Waiting for the War

Waiting For The War
	A Pinwheel Story

Chapter 1: Sandbowl

	“When Andor said we’d be going somewhere with sun and sand, I was hoping he meant some sort of resort world or some shit,” Whitman droned, wiping sweat with the back of his hand.
	“I take it you don’t like the soul-crushing gravity and that swamp-ass heat baking you in your underwear?” Joe replied. “Pass me that diagnostic scanner.”
	They sat on Highlander’s forward hull, the engine cowlings propped open. A tarp sunshade was strung up over them, tied taut between the turret and the side of the building they parked behind. It staved off the worst of the Borealan sun, but the air clung to them. Joe ached as he reached down into the engine block and connected the diagnostic tool to the engine’s onboard computer. A couple taps and the scanner began reading off a list of shorthand codes and errors. He could have done this from inside the tank, but even the most robust A/C unit screamed and strained against this damned heat, so Joe had decided to let whatever passed for a breeze to suffice.
	“So, what’s the damage, Cap?”
	“Sand’s clogging the air intakes and causing performance issues. Filters are stopping most of it, but at a loss of cooling and horsepower.”
	“And that ain’t good for us.”
	“Whit, your grasp of engineering know-how never ceases to amaze me.”
	“Hey, Highlander’s my girl, and I need to take care of her. I have to know her well enough to do that. You gotta know how to treat a lady right. If anyone should know that, it’s you with that Mad Cat of yours.”
	“Shut up, Whitman. And take down the cover, she’s running fine.”
	Whit chuckled, swinging down from the hull. He slid to the sandy ground, sinking lower on his legs than usual. The higher gravity was still getting to them, making even the act of moving around their Kodiak into an exercise in its own right. The gunner untied the tarp and pulled it down. He shook the sand away, folding the tarp into a tight bundle before tossing up to Joe. He tossed into the storage rack on the side of the hull before pulling himself up onto the turret. Whit clambered back onto the hall, kicking the engine cover back down.
	“Frankie, wake up. Time to get back to the base.”
	Joseph slid back through his commander’s hatch into the turret. His seat sagged as he threw his helmet on over the chocolate brown hair starting to grow past regulations. Highlander shuddered and hummed to life around him, the engine’s cooling fans roaring and gulping in air. Frankie shifted the Kodiak into drive, pulling around the building. Before them, the wide cobblestone avenue passed the robust, windowless buildings lining the way back to the FOB. Highlander’s heavy treads clanked against the stone as they rumbled forward. Joe admired the Elysian buildings, at least from an engineering standpoint. They were built strong, fighting against the exaggerated gravity of Borealis. Structurally, they were crafted of stone, focusing the weight on windowless walls, pillars, and arches to hold the weight and capping them with domes that spread the load across the structure as a whole. A solidly pragmatic design was then given flare through the carvings, tapestries, and other adornments. Eventually, he knew the old designs might falter and be replaced by more effective methods of steel and ceramic once a proper spaceport or space elevator was established.
	He turned his eyes forward, watching the crowds shift and part as Highlander rolled on. He glanced across the sea of Borealans as Highlander rolled past a market plaza, taking in the veritable kaleidoscope of colors and patterns from the bright, flowing clothes and the various colors and patterns demasking their forms. The cacophony of sounds fought against the deep, resonant growling of the Kodiak’s fuel cell engine and cooling systems. The air was a palette of scents and aromas from the food. Before them, the sea parted around their tank. Some of the more curious or annoyed glanced at them, swiveling their radar-like ears to track the Kodiak along its path. 	It was a strange sensation, riding his war machine through this market place like some ancient conqueror, seeing the crowds cast wary glances towards these strange interlopers in their lands.
	“Hey, Whit,” Joe called to his right. “I got a question for you.”
	“What is it, Cap?”
	“You ever think Caesar felt like this?”
	“Like what?”
	“Like we’re out of place here, but at the same time, we kinda belong.”
	“I don’t know. Maybe, but I wouldn’t let it get to your head, or someone might stab you 23 times.”
	“Fair point.”
	“Can we turn on the radio?” Frankie butted in over the commset. “Getting tired of hearing you two philosophize over the engine.”
	“Once we get past the market. Don’t want to irritate these people with our wonderful selection. And no goddamn metal, please.”
	“Play ‘Vermillion River.’” Whit requested, leaning back in his seat.
	As they rolled past the marketplace, the crowd thinned and Frankie rumbled forward a little faster. Joe reached inside his hatch and flicked the power switch they’d retrofitted to the turret ceiling. Behind him, the loudspeakers bolted to the rear flanks of the turret crackled and came to life. He skipped through a few songs before letting it play. Before he knew it, Whitman was singing along, swaying in his seat with the slow twang of the guitar.
	“Well I got my welding tickets
	Set out on the road,
	To a place I never heard of,
	About two years ago,”
	Joe found himself humming along with the song, listening as they reached the end of the avenue, turning right along the lakeshore. Ahead, he could see the low HESCO walls demarking the edge of the FOB the UNN had plopped down to house the ground forces being deployed. It wasn’t perfect, but it was home enough for them. He looked to his left, staring out across the waters of the lake. He opened his mouth, singing with Whitman and Frankie as they neared the gate.
	“What would they say if I went back empty-handed?
	They won’t know who I am for all I know,
	But I know they'd compare me to my brothers,
	And laugh behind my back if I went home,”
	A sharp, clear wail broke his eyes away from the lake. He wheeled around to see Whitman, leaning back in his seat, playing a harmonica with the rhythm of the song. His eyes were shut, focused solely on the notes.
	Before long, they’d reached the FOB, passing through the main gate and rolling back to the motor pool. Frankie spun Highlander around and backed into their spot next to the rest of Bravo Company. The engine grew silent, leaving only the fading sounds of the song and the haunting wail of Whitman’s harmonica. Joseph sat there, watching his gunner finish his set before the usually talkative man slide the small instrument into his uniform.
	“I never knew you played an instrument,” Joe said.
	“Yeah, well, there’s a good bit I keep to myself.”
	“Such as?”
	“My skills with a harmonica, to name one.”
	Whitman pulled himself from the hatch, swinging down onto the sand-covered floor. Joe followed, shooting glances across the motor pool. Among the rows of Kodiaks sat dozens of other vehicles. Pumas, Wolverines, and Avalanches sat in formation, waiting for crews and passengers. Some others milled about the motor pool, cleaning and maintaining the equipment. There might not be a fight, but habit wouldn’t let them grow lax on procedure.
	Joe turned, stepping out into the Borealan sun and started towards the camp. He kicked through the sand, cursing to himself as it fell into his boot. The prefab buildings made most of the compound, while some were built quickly of brick, stone, and earth. He passed the low buildings that served as barracks, hemmed in by more of the HESCO walls. Just past the barracks sat a squat, broad prefab next to an improvised soccer field. He turned towards the building, passing under the goal post marred by claw marks and secured by duct tape in some places.
	He passed through the large metal doorway of the prefab, finding himself in the rec room again. The cooler, moderately-conditioned air of a struggling HVAC unit embraced him and played through his hair, drying the sweat on his brow. To his right, a set of billiard tables lined the wall where a handful of marines milled about, playing and chattering. Others sat about the scattered tables, milling through packs of cards or MREs. To the left, a simple bar formed lined the wall beneath the halogen glow of the overhead lights. In the back, a small radio played, barely winning out over the din of the room with the strange beat and rhythm of Martian neo-funk. He kicked the sand from his boots and started towards the bar, spying Captains Andor and Xeng seated at the near end. Joe coughed, pulling himself up onto the stool, feeling the spring sink under him. His muscles relaxed, sore from fighting the higher gravity and pulling down on his entire body. The two nodded at his arrival, turning toward their company.
	“How goes it, Joe?” Andor asked, taking a pull at his canteen.
	“It goes well enough. Having an issue with our filters swallowing sand causing engine trouble. We’re going to need to come up with a solution. Maybe some sort of filter or sieve. What about your companies?”
	“Delta’s combat-ready.”
	“Golf’s doing well,” Xeng said curtly. “But some of the men are a little worried if we’ll end up fighting the Rask.”
	“Why’s that?” Andor chided, glancing back towards Xeng.
	“We’ve been spending all this time fighting back the bugs, only to wind up fighting allies in the desert.”
	“Politics aside, should a straightforward task.”
	“Biggest difference will be the change in tactics.” Joe started. “The Rask are pirates and raiders. They won’t try to overrun us or fight us in open battle. Odds are it’ll be hit and run, guerilla warfare. They know the land better, lived in it, were molded by it. We’ve got better guns, but they’ll be in their element.”
	“Spoken like a sage of war,” Andor replied.
	“More like a man who read too much Sun Tzu,” Xeng chuckled.
	“Maybe, but history still has many lessons to teach.”
	“Ah shit. Don’t get him going, Xeng. I don’t want to be here all night.”
	“Don’t worry, I was just stopping by before calling it a night. The gravity is still kicking my ass, so I’ll go sleep it off.”
	Andor and Xeng shared knowing glances.
	“Tell the missus hello and that we wish for the safety of your pelvis.”
	Joe slid down from his stool and turned towards the door. He waved back to Andor and Xeng before stepping out into the heat. The twilight had set in as the twin suns sank towards the horizon. The air had taken on an amber hue that faded into orange, then blue and finally, violet. He glanced towards the setting suns, seeing the haze of airborne sand clinging to the far edge of the sky.
	He started back towards the barracks, pulling his cap down to block out the sunlight. He slipped between the rows of prefab buildings towards his company’s quarters closer to the motor pools. The housing for the unit was long, low prefabs organized by company and platoon. Just past the end of the prefabs were the small prefab huts that served as officer’s bunks. He found his, spying the small external window glowing from the inside. Joe mounted the low steps and pulled the bare metal door open. Cooled air embraced him, and the blue-white halogens cast his shadow back out the doorway.

Chapter 2: Honeymooners

	Inside was a square room, approximately 15 feet to aside. The right side of the room consisted of a simple shower and washbasin around a small water reclaimer. To his left, a broad, metal frame bed sat in the back corner while a simple, utilitarian desk and bookshelf took up the spot closest to the door. His eyes came to rest on Verska, stretched on on the bed with her clawed feet hanging just off the end. She’d unzipped the top of her UNN uniform, tying the sleeve around her waist, leaving her ample chest clad in a simple black sports bra. The bare skin of her upper arms and toned, washboard abs shone with sweat under the overhead lights. Her fire-red hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail that shifted when her radar-dish ears swiveled to track Joe’s entry. Her emerald eyes flicked away from the book she held in her hands. It looked comically small compared to her eight-foot-plus stature.
	A warm smile grew across her face, curling the corners of her eyes. She closed the book, tossing it to the bed and swung her long digitigrade legs to the floor.
	“Welcome back. You look tired,” she crooned.
	“I am. Your planet’s still kicking my ass.”
	“You’ll adjust. It’ll be good exercise at the least.”
	She pushed off of the beds, the frame squeaking in relief while her claws clicked against the metal floor. She started towards him with her long, loping stride. Joe watched her move with a gliding ease through the room. He was amazed how easily she’d move on world, but he knew it was home field experience from growing up here. And her body showed it, the heavy musculature sculpted across her body, twisted and turning the black tiger stripes that banded her limbs and shoulders.
	She reached him, pulling him up in her arms as her breasts deformed against his chest. Her embrace was firm and warm, running her black claws through his hair and shooting shivers along his spine. He reached up, wrapping his arms back around her, trying the match her embrace. He took a deep breath, burying his face into her neck. Time seems to drift away for a few moments, leaving him wondering whether this was some cruel illusion, if the past year and a half had even happened. As quick as these thoughts came, so did the reality that they’d met for a passing moment, but by luck, the fate, or the divine, they’d managed to stay together.
	She turned and rubbed her face against his before pressing her full, soft lips against his, letting that long, serpentine tongue of hers flow in, coiling around his, and they slowly worked it back and forth, lost in the sensation as she spun and started towards the bed. After almost a minute, she broke away with a pop, letting that warm smile return. She set him on the edge of the bed, curling her legs under her and taking a seat on the floor in front of him.
	“So, it seems like you missed me,” Joe started, pulling at the straps on his boots, loosening them enough to wriggle them off his feet.
	“After the infantry finished up, I came back here,” Verska replied. “Wanted to wash up before getting food, and I figured you’d do the same.”
	“You figured right. Yeah, seems like we’ll be sweating anywhere we go on this rock. I’m guessing you sent your pack ahead?”
	“Yep. They can handle themselves for a bit without me. I wanted some privacy when we shower anyway.”
	Her warm smile turned a little more intimate as she hooked a claw along the top of her bra, flashing a little more of her bosom. He met her gaze, letting a grin take shape while his cheek reddened at her offer.
	“Let me get out of these sweat rags first,” he groaned, pulling his t-shirt off. He watched her eyes run over his body, taking in where he’d gained or lost weight, where he’d gained some muscles from the years. She rested her head on her hand, watching as he undressed before her with that same hungry, compassionate gaze that he’d grown to known almost every night.
	Joseph glanced towards the top of the bed, seeing the book she’d been flicking through. It was a smaller book, the black cover worn and frayed where she’d let her claws drag on the surface. The small, golden print along the spine flowed from the tail of a rocket at full burn. “The Martian Chronicles by Ray Bradbury.”
	“Another classic. You enjoying it?” He asked, nodding to the book.
	“It’s...strange.”
	“You could say that about a lot of Bradbury’s work.”
	“Was Mars really that strange for you?”
	“God, no. Bradbury wasn’t recording history. He was writing a loose series of stories about man going to some places where we shouldn’t and how we change as a result.”
	“Huh.”
	Joe rose from the bed, in nothing but his underwear with a towel over his shoulder. He started towards the shower, turning to watch Verska spring up on her long legs. She unzipped the rest of her uniform, wiggling on the spot. Her long tail slid free, swinging wide as she hooked her claws inside the suit. Slowly, the jumpsuit and bike shorts underneath slid down over the spheres of her rump. The firm trunks of her legs appeared next, shining like the rest of her skin. She spun on the spot, watching him watch her trace the frame of her body and the patch of silken, orange fur about her pubic mound. She started towards him, flipping the sports bra off and letting her chest bounce free. She undid the ponytail, letting the mane of fiery hair fall loose about her shoulders.
	She stopped at the door to the shower, the feline features of her face lightening as she pressed in for another kiss. Her voice was low and sultry, dripping with intent.
	“Don’t worry, I’ll take it slow on you. But once you adjust....”
	She bit him on the ridge of his shoulder, letting her tail coil around his leg.

****

	The rhythm was heavy and slow as she pushed off the wall. She pivoted on her toes, slamming back into him with each stroke. He was leaning against the wall, feeling the relatively cold metal against his back while she continued to roll her hips as he delved his hands into the supple flesh of her body. Her tail was wrapped around his torso, squeezing whenever he grabbed it by the base and pulled down. When she slammed back, he loosed a deep groan while she gasped and growled. Her silken walls clenched every inch he gave, pulling and trying to accomplish that primal urge.
	“I-I thought you’d...take it slow.”
	“I...am. Not...like you to complain.”
	He leaned forward, pushing off the wall to meet her motion. He let his hands wander along her back and let his fingers dance across her skin. One rested on her hip, sinking into for any amount of leverage. The other slid across her glass-smooth skin, finding her soft patch of pubic hair. His fingers delved through the hair, drawing gasping moans from Verska. She was close, little shudders and quakes passed through her body while Joe fought back his own rising pressure.
	She sped up, her claws carving grooves into the metal wall. Heat built around them even as the shower cut off. Joe buried her face into her back, biting her along the shoulder. A sharp yowl escaped her lips before a cascade of ecstasy and pressure overtook them. They lay together on the floor of the shower, breathing heavily and clinging to one another.
	“I think I broke the wall.”
	“Is...there a hole?”
	“I think I just dented it.”
	“You’re...fine,” Joe panted. He patted her thigh as she pulled him close against her breast.

****

	She buried her face into his neck, breathing slowly with the smooth rise and fall of her chest. Joe lay awake, staring off into the dark space of the room. Night had fallen outside, and Joe’d turned off the overhead lights, leaving the only light being a few scant beams shooting in from the window to hit the wall above his desk.
	They lay there on his bunk, sinking into the unfortunate frame and mattress. They lay facing each other under the thin sheet. He ran his fingers through her hair, feeling her loose a rumbling purr and squeeze him closer in her arms. He let a small smile creep out as he watched her. He pressed his face against her forehead, pecking her with a kiss before laying back against the pillow. He let his mind wander, how did he wind up here with her? Was it some fluke, some bit of luck? He loved her, but doubt seemed to creep back again and again.
	“Having trouble sleeping?” Verska asked, shifting on the bed. She slid to be at eye level with Joe, her eyes glinting in the low light.
	“In a way.”
	“And what way would that be?”
	“Just busy thinking about things, about us.”
	“What about us?” She asked, pushing herself up onto her elbow.
	Joe sighed, pulling himself closer.
	“Where do we go once we’re out of this, this war?”
	“I...don’t know what you mean.”
	“I mean at some point either this war will end or we’ll be too old to keep fighting in it. I’m asking what happens to us when that day comes.”
	“I don’t think I’ve thought that far ahead. Joe, you’re asking me where we’ll be decades from now. I have no idea where we’ll be a week from now.”
	“That’s not what I mean. I’m asking about this thing we’ve got going on. I guess I’m asking if you’d stay with me once this all ends.”
	“I don’t see why I wouldn’t. You’re a great mate and partner.”
	She rolled closer, resting her heavy head on his shoulder and draping her arm across his chest. She closed her hand around his, pulling him closer in the dark.
	“I’m not sure if it’s what you’d call love, but I want to stay if that’s what you’re asking.”
	She squeezed his hand while her long, dexterous tail wound around his torso. She radiated heat and confidence as she lay next to him. Hearing her words, soft and sweet, soothed his mind.
	“So, Captain. What do you see in our future?”
	“Nothing concrete. Once its all said and done, I’d want to go out and find someplace to call our own. Probably somewhere out in the colonies if we can swing it-”
	“Somewhere warm,” she crooned.
	“Somewhere warm and without sand,” he responded.

Chapter 3: Flashpoint

	Highlander lurched to a stop along the range. The cannons roared to life, hurling tungsten and HE shells out towards the target boards at the far end of the range. With each shot, the shockwave kicked up a cloud of sand, swirling about the coiled rail cannon. They were on target, punching through the plate metal with a spray of sparks.
	“Company, Leapfrog advance,” Joe barked through the comms.
	Through the external cameras, Joe watched Second and Third Platoon roll forward, their Kodiaks firing towards the target boards. Fourth Platoon rolled up through the gap to the right, Fifth Platoon to the left. The Puma IFVs turned their guns downrange, letting off long streams of tracers and grenade fire. The far end of the first range was a cloud of sand and metal. Once the IFVs slowed to a stop, the arms flanking the forward hulls articulated open while the troop bay doors dropped. The arms began to fold open, deploying the black composite plate shields for the infantry could use. The black carved into the sand, throwing up small mounds of sand where the plates locked and rose to six feet high. From the rear of the Pumas, Marines poured out onto the sand. Their black plated armor and light blue uniforms stood out against the sands. Human, Krell, and Borealan fanned out along the shield line before leveling their XMRs and firing downrange. The Krell used their machine guns to lay down long belts of suppressing fire while the others let out controlled bursts and lone shots. They plinked away at smaller target plates dotting the hillside.
	“Armor, advance,” Joe called again.
	While the Pumas and Marines continued their suppressing fire, the Kodiaks rolled ahead. The armored platoons hurled out a spray of white phosphorus shells, letting the smoke billow out across the range. Joe cycled to thermals, fighting to see the details from the burning clouds and sun-blasted sand. He toggled off thermal, tapping his foot against the shotgun slung inside the turret. Highlander pushed on, climbing the next ridge. As they advanced, Whit spun the turret, spraying the target areas with chain cannon rounds and plasma fire.
	“Shit,” Whit mumbled.
	“What is it, Whit?”
	“Main cannon’s overheating. Sensors say build-up on the coils.”
	“We’ll take a look at it when we get back.”
	Joe keyed his commset on the company-wide channel.
	“Keep an eye on your guns, Bravo. Heat’s causing some sort of build-up.”
	The crested the next dune, finding another line of target boards downrange. Behind them, the Marines turned, reboarding the Pumas to repeat the advanced. This drill continued a handful more times as they continued along the training range. At the far end, Bravo Company wheeled around and paralleled the range back towards the FOB.
	Joe pushed his hatch up, pulling himself up onto the roof. To the right, he spied the green belt of jungle that stretched towards the horizon. Ahead, the city rose above the dunes like some great work lost to time. He glanced to the left, letting his eyes scan over the target range. The leapfrog drills had covered several miles of dunes, putting the company through combined arms assaults and target practice. They’d probably repeat the exercises again in a few days, but Joe hoped that’s all they’d need to do was drill with it. If diplomacy failed though, it was best to be prepared. Si vis pacem, para bellum, he thought as they neared the edge of the camp.
	The company rolled through the outer gate of the FOB, passing through and crossing the patchwork of earthen and prefabs structures. They came to the motor pool, fanning out into organized rows for the platoons in Bravo’s section. The engines died slowly, whirring down as the crews began to dismount.
	Joe slid to the turret front, crouching to inspect the main cannon. His hand hovered above the mag rails, feeling the residual heat fading. A glitter of light caught his eye around the banks of coiled wire that accelerated the Kodiak’s ammunition. He drew the buck knife he’d carried in his boot, poking at the glitter. He chipped at it with the knife, hearing the clink of metal on ceramic. Leaning closer, resting on his knees, inspecting the build-up. It was almost transparent with a faint brown tint in the light.
	“What is it?” Whitman called from behind.
	“There’s glass melted around the coils.”
	“What?” Frankie sat up in his seat, pushing back his hatch.
	“You heard me.”
	“But how’d the sand get up that high?” Whit asked.
	“Either windblown or it must’ve been kicked up by us firing. Either way, we’ll have to work around it. Whit, get the tool kit.”
	Joe pushed up, stepping up onto the turret.
	“Bravo, fall in,” he barked.
	He pulled his helmet off, dropping it through the open hatch while the rest of the company grouped up alongside Highlander.
	“You’ve completed your drills with exceptional performance. We’ll run them again soon. On another note, all of you should inspect your equipment. Sand getting wedged inside the coils has melted into glass after repeated firing. I want all of you to make sure you clean the glass out. Dismissed.”
	The company turned, heading off into the camp for the night. He’d find Verska later, or she’d find him. Joe turned back to Whitman and Frankie, who’d pulled the tool kit out and set it on the hull. They pulled out some of the smaller wrenches, starting to chip away at the glass. It came off in uneven chunks, falling away from the coils. It was slow work, trying to pick away at the glass without damaging the coil. Even a minute crack or flaw in the coil could cause a significant loss in the main gun’s power. Whitman whistled slowly and clearly as they worked from one bundle of coils to the next. Glancing around, Joe saw most of the other crews at work, picking away the glass and sand from their guns.
	The sun had begun to set when Joe heard a voice from behind.
	“Captain,” Colonel Moritz’s voice reached up over the clinking of metal on glass and Whitman’s whistling.
	Joe turned, dropping from the side of Highlander to stand in front of his commanding officer. Moritz stood stoic in his uniform, seemingly undaunted by the heat that drew water from the rest of them by the bucketful.
	“Colonel,” Joseph saluted. “To what do I owe this meeting?”
	“Command has seen fit to grant us some reinforcements. Each company’s being granted some extra Borealan auxiliaries.”
	“How many to be exact, because a few might not cause much of an issue, but a full pack could lead to a fight or two.”
	“It appeared to be a pack, six to be exact-”
	“There could be a fight between Verska and whoever this is new Alpha is. Any more information?”
	“They’re a pack of Rask-”
	“Aw shit. That’s a recipe for trouble. Where are they currently?” Joe asked, realizing what Moritz had just said.
	“When I realized you weren’t in your barracks, I dismissed them to quarter-”
	“Cap!” Private Van de Mur, Wildebeest’s gunner, came sprinting from the direction of the barracks. “T-the damned cats, sir. They’re close to fighting in the rec hall.”
	“Sir,” Joe saluted to Moritz before breaking into a full run towards the rec hall. He rounded the end of the HESCO wall separating the barracks from the rec hall.
	A small crowd had gathered near the door. Joe pushed through into the room. The only casualty yet was a lone table crushed underfoot as Verska stood staring down another Borealan. Their packs stood back, leaving the two alone in the center of the room. Verska’s rival in this was Rask, with dark, tanned skin and hair bleached almost silver from the harsh desert sun. From his angle on the sideline, Joe could see it was a she. Verska had a few inches on her, but through their uniforms, the Rask had a slight weight advantage. Where Verska’s hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail, the Rask’s hair flowed like a mane down past her shoulders, full and bright. Joe could see the black eyepatch covering the Rask’s left eye.
	The MPs hadn’t arrived yet and the two hadn’t come to blows, but lightning jumped between them. The hair across their bodies stood on end, claws extended, tails snapping left and right with tension. Neither even flicked an ear his way when he entered. They hissed in their native languages, spitting curses and insults Joe could guess the intent without a translator.
	“I don’t know why you’re here,” Verska spat.
	“We came to show you how to fight, clawless bitch,” the Rask replied, letting the venom cling to her tongue.
	Verska seems to recoil at the insult.
	“At least my people aren’t betraying their allies.”
	“Ally means nothing to you anyway.”
	“That’s quite enough,”  Joe interrupted. He cleared his throat, watching them slowly break their gaze. They turned slow, neither wanting to blink first and give an opening.
	“Captain,” Verska nodded. The Rask just stared him down, her amber-almost-gold eye seeming to glow against her dark skin.
	“You must be the new pack,” he continued. “I’d welcome you to Bravo Company, but it seems the Lance Corporal’s already handled that.”
	“Not a very welcoming welcome, sir.” The Rask replied.
	“Regardless, you’re in Bravo now. And let me make this clear, you’re under my command, and I won’t tolerate any cats scrapping in the damn rec room.”
	He turned to the Rask, locking her gaze.
	“What’s your name and rank?”
	“Lance Corporal Griza.” she growled, breaking her gaze to focus back on Verska. The sharp, tense way they carried themselves indicated what they’d both have preferred doing. If he’d been a second later, he’d be trying to break up one hell of a fight. His mind sprayed off ideas to try and defuse this or deflect their attention. The last thing he needed was a bloody brawl in the rec room.
	He cleared his throat and stepped between the two towering creatures, drawing their eyes from each other, if even for just a second. He wheeled to face Verska, speaking loud, slow and precise, careful to keep a steady control on his tone.
	“L.C. Verska, your pack will be fully shifted to Fourth Platoon.”
	He spun on a heel, snapping his fingers towards Griza. The sudden motion caught the Rask by surprise, causing the slightest twitch in her ears and face. A crack in that ruthless facade.
	“L.C. Griza, your pack is assigned to Fifth. You’ll report to Lieutenant Jumbi in the barracks after this. If there are any standing questions about how I run my unit, bring them forward.”
	He stood between the two, giving them several seconds to reply. Instead, he received more tense silence as they leered across the gulf Joe had made. It was nearly silent save for the faint drone of the HVAC unit and the nervous, sporadic thump of a tail on the metal floor.
	“Now, let me make this quite clear. Regardless of whatever history your people have with each other, there will be no infighting inside my unit. Pride be damned, you are part of MacDonald’s Marauders. You fight together, or I’ll see to it that both of you are transferred out.”
	Joe caught a quick gaze of Verska’s face flash away from the anger, if only for a second. He wasn’t sure if it was shock or sorrow or something else. He turned to Griza, finding her with a smarmy grin on her face.
	“I understand, Captain. We’ll play nice with our Elysian comrades No fighting each other and such.”
	“Good. Drills will be tomorrow at 1200.”
	Joe watched as the two packs slowly shifted towards the door. Griza and Verska jostled to be the first one out, before heading out into the base. Joe stood alone in the rec room, standing over the broken table. It was a few minutes before some of the crowd outside began to drift back in, taking seats about the place. He turned and stepped out the door, seeing Colonel Moritz standing at the edge of the field. Joe walked over to his commander, finding the old man drinking in the scene.
	“So, Captain. You’ve met your new pack.”
	“For the record, I’m not pleased about this situation, sir.”
	“How so?” the Colonel stepped closer to the Captain.
	“Due to the current geopolitical situation here, attaching a Rask pack to my company will cause internal conflict. They almost came to blows-”
	“Captain, I understand your concerns, but frankly I don’t give a damn. Bravo is your unit to command, and if you can’t handle your men, command will find someone who can. Our little dust-up here isn’t as important as more active fronts, so we’ll have to make do with what we get like we always do, and Lance Corporal Griza’s pack is just that. They’re the best your company is going to get for a while. Is that understood?”
	“Yes, sir.”
	“Good, because some of the local leadership is requesting a demonstration of your vehicles after the next winter cycle in about a week.”
	“Understood, sir.”
	“You’re dismissed, Captain. And Joe,” Moritz paused, while Joe turned to face him. “I don’t envy your position.”
	Colonel Moritz turned and folded his hands behind his back and headed off into the base.
	Joe let a long, slow sigh out before he pulled off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. The sweltering heat was the last thing on his mind as he started towards his bunk. What a mess, he thought, what a fucking mess. Why here of all places, and why the Rask?
	He stepped through the door to his bunk, finding Verska pacing the room. He stood, watching her as her claws clicked against the metal floor, and her voice came in low muttered curses and hissing. When he let the door click shut, bringing her wide, wild eyes to rest on him.
	“Why did you get in the way?” She demanded, folding her arms across her chest.
	“I stepped in to keep you two from ripping each other apart,” he barked back.
	“You shouldn’t have. I would have shut her damned mouth myself. All her smug bluster wouldn’t help her then.”
	“And then the MPs would’ve broken it all up. You can’t try to act like this was just another dominance bout to you. Verska, I know you well enough to know you’d’ve gone far beyond just beating her.”
	She turned, deathly quiet as she slid towards him.
	“Why did you undermine me in front of my pack?” She hissed, changing the subject, shifting it back onto him.
	He stepped towards her, matching her stern, unwavering gaze. He felt his back pop and loosen as he fought himself for any extra inch to stand closer and higher.
	“By pulling rank and stepping in? Maybe because it’s my damn job to look out for everyone under my command, Lance Corporal. Maybe it’s because I’m trying to keep my unit together before we go into combat. I’m not trying to start a fight, I’m trying to keep this shit from boiling over into one. Now I expect you to fall in line the same as her,” he barked, throwing a thumb towards the door. “Do you understand me?”
	Verska growled, she looked ready to argue her point further, teeth exposed as she narrowed her eyes.
	“Because I swear if you compromise my unit with this shit, I’ll see both of you kicked out.”
	“You wouldn’t dare, we’ve got too much between us for you to give me up,” she snarled back.
	“Don’t you dare...Don’t you dare try to force that decision on me. Because I’ll make whatever call keeps my men safe. That’s something I owe MacDonald, not you.”
	As he looked up, her eyes seemed to glow a little brighter, but he wasn’t sure if it was tears or just his eyes playing tricks.
	“You just don’t understand, Joe. There’s a long, harsh history between our people.”
	“I may not understand, but I need you two to put this shit behind you because whatever happened between your people doesn’t matter right here and now. Verska, I need you to -Dammit, look at me!” he pleaded, reaching a hand up to her cheek. He ran a thumb across her face, stepping closer to her.
	“Are you asking me?”
	“I’m ordering you.”
	She brushed away his hand and started for the door. She stopped, looking back over her shoulder.
	“You’re asking me to do something that goes against every instinct I have. You’re asking me not to fight, to try and ‘get along’ with someone who could turn on us the moment the fighting starts. They’re raiders and brigands through and through.”
	“That’s for me to handle. I’m asking you to not make the situation any more difficult.”
	“Why do you think we were stationed here? We can’t trust them, and you refuse to see that.”
Verska opened the door and stepped out into the fading twilight. Her ears were still tracking him while she paused at the threshold.
	“I still- ” He started to say as she let the door violently shut behind her, “-love you…”
Joe heaved a sigh, stripping away his heavy uniform. The weight of the day, the confrontations, the heat, and sweat rolling down his back. It pulled him onto the bed as if he’d just arrived on Borealis that day.
	Why the Rask? Elysian’s I can handle, but these guys?  They’ve butted heads but fell in line easily enough. Araxie, he wasn’t sure how the hell they’d interact. But Rask? If the cultural reports  I’ve seen are right, Command would be better off throwing water onto an oil fire. Slavers and the enslaved would rarely get along after everything ended, but this is my beast to tame one way or another.
	“Dammit, I don’t get paid enough for this shit.” Joe dimmed the lights and fell into what he assumed would be the first of many restless nights.

Chapter 4: Bravado


	Highlander thundered, sending tungsten and plasma down the range. The hillside was a cloud of sand, and glittering glass as the vehicles thundered. Through his view screens, he watched the infantry fan out and strike across the range towards the targets. They were drilling a bounding fire advance. In sections, the vehicles and infantry moved and fired, barraging the target area. One would attack and suppress any defenses while the other group advanced.
	Among Fourth and Fifth platoon, he could see the towering figures of the Borealans, rushing ahead of the others. Verska’s and Griza’s packs pushed forward from the firing lines, almost charging downrange on their own. They fired wild, rushing their shots before they shifted back to the firing line. They were flaunting their skills, trying to one-up each other from across the range. The drills continued on as they had the day before, but every time the infantry fanned out, one of the packs was always trying to outdo the other.
	Their bravado was commendable, he thought, but it was sloppy. He suspected Griza’s pack of instigating this for not being familiar with the combined arms tactics he employed. But this seemed to be something further than just an ignorance. They were testing him, some probing of his authority. They were trying to draw out that competitive side in Verska, too. What clung with him was that Griza had succeeded in that.
	The drill ended as the infantry remounted following the last target line. The vehicles rumbled into formation and turned back towards the base as the sun began its slow descent. Joe sunk into his seat, keying his commset and turning up the volume.
	“-Ever happens, these they’re acting like children on the playground,” Knispel said.
	“I know what you mean. The Mad Cats were showboating more than shooting,” Lt. Esteban of 5th Platoon replied. “They almost walked in front of the firing lines.”
	“This is horseshit,” Fitzgerald griped from 2nd.
	Joe keyed his set, feeling the flashing heat of anger welling up inside his stomach. He coughed, drawing a silence over the comms.
	“Bravo is my company, lieutenants. I’ll handle this personally.” Joe growled before stripping off his helmet and commset. He ground his teeth and muttered silent curses at this and at Moritz as the company pulled into the motor pool.
	Joe threw open his hatch and sprang up onto Highlander’s roof. The company formed before him, a mingling of humans and Krell in the center with either pack at the fringes.
	“1st, 2nd, and 3rd platoons performed well today. As for 4th and 5th, your packs got carried away. LC Verska, LC Griza, stay right where you are. Everyone else is dismissed.”
	Joe folded his arms across his chest, watching the company disperse save the two Alphas who leered up towards him, their ears twitched back after being called out in front of the company. The motor pool seemed quieter than it was, his ears tuning to the distant rhythm of machine and faint engines.
	“What the absolute fuck was that horseshit on the range? Are you both trying to get your packs killed? Lance Corporal Griza, you may be new to the mechanized, but that doesn’t excuse what must be either rampant stupidity or malice. Lance Corporal Verska, frankly, I expected better of you. You and yours have been through a dozen offensives. You know our doctrine like your own name. What do you two have to say for your sorry asses?”
	The seconds dragged on, slowly ticking by as Joe felt that slow anger building back up inside. They were behaving like spoiled runts instead of the professional soldiers they’re supposed to be. He watched them for that short span of seconds. Verska barred her teeth, eyes cast down in conflict between snapping back or swallowing her pride. Griza seemed more irritated that she had to sit through Joe’s scolding.
	Verska relented, her gaze softening as she straightened her back and raised her chin.
	“I accept responsibility for my pack, sir.”
	“Just roll over, why don’t you,” Griza hissed. “You may be an Elysian, but you are still a Borealan. We charge and fight with claw and tooth. We don’t hide behind walls and cower amongst shields.”
	“You’ll learn,” Joe retorted. “This isn’t a Borealan unit. You’re in the mechanized. We’re combined arms, so adjust.”
	“Your...vehicles are slow and loud. My people would run circles around them.”
	“With what, a matchwood sand sailor? Your people are raiders, speed and surprise is your best advantage, but it won’t mean shit against the UNN. Our entire doctrine is the overwhelming assertion of combined arms. You have no idea what this unit is capable of because it’s your first fucking day, Lance Corporal. Now you’re free to leave.”
	Joe swung down from Highlander, shoving his hands into his pockets as he started towards the mess hall. His anger was only compounded by that growing well of hunger hanging heavy in his stomach. He kicked at the sand and felt the sun and gravity pulling down on him, just waiting for a moment of weakness to crush him against the burnt earth.
	He shook off the sand as he entered the mess hall, making a line for the food before scouring the sea of people for his men. Occasionally, his eyes passed an island of Borealans of the lonely atoll of a Krell before he spied Frankie waving him down. He started towards his crew, navigating the aisles and rows of tables.
	He slid the tray in front of him, dropping onto the bench amongst his company. They were arrayed along the table, the vehicle crews clustered towards one end while the infantry circled at the other end. Griza’s pack occupied the farthest end of the tables while Verska’s took up the closest end. He poked at his food, trying to pin down what exactly he’d been served with a side of beans and broccoli.
	“It’s fish,” Whit groaned from across the table. “One of the cats say they pull it out of the lake.”
	“Good enough for me,” Joe shrugged as he shoveled a hunk of the flaking meat into his mouth.
	“So, Captain,” Fitzgerald began from Joe’s left. “How’d the two take the ass-chewing?”
	“The new one made a stink about our vehicles being too slow for her liking and how the Rask will circle us when the fighting courses. Verska surprisingly took it without much issue-”
	“For now, at least,” Xeng smiled. “She’ll probably get back at you when you two kiss and make up.”
	“Yeah, yeah,” Joe replied, waving off the lieutenant. “But I think we should give our newer members a proper introduction to just how fast we can move when needed. We’ll run an assault drill tomorrow before the suns are up.”
	“Maybe you should just let the two duke it out, sort this matter out quickly.”
	“Doing that might only worsen everything. If they want to maul each other for something bigger than just ‘who’s top dog,’ it might come back to bite us if fighting breaks out. I need them to be able to get along since they’ll have to support each other. Letting them fight might just smooth over the cracks without filling them in, know what I mean?”
	“Sounds fair enough, but we’ll have to clear our filters a couple times over if we keep running drills at this rate. This sand is getting everywhere, even with the intake screens installed. We’ll have to take some time to do maintenance.”
	“Agreed,” Joe started, leaning forward on his elbows. “I figure I should inform you all a bit before Moritz calls all the companies for a briefing, but here in about a week, we’ll go through a Borealan winter. Afterward, we have to pull a demonstration to the local leadership or something. I want all of Bravo’s crews doing any and all maintenance over that winter. We’ve worked in the cold before, and we shouldn’t be bothered. Spread the word to all your crews and let them know.”
	Joe looked up, tracking movement by the food line. Verska entered, making her way along the food line. She scooped a small mountain of meat onto her tray and turned towards him. Even across the gulf of the mess hall, he could feel her eyes on him. He met her gaze the best he could, letting a smile creep across his face. She seemed to return it, starting towards the table. As she neared, some of the men to Joe’s left shifted around, leaving a space between Joe and Verska’s pack. She slid in, folding her legs underneath the bench to fit next to him. He felt her tail coil about his ankle, squeezing every now and then as if to remind one of them the other was there.
	“So you think there’s anything to Griza’s words?” Verska asked.
	“Which words?”
	“That the Rask can outmaneuver us.”
	“Honestly, I expect them to try. One to one, a Kodiak or Puma should be able to kill whatever the Rask send our way. Combine that with satellites or air recon, and we’ll be able to see them coming over the horizon. Beyond that, they have to find a way to beat our armor. But until we fight them in the field, we won’t have to handle exact counters when they actually start a fight.”
	He continued to pick at the meal, feeling the knot in his stomach fade. He watched and listened to the chatter between his company. Before long, he felt Verska’s tail seize around his leg, tightening by the second. He broke off from listening, tracking motion on the far side of the room.
	Griza had entered, scooping a mountain of food onto her tray and starting towards the rest of the company. A few of the others tracked Joe’s eyes, spying the Rask heading their way. Some of them made excuses about rest or vehicle work. Joe sat there, watching Griza approach, flashing a harsh smirk at them before sitting with her pack at the end of the table.

Chapter 5: Tension

	The first fingers of dawn had started creeping over the sand, announcing the slow approach of the twin suns. Joe whistled across the comms, signaling the start of the drill. Along the assault line, the engines roared to life, slowly accelerating across the field. Today, they were forgoing the main gunnery range and barreling out on a broader arc of the base.
	The vehicles roared and threw sand in clouds behind them as they moved faster and faster over the rolling dunes, Highlander bounding like a boat on the sea. Joe braced against the turret as the heavy metal beast slammed down the slope. Around him, the thermal grayscale feed him the rolling dunes, rolling out in the endless waves of a dry expanse. Ahead, the dunes were dotted by the white glow of targets standing out against cool sands. He clicked on the loudspeakers, letting a torrent of sound clash with the howling engines. Joe clicked his commset and barked a clear, sharp order.
	“Gunners, engage. Drivers, keep rolling.”
	He took control of his chain gun on Highlander’s roof. He lined the sights over the first target, feeling the turret above him hum as a burst of explosive shot.
	“Let’em have it, Whit.”
	“Aye, Captain.”
	Around him, the turret turned and the railcannon pivoted in its mantle. The electromagnetic coils hummed before Highlander rocked back on its suspension. The inertia fought across him as he watched the white-hot tungsten rod zip to the target, piercing the metal with a full spray of burning sparks flowering across his screen. To his left and right, the secondary cannons barked out bursts of plasma and shot. The targets were peppered over and over, glowing brighter before they collapsed into the sand.
	They bounded the next line of dunes, moving down into a vast basin between pair of towering dunes. Frankie shifted them forwards, heading into the cleft between the dunes. Targets hemmed the path to either side, half-buried by the shifting sands and marked by the dozens of impacts and over penetrations. The gunners spun, firing up the slopes and casting up expansive clouds of dust that fell across the company in a fine dusting where it settled.
	The warnings began to pop up on Joe’s displays. The guns were starting to overheat from glass buildup on the white-hot coils. Also, the filters were reading sand in the intakes, beginning to choke up the hulking machines.
	“Company, cease-fire.”
	The cacophony on cannons and guns fell silent around them.
	“Company, form up and return to base. Frankie, take us back.”
	He cycled back to the exterior cameras, seeing the fully risen suns falling over them, flooding his view with glowing sand and light. Around him, the vehicles fell into that familiar procession as they started back towards the base. They rolled quickly, crossing the edge of the base and back into the motor pool. Joe surveyed his company as they dismounted, the infantry moving off in clusters. His eyes tracked the two packs of Borealans under his command, watching Griza and Verska stalk off towards their mess hall. Their packs trailed along behind them, bristling at the others’ presence.
	Joe rolled down from Highlander and kicked the sand away from his boots. He started along behind his company into the base, looking off into the blue sky above. He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, feeling stray grains of sand against his scalp.
He climbed up the plate metal steps into the moderately conditioned mess hall and slid over to the line. He took a deep breath, taking in the aroma of the food fighting against that dry grease scent of day-old dried sweat. His tray became heavy with a disorderly gruel of hashed potatoes, rehydrated eggs, biscuits with a dense layer of milk gravy, and several pieces of what appeared to be some sort of fish bacon or jerky.
	“Looks good, eh?” Frankie asked from the left.
	“Definitely. Reminds me a bit of home, just with shitty eggs.”
	“The burden of intersolar logistics.”
	Joe shrugged as he turned to look out over the hall. His company was scattered about today, taking us space wherever it could be found. Verska and her pack were far to the left, filling the last few seats of a Borealan-sized table. Griza’s were absent from the room as far as he could see. Scanning the room, Joe saw Whitman waving him down from a table towards the back of the room. He crossed the room, dropping into an open spot next to his gunner. He scooped the salt and pepper shakers and sprinkled it across his plate.
	“So Captain, what’s the word? Rumor around the company is that there’s some sort of big demonstration in a few days.”
	“Rumors would be correct. We’re going to be running a demonstration for some local honcho’s ego. We’ll be flashing all of our skills and abilities for some glorified PR stunt. Until then, it’s business as usual.”
	“Seems easy enough...Pass the salt?”
	Joe slid the shaker across the table to his gunner. A shadow fell over the pair, drawing Joe’s eyes up to see Griza standing behind Whit.
	“Captain,” she started.
	“Lance Corporal,” Joe nodded in response.
	She forced herself onto the small bench, folding her legs close to her chest as Whit was pushed to the side.
	“To what do I owe this...intrusion,” Joe said, shoveling a forkful of egg and potatoes into his mouth.
	“I simply just wished to get to know my commander a little better,” she smiled, resting her chin on her a clawed hand.
	“Is that so, because I find this strangely insincere?”
	“Come on, Captain, I know our first introduction was rather rough, but the least we could put it past us.”
	A small alarm sounded in the back of his head. She was trying to make small talk, and some deep primal response told him something was amiss, that deep sixth sense of unease. By all logical outcomes, her behavior didn’t match up or flow.
	“And we can. All you need to do is follow orders and not cause me grief,” Joe shot back.
	“And for that, I’m sorry-”
	He froze, his head snapping towards Whitman with a pang of disbelief at both what he heard and how serious she was.
	“Corporal Whitman,” Joe cutting off Griza. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but is the Lance Corporal apologizing to me?”
	“Sure seems like it.”
	“And when have you ever known a Mad Cat to say sorry short of swallowing pride?”
	Joe looked up from his plate, seeing the first pangs of anger welling up inside her. Her ears had dropped towards her head, her one good eye squinting with that harsh tell.
	“If you’re going to try to kiss ass, you might try being sincere about it. What do you actually want, Lance Corporal?”
	Her ears perked up, the one amber eye locked on him. The flash of anger fading to something new. She leaned forward, folding her arms on the table, resting her ample chest on them.
	“We need to clear the air between us, and kicking your ass will get me shot or thrown in a cell for a long time. I don’t need my pack getting shipped off to some iceball to freeze, so we need to...integrate better.”
	She let the words hang in the air as Whit cleared his throat and pushed himself from the table. Joe brought his eyes back on Griza, staring her down from across the metal tabletop. She let a sly, toothed grin flash. He felt his cheeks creep red as he watched her smile grow.
	“So Captain, we could put your empty bunk to use,” Griza growled, shooting a sidelong glance towards Verska.
	“For my sake and yours, I recommend you drop that line of reasoning immediately, Lance Corporal.”
	He pushed his plate forward, tossing his utensils onto the plate.
	“Captain O’Kane?” an orderly asked, skidding to a stop behind Griza.
	“Yes, what is it?” Joe asked, looking up at the unexpected savior.
	“Colonel Moritz needs to speak with you immediately.”
	Joe muttered a silent prayer as he pushed up from his seat. He picked up his plate and started away from Griza’s advances. He looked back, seeing Verska’s concerned visage and Griza’s sharp, leering eye tracking him across the room before he tossed the plate and stepped out into the desert sun.
	Great, Joe thought. Instead of trying to murder each other, Griza’s trying to turn this into some sort of sexual game. He wondered how close he was to being discharged and making his way to some frontier colony. Couldn’t be any worse than being pulled into a love triangle where two out of three could gut him in one swipe and seemed hellbent on outdoing each other.
	“Fuck,” Joe sighed. “I need a drink.”

Chapter 6: Guests of the Patriarch

	He let the door close behind him as he stepped into Mortiz’s office. The ever-stoic officer was seated behind his desk, flanked by a pair of fans screaming against the heated air. The Colonel looked up from his paperwork, letting his eyes rest on the Captain. He matched his subordinate’s salute and waved him to the seat across from him.
	“You wanted to see me, sir.” Joe started, leaning back in the plastic chair.
	“You wouldn’t be seated across from me if I hadn’t.”
	“May I ask what this is about?”
	“You may, but it won’t be a helpful question before long. It appears your new marines are starting to behave itself.”
	“They aren’t giving me any new trouble at least-”
	“Which is all we need some days. But to be brief, the battalion as a whole will be partaking in the demonstration to the local hierarchs. This show of force will be live fire against target drones for the sake of flash and so on.”
	“Politics as usual, sir?”
	“Seems to be the case, Captain. But command doesn’t want anything potentially hindering performance and further shaking the hierarchs’ faith in the Coalition with all this Rask business. Which is what brings you here in front of me. I’ve kept up on the status reports from your drills, and it seems the Kodiaks have been suffering some performance issues. What would you say about that, Captain?”
	“Frankly, we are having issues with the air intakes choking on sand and the barrels glassing up-”
	“Glass, like a window?”
	“Yes, sir. We’re thinking the sand’s getting kicked up by shots, and the coils are hot enough to melt it. It clings to the barrel and causes further cooling issues. So far, that’s the extent of issues we’ve found-”
	“Good. I’m tasking you with sorting out a solution to these design flaws as soon as possible. The demonstration is four days out, so time is short on this. Which is why I’m deferring this to your charge. You’re the engineer at my disposal, and I want results, so I’m putting your skills to use, Captain. Draft whoever you need on base to sort this matter out. Am I understood?”
	“Fully, sir.”
	“One final thing, with this demonstration coming down the pipe, command’s also seen fit to grant a pass for the battalion at large. Tomorrow night, an assortment of the battalion command has been invited to a feast of sorts at the Patriarch’s residence. The rest of the battalion will be given rest and leave as needed, but your presence is requested at this event, at least for part of it. Any questions, Captain?”
	“Full dress?”
	“What else would you wear? Pajamas?” Moritz cracked a smile back towards Joe. “You’re dismissed, Captain. And have a good day.”
Joe nodded as he pushed up from his seat and turned back out the door.

****

	Joe stepped out of the shower, running the towel across his body and shaking the extra water out of his hair. The small prefab was quiet save for the dripping of the showerhead and the distant sound of engines and the din of the base. He glanced out the small window in the wall, seeing the twilight of the setting sun as the day grew short. He hung the wet towel on the rack and headed into the central space of the prefab. It seemed empty without Verska. Usually, she was here, lounging on the bed and reading or flicking through his things out of some quiet curiosity.
	He let a slow sigh punctuate the quiet as he went to the small alcove next to the washbasin that served as a simple closet. He opened a drawer, pulling out a pair of boxers and a plain white t-shirt. He slid them on before he pulled his dress uniform off its hanger. Where his standard uniform was a gray two-piece pair of fatigues similar to the jumpsuits the marines, his dress uniform was a crisp, clean jacket and pants in a steel gray with the silver bars of Captain on his collar and shoulders. A set of bars sat on his chest, marking in their color code Armored and Engineer. He pulled the officer’s cap down, setting it on his desk while he pulled on the dress uniform around him. It was tight in some places, stifling in others, but a mark of rank, and it looked far nicer than his sweat-soaked regs.
	He sat for a second, checking the clock and saw that the officers would depart in a short while. There came a knock at his door, slow and hesitant against the dull metal. He rose, unlatching it from behind his desk and pulling the door open enough  to see who knocked.
	Verska looked down at him as she leaned against the door frame. Her eyes played over the dress uniform with a slight smile.
	“You look good in that,” she started.
	“Thanks. So, is this a Captain visit or a Joe visit?”
	“Joe,” she answered, letting her ears sink.
	“Come in,” he waved her through the open door.
	She slinked in, hovering, and pacing the floor. Her ears swiveled as she traced routes across the room, keeping locked on him. She stopped, wheeling to face him and set her emerald eyes on him.
	“Joe, I’m not sure how to start…”
	“Start what, Verska?”
	“I miss my partner. I’m tired of an empty bunk especially with winter here-”
	“These things happen when we fight,” He cut her off. “But to be honest, I miss you too. Bunk’s a lot bigger without you around.”
	“I’m sorry about all of this, but you don’t understand our ways on some things, Joe.”
	“I know. I may never understand, but I know if we want to keep this thing we’ve got going on between us, we’re going to have to work through it one way or another.”
	Verska sighed, standing in the center of the room like a fish out of water. Her face was twisted deep in thought and the soft, somber expression creeping across. Joe pushed up from his chair and crossed the room to her. He wrapped his arms about her waist and buried his face into her back.
	“I want to finish this discussion,” He started. “But it’ll have to be later. We’re supposed to head into the city soon.”
	“So when do we finish this?”
	“Later tonight. I shouldn’t be at this feast for the whole night, and the rest of the battalion will probably find a dive bar or something to drink the night away. So I’ll try to slip out a little early, and I can meet you on the road back here.”
	“Nice little beach rendezvous.”
	“Then we can come back here and sort things out...and maybe have a little fun, too.”
	“Now, you’re speaking my language, Joe.”
	He felt her long tail coil around his leg and turned to face him. He looked up into her green eyes and seeing that warm smile grow across her face.
	“Verska,” Joe resumed, reaching up and stroking her cheek. “I love you.”
	“I know,” she replied, leaning in while he matched her for a slow kiss and a tight embrace.
	She broke off and stepped back, leaving her hands on his shoulders as she tried to press out the wrinkles she’d made. After a couple heavy pats, she stepped back and locked eyes with Joe.
	“So, when do you want to plan this beachfront encounter?”
	“I want to say about 0030 hours. Time for me to hob-nob sufficiently and slip out.”
	“I’ll keep an eye out for you,” she said, sliding to the door and slipping back out into the heat.
	Taking a few moments to compose himself, fighting the shudder of excitement spurring along his body. He took a deep breath before pulling his door open. Joe stepped out into the sun, starting towards the administrative building. He ran his fingers through his hair before putting his officer’s cap on.
	He rounded to corner towards the admin building, spying the line of Timber Wolves that would carry them into the city. He spied the handful of Captains milling about in their dress grays. He found himself milling about in the dust amongst them, matching their smiles and candor.
	“So, Joe,” Herrera boomed. “Sounds like we’ll be busy these next two days with you.”
	“Seems to be the case, Herrera. Moritz’s on my ass to sort out the issues with the Kodiak before our little demonstration. So tomorrow, I want all crews up by 0900 and in the motor pool so we can get a solid start, but we’ll worry about that tomorrow.”
Shortly after, Colonel Moritz joined them, they mounted into the Wolves. The trucks were spacious in part since they were supposed to carry Borealans in full combat load. They sat in the front row of seats behind the driver and the parallel benches that lined the bed of the truck. The fuel cell engines hummed to life, starting out with a jolt while the convoy started towards the spires and domes that made up the skyline of Elysia. The column slowed as they reached the edge of the city, moving through the busy streets and the mosaic of colors that made up the population. The crowds parted around the trucks as they continued on, coming to a stop at the base of an immense ivory pillar that glowed from the fading light of the setting sun.
	They dismounted, sending the trucks along while a man tanned from months of sunlight and dressed in some of the local attire made is way out towards them. The man waved and chatted to the passing Borealans that entered the spire before coming to a rest before the gray flock of officers.
	“Gentlemen, I’m Ambassador Smith, and I’m thoroughly pleased you’ve taken the Patriarch up on his request to join him this evening.”
	“Ambassador,” Moritz interjected as he stepped forward from the rest of them. “We’re honored to be here. Now, if you’ll lead the way.”
	“Certainly,” Smith replied, waving them in through the ivory tower, jutting high into the night sky.
	Joe followed, casting sidelong glances at the crimson armor-clad guards flanking the door. They mounted the oversized stairs that spiraled away above them. A tap to the back drew Joe’s attention to Andor hovering off his shoulder.
	“How much ass you think we’ll have to kiss up here?” Andor asked in a hushed tone.
	“Probably a sufficient amount to keep the ambassador from bitching at Moritz.”
	“Jesus,” Herrera groaned. “These stairs are kicking my ass and we’re not even halfway up.”
	“You get used to it after some time,” Smith called back.
	They continued up, fighting gravity the whole way with a slow, steady gait. Joe took in the surrounding architecture as they climbed higher, revealing how the structure fought the higher gravitational forces and distributed the load of the stone across itself. As they crested the top floor, they were led through a massive, ornate pair of elegant wood doors and into an enormous dining hall. The dining hall was hemmed in by open portals leading out to some large balcony where the heavy wood shutters raised to allow access out onto the balcony. The walls were adorned in vibrant and detailed tapestries, portraying the scope of battles and hunts past and illuminated by the vast chandeliers hung from above, glittering with gems and metals and bathing the room with a warm electric glow. A titanic wooden table spanned the center of the room, lined by high stools and an immense wooden throne at the head of the table. An enormous banner or flag hung behind the throne bearing some sort of script.
	Dozens of Borealans shifted and milled about the room, dressed in a dazzling array of colors and patterns that made the crowds on the street seem dull by comparison. Some seemed to be in armor, others the flowing fabric that appeared to be the norm here.
	“The Patriarch would like to see you before the feast begins, so follow me please, and for all our sake, refer him by his proper title, Lord Patriarch.”
	Smith lead them towards the throne at the head of the table. Seated in the throne was the Patriarch, the hegemon of Borealis. While Verska and Griza were large, the Patriarch was huge. He was wrapped fabrics embossed in patterns and pictures too numerous to be discerned quickly. Even amongst the already ostentatious and impressive clothes of the other guests, the Patriarch still managed to appear a level above. Ambassador Smith rambled on in small talk with Moritz as they neared. The Patriarch rose from his seat and moved to meet them, towering somewhere near nine feet high even under the harsh gravity. He was flanked by a pair of the crimson armored guards and a small cluster of advisors craning to speak into his ear. He waved them off like flies, turning to face Smith and the rest of them.
	“Ambassador,” The Patriarch boomed with a deep, tooth rattling baritone. “Welcome to tonight’s feast, and I see that you brought guests. These must be the armored unit you’ve been informing me of.”
	“That they would be, Lord Patriarch, but I’ll let their commanding officer make the proper introductions.”
Smith gestured to Moritz as the Colonel removed his hat and stepped forward from the group.
	“Lord Patriarch,” the Colonel began, bowing slightly. “I am Colonel Ernst Moritz, commanding officer of the 1st Marine Mechanized Battalion. The others with me are the company captains, and I speak for all of my men when I say we’re honored to be here.”
	“And who would your captains be, Colonel?” The Patriarch boomed again with a deep, resonating chuckle as he set his eyes on the gaggle of captains.
	“Why my captains are some of my best men,” Moritz responded, turning to wave towards the uniforms following him. “Captains Lorenzo Davis, Joseph O’Kane, Charles Kent, Andre Andor, Michael Knight, and Christian Herrera command the armored companies with Captain Mitel Fergus commanding the recon company and Captain Zhu Xeng commanding the artillery company.”
	“And I welcome you all to Elysia. I pray you’re taking the weather well, I can understand it can be rather...extreme for humans.” The towering wall of beautiful clothes and brutal form turned his attention back to Moritz, every instance of non-verbal queues Joe had learned pointed all to Moritz, the Alpha of this group of tankers.
	“I can assure, Lord Patriarch, that we’ve fought, and won, in worse conditions than this, and that’s something I hope the demonstration can attest to.”
	“So I’ve heard. You ride forth on metal beasts and bring death to the enemy. The videos our esteemed Ambassador showed me has my attention in full.”
	“Then possibly a more in-depth tour could be arranged,” Moritz turned his eyes on Joe. “Captain O’Kane is our unit’s resident engineer. He was personally involved in the design process for all of our vehicles. He’ll oversee a tour of our vehicles before the demonstration begins.”
	The Patriarch thundered with a deep laugh as he clasped his immense hands together. He flashed a bright smile and seemed to grow larger with joy.
	“Wonderful, Colonel. And who knows, if these vehicles impress me, I will try to acquire some for Elysia.”
	“Only the best for the UNN and her allies,” Moritz replied.
	“From my navy to my troops, I arm them with only the best money can buy. I have built Elysia’s forces to the pinnacle of Borealis, and no price is too high to maintain that strength.”
	One of the Patriarch’s advisors crept forward, keeping his eyes down and a smooth tone of reverence as he broke into the conversation. He spoke in the Elysian language, the rolling mewls and hisses of their tongue. The patriarch nodded before turning his attention back to the captains.
	“I will have to leave you at the moment to see to the diplomats from a neighboring region. I bid you to enjoy the feast and the night before the winter cold sets in.”
	The Patriarch turned and started off across the room, leaving the Captains and Moritz standing with the Ambassador. The captains relaxed, turning their attention back to the ambassador.
	“The Lord Patriarch is a rather busy man,” Smith started.
	“Such is the burden of leadership,” Moritz replied. “And sometimes leaders need a good drink. Perhaps you could point us in that direction, Ambassador.”
	“Why certainly, and we have some time to mill about before the feast properly begins. Late arrivals and the like.”
	Smith led them to a smaller table off to the side covered with an array for fine silver cups glittering under the electric light. A faint scent of fruit hung about it as Smith took a cup, the massive chalice being closer to a tankard in a human hand. They took the cups one by one, taking slow draws of the smooth fruit liqueur native to Borealis. They chatted for a moment in the needed niceties before the captains seemed to disperse around the room.
	Joe strolled along the edge, peering up at the tapestry that hung before him. It told the tale of some great battle long past. The armies clashed across a belt if green and sea of brown. He ran his eyes across the ranks of Borealans, armed with spear, rifle, and claw as they threw themselves into the fray with abandon. He turned, moving out towards the balcony that overlooked the city and the lake. He watched the water glitter in the dying light of the sun while multitude doors and lanterns dot the cityscape below. He felt the crisp night air stroke his face as it ran across the spire. It carried a sting of the coming winter, sending a chill along his back and down into his body.
	The click of claws on stone drew his eyes away from the city. Moritz was approaching, flanked by a pair of Borealans. The first was an Elysian coiled in an assortment of bright robes and clinking jewelry over the crimson armor of the honor guards that lined rimmed the room and doors. The sharp claws were capped by golden thimbles linked to rings adorning his fingers that caught the light with their metallic glow. The second Borealan was a Rask, her form was much more restrained in color. She was dressed in tight, dark leather pants and jacket that creaked and groaned with each movement. Her bleach blonde hair glowed gold in the light, contrasting to the near-black of her equipment. An upsized pistol and knife hung from the belts on her waist. The trio was in conversation, discussing something when they came to a stop next to Joe. Moritz waved to Joseph, clearing his throat as they came to rest.
	“And this is Captain O’Kane,” Moritz said.
	“The engineer I’ve heard about? I have heard many things about your machines.” The Rask asked pointedly, scouring Joe with her sharp amber eyes.
	“Yes,” Moritz replied, shooting a glance to Joe. “It seems as if your reputation precedes you, Captain.”
	“So it would seem, sir. And who do I have the pleasure of addressing?”
	“Ambassadors Torza and Korbaz of Elysia and Rask, respectively. We were just having a discussion about some of our battalion’s previous campaigns. In particular, our debut at Sutton’s Haven.”
	“I remember it, sir. And the blizzard that swamped us before we assaulted the town.”
	“I’d expect you to, you led the northern charge,” Moritz chuckled. “Or is your memory already failing us?”
	“Maybe you’d regale us about your valiant charge, Captain,” Torza boomed in a baritone second only to the Patriarch himself.
	Joe caught Moritz’s nod out of the corner of his eye as the Colonel flashed something close between a smile and a flash of relief to not be stuck entertaining the Ambassadors. Joseph took a short drink, letting the fruity flavor sit on his tongue for a second before he swallowed. He cleared his throat before turning back to the Ambassadors.
	“We were deployed to this frontier colony, Orstiv, I think. The Bugs managed to land a small hive ship, but orbital defenses and the fleet caught the rest before they could land. Our job was to mop up survivors on the surface, but the fuckers were determined and had already begun digging in. They’d established strongpoints and tunnels beneath the small town of Sutton’s Haven, and we’d have to burn them out to secure the area. Our battalion was six companies back then, and we were deployed to circle the town and push in with the infantry. From there, we’d dig the bugs out and move on. We were supposed to meet with a forward recon element, but the Bugs had gotten to them first. They were clinging to that bloody ridgeline by their teeth when we arrived and we just rolled right up to the peak and started shooting. We had them on the low ground between two ridges. We couldn’t have asked for a better position.”
	Joe took another sip of his drink, wetting his drying mouth.
	“We shot the hell out of them, laid down crossfire to hold them back. They eventually got the message and pulled back. We had to wait for reinforcements and the Bugs came back to try and kick us off that ridge two more times and paid dearly for it. Have you ever fought the Betelguesans?” Joe asked the ambassadors.
	“No,” Korbaz, the Rask, snapped back.
	“My war-fighting days were before this Coalition,” Torza beamed. “But I have heard things about the bugs. Of their tenacity and cruelty.”
	“Tenacious would be accurate,” Joe resumed. “They approach in a tight phalanx of shields and seldom retreat. Against light arms, that is enough to make them lethal when they can get to close range. But against autocannons, plasma repeaters, and our big cannons, all it did was make them easy targets. Every time they pushed across that field, we blew their phalanx apart and chewed them up with devastating fire. By the time we left that field was littered with too many bodies to count. It was horrifying in a way. After we held that ridge, the recon force was pulled out and a fresh company was attached and we continued on, burning the Bugs out of their tunnels before a blizzard swamped the valley, forcing us to seek shelter from the heavy snow and wind. We dug in for two days in an old hotel and revised the plan. Once the storm broke, we renewed the offensive on Sutton’s Haven, encircling the city and beginning to push the bugs back from the outlying farms and into the village itself. We lost several crews to enemy fire, but superior firepower and tactics are an advantage in its own right. I think they’re still putting some of that city back together from the fighting. We tore down and bombed-out any building the bugs shot at us from. But it was a far cry from the open country we dominated in. Traps, ambushes, and crossfires made it slow and brutal. We were wading through snow and bodies by the end of that day, but the village is ours.”
	Joe sighed heavily as his mind swam in memories of past campaigns. A weight formed in his stomach as he instinctively pulled slowly at his drink.
	“What about you, Ambassadors?” Joe asked, changing the subject. “What war stories do you have?”
	“None I care to share,” Korbaz retorted.
	“I remember one battle during the last lake war. I fought beside my uncle, the Lord Patriarch, in his elite guard. We were skirmishing with bandits along the border of Elysia. My pack had been tasked with driving the bandits from their position and we fell upon them in the fray. It was glorious as we tore into them with spears, claws, and rifles. The twin suns had just begun to rise when we made our charge and the dawn exploded with rifle volleys as we closed to melee. I still remember the scent of that day. The heavy, moist scent of soil mixed with that burning gunsmoke and the delicious iron of drawn blood. The howls and cries still hang in my ears some nights. We dashed their ranks and took victory and with it the spoils of war. But I know the pain of loss in battle. Some of my pack didn’t see our victory through.”
	“You’re lucky you weren’t fighting the Rask, or you would have lost more. We aren’t so easy to beat on the field.”
	“And how would you attest to that, Ambassador?” Moritz asked, “You seem tight-lipped about our own experiences. Personally, I feel the Captain will be able to answer this matter, considering he’s in charge of a pack of Rask and Elysian, respectively.”
	“Is that so? Captain,” Torza spoke up, turning to Joe. “What have you to say on this boisterous claim?“
	“Frankly, I find the results to be almost negligible. You’re of similar builds and capabilities that, when deployed with armor, both perform almost equally save for the abilities of the individual. However, I would have to lean ever so slightly in favor of the Elysian pack because they’ve been with me for the past few years while the Rask have been a more...recent addition.”
	“Ha-ha, there’s your answer, Korbaz,” Torza bellowed.
	“You must be going deaf, Torza,” She chided. “He prefers your ilk because they’ve been around longer. That says nothing of their abilities-”
	“If anything,” Joseph spoke up. “The Rask could easily fit in with a mechanized unit. It’s a mobility doctrine that could easily mesh with their history of nomadic raiding. It’s the technical and tactical barriers that are hard to bypass.”
	“See, you striped fool- wait, what?”
	“That the Rask under my command are foolhardy because they assume this to be like any other marine unit. During drills, they nearly charged into the fields of fire for our tanks. Our doctrine is one of combined arms, not just using speed and brutality. But I feel with experience and discipline, they’ll be invaluable, same as the Elysians. Once again, both packs seem about on par, and I hope this demonstration will prove that among other things.”
	“Such as?”
	“How effective a mechanized battalion is with a full infantry compliment and just how deadly we are. But hopefully, this puts whatever tooth-measuring contest you’re trying to run between you to rest. Based on my metric, both Rask and Elysian packs are equivalent.”
	“Equivalent under your command,” Korbaz sneered.
	“Yes,” Joe replied. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to step away and enjoy my drink before the feast-”
	A clamor arose from further inside as an attempt at fanfare was made. They turned back towards the table, spying the servants carting in tray after tray of meats and fruits, lining the table from one end to the other. The guests closed on the table from all sides, taking their seats. The Captains fell in with Moritz and took their spots to the left of Ambassador Smith. They were just to the left of the Patriarch and his aides.
	Joe felt out of place in the Borealan-sized stool, staring across the mountains of food before him, bombarded by the smells. His stomach roared as he glanced across the table, seeing the kaleidoscope of patterns and colors of Borealans and their attire. The deep groan of a seat sliding on stone drew his eyes to the Patriarch as he rose from his throne. The Patriarch took a deep breath and bellowed a deep, jovial laugh. Following the thunderclap of laughter, the Patriarch began to speak in his native tongue, the rolling hisses and growls alien to Joe’s ears. Another Elysian stepped forward, hovering behind Smith and translating into English.
	“My dear guests, I welcome you here to tonight’s feast. Before we gorge ourselves on good meat and drink, I wish to present something quite special. Elysia is especially proud to be hosting a Coalition armored unit. They have been stationed here to protect Elysia and her allies from any and all threats, even as we sit at a crossroads with our neighbors and ourselves. We host them here tonight with us.”
	The Patriarch turned and waved to the Colonel and Captains seated to his left.
	“Just as Elysia built a fleet from the ground up, so too shall we build up an armored force as I strive to ensure her martial strength is maintained. To show the power of our allies and their force, a demonstration is set for us in two days’ time once this winter cycle ends. Now, before we feast, I want one of my esteemed guests, Colonel Moritz, to say a few words about the demonstration and his men.”
	With that, Moritz rose to his feet and bowed slightly towards the Patriarch. He cleared his throat and turned to face the table.
	“To start, I must say that the food looks delicious, so I’ll try to keep this short.”
	To Moritz’s right, Smith’s aide translated Mortiz’s words into the Borealan tongue. A low ripple of laughter and snorts carried the mood as Moritz continued.
	“I speak for my men when I say we are honored to be here tonight at the invitation of the Lord Patriarch and that we are excited to be able to demonstrate the lethality and fury of our force. My battalion was stationed here to help defend Borealis from any Betelguesan incursions into Coalition space and grant our Borealan soldiers a chance to see home again. Before I continue, I must state how proud I am of the Borealan auxiliaries in my battalion with their effectiveness and determination in the field.”
	A slight ripple of beaming pride and praise rolled along the table before Moritz resumed. Joe sat watching the crowd respond as Moritz sweet-talked them, drinking in the ego-stroking of their countrymen.
	“It is from this that I pray for a diplomatic resolution to this imminent crisis. It does not help anyone for allies to bicker and squabble when a common enemy looms before us. The nature of our Coalition is built upon cooperation, and that is something I am certain this demonstration will show you. We will show you a form of warfare you have never seen before, built upon a doctrine of combined arms not just between man and machine, but between all of the races of the Coalition, be they human, Borealan, or Krell.”
	Another round of cheers rose from the tables, matched by toasts from the delegates about the table. The only one Joe saw refusing to raise a toast was Korbaz, the Rask ambassador. To his right, Joe watched Moritz bow slightly and return to his seat. It was then that the Lord Patriarch rose again with his booming voice. He commanded them to eat as servants brought forth platters piled high with meats roasted, fried, grilled, and otherwise. The aroma of it all washed over him as his inhaled, his mouth wetting in anticipation. The Lord Patriarch compelled them to eat, grasping a bloody hunk of meat in his claws and tearing into it with his razor teeth.
	Across the table, the guests tore into the platters, pulling slabs of meat and bone into their plates, splashing them with oils and salts from the small vials they carried. Joe picked a few pieces onto his plate, cutting them with his knife and tossing a bit into his mouth. The juices flushed his tongue with a savory flavor, the meat soft and tender as he chewed. He picked at his plate as the feast carried on.
	The delegates spoke amongst themselves, occasionally sending a question towards Moritz about the unit as a whole. The colonel was able to answer most of the questions, deferring to one of the Captains if needed, but he mostly downplayed the subject, focusing on the demonstration as an answer to any questions. The feast continued on like this for a few hours before the festivities began to wind down.
	Joe slid away as the feast drew to a close. He passed out of the spire and onto the stone streets below. The sharp, crisp winter night had begun to take over the city, bringing a heavy silence with it. He moved along the empty streets and marketplaces, alone save for the faint echo of his footsteps. Occasionally, the muted din of a feast or party poured out into the night and with it came the aroma of meat and drink. Joe hummed to himself as he continued on his way. He made for the waterfront, navigating by starlight and lanterns and lamps dotting the street.

Chapter 7: Rendezvous

	Before long, the crowded buildings and archways of the city grew thinner where the ground was soft. Before him, the lake stretched out to the horizon, glittering with the reflected starlight. He felt the breeze pull at him as he turned and continued, following the waterfront along the shore road that lead to their base. In the chilly night, he took in the details of the shore that he missed before. He heard the water lap at the reeds and the ever-present nocturne of some unseen critters amongst the water plants.
	He hung to the left shoulder of the road, kicking at the sand as he continued on. Joe pulled his cap from his head and opened his dress shirt, letting the breeze cling to him. Ahead of him, he could spy a figure lounging on the sands.
	Verska lay back on the sand, her long digitigrade legs reaching out towards the water’s edge. She had her arms folded back under her head, whistling a slow song as Joe drew closer. She must have heard him, sitting up and turning to face him.
	“Why, hello, Captain. What brings you out so late?”
	“Eh, I was supposed to meet someone, but I don’t know where they could be,” Joe replied, giggling he stopped next to Verska.
	“Strange,” she crooned, patting the sand next to her. “Maybe you could join me instead.”
	“Don’t mind if I do.”
	Joe dropped onto the sand next to her, feeling her tail coil around his waist on reflex. She pulled him close and draped her heavy arm over his shoulder.
	“So,” Joe started, leaning into her. “How did your night go?”
	“You guessed right, the company found its way to a tavern and started drinking.”
	“Any trouble?”
	“No. The Rask kept to themselves for the most part, but I think the locals were the ones getting the worst deal. A couple scraps and hissing matches, but no fights. Two guys from fourth platoon got caught in a stall with a local girl, but I think she started it.”
	“They are going to get so much shit for that.”
	“Definitely.” Verska laughed. “But we can worry about that in the morning, For now, I just want to enjoy this. How did it go for you, Captain?”
	Joe sighed. “Stroking egos and being polite otherwise our ambassador would complain to command, and we’d get chewed out. Mostly it was looking presentable for the Patriarch and his guests, and it sounds like we’ll have quite the audience at our demonstration. But I’m down with all that for the night. You bring anything to drink?”
	“Of course,” She replied, pulling a bottle into view. Verska hooked off the cap and took a long draw before passing it to Joe. His nose picked up the strong scent of fruit before he put the bottle to his lips.
	She lay back against the sand, stretching her long, clawed toes out into the sand.
	"So where should we pick back up?" She asked.
	"Where we left it."
	"But it should be easy. We both want to get back together. You even said so in your bunk."
	"It's never that simple. We both want to salvage this, which helps, but I want to do more than that. Verska."
	"How so? Use some of your human wiles on me? Pick at my brain like some combat psych?"
	I want to sort all of this out. Not just that, we want to work it out, but what made us fight in the first place."
	"It started because you wouldn't let me tear into that Rask- Lance Corporal Griza," Verska caught herself, seething through her teeth.
	"I did that to keep order in my unit. We already bickered over this. This is what I'm talking about, she comes up, and you get combative. I understand that you settle these things by force, but I'm asking you to keep it in line. What even about Griza sets you off besides this Alpha shit?"
	Verska loosed a sharp sigh.
	"Aside from being a challenge to my authority, she's Rask. Our peoples have history and none of it good. We hate each other for that alone-"
	"I could tell-"
	"And then I don't need her trying to steal you away from me."
	Joe felt her tail tightened about his waist.
	"A touch jealous, are we?" He chided.
	She lifted him off the sand and pulled him down into her embrace as she sat up. He sank into her arms as she buried her face into his hair, her warm breath tickling his neck.
	"Don't make a joke about this. Yes. Yes, I'm jealous. I don't want to lose you, Joe. I got this feeling once you stepped in that she'd try something with you to try and get one over on me."
	"She did. She tried to flirt with me rather poorly yesterday-"
	"See what I mean?"
	"Yeah, but I don't think she knew me and you are…" Joe waved to the whole area between them. "Plus, I don't plan to drop all we have going. That little plot of land on the frontier would be a lot lonelier without you, honey."
	"Honey?"
	"Cause you're so sweet to me," Joe leaned back, cracking a broad smile as he found her emerald eyes looking down at him. She spun him on top of her as she laid back into the sand. Joe leaned in, stealing a slow, tender kiss as the cool breeze pulled at them.
	"You think we'll be fine?" She asked, breaking off the kiss.
	"Yeah. I think we'll be just fine if Griza doesn't cause any grief. Now, where is that bottle?"
	Joe fished the bottle out of the sand, wiping it clean with his hand before taking a long drag of the sweet liquor. He passed it to Verska as he slid off his dress shirt and jacket. He folded his dress clothes and set them away to the side before looking back down to Verska.
	She'd taken a massive draw from the bottle, coughing from the minute alcohol content. She set the drink aside and locked eyes on Joe, smirking and biting were claw playfully.
	"Slowly, Captain. I want to enjoy the show," she crooned.
	She reached down, hooking her claws in the zipper to her UNN jumpsuit and pulled slowly. The fabric deformed outwards as the weight of her bosom spilled free beneath its native gravity.
	Joe matched her smile as he undid the belt of his dress pants and laid them on his pipe of clothes. He felt the breeze nip him through his boxer-briefs and t-shirt while he helped Verska slide off the jumper. Soon they were both in their underclothes under the Borealan starlight, drinking in the familiar shapes of each other's body.
	Joe started, running one hand along the soft flesh of her thigh while he propped himself up in his other arm to look down across the mountain range her breasts and abdominal muscles formed even under the slick cloth of her tank top.
	Bit by bit, he moved in on both fronts, planting pecking kisses along her shoulder and neck while curious fingers crept under up the leg of her shorts. Even against the nipping breeze, her body burned hotter with the reading pleasure. She wrapped her arms around him, purring as he worked his fingers. She bucked and shifted on the sand, giggling and crooning under his attention. He quickened his pace, striking and striking her tender spots. He drove his two fingers deep as he bit her shoulder, sinking teeth into the muscle. She seized, clenching on his digits as she buried her face into his neck, letting out a deep, rolling moan. He felt the tremors move through her for about a minute before she relaxed, dropping back against the sand. She picked up the bottle and finished it was a cough, tossing the empty thing away. She looked at him, her face flushed red even in the scattered starlight.
	"You really can't handle your booze, can you?"
	"You're still surprised by that even now?"
	"Not really. Just nice to know I can outdrink you."
	She smiled, batting him with her paw.
	"Come on, Bear. Don't leave me waiting," she teased, spreading her taut, muscled thighs.
	"Bear?"
	"You called me Honey, so I thought of something to call you."
	"But why Bear?"
	"Because of the bite scar. Now, come on."
	Joe moved closer, sliding between Verska's thighs, glancing his fingers off her thighs and stomach, feeling her shudder. She wriggled, sliding off her shorts before she hooked her legs around him. He fought with his underwear, freeing his member as she purred excitedly and pulled her tank top up to expose her bosom, the 2 wonderfully large breasts keeping their pert, ample form despite the crushing gravity pulling them apart.
	He slid into her, bucking as she clenched around him. He sank one hand into the soft, sweat-slicked skin of her breast, feeling her moan and rumble like in that familiar way. He leaned in on the free arm, resting it next to her shoulder as he began to move, rolling his hips and hearing her let small meals and gasps out into the night air. She craned her neck, stealing a long kiss before running her claws along his back. He felt the pressure and the subtle sting from her gentle scratching. He growled as he pushed deeper, kneading and squeezing her breast.
	Verska let out a strange sound, somewhere between a mewl and a laugh as she bucked into his thrusts. This intimate rhythm continued on for a few minutes, interspersed by a sharp mewl or gasps. The breeze tickled and teased Joe's bare skin as they continued.
	"I-I love you, Joe," Verska mewled, burying her face into his neck, kissing and nipping his shoulder.
	Joe pushed up to speak when Verska's ears twitched and she snapped her head back towards the city. Her body seized around him.
	"Well-" Griza hiccuped as she approached from the road. "Wh-wh-what do we have her-ere?"
	Verska rolled Joe off her, springing to her haunches as her hair and tail puffed out and claws shifted. She let out a lethal hiss towards Griza. Joe pushed up to his feet, instinctively covering his groin while looking up towards the Rask.
	"It looks like I interrupted the lovebirds fucking. Now I see why you were so apt to turn me down, Captain. Didn't want to make your Elysian pet mad, did you?"
	"I am no pet, you bitch."
	"Sure. And Captain, don't cover yourself. I've seen enough human cocks to not give a shit."
	"What do you want, Lance Corporal?" Joe barked.
	"To fight the Elysian. I saw her leave early and figured we could see who's better. But since you're here, we can't fight like usual. I may be drunk, but I'm not stupid drunk."
	"We still have to settle this," Verska snarled, flashing her teeth.
	"Or you both obey the authority of command and stop," Joe interjected, almost pleading for the two of them to end this game. They didn't seem to register his response, keeping their eyes locked on one another.
	Griza slowly nodded, hooking a claw into the zipper of her uniform. She pulled it down, letting the fabric deform to the shape of her body as the zipper continued down.
	"Since we can't claw and bite with the Captain here, and we're both edging on drunk, I have an idea for how to solve this. We'll both fuck the Captain and see who he prefers more."
	"That's a stupid id-" Joe was cut off by Verska thumping him on the lower back.
	"You're on," Verska replied, stepping next to Joe. She kicked at the sand before speaking quietly to Joe. "Trust me. I have a plan."
	This is getting out of hand, Joe mused. Why do they have to do this here and now? Why do they have to use me at all? It's probably something I'll never fully understand about these cats, but I might as well try to end this quickly. I'll play along and pick Verska for the obvious reason that she's my lover. That should end this quickly and simply. Absolutely no way this can backfire.
	He snapped back to the current events, finding that Griza had stripped nude while he'd been in thought. She stood, leering at Verska, arms folded across her chest. Her mane of sun-bleached hair glowed in the starlight, brighter than the pale glow if Verska's sweat-slick skin. Griza's dark skin almost seemed to blend into the dark, but Joe could see the shape of her form crisscrossed by the myriad of pale scars that marked her arms and torso. Griza was just slightly shorter than Verska but looked to outweigh her with a more ample chest and thicker thighs.
	Griza turned, the star light catching her amber eye, making it smolder as she looked Joe up and down. She licked her lips with a hungry smile.
	"So...who's first?" Joe asked. What did he do to deserve this, he questioned himself.
	Griza turned, sweeping his leg with her long, muscled tail. He dropped against the sand, groaning as she dropped onto him, crushing his hips beneath her. He bit back a groan and thanked Heaven he wasn't erect at the time. She planted one hand next to his head and the other on his chest. Her sharp teeth flashed  as she dragged her claws across his chest, watching squirm under her. Joe snapped a glance to the left, seeing Verska squatting on her haunches, watching wide eyes.
	As Griza dragged her claws over his chest, Joe felt his instinctual alarm sounding in his head. Even after she stopped scratching and simply pressed him down into the sand, the alarm didn't cease. He gritted his teeth and forced that rising panic down. He flooded his mind with reason. That she couldn't harm him severely or face repercussions from command. Even still, there was a scent about her totally unlike Verska. Where Verska was tender for her size, Griza seemed harsh. Where Verska tested with her claws, Griza threatened. Where Verska smelled of sweet fruit, Griza had the scent of gunpowder and water. Some primal curiosity in his hindbrain wanted to see and feel more. The more present part of his mind was yelling to tough it out and tell Griza off.
	Griza leaned close, resting her sizable breasts on him. He felt their weight against his lungs with each slow, tense breath. She lashed his shoulder with the coarse surface of his tongue before planted a sharp bite along his collar. She worked her way up along his neck before hovering above his face, letting her mane of hair fall about then like a curtain. Griza closed one of her massive paws around his neck, pulling him up to her lips. The kiss was aggressive, forcing her tongue into his mouth, assaulting and overwhelming him in ways that sent rippling shudders along his body.
	She broke away, hovering close to Joe's ear as she whispered low and slow.
	"Let me show you how a real woman fucks."
	Griza resumed her biting, planting sharp, sucking kisses on his shoulders as she began to roll her hips. The motion was heavy, grinding against his hips and forcing him deeper into the sandy bank. That curiosity rose again, mixing with the panic as his body began to respond, swelling with blood as his cheeks reddened.
	He bucked in surprise when Verska lunged, hissing and howling like a monster. She tackled Griza, catching her with a fist to the temple before the Rask could spring to her feet. Verska wrapped her long, orange tail around Joe's a joke and pulled him close to the scrambling Borealans. He was spun around a lifted, bunching his head off Verska's shoulder before coming to rest. His eyes adjusted while the two cats yowled, hissed, and cursed one another.
	Verska had used her speed and strength  to lay Griza flat on her back. She had pinned Griza's hands and wedged herself between Griza's legs, trapping the Rask's tail against the cool sand.
	"If you think I'll sit back and watch you fuck the man I love, you must be fucking stupid."
	"You're a sneaky bitch, Verska. More like a human than a Borealan. Scared I'd steal your precious Captain from you?"
	"I'm not scared in the slightest."
	Verska shifted, pulling Joe down in front of her. Her tail shifted, slithering around him in the dark. She was holding him against her abdomen, her wonderful breasts resting on his shoulders, molding around his neck like pillows. In front of him, Griza lay with her most intimate parts exposed, glittering slightly in the starlight with what he could only guess to be excitement. He was bombarded by the heat from both their bodies as Verska moved. She slid her hips closer to Griza, pushing Joe into the soft flesh around Griza's groin. He felt the iron muscles twitch and shudder as he ran his hands over her dusky thighs.
	"What-what the fuck are you doing?"
	"Like I said, I'm not scared about losing Joseph. But I am tired of you causing me and our Captain grief, so we're going to remind you of your place, together."
	"Captain," Griza seemed to whine as she fought against Verska's grip, but the Elysian didn't budge.
	"Verska-" Joe started.
	"Don't worry, Joe," Verska crooned in her soft, dulcet tones. "This was my plan. I show up the Rask, and my Alpha gets a new toy. Now come on, let's fuck this bitch."
	Before he could protest, Verska pushed her hips, pressing Joe's member against Griza's folds. Griza shuddered with a faint moan as Joe adjusted his position. Verska moved again; this time, Joe lined up on Griza's tight opening. He pushed through, feeling her iron resistance crumble as he thrust deeper and bucked inside her, drawing a sharp yowl from her.
	Griza cursed and moaned as the pace quickened and the motion continued, Verska pushing and pulling Joe in and out of Griza. Her dark body bucked and wriggled against Joe's delving and her thighs seemed to tighten around him and Verska. Joe let his hands roam over Griza, lost in the heat that enveloped him. He tickled her body, squeezing and weighing her breasts before assailing the part nipples with his fingers. Meanwhile, Verska shifted her weight and leaned forward, sandwiching Joe between the two Borealan women. She craned in, pressing her lips against Griza's, forcing a duel between their long, dexterous tongues while Joe swam in the sensations around him.
	He quickened his pace, feeling that primal arousal climbing as his panic faded, replaced by a fury and lust creeping in from the hindbrain hellbent on taking Griza. He pressed his lips against Griza's neck and sank his teeth deep into the meat of her shoulder. He heard her rumble with pleasure as her already tight passage squeezed him tighter, pushing him to his own limit. He groaned deeply as he thrust into Griza again, pinning himself deep inside as he planted his seed. His vision swam with spots while the two women broke off their long, combative kiss.
	Verska released Griza's arms and rested back on her haunches, watching the other two with a sordid grin. Griza whimpered for a moment, locking Joe in place with her long, muscled arms. The fur along her hands and nail tickled his sensitive body as she looked down at him with her one, smoldering amber eye.
	"We could have done that a lot sooner and saved ourselves some trouble," she mused.
	"Maybe," Joe replied.
	"Fuck me, we stink," Verska added.
	"Well, the lake is right there," Joe gestured to the glittering waters next to them. "Midnight swim couldn't hurt."
	"Yeah, but that's cold right now," Verska answered, pulling on her jumpsuit. "What about a hot shower?"
	"There's one in my hut. Next to my nice, soft bunk," Joe yawned.

*****

	Joe started up at the metal plate ceiling, the cool air prodding his bare skin. He lay trapped in his bunk, weighing the consequences of his actions the night before. He glanced down, seeing Verska resting her head on his chest, while Griza coiled both of them in their arms, resting her head on his shoulder. He felt their warm breadth dance across his body as they lay sleeping. Every now and then, one would stir and the bunk would scream in prolonged agony from being two Borealans over the recommended weight. He took a deep breath, finding his nose flooded by a concoction of fruit, gunpowder, and the greasy scent of dried sweat.
	But was it right for him to lay there between them? He felt sore and dirty, his mind hung on the fact that Verska used him like a glorified sex toy the night before, but at the same time, the situation had devolved so terribly. He had been forced onto Griza and gone with his more base urges, taking her while Verska pinned her. But this was Borealis, and he had heard the stories about how life was for its natives. It may have been straightforward for his two bunkmates while his mind swam with reservations about what exactly he had done. Another thought arose in his mind. He always thought of himself as a one-woman kind of man, but now he was trapped between two of them. It sent a strange knot through his gut.
	He felt Verska stir, squeezing him tighter as her fur and hair tickled his chest. She turned her head up, setting her bright green eyes on him. She smiled, sending a warm wave through him. He slid a hand free, running his fingers through her fiery hair, scratching gently behind her ears, feeling the deep, resonating purr as she sighed deeply.
	"You alright?" Verska asked in her low, sweet voice.
	"Thinking about a few things."
	"Like what?"
	"Last night, this. How weird this got. I'm trying to make sense of it, last night you two wanted to maim each other. Now, you're both using me for a glorified body pillow. And I'm not too happy about being forced into that, either."
	"To be honest, I'd still claw her toe to ear if I could, and I'm sure she'd do the same. But you said no fighting, so we only had one option left. We're both still Equatorials, so we had to settle this one way or another. I'm sorry about pulling you into it like that, but I couldn't stand the thought of her on top of you, so I…improvised."
	Griza groaned, stretching across the bunk, drawing another harsh cry from the frame.
	"It was entertaining," Griza smiled, blinking the last trappings of sleep from her one good eye. "You overwhelmed me to be sure, and I haven't been fucked like that in a while. I might just have to keep you around, Captain."
Griza drew one of her claws slowly across his chest. Verska shot daggers as she clasped one hand over Griza's massive paw.
	"Don't test your luck," Verska warned.
	"Well," Joe interrupted, sitting up and turning to look back at the pair, running their eyes over his body. "Since you're both up, we need to talk. I want to sort this mess out and see where everything stands. Sound good?"
	Both ladies glanced at the other before turning their eyes back to Joe. They nodded, watching him with their sharp gaze.
	"Ok. So to start, what exactly was all that to you? Was it a fight or a struggle or whatever you call your little blood games here?"
	"A dominance fight?" Verska started. "Yeah, that's what it was. I won.'
	"By pinning me to the ground," Griza chided.
	"And after that?"
	"You and I fucked Griza on the beach under the stars. Joe, I don't see what is confusing you about all this."
	"Well, it may be simple for you two. This seems to be business as usual for this place. But I just can't make sense of it. You fight once, and all that feeling is gone?"
	"Yes and no. I'll bet we will still bicker, but since I won, I don't expect any more fights, really. Especially since you're around so often."
	"And what about us?" Joe asked, gesturing from himself to Verska and back. "How is this going to affect our plans? I was never a fan of polyamory."
	"Poly-what?" The ladies asked, leaning in towards him. Verska at next to him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and resting her chin on his head.
	"Multiple partners at the same time. Like having a pack of lovers. It just feels wrong for me. I was always looking for a more exclusive thing in life, but now it seems I have two partners instead of one."
	"Well, maybe we can help make it feel right," Griza purred, resting her padded fingers on his thigh. "If you want, that is."
	"Joe," Verska started squeezing him into her body as she spoke into his ear. "I was serious when I said I'd stay. No matter how this goes, I want to stay with you. Not just as my Alpha, but as my partner and friend, too. As for Griza, we can sort the details on that as it comes. She could join our little pack or go her own way. It'll be as much her decision as ours, but I don't want to make you feel out of place or uncomfortable with me. Yes, we're Borealans, but we can show restraint when needed."
	Joe lay back against Verska's toned, warm form. He listened, trusting her as she consoled him. Her voice was deep and sultry to his ear, bring a warm familiarity with it as well. She finished, tilting his head back for a deep, tender kiss. She measured herself, planting slow strokes and matching his tongue as they embraced. For a few moments, all the confusion in his head stopped and dropped to the background. He focused on the sensory flow from her lips and body, the slow thud of her heart and the rush of blood in his ears. When she broke off the kiss, he exhaled and took a few deep breaths before he spoke.
	"Thanks you for that, Honey. But I'm still not sure about some of this. I'll have to think about it."
	Joe turned his eyes back to Griza, taking in the details of her face up close for once. She had removed her eye patch at some point, exposing the V-shaped scar that crossed her long shut left eye. Along the ridges of her cheeks, nose, and brow, he could almost spot the faint Mark's of freckles or sunspots against that deep tone of her skin.
	"Griza, before any of this is sorted, I want to say this. This relationship between us is a closed thing. No one outside of this room is involved in the slightest. You'll still command your pack, same as Verska. You'll still report to your platoon lead. But this," he gestured to the bed, the room, and the three of them. "This is just us and no one else. After I think all this through, I'll want your answer if you're in or out, understand?"
	"Yes, Captain."
	"And Griza, if you're in, its Joe."
	"Understood, Joe. Now, let's see if we two ladies can't sway your opinion any," Griza answered, flashing a knowing smile as she buried her face in his chest. Joe felt that strange unease rise again as Verska scratched his scalp. He turned to face her when his eyes caught the clock on his desk. It read 0853, and he wondered if he had anything assigned this morning. And then it rushed it like an angry bear.
	"Shit," Joe hissed. He patted at Griza's head and wriggled in Verska's arms. "I need to go."
	"Go where?"
	"All the crews are doing maintenance on the vehicles at nine, and I'm about to be late."
	Joe scrambled out of the bunk, shuddering as his feet touched the cold metal floor. He made his way to the shower, humming as he went. He clicked on the water and let it warm. Joe turned, crossing back to his bunk and opening the drawer next to the bed. He pulled out his fatigues, laying it out on his desk. He looked back over his shoulder as he moved towards the shower.
	"What are our orders, Captain?" Griza asked, pushing off the covers.
	"It's only the crews being rallied. The rest of the battalion gets the next two days R&R due to the Borealan winter. You two get to sleep or read or whatever you want. I'll be back at some point tonight, so keep my bed warm for me."
	"Sounds good to me," Verska mewled, dropping against the bunk and disappearing under the covers. "Don't make us wait too long, Bear."
	"Bear?" Griza asked.
	"Old story. I'll tell you later."
	Joe closed the shower door behind him, immersing himself in the hot jet of water. He groaned, realizing how sore he was as his muscled shuddered and his joints popped with each stretch. Joe ran his fingers over the claw streaks and bite marks that dotted and crisscrossed his shoulders and back.
	In his moment of isolation, Joe let his mind wander. He weighed what Verska had told him that she was serious about it all. An ebbing calm came to him that no matter what, she'd be there. The new question floating before him was whether or not Griza would form a trio with them rather than a duo. Joe had to admit, on some deep, primal level, he wouldn't hate having a second Borealan around. But he wasn't sure just how well he'd handle the two of them or how any of this would work. As he turned off the water, he resolved that there was only one way to see how this would work out, and that was to persevere.
	Joe ran the towel across his body, still feeling damp from where the water clung to his body hair. He stepped back out into the main room, casting a glance towards the bunk. Verska and Griza had slid back under the covers, sleeping by the slow rise and fall of the sheets. Joe slipped to his desk, quietly donning his fatigues and an outer jacket. He flipped on his cap and slung his drop holster to his leg before cracking the door to the great, wide open. The frigid winter air lashed at him before he took one last look towards his bunk. He caught Verska watching him with her bright eyes. She blew a kiss from her clawed hand and he caught it, pressing it to his lips as he slipped out into the cold morning.

Chapter 8: Winter Shuffle

	The base had been covered with a layer of frost that glittered in the light of the smaller sun. The frigid wind pulled at him, biting through his jacket. He shuddered, sticking his hands in his pockets as he kicked his way to the motor pool.
	He rounded the barriers, finding the crews forming up by the field of vehicles. Looking over them men before him, he could see some were alert and awake while others looked like dead men walking. He found the cluster of captains huddled near a small chemical heater propped against the treads of a Kodiak.
	"Morning, boys," Joe started, joining the officer huddle.
	"Morning, Joe," Andor replied, "You're a touch late, but you at least seem awake. Most of the battalion seems half dead. They probably took last night a little too loose."
	"They'll be fine," Herrera boomed. "Some coffee from the mess and a bit of work to get their blood moving will set them straight. Whenever I got hungover, a dash of hot sauce in my coffee fixed me like no other."
	"I wonder how they even got hungover. All this local stuff is fruit juice. So unless they got a stash like what O'Kane keeps in his turret, I can't see why half of them look pale as a ghost." Fergus prodded Joe with his elbow.
	"My stash is just a small flask of whiskey. Nothing special," Joe responded.
	"Regardless," Xeng broke into the conversation. "What is our plan for today?"
	"For the most part," Joe started. "It will just be maintenance and troubleshooting anything on our vehicles. Moritz wants the best for our demonstration, and anything we figure out could make it easier for the other mechanized companies down the line."
	"Especially if the Rask decide to cause trouble," Knight added.
	The captains nodded as they.waited by the fire. It was 0919 when the last of the vehicle crews had trickled into the motor pool. A quick reverie pulled them into ranks as Joe mounted the nearest Kodiak to address them. He cleared his throat and looked down over the roughly 400 men before him.
	"Alright. I know I'm not in charge of most of you, but I'll speak for all your captains on this. We're going to be strutting our stuff for a few local big wigs, and command wants the best out of us, and that's something we aim to give. Today and tomorrow will be spent conducting routine maintenance and hammering field solutions to anything hindering our performance. The quicker we do this right, the quicker we get out of the cold. Battalion, fall out."
	The men drifted into the rows of vehicles, clambering onto hulls and into hatches. Engines hummed to life as the fuel cells whined against the bitter cold. Some opened hatches across the engine decks, tinkering and checking valves and seals. Joe drifted back to Highlander, finding Whitman and Frankie seated at the rim of the engine compartment. Whit passed tools down to Frankie as the driver checked the fluid levels throughout the engine and made sure seals hadn't warped or broken between the harsh local heat and stabbing winter freeze.
	"How's my baby doing, Frankie?"
	"Aside from the sand in the filters and glass on the coils, she has a clean bill of health, but I'll still go through the full list for you, Cap'n."
	Joe nodded as he pulled himself onto the hull, sliding around his crew before moving onto the sloped face of the turret. He left streaks through the frost as he opened the housing for the plasma repeater on the right flank of the turret.
	The repeater was a scaled-up version of the XMR platform standard throughout the UNN intended to overload entire Betelgeusean shield walls and expose their phalanxes in short order. He reached in, spinning the triple barrel mounting and checking the rotor and inhibitor. The barrels would rotate in their housing, putting out a tremendous volume of fire in short order. Even as the barrels spun to counter heat buildup, continuous shooting would overwhelm the barrels and slag them unless the inhibitor automatically slowed the rate of fire and barrel rotation speed. Some of the crews bypassed this by welding radial fins to the barrels to help draw heat off and keep shooting fast. This field modification was standardized with the Mark 2 Kodiaks. He moved back to the receivers, checking their gas seals where the highest chance of mechanical failure was found.
	The receivers fired plasma formed from pressurized gas-focused and superheated before being sent down the barrel to the target. The receivers pulled this gas from a trio of tanks to the rear of the housing and linked by carbon fiber houses. The weakest link was the hose because they could be snapped, severed, tangled, or otherwise, and a field repair involved opening the housing and checking each one. Thankfully sensors helped streamline the process, reading all seals and hoses were correct and that the tanks of gas were full if a little cold. Like any weapon, the plasma repeater would have to be reloaded. In the event it emptied all the gas in the three ready tanks, a field reload could be performed by locking the rotor and transferring more gas from a small reservoir tank down in the hull. It wouldn't refill them all, but in a pinch, it could help.
	Joe closed the housing around the repeater, sliding towards the center of the turret. At the rear of the turret, Joe unlatched the blowout panels that lined the rear roof of the machine. The heavy, pressurized seal opened, straining his arms as he propped them open. Before him were the stowage racks, lined with dozens of shells pointed towards the back of the vehicle. Close to him was the bulkhead that separated the ammunition from the crew compartment. If the ammo cooked off in an accident, the blowout panels would buckle and blast away, leaving the bulkhead hopefully intact. At the bottom of the shelves, Joe inspected the rollers that fed each round into the autoloader as needed. The rollers spun freely and easily, leading from the racks to the only opening in the bulkhead, the porthole to the autoloader. Leaning down into the ammo racks, Joe pulled up the sensor feed for the battery packs stored underneath the ammunition. These packs fed the main cannon and plasma repeater with power as needed, but were stored empty for safety reasons. Once the Kodiak started rolling, the fuel cell engine would keep the batteries charged until combat was done or the engine ran out of fuel. He checked the complement of ammo in the racks, a mix of tungsten kinetic rounds, high explosive shots, white phosphorous canisters for smoke screens officially, and covering a target in burning gas and metal unofficially, and a handful of Skalpel smart rounds that could be slaved to a marked target. If the racks ran out, extra ammo was stored down in the hull around the turret housing, but it was tedious to get out and even harder to do so in combat. Joe pushed up, gently lowering the blowout panels back into place and locking the seals. He thumped his hand against the armor before shifting around to the left side of the turret.
	Where the plasma repeater at along the right side of the turret, one Olerkanon 30mm autocannon rested in its housing along the left side of the turret. The autocannon was a simple ballistic weapon that replaced the rotary XMR that was initially there. The rotary XMR had been removed for logistical reasons to lighten the strain on the engine and standardize ammo across the mechanized vehicles. The same 30mm ammo that Highlander carried could be shared between the Pumas, Wolverines, and Timber Wolves as needed. He checked the breech where the ammo belt fed into the cannon with the lowest probability of jamming because a field repair or reload involved climbing outside the turret and opening the entire housing up to get at the gun. It was simple enough to clean and fire, feeding from a helical ammo drum towards the rear of the housing. Joe reran the sensors to make sure the autocannon was cleaned and ready before he closed the housing and turned to the final weapon mounting.
	Sitting in at the center of the turret was Joe's weapon blister. It was a simple mount that housed the three weapons slaves directly to Joe's controls. The first was another Olerkanon 30mm that fed from a bin in the bottom of the mount. The second was a Brushman 40mm grenade launcher that fed from a secondary container under the mount. And the third weapon was an AMOS-15 twin mortar at the rear of the mount. The AMOS had a small internal magazine to all for impromptu indirect fire when needed. The mount had initially been a twin XMR frame with one set to plasma and the other to slugs, but it was replaced with more conventional ballistic weapons to reduce engine strain and standardize ammo. The blister was wrapped in a series of reactive plates over blowout panels to prevent an accidental explosion on the roof of the turret.
	Concluding his weapons check, Joe opened his hatch and slid down into the turret. He set about running a system diagnostic while he began a visual inspection of the interior. The onboard computer beeped and hummed as it powered up systems and measured the results with previous diagnostics. He flipped through his control board, double-checking video feeds from the array of cameras around the turret and hull. He hummed to himself as he  gripped his weapon control, spinning the blister a full turn and checking the elevation before returning it to rest position.
	The slow tedium of preventative maintenance continued on for a few hours before the crews slowed and drifted to the mess hall for coffee and warm food. With a tray heavy with local bacon and powdered eggs, Joe slid into an empty seat. He picked at his chow, casting glances around the barren mess hall, and drifted in and out of the conversation.
	He wondered why the mess was so quiet when it dawned on him. The base was effectively asleep, save for the crews and sentries. He figured almost everyone was taking the winter snap to sleep in and rest easy. It made them open to a surprise attack should the Rask decide to strike on a cold morning, but it seemed that they were as much slaves to their hibernation as the Elysians.
	As the men finished their meal, they started back towards the motor pool. Joe drafted a gaggle of the mechanically inclined as they arrived. He pulled them aside and fished a piece of chalk from his tool kit. As he started, he made small notes on the side skirts of Highlander, chalking the details onto the ceramic plating.
	"Alright. We've gone over the battalion with a fine-toothed comb. You all are here to help me figure out how to resolve a few of these mechanical issues that have been popping up. To start, the Kodiaks and Avalanches have seen glass build up in the coils from sand kicked up and trapped by the blasts. This, in turn, is causing overheating in the barrel and could damage the main gun. Next up, the Kodiak engines are sucking in sand and clogging the coolant systems. I've got a couple ideas for solutions, but I want to hear what other issues we've got and ideas on how to fix them."
	"Nothin' major with the Timber Wolves, sir, 'cept the air conditioning don't do dick against this heat," Corporal Janyk from Delta started. A short chuckle rippled through the group before he continued.
	"As for the Pumas," Lieutenant Holmes from Alpha spoke up, "we're running into an issue with the suspension. They're not taking to the heavier gravity and we're finding stress fractures along the torsion bars and warpage in the bearings. I doubt there’s anything we can make on our own that can fix it. We’ll need to stock up on spare parts, but I doubt logi will be able to supply us.”
	“Yeah. I swear, one more day of fish breakfasts, and I’m going to drown myself in that lake,” Knispel huffed from under his simple cloth muzzle.
	“We’ll have to make do with what we can get,” Joe resumed. “So, I guess that means we’re going to focus on the Kodiaks. Here’s what I have in mind for the cannon.”
	Joe turned back to the track skirts of Highlander, scratching out a rough picture of the tank’s turret. The guide rails and coils of the tank’s barrel took shape on the ceramic plate. He traced around the form for a moment before turning back to the group.
	“The issue with our cannon is that sand is getting melting on the coils and forming glass, overheating our guns. My idea is some sort of shroud to keep the sand off the coils.”
	“Might keep the sand off,” Janyk interrupted, “but those coils are air-cooled. We’re still cooking the barrel unless we either leave vent holes for sand or something funky.”
	"What about flushing them with coolant?” Knispel added. “Wrap the coils and run something in and out to take off the heat."
	"And how do we pump it?” Janyk retorted. “Where would we mount tanks for the coolant? What if the lines get cut or tanks popped in combat? We’ll have to crawl out and pull the sheath off under fire and hope we can seal it right. And that ain’t something I’d be looking forward to.”
	“And that’s without saying just how hard that would be to rig up on short notice,” Joe countered. “I don’t think we could find enough coolant and piping in two days. So we'll scrap the shroud concept, but what else do we have?”
	“Radial fins?” Holmes mused. “We use them on other weapons. What if we strapped some extra fins to the coils to dissipate the heat faster?"
	“Could work,” Joe responded. “Combine it with what’s already there and proper maintenance, we might have a solution. It won’t be complex, but sometimes Occam’s razor is needed. Holmes, take a few men and go see what you can whip up. If it works, we’ll raid logi for enough supplies to kit out the whole battalion. If we get rotated out, we can come up with something a little more permanent, like a barrel shroud for cooling. Next issue is the air filters choking up on sand.”
	Holmes turned and slipped away, taking a few of the group with him. Joe turned back to those that remanded, repeating the slow, mind-numbing process of determining concepts to improve the Kodiaks’ performance in the endless sand that encircled them. In the back of his mind, Joe had thought that he’d escaped the tedium of committee meetings on how to best design a machine when he was made a liaison to the UNN. And yet, here he was, effectively doing the same job he’d left behind on Earth just under harsh cold and crushing gravity that made his lower back ache.
	The concepts for the Kodiak air filters came down from five broad ideas to one that appropriated the best parts of each while trying to avoid their flaws. They scavenged and stole what parts they needed from across the base, regrouping at the motor pool to assemble the test piece. The Kodiak took in air rapidly through intakes along the flanks of the engine cover to keep the fuel cells cool. If the intakes were blocked, the fuel cell engines would reduce its power output to prevent overheating at a loss of horsepower. The test piece was a hinged screen that would rest over the intakes, welded to the hull by a pair of springs, and a simple servo motor. In theory, the screens would capture any sand pulled into the intakes until the weight of the sand pulled the screens down or were forced down by the motors. The filters would knock off the sand as they fell and spring back to a closed position.
	“Well...it’s on,” Janyk muttered.
	“Yeah,” Joe replied. “Now, we test it.”
	They piled onto Highlander as the engine hummed to life again, shifting out from the organized rows of vehicles. The tank lumbered out through the quiet base and into the desert. Joe sat high on his seat, looking out over the turret roof as they crested the dunes. Highlander bucked and roared across the sands, kicking up clouds of dust that fell about the tank. The screens squeaked as they dropped, clanging back into place. They continued along their drive, throwing the weight of Highlander across slopes and dunes to stress the test pieces by any means. Joe heard the sharp pop from the side of the tank, shouting down into the hull.
	“Halt, the screen broke,” He barked, bracing as the Kodiak slid to a stop, skittering across the sand.
	He dismounted and moved to the flank of the tank, seeing where the screen had snapped off, hanging only by the springs. Joe pushed the filter back into place and locked it before he pulled himself back onto the turret. He turned, casting a glance back to the winter suns started their descent towards the horizon.
	“The screens snapped at the hinges. We’ll have to reinforce them and the springs, but now we know that test pieces will work. Tomorrow is rigging enough for the rest of the battalion.

*****

	Joe opened the door to his bunk, stepping in out of the twilight engulfing the land. He set his coffee on his desk and slid his jacket off, draping it on the back of his chair. He was slow and quiet in his methods, casting a wary eye to the two Borealans in his bunk. He groaned to himself, cursing the gravity that continued to pull down at his form. Once he’d stripped down to his underclothes, he hooked up his coffee and started for the bathroom. He sipped at the cooling beverage, fighting the bitter taste out of his mouth before he began his nightly habituals.
	Before long, he’d finished and crept back towards his bunk, freezing when he saw three glowing eyes reflecting the dim glow of the bathroom light.
	“Sorry if I woke you,” He whispered, moving to the edge of the bed.
	“Don’t worry,” Verska crooned. “We’ve been sleeping all day.”
	“I could tell. Quiet day?”
	“Yeah,” Griza mewled. “Kept your bed warm for you.”
	“How was your day, Joe?” Verska asked, resting her head on Griza’s shoulder.
	“Long, cold, and boring. It was a lot like my old job, troubleshooting issues with our vehicles. Come on, make some room.”
	Joe stepped to the end of the bed, sitting on the mattress before he felt one of their tails lift him up into their waiting arms, blanketing him in the warm fur covering their forelimbs. He relaxed, feeling their forms move around him as he shifted to coil his arms around the both of them. He came to rest on his pillow, his right arm around Verska’s shoulders, and his left around Griza’s. Joe sighed, feeling his body unwind as he sank into their embrace. He stared up into the ceiling tiles, feeling Verska bury her face into his neck.
	“I was expecting you two to be a little more active when I got back,” Joe chided.
	“Too cold,” Verska groaned, hugging Joe tighter.
	“Fair enough.”
	He lay there between the two of them, feeling the gentle rise and fall of their chests. The heat radiating from them staved off the cold as he closed his eyes, sinking into a deep, heavy sleep without dreams. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been out for when he stirred awake, finding Griza looking down at him as she caressed his hairy chest.
	"Trouble sleeping?" Joe asked, keeping his voice as low as possible.
	"Nah, just enjoying the view, Joe,” Griza smiled in the darkness.
	“Really? I figured you’d still be rather bitter about losing.”
	“I am, but she’s my Alpha, for now, so I’ll play along in our little game. Who knows, I might actually decide to stay,” She purred, pressing her bust against his arm. "But I'm just as curious to see what about you has Verska so stuck to you. You just seem so...underwhelming, and yet she defers to you."
	"She defers to me because I'm her commanding officer. Behind closed doors, it's a more even thing. We stick together because we trust each other in a more human way of doing things. You'll pick it up if you stay. And furthermore, you weren't calling me underwhelming last night."
	Griza stifled a giggle in the dark room.
	"You still have to tell me why she calls you 'Bear.'"
	"Alright. It all started on a camping trip a while back..."

Chapter 9: War Pigs

	The twin suns climbed high into the sky, burning away any remaining frost from the winter night. Almost immediately, the furnace of the Borealan day set in as Joe made his way to the motor pool. The battalion was forming for the demonstration, going through their final fuel and ammunition checks as he arrived. The infantry milled about in their standard UNN blues and black armor while the crews sat in their flak vests and fatigues save for some of the recce who had painted theirs in various shades of beige to mimic the sands around them. Whit greeted him as he clambered up onto Highlander, double-checking the radial fins enclosing the magnetic coils on their main gun and the hinged sand screens over the air intakes. They’d spent the previous day acquiring the parts to supply all of the Kodiaks and Avalanches. It had been mostly painless save for having to trade a stash of alcohol from Delta Company to the quartermaster and his ilk to get a few final parts.
	They piled into their vehicles as the engines rolled to life, the companies starting out from the vast fields of the motor pool. Joe sat on the rim of his hatch, watching the prefabbed buildings that made up their base roll by as Bravo company headed out of the gate. They lumbered along the lake road, moving towards the skyline of the city. The passed along the avenues, the thrum of the fuel cell engines resonating off the stone edifices in a long procession that drew throngs of Borealans watching from the roadsides and rooftops. The metal treads clattered on the cobblestone as Joe wiped the dust from his goggles, casting long glances to the explosions of color that flanked their column. Some of them seemed to wave or smile at the column while others just stared on with sharp, cautious eyes.
	The column slowed as it passed the Patriarch’s residence, continuing along the avenue towards the open desert where they would be performing. As they passed the impressive spire, Joe craned his neck up, looking towards the high balcony of the feast hall, seeing the Elysian banners fluttering in the early morning light. The battalion continued out from the city to a stretch of rolling sand and salt flats where a small cluster of tents and dropships had parked in a makeshift corral at the crest of a sand dune. They slowed, falling into company ranks as the engines quieted and idled. From beneath the tents, Joe could spy Colonel Moritz leading the Patriarch and ambassadors out into the sunlight and towards the battalion.
	The procession moved along the line of vehicles, the Patriarch and his ensemble casting their wide-eyed curiosity over the battalion as they walked along. They came to a halt next to Highlander, Moritz looking up to Joe while the Patriarch and ambassadors stood almost level with him.
	“Good morning, Captain,” Moritz called up.
	"Good morning, Colonel. Lord Patriarch," Joe replied, swinging down off of Highlander. "Beautiful day for combat, wouldn't you agree, sir?"
	"Undoubtedly, but first, we will accommodate our host and his entourage with a tour of our battalion. So I defer the lead to you, Captain."
	Joe nodded, unclipping his helmet and hanging it from his flak vest. He straightened his flak jacket as he looked over the group arrayed before him.
	"To start, I present to you the 1st Marine Mechanized Battalion, the Iron Wolves. Our battalion was formed to give the marines on the ground some serious firepower against the Betelgeuseans, and I feel we have done just that. Our first attempt was this lumbering monster," Joe boomed, waving to Highlander behind him. "I present to you the Kodiak main battle tank. Seventy tons of war-fighting machine drafted from centuries of some of the most brutal periods of human history."
	He turned back to face the crowd, observing their reactions. The Patriarch and his guests seemed enraptured at the least, all their ears aimed towards Joe with eyes locked on Highlander.
	"Born from a synthesis of numerous design philosophies and technologies, the Kodiak can rightly claim to be one of the most advanced tanks in UNN history."
	"How so?" The Patriarch inquired, stepping closer to the tank. He looked across the turret roof, jolting back slightly when Whit threw open his hatch and popped his head out into the burning sun. The gunner froze when he saw the towering Borealan looking down at him from the turret.
	"Hello there," Whitman said, looking the Patriarch up and down.
	"Hello," The Patriarch laughed back, his thunder filling the air as he turned back to Joe. "How many of you humans are in this machine?"
	"The Kodiak seats three crew, a commander, gunner, and driver with room for up to 10 human infantry in the rear of the hull for emergency transit. That's part of its lineage for the Kodiak. The hull and fighting compartment drew heavily from the Israeli Merkava tanks, focusing on protecting the crew and passengers over other parts. A tank can be replaced, but a well-trained crew is much harder to find."
	"A commendable goal," the Patriarch replied. "Good soldiers shouldn't be wasted."
	"But three crew for such a large machine?" Torza spoke up, looking over the armor plates.
	"Only three are needed. I'm the tank commander. Whitman up on the turret is our gunner, and Frankie down at the front of the hull is our driver. A loader position would have been required had we not co-opted autoloaders from various European weapon programs. And combine that with further automation, every crew member can focus on their role: commander calling out targets and coordinating with the unit at large, gunner engaging with the main weapons, and driver moving us in and out of combat. With that, we can rip apart most ground targets with our guns- Could you move back a bit?" Joe asked, moving between the Patriarch and Highlander. The Borealan took a quizzical step as Joe set his eyes on Whitman and twirled his hand. The gunner nodded, spinning the turret to face the group. The Borealans crept close, reaching up to run their hands over the long guide rails of the main gun.
	"Every Kodiak is equipped with three main weapon systems with a secondary suite on the turret roof. We carry a 30mm autocannon, a heavy plasma repeater, and a 120mm main gun under the gunner's direct control. The secondary suite is the roof-mounted weapon platform I control directly. We can reach out and put a round on target out to six kilometers on a good day."
	"Can you even see a target that far away?" Korbaz spat.
	"Yes. Our optics can easily see that far, and that lets us shoot first. Superior technology and firepower is an advantage in their own right. And even if someone got close enough to shoot back, we're layered in composite armor that provides the best protection we could ask for. Hell, we've even begun experimenting with reverse engineering Betelgeusean energy shields for just a little more protection. This has all been the result of mankind's long history of killing each other. And even if we don't have a clear line of sight, we can shoot at you thanks to the recon company, but we'll come to that in a bit. Before we move on, are there any questions from our guests?"
	"What is 'Highlander' and these scratches in the armor?" The Patriarch inquired, moving next to the tank. He pressed his hand against the turret flank, the thimbles on his claws clinking against the composite plates around the painted name.
	"The name of our tank and the number of Warrior Bugs we’ve killed. Crews spend enough time in their rigs that it's like a second home to most. Most crews name their vehicles and include some...unofficial modifications. 'Highlander' was what my predecessor, Captain MacDonald, named our tank. After he passed away, Highlander became my tank, and it didn't feel right to change it. As for the kills, the bug drones attack in too high a number to keep accurate track of, so we just started tracking how many of the big ones we kill. As you can see, we’ve racked up seventeen Warriors."
	"And what of your...modifications, Captain?"
	"Mostly extra armor via spread track, ammo cans, sandbags, and the like. One tank in my platoon took to strapping chitin plates pulled off of dead Betelgeuseans. Beyond strapping on extra armor, some make more personal modifications. That can be art, attachments, and so on. As for my tank, we went with something a little louder," Joe cracked a dopey grin as he pointed to the loudspeakers at the flank of the turret.
	"We strapped a pair of very loud speakers to our turret and just blast music as much to spike us up as to try and scare whoever is across from us."
	"Music? You play music in battle?" Korbaz laughed at the thought.
	"It is surprisingly effective. But I'll let the demonstration attest to that. If you follow me, I'll  show you the support forces we deploy with our Kodiaks."
	Joe waved them to follow as he rounded the rear of the Kodiak, starting along the line of Bravo Company.
	"Our battalion is organized into eight companies. The first six are mechanized with five platoons each. The seventh platoon is our reconnaissance company with four companies. The eight company is the dedicated support artillery. In total, our battalion fields 152 combat vehicles at one time."
	"Against one target? It seems wasteful." Korbaz hissed.
	"We don't throw our full weight at one target. The battalion will fight on a wide front. We use our numbers and speed to overrun and encircle enemy forces. You may only see one company attacking you while the others fan out, and surround you while the artillery company bombards your position, and the recon company cuts deep into supply lines. It's actually closer to Rask raiding doctrine than you'd think ambassador. We even had a historical general who became renowned for his elusive and effective strategies for mobile desert warfare. Erwin Rommel, the Desert Fox. I could recommend some reading material on him if you were interested."
	The Rask ambassador had a perplexed expression as she stared down at Joseph. The Patriarch and Torza beamed as they continued on.
	"But to resume our tour, the mechanized companies consist of three platoons of Kodiaks and two platoons of Puma infantry fighting vehicles and their infantry compliment. While the Kodiaks form the armored spearhead of our force, the Pumas and infantry are vital to securing areas and flushing out the enemy. That is where you'll find most of your countrymen amongst the Marines."
	"None crew the Kodiaks?"
	"No. Crew compartment isn't big enough. But they can ride in the artillery."
	They passed Murder Machine, Joe pointing up to the overlapping chitin plates hanging along the hull and drawing a threatening smile from Korbaz and Torza at the sight. They came around to the Pumas, spying the Marines milling about the loading ramps. Amongst them, Joe could pick out Verska and Griza in their black UNN armor towering above the human Marines as they sat in the scant shade of the Pumas. One of them held a wood guitar, picking at the strings and singing out across the sand as they approached.
	"-Gold mine ain't worth having without you," crooned the guitarist before he looked up and spied the procession. The cluster of Marines sprang to attention before Moritz waved them down.
	"At ease," Moritz said, watching the Marines lax save for Verska and Griza. The Borealans pulled off their helmets as they faced the procession. They almost shrank where they stood, trying to appear as docile as possible before the Patriarch and ambassadors.
	"Lord Patriarch," Verska spoke loudly and evenly, her eyes darting around the sands.
	"Ah," the Patriarch boomed. "A daughter of Elysia!"
	"And a daughter of the sands," Korbaz added.
	"Ah yes, Lance Corporals Griza and Verska," Joe replied. "I must personally commend these two and their packs. While they are under my command, they've managed to sort their differences out and put the objective first. They've earned my respect, among other things."
	Joe turned to find the Patriarch and ambassadors moving past him and towards Griza and Verska. They began speaking in their sharp, hissing native language. They gestured and pointed as much to each other as to Joe, but through it all, they never let their eyes linger on the Patriarch or ambassadors. Before long, the guests turned back to Joe.
	"My kinsmen have much to say about your abilities as a commander as well as a soldier, Captain," Torza spoke up.
	"Quite capable, Captain. Maybe you could help train our new armored forces once we assemble them."
	"Armored forces?" Joe asked, turning to face the Patriarch.
	"Yes. Armored forces like yours. I aim to keep Elysia and Borealis safe, and I need the best weapons to keep my army ready. Speaking of the best, what can you tell me about these...Pumas, Captain?" The Patriarch inquired.
	"I see," Joe stalled, catching Korbaz's sharp eyes linger on the Patriarch. He wheeled around, looking back towards the Pumas arrayed before him. "The Puma IFV is designed to quickly get infantry into combat and provide a strong point in their formation. They do this with a mix of autocannons and grenade launchers in a turret to the front. If you'd like, you can climb in and see for yourself."
	He stepped to the side, waving them into the vehicle. The rear bay consisted of twin rows of seats facing a central aisle with a high ceiling for the Krell and Borealans. The Patriarch and ambassadors climbed inside, finding enough room before lowering themselves into Borealan-sized bench. He watched them scan the red-lit interior before he mounted the ramp and entered the Puma.
	"The Marines ride in the rear bay here until the Puma halts and they disembark," Joe started. "The larger passengers, Krell and Borealans, hit the dirt on the rear ramp while human marines drop out the doors on the flanks and the rear ramp. Once the marines disembark, they're protected by a pair of metal-ceramic alloy shields that deploy from the flanks of the Puma. It gives them the time and cover to form up before assaulting the enemy or digging in."
	Joe dropped back down the ramp and into the sand. He faced the diplomats as they left the Puma, resuming his tour.
	"While not exactly as impressive or fearsome as a Kodiak, the Puma fills a vital role of getting infantry into position and supporting the Kodiak. Without infantry, a tank becomes a lot more vulnerable, especially in urban warfare."
	The procession resumed its walk down the row of vehicles. They came to the end of Bravo company, turning left and heading down the column.
	"As with any army, you can only fight what you can see, and as a result, reconnaissance is a vital part of any force. Recon gives us eyes all over and an ability to see and counter an enemy long before they see us. From satellites and spaceships with long-range scanners to drones and men on the ground with a good pair of binoculars, we can find our enemy and engage them. It's for that reason we keep the Timber Wolves around. And with how we built them, Borealans are fully able to operate them in addition to mixed crews."
	The Patriarch perked up at this, his ears tracking Joe as the continued. The group came to Golf Company and the six-wheeled trucks that formed their recon company. The vehicles were painted in the splintered desert camouflage and adorned with field tools, sensors, supply bins, rolled camo nets, and other assorted field gear hanging around the flanks and the bed of the truck. Some of the crew lounged in their vehicles under improvised sun shades. Others sorted their equipment, checking and rechecking bins and pouches. As they approached, Moritz called to them, having them fall into rank and file by their vehicles.
	"The Timber Wolf is one of my favorite vehicles. Quick, quiet, and able to get wherever we need eyes on the ground and a crew of Marines ready for a fight. And beyond finding enemies, the Timber Wolves can even take up raiding enemy supply lines."
	Joe looked back, finding Korbaz's eyes locked firmly on the machine, drinking in every detail of them.
	"With thermal shielding over most of the hull and proper evasion training, one of these things can disappear into the environment, feeding information to the rest of the battalion. Especially the artillery company. And that's before you take the drones into account."
	"Drones? Like the damned Betelgeuseans?" Torza bristled at the mention of the word.
	"No, not the Betelgeuseans. Come, I'll show you exactly what I mean."
	They moved to the nearest vehicle, greeting the crew of humans and Elysians. Joe fished a crate almost as large as his torso from the rear of the truck. He opened the container, passing the datapad to one of the crew and gestured simply to their esteemed guests. The marine nodded, linking the pad to his helmet as Joe pulled the contents free before returning to the group.
	"This is what I mean by drone. A Small Unmanned Aerial Vehicle model 453, the Hummingbird, our eye in the sky," Joe laughed before throwing the Hummingbird into the air like a discus.
	The marine rapped on the control pad, and the drone sprang to life. Four rotor arms sprang out around the small octagonal body and whirred to life. The drone hovered for a moment, letting the crowd observe the drone before it darted off into the bright sky above. Almost immediately, the faint whir of the rotors was lost, and after about a minute, the drone itself wasn't even a visible speck to Joe.
	"What-" The Patriarch stuttered, pointing to the now unstable drone.
	"A little drone our recon company can throw up to see over any obstacles. Buildings, hills, forests, whatever. This lets the operator see what's out there. and with its optical suite, it can track targets day or night and through most weather. And it can feed that data back to the operator and anyone else with an open comm line. This. in turn. means that if the recce sees you, so can the artillery and the rest of the battalion. And speaking of the artillery," Joe spun with a flourish of his arm, pointing to the massed Avalanches to his left as his audience turned to follow his arm. "I present the Avalanche self-propelled gun."
	"They look like the Kodiak," The Patriarch responded. "But I'm certain that's for a good reason."
	"You would be quite correct, Lord Patriarch. The Avalanche uses the same chassis at the Kodiak as an effort was made to standardize parts between the two to make maintenance and repairs easier. The biggest difference is the design of this artillery platform. It has an enlarged fighting compartment, and cannon built primarily to put as many large rounds on target as possible. These machines can either blanket an area in saturation fire or lock on a marked target and deliver precise shots to minimize collateral damage. If you'll follow me to the rear," Joe said, moving towards Hotel Company.
	The rounded the hulking turret and wide, squat treads, finding the crews running loading drills. Amongst them, Borealans hefted the heavy 250mm shells from ammo wagons and slid them into the ammo racks at the rear of the turret. The Patriarch bellowed in his native tongue, drawing the attention of the company, halting their loading as they went to speak with their leader. Joe waited next to Moritz as the Borealans conversed before he was able to resume his tour.
	"We attach Borealans to our artillery company to help sling shells and keep the burst loader ready. If you look into the turret," Joe pointed into the Avalanche, setting his hand onto the rectangular device jutting perpendicular from the breech of the repurposed naval coil gun it mounted. "You'll see another difference from our Kodiaks. The Kodiak uses a motorized autoloader to select and load one shell at a time to maintain a constant rate of fire, whereas this artillery cannon uses a high-speed magazine loader to get a salvo of shots downrange in short order. We do this because after the first shell hits, the enemy runs to cover. The less time between shots, the more effective the salvo can be. And I believe that is everything that can be shown in short order before the demonstration. Any questions?"
	"You keep mentioning coordination," Korbaz started. "But how do you achieve that if you're spread across such a wide front as you boast."
	"Technology and training, plain and simple. Radios, beam comms, satellites, and drones. We can bounce messages and chatter across our comm net and use a hierarchical system to cut out battlefield confusion."
	"And what of fuel?" Torza added. "These aren't Rask sand sailors, and those engines seem rather large."
	"Hydrogen fuel cell engines. Similar to civilian industrial engines for power over efficiency. Self-contained with optional air cooling systems since heat build-up is always an issue."
Moritz cleared his throat, stepping up to Joe.
	"I believe we may have to cut our tour short so we can begin the demonstration. However, I believe one of Golf Company's crews volunteered to take the Lord Patriarch and ambassadors out on a ride to demonstrate its abilities after the demonstration."
	"Ah, this will be an entertaining day," the Patriarch laughed as they turned and made their way back towards the cluster of tents.
	"Captain O'Kane, please round up the other captains so we can begin the briefing," Moritz ordered.
	"Understood, sir," Joe answered, wheeling around to track down his counterparts.

Chapter 10: Desert Wolves

	Before long, he had rounded them up and started up the dunes towards the cluster of tents, finding a simple briefing room set up in the shade. They piled in, taking seats in the front row of chairs. The darkness of the tent cluster was a relief from the burning suns as they sat before the simple display screen flanked by Moritz. Behind Joe and the other captains sat the Patriarch, ambassadors, and several of the Elysian honor guard. The captains at affixed on the screen as it blinked to life.
	Before them was a topographic overlay on a satellite map of the region. It was a rolling sea of sand dunes that tapered off towards rocky hills and mounts covered in jagged washes and encircled by salt flats devoid of any available cover. Nestled at the top of one unusually large wash was a town of Borealan stone buildings and UNN prefabs around several cave mouths and well derricks.
	Moritz stepped forward, producing a laser pointer from his pocket and traced simple lines across the map as he began his briefing. Several of the Borealans tensed in their seats as the little red dot moved before them.
	"Today's operation is a force demonstration. The objective is to assault and secure the wells and village at Point Arroyo. Our main avenue of assault will be from the south across the desert. Golf will form at Line Vanguard." Moritz marked out a line across the sand where the recon company would deploy to start the exercise. "Hotel will dig in at Point Thunderchild with Foxtrot on guard." The Colonel marked point ten kilometers south of Vanguard. "The remaining companies with form up at Line Hussar, between Vanguard and Thunderchild.
	Moritz marked out the five companies on the map before zooming in to show the area between Vanguard and Arroyo.
	"To better simulate a hostile combat zone, you will be engaged by unmanned ground vehicles and turrets across the operation area. You will need to find and engage enemy forces to clear the route to Arroyo. But expect entrenched resistance at point Arroyo as well. Any questions?"
	"What about external assets?" Joe asked, shifting forward in his seat.
	"Satellite feed will be in and out throughout the operation. You will have no significant air assets aside from whatever drones your companies are carrying. I will be observing with the Lord Patriarch and honorable ambassadors in the dropship outside. Our callsign is Overlord, all comms flow through us. Am I understood?"
	"Sir, yes, sir," the captains replied, rising to their feet.
	"The Iron Wolves hunt."
	"Intrepidus venemur," the captains responded before Whitman dismissed them. They filed out of the tent and hustled down towards their vehicles and clambered in as engines roared to life. Joe secured his helmet and power up his commset and turret control, stopping when a ping in his ear drew his eyes to the screen. A single message sat under the Incoming tab. Joe flicked it up to his screen, finding a short note from Moritz.
	“Captain, one piece of intelligence I could not provide at the briefing is as follows: UNNI has written off diplomacy with the Rask. As a result, all of the UGVs and turrets have been modified to as closely replicate Rask vehicle performance as we can. After today’s exercise, you are to draft an after-action report and deliver it to me tomorrow morning. You are not to divulge this information to anyone, even your fellow captains. Delete after reading.”
	Joe deleted the message as the vehicles shifted and started out into the desert. He slid Moritz’s note to the back of his mind, pushing the hatch open as he looked back towards the tents. He spied Moritz flanked by the Patriarch, watching them as they headed out into the desert. Joe reached into the turret, flicking on the loudspeakers as he watched them turn and start for the dropship as its engines flared to life. The dropship lifted off, circling above the tanks as they fanned out to their starting positions.
	Behind him, the speakers whined as the first wailing sirens bombarded his ears. Joe slid back into the turret, leaning back in his seat as the music blasted outside. His commset chattered as some of the crews bantered and hedged bets over how the exercise will go. It was a slow crawl out to the start lines, through clouds of dust and sand thrown up by the preceding vehicles.
	“So, what’s the play?” Kent asked, swinging far to the west with Charlie Company.
	“Me and Xeng will be sitting back and sending airmail,” Herrera added from Point Thunderchild to their rear.
	“I’d have the rest of us fan out with Golf running out and ahead of us,” Joe replied. “Golf finds the hardpoints, Hotel shells the hell out of them, and we roll over the remains. We’ll converge at Arroyo from several directions at once.”
	“I can agree to that, but what’s spread order?” Kent asked.
	“Running west-east, Charlie, Bravo, Alpha, Delta, and then Echo,” Davis spoke up from Alpha as they rolled towards the center of the line.
	“Fair enough,” Joe responded. He switched channels, feeding the updated coordinates to his company as the tank bobbed and rolled across the sand.
	After a handful of minutes, the company slowed to a stop, leaving the engines idle as the other companies moved into position. Time passed slowly as they sat back under the rising sun, looking out across the dunes that sheltered Line Hussar. Eventually, the commset came to life again with the battalion wide channel squawked to life in his ear.
	“1st Battalion,” Moritz started. “Begin exercise. Seek and destroy.”
	“You heard him, ladies and gentlemen,” Joe called out to his company. “Time to hunt.”
	Far ahead of them, Golf Company fanned out into the dunes, each platoon spacing out and running up their Hummingbirds to reach out and see over the dunes. The drones fed back the rolling dune sea before them, zooming and focusing on the trails of sand and dust thrown up in linear clouds from moving targets. The drones switched on their laser designators, moving closer to the trucks from above like unseen eyes of a wrathful god. The radio chattered again as Hotel Company received the feed from their own fire control drones hovering about Thunderchild. Joe knew what came next.
	He flicked the music so something more fitting, pushing open his hatch and listening over the thrum of the company's engines and the slow string instruments in his loudspeakers. For a brief second, he wondered if Moritz had bugged his loudspeakers to share Joe’s selection with the Patriarch. Far from the rear came the warbling cracks of the artillery as they hurled shot after shot into the burning sky as the strings and winds climbed, climbing towards the flourish of sound and carnage. Even under the brutal Borealan heat, vapor trails streaked overhead where the shots whistled towards the laser marks. Then came Hell’s own drumbeat at the crescendo of Beethoven’s Ode to Joy.
	Far downrange, the cluster of UGVs has been activated by Moritz, the fuel cells whirring to life and sending the unmanned trucks scattering out on pre-programmed paths. They were still accelerating out of the wash that sheltered them when the first shell hit. It landed close to one vehicle, the high explosive cratering the dune and throwing the truck away like a child’s toy under a fountain of sand and glass. The next shell to land was an airburst, catching two lorries in the vicious cone of tungsten flechettes ripping through the metal and ceramic plating. In the spray, the hydrogen fuel tanks ruptured and ignited into pale yellow flames that clung to the hull and poured from the dozens of holes across the fuel tanks. Dozens of other shells rained down, a mixture of high explosive and airburst rounds in seconds before the first salvo ended. Some of the drone trucks limped off, somehow alive after such a deluge. The others were hulks, burning off their fuel and ammunition throwing a pillar of smoke or just sitting lost in the sands. And all the while, the symphony of a mad, deaf German blared around him as the artillery found its mark.
	“Oh, it’s beautiful,” Joe murmured to no one in particular.
	From his position, Joe could see the first fingers of smoke rising up into the sky. The salvo had hit one cluster, but where were the others. There had to be more, and Joe wanted to make sure he wasn’t rolling forward blind. He pulled up a tactical map on one of his extra screens, tracing out the companies, their routes, and the position of any of Moritz’s drones that had been spotted. So far, the combat had mainly been ahead of the tanks, mostly consisting of the UGVs skirmishing with Golf’s outriders and the occasional artillery saturation barrage. Joe looked up from his map, scanning the dunes ahead of him. They were still and empty with the smoke rising behind them, snaking off into the sky. He moved back to his map when motion caught his eye. Scattered points along the crests of the dunes rose, brandishing barrels in the sunlight.
	“Bravo, turret-”
	The turrets fired, a shrieking burst of shots screamed down at the tanks and transports. Most splashed into the sand around them, but the loud, muffled thud of a glancing hit to the turret was warning enough. Whit spun the turret, planting a high explosive shot into the nearest offending tower, setting off a blossoming ammunition pile. The rest of First Platoon opened fire, mixing bursts of staccato autocannon fire and deafening cracks of the main guns. One by one, the turrets fell silent, leaving only smoldering craters. Joe jammed his commset and scanned the dunes.
	“Overlord, Bravo, we just hit a strongpoint. Fucking scorpion turrets came out of the sand. Over.
	“Copy that Bravo,” another voice  “Heads up, Golf reports a cluster of UGVs closing on your position from due north. Looks like they’re coming to you. Over.”
	“Understood, Overlord. Bravo, out,” Joe answered, cycling to his company channel. “We’ve got hostiles closing fast, I was us dug in on the ridges ahead. Infantry out and ready. 1-1, out.”
	Frankie had already taken the hint, climbing the dunes ahead of them. They dropped the bulldozer blade at the front, pushing a dead turret over in front of them for extra protection. As Highlander came to a stop, Joe surveyed his position. The dune they at on rose above the neighboring ones by a solid margin, curving off to his left before it eventually tapered back into the sands. A smaller, nearby dune sat to the right, forming a gentle angle that turned north as it reached away from their position. He parked First Platoon around him, Second Platoon at the turn in the right dune, and Third Platoon down to his left. Fourth and Fifth Platoons unloaded their infantry, spacing out the heavier guns and marksmen along the line and putting the Pumas down the ridge behind them.
	Joe brought his autocannon to the front, watching over the dunes for the first sign of approaching enemies. The rising dust clouds closing from the north alerted him, bringing his gunsight up to the far crests. The first UGV threw itself over the dune with a spray of sand and simulation machine gun rounds. He let a burst of 30mm fly towards the target. Some pelting the sand while others found their mark, punching glowing holes into the armored plating. The rest of First Platoon opened up with their autocannons, pouring more fire into the first truck, reducing it to a scarred wreck that rolled down out of view behind the dune.
	Soon after, another of the trucks leaped into view, followed by more of them, firing off light cannons and machine guns. Some belched bright white smoke screens as they moved down into the cover of the dunes. Joe barked to fire at will, prioritize the closest trucks, expecting them to rush the company. These were supposed to simulate the Rask after all, and he knew how much Borealans loved melee combat.
	Some of the trucks bound the next line of dunes, catching a fusillade of XMR fire from the infantry. Plasma splashed against the vehicles, burning deep into the vehicles. The tungsten bolts tore into the tires and sparked off the hull at odd angles. Some of the trucks stalled at the tops of the dunes, engines, and tires shredded and molten from the infantry. The stalled vehicles were either punched through by a kinetic slug or blasted apart by a high explosive canister. Joe tried to take a tally of how many were attacking their position, but it was near impossible with the trucks continually popping in and out from behind sand. His rangefinder painted the closest one at around 500 meters away and closing. The trucks were moving mostly towards First Platoon, rushing towards the center of the formation and into the heavy crossfire of Second and Third Platoons. If this was how the Rask fought, any pitched fight would be a slaughter.
	They continued to pick off the trucks in ones and twos as they hurtled closer towards First Platoon’s position. They were only a few dunes away at less than 150 meters when the lorries turned. The spearhead rushing their line split, the trucks whipping in a lateral screen, laying smoke charges as they speed towards the flanks.
	“They’re feinting to the flanks. Second, Third, keep alert.”
	Joe let his autocannon rip, flicking his scopes to thermal as the smoke ahead of him thickened. The white-hot UGVs raced out over the last few dunes, firing wildly and loosely towards the company’s position. He cursed as they few dozen or so trucks fanned out, some turning to race up Joe’s dune into a torrent of cannon and XMR fire while others sped on towards the flanks. Those trucks racing up towards Joe’s position were picked apart and slagged by the infantry, slowing and sinking into the sand dune. One was obliterated when a marine planted a shoulder-fired rocket through the front and set off the ammunition, engulfing the rolling husk in a billowing fireball. Bit by bit, the thrust towards the center of the company was blunted on the slope of the dune. To the right, Second Platoon and the infantry broke one of the flanking assaults, and Joe hoped the same could be said for his left when the radio squawked again.
	“Captain, they’re circling our left,” Knispel barked. “We have to drop back, or they’ll have our asses.”
	“Do it and keep firing,” Joe replied, flicking to his platoon channel. “1-2, 1-3s, swing left, we’re being flanked. Check fire over friendly infy.”
	Frankie spun the hull as Whit acquired the trucks pushing up where Third Platoon had been. He opened up with his autocannon, being mindful of the infantry under his guns. Knispel had reversed his tanks down the reverse slope, swinging back at a right angle to the dune. The flanking attack was halted at the top of the dune were the trucks sank into the sand and were hit in the unarmored underside. Knispel counter-attacked over the dune, using the sheer horsepower of the tanks to push the wrecks and trucks back over the dune. Their weapons rattled and thundered as they drove on into the UGVs. Soon after, the guns of Bravo Company fell silent over the smoldering trucks and glittering sands where stray plasma melted it into glass.
	“Sound off,” Joe called across the company. “What’s our status, lieutenants?”
	“All good in second,” Fitzgerald answered.”
	“Same for Third. Crushed a few under the treads,” Knispel replied, parking his platoon of Kodiaks back on the crest, turrets scanning for more of Moritz’s drone trucks.
	“One medical casualty in Fourth, he burned his hand swapping receivers,” Lt. Kaminski reported in in his usual, irritated tone.
	“Aside from sand in some undies, we’re ready to roll in Fifth,” Esteban radioed in.
	“Overlord, Bravo. We’ve wiped out the enemy attack. Resuming northern push. Over.”
	“Bravo, Overlord. We copy your last. New orders are to punch through to the salt flats north of your position. Charlie Company is skirmishing with another group of UGVs to your northwest, move to cut off the retreating UGVs before moving on to Arroyo. Overlord over and out.”
	Joe swapped back to the company's channel, keying his commset.
	“Bravo, new orders are to drive north and support Charlie before we push on the village. Mount up and form up, triple wedge formation.”
	He watched the infantry bound across the sand and pile into their Pumas as the Kodiaks regrouped at the base of the dune. Once all five platoons were ready, they pushed on, bounding past the wrecks of the trucks that they’d picked off during the opening phases of the engagement. They sped up, throwing up sand in long, billowing clouds behind them as the company plunged full speed into their advance.
	The minutes ticked by as Joe strained his eyes, scouring their path for shifting sand, trailing clouds, or any other indicator that those UGVs were nearby. The dunes began to thin before they bounded the final line and out onto the empty sand flats stretching far away around them. The clouds of sand they threw up turned to pale white dust as their treads and tires tore into the surface. Ahead of them, Joe could spy the rise of red rock that marked Arroyo and the village. To his right, he could see bursts of light streaking down and billowing to dancing fireballs where the artillery fired another volley. Free from the rolling dunes, the distant cacophony of battle rolled over his tank clearer and louder than it had been previously.
	Turning his autocannon to the left, he spotted the rolling dust cloud and streaks of burning hot tungsten that marked Charlie’s running battle. Joe whistled his order, the right end of his line accelerating as they pivoted in towards the fight. They’d draw close enough to lend extra guns without colliding with Charlie Company. He spied the first truck, locking his sight on it as the turret spun, and Whit loaded a Skalpel.
	The cannon rocked in its housing as the small rocket-assisted shot raced out, curving right to lead the truck. The burning motor spun the round as it tracked Joe’s marker and impacted against the flank plate. The first flash punched through the plate when the second flash blew the truck in two, the broken pieces tumbling along the flat earth.
	“Play some music, Cap,” Whit said, leaning back in his seat as he spun from target to target. He engaged the trucks at will, sundering them with bursts of plasma and tungsten as they sped on.
	“Will do, Whit. Just keep shooting straight.” Joe chided, flicking the loudspeakers back on. The harsh wail of a screeching electric guitar flooded out from outside, mixing in with the sound of the guns.
	“When do I miss?” Whit laughed back, planting his next shot into the wheel well of a retreating truck, tipping it up on to its remaining wheels before slamming back down into the salty plain.
	Joe combed his camera feeds, firing off bursts with his autocannon as the trucks began to speed away, breaking their formation and scattering between the hammer and anvil pincer. Some were accelerating faster and faster, outrunning the Kodiaks, but not the Kodiak’s cannons. The company drove on, cutting through the open flank of the trucks as they gave chase across the salt flats. Each Kodiak and Puma was fitted with a stabilizer, making each shot a simple matter of point and click. As the two companies converged, Bravo swung to parallel Charlie as the trucks began to pull away from the tanks, making them easier targets for the companies. Overhead, he swore he could hear the roar of the dropship shadowing their hunt.
	They drove on through the turkey shoot before them, blasting as they went. Through the short breaks in the dust, Joe could observe the rising mounts and hills that formed the area near Arroyo. He double-checked his position against the satnav and passed the information out across his force. By now, the retreating trucks were only a handful in total, each one being swatted by a cluster of fire, marking the end of a long trail of burning wreckage dotting the desert behind them.
	Bravo shifted to the right, moving away from Charlie and back to their original assault line as they pushed on towards the foothills. Sporadic turrets sprang up among the rough, scrub dotted hills and fired down at the vehicles. The Kodiaks and Pumas returned the favor, shooting up into the washes and slopes with lethal precision. They passed a Timber Wolf hidden beneath its camo net, the crew waving to the armored column as they pushed on. Ahead, thunder boomed across the empty salt flat as smoke and dust bloomed up where the artillery dropped shell after shell onto the jagged hills and slopes. Chunks of stone and earth rained down across the land ahead of them.
	The companies began to converge as they crossed the last few miles of salt flats. Through the pillars of smoke and rain of earth, Joe could spot the wrecks of UGVs and turret positions dotting the rises ahead. Behind them, he could see the first buildings of the village peeking over the ridges. As they drove closer, the damage of the artillery barrage was becoming more apparent. The recon had raced forward and scouted out the defenses of the village before the artillery turned the earth asunder. The blackened craters and burning turrets marked where the approach to the town lay.
	“Battalion,” Moritz spoke into Joe’s ears through his headset. “Form to push on Arroyo. Alpha, Bravo, and Delta will make the assault. Charlie and Echo will hang back to guard the flanks while Golf encircles the rearmost positions. Overlord, over and out.”
	“You heard the Colonel,” Davis called over the commset. “Let’s take the fucking village.”
	“And the fool rushes in,” Knight whispered.
	Joe switched his commset to company-wide and keyed his mic.
	“Bravo, we’re pushing to the village with Alpha and Echo. We’ll proceed over these foothills in front of us and approach Arroyo from the western flank while Alpha goes up the middle. Leapfrog with infantry out and ready.”
	Bravo Company rolled forward, crawling up onto the rocky slope and held position. The Pumas dropped their bay doors, letting the infantry scramble out into the noon sun. The squads formed along the Kodiaks as they tanks fanned out and rumbled forward. The tanks pushed up the slope, scanning for any more of Moritz’s unmanned threats. The rattle of a machine gun peppered off the turret cheek of Highlander, sending the infantry to the ground as Joe flipped his autocannon to the source. A small turret was spraying simulation rounds out from a foxhole in the shadow of a scrub bush. He fired a few 40mm grenades into the hole, hearing the rain of fragments plink off the turret and hatch.
	They continued their slow flanking push, the Kodiaks and infantry moving in quick, leapfrogging pushes into the rough ground of the hills. Joe guided his platoon parallel to a wash while the infantry moved close to the tanks for extra protection. They were harried by machine gun turrets peppering away with the sim rounds as the company advanced. The tanks laid down heavy crossfires to suppress the guns before either the infantry stormed the position with grenades and Borealans, or the tanks blasted them away with the heavy ordinance. Joe pushed his hatch open, raising his head to scan over the sloping terrain before him. They continued to push up the wash while the thunder of battle grew to their right. They’d pushed most of the way up the wash, blasting turrets when Joe gave the order to pivot and assault Arroyo from the flank.
	The company wheeled on Second Platoon, swinging to the right as they pushed over the lip of the hill and down towards the village. Before the company was a field dotted with boulders and loose stones that tapered off at the bottom of the slope where the buildings started. From their position at the flank of the village, Joe could see some of the turrets firing down towards Alpha Company.
	“Company, engage enemy firing positions. Check fire, we don’t want to level the village,” Joe broadcast to his company, feeling the opening shot lance out from Highlander. The explosive shot slammed into the nearest turret on the roof of a Borealan hut, launching a spray of rubble and scrap over the area. Part of the roof and wall collapsed inward with a puff of dust and smoke. The rest of the tanks and Pumas picked out targets and opened up with their cannons. Autocannons barked and rail cannons whined as the shots raced through the burning air and tore into the defenses. Some of the turrets spun to the new threat, firing up towards the tanks, ricocheting off the sloped turret face.
	“Give the infantry a smokescreen,” Joe said, looking to Whit as the gunner nodded his reply.
	The next shot from Highlander hit the face of an active turret, blooming out in a bright white cloud as the burning phosphorus rained over the tower. The turret stopped firing through the smoke as more smoke rounds burst across the edge of the town. The shards of burning metal cooled quickly in the sand, throwing off the thick wall of white that Joe wanted. His tank lurched as it resumed its push forwards into the village while the infantry pushed past, using the cover of the smoke to rush across the field.
	They pushed into the western fringe of the village, the infantry sweeping from building to building as the Kodiaks parked along firing lines and thrashed any hidden turret with a massive tungsten spike. The Pumas hung back, serving as fire support and transport for any of the infantry injured during the exercise. Compared to the urban battles they’d faced against the Bugs, it was far easier. Whether that was because the turrets were that easy to beat or if the Rask they were supposed to simulate were as undisciplined as they seemed. Joe assumed it was merely a flaw in the turrets because the Rask seemed as wily as they were rash.
	It was slow going, Joe mused as he watched the infantry bounded from house to house. The distant ripples of gunfire slowed and faded to the occasional burst or crack as a lone turret was found and destroyed. Joe pushed up to the roof of Highlander, sitting on the rim of his hatch as he saw Alpha’s tanks rolling towards him. He waved to Davis as they rumbled by towards the north end of the town.
	“Overlord, Bravo Actual,” Joe keyed his commset. “We’ve stormed the village and grouped up with Alpha. Point Arroyo will be ours in a short order. Over.”
	“Copy that, Bravo Actual. Stand down and regroup,” Moritz replied. “Battalion, stand down and regroup. You have accomplished your objectives, and we are EndEx. Report back to base and take the night off. Overlord, over and out.”
	Joe smiled as he looked down towards his driver under the main cannon.
	“You heard the man, Frankie. Take us home.”
	“With pleasure, Captain.”
	Joe leaned back on the turret roof, watching Moritz’s dropship circle around again above them. It hung there as the infantry streamed out of the houses and into their Pumas. The dropship banked away, flying back towards the city. One by one, the vehicles revved their engines and formed back into platoons and companies before turning to cross the salt flats and sands once more. Above them, the suns had begun their slow drift down towards the horizon.

Chapter 11: Lion Tamer

	The vehicles rumbled into the motor pool, coated in the day's dust and grime. The engines died as the crews disembarked, scattering out into the base in the deep twilight. Cleaning and maintenance could wait till the next morning, Joe thought as he dropped down into the turret. He slid back to the rear bay of Highlander and fished his flask out of its spot. Whit and Frankie waved to him as they headed towards the rec hall or mess hall or their bunks.
	Before long, he found himself alone sitting on the rear ramp. Joe took a long draw of his flask, coughing at the sharp bite of the whiskey. He had stripped off his flak jacket and helmet, leaving them inside the tank with the hotter parts of his fatigues. For a moment, the evening was calm as a breeze worked through the canyons and caverns of the vehicles, tickling his sweaty face and neck. His peace and quiet was interrupted by a pair of voices coming down the row of tanks, growing closer as they became more evident. Joe smiled when he realized it was Griza and Verska, turning on his seat to greet them as they reached him. They'd already disposed of their armor and equipment before they'd come to find him here.
	“Fancy seeing you here, Captain,” Verska winked at him as she took a seat on the engine cover of the Kodiak behind her. Joe met her wink with a soft smile as he looked up to her green eyes from his stoop.
	“Shit, I could use a shower,” Griza groaned as she lounged out on the soft sand next to the tank, stretching out her limbs and fingers, the black claws glinting faintly.
	“I’m sure Joe will happily oblige.”
	He felt a flush of warmth run to his sunburnt cheeks, a tinge of pain lancing through.
	“Later,” Joe replied, laying back against the ramp. “Right now, I just want to lay back and relax.”
	“Let us oblige you on that, Captain,” Verska swooned, straddling him as she squatted in his lap.
	She leaned in, planting a soft kiss on his forehead before moving down to press her lips against his, that long serpentine tongue pushing into his mouth with that familiar taste of her. She cupped his face in her palms before breaking off the kiss. She flashed her lurid smile as her green eyes glowed in the setting sun. He groaned as she ground her hips against his, feeling her rest more of her weight on him before she rose back to her feet. She took his flask, throwing back a shot and coughing at the burning alcohol.
	“I still don’t see how you little humans can drink this stuff, but it’ll do.”
	Verska passed the flask to Griza, forcing the small metal thing into the Rask’s hands. Griza tossed back a swig, wheezing as she fought through the intense burn.
	“What even is it?” Griza hissed, handing it back to Joe as he turned and slid it into his hiding spot inside Highlander.
	“Whiskey,” Joe replied. “I prefer my drinks strong-”
	“Like your woman,” Verska purred.
	Joe turned back to face them, finding Verska running down the zipper on her jumpsuit. He relaxed into his seat, a warm wave crawling across his body as he watched. Her form was still entrancing, slick with sweat as she slid the UNN regs off her shoulders. She had a deep green sports bra on that only seemed to make her flaming hair burn brighter in the evening sun. She let the jumpsuit hang loose about her waist, as she struck a pose, flexing her biceps as he stifled a laugh. Verska let her arms fall and moved behind Griza, clasping one hand on the Rask’s chin while the other coiled around her waist. Griza went stiff, ears flattening against her head on reflex.
	"Come on, Griza. Let's give Joe a show first," Verska whispered, nipping Griza on the neck. One of Verska’s hands slid from Griza’s shoulder and seized the zipper of her jumpsuit. Slowly, Verska pulled down Griza’s zipper and pushed the blue material off of her dark shoulders. Griza squirmed as Verska pulled down the fabric, running her hands over the Rask’s scarred, cocoa skin. Griza’s ample chest was bound by a simple tank top that she’d rolled and tied off just beneath her breasts. Joe let his eyes run over the patchwork of pale scar tissue over the topography of her abdomen. She had far more scars than Verska, but they seemed to fit her better where they highlighted the contours of her gravity-chiseled form. Verska ran one hand over Griza’s abs, gently pressing with her claws while the other cupped one of Griza’s large breasts. Her fingers sank into the soft flesh, drawing a mewl from Griza before she pulled the tank top up and let the breasts fall free. Joe felt a rising heat coursing through his body, watching as Verska slowly pulled Griza’s jumpsuit the rest of the way down, pulling the tight fabric of her undershorts with it. Griza stood nude before him as Verska pawed at her form, teasing her with bites to her shoulder and neck.
	Joe pulled at his collar before resolving to just pull the shirt off, tossing it back into the tank behind him. Verska stepped towards Highlander, pulling Griza along with her. As he looked on, we could see the subtle shift in Verska’s cheeks as they reddened. She couldn’t handle her hard liquor at all, but she drank it nonetheless. Joe craned his head back as the two Borealan beauties stood over him. He felt Verska’s tail pull at his arm, taking the hint to get off the ramp. With Joe out of the way, Verska bent Griza forward, having her legs straddle the slope. Verska whispered into Griza’s ear as she guided Griza into the crew hatch at the rear of the tank. She twisted to fit through the human-sized opening before stopping with her wide hips stuck at the entrance, presenting the round globes of her butt and the solid structure of her legs. Her blond tail twitched back and forth as she visibly dripped with anticipation, slowly swaying her hips.
	Verska pulled Joe in with her tail, setting him in front of her and facing Griza. Verska rested her breasts on his shoulders as she whispered into his ears and squeezed him in her arms. Her warm breath tickled his.
	“Let’s get started, Joe. I think she’s excited.”
	“And what will you be doing?” Joe asked, cocking his head to face her.
	“I think I’ll watch,” she crooned, kissing his neck. “Maybe once she’s had her turn, I’ll climb in and let you take me like that.”
	“I have a better idea,” He replied. He turned to face Verska, hooking an arm around her neck as he planted a kiss on her collarbone. “Take your pants off and sit on the hull over the hatch.”
	As he spoke, he saw her blush as she did as he asked. Verska slipped off the rest of her jumpsuit, exposing her tight bike shorts that matched the green of her sports bra. She bit her lip as she slid the shorts down, revealing the intimate flesh between her firm thighs. She was wet with arousal, too, as she looked to Joe with her emerald eyes. She spun and clambered up onto the hull, letting her feet hang down to either side of Griza’s hips.
	“Should I stay in here?” Griza echoed from inside.
	“Stay put,” Verska answered. “We’re about to start. Come on, Joe. We showed you ours.”
	Joe matched her smile, feeling his face burn from some mix of the whiskey buzz and arousal. He undid the waist of his fatigues, letting them drop to the sand next to the ladies’ discarded attire. He moved up onto the ramp, feeling that deep well of primal instinct and nervous tension rise in his gut. His heart hammered away as he exposed his member, letting it bounce free in the crisp evening air. He ran one hand over Griza’s rump, kneading the soft fat and iron muscle beneath. He heard her purr from inside the tank while his other hand and lips danced across Verska’s inner thigh, drawing a low mewl from the Elysian. He looked up, seeing her eyes flutter as they watched down over the mounds of her chest.
	“Come on,” Griza whined. “Don’t make me wait.”
	“Don’t worry,” Joe sighed. He leaned in, pressing his member against Griza’s burning lions. He groaned as he pushed in, feeling her body clench around him. He pressed his lips against Verska’s scalding womanhood, tasting her as she rumbled and purred. Joe felt one of her large hands sink into his hair, gently scratching his scalp as her free hand kneaded her breasts through the soft fabric of her bra.
	Joe shuddered as Verska scratched his scalp and closed her thighs over his shoulders. Both of their tails batted at his chest, sweeping his bare skin and tickling him in the night air. He felt their heat encompass him as he moved with them. His left hand sank into Verska's thigh, trying to anchor him against the gyrations of her hips. His fingers strained to keep his grip against her slick skin, so he moved his hand up to the small of her back. He ran his fingers down the groove of her spine, glancing through the thin silken hair at the base of her tail. Joe seized on the tail, pulling on it in part to keep balance on the ramp and part to tease her even more. Verska loosed a short curse as she clenched her legs tighter around him and pulled his hair with her hand. He continued his assault on her, lashing her with a wild tongue and roving fingers as she writhed and bucked against him.
	Griza rolled her hips, slamming back against Joe as he pushed deep into her. She mewled and cursed inside the tank, the sounds echoing off the metal interior. He dug his right hand into hip, fighting for leverage as she curled her tail around his waist to hold him close.
	Time seemed to pass them slowly, only marked by the occasional rumble of an engine at the far end of the motor pool or the roar of a shuttle breaking for orbit from elsewhere in the base. To Joe, time was measured by the rise and fall of his own senses and the mounting pressure as they went through the passionate motions of their company.
	Joe had sank both of his hands into Griza wide, toned hips, and just thrown caution to the wind as he continued. She moaned and gasped inside Highlander, the tiny echo mixing with Verska own gasps as he continued to tease her. Verska had shuddered and mewled with her own mounting climaxes, resting heavy against the turret as she locked her legs together behind Joe's back and placed both of her hands on his head to help guide him and return the favor the best she could, running her black claws over his scalp. A sudden tremor rolled through Griza as her legs quaked with an oncoming climax. Her body clenched around Joe, pulling down into her as he hit his own limit. He followed the primal urge scream from his reptilian hindbrain to hold her close as he finished, driving his hands into her hips. Joe loosed a deep groan as his body shuddered, and muscles ached. He closed his eyes, relaxing as a warm glow of bliss washed over him. Joe smiled up to Verska as he laid his head against her warm, sweat-slicked thigh as he caught his breath in slow, deep breaths.
	He stepped off the ramp, watching as Griza shuffled out from her impromptu trap. She shook her golden mane out in the evening glow as the base floodlights started to flick on one by one. She wheeled around and scooped Joe up into her arms as she buried his head into her cleavage. As quick as his face was engulfed, Griza tilted his head back and ran the coarse surface of her tongue over his face before pressing her lips to his and coiled her writhing organ around his. She broke off the kiss as Verska dropped down from the hull and embraced them in her arms and buried her face into Joe's brown hair, tickling the back of Joe's neck with her breath.
	"That was…" Griza trailed off.
	"Wonderful," Verska finished the thought as the three of them held close as the first stars began to twinkle into the sky above.
	"Agreed. You two up for that shower now?"
	"Abso-fucking-lutely," Griza groaned. "We stink of each other."
	"I think I'm starting to enjoy this," Joe added.

Chapter 12: After Action

	“Welcome, Captain,” Moritz greeted Joe as he entered the Colonel’s hut. It was the same prefab box that Joe had grown used to over his deployment to Borealis. The morning sun peeked through the small, barren window as Joe saluted and was matched by Moritz. He was waved to a seat across the desk from his commander, dropping into it and pulling off his cap.
	"Colonel," Joe replied. "To what do I owe this?"
	"A simple matter of discussion, Captain. As much about the exercise as about the unit and our current deployment."
	"Such as?"
	"Well, to start, the Patriarch and Ambassador Torza were rather impressed with our performance. Especially with the artillery barrages and your musical selection. I believe you turned him into a fan of Beethoven."
	"Really?"
	"Yes. 'Ode to Joy' is truly a magnificent thing of beauty."
	Joe nodded, glancing to the sunbeam cast through the window.
	"And Ambassador Korbaz?"
	"While entertained by the operation, she seemed to be more interested in the vehicles themselves. Quite quizzical about performance and flaws."
	"I noted that during the feast. It was a big red flag for me. Seems like the Rask are trying to stack the deck in their favor."
	"Agreed. Whether or not they actually aim to seek a peaceful resolution, gaining knowledge of our vehicles and means of defeating them is a benefit to them. Tell me, Captain," Moritz paused as he produced a cigar from his desk. He lit it with a small lighter from within his uniform. He passed another to Joe before leaning back in his chair. "What do you think of our vehicles' abilities to withstand the Rask's weapons?"
	"Considering their reliance primarily on ballistic weapons, our more armored vehicles should be able to resist simple penetrators. But how many weapon shipments have they received from the Coalition for their forces? We'll be up against XMRs, coilguns, and probably even chemical penetrator rockets. I don't like those odds."
	"Any suggestions? You are our resident engineer."
	"Try to implement reactive armor and active protection systems. We ignored them to focus on countering the Bugs' plasma tech. And we'll pay for it. It's not useless, but our armor won't be as effective."
	"Troubling, Captain. At this point, I even suspect the UNNI as forgone a diplomatic option. And we may not even have air supremacy if this turns into a flashpoint.”
	“How so, Colonel?”
	“Rask pirates have become a rising issue across the frontier, and who’s to say if they won’t come running home when the Matriarch calls.”
	“You’d think freebooters to be more on the rebellious side,” Joe spat through the cigar smoke. “But I see what you mean. Even if a few ships park on the far side of the world, they could cut off satcom and even deny air support. This is going to be a mess.”
	“Worse when you consider the odds of weapon proliferation. Just look at what started this mess. We gave the Rask weapons, either directly or through some arms smuggler, and apparently, it winds up in the hands of some rogue raiders who start attacking a neighboring province. That is if the Rask line is to be believed.”
	“And you don’t buy it, sir?”
	“Not for a fucking second. Cause if it was true, it would hint at rampant corruption in the usually strict Borealan hierarchies. I think the Rask thought they could pick on an isolated territory and got trounced by that good old guerrilla playbook-”
	“Just like they’ll probably do to us in the open desert.”
	“Concerned, Captain?”
	“Yes, sir. It’s looking more and more like we’re going up against an aggressive enemy whose doctrine is built for hit and fade doctrine with a strong chance of being shot at with UNN weapons without the usual access to field intel and communication that always gave us an edge before. I’m not exactly confident this will be as clean as we want.”
	“When is war ever clean? I would have pinned you for a man knowledgeable in that fact.”
	“No plan ever survives first contact.”
	“Exactly.”
	“And I know some of the unit are a little worried about fighting alongside the Rask considering the current situation.”
	“Blue on blue would definitely affect morale. That’s part of why we’re being rotated out early.”
	“Early, Colonel? I figured we’d still have about four more months.”
	“We should, but command is pulling us out for a couple battalions that conveniently lack Rask in their ranks. They aren’t expecting this flashpoint to cook off before we’d be rotated out for gravity strains, so they want a fresh unit here and acclimated ahead of time so they can get right into the fight. And they want to bring some new Martian toys out to play as well.”
	“I understand. Have they let on when we’re to be pulled out?”
	“Two months at most. It’ll depend on when they can get the transports out here. Then it’s off to either a new front or a bit of downtime back home. But I would expect command to pull us back so we can try to improvise some means of improving our vehicle survivability, and I suspect they wouldn’t mind your help in that.”
	“Should I brief my men?”
	“There’s no need at this time, Captain.”
	“Understood, sir.”
	Moritz knocked off the long ash that had built up at the end of his cigar, dropping it into the small ceramic bowl on the corner of his desk. He pushed up from his chair and strode to the window. The Colonel peered out through his window, looking over the perimeter of the base and out over the blue waters of the Elysian lake. He reached down to the little table beneath the window and opened a bottle of amber liquid, pouring out a pair of glasses.
	“Current situation aside, I feel I may miss this place when we depart. It reminds me of home, and yet is just alien enough to draw me in.”
	“Home, sir?”
	“The Mediterranean, Captain. I may be German by blood, but I was raised in Algeria on the north coast. Have you ever been?”
	“No, Missouri was my home until I was sent out across the stars.”
	“I’d recommend a visit if you could. It looks like this,” Moritz gestured to the window. “Sand and blue water, hemmed by the spare date palms and other greenery.”
	The Colonel turned and offered one glass to Joe. He took the glass in hand and smelled the hint of cherries in its aroma.
	“The good brandy, sir?”
	“A proper treat. To war,” Moritz toasted.
	“And to peace,” Joe replied, raising his glass.
	“And Captain, one final thing.”
	“Sir?”
	“Make sure your girls keep their bites below the collar. It’s unbecoming of an officer to openly display these things,” Moritz gestured to his neck.
	Joe ran his hand along his collar, feeling the sting of a bruise at the cuff from where Verska had planted a rather fierce love bite. Joe felt a flush of embarrassment before Moritz gave him a knowing smile.

Epilogue
Some Years Later

	Joe stepped out onto the wide wooden veranda and looked out across the flowering bushes that grew level with the smooth wood railing, the bright reds and yellows of the alien blossoms caught the late morning. He ran his fingers along the petals, watching the soft flowers curl inward. Turning his gaze upwards, he looked out over the expansive, rolling yard of short cut wild grass analogs and over the small drop off to the long, glittering surface of the greenhouses. Beyond that, the yard stopped at the near edge of the creek running down the hills from the right. Pass the stream, the dense pine forest set in and cut off vision with a wall of rigid, gray trunks. The pines rose alone from the dry soil save for a scattering of hardy shrubs or wildflowers and vines. Further to the right, the small prefabricated shed that housed the homestead’s batteries sat against an immense boulder of some black volcanic stone close to basalt.
	He took a slow draw of the drink in his hand, leaning against the railing as he ran his thumb over the gold wedding band on his left hand. The sweet tea held strong tones of cherry that mixed with the tang of the local cane sugar crop. It always tasted off compared to years of his mom’s near-diabetes inducing concoctions. The humidity pulled at him as he turned to move along the veranda, spying Verska lounging on one of the benches against the wall of the house. She had one ear cocked towards him while her nose was buried in the book in her hands. Joe started down to join her, humming to himself as he drummed on the wooden railing. She glanced up from her book, setting those sharp green eyes on him. Verska closed the book, resting it on the armrest of the bench. She was laying along the length of the seat, her long legs hanging over the far end. Her tail twitched and swished at the warm summer air.
	She was wrapped in a sky blue floral print dress covered in purple lilies and orange orchids and trimmed in golden Moari language from a shore leave they'd taken to Honolulu. The cut of the dress ran over her shoulders and upper arms and across her chest with a deep V-cut at the neck, revealing the soft porcelain skin of her bust. At her waist, the dress was tapered in to cling to the firm shape of her hips and rump. The bottom of her dress reached to the bottom of her thighs at the front, lengthening towards the back of the hem. She wore a simple pair of stockings that ran from her ankles up under the dress with the strap of her garter peeking out beneath the hem where the stockings squeezed into the flesh of her thigh just slightly. Her fire-red hair was tied back in a tight bun with a few stray strands hanging down over her eyes. Time had laid the first few streaks of silver in her hair, betraying the years they'd been together. Her body betrayed that time as well, where her muscles were masked by a layer of shapely fat that softened her edges and amplified her bust from time in lower gravity, more relaxed diets, and the inevitable weight of motherhood. Nonetheless, she wore it well and still drove him mad with her allure.
	Something thrummed in Joe's heart as she smiled up at him. She swung her legs down and slid to the side, letting Joe take a seat next to her. He set his drink on the small table next to the bench, looking back to see Verska stretch back out and rest her head in his lap. He reached a free down, running his fingers through her hair and scratched behind her ears, feeling the deep rumble of her purring.
	Joe relaxed back against the bench, looking out over the yard. A rising wind played across the field, making the pines creak and clash across the creek. The cool breeze danced over his face as he closed his eyes.
	“What are you reading?”
	“‘The Cay,’” She replied, pulling the book into her hands. “I like it.”
	“I remember having that assigned back in school for me. I enjoyed it.”
	Joe bent forward, pressing his lips against hers, picking up that faint scent of roses. He flashed her mouth with his tongue, feeling her organ reciprocate as she pushed one of her hands against the side of his head. They broke off the kiss, returning to lounging as the greenhouse door swung open. Joe turned, spying Griza step out into the breeze.
	Her mane of golden caught the wind as she hefted a white crate onto her right shoulder. She strode up the stone stairs and towards the veranda. She slid a red work shirt over her muscled frame, tying the bottoms off with her t-shirt to leave her sculpted abs exposed. Her firm thighs fought against the restraints of her jean shorts, the worn denim worn by use and work. As she drew closer, she waved to them, passing the usual door and mounting the veranda. She stood over the two of them and slung down the crate with a deep thud. The box was piled high with various fruits and vegetables from both Earth and Borealis.
	“Seems like a good pull today,” Joe commented, leaning forward.
	“Definitely. The new steroid boosters are making them grow like weed and taste like heaven,” Griza replied, reaching in with her prosthetic right arm.
	The mechanical replacement Griza possessed whirred faintly as she clutched a cantaloupe in her palm. The three automated fingers and thumb seized on the rind, sinking into ever so lightly as the titanium laced claws retracted into the fingers. The arm was encased in dark gray plates to protect the more sensitive components of her prosthetic. The plates were covered in an elaborate gold and silver damascening of hunts and battles that she could remember by hand. But one plate, the one over the inside of her forearm, was mostly empty. At the top, close to her wrist was a small image of a human and two Borealans seated under a tall oak tree. Beneath it was one pair and two trios of names and three dates. Next to the later of the triads were two small marks of a more somber tone, black roses on the bright metal.
	The arms shifted and flowed naturally as she brought the melon to her mouth, striping the rind with her razor teeth before she sank into the orange meat inside with a satisfying spray of juice. She groaned as she licked the juice from her hand with her long, dextrous tongue before tearing the melon open and passing chunks to Joe and Verska. They both took a piece, digging into it as Griza hefted the crate up and headed inside. For a moment, they at in silence, eating the melon and enjoying the breeze before Griza reemerged and took a seat on the floor in front of the, leaning her weight back against the railing. Her amber eye darted back and forth between the pair on the bench, waiting for a reply.
	“You are right, the melon tastes greats,” Verska exclaimed
	“Told you. I know those plants better than my real hand.”
	“Yeah, you seem to have picked up a green thumb, Griza.”
	“Thank you, but that green thumb is killing my shoulder, though,” she laughed back.
	“Your right shoulder acting up again?”
	“Like is always does now. I keep thinking something didn’t heal right.”
	“Well, turn around and let me work my magic,” Joe ordered. “We’ll go into town tomorrow and see if the doctors can’t see anything. You heal like crazy, so maybe something didn't want to heal in sync with the prosthetic is just now causing issues.”
	“Maybe. Are the kids home yet?”
	“Nah, they’ve still got school for about...an hour and then practice and such,” Verska answered, checking her handset with a melon-free hand.
	“Good, cause I’m taking my top off then,” Griza groaned as she turned around, untying her shirts and pulling them over her head and tossing them to the side. She slipped off the black sports bra she’d taken a liking to, letting her breasts bounce free in the Earth-like gravity. As he looked over her upper back, he could see where years away from the harsh Rask desert sunlight brought out the long-hidden details of her skin. A galaxy of sunspots freckled her dark skin, where it had grown relatively lighter after the longer, more mild winters. In addition to the distinct dark marks of the sunspots, Joe could pick out the patterning of faint cheetah spots that ran along her upper back and limbs similar to Verska's own tiger stripes.
	Joe cracked his knuckles as he scooted to the edge of the bench and sank his fingers into the tense muscles around what was left of her right shoulder, prodding the flesh to seek out knots and other ails. Her prosthetic continued into the shoulder joint, where metal pins held the artificial joint in place against a reconstructed shoulder blade and rib cage. He worked around the scar tissue, listening to her heavy sighs as he pressed and drummed on her upper back. Every pressure elicited a gasp or groan as Griza leaned back into his hands. He worked across the flesh with fingers, knuckles, and the balls of his hands for minutes on end before Griza was practically laying across his lap. His hands drifted out from the shoulder, spreading across the firm muscles of her upper back.
	"Better?" He asked, pulling his hands back and leaning over her shoulder.
	"Definitely. And I'll return the favor later," Griza beamed back.
	"Do me next," Verska begged, running down the zipper on the back of her dress, letting more of her bright skin catch his eye. She let her left hand linger at her shoulder as she slipped the straps of her bra out of the way. Joe's eye caught on the simple golden band around her middle finger as it caught the light.
	The deep drumbeat of instinct flooded his brain, mixing with that beautiful cocktail of love to form some more primal concoction that crashed through his veins.
	"I have a better idea," Joe answered.
	His hands seized on her hips, guiding her body as he moved her to his desire. He bent her forward to lean on the far armrest of the bench, her legs tucked under her as she knelt before him. He lifted the hem of her dress, draping it over her waist and exposing her womanhood and the tantalizing sight as the garter straps dug into the soft flesh of her rump. Verska wore a pair of white panties that morning, squeezing snuggly about the large globes of her ass. She looked back over her shoulder, her face flushed red to match her hair when he started to tease her with his fingers and pulled her panties out of the way.
	Joe slipped off the loose cotton pajama pants he wore as he moves in, pressing himself against her burning flesh. He wanted to take it slow this morning, and slow was how he started as he pushed in and out. One of his hands reached up as he bent over her, seizing on one of her swaying breasts, kneading the supple flesh. The other danced across her back, massaging the muscle as he pulled a deep moan from her. He looked up to her face, seeing the hungry smile and sharp verdant eyes greeting him from her blushing face. Her tail coiled around his race, pulling him in as she started to push back with hard, heavy strokes that made Joe gasp and groan. This went on as Joe kissed her back and nibbled her shoulder, feeling her arch her spine to pull him closer with the muscle of her tail. He felt that heavy tremor rumble through her as her breath grow quick, and she clenched around him, and her claws sank into the wood of the armrest.
Joe slid out, watching her rub herself for a few moments before she pulled the hem of her dress down and rose on her quaking legs. She planted a long kiss on Joe's lips, making him jump and buck in the breeze.
	"Thank you for that, Bear."
	"No problem, Honey."
	"I-I'm going to get a cool drink and clean up. Plus, I think Griza wants a turn."
	"Read my mind," Griza said, rising to her feet. She left her shirt and bra on the ground as she undid her shorts and tossed them onto the pile. She stood bare before him, her loins dripping with excitement from the unplanned show. Griza stroked his face with her furry left hand as she straddled him, resting her knees to either side of him on the bench.
	He drank in her bare form, seeing how it had changed over their years together. Like Verska, the gravity-sculpted muscles had softened, especially flaring out her hips and thighs and her bosom and grown from a mix of motherhood and other causes. Across the dark cocoa of her skin, he could see the new scars that she'd gained since she joined them. His eyes lingered on the prosthetic arm and its mesmerizing patterns and images while a small nugget of guilt kicked him in the back of the head. He shook it off, looking back to her amber eye and black eye patch as she shook out her bright mane and pressed her lips to his.
	Her tongue roved and coiled about his as she pulled him closer. Her right hand clasped his member, the soft pads along the palm teasing him with the strange texture as she guided him into her opening as she lowered her weight onto him. Joe let his hands wander her body, taking in handfuls of her wherever he could find it. She rolled her hips, grinding him against the bench's wooden slats before breaking off the long, deep kiss. Joe caught his breath as she pulled him into her bust, resting his head against her ample cleavage. He mouthed and kissed the soft, glossy flesh as she worked him over. Her lips moved along his forehead, planting little kisses along his brow.
	She surprised him, shifting her weight to his right as she spun with him in his arms. She lay on her back on the bench with Joe on top of her. Her legs sprang up, locking him as she drew him down and into her. He took the initiative, thrusting down as she clenched her legs tight around him and coiled her arms around him. Joe slid his hands up, roving across her torso, and took both of her hands in his. He raised them over her head, resting them against the armrest as she bucked and moaned at his thrusts. He slid his hands together and pulled one hand away, leaving the other to try to pin Griza's arms at the wrist. His free hand slid back down to her face, stroking her smooth cheek as he leaned in for another kiss. She went lax under him, mewling and moaning as he went. He felt her heat encompass him, burning hotter as he went. He slid his thumb into her mouth, feeling her gnaw on it and lash at it with her tongue as she grew closer.
	Griza moaned as she freed her right hand and pulled Joe's thumb from her mouth. She awkwardly laced her three oversized fingers through his, folding her hand over her heart. She looked him in the eyes as she spoke in an airy, gasping tone.
	"I'm so-so glad I lost on that b-beach. This is p-perfect, Joe. With you and V-verska-fuck me- I...I don't want to lose this. Please...don't stop."
	"You...get like this every time...we wind up like this," Joe giggled as he smiled back.
	"I know ...Joe?"
	"Yeah?"
	"I want to have more children," she smiled at him, making his face flush red as she kissed his cheek.
	"Fuck, Griza. I...I'm getting close."
	"Don't stop. Take me, Joe."
	She pressed her soft lips to his, driving to his limit as she bucked against him and shuddered with her own rolling climax. He gasped and grunted as she locked his against her body for those tense few seconds before they relaxed, stretching out over the bench and letting the afterglow wash over them like a gentle evening tide. They looked up as the door opened and banged shut, finding Verska in her dress looking down on them with a gentle smile.
	"Seems like you two had fun," Verska purred, looking down at them while she swirled her glass.
	“You...you could say that,” Joe replied.