They wanted Bane to know they were coming.

But the mercenary had his own army. Hundreds of armed men poured out of City Hall and the surrounding buildings, forming an opposing line. They brandished their weapons and taunted the approaching cops. The clamor and echoes of thousands of angry shouts drowned out the howling wind. Shots were fired in the air. Bane had claimed City Hall as his headquarters. His army wasn’t going to surrender it without a fight.

Foley marched at the head of the police forces, decked out in his full dress blues. A gold braid shone brightly on his shoulder. His chin was neatly shaved, his badge freshly polished. He held his head up, feeling like a cop for the first time in months. One way or another, he intended to do Gordon proud.

Forget promotions and politics, he thought. This is what the job is all about.

The armies faced off on Grand Street. Their numbers appeared evenly matched—until all three tumblers pulled onto Grand in front of the cops. They turned their gun turrets toward the advancing blue army. A loudspeaker blared at the police:

“DISPERSE. DISPERSE OR BE FIRED UPON.”

Rows of cops regarded the tumblers apprehensively. Faces that hadn’t felt the touch of sunlight for months went paler still. Foley realized they were seriously outgunned, but he did not back down. Still marching, glancing back at his troops, he saw that they were scared but determined. Brave men and women, veterans and rookies, held their ground. There would be no retreat, no matter what.

He had never been so proud to wear the uniform.

“There’s only one police in this city,” he called out, and he kept on going.

A great blue tide surged after him.

Bane emerged from City Hall. He watched the police approach from the atop the building’s wide stone steps. He wore his brown utility harness over the rugged garb of a common soldier. He breathed deeply, inhaling the gas that kept his endless pain at bay. His hairless brow furrowed.

It seemed that the city’s defenders were not going to let Gotham perish without one last, futile attempt at resistance.

So be it, he thought. Then he gave the order. “Open fire.”

His order was communicated to the tumblers, which unleashed their cannons on the blue army. Unlucky officers were blasted into the air. Screaming cops crashed onto the street, turning the fresh snow red with their spilled blood. Maimed bodies writhed upon the ground, while others just lay still—or in parts. The line began to fall apart, as the survivors began to rethink their foolishness. Bane expected them to break ranks and run at any moment.

Then, out of the sky, the Bat came swooping over the street. Its own cannons targeted the tumblers, blasting away at them. The armored vehicles flipped over onto their sides, smashing down on the sidewalks. Smoke and flames rose from the mangled metal. Their wheels spun uselessly in the air.

Bane frowned behind his mask. This was not part of his plan.