War For The Planet Of The Apes Site

And on the human side of the river, the Colonel lit a cigar, looked at the dark forest, and whispered to his radioman:

Caesar moved through the skeletal remains of the redwood forest, his broad shoulders hunched against the downpour. The wound in his side—a ragged gift from a traitor’s bullet—throbbed with a dull, persistent fury. Behind him, his colony marched in silence. Not the silence of peace, but the silence of the hunted. War for the Planet of the Apes

The rain fell harder. The world held its breath. And on the human side of the river,

For two years, since the fall of San Francisco, the Colonel had hunted them. Not with the clumsy, panicked raids of the first human survivors, but with a surgeon’s precision. His soldiers wore the skulls of apes on their armor. They burned the old growth to flush out the hidden. They called him a patriot. The apes called him a ghost—a thing that killed without face or mercy. Not the silence of peace, but the silence of the hunted

“Tomorrow, we finish the dirty work. No prisoners. Not even the young.”

He raised his hand, the signal to move. Two hundred apes—warriors, mothers, the elderly, the infant—rose from the mud. They had no artillery. No air support. No supply lines. They had fists like iron, teeth like daggers, and a leader who had already died inside.