Denethor:
Dusk was falling as the Houses of Healing approached the edge of Mirkwood. Ahead, Denethor could see a great bonfire, with the shapes of dancing porcupines flitting in and out of sight in front of the flames.
"One good thing about these burned pedal-contraptions," he grumbled to himself. "They hardly make any noise."
"Halt!" he gave the order, his men stopped pedalling. The House coasted several feet before Ioreth hit the breaks.
"Okay, men," said Denethor. "We're ready to commence Operation Cone Cow. Faramir will lead the archers in drawing their attention away on the left. Once the porcupines join battle, Beregond will lead the strike team into the heart of their camp, find either the spare tire or the stolen wheel, or both, and signal the Houses of Healing. I will remain here with a select team of pedallers. We will then charge the porcupines with the House and rendezvous with Beregond's men, who will have the tire or wheel ready to lash onto the roof. Faramir and his men will move closer to our position to give us some protective fire. Once the tire is mounted, Beregond's men will join the pedalling team, and we will retreat at once to the city. Faramir and his men will follow on foot to give us time to install the tire. Any questions?"
"Just one, sir," said Damrod, raising his hand, "where do the Cone Cows come in?"
"They don't," said Denethor.
"But why is it called Operation Cone Cow, then?" asked Mablung.
"Because all successful military operations need to have cryptic and distinctive code names," replied Denethor. "Do you know what Erkenbrand's return to Helm's Deep was known as? Operation Chicken Fingers. Do you know what the Ents' assault on Isengard was called? Mission Plausible. Do you know what Thorongil's up-the-Anduin-in-black-sailed-boats was called? Operation Pipeweed. Understand?"
The soldiers nodded silently.
"Good," said Denethor approvingly. "Then man your stations, and may the Valar be with us."
Night had completely fallen as Faramir and the archers left the Houses of Healing and made their way to the Porcupines' right flank, where they began to open fire- literally.
"Fire!" squealed the porcupines, as flaming arrows came swooping down out of the night at them.
"Sir," said Mablung to Faramir, as he lit another arrow, "why are we using flaming arrows? Is it just because Lord Denethor likes fire?"
"I think so," said Faramir. "The signal Beregond's going to send up will also be fire. That's why we made him stay in command of the Houses of Healing detachment."
Meanwhile, as the enraged Porcupines were being drawn off to face Faramir and his men, Beregond's footmen attacked from the Porcupines' left, cutting down the few who had been left to keep watch, and soon catching sight of the stolen wheel at the centre of the camp.
"Light the purple flame!" ordered Beregond. One of the men hastened to light a quick fire, adding powder to colour the flames a bright purple.
"That's the signal!" Denethor told his men, from his vantage point on the roof of the House. "Full ahead! Pedal!
"Well! What are you waiting for!"
"Just a minute, dearie," said Ioreth, at the wheel. "The boys need to stretch first."
"We're in the middle of a military campaign!" Denethor growled.
"Yes, I know that," said Ioreth. "But you can really damage your tendons if you don't stretch. My uncle Baragundiliondil-"
"Never mind your uncle! We've got work to do!"
A moment later, when the men had finished stretching, the Houses of Healing surged forward, jumping the enemy lines, and zooming the centre of the Porcupine camp, where Beregond and his men were ready with the tire.
"Can the Houses support its weight?" worried Húrin. "That's a HUGE tire!"
"They better," said Denethor. "Or we'll be peddling all the way to the Grey Havens."
"Hurry!" said Beregond. "The Porcupines have caught sight of us! They're sending a force back from the battle with Faramir's men!"
The tire, larger around than the House was wide, was only just affixed to the roof, and Beregond's men aboard when the Porcupines reached them.
"All hands: pedal!" ordered Denethor. Ignoring Ioreth's warnings to stretch, the terrified men began to pedal with all their might, but weighed down by the tire, they were barely able to move at all.
"Beregond, Húrin, and Mablung!" shouted Denethor. "Stand by to assist me in repelling boarders! The rest of you: pedal!"
So as the Houses of Healing slowly lurched away, picking up but a little speed as it went, Denethor and his three companions drew swords and stood in the doorways, to fight off the swarming porcupines.
"Faramir and his men are giving us what cover they can," reported Mablung, who's door opened to the right. "But he's hard-pressed indeed. It looks like he's withdrawing to the city. Correction- they've just started running flat out towards the city."
"Burn it!" swore Denethor.
"More trouble!" cried Beregond. "There's a giant picnic table on wheels advancing at us, almost directly head-on!"
"A giant picnic table?" said Denethor.
"Yes, sir!" replied Beregond. "Everyone knows that Porcupines and picnic tables go together. Anyway, it doesn't appear to have an engine of any sort. Several Porcupines are pushing it. However, they appear to be intent on ramming us!"
"I guess we're going to see just how much a beating this baby can take!" said Denethor. "Full speed ahead! Let's bounce them off our sides!''
"This House isn't made like the walls of Minas Tirith!" warned Beregond.
"Never mind that!" said Denethor. "It's all or nothing now!"
Slowly, inexorably, the House and the giant picnic table lunged at each other. But both were moving too slowly to truly cause a crash. Instead, there was a momentary deadlock, as the peddlar's power was nullified by the opposing, pushing porcupines headed in the other direction hit them head-on.
"PEDAL!" roared Denethor. But both sides tried harder, and both sides couldn't move.
"Sir, if we were to reverse a bit," Húrin began to suggest, but Denethor frowned.
"And give them the victory! We shall never back down! Never!"
Things went on in much the same way for several minutes, with both sides straining to move. Then a loud "MOO" sounded in the night.
"What the-!" cried Denethor. "Cows!"
"MOOOOOOOOO!" sounded the deep, booming sound again. The Porcupines began to scurry towards the sound, which was coming from the north. As they drew nearer with torches, the shape a vast, vengeful cow became visible. Again, the night was shattered with a booming "MOOOOOO!!!"
The Porcupines' nerve broke, and they began to flee back to the safety of their camp, abandoning the giant picnic table.
"Do we advance?" questioned Húrin.
"That cow might not like us any more than it likes Porcupines," said Beregond.
"Advance," said Denethor. "Perhaps it can be persuaded to let us pass."
So they advanced. However, before they had quite reached the dreadful cow, Faramir and his men appeared out of the woods.
"Faramir! You coward!" cried Denethor. "Fleeing the middle of battle! And with a giant cow menacing both Man and Porcupine alike! You ought to-"
"Excuse me, Father," interrupted Faramir. "But you. should be moving. This giant Cone Cow won't fool the Porcupines for long."
"Giant Cone Cow..." Denethor spluttered. "But, the mooing!"
Faramir held up a horn.
"The Horn of Anórien!" he said proudly. "Passed from Uncle to Nephew since Moronwë, the Second Son of Pelendur the Steward, butchered a great domesticated cow of Dorwinion. It has been carried by the second son of the Stewards ever since, and it is said that if it is blown anywhere in the Realm of Gondor as it was of old, the blower shall find a dairy cow!"
"But we are not in the Realm of Gondor as it was of old," pointed out Denethor.
"That's just as well," said Faramir. "Ioreth's already got a dairy cow, should we want milk."
"The Porcupines seem to have got over their fear of the cow!" announced Beregond. "They're regrouping!"
"Quick, get your men aboard!" Denethor ordered Faramir. "We need all the pedalling power we can get!"
Leading his men to pedalling stations, Faramir raised the Horn of Moronwë to his lips, and let loose one last MOOOOOOOO!!!!