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Chapter Text

Camp Butter was more of a giant supply base than an actual field camp. For the purpose of supplying the five proper field camps south of it, it sat at the eastern side of the river, decently far from Iotunn activity but still on the front. It was a good source of water, in addition to its strategic location allowing quick transport of food from the Clans to their armies abroad. Via a rowboat, one could row from Butter upriver to Clan territory, or walk straight north to Camp Apple- which was closer to the southern edge of ThunderClan territory.

Outside in the night, the people of the Clans stationed at Butter (in addition to the soldiers who were stopping by before their travels continued) were currently observing the Gathering. They were a long way from Fourtrees, but as long as they could see the full moon and their Clans were all together, it didn’t quite matter. The football game Tornear had planned tonight was a bit of a warm welcome, too- to raise the morale of the soldiers on the way to battle.

“Pass left, pass left!” Raven yelled over the cheering crowd. “Runningbrook, PASS!”

In the middle of the camp, there was a football match going down between two teams made of different Clan soldiers.

Runningbrook, who had the ball, was running across the field aimed between two wooden posts, which were being used as goalposts.

It had been three days since supplies had been cut off from Camp Apple, meaning that they would have to steadily trickle via the river. For these three days, no word still had been observed concerning Maple Patrol’s disappearance.

“Runningbrook!” Webfoot yelled at the top of his voice. “You’re the best, YOU’VE GOT THIS!”

Hearing her Clanmate, Runningbrook gave an enthusiastic wave just before sidestepping Thornclaw, who grunted in frustration as he tripped.

“Ugh, they always swipe the ball first!” Thornclaw complained as he got to his feet, dusting off his uniform.

“If you sleep with your mum, sit down…” A WindClan corporal, Pigeonflight, yelled from her seat, rising to her feet.

“If you sleep with your mother, sit down!” Shimmereye, a newly appointed RiverClan soldier and former trainee to Garfield, took up the taunt as well, standing tall.

In response, the array of Clan soldiers who had been seated began standing and cheering aloud, with some of the more foul-mouthed among them repeating it across the crowd. Shimmereye laughed gleefully as she saw two ShadowClan soldiers blankly stare at her (neither had opted to stand).

As of current, the commander of the camp, Field Marshal Tornear, was in deep concentration as he sat atop a watchtower, looking outwards from the camp to the south. Tornear wasn’t in the mood to celebrate. He’d been told to hold on sending supplies to the camps to his south, and frankly he didn’t like it one bit.

A rousing cheer rose from the crowd. Runningbrook’s team had won.

As the singing continued, Tornear heard someone ascending the ladder. Looking down, he saw Webfoot poke his head through the hole in the bottom of the platform. “Field Marshal, sir! There’s a messenger from BloodClan!”

“Lead the way.” Tornear briskly replied. Webfoot nodded, sliding down the ladder. Tornear climbed down at a steadier pace, ready to meet this messenger.

“He’s unarmed,” Webfoot called out as soldiers of all Clans stopped their celebration to salute Tornear, who was pushing through the crowd to see the messenger for himself.

“Field Marshal present!” Runningbrook shouted from where she was being serenaded by her victorious team, and at the sound of her voice the cheering gradually stopped. Slowly but surely, the reminder that they were in a war came back to the Clan soldiers.

Tornear didn’t bother with a salute, instead walking forward to find the BloodClan messenger standing with his hands in the air. “Who’s this?”

“I’m Blaze,” the BloodClanner said flatly. “My capo, Fury, has this camp surrounded. She’s willing to negotiate your surrender.”

“And we’re willing to refuse,” Tornear replied. “Because you’re just a messenger, you won’t be shot. Tell Fury that we say no.”

Blaze’s eyes flashed with fear, and hesitantly, he did so. Turning, he walked out of the camp and vanished into the darkness. Ironically, it sounded like he’d rather stay at the camp of his enemies.

The soldiers of the Clans were silent until Tornear looked back at them. “What are you waiting for? Everyone, arm up!” He barked. He drew out his whistle, blowing three times into it.

As though shaken out of a trance, the Clan soldiers’ order was received and followed. RiverClan soldiers carried mortars into the center of the camp. At the camp walls, the sandbags carefully stockpiled and gathered using sand by the river were put to use as they began to line the defenses on the outside.

WindClan’s troops had stirred to action, already arming themselves up and setting down Lewis guns. ThunderClan soldiers were next to them on the scene, already set up behind the initial defense line to defend in depth.

ShadowClan’s commandos were currently sending an SOS as well as standing by to destroy the camp’s telegraph if necessary. Their troops were already joining the imminent battle as well.

All around Camp Butter, the festivities were put aside for the constant big event around them.

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In the distance, mortar strikes could be heard as suddenly, an explosion landed in the middle of the camp. In a flash, the Field Marshal drew his revolver.

“MEDIC!” Someone shouted as Camp Butter’s mortars began to fire back violently. As explosions happened overhead, the soldiers of the Clans ducked down in foxholes and behind cover, each of them praying that they would be spared from the artillery barrage that BloodClan was sending upon them.

In the distance, Runningbrook had scaled one of the watchtowers. She squinted, pulling up a pair of binoculars, then shouted. “They’re coming! They don’t look very happy!”

At once, the area between the Iotunns’ domain and B Camp was lit up with automatic gunfire.

Tornear himself jumped into a foxhole, looking at a young RiverClanner next to him who had ducked down fearfully into the dirt, Lewis gun resting beside him. “You hit, Weldtail?”

“N-no, sir.”

“Then listen up!” Tornear ordered. “When I was a rookie, we didn’t have any fancy Lewis guns! We had sticks! Two sticks and a rock for the whole barracks! And we had to share the rock!”

Tornear heard an explosion behind him, but didn’t even twitch as he heard someone screaming. He was hardly new to defending a camp from an invading force- he’d fought foes as old as ShadowClan from before Brokenstar’s era.

The RiverClan soldier looked up, flinching as the Field Marshal picked up the Lewis with one hand, shoving it into Weldtail’s arms. “Buck up, boy! You’re one very lucky bog dweller!”

“What about those mortars?” Weldtail fearfully asked.

“We’ve all run the drills! It’s tough, but not impossible,” Tornear said, patting Weldtail on the back and climbing out. “Stay in your foxhole. You know what to do.”

“Yes- yes, Field Marshal!” Weldtail called out, aiming his Lewis. “FOR RIVERCLAN!”

Standing up, Tornear could see in the distance faint silhouettes in the darkness, dropping dead as the united Clan armies let lead fly. Grimacing, he pulled back the hammer of his revolver.

A single BloodClanner ran ahead of the rest, and without even blinking, Tornear aimed and nailed the enemy clean between the eyes. He pulled the hammer back again, ready for the next foe.

One last explosion landed behind him. It had nailed one of the barracks, and silently Tornear hoped that it was empty.

Then, silence.

As he defiantly glared at the would-be invaders, knowing from the sound that the mortar bombardment had stopped, he raised his hand, and the mortars on his side stopped firing as well. Slowly, the whole front ceased fire as the Field Marshal stepped forward.

Ahead of the camp, it seemed that this combination of Clan soldiers had killed more BloodClanners than they had them.

And yet… this was no bloodless victory. One foxhole had been unlucky to have a mortar shell land right inside it- and Tornear couldn’t tell whether there had been two or three soldiers in there. A sandbag position had been blown away, and the machine gunner present there was currently being carried to the shore by two field medics- it was clear that he’d lost a whole leg and wouldn’t be able to fight again.

One of the camp watchtowers had been hit in the middle and had fallen over. At once, Tornear’s eyes widened as he ran towards it.

No… it couldn’t be.

When he ran around the fallen tower, Tornear found Webfoot currently hunched over a lifeless body, crying his eyes out. It was Runningbrook.

Her spine had been broken, her head at an awkward angle as she stared with glassy eyes to the river. “Runningbrook…” the Field Marshal breathed wistfully, kneeling next to Webfoot. “My old trainee. I’m sorry.”

“I was gonna tell her that I loved her, sir,” Webfoot babbled, looking up. His face was a mess. “Tonight was a perfect night, until…”

Tornear extended his hand, solemnly closing the eyes of his former trainee for the last time. “StarClan rest her soul.”

A RiverClan soldier came running up, saluting. Weldtail had survived the battle. “Field Marshal, sir,” he grimly said. “BloodClan sent another messenger.”

“Bring them here.” Tornear’s voice was hoarse with grief.

The RiverClan soldier obliged, and soon returned with the messenger in question. “Her name’s Panic, apparently. What’s your message?”

“I-I-I need you to surrender.” Panic whispered, her face messy with tears. “Please.”

“What happened to Blaze?” Tornear asked blankly.

“He’s dead!” Panic whimpered, and Tornear screwed his eyes shut to hide the pain. Rising to his feet, he told the wide-eyed messenger gruffly,

“Go tell Fury that nothing’s changed. We will hold this position until our very souls are wrestled from our bodies by StarClan themselves.”

The BloodClan messenger opened her mouth in shock, but found the words unable to come forth.

“You have your answer. Let’s go,” Weldtail coldly said, dragging Panic back.

“No! NO! SHE’LL KILL ME! PLEASE!” Panic shrieked. “Let me go… PLEASE!”

Tornear didn’t even look in her direction.

“SHE’LL KILL ME!”

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“I’ve never been so thankful for dried food,” Tansysong remarked with a yawn. “And that I have this big oaf carrying me around.”

“You’re losing your touch, Tansysong,” Rainfur teased.

“Hey, Moosestrike. Bring me over to him so I can hear him better. What was it you said, Rainfur?”

“She has spoken, it must be done,” Moosestrike commented, a mischievous grin on his face.

“Oh, no- NO!” Rainfur ran down the massive tunnel the group of six were currently traveling down, and Moosestrike ran on, carrying Tansysong in his arms as he went. “You’ll never take me alive!”

“Coward!” Tansysong goaded as Moosestrike chased Rainfur around the other three members of the group. “Fight me like a man!”

“When’d they get along so quickly?” Rowanclaw asked with amusement.

Acornheart chuckled, shrugging and shaking his head. “I got no idea.”

It had been a couple days since Tansysong had dislocated her ankle. The six of them were still traveling the tunnels to look for an exit.

An unfortunate development that they had found out a few days ago was that the way up directly to Camp Butter was blocked by a cave-in.

They’d been demoralized by the fact, of course. But unlike when they’d gotten lost in the sewers, they didn’t panic or let their fear cloud their minds this time. They knew about where they were going, and ultimately, they decided on the next best choice- going all the way to Camp Apple. The possibility of there being an exit still remained.

There was no straight way to Apple via these tunnels according to the simple roadmap, but it had to be worth it.

Leaf by far had encouraged all of them to keep their spirits up. Both she and Rainfur had the experience to boot when it came to navigating Chelford, of course- but between the two of them it was she who had the leadership skills to add on top of it. More or less, she’d sort of become the unofficial patrol leader.

“Alright, you three. Cut it out,” Leaf told them, her eyes brimming with amusement. Rainfur sighed in relief, and Tansysong gave a mock pout. “Unfair!”

“Her brother must deal with this all the time,” Acornheart commented.

Hearing Acornheart’s remark, Moosestrike laughed aloud, and Rowanclaw rolled his eyes, but chose to remain silent albeit with a smile he couldn’t wipe from his face. Frankly, the whole time, although they had been traveling by themselves throughout this large tunnel network, Rowanclaw couldn’t help but shake off the feeling that they were being followed, watched, or sometimes both.

He’d felt it every now and then, though that might have been his commando-brand paranoia at work.

At least, that was what he hoped.