The Great Ice-Cream Wars
By Shuga Goo
Aidan, 5th grade
“Load the cannons!” shouted General Waffle Bowl. Boom! Went the cannons as their ice cream sandwich payload flew through the air and smashed into the Soviet Veggies.
“Colonial Sugar Cone!”
“Yes, sir! What is it, Sir?”
“I need your battalion to sneak around and ambush them with your smoothie grenades and fudge bombs!”
“Sir yes sir!’
As Colonial Sugar Cone’s men sneaked off behind the big fallen cereal box mountain range, General Waffle Bowl charged his troops into the valley of falling candy bars. General Waffle Bowl’s force collided with the soviet veggies force with a bang of flying asparagus and coco pebbles. From the mountain range, colonial sugar cone’s elite commando squads saw the broccoli clouds rising up from the battle field and the 24 lettuce leaf bomber planes circling overhead. “Quick, men! Lieutenant Pop Tart get your men into the fudge bombers! The rest of you men, lets get into our smoothie planes!” The fudge bombers lifted off and flew towards the battle. The intercom sparked to life. As the smoothie planes lifted off, Colonial Sugar Cone shouted, “Corporal Whipped Cream, take your men and guard the fudge bombers! Now, let’s go help General Waffle Bowl!”
The planes flew into the sky and down into the lettuce leaf bombers. Corporal Sugar Cone led his men through a series of complicated maneuvers called “The sugar boogie”
As they distracted the soviet veggies, Lieutenant Pop Tart sent in his fudge bombers to do their work. As they flew overhead the lettuce fighters they unleashed their fudge bombs. A group of specially made troop transport capsules were released from the bottom of Lieutenant Pop Tart’s fighter. They plummeted to the ground, exploding on contact and releasing their cargo of specially trained commando ops teams equipped with the latest armor and jetpacks. They caused mayhem throughout the soviet veggies until the soviet veggies’ leader decided it was time to unleash their secret weapon. Suddenly, the ground burst open and robo-drones armed with wrist carrot launchers and cucumber bazookas flew out. They flew into a group of commandos and started causing mayhem. The robots were decimating general waffle bowl’s force until the bombers swooped overhead, releasing 345,980,000 tons of hot fudge and Dutch chocolate. “Arrrigckshshshshshshccrick!” The pudding-covered robots screamed. Their weapon-laden arms swung wildly as they crumpled to the ground, their twisted wires fizzling out. The Soviet Veggies raised their tomato catapults and launched the rotten fruits sailing into the gracefully swooping bombers. Several of the bombers were drawn to the ground in a flurry of burning fudge and melting chocolate. “Attack!” Yelled General Waffle Bowl. His gumdrop-armed men leapt to attention and reloaded their guns. They cocked their rifles and fired, sending a volley of half-melted gumdrops into the ranks of the Veggies. Ten soldiers let loose a bone-jittering scream and were picked up and ran through the air to land in a little puddle of gory mush. “Raa!” the candy soldiers rallying cry echoed through the valley. They reared up and thundered down at the trapped Veggies like a shark bearing down upon a very fat fish. Their commander let loose a muffled oath and raised his hand, as if to signal something. Several of their depleted number turned toward the edge of the canyon and raised their carrot launchers. It was an unfortunate time (for them) because at that moment a bomber rocketed overhead, releasing three gleaming silver canisters which was suddenly drawn apart, releasing a cloud of purple gas which floated gently down to cover the Veggies, drawing several heart-wrenching screams into the world. Yet, it was still too late. Two glowing tubers rolled through the air, contacting with the jagged wall, releasing eight tons of tomato juice and thirty-two pounds of slimy tomato paste. The charging men blew out several embarrassingly high screams as the juice tumbled into the valley. The Soviet Veggies cackled evilly as several steel plates rose around them to form a pickle-shaped motor boat. Several minutes later, a helmet –hidden head rose out of the muck at the edge of the mighty lake that know stood in the Valley of Fallen Candy Bars. He turned his tomato-encrusted head to stare at the pitiful remains of his once-mighty army. He heaved himself up and trudged away, toward the mouth of the Tomato River. His bedraggled soldiers stumbled after him, along the banks of the river. After several hours of hard foot-slogging they stopped to rest in a bed of herb-shaker plants. As they soaked their tired feet in the ever-flowing current of tomato juice four smoking Captain Crunches whistled overhead, their source two grizzled men. They stood stoically, observing the men as one would observe the grass growing.
“Huh. Thought we had a good one there, Baloney.” The man on the right muttered.
“Well, a man’s a man, or so they say, Mozzarella.” Baloney said.
“Umm… If I may ask, why are you talking about us as if we are animals?” Asked Colonial Sugar Cone. He rose halfway up, supporting himself on one fruit-splattered elbow. He frowned, worry lines creasing his tomato-encrusted face.
“Get up, you worthless dogs,” Mozzarella spat “you’ll be sold as slaves in the cold cuts market.”
Everyone could hear an audible gulp from General Waffle Bowl. Baloney lifted Lieutenant Pop Tart roughly to his feet and shoved him forward. He stumbled forward, his body clamped and twisted into a tight knot. The gummy troop marched forward, their uniforms stained red with tomato juice and drying blood.
As they trooped off into the wild hills of agricultural produce, Private Chocolate Chunk started to hack like a cat with a sticky hairball. Corporal Sugar Cone murmured to Waffle Bowl, “The little squirt has gore-hack.” Gore-hack was a dangerously bad sickness common on young officers who had seen little action.
When they started to struggle though a narrow canyon with thundering snow swirling overhead, a blue-and-black ax whistled through the air. As it buried itself in Mozzarella’s ducking head, Baloney stiffened, and bolted toward the far corner of the canyon. He didn’t make it. A green arrow stabbed itself in his left lung, right next to his heart. For three minutes he thrashed about, wailing as if possessed. After a while, he fell still, the gradual rise and fall of his chest growing thinner and far between. Suddenly, a teeth-grating yell was shouted to the heavens. A man covered in brown and red paint stood on top of the cliff, holding a speckled candy cane bow.
General Waffle Bowl muttered in awe, “A Steak Indian.”
The steak Indians are a vicious tribe of natives who live in the Grand Steak Canyons. They are feared warriors with a strong sense of both loyalty and honor.
The leader stood tall above the panting men in the canyon. He gave birth to one more blood-curdling shriek and ten more men, all painted with an assortment of reds and whites. They lowered a knotted rope to the bottom of the canyon, not uttering a single syllable to anyone, not even each other. General Waffle Bowl and his men scaled the rope, their aching muscles screaming in protest. They stood on the top of the cliff, looking down on a small river. In the small river was the Soviet Veggies ship. General Waffle Bowl took a small icing grenade and chucked it at the ship. It exploded, leaving the ship in tatters. General waffle bowl and his men turned away, and stalked away from the natives.