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by TerraBM

(note: the song used is from ‘The Prince of Egypt’)

A small inspirational story, dedicated not only to Biker Mice fandom, but to all those who have fought battles, inner or external. For all those who have lost all hope and have regained it. For those who have lost someone you love. To believers and non-believers. To everyone one who has the heart and soul of a Freedom Fighter, for we are all Freedom Fighters at heart, this message of hope is for you.

Mars: A year before The Biker Mice are exiled to Earth

The last few gun shots faded into the early summer morning as the final shouts of "Cease Fire! Cease Fire!" was heard echoing over the plains of Mars. Slowly, one by one, the Martians lifted themselves out of their trenches, from their bikes, out of the mud holes, out of their shelters, out of their own puddles of blood, to await their next command.

After seven weeks of siege, Brimstone City, the capital of Mars, was liberated from Plutarkian rule. And while, some where far, far away, on the morrow, people would laugh and sing and rejoice, but there, now, among the trenches, among the carnage, among the devastation, joy was hardly thought of. Not to say that they weren’t thankful and overjoyed for their victory. Many Martians had dropped to the ground, on their knees, thanking a God some where, anywhere that they were alive. That they had survived.

But for many, God was not the question, for sadly, too many had lost faith if they ever had any at all. But to one and all of the Freedom Fighter’s, the general feeling right now was just relief. Relief that they could stand on their tired and worn legs and lift their heads, without the fear of a bullet being implanted in it. Relief that they had held off their enemy for one more day, and now, had beaten them. It’s a good feeling. For awhile. But little by little, reality hit them. Yes, they had won. They had triumphed against the odds, but at what cost?

A thousand Martian Mice lay dead among them. Their fathers, their mothers, their brothers, their sisters, even their children; no one was exempt from the price of war. Tears flowed freely from those who could still shed them, and others…their hearts were too hardened to cry.

Throttle, Modo, and Vinnie, slowly, grunting, moaning, helped each other to their feet. They were alive, badly off, but alive. Their proud Freedom Fighter uniforms were torn, blood and sweat stained and caked in mud. They hugged each other, and patted their fellow comrades on the back and then looked around them. It seemed as though Mars had turned a deeper shade of red with Martian blood. Then slowly, their eyes detected one lone fighter, standing off by himself on a pile of broken brick and wood of what used to be some one’s home, staring at the broken city, his hair fanned in the breeze. "Stoker…" Throttle gasped, limping up to him. The old Freedom Fighter, though then not so old, looked back at his pupil a bit startled to see him alive, but relieved and maybe a bit comforted at the same time. But his green eyes were very sad as he turned back towards the horizon. He had saved the capital…but…was there anything there still worth saving? It seemed as though the once proud and bustling metropolis was a mere skeletal shadow of its former glory. Modo and Vinnie, followed by their fellow FF’s, stepped up to where the two stood. " Bro?" Vinnie asked, wiping some of the mud off his face, and looking at his friends. Stoker and Throttle looked back slowly, Stoker looking so utterly sad it hurt and Throttle looking like hell from all the scratches and what-not. " Did we win?" Vinnie asked, still unsure and still so naïve in the ways of war. He had yet so much to learn. Stoker tried to smile at him. God knows he tried to be brave for them, his dearest friends in all the world, his children, whom he was sure he’d die without, but he barely managed it. " Yes, Vinnie. We’ve won." He said slowly, almost having to force the words. It wasn’t as though he was lying. They had won. They had saved the day. It was just that…it hardly seemed or felt like it to him. Suddenly, a shorter mouse came jogging up to him, " Sir!" he said standing at attention. Anyone could tell this guy was from the Army. " Yes? And don’t call me that. It’s Stoker." The Chocolate furred mouse sighed, rubbing his forehead. " The estimated death toll, sir…er…Stoker. Sargent Scabboard thought you should have this." He said handing him a three page long report filled with the names of the fallen. Throttle and Modo glared at the messenger, though they knew it was not his fault. He was only following orders. But anyone with half an ounce of common sense should have seen Stoker was in no condition to be reading those papers. Stoker endured it for a moment or two, Lord knows it took all the courage and strength he had left in his battered body to do it, but then, after about the third name, he lost it.

He let out a scream and threw the papers to the ground, glaring at the Army scout with eyes so fierce that the poor boy grew as white as a sheet under his fur and backed up quickly. Stoker kicked the broken boards, bricks and glass beneath his feet screaming curses and obscenities, tears streaming down his face, renewing the dried mud that was splattered on them. Finally, he crumbled to the ground, his head buried in his hands, sobbing his heart out while breaking those of his men around him. Modo bent ever so slowly down beside him and hugged him in his huge gray arms, laying his head on Stoker’s, trying, as always to comfort. "It’s not fair…it’s just not fair…" the feeble little whimper that came from behind their fearless leader’s hands left them all in stunned silence for a moment. War was truly evil.

After a moment or two, Throttle too broke away from the group, looking back towards the battlefield and their fallen. He felt cold, and pain on the inside and the outside of his body. Victory was meant to have a sweet taste. This one was tainted with the salt of tears. He thought he would cry too, he didn’t want anyone to see him though. After Stoker cracked up like that, he didn’t need the others to start. He had to be strong in his mentor’s place for the moment. He would have to reassure them that they would be alright. That everything would be fine. But…how does one assure others, when he can not even assure himself? At that moment he happened to notice something on the horizon to his right. He glanced over and looked at it closely, adjusting his specs; sure enough his eyes were not lying. There, on a half-broken down old flagpole were the battered remains of the Martian flag. Sure it was battered, sure it was a hole-filled mess, ripped and shredded, even burned in places, but it was there. It was still there…

Throttle brushed away a tear or two as he nodded in understanding. And then, moved by something deep inside him, he began to sing quietly to himself…

He turned to face the other Freedom Fighters who watched him.

"Now we are not afraid, although we know there’s much to fear. We were moving mountains long before we knew could."

He stepped among them as he continued his ballad, and while some stared, others thought about his words. Slowly, Stoker looked up as his friend continued.

When you believe, somehow you will…you will when you believe."

Throttle and Stoker looked each other in the eyes, and slowly Stoker stood up and looked back at Brimstone and then he too began to sing to himself.

He paused briefly as he heard Throttle come up behind him; " Yet now I’m standing here…"

" Now I’m standing here…" Throttle’s voice echoed his.

"… I never thought I’d say."

The two voices became one as Throttle laid his hand on his leader’s shoulder and Stoker laid his hand on his. They both looked back at Brimstone, this time smiling,

As they sang, their voices seemed to awaken something in everyone around them. He war torn and hopeless soliders lifted their heads slowly, standing, gazing at them and at the city as they began to walk towards it, slowly, picking up or leaving behind their weapons.

Within the city, the voices were heard as well, and it seemed to stir the dormant souls that were huddled within…

A man, slowly pushed the door to his broken home open, looking out at the dusty back road he and his family lived on. And when he saw nothing, he reached back into the small room and held his wife and child close to him.

Wide, soft, children eyes peeked from under beams in shacks, and the people, the survivors began one by one to step out into the sun light. And then, the Freedom Fighters’ voices faded away momentarily as they entered the city, replaced by a sweeter sound, the soft angelic voice of one lone little girl, standing in the street, singing in ancient Martian looking at the soldiers as they walked towards her home.

As these words were sung, all the survivors of the town slowly came out, joining in marching Freedom Fighter’s their liberators. Some men were reunited with their families and friends and total strangers as they all joined in the song. Four mice lead the precession of voices, Throttle, Modo, Vinnie, and Stoker, who were now carrying the sad remains of their flag and began their song once more, more powerful than ever as now over a thousand voices sang with them,

The four heroes hoisted the flag up on to the flagpole that stood in the middle of the town square, and ended their hymn,

" You will when you believe."

Dedicated to everyone and anyone who believes