, they would know where to concentrate their efforts. But no, without his tactical sixth sense, they were floundering...

He needed to get back, fast.

Just then, Tom came out of nowhere and head-butted him.

After a few seconds, Adolf stirred. He had blacked out for a moment, in which he'd obviously gone flying and landed on his head. He had a splitting headache, but when he saw Tom and Travis coming, he jumped to his feet.

"You killed my brother," Tom hissed.

"I've killed many fools' brothers," Adolf slurred.

"I'm his brother," Travis added.

"I thought I killed you..."

"I have many brothers," Tom snarled.

"Hundreds of 'em," Travis said, pointedly looking around.

"So that's why you all look alike..."

"Have you ever been fucked up the arse with your own femur?"

"I don't know. What's a femur?"

"The last thing you'll see..."

And then with a growl, Tom pounced. Adolf reared up and then fell back as Tom landed on him, taking the gravity out of his attack.

But then Travis came in, as well. The two of them, two natural borns against one captive bred; an ecstasy of fumbling, tearing claws, cat-like mews and wolf-like growls. They rolled over and over, the three of them.

It didn't matter who was around them. For the next few minutes, there were only three rabbits in this fight. Nobody else joined in. This one was so brutal, so mercilessly vicious nobody else wanted a part of it.

Which annoyed Adolf no end. Here was the brave leader, as close to peril as he had yet been, so why weren't any of his men coming to aid him? Didn't they know it was him under here? Didn't they realise the war would be lost without him? When he got out of this, there would be beatings to follow. Oh, yes...

But they had him pinned down, Tom on top.

"This is for Mark," was the last thing he said.

Adolf actually felt Tom's teeth pop through the skin at the back of his throat, the taste of blood gushing warm into his mouth, then...

Prince Regent Boxer gave it about two hours. He'd left his new throne only briefly, twice. The first to join his civilian population in watching their brave boys go over the hilltop. As soon as they were gone, he rushed back to his throne to make sure nobody else had staked a claim to it, only to find the Emperor's corpse still lying there and becoming something of a grisly tourist attraction.

So then he'd ordered a grand ceremonial burial, which took place amongst the trees near the turnpike itself. Boxer had eyes for expanding the colony once the war was over with, and he didn't want to bury the Emperor anywhere where his skeleton might be dug up again in a few months. Boxer presided over the burial, attended by two hundred odd civilians Boxer would have much rather seen march over the hill to ensure a more decisive victory, then returned to his throne.

By then, Jack's corpse had mysteriously vanished. Boxer heard some loud cheering from deep within the trees at one point, but it wasn't until a couple of hours after the battle had started, when he started up the hill himself, that he found Jack's severed head impaled on a stunted dead tree. Boxer was sure he hadn't caused all of that damage to Jack's body. Like pluck out his eyes...

The Prince Regent reached the top of the hill shortly after Adolf's death, but he was so far away he would never have recognised Adolf, and there was so much fighting going on beneath him, odds were not great he'd even have been looking in the right direction anyway. Boxer was staggered by it all.

To him it looked like Adolf's army had driven the rebels out of their haven and halfway down the hill. A broad smile erupted.

There was a rabbit coming up the hill. Boxer didn't notice at first, there was so much else to look at, but when he got closer, Boxer realised that the natural-born was Quentin, mouth gaping, limping on his left side.

"Oh, Quentin, this is marvellous!" he cried shrilly.

"We're... losing, sir," Quentin reported.

"Losing? What bollocks!" Boxer laughed loudly.

"It's true, sir..."

"What are you talking about?" Boxer snapped, not in the kind of mood you wish to be spoiled by an overdone joke. "You've driven them out of their hidey holes and down the hill. It's only a matter of time now..."

Quentin shook his head. "No, sir," he said, breathless. "You don't understand. We did drive them out of their warren, and we did drive them down the hill. Sir, we drove them right to the road... then they drove us back."

"What?" Boxer said, deathly quiet.

"They're driving us back, sir. Watch and see."

Boxer brushed him aside angrily, and grimaced to himself as he watched the battle more closely. And he watched, and he watched, and after a minute or so, he began to see stuff he'd initially overlooked...

That when his army drew together, it wasn't because they were ganging up on the rebels, it was because the rebels were closing in.

That when his men went rolling down the hill, it wasn't because they were brave men launching suicide attacks, it was because they were dead.

That... that Quentin was right.

"How did this happen?" Boxer asked.

Quentin had begun to whimper.

"We were supposed to outnumber them, Quentin. Quentin!"

Quentin burst out into blubbering.

"Quentin, pull yourself together!" Boxer growled, nipping him sharply. "I want you to return to Roadkill Turnpike, muster all the people you can, and bring them up here immediately. All of them. Everybody!"

"It's pointless," Quentin wailed.

"Listen to me, you little prick," Boxer hissed. "If you don't get down that hill this instance, when this is all over, I'm going to have your nose blocked up, then I'm going to have you fed shit until your stomach bursts..."

Quentin gulped. And ran down the hill.

The Prince Regent snorted, then turned back to the battle.

Somewhere below him, Peter Rabbit just slew another opponent. He had been edging slowly toward the left flank of the battlefront, where it was less hectic. And that meant safer for his familial incumbents. Once again he was left without an immediate fight pending. Time to check on Mopsy and Angus...

Mopsy was getting increasingly separated from him. She didn't seem to be following the haven's rapid progress. There were still Morellius loyalists caught behind the haven's line, and she was helping Chris and Dave pick them off. None of the loyalists attacked Chris or Dave, thinking that, being captive breds, they were on the same side. Mopsy was watching Chris and Dave's backs.

Angus, on the other hand, was watching Peter's. As was Kurt, who had never been far from either of their sides the entire battle.

"We're winning, Pete!" Angus said.

But they were already fighting amongst the dead again. Angus didn't seem to realise the connotations. There could only be pyrrhic victory now.

"Hey, who's that?" he asked.

Peter turned, following the pointed paw. Angus was pointing to the top of the hill. Silhouetted against the bright sky was a rabbit.

"I think... I think it's Morellius."

Peter sounded almost shocked. The rabbit, several hundred feet above him, didn't move from the spot. He was watching, aloof.

"I'm helping," Kurt announced.

"No," Peter said firmly. "He's mine."

"But I want to help!"

"Then stay here," Peter added calmly. "If you really want to help me, Kurt, stay here and watch these two for me, okay?"

Kurt shrank back reluctantly.

"Kurt, please?" said Peter.

"Fine," Kurt mouthed.

Peter looked past him, nodded at Angus. "Don't let anyone follow, Angus. If any of his men realise what we're doing, it's over..."

Angus nodded. "Good luck, Pete."

Peter winked, then took off.

Kurt didn't have time to watch him go. Suddenly the left enemy flank surged toward him. Angus was swallowed up too. Kurt fought tooth and claw. The enemy had finally realised he wasn't on their side. He smirked. He sent one foe staggering away, blinded or dazed or both, then another, gasping wetly for air, pawing his throat and spewing blood from his mouth. Then he saw Angus.

The old man, the seemingly frail veteran even Peter, his own son-in-law, had talked to patronisingly, was pummelling a rabbit with his back legs. Kurt ran to help him, but as he got there, Angus snapped his opponent's neck.

"Grandpa!" cried Mopsy, running up.

Angus turned round, grinning sheepishly.

"I had no idea!" she said, chuckling.

"Good show, old man," Kurt added.

Mopsy glowered at Kurt, still remembering Tyler.

"Hey, where's pa?" she asked, frowning.

Both Angus and Kurt's faces fell.

"What? Where is he?" she demanded.

"I can't tell you," Angus told her.

Mopsy gave Kurt a stormy look, as if this was his fault.

"Tell me!" she cried at her grandfather.

Kurt suddenly saw an opportunity.

"He's gone up the hill," he blurted.

Angus shot a look at him. "Pete said-"

"He's gone to kill Morellius," Kurt finished.

Mopsy just stared at him for a moment, unsure what to think.

"Thank you," she finally said, and meant it, too.

Then she took off up the hill as well.

"Mopsy, no!" Angus cried after her.

But he wasn't supple enough to chase her far.

"Oh, what have you done?" he snapped.

"Go back down the hill, old man," Kurt told him.

"I beg your... what did you say?!"

"Pete told me to watch out for the both of you," Kurt replied. "But I can't watch out for you if I'm going up there with her..."

He didn't give Angus a chance to respond.

He turned and ran after Mopsy.

NOTES:
Another long chapter (leaving the whole thing just shy of 140,000 words), the last of the big battle scenes, offing all but one of the main baddies left and leading directly into the inevitable final confrontation. It was important for Kurt to be able to redeem himself in the eyes of Mopsy - getting "closure" as the Americans would call it (ugh). That bizarre little exchange about femurs and anal penetration between Adolf, Tom and Travis came completely out of nowhere. Also, "an ecstasy of fumbling" comes from an old World War One poem. It was about a gas attack.

Incidentally, even though the spellchecker doesn't recognise it, a pyrrhic victory is one where you win, but you've lost so much doing it, it really makes you wonder whether it was worth it. After all, I've accounted for the deaths of thousands of rabbits in the last quarter of this story alone, and only a few hundred are set to survive the whole thing...