The Iron Wolves

The Iron Wolves
A Pinwheel Story
Sketchy Warrior

Chapter 1: Panzers Vor!
	“Good morning gentlemen,” Colonel Moritz sighed as he rubbed his bleary eyes before snapping to attention next to the vidscreen next to him. “I hope you all are ready. Since our arrival planetside, other UNN elements have been working to push the bugs off of this colony since liberating the main city and spaceport at Port Arthur. However, pushing into the farmland running into the foothills north where the second hiveship landed. They are entrenching around a small village known as Sutton’s Haven so we’re going to encircle them and root them out with the marines. Alpha Company and Charlie Company will bolster the marines to the east of Sutton's Haven and hold off the bugs while others complete this next objective. Delta will maintain base security here. Bravo drew the short stick and will be reinforcing a recon company along a ridge to the northwest of Sutton's Haven. You’ll be out on the far edge and knee deep in the bugs. Echo and Foxtrot will join with infantry to the west of the target area and begin to reconnect with Bravo. If we secure the town, we take the valley and take another step to cleaning out the bugs. Am I understood?” Lt. Col. Moritz asked, folding his hands behind his back as the map glowed on the wall behind him.
	“Sir, yes, sir,” The room responded, rising to their feet.
	“The Iron Wolves hunt!” Moritz called again, a smirk crossed his weathered face.
	“Intrepidus venemur!” The unit called back before moving towards the door.
	Stepping out of the ready room, Captain Joseph O’Kane swept his hair back and trapped it under his patrol cap. He rolled down the sleeves of his fatigues, trying to block out the pre-dawn cold. Winter was moving to settle on this world. Frosts had seized on the grasses outside the base and the first dustings of snow coated roofs and the metal lining the ground of the base. He sighed, watching the steam curl out and fade away. The air was rather quiet on the base, the only sounds were of boots on the metal deck and the shuffle of his drop holster against his leg, the black metal of his pistol catching gentle rays of sun as they began to fall into the valley.
	“At least we’ll be warm in our tanks,” Captain Andor split the quiet and slapped Joseph across the back, almost making him jump.
	“Jesus, Andy. It’s too early for that.”
	“Yeah, but the cold should wake us up.”
	“Aye to that. Feel bad for the Cats and Krell. Bastards ain’t meant for this shit. If a blizzard jumps us, we might not fare much better.”
	“Yeah, but that’s why we gotta kick ass quick and beat the snow. Then they might ship us to someplace with warm sands and beautiful ladies.”
	“One of these days you’re gonna stick your dick in something you shouldn’t’ve.”
	“But at least I’m getting laid.” Andor chuckled, tapping Joe on the arm as he moved away. “Good luck out there. You’ll be in the worst shit out of any of us.”
	“Yeah, and you’ll be sitting here, jerking off with the rest of Delta.”
	Andor smiled as he waved himself away. Joseph continued on towards the motor pool. He was about fifty feet away when the engines began to roar.
	The Kodiak Main Battle Tank was a stout, robust, and beautiful machine formed from the sum total of human tank design commissioned by the UNN. The turret was positioned to the rear of the hull, above the crew compartment. The front of the hull was sloped back and laced with armored plated and thermal sinks for the massive engine inside. A sharpened bulldozer blade sat at the front of the hull where it could articulate down and help entrench the tank while under fire. The turret was as wide as the hull, with a sloped front tapering to rounded cheeks and flanks. The rear of the turret was a rectangular box loaded with the slugs and canisters for the rail and chain cannons as well as batteries and heat sinks for the main weapons. Extra storage space hung at the rear of the turret in the open wire frames of bustle racks. Periscopes and cameras scattered across the turret and ringed the hull providing a full vision suite to the 3-man of gunner, driver, and commander. Most crews had taken to adding supplemental armor anywhere they could, strapping spare treads, field supplies, spent ammo boxes, and even layered carapaces cut off of dead bugs littering the area around the firebase. It might not be perfect, but any extra protection was good. Some even hung extra armor from the deployable bulldozer prow at the front of the hull.
	Passing the other companies, Joe made his way to Bravo’s area in the pool. He found the twelve tanks under his command, split into three platoons of 4 each. He personally led the First Platoon, leaving the Second Platoon to Lt. Fyodor Fitzgerald, a shrimp of a man from the colonies, with a heart bigger than himself for his men. Third Platoon was under Lt. Hans Knispel, with a sharp-cut face hidden by his close-cropped beard. With the rest of the men, they formed Bravo Company. Joseph pulled himself up onto his tank, Highlander, and cleared his throat.
	“Marauders, fall in.”
	They scrambled, sliding off their tanks and forming into crews before him, tense as they stood at attention.
	“At ease. We’ve got our orders. We’ll be scrambling along with Echo and Foxtrot to the west of Sutton's Haven. That’s where we’ll lose Echo and Foxtrot. We keep going to back up a recon unit engaged northwest of Sutton's Haven. From there, we hold until Echo and Foxtrot regroup with us. We’ll strike out in three columns, First in center, Second to left, Third to right. We’ll fight those bugs from here to hell and we’ll do that magnificent bastard MacDonald proud. Understood?”
	“Aye, Captain!” The company exclaimed, near cheering.
	“Second, Third, dismissed. First, we’ll organize column with Highlander in lead, Exterminator in second, Mad Mike in third, and Wildebeest bringing up the rear. Fall out.”
	The men returned to their tanks and Joseph’s crew joined him at the rear of Highlander. Frankie Estevez, the driver, triggered the rear hatch, letting the crew compartment hiss open. Frankie ducked in, clambering through the fighting compartment to the driver’s seat. Johan Whitman, the gunner, followed and pulled himself up and into his seat in the turret basket, wrapping his fingers around the control stick.
	Joseph glanced over the rear of Highlander’s turret, visually double checking the cargo pods, ammo boxes, and supplemental armor strapped on in addition to the miscellaneous pioneer’s tools and supplies shoved into the turret’s bustle rack. His eyes rested on the crowning achievement of his tank, the pair of loudspeakers he mounted to the flanks of his turret for ‘psychological warfare and morale purposes’.
	He nodded to himself and ducked through the hatch, closing it behind him. The rearmost area of the crew compartment had some seats pressed into the walls, allowing the Kodiak to serve as emergency troop carriers in addition to combat abilities. Forward of the seats were small cargo lockers for field rations, water, fire extinguishers, and a rack of three carbine XMRs and ammo should the crew need to abandon the tank. Passing through, Joe slid a hand into the ration locker and pulled his flask free, snapping a quick shot of the burning whiskey, the feeling of warmth curling through him. He stuffed it back into its hiding spot and moved on.
	He came to the turret and stood hunched behind the breech of the tank’s rail cannon. He grabbed the large flak jacket off his seat and slid it on over his large frame. As he zipped it up, his gut pressed weakly against it, adjusting to a more comfortable position. The simplistic helmet came next. It wasn’t full coverage like the marines had, instead focusing to prevent injury to one’s head clambering around inside the tank. He mounted his seat and slid the commset earpiece and microphone into place.
	“Alright Frankie, Turn her over.”
	“Aye, Cap’n.”
	With a few switches, the engine roared to life, sucking in the frigid air to help cool it. Inside, the screens and displays lit up. Joseph and a ring of monitors feed him a 360 view around Highlander from passive periscopes. Another monitor and control stick were lower towards his front, linked to the free-aiming XMR assembly mounted to his roof. A small ammo counter sat in the corner, reading FULL. Similar screens were near Frankie and Whitman, feeding views and information to them as they readied themselves. Joseph activated the tank’s commset, keying his mike for Company.
	“Bravo, sound off.”
	“3-1,3-2,3-3,3-4 ready to move,” Knispel droned.
	“2-1, ready. 2-2, ready. 2-3, ready. 2-4, ready,” Fitzgerald mumbled.
	“1-2, Exterminator, ready.”
	“1-3, Mad Mike ready.”
	“1-4, Wildebeest, ready.”
	“Alright. Bravo Actual, Bravo 1-1,” Joe spoke, relaying to the command and control helping coordinate their movements out of combat. “We’re ready to move.”
	“Understood, 1-1. Good luck.”
	“Alright Bravo, fall in. Driver, advance.”
	“Aye to that, Cap’n,” his men responded in unison.
	The hull rumbled as it began to roll forward, the treads creaking as they gripped the metal deck. Bravo rolled forward, maneuvering out through the base gates and holding position at the edge as Echo and Foxtrot rolled out to follow. The tanks formed into platoon columns as they began their drive north.
	Bravo Company rumbled across the rolling farmland that occupied the southern half of the valley, dotted with farms and fields. Stands of alien trees dotted the land, rising on grey trunks with spindly and gnarled branches. The cold snaps had driven them to shed leaves and play dead like other deciduous trees back on Earth. It was a strange view, seeing an alien landscape, dotted by human settlement, looking so similar to his home. A pang of homesickness dug at him, calling him across the lightyears he was from home, from the hills of southern Missouri and his family. Who knows, he thought, maybe he’ll be home for Christmas.
	He left his hatch open, sitting with his seat up and arms drumming a rhythm with the clink clank of the treads when his radio chirped to life.
	“Hey, 1-1, you gonna turn the radio on?”
	Joe chuckled, keying his reply. “One sec.”
	He reached into the turret, seeking out the control panel they welded to the inside of the roof. He flicked the one switch, the loudspeakers crackling. The slow twang of the guitars sounded behind him before the reverating funk joined in, thumping the air in time with the familiar concoction of Franklin Spacer Country. As the singer began, the radio came to life, voices singing loud and proud came in from open hatches and ready hearts. In this moment, they were more than a unit, they were a family, singing together like the last captain had ordered of them. That was something Joe would never let them forget if he could. They sang on as the company reached the first objectives. Echo and Foxtrot broke off, slowing to rally with the infantry encamped nearby. Bravo continued on, the columns shortening in length and spacing out in width. Their turrets swept back and forth, scanning for any potential hazard. All the while they continued to sing, long and lively. Off key, out of time, tone-deaf, maybe, but with a fervor that made up the difference.
	Ahead, the trees grew closer ahead of them as the valley wall swung in from the west. Joe ordered them to slow before another voice joined the radio.
	“Bravo 1-1, we’re tracking your position….”
	Joe killed the music and barbed the men to fall silent.
	“....You’re nearing the recon company. They need help urgently, under attack and potentially overrun. Double time it.”
	“Understood. You heard ‘em, Bravo. Double time.”
	Joe dropped into the tank, pulling a map overlay in front of him. He bounced information and directions to Frankie and the other tanks. Highlander snarled with a renewed ferocity as the engines clawed deeper into the soil and drove forward, accelerating the seventy-plus ton machine more and more. Tense seconds passed as the faint crack and hiss of weapons fire began to reach them. They lowered the dozer blades at the front of the hull and crashed through a stand of trees and slowed. The ridge at before them with a scattering of the black-armored marines hiding below the crest. Joe signaled them to advance as Highlander began to creep uphill, trampling underbrush beneath the treads.

Chapter 2: First Contact
	UNN infantry moved along the back of the ridge, firing down as plasma bolts burned through the air above in electric blue arcs.
	Joe pushed up through the hatch and flagged down the nearest soldier.
	“Shit, you boys brought armor?”
	“Yeah. Where’s your CO?”
	“He’s dead. Fucking roaches are trying to attack across from the next ridgeline. Just push over the ridge and start shooting.”
	“Understood,” Joe nodded. He keyed the radio and fired off orders. “First Platoon straight ahead. Third, push left. Second, push right.”
	Highlander rumbled up the hill, Joe closing the hatch behind his as he gripped the control stick in his hand. The crest of the ridge bounced closer as Highlander reached the peak. The hull rocked and leveled, bringing the basin into view, revealing the expanse of a vineyard below their position. Dozens of bugs scurried across the bottom, moving through the rows of grapevine and along the low irrigation channels cut across the space. Their pruning blue shields marked their advance as they closed on the friendly ridge line in a close phalanx.
	“All tanks engage,” Joe ordered, squeezing the trigger on the control stick and letting long bursts of plasma rain down over the bugs. The rest of the company crested the ridge, letting their guns dance to life with a volley of slugs, plasma, and canisters. The Kodiaks were equipped with a 100 mm rail cannon that loaded a variety of ammo types. The most plentiful being solid tungsten spikes for cracking structures and the heavy warrior beetles that had started appearing in greater numbers across the front. The main cannon also loaded thermobaric shells that burst above the ground with a thick white-gray fog before igniting into a fireball. During early skirmishes with the bugs, the battalion had learned that the aerosol would saturate the bugs’ respiratory system before igniting. In addition, the pressure wave generated would hopefully be effective in cave environments. The last rounds were high-explosives that would either blow the bugs apart or overpressure their nervous system with lethal effects. The left cheek of the turret featured a 30mm rotary chain cannon that loaded belts of tungsten slugs for culling the hordes of chittering things while the right cheek mounted a heavy plasma repeater that could disable bug shields faster than they could react.
	The Kodiaks thundered and thrashed from the ridgeline, trapping the bugs in a wide field of fire with First Platoon to their front, Third to their right, and Second to their left. The sudden appearance of the armor stalled the original assault in the basin before them. More of the bugs fell before they regrouped and continued to press up towards the slope. Half of the vanguard were shredded before they began to falter, pulling back towards the forested hills across the vineyard
	Joseph opened his hatch, pulling himself up and bringing his carbine XMR with him. Using the turret as a gun rest, he squeezed off lone shots, trying to nail the bugs in the back as they fled. Before long, they had gone, disappearing through the forest hemming the ridgeline across from Joe.
	“I think we can breathe now,” Knispel radioed in.
	“Aye, Stand down Bravo, but keep your eyes peeled,” Joe called back, laying his carbine on the turret roof. He pulled himself out and rose to his feet, scanning the valley. The morning sun caught the withered grapevines in a golden light that glittered off the fading wisps of morning frost. Down below, several small fires grew along the vines were stray shots had ignited the dead plantlife.
	“Hey, buddy,” a voice called from behind. “You the one in charge here?”
	Joseph turned, spying the wounded sergeant looking up at him through the black visor of his helmet. The rest of the recon unit milled about on the slope behind the tank line. They tended to the wounded and rounded up weapons and gear that littered the slope. The massive gator-like Krell helped carry wounded to a simple triage on the level ground below.
	Joe looked down at the sergeant before dropping off the side of the turret and onto the loamy soil.
	“Aye, I’m Captain O’Kane and these bastards are Bravo. We’re your back up.”
	“Sergeant Huang Xu,” the soldier replied, offering his good hand. “Good you got here when you did. Bugs rushed us before we were ready. Our pack of Mad Cats got caught out in the field…They- We couldn’t….”
	He didn’t have to finish his sentence. Joe knew well enough what’d happened. And by the waver of the sergeant’s voice, he’d lost someone closer to him than just a comrade-in-arms. Joseph wrapped an arm around Xu’s shoulders and helped him down the slope to the rest of his unit and helped him to sit as he knelt on the soil.
	“Our orders were to regroup with you and help encircle Sutton's Haven.”
	“Orders be damned,” Xu snapped. “We got our asses kicked. There’s no way we can take that village with less than 50% combat strength. I called for a ride home. Good luck.”
	“Then get your asses moving. We’ll follow our orders and hold this ridge. We’ll keep the bugs off you.” Joe turned and started back up the slope. This would complicate things. He wouldn’t force the recon unit to stay. They’d lost too many men, but they’d need infantry support for the push into Sutton's Haven. There wasn’t even supposed to be a tunnel around here, but those bugs seemed to prove otherwise. They’d have to dig in to better their odds. He mounted Highlander and keyed his headset.
	“Change of plans boys. For now, we’ll be holding here on our own. Recon’s fucked up and pulling off. We’re gonna fortify our position. I want dugouts along the ridgeline. Gunners stay put and call out anything moving. Understood?”
	“Sir, yes, sir.” Bravo responded. The crews climbing from the tanks and fetching the pioneer’s tools from the cargo pods along the turret. The prows dropped, as the engines roared and began scraping away the earth to form the simple pits.
	Joe took a deep breath of the sharp, frigid air and keyed his radio.
	“Bravo Actual, Bravo 1-1 with an update.”
	“1-1, Actual, go for update.”
	“Recon unit is extracting. We are occupying their position along a ridgeline. We’ve repulsed a bug assault, but we need infantry support to advance. How copy over?”
	“We copy all. Damn. We’ll try to find you some infantry support, but it may take a while. Hold position. Bravo Actual, over and out.”
	“Understood.”
	Bit by bit, the men entrenched themselves, digging three-sided pits that left the Kodiaks’ turrets looking out over the valley. The loudspeakers hummed to full volume as the music resumed. The strum of the loudspeakers resumed, filling the air with a rhythm for the men as they worked, placing dirt into flanking piles to better protect the turrets from shots into the side weapons and plating.
	Slowly, Joseph became aware of the horrid smell wafting up from the fields. The smell of burning meat, iron, the citrus tang of the aerosol fuel, and the stench of ozone from plasma burns across the vineyard. It pulled at his nose, curling in his gut. It was the smell of death itself, clawing its invisible fingers over the dead before them.
	He let his eyes sweep over the slope before their position, seeing dead UNN mixed in with felled waves of bugs. Occasionally the hulk of a Krell or Borealan lay surrounded by too many bugs to count. He’d heard the stories of the alien auxillaries serving in the UNN. The Krell were lumbering tanks clad in scales and brute force, needing nothing short of a small army to bring them down. The Borealans needed similar, but more in part to their raw ferocity and a seeming ability to not die easy. His mind jumped back to Xu and that maybe he had been intimately involved with one of the Borealans or at least someone who didn’t make it out. Joe’d heard the stories that came out of the integrated units, but for better or worse, First Battalion was a strictly human-only force because anything larger than a human wouldn’t fit into a Kodiak.
	The slow twang of the guitars faded as the songs changed, rolling into a cluttered ticking of clocks and bells ringing across the valley before fading to the lone tick-tock of a metronome and resonating guitar chords. Soon the song swung to life with a blaze of notes and vocals rolling over the hills as Joe hummed along to the beat. To his right, Whitman opened his hatch and took a seat on the the roof of the turret. He held a ration pack in his hand, probing at the contents with a mixed expression.
	“Who the fuck put this new age shit in my tank?” Joe hissed as he reached inside the turret to cycle tracks.
	“I blame Frankie,” Whit smirked back across the tank roof.
	“I most certainly did not, Captain,” their driver interjected over the comms. “Whit just can’t stand country music.”
	“Can’t blame him. Not everyone is blessed with a golden ear like the rest of us,” Joe said as he pulled the wafers out from the package.
	“Nah, it’s just that it all sounds the same. ‘My girl left, my truck died, I’m out of beer’. At least metal makes sense, just roar over a ridge blasting Bloodthirster or SkullThrone and it makes senses. Get what I’m saying?”
	“Not everything needs to be so harsh, you’ll get burnt out before too long if you stay in Kill Mode too long. At least country has some downtime for us.”
	“I’m with Cap on that one, Whit.”
	Whitman laughed at the thought before resting his food against the XMR assembly between them.
	“Got anything special to drink, Cap’n?”
	“When don’t I? You know where it is.” He replied.
	Whitman smiled before disappearing into the turret for a moment before returning to the hatch. They sat back, enjoying the music as the other crews finished digging. Around them, the others returned to their tanks to prepare food, drink, or just catch as much rest as possible if combat got heavy.
	“Hey, Captain,” Fitzgerald keyed over the radio. “I just realized that our situation might not be the best for an unsupported armored company.”
	“Agreed, but our position is the best we can hope for considering. This could very easily turn into a reenactment of Rouke’s Drift for us. We’ll keep an avenue of retreat open, but for now we’ll hold here and wait for backup.”
	Sitting in the open air, Joe felt his nose starting to go numb from the cold. Quick flurries of snow swirled around, dusting the tanks as they waited, watching for the inevitable counter-attack. They may have driven the bugs back, but they hadn’t killed them all. Even now, Joe knew that they were rallying beneath the ground.
	He turned his eyes away from the valley, pulling the map overlay up and calling up information from the scouts forces that had surveyed the region before the tanks were landed. They probed the area, charting every bug tunnel possible. From what’d they’d found, there were no tunnels to their flanks or rear that hadn’t been mopped up or burnt out during the drive . Ahead was another question. He figured a tunnel was nearby, the question was where exactly. Those roaches had dug in quickly after Ostriv’s civilian population had evacuated the planet little over a month ago, Earth-time.
	And that’s where the Iron Wolves came in. Their battalion was deployed to the surface to test the combat effectiveness of Kodiaks as a force multiplier. Position a mobile heavy weapons platform with infantry, send them to fight the bugs, measure the response, repeat, profit, as Joe had explained to his unit when they trained together. And he knew the Kodiak was the best machine to use. He’d seen the project grow from the treads up and practically lived in it through training.
	“Better hope the weather holds out. Snow ruins our traction,” Knispel started, passing a field cup up to Joseph. The steam coming off the coffee bore a strong aroma, clearing the wretched air from his nose.
	“Intel says we’ll be clear today, but snow might pop up for the next few days. Nothing deep enough to really cripple our operations. And thank you for the coffee, Lt.”
	“Bitte, Kapitaen.”
	“What’s this?” Whitman asked, cracking a wide smile. “No coffee for your favorite gunner?”
	“My favorite gunner got coffee, but he’s back in my tank. Also, Captain O’Kane’s got whiskey for trade.”
	“I shouldn’t have told you bastards that. Now I can’t even have my booze in peace.”
	“Hey, what do you expect?” Knispel replied, climbing up onto the turret and sitting rear of Joe’s hatch. “It’s not the UNN hands out beer to us. If we need something quick in the field, we take a bit from the guys with flasks. It’s not like there’s enough here to get us right hammered. Maybe take the edge off, but not combat ineffective.”
	“Aye to that,” Joe added. “But looking around here, you might be able to liberate some wine.”
	“So how long you think we’re gonna be here, Cap?” Knispel asked, leaning forward on his crossed legs.
	“Not sure. Depends on who comes to us first, the infantry or the bugs.”
	By now the sun had risen above the surrounding hills, shortening the shadows of the trees covering the far hills. The hills themselves were still covered in the shady canopy of the forest. Glints of blue moved amongst the shadows, forming into a rudimentary line as they moved down into the valley.
	Joseph downed his coffee as Knispel tossed his out, dropping to the dirt.
	“Speak of the devil…” Whitman trailed off.
	“And the devil shall appear. Knispel get back to your platoon. Company, make ready. They want another taste.”
	Knispel broke into a sprint as Joseph dropped into the turret and closed his hatch.
	“Do we fire at will?”
	“Negative. Wait for them to commit and we’ll hammer them in the open.”

Chapter 3: On Ne Passe Pas!
	The shields formed into an almost Roman testudo, layering plasma shields to cover their front, sides, and top to prevent dropping fire as the marched swiftly out into the field.
	“What the hell are they doing?”
	“I don’t know, but I’ll take an easy target any day.”
	Joe swept his eyes over the lines, roughly estimating the number of bugs before him. The strange formation ranged somewhere close to sixty or seventy pushing across the field. He took control of the roof gun and trained it on the center of the formation before keying his microphone.
	“I think they’re testing us. This is the first real time they’ve met a Kodiak so they ain’t got a clue how to get close, much less kill us. Gunners, pump HE at their feet. Wait for my signal, we’ll make a show of our might.”
	Whitman began to laugh as he cycled the auto-loader.
	“Sir, are you gonna do what I think you’re gonna do?”
	“Maybe. We’ll find out.”
	He opened a small tablet and linked it to the control system for the loudspeakers, queuing several songs and hit play, the rippling guitar slowly fading in. Deep growling voices overtook them, bellowing in almost incomprehensible tones of rage as the screeching wail of the dharmic cacophony hung over their line. Deep, guttural, and furious, the sounds playing out like a murderous thunder as the drones advanced.
	Shifting back to the camera feed, Joseph watched as the formation slowed to a stop, unsure of what was happening. He wondered what was crossing their minds as he keyed the microphone.
	“Time to welcome our guests. All guns, HE, cluster front. All guns fire at will.”
	Highlander rocked back on his suspension as the rail cannon fired. All along the ridge, weapons opened a flood of fire down on the formation. The HE shells detonated underneath the shields, shattering the line with plumes of dirt and chitin. The waves of slugs and plasma hammered against the shields and through the gaps, killing them in droves. The formation broke into clusters, rushing forward across the valley towards Bravo Company.
	Along the far hills, a second formation ignited their shields, charging down into the valley.
	“Fuck, there’s more of them.”
	“That’s just more targets man.”
	“Stow the chatter,” Joseph started. “Focus on killing them before they reach our slope.”
	The second formation slowed as the remnants of the first charge were mowed down like wheat at harvest. The second formation unleashed a blinding volley of plasma across the ridge. Majority focused on First Platoon, with the flanks firing out towards Second and Third.
	Impact alarms rang as a spray of superheated plasma hit the turret face, scarring the ceramic-metal weave. From inside, Joe could picture the burning blue bolt splattering across the surface, spread out by the constant magnetic charge of the plate. It cut the effectiveness of the plasma to bore into the armor, weakening the shot and buying time for the Kodiak.
	The guns began to turn on the second formation when more shields ignited in the trees. Shells and plasma fire splintered their charge, laying waste to the advance. The bugs fell quick, but so did their ammo. The creeping thought set upon Joseph. Would they be able to sustain themselves for long? If the bugs kept coming, eventually, there would be nothing left to shoot them with. And then what? Retreat? It would have to be an option, but one he hoped he wouldn’t have to take.
	“Bravo Actual, Bravo 1-1. Any word on that backup? Where’s Echo and Foxtrot?”
	“1-1, Actual. No word on infantry, but we are looking for a unit to scramble to you. Echo and Foxtrot are bogged down mopping up an uncharted tunnel south of you. They might not be available for some time. Maintain your position as best you can.”
	“Understood Actual.”
	Joseph let loose with the XMR assembly, focusing plasma fire against the formations as they continued the dense plasma volleys before beginning to retreat into the woods. Bravo continued to fire until they had disappeared back over the hills. The forests were mauled by the fire, splintering trunks and cratering the hills, wiping out wide portions of the underbrush where small fires smoldered and flickered in the underbrush.
	Joseph slumped back in his seat, staring at the camera feed. He turned the speakers off, letting a silence grow over the tank. They had probed their capabilities, they sacrificed how many of their own to just learn what the Kodiaks could do. He wondered what came next.
	He opened his hatch and let the cold air vent into the tank. Along the line, the other crews did the same, clearing the heat built up from the guns and any plasma hits. Some resumed meals while oters set about repairing damaged armor panels with new ones. The damaged panels were strapped back into place as more supplemental armor. Some even set about peeling extra armor off the dead bugs along their ridge and lining the turrets with the extra plates. Yet not once did they think to take the armor from fallen UNN. Respect for the dead still trumped the desire to be as damage-proof as possible.
	The low winter sun continued its stunted climb, marking the passage of time that they seemed to not care for. They waited, eyes open for the slightest twitch of bug. Boredom set in with some playing cards on the roof of the tanks. Others took the time to answer nature’s most basic call down the slope behind them.
	Joseph slid inside the tank and crawled back to the rear bay. He fished a ration kit from storage and tore it open. He washed the harshly dry oat bars with water from his canteen before moving to the protein from a mixture of nuts and beef patties. Sitting in the rear bay, Joe finally felt the weight of hunger curling around his stomach, letting the ache fade as he refueled himself.
	“If anyone needs me, I’ll be catching some rest,” He groaned, pulling his helmet free and leaning back against the hull. He closed his eyes, taking deep breaths as he drifted off.
	Around an hour later, he crawled forward from his den and back into his seat, slipping his helmet back on. His body returned to homeostasis, telling his brain he was fed, hydrated, and rested. Now, he resumed the slow watch for any threat to him or his men.
	He panned his control stick, watching the monitor feed follow the slope of the ridge before them. The land outside was littered with burns and craters from the two previous assaults up the slope. He knew another wave was coming. It wasn’t a matter of if, but when. He popped his back as he leaned back in his seat, keying his commset.
	“Lt. Fitzgerald, Lt. Knispel, I want ammo reports before we get company again. We need to know how much longer before we’ll be forced to withdraw.”
	“Aye, sir.”
	“Understood.”
	He keyed again, speaking low and quick as he resumed panning the roof mounted XMR assembly.
	“Alright First Platoon, I need ammo counts. Make it quick.”
	To his right, Whitman leaned back in the gunner’s seat, resting an arm on the breech of the rail cannon between them.
	“Cap, it looks like we’ve got about two dozen heavy slugs, eight, maybe nine, thermobarics, four high explosive. Chain gun’s down to fifty percent. Plasma cells are holding, but a refresh couldn’t hurt. Your roof gun’s still got about 800 left in the belt.”
	“Good.”
	The commset came to life as First Platoon responded.
	“Exterminator’s got 45% ammo across the board, we’re ready for a fight.”
	“Wildebeest's the same, cap’n.”
	“Uhh...Mad Mike’s running a little low. We’re at about 25%.”
	“Then go easy on that trigger,” Joe barbed. “Rotate with Exterminator, we’ll need more ammo on the flank.”
	The faint roar of engines slid through the armor around them as the tanks repositioned. Joe pushed up, opening his hatch and peering out over the land before him. He reacquainted himself with the tactical layout of the area. Bravo Company sat close to the crest of the ridge, parked just down on the slope facing where the bugs had been attacking from. First Platoon was positioned at a slight corner in the ridge, facing down over a vineyard criss-crossed by shallow irrigation channels. Second Platoon was about 100 yards to the right while Third Platoon was dug in 150 yards to the left. Approximately 700 to 800  away, across the vineyard were the forested hills that most likely hid the tunnel where the bastards kept crawling out of.
The commset chirped, drawing him back inside.
	“Cap, Second Platoon’s pushing 50% or more on ammo.”
	“Affirmative, Fitz. Knispel, status?”
	“Anywhere from 40 to 50%. We can fight a while longer.”
	“Affirmative. Keep your eyes open lads.”
	He keyed the commset to another channel and keyed his mic.
	“Bravo Actual, Bravo 1-1 with status update. Over”
	“1-1, Actual, go for update. Over”
	“Position holding. We’ve been engaged by multiple bug assaults. Suspect a tunnel present. Ammo is starting to run low. We also need to conduct repairs on some of the armor plates from plasma damage. Any word on resupply or infantry support? Over”
	“Resupply is incoming, ETA 15 minutes. It’s attached to a marine unit. Once they arrive, you’ll receive more orders. Over”
	“Understood Actual. Bravo out.”
	“Sounds like we’ll be getting company too,” Whitman piped up.
	“Better now than never,” Joe responded, pulling himself up through the open hatch.
	He scanned out past the long prongs of the rail cannon, letting his eyes move slowly across the far side of the basin. Sparse piles of felled trees lay across the opposite slope, the trunks splinters from Bravo’s deluge of fire. The flicker of smoldering fires dotted the shadows from the exchange. Pulling binoculars out from the crew compartment, he slowed his observation of the trees, watching branches painted green and brown swaying back and forth. Glints of color caught his eyes. Reds, blues, greens, glistening beneath the alien sun above.
	Dead bugs probably, left from the first waves. Their limbs shifted and moved amongst the branches, like they’d been caught by a strong wind. Joe stopped, focusing on the movement. It was obscured by the remaining foliage.
	He popped a finger into his mouth and let the saliva cling to it as he held it free to the air. A faint breeze, lacking any deeper strength before a morose weight pulled at his gut, watching the movement across the valley.
	“Whit, load a thermos. Shift left about ten, down six degree. Pump it into the tree line. Everyone ready, we might be rattling the nest here.”
	The turret hummed gently as the motors rotated the cannon into position. The autoloading mechanism chunked and clanged as a thermobaric canister was loaded and primed. The coils hummed for a split second before firing. The tank rocked back smoothly as the canister hurtled out across the valley, outracing the crackling of the barrel. Nearing the far side of the valley, the canister detonated, blooming out into a white mist for a few seconds before the fireball blossoms to life, burning through the mist and scorching anything within.
	The smoke cloud formed by the shell dissipated under a flurry of returning plasma bolts. Flashes of blue lit up the hills, either from shields activating or weapons firing freely. Taking a rough count put the bastards well above the earlier waves.
	Joe ducked back into the turret, closing his hatch behind him.
	“Weapons free. Bravo Actual, Bravo 1-1. We are engaged by a large enemy force. Tell those marines to get here real quick.”
	He flipped a series of switches soldered to a control board to his left. Outside, the loudspeakers welded to the rear flanks of the turret began wailing a siren of shredding guitars, waging their own battle against the cacophony of weapon reports cracking the quiet valley morning.
	Taking control of the roof mounted gun, he let short bursts of tungsten and plasma fly across the valley. At this range, Bravo Company had the advantage and they knew it. Their tanks were hull-down in their dugouts, leaving only the sloped turrets to face the return fire. And at the ranges the bugs were at, anything short of lucky shots wouldn’t hit.
	Down and forward of Joseph’s seat,  Frankie primed the engine, bringing the compartment to life as sensors and systems roared to life. With the tank at full combat status, Frankie slid back to the rear of the compartment, closing the rear hatch and securing the loose ration packs and water bottles littering the floor.
	“How many of them are there?” A voice called over the radio.
	“Not enough to beat us,” Joe barked back, squeezing the trigger on his control screen. The roof assembly rattled off short bursts of plasma and slugs into the sentient swarm stirred up before them. The wave of bugs pouring out over the flat ground and through the burning grapevines between them and the ridge.
	Plasma burned through the air, splashing against the bugs’ shields, leaving them exposed to the torrents of slugs following seconds after. Cannons barked high explosive shells that burst against the ground, hurling apart tight clusters with a splash of dirt and spray of carapace. More thermobarics bloomed over the field in brief flashes of white flame, raining fire and thick, choking clouds amongst the bugs. Whether they had some sort of respirator or not didn’t matter, it blinded, it clawed at their shells, seeking for a way in, slowing them if only for a second.
	“Bravo Actual, Bravo 1-1. Update on those marines, over?”
	“They’re coming, just hold that ridgeline. Over”
	“Easier said than done. Over”
	“1-1,” Knispel came through on the radio. “Some of the bugs are moving around to our south, permission to space out Third to 	counter?”
	“Affirmative, 3-1, but don’t get stretched thin.”
	The sharp buzz of the impact alarms screeched through the tank, drawing Joe back to his camera. The first fingers of the bug charge had crossed the vineyard began to form shield lines in the low cover of an irrigation ditch before they climbed the slope, trudging over the carcasses of the previous assaults. Some of the bugs has dug into the ditch, firing more precise volleys from the cover of the banks. Their shots mixed accuracy and volume, beginning to land plasma across the turret front.
	The armor hissed, the outermost layers starting to melt, costing them the slipshod supplemental armor in places around the turret. The magnetized ceramic-metal matrix could dissipate most of the thermal energy, but too much would begin to eat through the armor as it  reached critical temperatures.
	The maintenance will be hell, but it’ll mean he’s alive, Joe mused, keying the comms.
	“First Platoon, dump thermos into that ditch, burn them out.”
	“Aye sir,” Whit answered.
	A volley flooded the low ditch with more of the smoke, lightening the incoming fire as the bugs scattered for air, trailing the burning fuel behind them as it clung to their chitinous armor. Joseph lay into the ascending pests with the roof gun, watching the ammo ticker creep towards zero.
	“Bravo 1-1,” a new voice came over the commset, “We’re your backup. Where do you want us?”
	“Land south of our position, behind the ridge, else ground fire will rip you apart.”
	“Understood, we’ll be there in 60 seconds.”
	“Good news, Bravo. Marines are here, so let’s give these bastards a nice welcome.”
	Cheers came over the radios as another deluge of slugs and plasma washed out over the basin, cutting through shields and carapace like scythes through wheat. They didn’t care about conserving ammo now, they’d be resupplied soon enough. Now it was wiping out as many bugs as possible.
	“Teach them why they shouldn’t fuck with us!” Joe bellowed into the commset as Whit cackled somewhere to the right.
	He could’ve sworn, he heard the war cries above the thunder cracking the air. The roar of thrusters came slowly, hidden by the din of battle and growing louder with every passing second. Disarray set upon the bugs, some continuing the suicidal charge up the slope while others further back turned and fled back over the hills, scurrying with slugs and bolts shredding the ruins of the far slope.
	Joseph let go of the control panel and slumped in his seat, pulling the helmet off and dropping it on the floor next to him. The ebb of adrenaline and energy washed over him as he pushed the hatch open and pulled himself up onto the turret roof. The cold air was a delicious sting as the speakers continued with their wailing cries. He took a deep breath, whiffing in the smell of burning earth and plasma. Wafting up from below with the growing smoke from the grapevines as the fire continued to grow in the winter light. Whitman pushed up through his hatch, pulled an e-cig from the flak vest over his chest as he sighed heavily.
	Looking out over the carnage before him, Joseph started to chuckle. Low at first, trying to keep it down, but the pressure was too much, his body racked by the crashing adrenaline. He accepted Whitman’s offer of the e-cig, taking a deep draw of nicotine to calm his nerves. Along the line, hatches opened as the crews vented the hot interiors, engines and vents cycling through the air conditioning to cool the tanks off. Joe slid a hand inside and turned down the volume of the speakers, catching the sound of feet on dirt.
	He turned, expecting marines and found himself staring almost level at the solid black facemask of a Borealan, the swaying tail, twitching radar-like ears, and the orange fur with faded stripes covering the exposed forearms and lower digitigrade legs being dead giveaways. His quick assumption leaned towards the female persuasion as he noted the taper of her armor in certain places. She held a XMR kitted to a long rifle with a savage bayonet fastened to the end.
	“Howdy,” Joseph said, passing Whitman his e-cig back.
	“Are you Bravo Company?”
	“Yeah, and I’m Captain Joseph O’Kane. And you would be?”
	“Verska.”
	“Well,” Joseph started, rising to his feet. “It’s nice of y’all to join us. Party was getting a bit boring without some friendly faces.”
	“Party?”
	“That,” He replied thumbing out towards the valley, shifting Verska’s gaze from him to the fields littered with bugs. She cursed in her native tongue before moving next to the tank.
	“You definitely killed a lot of them.”
	“That may be, but the rest pulled back and I’d bet a week’s pay they’ve got a tunnel right over those hills.”
	He pulled his helmet under his arm and slid down the turret cheek to the earthen mounds built up around Highlander and stepped closer to Verska. Closer, he realized she had about a good two feet on him, maybe more. He tapped her arm to draw her attention as he tossed his helmet back on. She looked down, opening the visor of her helmet, her green eyes locking on his.
	“I need your CO. You know where he is?”
	“Follow me.” She turned and started back down the ridge with Joe close behind. The dropships had found enough space at the edge of the woods behind the ridgeline to land and unload the UNN marines and supply crates for Bravo.
	“I’ve seen your vehicles at base before. What exactly are they?” Verska asked, slowing to keep next to Joseph.
	“My children, and I’m damn proud of them.”
	A confuzed glance from her egged him on.
	“Kodiaks. Main Battle Tanks to break open bug defenses. Just be another weapon for us in this war. They’ll let us kick ass en masse-”
	“What’s a tank?”
	“In short, a big armored box that carries a big gun to fuck up anything that the infantry might need fucked up. I can give a history lesson later, but for now we need to rearm and repair and get our next set of orders.”
	“Maybe you can get a new helmet, too. Looks like yours is missing its visor.”
	“Ours don’t have visors. We don’t need them. All we need to not get a concussion if we hit a bump going seventy miles per hour or more. Same reason we only have flak jackets to save us if shrapnel starts bouncing around inside. The tank is our armor.”
	They reached the landing zone and crossed towards the cluster of human marines organizing the cargo pods and checking packs and weapons.
	“Major,” Verska spoke up. “The captain of Bravo Company is here.”
	One of the armor-clad marines stepped away from the others, walking over to them and lifting his visor. Joe snapped to salute and the major reciprocated.
	“Status, Captain?” The major asked, curt and to the point.
	“All vehicles operational. We’ll be ready to move once we reload our ammo, patch the damaged armor, and receive our next set of objectives from command.”
	“I see. I’ll have my boys get the supplies up to your men and then we’ll follow you.”
	“And when we’re ready, we’ll split your men up and load them into our tanks.”
	“And how would you suggest we do that?”
	“Human marines can fight in the rear of the crew compartment comfortably. Krell and Borealans can ride on the roof. We can split the Krell over Second and Third Platoons and the Mad Cats will be up with First Platoon.”
	“Then let’s be underway. Verska, round up your pack and report to the Captain once.”
	“And major, sir. We’ll need to tend to the dead in the valley.”
	“We’ll see to them, son.”
	Joseph nodded as he turned back up the slope. The crews and marines moved swiftly, ferrying the cargo up the slope and into place. The high explosive and thermobaric canisters were loaded first, leaving the extra tungsten slugs in bins on the rear of the turret since they couldn't explode if hit. Ruined supplemental armor was cast away, having served its purpose in full and the new plates filled the gaps. From there, they moved down into the valley and, with as much care as they could muster, brought the dead UNN back over the slope and loaded them into the dropships before they departed.
	The human marines clambered into the rear bays of the Kodiaks while the Major climbed onto Highlander’s roof. Joe sat at the lip of his hatch, holding a map overlay of the valley and glens before them. Verska and two other Borealans sat on the turret, their fuzzy ears tracking their commanding officer as Joe keyed his commset.
	“Bravo Actual, Bravo 1-1 with update. Over.”
	“1-1, Actual, go for update. Over.”
	“Marines have arrived. Ammo and armor are green. Suspect enemy tunnel to be nearby, requesting next set of orders. Over.”
	“1-1, order from battalion command. Clear out enemy tunnel and destroy if possible. Then proceed north from current position to Highway 2 and follow it to the north of Sutton's Haven. Once in position, you’re to aid the rest of 1st Battalion with multi-prong push to clear out Sutton’s Haven. The marines are to serve as your infantry support through this push. How copy, 1-1? Over.”
	“Wilco, Actual. We’ll see you all in time for chow.”
	“And be alert 1-1, forecast updated and there is a strong change of heavy snow in the next forty-eight hours. Over.”
	“Copy. Bravo over and out.”
	Joseph turned back to the major and pulled the map into view. “So we’re here,” Joseph pointed to a rough approximation of their position. Echo and Foxtrot were supposed to have rallied with us from the south, but they got bogged down with a tunnel. Our new set of orders are to check if there is a tunnel past those hills ahead of us. If so, clean it out. Then we’re to move north to this highway,” his finger tracked across the map to the gray line of the highway.
	“From there, we’ll ride the road around to the north of the village and wait. Once the other companies make their pushes into Sutton’s Haven, we’ll join the fun.”
	He keyed his headset, clearing his throat as the sun began to sink bit by bit.
	“All right Bravo Company, let’s roll out.”

Chapter 4: Snow Warning
	The Kodiak shook as it shifted into reverse and maneuvered past the dugout and down the slope. Bravo Company fell into formation as they rumbled down into the valley. The heavy treads crushed the grapevines and bugs beneath them as they rolled forward and up through the shredded forests of the next ridge.
	“So what outfit are you boys?” The major inquired, hanging on to the XMR assembly as they rocked and bounced up the slope.
	“1st Armored Battalion. The Iron Wolves-”
	Whitman let out a long howl as he broke into a laugh that ceased when Joseph slapped him across the back of the helmet.
	“More specifically, Bravo Company, you can just call us MacDonald’s Marauders.” He keyed his mike and continued. “Alright ladies and gents, keep eyes peeled. Bugs got a hole somewhere here. The quicker we find it, the better. You see, hear, or smell anything, pass it along.”
	“Captain,” Verska interrupted. “Let us track the bugs. We can find that hole faster than you.”
	“Shit,” Joe mused. “Might just save us some time. Company halt.”
	The Kodiaks slowed to a stop and Joe turned to face the aliens behind him. He was willing to wager Verska was the pack’s boss so the others would fall in with whatever idea she may have had.
	“Verska, take you pack and space them out along the front of us. We’ll follow you forward.”
	“Understood.”
	She swung down on her long digitigrade legs, the clawed toes sinking into the leaf litter. The rest of her pack dismounted from First Platoon and moved through the underbrush. Their noses were many magnitudes sharper than a human’s so they spaced out ahead of the tanks and started forward. They signaled and adjusted each other as they pursued the scent trails left behind by the fleeing roaches. They were silent compared to the groaning engines and clanking treads of Bravo Company.
	They descended through the hills, carving trails through the underbrush before it started to thin as they crossed through a creek. The pack slowed, pulling weapons to the ready. Ahead, a farmer’s field stretched out before them, covered by rows of soybean growing thick across the dark soil. At the far edge, Joseph saw it. The opening to a bug tunnel facing them on the side of a rise in the field. Verska turned back, gesturing across the field.
	“Infantry, dismount. Company, forward through the tree line.”
	The rear ramps dropped along the line, allowing the marines inside to fan out into the forest. The lumbering Krell shifted forward at the flanks, forming mobile walls with their heavy shields and bristling with XMRs built into machine gun variants.
	“First Platoon, forward, we’ll take the initiative here.”
	Highlander lurched into motion as they crossed the tree line and began to trample over the soybeans. The tunnel entrance seemed unattended as they closed.
	“Whitman, see anything in there?”
	“Nothing on thermal or night vision. It’s empty.”
	Joe kept his eyes on the tunnel as he waved the marines forward. First Platoon formed a quarter circle aimed right at the entrance, shielding the infantry from any surprise greetings. His hands brought his carbine up and propped it against the turret roof. The major moved forward, pulling himself up onto the side of Highlander.
	“So there’s the tunnel,” Joseph started. “It looks like it’s your boys’ time to shine, sir.”
	“And you?”
	“We’ll encircle the entrance, sir. First Platoon will keep weapons trained on the opening. Second and Third will prevent any surprises from behind us. If you can’t kill something, feel free to bring it to us and we’ll crack it open.”
	“Will do. Marines, fall in,” He ordered, before turning back to Joseph. “Krell might be too big to go into the tunnels so I’ll leave them with you.”
	“Many thanks. And good hunting down there. And radio us when you come out so we don’t frag you by accident.”
	The major stepped down and rallied the humans and Borealans, forming them into order. While they descended into the tunnel, First Platoon encircled the entrance, training every weapon they had on it. Several of the Krell joined the inner circle, keeping close to the engine covers for warmth. Second and Third Platoons pulled back, forming a larger ring to protect the tunnel from any direction. The rest of the Krell spaced out amongst them, balancing weapons on the hulls. They were cold-blooded by his guess so this weather would probably leave them worse for wear.
	Joseph keyed his radio and leaned back against the hatch, kicking his feet up onto the roof. It’d take them time to root the tunnel out.
	“Bravo Actual, Bravo 1-1 for update. Over.”
	“1-1, Actual. Go for update. Over.”
	“We’ve located enemy tunnel and are beginning to clear it out. Over.”
	“Copy, 1-1. Hurry if possible, weather is growing worse by the hour. Actual, over and out.”
	He slid a hand into the turret and raised the volume of the loudspeakers, the twang of an electric guitar echoing through the air. They waited, letting the music remind them of early winter days back home, with the only real warmth coming from the scant rays of sun bearing down on them or from the food they prepared inside their tanks. Some of the crews started simple campfires so the Krell could seek out more warmth.
	Time crept slowly as faint echoes of gunfire rolled from the entrance. Thunder rolled over Joe’s ears, but not from the cave. He sat up and listened close, following the next roll of thunder. To his northwest, a growing wall of clouds built over the distant mountains, climbing closer towards the setting sun. Dark would be on them sooner than expected. He hoped the marines were doing well down below.
	“Bra...o,” A voice called out over radio. “Fri...dly coming ou…”
	“Say again. You’re breaking up.”
	“Friendlies coming out,” they repeated.
	“Get ready to move Bravo,” Joseph started, watching as the Krell and crews extinguished the campfires and clambered into place. Engines groaned as they began to guzzle air.
	Watching the tunnel, Joseph saw figures move in the dark, forming into a squad of human marines. They hustled towards Highlander and piled onto First Platoon.
	“Captain, we need to move.”
	“Where’s the rest of the unit?”
	“Hot on the heels of roaches heading to the surface about three clicks northeast.”
	“Understood. Company, fall in. Wedge formation.”
	The tanks broke into motion, building momentum rapidly as the platoons organized into a flying V with Highlander at the point. Joe turned back to the marine.
	“Show me where on the map.”
	The marine estimated the quickest route against the topographical map. It led them across a series of low, rolling hills covered in more of the grapevines before cutting back towards a pair of high bluffs to the northeast. In the distance, Joseph could see the exchange of plasma fire and tungsten bolts. Bug plasma sprayed up towards the cliff face while a mix of tungsten and plasma retaliated down, tearing into the crops near a small cluster of prefab farm houses and a simple metal barn. The bugs most likely pulled back into the cover of the farm complex to escape the marines flushing them out, Joe thought, so let’s catch them between us and them.
	“Company, right echelon on First. We’ll charge them while they aren’t looking.” He turned back to the marines “Hop off when we slow down. You don’t wanna be on top when we’re under fire at 70 miles plus.”
	The marine nodded and keyed his radio.
	The company slowed as First Platoon slid to the rightmost position, Highlander being the point of a slanted line leading back to the left. The marines took the chance to hop down behind the Kodiaks. Joseph slid down into the turret and closed his hatch behind him.
	“Major, we’re coming in hot from the southwest. Have your men check their fire.”
	“Understood.”
	“Company, fix bayonets!”
	At his command, the drivers lowered the bulldozer prows halfway, letting the sharpened lower edges parallel the ground like a harvesting scythe.
	He cranked the speaker volume to full as he bellowed into his mic.
	“Forward charge!”
	The Kodiaks roared forwards, blades slicing through the crops about waist high on a man. The treads chewed through the soil, propelling them forward, faster and faster. They bounced and rattled inside the tanks as they peaked at 75 miles per hour. Outside, the screaming guitars ebbed to a bellowing growl emanating from the loudspeakers into some eldritch symphony of quantum sounds mixing with the thrumming guitars and pounding drums filling the winter air.
	The first bugs came into view, but only for mere milliseconds. They turned to flee, but were slashed down at the legs as the dozer blade made contact. Some were split in half and tossed over the turret while others fell beneath the treads, dying almost instantly as seventy tons pressed down on them.
	Frankie diverted at the last second as an immense blue shape burst through the end of the metal shed, rising above the crops with a terrible grimace across its face. The Kodiak bucked as it crashed through the simple sheet metal wall of the shed and out the other side, scattering debris and tools across the dirt yard. Whit spun the turret towards the immense bug while Joe turned the roof gun around, snapping quick bursts into any bug that slipped between the tanks. The rest of the company laid into the bugs with their weapons, shredding through the fields. The crews spoke quickly, calling out targets for gunners and commanders to cut down in a flurry of tungsten and plasma.
	Impact alarms buzzed as sporadic plasma fire snapped against the hull and turret, burning the supplemental armor they had bolted on. Whit cursed as the turret spun left, firing into the farm house with thermobaric charges that erupted from the windows and doors. Movement from the cliff drew Joe’s attention through the camera feed around him. The Borealans had pushed forwards to capitalize on the Kodiaks’ charge while the other marines laid down withering fire from the bluff. The cats fired and speared the surviving bugs, shredding them with bayonets and claws as they assaulted into the disorganized cockroaches.
	“Cap, left-” Whit snapped before Joe jolted in his seat as the turret jammed and the tank seemed to rock right.
	“What the hel-”
	Through his camera feed, Joe spotted the warrior bug slamming against their hull, fighting for purchase with its flailing claws as it tried to get a grip on the immense tank. It had charged them while they were stationary and distracted, getting close before Whit could’ve spun the turret around. One of the immense carving claws had been tore away by fire, but the other pressed against the turret, cracking some of the outermost plating as it increased pressure.
	“Driver, reverse!”
	“Cant’ left track’s clipped.”
	Joseph swung the roof gun to bear and let both barrels rip, pummeling the bug with plasma and tungsten. Whitman shifted the turret against the bug’s grip, forcing to fight for purchase as the autoloader clanked with another shell. The roof guns were ineffective, scarring the warrior’s armor, but not finding a hole through. The bug shifted, trying to bring it secondary claws up to claws at the chain cannon on the turret flank when a series of thunks resounded on the turret roof.
	A flash of black and orange hit from behind the XMR assembly, burying a massive bayonet into a crux in the beetle’s armor. Verska shifted, burying the blade deeper as more of her pack descended on the beetle, lancing it. Turning to the new threats, the beetle released the tank and began to claw at the XMRs impaling it. Whitman whipped the cannon on the beetle’s center and fired. The massive slug dug in, caving the frontal carapace in before ripping most of the shell away from the beetle’s back before burying itself somewhere out in the field or hillside beyond. With a gaping hole through the entirety of its abdomen, the gutted husk fell back onto the dirt lot.
	With a few final volleys of fire, the last of the bugs lay dead. None had escaped the onslaught. They were trapped on open ground against the Kodiaks. If they’d fled, the marines would have run them down. Joseph pushed his hatch open and reached down to cut off the loudspeaker, letting a sudden void roll over the farm complex.
	“Major, I think we got them all,” Joseph said, taking a sharp breath. “Company, take stock and repair damages. We’ll need to repair our tracks.”
	Verska turned, stepping up onto Highlander.
	“So, that is what your tanks can do. I’m impressed.”
	“Only partially,” Joseph said, pulling himself up through the hatch and onto the turret roof.
	“Captain, what in God’s name was that shit?” The major barked.
	“An opportunity to apply our superior weapons at close range by a charge to the enemy’s flank while conducting morale improvement in the field. And considering it not only alleviated pressure on your men, but also completely wiped out all bugs present, I’d consider it a success. Sir.”
	“I’ll give you that,” the major sighed. “Saved a lot of trouble for us.”
	“Yes, sir,” Joseph looked back to Verska. “Thanks for the save, Lance Corporal.”
	She nodded and took a seat at the rear of Highlander’s turret.
	“So where to next, Captain?” She asked, balancing her XMR long rifle on her knees.
	“Nowhere. Our treads broke so we need to repair them. Shouldn’t be more than a few minutes though.”
	Whitman and Frankie had climbed out of the hull and started demounting the spare lengths of track from the sides of the turret. A swelling wind rolled across the unit, piercing their uniforms and armor with frigid claws. Joseph shuddered and heard Verska hissing curses in her native tongue.
	“Don’t like the cold much?”
	“No. We live in cities surrounded by desert. This cold is almost unbearable.”
	“This is common back home,” He said, keying his mic. “Company, circle up and start some fires for the Krell and Borealans. It’ll be getting cold sooner than expected.”
	He moved down into the soil, stepping over the dead bugs littering the ground and knelt with his crew as they lifted the armor skirts away from the treads. The warrior had broken one of the links between the several segments in the tread and pulled it free of the road wheels. One end of tread hung limp against the side of the tank, still attached to the forward drive wheel. The other end was laying out on the field. Once the broken segments were replaced, it was a simple fix of just rethreading the treads over the drive and road wheels. As they inserted the last links, another burst of cold wind rolled over them with the first white flakes of snow began to fall, clinging to their fatigues.
	“Let’s get going. Snow’s only gonna get worse. Company, fall into column formation.”
	They clambered into their seats as the rest of the unit extinguished the fires and loaded up. The tanks began to roll as more snow began falling, the sky was growing dark as the stormfront reached them, bringing an early night. The drivers adjusted, switching to low light settings as they rolled forward across the fields. Joseph brought the map overlay up and began charting a way towards the highway. They’d need to hurry before it got even harder to see. If they were unlucky, whiteout conditions could scatter the column and spell death for the Krell and Borealans. Joe keyed his commset and began to speak, fighting to hear himself as the wind picked up again.
	“Bravo Actual, Bravo 1-1 with update. Over.”
	“1-1, Actual, Go for update. Over.”
	“Snow storm has arrived earlier than expected. We’re continuing to north side. What is the status of the attack? Over.”
	“Attack will be delayed until snow storm passes. Find someplace to hunker down and keep warm. Storm might last up to 72 hours. Over.”
	“Wilco, Actual. 1-1 over and out. Alright, company. We’ll need to find shelter before too long. I want people looking over maps. Anything might suffice, from farms to motels to a fucking church. We just need to find cover.”
	He returned to the map, panning over the land between their current position and where they were supposed to assemble for the assault on Sutton’s Haven. The maps showed topographical lines dotted by small markers indicating structures picked up from orbital scans and previous maps of the colonized zones. Glancing ahead, Joseph watched as the initial flurries grew heavier, the flakes growing larger in their sight. Some of the tanks had turned on their headlights, casting haunting glows through the graying landscape. They continued north, adjusting the route to curve back towards the highway crossing the north end of the valley. The minutes passed as drifts began to grow around them, compressed beneath the treads as they continued on.
	“Captain,” Knispel started. “I think I’ve got something. Reference grid square 225199.”
	Joseph changed his map focus and zeroed on the coordinates. A T-shaped structure sat amid a cluster of other buildings. The cluster were towards the northernmost edge of the valley, close to a crossroads in the highway and the main north-south road through Sutton’s Haven. If they could take it, they’d be in a great position to aid the assault.
	“I see the buildings. Any idea what it is?”
	“Negative, Captain.”
	“Understood. We should be able to reach it quickly from the highway. Company, increase speed and mark the buildings in grid square 225199 as our destination. Keep formation and we’ll be through the storm before long.”

Chapter 5: Whiteout
	The engines groaned louder, ignoring the storm growing worse. The snow fell in blinding sheets now, closing on whiteout conditions in front of the lights. The frigid flakes landing across him, soaking his uniform and flak jacket. Chills rolled across his spine as he drew his flask and slammed back another swig. The alcohol left him feeling warm but he knew it’d bleed him of heat faster.
Night had fallen in totality, leaving only the headlights as beacons in the black. The land disappeared beneath the growing sheets of white that rolled gently with each imperfection in the soil below. Joseph watched the flakes fall, masking what was even five feet ahead of them behind the brute force of the blizzard.
	Suddenly Highlander lurched as it began up a slope close to forty degrees from the horizontal. Momentum left them halfway up the hill, reducing the climb to a snail’s crawl as the tank clawed at the snow covering the soil beneath. The engines groaned as the column slowed behind them, each tank trudging up the slope one after the other.  Soon, Highlander leveled out on flat ground, continuing the drive forward. Frankie turned right and continued east, slowing so the rest of the column could fall into formation again. Joseph checked his map, tracking their position. They’d reached the highway and it would carry them the half dozen miles straight towards their shelter from the worsening storm.
	“It’ll be a few more minutes before we’re out of this,” Joseph said, turning back to Verska behind him. She’d huddled close to her pack members riding along on Highlander. “Don’t worry, we’ll be safe and warm real soon.”
	A thump against his leg drew his attention down into the turret. Whit was below him in the turret basket, passing up a drink bulb wisping steam inside the tank. The smell was instant, the bitter sting of ration pack coffee. He gestured to take the first bulb before passing up a second. Joe took them and thought for a second why his gunner was making ten bulbs of coffee, but then he turned back, looking at the Borealans behind him. He shifted in his seat, reaching out with both bulbs towards his passengers.
	“Coffee?” Joe yelled over the driving winds around them.
	Verska reached forward, taking  the bulbs in her immense hand before passing them to her packmates as Joe passed up the rest of Whit’s concoctions. The major took the last bulb and slammed it back before Verska took her first sip, grimacing at the sharp flavor.
	“It’s bitter. Why do you drink this stuff?”
	“It’s hot, has caffeine, that’s about it.”
	“Thanks,” she responded before turning back to huddle with her pack.
	The tanks left deep grooves in the snow as they neared their destination. The column slowed and shifted left, crushing over the median and rolling up the slope where they estimated the on ramp should’ve been. They rolled out onto the wide strip of treeless ground that the map said was a road. Continuing onward, they pushed forward and followed the road up a simple grade before coming to a halt outside a metal gate rising some twenty feet. An oval sign hung over the center of the gate reading “Sutton’s Retreat Resort and Spa”. A smaller placard hung from the main sign reading “Closed due to Invasion”. Joseph checked his map overlay and it confirmed these were the buildings. He shook his head and keyed his mic.
	“So the map says this is the place. Hope they don’t mind us kicking in the front door while they’re away. Frankie, forward.”
	Highlander shifted forward, driving the prow into the gate. The metal buckled at first, groaning as the tank put all its weight and horsepower behind it. The first pop of a bolt came from the left, then the right. Heavy duty screws that held the gate in place gave way, breaking away from the automatic assemblies and the stone anchors in the flanking walls. With the final screws and bolts breaking, the gate crashed down and Highlander rushed through. The column crossed into a large front yard, leading up towards the main building in the compound: A three story stone hotel with blacked out windows and doors. As they neared, the column fanned out around the valet center beneath an elegant canopy of sleek grey stone and green paneling.
	Highlander stopped outside the front door, letting the engine idle as Joseph hopped down from the tank. He moved towards the door, letting a hand fall towards his pistol. He gripped the frozen handle and pulled, feeling the door give and swing open. Warm air washed over him, pushing a cloud of steam out into the storm. He let the door close and moved back towards Highlander.
	“Front door’s unlocked and power’s on. Major.”
	“Understood, Captain. Verska, take your pack and the Krell and warm up inside. The rest of my men can sweep the buildings and handle sentry duty. Captain, position your tanks somewhere out of sight and out of this storm.”
	“Understood, sir,” He said, climbing back up onto the tank.
	The Krell and Borealans dismounted and lumbered towards the door, their bodies sluggish and stiff from the cold. The human marines, warm from riding inside the Kodiaks, sprang to action and organized teams to scour the complex. Joseph led Bravo Company forward, turning up the ramp and into the concrete parking annex off to the rear of the hotel. They arranged into rows inside the annex, ducking beneath the low concrete beams holding up the roof. Once they’d parked, the engines fell silent and the crews disembarked. Joseph, Whitman, and Frankie slung the carbines against their backs and rounded up whatever rations they could from their tank and started back towards the hotel.
	Bravo Company moved through the doors, letting the warmth embrace them. The meltwater soaked Joe’s uniforms as he moved into the atrium. The onyx floor tiles clicked with boots and claws moving across the surface. Joseph turned to the right, moving towards the marble-lined reception desk. He unslung his equipment and pulled his helmet free. Behind the desk, he came to a pair of terminals and powered one on, watching the screen flash a pale blue.
	His eyes scoured the desk in the low light, hunting any information. His fingers dragged a portfolio from down the desk. Inside were papers signed by the management. His eyes burned over the information, bouncing it around in his mind. A password to the computer was left at the bottom of the paper with a list of systems and files to check when they came back. Once the computer had warmed up, Joe pulled open the files and watched as system diagnostics rolled across the screen. The hotel was operating under emergency settings. Power was routing through a solar system on the roof, feeding batteries in the basement that kept the water lines thawed and emergency lights running for minimal environmental impact. Reverting to the sheet, keystrokes brought the overhead lights online as the vents rumbled and a heavy gust of heated air began to fill the atrium.
	Verska shifted, her eyes flicking towards the ceiling as her radar-like ears tracked the HVAC vents coming to life. She strolled over to reception, balancing her rifle on her shoulder. before rapping her claws along the marble as she leaned over the desk. Her mane of deep orange-red hair flowing down her shoulders and caught fire in the overhead lighting.
	“What are you doing, Captain?”
	“Seeing what we have to work with. Looks like the staff just powered down anything that wasn’t needed and left. Hopefully that includes whatever they have for a kitchen here.”
	“How did you figure that?”
	“I used to travel a lot for my job before I wound up driving tanks. Got to talking with some workers at a hotel and found out that there are general patterns to a hotel’s layout and emergency plans. Therefore, I figured check reception and management first, see what I can do, and go from there.”
	He followed a registry down several levels to a tab marked Inventory. He let the numbers and dates in front of him sink in. He closed the terminal and rose to his feet, moving towards a hallway leaving from the left of the atrium. Verska followed, curious about what this human was up to. Joseph stopped short, running his hands over a floor map along the wall. It was a simple plastic cover showing evac routes in case of fire. He pried the cover away, sliding the map free.
	Looking over the map, Joseph studied the layout. They had come in through the main atrium and reception. From there, they stood at the entrance to the west wing. If they continued down the wing, they’d wind up at the parking annex again. The opposite direction was the east wing which led towards the fitness center. North through the atrium was the kitchen and bar. Joseph turned and moved back through the atrium, following the map. The duo pushed through the glass-paned doors, Verska ducking through the human-sized threshold. They found themselves in the waiting area for the restaurant for the hotel guests.
	The cavernous room spanned out before them, dark save for the low, atmospheric lighting hanging in clusters above them. An immense, sloped window made up the right wall, reflecting the lights back towards them against a pitch black screen of the stormy night with the bar sitting along the left wall. Joseph turned, following the edge of the bar when he found the swinging doors leading to the kitchen.
Heading in, Joseph scanned over the room, passing the stoves, sinks, countertops, and numerous tools and equipment before he came to the store rooms. Inside, rows of shelves filled the space, some shelves lined with cans and boxes while others were barren. Moving on, he stopped outside the walk-in coolers and unlatched the doors, peeking inside to see produce, milks, and several slabs of meat. It would last long between the two companies, but it might make a nice addition to the variable quality of the ration kits.
	Returning to the restaurant, Joe’s eyes were drawn to the clink of glasses. Verska stood, craning over the bar in search of something. Her long tail swished back and forth as Joseph watched her. Her hips raised her easily over the oak bar top. Even through the fabric of her uniform, Joseph could see the firm, muscular form of her legs and her ample buttocks.
	“You wanna help me or are you gonna stand there and stare at my ass?” She asked curtly.
	Joseph cleared his throat as he moved behind the bar. A series of refrigerators and cabinets lined the underside of the bar beneath shelves of glasses. Behind him, the wall was covered in dark oak panels covered in bottles ranging in size, shape, and color. Even without looking towards him, Joe could tell she was tracking him with her swiveling ears.
	“So what poison suits you?” He asked, leaning on the bar next to her.
	“Raises the hair. Something from back on Borealis.”
	“I’ve had it back at Pinwheel and with your fellow Borealans back on Earth.”
	“The Polars?”
	“Yeah. Spent some time in Siberia for work. I was only there for a week at most, so didn’t get the full experience. Closest thing I think they’d have either is either some fruity wine or something like a spiked soda.”
	He slid along the bar, opening the refrigerators. One by one, he made mental stock of the drinks inside. Sodas would last as well as any hard liquor, wine, or other alcohol. The limes and lemons had molded in one fridge, contaminating whatever was inside. Eventually he found what he was looking for. The small rainbow of bottles lined the inside of the door. He pulled two free, setting them on the bar. His eyes followed the label, the text matching the deep red coloration of the contents as it read Sutton’s Vineyard Reserve, Blueberry.
	“The rest of the marines should be finished with sweeping the compound soon, so we might not be able to get more till later.”
	He cracked the cap off on the lip of the bar, watching Verska pry hers free with the tip of one claw. They were black meat hooks better suited to dicing through muscle and tendon. She watched as the liquid fizzed and bubbled in the bottle. A confused glance cast his way as Joseph took a swig, feeling the carbonation dance across his tongue. The tart flavor fell away with the warmth of the alcohol mixed in.
	“Something wrong?”
	“It’s bubbling…”
	“That’s because it’s a sparkling wine. The bubbles are carbon dioxide dissolved into it. They won’t kill you. Might make you burp, but that’s about it.”
	She pulled it close and drank, pulling the bottle away and shaking her head. She coughed, setting the bottle down.
	“It’s stronger than raises the hair,” she hissed.
	“Anything of ours is magnitudes stronger.”
	Verska drank more of the soda, setting the empty bottle on the bar. Her green eyes traced over him as she leaned in on her elbows.
	“So, Captain, what exactly did you before riding that beast of yours?”
	“Mechanical engineer back on Earth. Got a job after college and worked through a couple contracts before we wound up in a competition to design the Kodiaks. UNN liked our team’s design and produced enough to equip all of the newly formed First Armored Battalion. In a way, you could say the Kodiaks are my brainchildren.”
	“You don’t sound like much of a soldier.”
	“I wasn’t. Hadn’t planned on it, My brain was my gift, so I wanted to use it. But the UNN needed a training liaison, and those bastards at corporate ‘volunteered’ me to fill in. Then the manpower crunch hit, so they press-ganged me, gave me a commission as lieutenant and had my ass.”
	“Lieutenant? Congrats on the promotion.”
	“Yeah, more to unforeseen events then anything, but that’s a story for another time. What about you,” He shifted, locking eyes with her. “What’s home for you?”
	“Me and my pack are from Elysia. We were recruited under orders from the Patriarch to fight with the UNN. After Pinwheel, we fought our way here to this bar, drinking with you.”
	“Sounds like a journey.”
	She smirked, finishing her drink.
	“That it is. But sometimes I miss it. I miss the warmth of the sands, the bright sun, and cool waters of the lake.”
	“Homesickness is a bitch ain’t it. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen family. If I make it through this, I’m taking time off to go home.”
	Joseph took her empty bottle and started towards the end of the bar.
	“Major’s probably about done. Come on.”
	“Aye, Captain,” Verska said, taking long, slow strides to parallel Joseph.
	They moved back into the atrium, rejoining the rest of the unit as the human marines filed in through the front doors. Their uniforms began to drip from meltwater as they shook away the dusting of snow that’d settled on them. Before long, the Major had entered the lobby. Joseph walked over, saluting the Major and resting when the salute was returned.
	“So Captain, what do you have for me?”
	“Well to start, the hotel seems undamaged from the initial bug assault, so all the systems such as power and heat,” He waved to the lights and vents above their heads, “seem to be in working order. On top of that, the hotel’s restaurant has some stored food I think we could access if needed. Their bar-.”
	The Major’s eyes seemed to flick awake at the mention of a bar while several of the marines turned to listen to Joseph more intently. The Major waved for him to follow and moved down one of the side halls.
	“You mean to tell me there’s a stocked bar on the premises?”
	“Yes sir,” Joseph started. “I under-”
	“Understand this Captain, that bar will be tended and run at all times by at least one commissioned officer at all times. We don’t need our unit getting tipsy before an assault. Especially our Borealan shock troops. They get piss drunk off even light beer. Is that clear?”
	“As clear as water, sir.”
	“Now, as for bunking, it seems more useful to let the men bunk where they fall.”
	“Understood. I’ll brief my men if you brief yours.”
	The Major nodded and moved to rally his marines. Joe rounded his platoon up and briefed them on the status of the building, the stores, and the bar. His orders came quick and simple, so long as either him or one of the lieutenants were in the bar, they could drink, but the moment any of them forgot their self-control, they’d be banned from drinking anything besides tap water. The company nodded in affirmation as they followed Joe back to the front desk. He took time, slowly working his way through to the room reservation system and activating handfuls of the keycards, passing them out to the unit before dismissing them to settle in for the night.
	He passed the Major a bundle of active keycards with room numbers marked on the surface before following the rest of Bravo down the west wing. Some claimed rooms on the first floor while others lay claim to the second. Joseph navigated down towards the corner room on the second floor and swiped his card over the lock, pushing the door open. The chilly room lit up as the lamps tracked his entry. He crossed to the thermostat panel and turned the in-room heater to full strength. Moments later, a rolling wave of warmth curled around him. He lay his XMR on the work desk against one wall and stripped his helmet, flak jacket, and his fatigue’s soaked shirt. His boots thudded to the floor and were covered by his wet socks by the heater vents to dry. Free of the heavier gear, Joseph stretched his arms high over his head and felt his back pop in several places.
	The inviting mattress lay before him as the only bed in the room. He’d guessed it was king-sized or larger. It seemed almost large enough to handle a Krell spread eagled across its surface. Even as he felt the crushing fingers of exhaustion setting upon him, a rumble from his stomach turned him back towards the door. The soft, silken carpet tickled the soles of his feet as he made his way out into the hallway. He dropped his keycard into his drop holster, patting a hand against the pistol as he started down the stairs.
Some of his company had started down the stairs, obviously heading to the restaurant. Joseph instead turned and climbed towards the third floor. He let his hands slide into his pockets and relaxed his shoulders as he rounded the landing and continued upwards. Moving out onto the third floor, he followed the hallway towards the center of the hotel.
	Soon, he stood in a circular room with a glass dome overhead. The walls around him were lined with bookshelves and lounge chairs. Glancing up, Joseph saw the pitch black night above him and the massive flakes that caught the light emanating up through the dome. As they landed, they faded and melted to water droplets and ran down towards the edges of the dome. He stood there, watching the flakes fall in heavy sheets. His mind drifted to home, to watching the snow fall along the levees that flanked the farmlands close to the Mississippi River. He swore he could feel the wind nipping at his face as he started back towards the stairs.

Chapter 6: Lessons in History and Anatomy
	He descended to the first floor and moved back towards the restaurant, passing some marines and Krell seated in the lobby that were maintaining their XMRs and equipment. The size differences between the alien dinosaur that was the Krell and the human marines seemed almost comical at a glance.
	Entering the restaurant, Joseph scanned across the tables, seeing both his company and the company of marines spread across the room and at the bar. Several small crates of ration packs sat on the bar, most likely from some of the crews who’d gone back out to the parking annex. Joseph moved along the edge of the bar, scooping a pair of field rations into his hand as he slipped through the door and into the kitchen. Inside, he saw Verska and her pack carving into the largest side of beef hanging in the cooler. He was glad they’d have something to keep their claws busy, rather than use them on someone else He sniffed the air as he slid past Whitman and Frankie cooking up a large batch of stir-fry rice they’d manage to find stashed somewhere in the pantries. The sweet onions and sizzle of oil tickled his nose as he opened one of the fridges along the wall, fishing out an apple.
	“Save me some of that, will you?” Joseph asked, leaning close to Whitman.
	“No problem, Captain. Smells good doesn’t it?”
	“Definitely. Hot food’s best food right about now.”
	Joseph turned back, humming to himself as he moved out into the restaurant. He dropped his meal at an empty table by the windows before strolling silently towards the bar. The marine lieutenant behind the bar glanced up from the wrinkled novel in his hands, half-asleep as he stood between Joe and a drink.
	“What do you want, sir?”
	“Bourbon and cola.”
	The marine produced a glass from beneath the bar. His hands moved swiftly, pulling ice from the freezer under him. Next, he slid the soda hose into place, filling half the glass with the chocolate brown soda.
	“What kind of whiskey?”
	“What?” Joe asked, taken aback by the new development.
	“This bar’s got like, five different types of whiskey. Which one do you want?”
	“Fuck it, give me that top shelf shit.”
	The marine nodded, pulling a tall, green bottle off the upper shelf behind him. He passed it to Joseph and turned back to his book.
	“I trust you can control yourself, sir.”
	Joe nodded and returned to his table. The chair creaked as he sunk into the cushion. He felt the pressure in his back fade as he leaned back, lounging in the chair and opening the bottle. A quick swig of whiskey woke him, burning it’s way down as he tore into the first ration kit. The meal was adequate by an ordinary pallet, but to him, any food would be worth it. Washed down with the whiskey, he wouldn’t taste much anyway. His eyes shifted towards the kitchen door, watching them swing open. He expected either Whitman or Frankie to be carrying stir fry, but found his eyes set on Verska.
	She’d abandoned her fatigues and armor somewhere, wearing only a simple gray tank top and shorts. Joe drank in the details of her form, following mane of deep orange hair flowing down her back. The subtle groove of her spine guided his eyes down to the flair of her hips and the swishing snake of her tail, the faded striping blending in the motion. She turned away from the bar, drawing his eyes up over the twin rows of abdominal muscles and to her ample bosom restrained by the fabric of the tank top. His eyes flicked back down to the meat of her solid thighs as they carried her away from the bar. He drank in her moving form with a mix of curiosity and attraction. It suddenly became clear why some of the marines were so taken by the Equatorials. Aside from the more noticeable aspects, they were physically similar to humans.
	When she turned her emerald eyes to him, he  dropped his eyes and returned to his meal. He tore at the MRE packages when he felt her shadow fall over him. He glanced up, seeing the smirk carved across her face leering back down at him.
	“Mind if I join you, Captain?”
	“Go for it,” he replied, waving to the chair across from him. “Grab a seat. Company might make the MREs easier to eat.”
	Her smirk broke into a carnivorous smile as she set the bowl and bottles on the table. She slid the chair away with her tail and sat on the floor, folding her legs in front of her.
	“What are you drinking?” She asked, prying her first bottle open with a claw.
	“Whiskey and cola. After that, just whiskey. You?”
	“More of that wine. Strong, but it’s growing on me.”
	“I can drink to that,” Joseph said, talking a long draw of his drink.
	“So Captain, you still owe me that history lesson.”
	“I believe I do. Care to hear it now?”
	She nodded as she hooked a hunk of bleeding meat into her teeth, tearing at it with the razor sharp ivory points.
	“Alright, so I need to go way back in our history to the year 1914. A mixture of treaties, alliances, mounting pressure, and old feuds led most of the Earth’s greatest empires and their colonies to war. Combat could be seen in one way or another across our entire planet on a scale no one could’ve imagined, hence why it was known as the Great War and The War to End All Wars. Now we simply call it World War 1-”
	“That sounds like there was more than one.”
	“Because there was, but that comes later. As for World War 1, it all started with one man and a gun.”
	“Sounds like he fucked up.”
	“In a way he did. He was fighting to see his home gain freedom from the Austro-Hungarian Empire who’d ruled the region for some time. What he did was assassinate the heir to the Austro-Hungarian throne and his wife. This kicked off a political crisis with the small neighboring Kingdom of Serbia. It was worsened by the fuck-massive Russian Empire who supported Serbia. Austria-Hungary declared war on Serbia while Russia pressured Austria-Hungary to leave Serbia alone. Germany, Austria-Hungray’s ally and one of the main military powers on the continent, joined the war to help Austria-Hungary fight Russia to the east. Problem was, Russia had allies in France and Britain to the west of Germany who joined the fray. Germany didn’t want to fight a two front war against three powerful opponents, so they relied on the Schlieffen Plan where they’d stall against Russia in the east, while a quick attack through the neutral country of Belgium would allow Germany to knock France out of the war quickly, then Germany and Austria-Hungary would team up on Russia and win. However, the attack into Belgium and France failed to achieve a quick victory. The mobile war in the west soon became bogged down into harsh and bloody trench warfare. Old tactics and new technology cost hundreds of thousands of lives in these opening months fighting for inches and meters. Combat turned into mass infantry charges across fields of mud, craters, and barbed wire while the enemy shredded them with machine guns and snipers. It carried on until September 1916, when the first tanks say combat with the British army.”
	Her ears focused and her eyes beamed from beneath the stray strands of her mane hanging in front of her face. Joe was willing to bet she was actually listening to him drone on. He cleared his throat to continue, allowing his hands to gesture and accentuate his words.
	“Now, before I go on, I should add why we call them tanks. The British referred to the first vehicles as water tanks in communications so the Germans wouldn’t be suspicious. One morning, the Germans were introduced to a new, terrifying weapon: the Mark 1 Landship. It was a slow, metal box bristling with machine guns that crawled over crated and barbed wire on metal treads. They’d trudge across the barren waste of no-man’s-land to the enemy trench and sweep it with fire. If the defenders didn’t run, they’d be mowed down like grass. At first, the Germans couldn’t find a way to kill the tanks with anything short of dropping a massed artillery barrage on them and hoping a shell got lucky and hit the tank itself. Eventually anti-tank weapons and tactics emerged and with it an arms race between making tanks better and finding a way to kill them.”
	He paused to finish his drink and refill the glass with more whiskey. Verska, having finished her meal, crossed her arms over the table and laid her head down, keeping her eyes on Joseph as she yawned. If she was bored, she should say something, Joseph thought.
	“If you’re tired, I can continue in the morning.”
	“No need. Meal was a bit heavy. Anyway, learning how you monkeys fought is at least interesting.”
	He nodded, resuming where he left off.
	“Eventually the war ended. A treaty was signed, punishing Germany harshly. It left a lot of bad blood in Europe that festered for the next twenty years. A veteran of the last war led his people to rearm out of vengeance with an intent to conquer the world. And with that, World War 2 began. Between the wars, many nations pursued research on tanks. The British and French expected a war like the last, and so they built heavy tanks meant to excel in trench warfare and fast tanks to exploit gaps. What they encountered was far different…”
	Joseph slapped the table with his hand, forcing Verska to sit upright and sink her claws into the wood of the table on reflex.
	“Blitzkrieg. Lightning war. The Germans learned from the last war, and changed tactics. Armed with tanks, motorized infantry, and wings of attack aircraft; the Germans were able to race through a weak point in the French line and effectively cut the enemy army in half on just a mad dash to the sea. That was only the beginning, too. Six years later and millions of lives later, tanks had become the kings of the modern battlefield and that was only the beginning. Tanks continued to be key points in any modern army, but they weren’t always effective in muddy proxy wars. Now and then, they’d clash during major wars like the Second Ethiopian Crisis, the Silver River War, or the Second Polish-Russian War. This centuries-long legacy of human conflict led to the Kodiaks outside as some synthesis of tech. American armor, European cannons, Russian autoloaders, Japanese power plants, a hull optimized for crew survival, all just parts of a larger whole. Any questions?”
	“Why the speakers?”
	Joseph laughed a little bit, drinking back some of the amber whiskey.
	“That….That was actually Captain MacDonald’s doing. He felt playing music in battle would help keep morale up and possibly fuck with the bugs since they probably had some form of ear. And he always had the best excuse when a superior asked about it.”
	Joe paused, taking a deep breath as he worked the accent out in his head. He opened his mouth and let his best Scottish accent flow. “Aye, there’s nary been a true Scotsman who’d’ve gone to battle without a piper at the lead. So when we rush the damned bugs, we’ll rush them with howl and wail of man and pipe. And I’ll be double damned if you soggy lot try to take them off.”
	He looked back to Verska, seeing her massive hand trying to hide a laugh.
	“What the hell was that?”
	“That, was my horrid attempt at replicating the late, great Alban MacDonald’s nigh unintelligible accent. I swear, it only got worse when he got mad or drunk.”
	“You speak highly of him.”
	“And we should. He was our Bravo’s Captain through our formation and training. To some, he seemed like a second father. To others, he was a dear friend. He was stern, but fair. He taught us to treat each other as family because as he put it ‘Family’ll fight through hell itself for one another.’ And as far as we can tell, he’s right.”
	“Because we’re all brothers now,” Whitman interrupted, hooking his arm around Joseph’s neck. He slid a bowl of stir fry in front of Joseph and pulled a chair up to the end of the table.
	“In short,” Joseph resumed. “He would’ve been our Alpha if I’m using that term correctly, but now that title falls to me, for better or worse.”
	“MacDonald?” Whitman asked, shoveling some of the rice into his mouth.
	“Yep.”
	“Oh, man. The stories we could tell. Joe, you remember Reveille with MacDonald?”
	Joseph felt his hands tighten around the bowl before him. He fought back the growing scowl as the phantom screech of MacDonald’s bagpipes and swearing began to scratch at the back of his mind. Next to him, Whitman cracked a smile as he watched his Captain relive the memory.
	“Every day, he was cursing and wailing on those pipes of his to get us up and in formation. And he wouldn’t stop until the last man was at attention. And then there was his damned kilt.”
	He turned back to face Verska as he worked to piece the words together in his brain.
	“There a few kilt-related incidents during our training back on Earth. The worst of which was during a company obstacle course run. We were assigned an order and I wound up in the slot right behind MacDonald. Next thing you know, we’re running the course like its nothing new until we reached the rope ladder. MacDonald was taking it slow to recover some energy for the later obstacles. I hit the ladder at full speed and start clambering like its on fire. Then I looked up and….I should clarify that a kilt is effectively just a skirt and MacDonald apparently had a habit of not wearing underwear with his.”
	Verska began to laugh, stifling the sound, but letting her chest seize with each humorous wave.
	“There are some things that a man shouldn’t have to see at close range. His CO’s sweaty junk is one of those things. Next thing I remember, I was hanging upside down with my right leg snagged in the rope ladder. And that’s not the worst of it. MacDonald scurried back down to help, but caught his kilt in the rope ladder before hunching over to check on me. So anyone behind him, which was the rest of the company, got a full show to the Captain’s equipment.”
	Joseph started to laugh along with Verska as he tossed back more of the whiskey.
	“What about you? Got any funny stories, Verska?”
	“Funny?” She chuckled. “I wouldn’t say I have any funny stories. But, I’ve had my share of fights and some of them would make for good stories.”
	“As nice as that would be,” Whitman started, rising from the chair. “But knowing how the Borealans get after a fight, I think I’ll pass on story time. See you two in the morning.” Whitman snapped a lazy salute and Joe returned it. The gunner strolled off, leading Joe to follow him with his eyes. Scanning the restaurant and bar, Joseph found that the crowd was thinng save for a couple tankers and marines wrapping up meals and drinks. He turned back to Verska, finding her emerald eyes sizing him up from across the table. He felt her long tail brush against his ankle as she leaned closer, letting her hair fall about her shoulders.
	“So Captain,” Verska sighed. “Wanna go upstairs and fuck?”
	Joseph coughed into his glass and wheezed, thumping his chest to recover his breath. He’d heard the stories about how the Borealans tended to lack tact, but this caught him flat-footed. Worse yet, he could’ve sworn her tail had begun stroking his shin.
	“W-what?”
	“You heard me.”
	“Yeah...Yeah I did.”
	“Look Captain, I’m a Borealan. We eat, drink, fight, and fuck our way through life. Now I’ve sated three of those four, and I’m picking on you.”
	Joseph weighed her words, his eyes glancing down from hers. Her prompt was crass and simple, but something in Joe stirred to match the flicker behind her eyes.
	“Don’t try to think of some excuse. I saw you checking me out earlier. You couldn’t keep your eyes off me then.”
	“Yeah, you got me there.”
	Should he accept her offer? He bounced from thoughts of accepting, following her upstairs to who knows what, the seeing every inch of her form. She had a body a woman might kill for and she knew it. It was a summation of things Joe ultimately surmised. From the brash confidence she exuded and her directedness to the way her eyes seemed to carve through him and the glow of her hair in the restaurant's lights. She intrigued him, leaving him curious to learn and experience more.
	He shook his head as he put the words together in his head. A cheeky grin cracked his face as he locked eyes with her.
	“Sure. Better than spending a cold night alone.”
	Verska let a sincere smile curl across her face, leaning across the table.
	She whispered in a low, husky tone, “Then let’s not waste any time, Captain.”
	She pushed to her feet and took the unopened bottles in her massive padded hand. Her free hand hooked around Joe’s shoulders, herding him towards the door. She pressed him against her as they moved out the doors into the lobby. Even with the glancing contact, he could feel her radiating warmth like a space heater.
	“Don’t be so nervous,” She said, slowing her stride and pulling his head against her flank. “I’m not going to eat you.”
	“I ain’t worried about that. More from the fact that it’s been a while since I’ve been with a woman. Waging war at FTL speeds doesn’t do favors for romance.”
	They’d reached the second floor and slid down toward Joe’s door, sending his hand fumbling for the room key. Her hands gripped his shoulder, spinning him to face her before closing around the front of his shirt. His heart revved in his chest, thruming a heavy, hectic rhythm as her tail coiled his waist. The fuzzy snake of muscle tightened, lifting him clear of the floor and to eye level with Verska. Blood rushed to his face, flashing red cheeks and shuddering breaths as she pressed closer. The first few strands of her hair fell against his cheek, teasing his burning skin.
	Her full lips, soft and smooth to the touch, pressed against his. Her tongue worked its way into his mouth, letting the long organ flow in. Its coarse surface scraped against his own, sending a wave of stimulation across Joe’s body. Her tongue continued to pour in, bulging his cheeks with tingling barbs as her metallic taste filled his mouth.
	He remembered to breathe, flooding his lungs with the cocktail of her scent. Hints of flowery soap or perfume mixed with a more primal scent. It only egged him on, the primal aroma scratching the back of his neck. He reached up, curling his fingers through the silken fur on her forearm. Slowly, she withdrew her tongue and broke off the kiss before she lowered him back to the floor.
	“You say it’s been a while, let me solve that for you, Captain.”
	“Call me Joe when we’re not being official.”
	She leaned in, trapping his earlobe between her teeth.
	“Then open the door, Joe, before I get bored.”
	Joe shuddered from the bite, fumbling into his holster for the keycard. He fished it free and swiped it against the door, hearing the tumblers click open. He turned the knob and pushed it free before stepping into the room. The heaters kicked on as the lights illuminated the room, casting a warm light over them. He crossed towards the chair where his flak jacket and helmet sat. He pulled his shirt over his shoulder and tossed it next to his drying fatigues.
	He turned back to Verska, eyes flicking over her muscled form. Her green eyes scanned his form. She tilted her head, puzzled by the bulk of his torso and the thick mat of black hair covering his chest. She moved towards him, her clawed toes silent on the carpet till she was towering over him at the foot of the bed. A clawed hand reached out, four immense fingers tipped with curled, black claws began to run through the hair. She felt the give of fat on the surface and the layer of muscle beneath that.
	“You’re bigger than I expected and….”
	“Hairy? Yeah, I get that often. Humans come in a lot of shapes and sizes. We aren’t all the toned, athletic, muscled marines.”
	Her claws came to rest on his shoulder, her eyes focusing on the pattern of ghost white markings tracing an ellipses over his shoulder and along parts of his arm and upper chest. The familiar color of scar tissue catching her eye as she traced them with the hook of her claw.
	Joe followed her hand, looking down to the familiar scar on his shoulder. He placed a hand on her claws and turned back to face her, noting the myriad of scars etched across Verska’s arms, legs, and abdominals. As he looked up, he found himself being lifted off the floor. Her tail coiled his waist again before tossing him back onto the mattress.
	He forced himself up, wanting to chide her for that, but Verska pounced while he was reeling. One of her massive, padded palms pressed against his chest and drove him down into the bed. She straddled his waist, her shapely thighs squeezing him between her. She rested most of her weight on her legs, but he felt her bulk on his hips.
	She withdrew her hand from his chest, hooking her fingers under the trim of her tank top. She pulled it upwards painfully slowly as he squirmed between her thighs. The fabric slid up, slowly exposing more of her abs, his eyes following across the patchwork of scar tissue. She came to her bosom, teasing as she let the first curves of her breasts peeked out from beneath the shirt. Then in one sudden flash of muscle and fur, she whipped the tank top over her head, sending her mane of fiery hair flying. Her breasts bounced free, moving in sync with her deep breathing.
	Joe felt his blood run hot as he watched her move above him. He felt his heart drum against his ribs as she pressed her groin against his. She leaned in, her coarse tongue slithering across his chest. As she crossed to his shoulders, her head snapped forward, pressing against his neck. His nervous system lit up as she drew back, her eyes hungry.
	“Shit,” he muttered. What had he gotten himself into.

Chapter 7: Be With Me In The Morning
	Every fiber of his body ached, screaming out in a mute cry throughout his form. His pelvis was the worst, feeling damn near fractured. She had shown him something primal and ravenous last night, biting him with him barely able to return the favor. They’d made a mess of the bed, staining the sheets with fluids and tearing them with her claws. He’d enjoyed the sensation, heat, and the heavy, rough motion of it all and how doting she became afterwards.
	He opened his eyes, staring up at the white ceiling above them. He moved to flip onto his side, instead finding a weight holding against the mattress. He found Verska’s ears poking out from beneath the blankets. She’d coiled herself around him, hungry for any warmth she could absorb from him.
	He groaned, wriggling in her grasp to free his arms, stopping when he felt Verska stir. Her ears swiveled to face him before her green eyes gleamed from under the covers.
	“Morning.”
	“It’s cold.”
	“Says the one curled up under the quilt.” He chided, running his fingers down the back of her neck. “If you let go of me, I can turn the heater up.”
	She loosed a rumbling groan and relinquished her constricting grasp, curling deeper beneath the covers. Joe pried himself away from the insane warmth of her body and slid to the edge of the mattress before swinging his legs down to the carpeted floor. The frigid air crawled across his skin, making him shudder as he took his first steps of the morning. His legs were stiff and unresponsive as he crossed towards the thermostat. He felt lucky his pelvis hadn’t cracked and that he’d be resting for most of the day.
	A few clicks and the heater began to hum quietly as it went about its work. He turned back to face the bed, watching Verska uncoil and stretch her full size across the mattress. Her eyes sized him up, before she held her palm over her face to try and hide a laugh.
	“What’s so funny?” Joe asked, starting back towards the bed.
	“You look so small now.”
	“Wha- Oh. Yeah, yeah. I blame the cold...and it’s not like you were complaining last night.”
	“You might not be the biggest mate I’ve had, but you are my favorite.” She crooned before reaching out and pulling him back into her embrace beneath the covers. Her smooth skin and sharp scent tickled his senses as he felt her claws begin to scratch the back of his head. He let his hands wander free across her form, trying to pull himself closer to her. He buried his face against the glass-smooth skin of her neck. He took in lungfuls of her scent as he relaxed.
	“At least you enjoy cuddling,” She sighed, squeezing him against her musculature. “My packmates usually go limp after we rut and you humans usually seem stingy about it afterwards.”
	Joe let a short chuckle roll out before he looked up into her eyes.
	“I wouldn’t’ve pegged you to be much of a cuddler.”
	He felt her claws crawl down his back as she brought her face down to his ear. Her breath was warm, tingling his skin as she spoke in her low, husky, smooth voice.
	“So you’d think, Joe.”
	“I’d’ve thought a lot of things wouldn’t’ve happened, but today has been a bit of a surprise. From fighting bugs in a tank to waking up next to a damned beautiful alien woman.”
	He felt her face heat up as she buried her nose in his hair, drinking in his scent. They lay together like that, breathing in the musk clinging to the bed. Time seemed to flow as a miasma, without measure or weight. The world outside the room seemed intangible to them as they held one another beneath the covers. Aside from the slow rhythm of their breathing and the hum of the heater, the air was quiet, the only light being the faint glow from the bathroom night light. He turned his face towards the nightstand, watching the digital face of the alarm clock count off the minutes with the dull red glow.
	It was close to 7:15 when the silence disappeared. At first the rumble was barely audible, but it grew to a clear, low growl. Curious eyes and ears followed it beneath Verska’s abs.
	“Breakfast?”
	“You read my mind, Captain. However, we stink of each other, so I’m going to bathe first.”
	“Fair enough.”
	They released each other, rolling to the edge of the stained, reeking mattress. The frame sloped under her weight, pulling Joe back against her. Her tail twitched, coiling around him as she rose on her long, toned legs. She pulled him to his feet before starting towards the bathroom. His eyes traced the groove of her spine down to the flare of her hips, watching them roll with each long stride across the room. Her tail swayed to accentuate the motion of her body as her pale complexion seemed to glow in the low light of the room.
	They entered the bathroom, letting the lights flicker on and cast a golden hue over them as Verska’s clawed toes clicked against the seafoam green tiles. They found the shower stall against the far wall, a wide basin lined with clear glass panels with a brushed steel frame and hardware. The nozzles were embedded in three walls, positioned so they could angle and rotate to the desires of the user.
	They stepped in, letting the water flow over them, growing warmer and casting clouds of rolling steam up towards the ceiling. The pressure and heat kneaded their muscles, melting their aching pains. He watched the rivers and stray beads of water form and flow over her glass smooth skin. He followed them over the landscape of her body, the vast, rolling plains of unmarred skin and discolored canyons of scar tissue. Beneath the supple skin writhed the layers of muscles that gave her the impressive physique she flaunted, one he’d become intimately familiar with the night before.
	She turned back towards his, crooning in almost ecstatic bliss as the shower nozzles went about their work. She caught his eyes wandering over her again, seeking the little details before coming to rest on her ample bosom. Taken to scale with the rest of her body, Verska’s breasts were a reasonable size Joe gauged to be something akin to a high C or D, but when taken with her 8ft stature, they were massive to him, closer to pert and perky watermelons.
	“You’ve got quite a lot of scars, Verska.”
	“As I should. Each one was from either fight I remember.”
	“Well you lot are rough lovers and tough fighters, so that makes sense,” he chided, reaching for the tiny bottle of shampoo resting beside them.
	“My scars are easy enough to explain, Captain. But I’m curious as to what scarred your shoulder.”
	Joseph glanced to the web of scar tissue across the front, top, and back of his left shoulder.
	“A kodiak did this to me.”
	“One of your tanks?” She asked, cocking her gaze with a tinge of confusion.
	“Not that kind of Kodiak. Our tanks were named after a terrible beast from back on Earth. And to be honest, I’d wager a week’s pay they’re bigger and meaner than even you. This one….towered at about ten feet high when it reared up and must’ve weighed close to two tons.”
	“These kodiaks sound like a worthy challenge.”
	“Yeah. Well, having one run you over isn’t all its cracked up to be. I’d woken up to take a leak and strayed towards the edge of our camp. I kept my pistol on me because we’d seen bear tracks on the way in, so we weren’t taking chances. So I’d finished my business and was turning back to my tent when it hit me. My senses kicked off, telling me something was out past the treeline. Maybe it was some smell or sound, but something gave me a warning. And that was all I had. I went for my gun when it came crashing in from behind. I turned, seeing this shaggy wall of hatred barreling down on me. I fired, but the pistol didn’t seem to slow it before it was on top of me. The bastard hurled me against a tree and three ribs fractured before I hit the ground. Next, it came in and tried for my face, but I squirmed and crawled, so it took my shoulder in its jaws.”
	He paused, letting his hand rest on her shoulder before walking his fingers to stroke her cheek, feeling the constant heat she radiated.
	“As much as your love bites hurt, they aren’t shit compared to this bastard. It crushed my entire shoulder blade in his jaws. The collarbone, scapula, and the upper end of my humerus were shattered. Then he crushed my chest under his paws, breaking a number of ribs and puncturing a lung. From there, he gnawed on my head, but my hair’s hiding most of the scars. Thank God for modern medicine.”
	He chuckled and ran fingers through his hair, seeking out the tell-tale scars.
	“And yet here you stand.”
	“Yeah, in a shower with a naked alien. Most likely, had my friends not been up and out after the first two shots, that bear would’ve killed me. Instead we shot it to shit and I hung the fucker’s head on my wall with his pelt as a rug.”
	“Oh, mighty hunter,” Verska swooned. “At least you survived.”
	“Yeah…”
	“Because now you can help wash my hair.”
	She flashed a sultry smile before folding her legs and dropping to the floor. The round globes of her butt pressing out across the tile. She threw back her head, letting her wet hair whip across him.
	“But I am glad you bested the beast, Captain. Otherwise your tanks wouldn’t help us win this war and you would not have been here last night.”
	She took a grip of his hair and pulled his face close to hers, pressing her teeth into the flesh of her neck. His nerves lit up across his body and he moved on instinct, dropping the soap and running his fingers across her figure. He felt her mighty muscles tense and twitch with his ghostly touch before he brought them to her chest and sank them deep into the flesh of her breasts. A surprised shudder, laced with arousal, raced through her body before her tail coiled around him and swept him off his feet. In a flurry of water and muscle, Verska had him on his back. She straddled him, grinding her loins against his. She leaned down on her immense arms, watching him with her gleaming eyes. She bit her lip, sending a pulse of lust and eager glee through Joe’s body. His body responded and he felt heat flush and swell within him as she took him into her.
	“Joe, I think I’ll enjoy our time together.”
	“I couldn’t agree more.”
	With his hands, Joe let his fingers roam her body, hunting for handholds across her form, sinking his digits into the thin layer of fat that accentuated her curves and felt the tension of her frame beneath.
	She began her harsh, heavy rhythm drawing gasps and moans from both of them as they forgot the shower and indulged in each other. Joe felt his body trapped between the floor and her stern lovemaking. Doubling over from the waves of harsh, pulsing sensation, Verska looped one of her immense paw-like hands behind Joe and pulled him up, burying his face between her bust and neck. They mouthed, kissed, and bit one another, feeding into the roll of her hips and the drumbeat of her heart, drumming away in her chest.

****

	She smelled of lavender and mint as they returned to the bedroom, pulling their clothes on and exchanging quick, eyeing glances between them. Joe policed his gear, donning his flak jacket and letting his helmet rest easy on his head. He slung his XMR to his back and moved towards the door. The upper floor was silent as they descended to the lobby. She batted at him with her long muscled tail before stopping at the bottom of the stairs.
	“I need to rally my pack and get my uniform. Then I’ll find you for that breakfast you promised.”
	“Aye to that. I’ll see you in there.”
	He watched her saunter down the halls, his eyes tracking the sway of her hips, feeling she knew he’d watch and each step was her way of teasing him.
	He broke his gaze and moved towards the lobby. Some of the marines and crews were scattered about, chatting and trading bits and pieces of ration kits. Whitman and Knispel were propped against the reception desk with a field commset between them. They straightened up when Joe approached, snapping off simple salutes.
	“Morning Cap,” Whitman started with a chuckle. “How was your night?”
	“Good. What’s with the commset?”
	“Trying to get in touch with command,” Knispel spoke up. “See what standing orders are since the snow’s still coming down-”
	“Only thing is that we’re getting interference from either the building or storm,” Whitman said.
	“Have you tried using the tanks’ comms?” Joseph asked.
	“Not yet, but that was our next idea.”
	“Alright,” Joe said, starting for the door. “Let’s go do this.”
	“Aye, Captain.”
	They pushed open the lobby door, knocking away the drifts of snow piled against the glass. Almost instantly, the piercing daggers of wind and ice set upon them. They shuddered and quaked as their bodies fought for homeostasis. Past the overhanging roof, the blizzard sent long belts of blinding white swirls across the open ground.
	“Fuck it’s cold,” Whitman groaned.
	Joe started, stepping out into the snow banks towards the parking structure. Each stride sank to the knee, shooting snow and meltwater up his pants leg and down into his socks. He cursed under his breath as he trudged on. When they reached the parking structure, they loosed a silent cheer as they found the tanks and concrete floor free of snow and ice.
	They crowded around Highlander as Joe dropped the rear ramp and they piled inside. The crew compartment was warmer than the storm outside, but they turned the engine over and let the heaters whir to life. Joe slid on his comm headset and keyed it.
	“Bravo Actual, 1-1 radioing in, over.”
	He sat, waiting for several seconds while Knispel and Whitman hunkered in the rear bay, peeking up at Joe in the commander’s seat.
	“1-1, Actual. We’re reading you with some static, how copy? Over.”
	“Actual, we can hear you loud and clear. Requesting sitrep, over.”
	“Roger 1-1. The storm has halted all of the battalion’s advances, but it seems to have forced the bugs back from their outlying positions. We suspect they’re taking the break to dig even deeper into Sutton’s Haven. Over.”
	“That’s fucking great. What's the next set of orders for Bravo? Over.”
	“Storm is supposed to break late tonight. Your position is almost due north of the village. At 0730 tomorrow morning, Alpha, Charlie, Echo, and Foxtrot companies will begin an assault from west, east, and south. Once the bugs commit to the defense, Bravo is to attack from the north. We’ll hit the roaches from all sides at once. How copy 1-1, over?”
	“1-1 copies. Over and out.”
	“Good luck Bravo. Actual over and out.”
	Joe turned back to the others in the tank.
	“Alright boys. Here’s the score: The other companies will begin an early morning assault on the village. After the bugs get busy holding them off, we come like a dagger to the spine and hit from the north. If either of you see the Major or Lt. Fitzgerald, send them my way so I can brief them accordingly. Other than that, spread the word around to the others. Understood?”
	“Aye, Captain.”
	They let the engine fall back asleep and slid out the rear ramp into the frigid air. Turning to close the ramp, Joseph cast his eyes over the rest of the hotel grounds. The snow continued its constant descent, turning the air to a grey haze in the early morning hours. The open field lay covered in an undisturbed sheet of fallen snow. His eyes strained as they hunted over the seamless white sea before him. Even the far boundary walls were masked by drifts of powder. His mind flicked back to hikes through the hills and fields back home after a heavy winter storm, the land cast in a monochromatic prism that hid life beneath a dead cloak. Joe glanced back at the Kodiaks parked in close rank beneath the concrete of the parking structure. The external armor was a rolled gray with varying colors from the ramshackle pieces of hardware mounted as extra spaced armor. Once the snow’d fallen and the storm had left, the Kodiaks and marines would be spotted at longer ranges than he felt comfortable with. They’d need camouflage and they’d need it quickly if they wanted to make it through the next step.
	“Lieutenant,” Joseph called, following close to the others as they retraced tracks through the snow.
	“Yes sir?”
	“Have you and Whitman had breakfast yet?”
	“We have. There were some leftover eggs in the kitchen, but I can’t attest to if any are left now.”
	“Noted. I have a project for you two. Round up a few others and search any maintenance area you can. We need as much white paint, powder, and glue as you can get.”
	“Might I ask what this is for?”
	“We’re gonna try and make the Kodiaks blend into the snow.”
	“Understood sir. And what will you be up to?”
	“After I get some food in me, I’m going to get the briefings down and try to drum up some supplies to make impromptu winter grabs for the Krell and Borealans.”
	Knispel nodded, splitting off from Joe as they entered the lobby. He shook off the thin veneer of snow clinging to his jacket before he started towards the restaurant. He unlung his XMR against the bar and started back towards the kitchen, rifling through the fridge, freezer, and storage room to find a few cans of pork and beans. He cracked them open with his knife and left them on the bar by his seat. He started back towards the kitchen when Verska strode in. She’d pulled on her standard issue uniform, letting her hair fall about her shoulders. He met her gaze, sending a nod her way before he disappeared through the swinging doors.
	He set about gathering ingredients, decided something simple would be best considering the limited resources at their disposal. Good news was that they’d leave early in the morning, so the food wouldn’t need to last much longer. He’d fry up some chicken and eggs, maybe potatoes as well.
	Did she even eat potatoes? Her teeth would probably say no, but who knows. The thought crossed his mind, his fingers retracing where she’d sank her teeth in. She didn’t break the skin, but she was damn close. He laughed to himself, thinking she’d probably try to eat him if sex hadn’t been her driving motive. Despite his body’s warnings, he’d enjoyed being with her. It was something wild, harsh, frantic, but it played out in such a way that he wanted more. And then the way there was the way she’d conversed and cuddled afterward, a more doting and soft side to her behind her instinctual fury.
	The sizzle of the oil in the pan drew him back to the moment. His attention focused on the task before him, nurturing and crafting with the meat and eggs. He could feel his mouth water as he let each piece of food fall into the skillet, sizzling and popping in the grease. Slowly and steadily, he amassed a small mountain on the plates next to him. The plate he’d made for Verska dwarfed his both in mass and volume. His stomach growled as he took the plates in hand and started back out to the restaurant.
	He found her leaning against the bar where he’d dumped his equipment, she pulled glasses from behind the bar, scouring for something to drink. He watched her ear swivel to track him before her green eyes latched onto the food. He slid the larger plate towards her and mounted the bar stool. She’d found wine behind the bar, pouring two glasses between them.
	“So what is this?” She asked, hooking her claws into the mound before her?
	“Eggs fried with potatoes and chicken mixed in. Pretty good, but you can add salt if you feel its needed.”
	She shoveled some into her mouth, rending it on her razor teeth before her long tongue shot out to clean the grease away from the fur on her hands.
	“Not bad.”
	“Yep. So, where’s your pack?”
	“Two of your men took them to help ‘bypass locks and shit’ on your orders.”
	“Whitman….” Joe seethed. The gunner was at least clever in his methods.
	“Care to tell what that’s all about?”
	“We’re going to try and round up anything we can use to paint the Kodiaks white. Camouflage it against the snow. And after I eat, I need to brief your Major about our battle plan and then start work on winter gear for your unit. You guys don’t take kindly to the knee deep snow.”
	“Well, you saw me this morning. Me and my pack don’t handle cold well.”
	“Right, and the Krell are just big lizards. So what I was thinking is to round up all the spare blankets and apply them like a thermal layer over your uniforms and armor and then wrapping the whole thing in white fabric for camouflage against the snow. But all that comes later. For now, let’s eat.”
	“I couldn’t agree more.”
	Joe started on his eggs, taking some pride that she enjoyed his handiwork. They sat in relative silence as they ate, drinking sparsely to wash down the egg. Slowly, more of the crews and marines made their way into the restaurant, scrounging rations from storage tins and full meals from the kitchen.
	“So what did you do back in Elysia before all this?”
	“What do you mean?”
	“Like how I was an engineer. What job did you do before you wound up in the employ of the UNN. That’s what I mean.”
	“Frankly, nothing special. Wound up in the military back home. If I was a little better of a fighter, I might’ve joined the honor guard. But my pack got sent to the Pinwheel. Otherwise I probably would’ve been a hunter back home.”
	“And why’s that?”
	“I was raised on the edge of Elysia, close to the jungle. Me and my siblings ended up spending time out in the woods, playing, wandering, and fighting. I grew to know it like the stripes across my body.”
	“Sounds nice. I was like that with the forests back back in Missouri. I grew up in a small farming town, so I ended up bumming my way through woods and rivers for fun.”
	He saw her crack a smile as she stared down into her drink. Her eyes seemed to glow with a yearning to be somewhere else. He figured she’d rather be back home, on Borealis. He could relate. The fields, forests, and snowfall sent his mind walking back through the woods of his childhood.
	“One day this war’s gonna end. Then you’ll be able to wander the jungles again.”
	“Maybe. Maybe.”
	“Why maybe?”
	“We’re at war, Captain. As tough as I am, there’s always a chance I don’t come back. Our last Alpha fell during an assault on Kruger. I lead us after that. It’s been a number of campaigns where me and mine have been wounded or killed.”
	“Like MacDonald.”
	“What?”
	“The main reason I’m the Captain for Bravo Company is because Capt. MacDonald passed away during our unit formation.”
	“How do you mean?”
	“The good Captain was the heart of the Company, and some would argue the battalion. But, then the cancer hit. It came on fast, faster than anyone could expect. It changed him, hollowed him out with that impending dread that he couldn’t avoid. The shit moved too fast for them to treat, and one day, he just dropped off. They needed someone to replace him and I was first on that list, so they tagged me for it.”
	He took a long drink from his glass to buy time, reflecting on his thoughts. Verska watched him, her green eyes locked on as her ears swiveled intently towards him. He turned towards her, holding his glass in hand.
	“So, here’s to comrades lost.”
	She raised hers in turn to match his toast.
	“May they rest easy now,” Verska replied.
	“Cheers to that. Ain’t life a bitch?”
	“That it is, but otherwise, the challenge wouldn’t be as good.”
	“What is life without adversity?”
	“Boring,” she laughed, drinking deep in her glass. “But what about you, Captain?”
	“What about me?”
	“Where are you running off to after this war?”
	“Most likely back to Earth, to my old job as an engineer. At least until I get enough money stashed away that is. Funny thing is that my old firm still pays me as a liaison between them and the UNN, so I’m still pulling my old six-figure salary while I’m out here getting shot at, so odds are they’ll take me back.”
	“And after that?”
	“I’m gonna stop, retire, and spend whatever money I have left over to enjoy life. Maybe settle down, start a family of my own. What about you, if you ever do make it home?”
	He finished his drink, glancing back to Verska.
	“Eat, drink, fight, fuck. Ain’t much to it. Probably have a litter of my own somewhere along the line if all goes well.”
	His eyes shifted from her to the restaurant door. The Major and several marines made their way in, heading towards Joe and Verska. Joe capped the wine, sliding it down the bar away from them.
	“Good morning Captain, Lance Corporal.”
	“Major,” Joe responded, snapping a salute towards him.
	“At ease. I need to speak to you about your men. They seem to be looting paint from the supply closets around the building.”
	“Yes, on my orders, sir. We need to paint our tanks since this snowstorm wasn’t exactly in our plans.”
	“Camouflage?”
	“Yes, sir. And along a similar note, I was mentioning to the Lance Corporal that we could strip all the white sheets and fabric to make simple winter camo for your marines with a thermal layer beneath. Then the Krell and Borealans wouldn’t suffer when we launch the assault tomorrow.”
	“Tomorrow, Captain?”
	“Yes sir, fresh orders from Lt. Col. Moritz are to aid the rest of the battalion in our assault on the village tomorrow. I figured you would have already received your orders through your own comms gear, otherwise you would’ve sent for me.”
	“Next time you receive important orders like that, notify me immediately.”
	“Understood, sir.”
	“As for these supplies, I’ll task my men to aid yours. As for you, Captain.”
	“Sir?”
	“I want you to fill me in on your orders.”
	Joe nodded as the Major swung his gaze towards Verska.
	“Lance Corporal, round up your pack and the Krell. You’re in charge of assembling the winter camo for the rest of the unit.”
	“Sir.”
	“Good. Dismissed. Captain, follow me.”
	Joe slid off the stool and gathered his gear. He followed the Major out through the restaurant door and into the lobby. Immediately, he could see the growing collection of paint cans, brushes, white powders, and other miscellaneous supplies his company had begun to assemble. Surprising, but definitely not subtle in the slightest, Joe mused. No wonder the Major had come looking for him.

Chapter 8: Plans Inside of Plans
	He followed the Major to the left, flanking down a side hall and into a small meeting room. The circular table had been pushed to one side while the whiteboard on the far wall had a crudely drawn map of the valley on it, and a simple stand-in for both the hotel and the village. Crossing the room, the Major flung a marker towards Joe.
	“Fill me in, Captain.”
	“Aye, sir.”
	Joe strolled to the board, tracing out the other companies’ positions and the general routes of attack. He relayed what command told him that the others would attack in the early morning while Bravo would attack from the north and capitalize on the distraction. After they entered the village, fighting would turn to close quarters combat. The tanks would have to spearhead the push in with the marines securing the flanks and helping protect them by clearing the buildings.
	On paper, the plan would be simple enough, but in the back of their minds, they both knew it would turn into a brawl and he knew that speed and aggression would be paramount to  attack the rear of the bugs. The longer it took them to break through, the more likely the bugs could shoot back and rally for more of their phalanx charges. It would be a gamble from start to finish, but one they’d have to take.
	“If we aren’t careful about this, casualties will be higher than I’d like,” Joe sighed. “If we are going to assault an entrenched, urban position, we’ll need to establish some procedure for our men communicating with each other. In those narrow streets, my tanks are going to be vulnerable from every angle we aren’t looking. Without the tanks, your marines would easily be caught in crossfires and rooftop ambushes.”
	“Agreed. So, what do you have in mind, Captain?”
	Joe returned to the whiteboard, scrawling out simple symbols.
	“To start, if we post Krell flanking the lead tank, there machine guns could suppress any flanker. Assign some of the Borealans and humans as supporting fireteams, and they’ll be more effective than leaving the Krell alone on the flanks. Another idea would be to have at least two Borealans on the lead tanks in case the bugs try to swarm us cause if the bugs crack our hatches, we’re pretty much screwed.”
	“Shouldn’t be impossible to maintain this, but we’ll be under fire….No plan ever survives first contact with the enemy.”
	“Moltke,” Joe muttered to himself.
	“What?”
	“The quote you used. Helmuth von Moltke, some long dead Prussian general.”
	“Ah. Well, he’s definitely right.”
	“Agreed. Anything else, sir?”
	“Not now. I’ll inform my unit about this,” he gestured towards the board. “I suggest you do the same for yours.”
Joseph nodded and started back towards the hall. He returned to the lobby, seeing some of his crews aiding the marines as they organized bedsheets and blankets into stacks against one wall. He joined them, scouring unoccupied rooms for more materials and helping amass it with the others. Then, the more tailor-inclined took over, forming the Borealans, Krell, and humans into lines, cycling through them and taking their measurements. Once the line reached the end, volunteers were drafted to help cut the fabric down to working sizes. Then, they moved like clockwork. They called the towering aliens over one by one, sliding the insulation layers over their uniforms and armor to show them how to put it on in the morning. Next, they wrapped the white sheets over their victim at the time. On the Borealans, they covered them from the neck down near perfectly including most of the tail, leaving the ears, hands, feet, and tip of their tails blazing against the monochrome equipment. The Krell received the same treatment, their immense, scaled hides taking up the most fabric out of all to mask beneath the camouflaged veil.
	Joseph left them to their work, wandering out to the parking structure. His first glances against the shadowed recesses, seeing deep drifts of snow, growing and shifting. As his eyes adjusted to the dim, the drifts filled out, becoming the heavy, brutal frames of the Kodiaks. They sat quiet in the cold, their crews clambering over their hulls to put the finishing touches on the camo. He rounded up his men, taking time to brief them on tomorrow’s orders. As he ran over the plan of attack, he felt pangs of tension slide through him. These feelings were passing thou, subdued and cast away as his men responded. They were ready for a fight, confident in their skills and that of the marines that would ride with them into battle. Before long, he dismissed his men to finish their tasks and rest for the night.
	He turned, starting back towards the lobby before rounding the corner of the building, finding Verska and her pack standing out beneath the overhang. He watched their ears track the crunch of boots on the snow. Their eyes snapped to him, drawing Joe’s eyes back to meet Verska’s gaze. Her and her pack stood in a close huddle, wrapped in the white fabric. The fire of her mane seems to glow against the grey and white of the winter wraps.
	“Captain,” Verska nodded.
	“Lance Corporal,” He replied. “Enjoying the new gear?”
	“Definitely. I see why the Polars are as fat and hairy as they are.”
	“Agreed. Anything to stave off the cold.” He turned back towards the door before calling back over his shoulder. “Be careful not to freeze because we don’t have anything to thaw you out with.”
	One last glance over his shoulder caught the darkening clouds. Night was falling again, hastened by the heavy clouds and snow. The cold lashed at him, magnifying the growing threads of exhaustion pulling at him. He shuddered and started back into the lobby.

****

	Joseph dropped back against the lounge chair, his head tilted back. He watched the last few flakes of snow fall against the glass ceiling over him. He closed his eyes, hearing the howl of the wind outside. He let his body unwind as he rested, sinking deeper into the chair. He wasn’t tracking the minutes, only letting them slide by before the heavy, massive paw pressed against his chest, claws pricking his shoulder.
	Joe snapped his eyes open, finding Verska leering over him. She trapped him in the chair, her emerald eyes gleaming like a cat that caught a mouse.
	“You are so easy to sneak up on, you know that?”
	Joe cracked a smirk to match her growing smile.
	“Yeah, yeah.”
	“So tell me, Captain. Why are you up here all alone?”
	“Needed to get away from everyone, clear my head and relax before tomorrow. What are you doing up here?”
	She shrugged her shoulders, pulling back to tower over him in the chair.
	“You weren’t in your room so I followed the trail up here.” She said, waving to the room around them.
	She broke off her gaze, scanning the room.
	“What even is this place?” She asked, sauntering over to a shelf and pulling a book into her massive hands. It was comically small compared to her immense stature. She flipped through the pages before turning back to Joseph.
	“Shelves and chairs make me guess it’s a reading lounge. Haven’t really taken a look at what they left to read, though.”
Verska made her way back to him, her eyes glancing over the cover of the book.
	“You monkeys must love these things,” she mused.
	“Definitely. One of my favorite ways to pass the time.”
	“Why? That’s something I never really figured out. Why do you love these so much?”
	“Because of how vast they can be. They can range from some catalog of our histories, bearing warnings and lessons, ponder and reflect on questions profound and puzzling, or simply tell an enjoyable story.”
	“What about this one?” She asked, passing it to Joseph.
	He ran his fingers over the cover, feeling the coarse surface, lined with a smooth, aged leather spine, and the title inlaid in a silver font against the deep, forest green cover. The illustration showed a man hunkered down in a crater, his head hanging in his hands while another man lay dead in the mud before him.
	“All Quiet on the Western Front.”
	He grinned, opening the book, feeling the paper on the pages on his fingertips.
	“I remember reading this back in school.”
	Verska leaned over his shoulder, her mane of hair falling over his shoulders, tickling the back of his neck.
	“Well, Joe, what’s it about?”
	“It follows a German soldier through World War 1 as he realizes the horrors of the war change him as he slowly loses his friends and comrades one by one to the senseless slaughter. It was a good story, but a sad one.”
	“You could read it to me sometime. Maybe tonight,” she whispered into his ear.
	“Yeah, maybe,” he droned in response.
	He walked to the shelf, running his eyes over the rows of leather bound spines. Some he recognized, others he didn’t. Something coiled around his waist, pulling him away from the shelf and tossed against the cushions of a loveseat nestled against the wall.
	In a flash, Verska pinned him against the cushion, flashing her sinister smile.
	“But save the books for later,” she crooned, as she pulled that heavy fabric of her fatigues away, revealing the glass smooth skin beneath.
	Joe felt his body warming, knowing his face was flushing red at the sight.
	“We aren’t necessarily well hidden. What if someone walks in?”
	“Let them,” She crooned before silencing him, pressing her soft, full lips against his. She closed one of her massive hands around the back of his head, taking a tight grip on his hair. He brought his hands up, burying one in the deep red and orange of her mane while the other sought out the soft, ample flesh of her bust. She loosed a low rumble as his fingers glanced across her skin.
	She pushed him back against the cushions, pinning him easily with the bulk of her tail. Verska stripped off the last of her clothes, straddling Joseph. His body reacted as his eyes took in her form. He fought with his pants, kicking them away.
	Some time later, they lay there, coiled around one another. She crooned, running her claws down his back. Joseph listened to Verska’s low rumbling, purr as she held him close and stroked his scalp. Her warmth enveloped him, drawing him deeper into her soft skin.
	“I’m growing to enjoy this.”
	“Me too, Joe.”
	She tightened her grip on him, pressing her teeth against his shoulder like she had the night before. A love bite, leaving a red mark against his skin. The initial sting faded as he sank his teeth into the flesh of her shoulder. He bit back, tasting her skin and feeling her body clench around him on reflex.

Chapter 9: To The Battle
	Dawn came quietly, bringing the first glimmers of sunlight over the eastern hills and treetops. The men moved swiftly, loading weapons and equipment as they stirred around the Kodiaks. Joseph secured his XMR beside him as he mounted his tank. He double checked the ammo in his gun turret while Whitman and Frankie loaded the heavy autocannons flanking the main gun. It was early, the twilight dark still clinging to them beneath the parking structure. His breath clouded before him as he scanned over the faces around him.
	“Bravo, fall in,” Joseph called over the low murmur of voices and equipment.
	His company dismounted and crawled from the hulls of their tanks. Slowly, his men flocked to hear his words. They formed around the rear of Highlander, eyes cast up to their Captain.
	“Men, by now, you know our objective today. We’re retaking Sutton’s Haven from the damned roaches. They’re gonna be dug in worse than an Alabama tick, and we’re going to burn them out. We’ll have the marines with us, which should make it easier. But I don’t want any of you getting cocky over this. The bugs know we’re coming, they’ve been digging in while we’ve been here keeping warm. They’re as ready for a fight as we are and they’ve got the terrain advantage. They’ll try to swarm us and catch us in crossfires from the buildings. Try as they might to repel our assault, we’ve got one thing they don’t, our Kodiaks.”
	Joe stamped his boot against the turret roof, an audible clank against the relative quiet of the dawn. Now a few of the marines had turned, watching through their helmet visors. A few of the Borealans flicked their ears back towards them, listening to him as he addressed the tankers clustered before him in fatigues and white helmets.
	“If MacDonald were here, he’d rattle off some prayer or old blessing and try to psyche us up and calm our nerves. But, sadly he’s not. Instead, I am, and there’s only really one thing I want to say to you all before we roll out. And that’s that it has been an honor to be your Captain, to be with you since this unit formed.”
	He cleared his throat, taking a deep breath to collect his thoughts.
	“We are tankers. Men who rumble forth across the battlefield to deliver thunder and death to our enemies. We ride chariots of fire and iron, to do what normal men can’t, to break through the enemy and clear the way for the infantry. We climb into our machines, putting faith into our armor as we attack. Because if we succeed, victory will follow. So, my brothers in arms, I ask you this: Who are we?”
	“The Iron Wolves, Bravo Company!” They called back.
	“And what do wolves do?”
	“Hunt without fear!”
	“Intrepidus venemur!” Joe cried, his men echoing the call.
	By now the marines had turned, watching the crews as Joe dismissed them to their tanks.
	“Now mount up.” Joseph barked. He wheeled around and dropped through his hatch. One by one, the engines turned over as the marines clambered up the rear ramps and the aliens crawled up onto the turret roofs. Highlander shook as her engine came to life and the treads began to clank forward.
	The tanks fell into a staggered line with First Platoon leading out across the rolling yard of the hotel. They trampled back over the metal gate they left lying in the snow. Behind them, the treads crushed lines across the field. They moved out into the valley, swinging south towards the village. They would be in position within a matter of minutes, and then it become a waiting game before the rest the other companies began their assault.
	Joseph scanned out over the snow-covered valley before them. The slowly fading clouds and shadows that darkened the land before them tinted everything a beep blue. Even the Kodiaks fell to this strange discoloration. He glanced back over his shoulder, seeing Verska’s ears swing and pivot wildly, as her head turned slowly, her own sweeping gaze over the land. He guessed the rest of his man were  as tense, straining after some unseen enemy. The tension was well-deserved. If the bugs were expecting them, an ambush wouldn’t be out of the question.
	He reached into the turret, bringing the map overlay up to his hands. He glanced over the topographic scans, tracing a ridgeline a short distance north of the town. He crossed it against satellite maps finding that as they followed this road south, they could take cover behind a ridge or levee until they were ready to attack. To his right, Whitman began to whistle a slow tune as he thumped his hand against the roof of the turret. Joseph smirked, slowly recognizing the song and beginning to hum in rhythm. He clicked his mic on as Whitman began to sing, hoping it would bolster their moral and counter whatever tensions might be taking root. Behind him, he could feel Verska’s ears swivel to listen in.
	“Ob's stürmt oder schneit, ob die Sonne uns lacht,
	Der Tag glühend heiß, oder eiskalt die Nacht,
	Verstaubt sind die Gesichter, doch froh ist unser Sinn, ja, unser Sinn.
	Es braust unser Panzer im Sturmwind dahin.
	Mit donnernden Motor, zu schnell wie der Blitz,
	Dem Feinde entgegen, im Panzer geschützt.
	Voraus den Kameraden, im Kampfe ganz allein, ja ganz allein.
	So stoßen wir tief in die feindlichen Reih'n!”
	The tapping on his shoulder drew Joseph’s gaze back to Verska. Her pack eyed Whitman with curious glances, ears half-cocked towards the loud and lively gunner. He could read the confusion through their helmets and the way Verska seemed to cock her head.
	“It’s the Panzerlied, an old tanker’s song.”
	“I don’t understand what he’s saying,” she replied through the helmet comms.
	“That’s because it’s in German. Don’t worry about it. Listen if you want to because before long, I bet the rest of the column will be singing it too.”
	She nodded and Joe swung back to the front as his headset came to life. His men began to join in, humming, whistling, and singing through accents and inflections as they rolled along the snowy landscape. The next few minutes seemed to blur by as the comms channel came alive with the other companies’ chatter. He slid down into his seat and pulled up the map overlays. They were nearing the ridgeline and just beyond it lay Sutton’s Haven. He keyed his headset and began to bark off his orders.
	“Frankie, I want you to stop us just short of the ridge up ahead. We’ll hide behind it until its time to attack.”
	“Understood.”
	He flipped channels and relayed orders down the rest of the column.
	“Alright, Bravo, fan out behind this ridge ahead of us, keep in formation, because as soon as we get the go ahead, we’re rushing over it. How copy?”
	“Second copies.”
	“Third Copies.”
	Joseph popped his head back up through the hatch, turning to stare up at Verska. He let out a sharp whistle, turning her head towards him. He brought the map out to show her the ridgeline relative to the village.
	“When we stop, I need you to do something. I need you to take some of your pack up this ridgeline and relay anything you see back to us. If you see strong points, bugs in buildings, barricades, whatever. I need to know if it’s over that ridgeline. Because once we go, we have to move quickly. Understand?”
	She nodded, shifting her spear of a rifle in her arms.
	“Understood.”
	Joseph slid back into his seat and keyed the radio again.
	“Bravo Actual, Bravo 1-1, we’re almost into position. How copy?”
	“We copy, 1-1. The other companies are getting ready to push, so you’re right on time.”
	“Understood, Actual. 1-1 out.”
	The Kodiaks slowed to a halt, letting their engines idle behind the ridge. Verska and her pack dropped into the snow, sinking enough to engulf to lowest segment of their long, hinged legs. They raced low up the back, treeless slope of the levee, laying rifles in the snow to use their scopes to scan further out. Once they’d settled into the snow, the only thing clearly marking their position was the occasional flash of color from their swishing tails.
	“Captain, what are my Borealans doing?” The major asked, pulling himself up onto the side of Highlander. He balanced his XMR on his knee and locked eyes with Joseph.
	“I ordered your cats to scout the ridge. We don’t want to roll the belly up in front of an anti-tank gun.”
	“Captain,” Verska spoke up over the radio, “It appears the area’s clear ahead of us.”
	“Can you patch it through to my display?”
	“Yes sir.”
	Joseph dropped back into the turret, pulling his gunnery display in front of him. Her optical feed took over the screen, showing an open field leading towards the north fringe of the village. The field itself lacked cover save for the low concrete walls that hemmed in the edges of each field and segmented it into smaller plots. At regular intervals across the fields were squat prefabricated barns and silos. He eyeballed the distance from the ridge to the far side of the field at somewhere short of 300 meters.
	Past the far edge of the field was the beginnings of the village proper. The buildings were built of more permanent materials. Before them stood two and three story buildings of brick and metal. Some bore the colors of red stone or grey steel while others had simple siding covering the base materials. Most of the upper floors were lined with simple two-paned windows that faced towards the ridge. Each one was a potential shooting point that would have to be watched or suppressed.
	Running his eyes over the buildings, Joseph hunted for even the slightest glint of carapace or the glow of plasma. The main road continued out of sight between the buildings towards the center of town. When the attack began, they would have to crest the ridge and reach the fringe of the village. The question running through his head was whether or not they’d take fire doing so.
	Joseph pulled himself back up through the hatch and cleared his throat, drawing the Major’s attention back to him.
	“Yes, Captain?”
	“Based on what the Lance Corporal’s reporting back, we’ve got several farm plots to cross with a few sparse buildings. Past that is the edge of the village. Getting across that field will be the main challenge. We could have your men dismount here and follow us over the ridge. My tanks will try to draw the bug’s fire if they’re watching the field and cover your men as they follow us up and into the village.”
	The Major nodded.
	“Dismount,” He said, turning back to the rest of Verska’s pack. “Send the word through the column.”
	“Bravo,” Joe started, keying his comms. “Have the marines dismount and get ready. We’ll be clearing the way for them.”
Behind him, the metal ramps hissed down, letting the colorless marines pour free to blend into the snow. They moved in squads to the rear of the ridge, keeping rifles at the ready for the bugs.
	In the distance, a deep, rolling thunder washed past them. Smaller explosions followed behind, breaking the remaining shards of silence. The comms began to hum from the other companies calling out targets and communicating. The warble of XMRs began to sing like dozens of far off song birds.
	“Captain, I have movement,” Verska spoke up.
	Turning back to the camera feed, Joseph scanned across the building faces. Even in the lightless windowsills, he could see the scuttling movements of the drones. Some moved out from the buildings into the low cover of the walls hemming the far side of the field. The assault had stirred them up, and they were expecting the northern flanking move.
	“Hold fire, Lance Corporal,” The Major said, swinging down into the snow. “It’s your dance now, Captain.”
	Joseph nodded and slid back into the turret. He keyed the commset again and cleared his throat.
	“Bravo Actual, Bravo 1-1. We’re ready to push on the village. I’ll delay a few minutes before moving in.”
	“Understood, 1-1. The other companies are making headway and the bugs seem to have been caug-”
	A flurry of deep thuds rolled through the air, deep enough to rattle his teeth in his seat. Peeking up through the open hatch, Joe could see the faint streaks of outgoing fire.
	“Alert, alert,” Actual flashed. “Enemy has mortar positions on the north side of town. Hostiles using explosive and gas shells.”
	Static filled his ear for milliseconds before more voices poured in.
	“Alpha 2-1’s hit and burn-”
	“Charlie 1-3 isn’t responding. Gas must’ve got-”
	Joe turned to Whitman and nodded, tuning the commset to drown out the chatter and panic. So far casualties were light, but the mortars had only begun. A lucky shell hit could crack the Kodiaks if it came down on the engine deck or turret roof.
	“Bravo, move out. We’re going to wipe out those fucking mortars. Fuckers are using gas, so button up and get CBRN on.”
	Highlander lurched to life, clawing its way up onto the ridge. Joe waved the marines out of his way, muttering obscenities under his breath. His blood burned with an electric fire, adrenaline and tension wracked his muscles as they crested the ridge. He pulled the hatch shut, checking that the environmental seal had locked fully.
	“Bravo Actual, Bravo 1-1, we’re beginning our assault on the enemy mortar crews.”
	He reached beneath his seat, pulling the rebreather mask free and slid it over his face. The curved front of the visor distorted his view by an annoyingly minute amount. On instinct, he brought the roof gun’s feed onto his handset in front of him, squeezing off the controlled bursts into the buildings. His left hand flicked the speakers on and cranked the volume. Last he saw of it was the shuffle button glowing a sinister green.
	Highlander rocked back on its suspension as Whitman opened up with the main cannon. The second floor of what he assumed to be a general store disappeared in a flash and rained cinder blocks and glass on the bugs below.
	The first few shields glowed to life, their blue hue painting clear targets in the twilight as it melted to full-burning morning. He let a burst of plasma work the shields over, overheating them to failure before shredding the wielders with a burst of tungsten.
	From the right, a burst of plasma lanced across his screen. He twisted to the camera screens feeding him Highlander’s surroundings in nanosecond delays as they traced over it with HUD indicators of threats, friendlies, and all sorts of fire vectors. He found the source of the plasma burst. A cluster of roaches were pouring fire from the upper two floors and roof of a bakery.
	“Gunner,” Joe called out as he painted the building with tiny plasma bursts. “Follow my fire, frag that damned bakery.”
	“Affirm,” Whitman spun the turret and unloaded two HE shells into the first floor. The blast kicked out the foundation from beneath the bugs, sending them tumbling down in the avalanche of debris and exposing them to a deluge of return fire.
	In a matter of seconds, Bravo’s opening salvos had swept the bugs out of the storefronts and from behind the farm walls. The Kodiaks had pushed to within a hundred meters of the village proper. They let their guns fall silent as the marines followed up, spraying cautious bursts into any bug that didn’t look dead enough. Through the lull, Joseph could hear the speakers outside wail their Valkyrie cry of screeching guitars and a warbling bassline that hung in the air. The breaks in the melody came in harsh, gnashing bursts that mimicked rifle fire and the scream of aircraft flying low over the earth.
	“Alright Bravo,” Joe barked over the comms and the cacophony of the speakers. “Keep moving into the village. Keep your eyes peeled cause the bugs know we’re here now.”

Chapter 10: Interpidus Venemur
	The Kodiaks crept forward, letting the marines move past them and sweep into the homes and stores their first salvos had blown to pieces. Through the screens, he watched Verska and her pack lance the bugs on their bayonets, snapping their heads to hunt for another target or threat in the disarray. Highlander turned, leading them down the wide, white street flecked by the discoloration of bug blood. The low mounds of buried cars lined the left side of the street, the snow slowly shifting and vibrating from the rumble of the Kodiak. The buildings lining both sides of the street watched them with darkened eyes, waiting for some unforeseen event to lighten and cast their glow down across them. They thuds sounded again as another volley of mortar fire rolled out over the village, closer now as they moved forwards.
	The marines took to the mechanized support with little trouble. They paralleled the Kodiaks, sweeping around blind corners for any risks or ambushes. They’d moved a few blocks into the village when the crossfire came.
	Plasma bolts and shields flared to life from a bend in the road in front of them. The second firing position was from the back left while a third was from the back right. A handful of bugs at the least. At the most, enough to cut into the formation and cause issues.
Joseph lay on with the roof guns, shredding the forward position with plasma and metal. Whitman planted a thermobaric canister through the wall, engulfing the forward position in a choking fireball. Joseph flicked to thermal sights, regaining a target on the forward position through the burning smoke and rapidly growing steam clouds born of the superheated snow.
	“Bravo, rip ‘em apart.”
	The comms channel flared to life as the marines coordinated fire and called targets for the Kodiaks. The impact alarms began to cry as plasma bolts began finding their mark against the exterior of the hull and turret.
	“They’re jumping from the windows. Fuckin hell.”
	Joseph swung the roof guns to the right, tracking the incoming fire back to a cluster of windows. Before he could open up with the XMRs, a Borealan practically dropped a grenade through the window, blasting the floor and snuffing out a source one of the firing positions. The survivors poured from the windows, pistols and blades drawn. The few bugs that landed next to the tanks found themselves at the mercy of either a Krell or Mad Cat. Others landed on the tanks, beginning to hack at the hatches or the roof XMRs. They were focusing on Wildebeest, the second tank in line behind Highlander when Sergent Wicke’s accent came through Joe’s earpieces.
	“1-1, 1-2. We need a backscratch.”
	“Understood,” Joseph said, bringing his sights over 1-2’s turret. He sprayed short bursts of slugs, shredding the bugs’ carapaces.
	The sounds of weapon fire began to die down as the rear of the column mopped up the last few bugs.
	“Any casualties?” Joseph asked, scouring the buildings around them for any bugs waiting to launch a second attack.
	“Two dead, three wounded,” A marine responded.
	“All Kodiaks are ready to rock,” Knispel said.
	“Third Platoon, hold here. Have the medics stabilize the wounded and load the casualties into your bays. First, Second. We’re going to snuff those fucking mortars. Understood?”
	“Aye,” Fitzgerald snapped back.
	“Captain, I’m tasking the Borealans and three platoons to support your push,” The major sounded in. “The rest will follow your third Third Platoon.”
	“Aye sir. Anyone wanting a lift, follow up.”
	The Kodiaks began to roll forward slowly, allowing the marines to scramble into position alongside the tanks as they pushed forwards towards the bend in the road ahead of them. The tanks passed through the growing steam clouds driven up by the thermobaric shells, their weapons scoured the facades lining the street as they waited for the next volley of fire. As they rounded the bend, Joseph scanned ahead through the glowing display of his gun mount. The road ran less than a hundred yards before the narrow canyon of shops opened out into a wider avenue that curved continued for around a kilometer before opening out into a broad plaza. An immense earthen mount rose at the far end of the plaza that flicked with the outgoing arcs of mortar fire.a plaza. He opened his map overlay, scouring the northern edge of the village for the hill before locating it and marking the position for reference. They continued along the narrow street, pushing out onto the wider avenue. Highlander had just rounded the corner and turned towards the plaza when the deluge of fire came in.
	Drones appeared along a rise in the road ahead, firing down along the avenue while secondary positions opened up along the rooftops to the south. The external cameras were blinded by the volume of plasma coming in as Joe fired back wildly.
	“Gunners, engage,” he barked back on reflex.
	The impact alarms screamed before the fire lightened as Wildebeest and Mad Mike rumbled around Highlander, unleashing volleys of their own fire into the buildings. A volley of high explosive shells lanced out into the buildings, collapsing the stonework in an avalanche of rubble, pulling the drones down with it. Chain cannon fire strafed the remaining bugs who survived the collapse, slowly shifting left to strafe the rise. As Exterminator rumbled into position at the far end of the line, the four Kodiaks pushed forward and laid down a withering barrage down the street. Second platoon fell into formation behind them, hanging back to sweep the flanking buildings as the marines followed up.
	“You alive, sir?” Fitzgerald spoke across the command channel.
	“I sure hope so,” Joe responded before letting his XMR assembly open fire again. He changed channels on his commset and keyed the talk button.
	“Bravo Actual, Bravo 1-1. We have positive identification on enemy mortars, but are facing stiff resistance. Requesting fire support, how copy over?”
	“Actual copies. Feed coordinates for orbital fire mission. How copy?”
	“1-1 copies, Actual. No CAS on standby?”
	“Negative. All Penguins are helping Charlie break through. Actual over and out.”
	“Bravo, slow advance. Orbital is inbound, so stay the fuck in your tank,” Joe hissed as he fed the target data back to orbit, beaming it up and away from the carnage below.
	The Kodiak rocked slightly as Whitman skimmed a high explosive canister along the avenue, bouncing up over the bug position before detonating downward with a spray of shrapnel. They continued up the rise, firing at the bugs ahead of them until the line of drones broke, pulling back into the plasma under another volley of plasma. As Highlander neared the crest, Joe could see down the other side, seeing a patchwork of trenches ahead of them, weaving back and forth in a chaotic pattern towards the hillside. They were carved out of the streets and plaza before them, turning the snowy field into muddy pits bristling with the strange rainbow of chitin within.
	“Bravo, Bravo, heads up. Trenches ahead. Watch your speed and let the infantry sweep it first.”
	Highlander slowed as it neared the edge of the plaza, the commset chattering with an alert from the warships hanging in position high overhead. As they waited, the tanks continued to fire out across the plaza, sinking high explosive canisters into the trenches where the bugs shifted, blasting into the air with plumes of dirt and stone that hurtled a stray bug up into the cold morning air. Some of the marines moved into the closest trenchline, sweeping them with bayonets to ensure there weren’t any surprises left behind. The rest hunkered down behind the Kodiaks, waiting as the seconds ticked by before the sky opened up.
	In orbit high above, the UNN Tarawa tracked the data relayed by Bravo and the ventral batteries swung onto the target. With a slow, electric reverberation through the cannons’ housing, the coils began to glow with excess heat before a flurry of flashes carved through the void. The rain of tungsten rods hit the upper atmosphere, beginning to glow as the air friction burned against the metal plunging faster and faster through the atmosphere. The superheated metal glowed and crackled as it smashed through the frigid winter air over the target.
	From his shelter inside Highlander, Joe could hear the muffled thunder overhead, panning his XMR blister up to watch the strike arrive. The glowing tungsten rods sliced through the smoke rising above the village before impacting against the hillside, tearing into the surface in jets of dirt and stone and flashes of pent up kinetic energy. The rain fell hard and heavy across the surface of the hillside and down into the plaza as well, cratering the trench lines and blasting away the snow in vaporizing steam and muddy plumes. The torrent continued rattling Highlander and pelting it with stray stones hurtled away from the hillside. Under the deluge, the bugs ceased fire, pulling back across the plaza as they disappeared down through their tunnels into the earth.
	Slowly, the final strikes came and went, leaving a fading thunder as the marines pushed further into the trenchline. Highlander rolled forward into the plaza proper with the rest of First Platoon. They halted, forming a loose semi-circular pattern at the end of the avenue as Second Platoon pushed past into the plaza, bouncing and rolling over the strange trenches the bugs had abandoned. Joe watched as the four tanks lumbered ahead, turrets panning from side to side against some unseen hazard as the hulls dipped into the trenches before the treads gripped and bucked the tanks back up.
	“Bravo 1-1, Bravo Actual. Update from command. UNN Samar is deploying a second wave of marines from orbit, ETA 10 minutes for reinforcements. How copy, over?”
	“1-1 copies all, Actual. We’ll take all the help we can get. 1-1 over and out.”
	Joe turned his eyes back to the forces pushing ahead, watching the slow bob of the tanks until one stopped, rocking in place before the seventy ton machine dropped violently to the left, rolling onto its side with a cloud of dust and snow. The rest of second platoon slowed, halting as the tank came to rest almost upside down.
	“2-1, what the hell is going on?” Joe asked, bringing his XMR assembly to the front.
	“Fuck,” Fitzgerald hissed back. “2-3 hit a pit. The bastards dug fucking tank traps. They’re al-”
	The lance of blue-green plasma streaked out from the left side of the plaza, vaporizing snow as it slammed against 2-3’s roof with a sharp jet of molten metal bursting out the underside of the Kodiak. A spray of sparks and steam peppered the earth when the bugs returned, springing up from far trenches and holes along the far hillside, opening up with a deluge of plasma as their shields sprang to life. Second platoon opened up, firing widely into the oncoming swarm when a second plasma lance hurtled in from the left, slamming against 2-1’s turret cheek. The plasma bloomed and died, tearing the chain cannon pod with it.
	“First platoon, take the heat off of Second,” Joe ordered as he swung his assembly to the left, scouring the low retaining wall of the plaza for the plasma lance. He found the bugs swinging a strange spider-like thing seated at the corner of a small cafe. The long, needle barrel shifted towards the next target as the plasma shields flickered across its front arc.
	“Whit! AT gun, our 323, street level,” Joe barked as he engaged, rattling off streams of plasma and tungsten towards the gun. The turret spun as Whitman bore down, cycling to a high explosive canister, racing the bug gun to target. He felt Highlander rock as the AT gun flashed, the lance hissing by when the HE canister impacted the street, blooming up in a spray of rubble. The lack of molten metal spraying around the inside of the turret told him the bugs missed. Before he could order a second shot, Whit sent a thermobaric canister into the rubble, igniting the plasma lance in a fireball, melting the crew.
	Several deep thuds matched the impact alarms as he swung his guns towards the hill, firing over Second platoon towards the bugs pushing forward through the trenches. Several of the marines had taken to hurling grenades across the plaza to try and flush out the bugs. Highlander rumbled forward, sweeping the plaza with cannon fire as the bugs continued to drive across the trenchline. Thermobaric charges burst close to the ground, flooding into the trenches before they aerosol ignited and turned the groove into a burning rut in the surface. Steam and smoke hung over the plaze, wavering in the air as a mirage before them.
	“Third Platoon, status?” Joe called across the company channel before letting another burst of tungsten bolts fly, cleaving a drone in two as it climbed out of the trench.
	“Rolling in from the north of the plaza, 1-1. Check your fire to the north,” Knispel called back.
	“Mind you fire, boys,” Joe relayed across the wide comm before keying the vehicle channel. “Frankie, take us forward, we need to get the heat off Second.”
	Highlander clambered across several trenches, slowly advancing around the end of 2-3’s stranded hulk. As they pushed forward, the rear hatch on 2-3 swung open and two of the crew appeared, slowly pulling the third free of the tank and down into the trench behind them. Another volley of high explosive canisters carved a gap in the drone’s ranks before pushing them down into the trenches where the marines were waiting, engaging with focused volleys of plasma fire.
	From the left, another ripple of cannon fire tore into the trench lines, flashing them with fuel-air and explosive canisters. Third Platoon crashed through a low garden wall and into the plaza, spreading out in a wide quarter circle as the marines moved up behind them. Some shifted back, climbing up into the storefronts for height while others hung close to the tanks, pushing out towards the trenches. With a sharp whistle over the commset, First Platoon leapfrogged past Second, slowly crossing the trenches as they shifted towards the right, laying down a ferocious crossfire with Third on the left and Second in the center. The fire forced the remaining drones down into the trenches, surging along the narrow channels in a living wave led by their plasma shields and scything blades where they weren’t cut off but aerosol bombs, grenades, or focused XMR fire.
	As Highlander cleared another trench, she bucked, turning hard to left and sliding free. The ground gave way, pulling the Kodiak down into another of the bug’s tank traps. She landed tracks down, facing down along a bend in the trench with her turret free to move and fire. Joe shook himself back to reality as he keyed his commset, fighting against the dozen voices demanding status amid the din of impact alarms.
	“Fuck, 1-1’s stuck in a pit. All forces, continue to hold the bugs back. Reinforcement is less than three minutes out. Whit, engage at will.”
	“Aye, Cap’n,” The Gunner chirped, swinging the turret away to fire across the smoldering plaza and towards the hill.
	“Frankie, you still alive?”
	“Yes, I believe I am.”
	“Good, can you get us out of this pit?”
	"Not sure. We slid in sideways, but I think it’s too steep. We’ll need heavy lift gear to get out.”
	“One problem at a time, anything wrong on your end? The armor’s holding here, but they fuckers fragged my speakers.”
	“Guess that plasma cannon didn’t miss,” Whitman added as he sent another thermobaric canister out. “Ammunition is getting a little scarce, though.”
	“Nothing wrong up here, the engine's green.”
	“Good, Frankie. Whit, use everything we got if it means we get out in one piece.”
	Joe rubbed his brow before returning his attention to the coomset and display feed around him. One of the cameras on the turret left had been disabled, leaving a static cloud in his panoramic display. He panned the XMR assembly over that disabled arc, finding only the gulf of the trench staring back.
	“Bravo Actual, Bravo 1-1. We are facing stiff resistance at the hill, what is the status of the other companies?”
	“Improving, 1-1. Without those mortars, they’re breaking whatever defenses remain. You’ve drawn the bugs attention at that plaza, so hold on and we’ll get you out. How copy?”
	“Loud and clear, Actual. 1-1 over and o-”
	Captain, front!” Frankie shouted over the commset.
	Joe shifted the XMR assembly forward, finding the glow of a bug shield closing, leading a column of several more bugs around the bend in the trench. They fired at the Kodiak, too close to miss. The shots were untrained, splattering across the front of the hull and turret, but one found its mark, splashing up against the mantle of the rail cannon.
	“Whit, they’re in front of us! Engage close!”
	“Main gun’s fucked,” the gunner replied as the chain cannon spooled up, pouring tungsten slugs into the shield, hopelessly slagging against the blue energy field. Joe poured the XMR assembly down into the trench, holding the trigger until the thermal alarm screamed in his ear. The shield dropped and the slugs hit home, obliterating the drones into a strange mist. Another shield appeared around the bend in the trench, and Joe let the XMR assembly fire again despite the alarms.
	They cut down another dozen or so, their bodies stacking up in the trench before the assembly stopped, the display flashing that overheating had melted the coils. The chain cannon continued to fire, but the next set of bugs came closer with their shields. They fired again with their plasma pistols, peppering the chain cannon’s housing, melting the barrels into slag as Whitman howled curses in his seat.
	The drones came closer, almost touching Highlander before they pulled themselves up onto the engine deck, prodding the rail cannon with their knives before moving on. They disabled their shields moving cautiously next to the immense war machine.
	“Whit, pass me a carbine, and see if any of the marines left a grenade.”
	The gunner flipped out of his seat and disappeared out the back of the turret basket.
	“Frankie, prep the scuttle charges. We may have to ditch, and I’ll be damned if these bastards get my fucking tank.”
	“Aye.”
	Whit came back, passing one of the XMR carbines up to Joe with a few magazines and one grenade. The bugs were clambering on the edge of the turret now, prodding the armor plates with their blades, studying the monstrous machine before them. One turned towards the hatch and Joe acted, priming the grenade in his hands before opening the hatch enough to throw it out. The drone hissed with a disgusting reverberation before the grenade rolled down the turret front and detonated, spraying the wretched things with shrapnel and crushing pressure. The sledgehammer blow of the grenade rang the crew compartment, forcing a sharp whine into Joe’s ears that refused to fade.
	He pulled himself into his seat, seeing the broken cameras feeding jittering images and hazy footage as the bugs climbed back onto the roof of the tank, stabbing their knives into the gaps around the hatch.
	“Someone give us a God-damned backscratch,” He hissed into his commset as the hatch rattled above him.
	Joe brought the carbine up, watching through the display feed as one of the bugs held a small cutter to the hatch, jetting a spray of sparks across the turret roof. Slowly, he could see the blade push down into the hatch locks, cutting through the metal. An alert flashed across the display, marking that the locks were about to give away. He brought up the carbine and clicked off the safety, waiting as they cut into the hatch, muttering a prayer to be home, far from this place.
	The hatch lock snapped off and one of the drones pulled the hatch free, getting a burst of tungsten through the abdomen as a reward. Joe fired at anything moving around the hatch rim before reloading, kicking the old magazine away into the crew compartment. Watching through the camera feed, he forced the carbine through the hatch and fired wildly down from the turret, expending the magazine before something seized the carbine. Another drone appeared at the hatch rim, yanking the carbine free of Joe’s grip and thrusting one of its sickly curved knives down into the hatch.
	It stabbed out, catching Joe in the left forearm before he could withdraw from his seat. The curved blade cut down to the bone, sending a surge of adrenaline and pain through his body before slicing the air again, finding his left bicep. The crimson sickle cut into his flesh before the drone tried for a third attack, the blade slashing across the collar of Joe’s flak jacket without reaching the skin. For a moment, the drone abated, repositioning around the hatch to attack again.
	Joe didn’t waste the moment, drawing his pistol and shoving it back up through the hatch. He fired recklessly, planting round after round though the bug’s carapace at this range. The drone hissed, leaking ichor across the turret roof before collapsing down into the trench. The other drones froze for a moment before jumping down from Highlander and reigniting their shields as they turned away. The drones retreated from Highlander as the roar of the dropships thundered overhead, engines flaring to land somewhere in the plaza. As the large, hideous transports swept closer over the village rooftops, their autocannons opened up with a hunger fervor that chewed up the retreating bugs, harrying them back to the hillside before swinging around to land. They disgorged waves of black-clad marines, hitting the ground and immediately turning to seek out their foe.
	Joe watched them unload for several moments before the pain returned as the adrenaline faded. He looked down, seeing the scarlet pool forming below him. His vision clouded and he whimpered, slipping down from the turret seat and into the crew compartment before Whitman grabbed the shoulders of his flak jacket and dragged him back towards the rear hatch.
	“Fuck, Captain’s bleeding bad. Frankie, get a corpsman.”
Whit dropped the rear ramp and scoured the rear bay before ripping the medkit case from the wall.
	“Fuck this hurts,” Joe groaned, biting back tears as his gunner tightened the tourniquet around Joe’s upper arm.
	“At least it means you’re alive. If you were numb, we’d be fucked. Losing two captains is bad luck.”
	“Two’s coincidence, three’s a pattern, Whitman.”

Chapter 11: All Quiet on the Ostriv Front
	Joseph crawled out the crew hatch, resting his left arm in a makeshift sling. Behind him, the hillside echoed with the roll of gunfire deep beneath its surface. The newer units took point clearing the tunnels, leaving the company and their passengers keeping watch on the surface. The other companies had set up a simple cordon around the hill, letting Bravo pull back into the plaza to rest and recuperate. Bravo had parked their Kodiaks in several rows facing the hill, but most of the crews had disembarked to catch their breath. Joseph followed the voices through what was left of the door frame in a small storefront.
	The cafe was crowded by most of Bravo’s crews and their marine passengers sat scattered around the room. Most were helping themselves to whatever food or drink they could scrounge from the kitchen or their own ration kits. The massive Krell took seats against the far wall, resting weapons on their knees. In the corner some of the men had found a piano, picking at the keys in a slow, unknown song.
	Spying Whitman and Frankie across the room, Joseph crossed towards them before a heavy hand pressed on his shoulder. He looked over his shoulder, seeing Verska’s towering figure passing behind him. A slight nod of her head sent his eyes scouring the far side of the room to find stairs leading up from the cafe. She moved past, heading for the stairs, trailing her burning mane of red-orange hair behind her. One of her ears swiveled back towards Joseph before she disappeared up the stairs, ducking to fit through the smaller opening.
	He finished crossing the room, standing over Whitman, Frankie, Fitzgerald, and Knispel. They were picking through ration packs and canteens when they turned eyes towards him. They started to stir when he waved them down with a salute.
	“At ease, lads.”
	“Captain,” Whitman started. “We saved you a seat and some chicken alfredo.”
	He waved his had to the ration pack resting in the empty chair between them.
	“Might have some coffee, too.” Knispel said, leaning back in his chair.
	“In a bit. I’ll need to take care of a few things first. If anyone needs me, I’ll be upstairs.”
	“Called it,” Whitman chuckled, taking a drink from his canteen.
	“Fuck,” Frankie hissed.
	Goddammit,” Knispel groaned, reaching into his flak jacket.
	They two embittered tankers threw small piles of credits onto the table.
	“Whitman, what exactly did you call?”
	“Well sir, it would appear that you and that wonderfully personable Mad Cat Lance Corporal intend to steal some private time upstairs like how you did in the hotel. You two weren’t very quiet I might add.”
	Joe could feel the blood rush to his cheeks as he stared down at his gunner.
	“That may be correct Sgt. Whitman, but what’s also correct is that you just earned latrine duty for a month.”
	The sudden scowl on Whitman’s face was enough of a victory as Joseph turned and started towards the stairs. He pulled himself up, climbing away from the din of voices and onto the second floor. The stairs leveled out to a foyer that opened to a lounge area to their right and continued straight ahead down a hall lined with doors lining the left side. Failing to see Verska relaxing on the couch in the lounge, he continued down the hallway. Reaching the end of the hall, he found the last door ajar.
	“Come in,” her low, husky voice seemed softer now.
	He pushed the door open, finding a small room. The bed frame was pushed against the far wall, the mattress lay one the floor with a pile of armor stacked against the right wall. Verska stood with a slight hunched in the room, working at pulling off her armor and equipment. Her ears had swiveled to face the door as he came in and her eyes tracked him as he leaned against the doorway.
	“So, why’d you drag me up here?” He smiled, setting his hat on the small table next to the door.
	“I figured we could use a way to unwind after all that,” She said, turning towards him. She shifted her gaze to his left arm, spying the tattered uniform and the bandaged arm. “But you seem a little worse for wear.”
	“A knife’ll do that to someone.”
	“Don’t worry, we can take it slow if needed.”
	She stepped closer, running her claws through his hair, the gentle prick of her nails scratching his scalp sent a rolling shudder through his body.
	“You don’t exactly seem like the gentle type,” he chided.
	“You aren’t my first human and they don’t like it when you gut your allies, even if it is by accident.”
	She pulled him close against the warmth of her body. His head tilted back and her lips against his. He let his right hand wander to seek out her polished skin while her tongue wandered across his. Being close to her seemed to slow time, making each second last a little longer.
	“Kapitan,” Knispel called out, echoing down the hallway. “LC Moritz needs to speak with you.”
	Joseph broke away from Verska.
	“Hopefully this won’t take long,” He groaned.
	“Don’t keep a girl waiting,” she smiled.
	He straightened his uniform and pulled on his cap. With a few deep breathes, he opened the door and slipped back out into the hallway. Knispel stood at the top of the stairs, canteen in hand.
	“Sir.”
	“Lt,” Joe nodded. “He say anything special?”
	“No, sir. He landed and said he was looking for you.”
	“He’s here?”
	“Aye, sir.”
	“Shit,” Joe groaned, starting down the stairs past Knispel. They moved out the cafe door and into the plaza. With the strongpoint of the village fully under UNN control, more marines and supplies were being landed to begin the tedious hell of burning the roaches out of their tunnels. The air around them was alive with the drone of thrusters and infantry coordinating themselves. Ahead of them, Lt. Col. Moritz stood, speaking to the captains of Alpha and Charlie Companies. Joe and Knispel approached, Moritz dismissed the other two, turning to see Joseph. They exchanged salutes and stood, looking out over the plaza where the snow had been trampled away to a muddy stain over the trenches.
	“Sir,” Joseph said.
	“At ease, Captain. I wanted to debrief the battalion personally. It stands that we completed our objective and have secured the town.”
	“With casualties,” Knispel replied
	“Casualties that would have been significantly higher without our battalion,” Moritz snapped back. “The Kodiaks performed well for a shakedown trial. Credits to your handiwork, Captain.”
	“I aim to please, sir. But if anything, this assault, it...it exposed flaws in the design, sadly at the cost of several of our crews. The mortars could punch through into the crew compartment or crack the roof open and their trenches still have several of our tanks trapped ,” He waved towards the trench. “And that’s before we discuss potential armament upgrades.”
	“Such as?”
	“Mounting a GMG or chain cannon in place of one of the XMR assemblies. It could improve effectiveness against entrenched enemies.”
	“Is that all, Captain?”
	“All immediate design issues with the Kodiaks. The next issue is that if our battalion is to be supported by infantry, then merging the command structures for ease of communication in combat could be beneficial. Majority of our damage and casualties came during periods where we were trying to coordinate fire and call targets.”
	Joe halted his rambling, having listed off the last of his major concerns about his brainchildren. He was growing exhausted, drained from the rush and roar of battle. The voice clawing at the back of his mind echoed a simple mantra: Finish up and go back to Verska.
	“Well, I’ll work to finalize that. As of this moment, you’re now members of the 1st Marine Mechanized Battalion,” Moritz’s words dragged Joe back to focus.
	“Sir,” Knispel interjected. “Mechanized implies infantry are riding with us. Who and how are we transporting them?”
	Lt. Col. Moritz pointed to the cafe behind them.
	“The marines that rode with you into battle are the who and will be tasked to your unit. I recommend you become significantly more familiar with them. As for how, we’ll figure that out when we return to Earth.”
	“Understood, sir.” Joe and Knispel nodded. They saluted Moritz and turned to leave.
	“One last thing, Captain,” The LC stopped Joe before he could escape back to the cafe.
	“Yes, sir?”
	“You and your company did well today. We’d be looking at a higher casualty list otherwise.”
	“Thank you, sir.”
	“However, this world is a long way from being secured. I’ll see your men and tanks are resupplied and you can get whatever is needed to make the Kodiaks more effective.”
	“Understood, sir. Once we’re re-armed and armored, Bravo’ll be ready to hunt.”
	“You might just have a career ahead of you in this army, Captain.”
	“At least until this war’s over. Might go back to work in engineering after all this.”
	“Well, I wish you luck with that, Captain. But until then, we’ve got a long road ahead. Dismissed.”
Joseph saluted and wheeled around, making his way into the cafe. Climbing the stairs, he reached the room and let himself in. Verska lay back on the mattress, dwarfing it with her stature. She’d stripped to the white thermal layer, the fabric splashed with stains of blood, dirt, and ash. She let a groan escape from her smile as she rolled to face him. He felt his own face smile back, the contortion of it reaching up to his eyes.
	“Something happen, Captain?”
	“Spoke with my commander. It looks like I’ll be around for a good while longer. Your unit’s being merged with mine.”
	“That’s good to hear. Means I get to enjoy you longer.”
	Joseph dropped an open chair across the room from her. He let his eyes linger over her face, studying the familiar yet strange features, the sharp eyes that cut to the core, the burning red-orange hair that danced in the light.
	“Since that’s the case,” Joseph started. “I figure I might as well get to know you better.”
	“If you want to get to know me, come over here. I won’t bite hard,” she smirked.
	“Sounds good right about n-”
	Before he finished, she’d sprang up and darted to him, pulling him into her arms and rolling back onto the mattress. They came to rest with her straddling him, his hands trapped in her large paws. Her tail coiled around his waist, squeezing enough for him to feel. Her hair fell in a veil around their heads.
	“What kind of music do you like?” Joe asked, almost giggling that it was the first thing to spring from his mouth.
	“I’m not sure,” Verska replied, a puzzled look curling across her face.
	“If you’re hitching a ride with Bravo, music’s kind of a big thing for us.”
	“I could tell,” she said, leaning closer to him.
	Joe closed his eyes as she pressed her lips to his, his nerves lighting up at her metal taste, the coarse barbs on her tongue, the razor points of her teeth. It was so familiar, yet so alien. It felt good to him.

Epilogue
	“‘He fell in October 1918, on a day that was so quiet and still on the whole front, that the army report confined itself to the single sentence: All quiet on the Western Front.’”
	Joe paused, clearing his throat before beginning the final paragraph.
	“‘He had fallen and lay on the earth as though sleeping. Turning him over, one saw that he could not have suffered long; his face had an expression of calm, as though almost glad the end had come.’”
Joe closed the book and dropped it into his backpack. He looked down, seeing Verska resting her head on his legs.
	“You were right, that was a sad book,” Verska said, setting her green eyes on him.
	He reached down, running his fingers through her hair. He felt her shift and purr as she lay there among the quiet trees.
	“That’s one of the reasons I like it. It’s sad, but with reason.”
	“Yeah,” she conceded. She stirred, sliding closer to him and rolling to her side. He followed her gaze,  looking out over the miles of farmland he’d grown to know as The Bottoms. The warm summer day cast it’s soft sunlight down over them as the wind rose, rolling in waves over the fields, rustling the branches above them. The bluff at high above the farms, giving a magnificent view across the land as the green fields glittered with the light.
	“It’s beautiful out here,” she crooned. “The sun, the wind, this view....I could lay here all day with you.”
	She shifted again, sitting up and coiling her long arms around him. The prickle of her claws on his scalp sent shudders down his spine. She kissed his neck and held  him close, her sharp, earthen aroma filled his nose. She squeezed him close, almost trying to wrap herself around him.
	“Yeah” He groaned. “This is why I loved coming up here. The view was something special. You can see miles out to the river levee and to the bluffs on the far side. And in the spring, you could come out here and watch storms roll in from the south. In winter, its dead quiet after a heavy snow.”
	He guided her eyes, pointing to the landmarks spread out before them. They sat on the lip on a bluff, looking down over the farmland hemmed in by a pair of levees that ran out of sight to their left and right where the river and bluff curved away out of sight. Far ahead of them, the Mississippi rolled its way south. More bluffs rose along the opposite bank like distant mountains from them.
	“So, Captain. Where do we go after this?”
	“I was thinking home for dinner. My mother was insisting on you trying her honey ham.”
	“I meant after our leave is up. Is it back to the front?”
	“Thankfully not yet. When our leave’s up, we’ll hop a fast train to the southwest. The battalion’s going to be undergoing testing at Ajax. They’ll want to run us through prototyping for a lot of shit.”
	“Such as?”
	“Upgrades to the Kodiaks, concepts for IFVs so you don’t have to keep riding on the roof during assaults-”
	“But that’s fun.”
	“Testing data-linking for fire cohesion. Then back to the front.”
	Suddenly a deep rumble reached his ears, reverberating through his bones. Tracking the noise to its source, he found Verska’s stomach growling in its deep bassline.
	“Ready to go home?”
	“Yeah, I’m starting to get hungry.”
	“I could tell,” he smirked.
	She rolled her eyes as she released him from her embrace. She sprang up, pulling him up behind her. They started down the trail that wound down the flank of the bluff and towards the gravel road at the foot of the bluff. She sauntered next to him, slowing her stride to stay next to him. She let one of her arms fall around his shoulder, holding him against her while he wrapped his arm up around the flare of her hips.
	“I love you, Verska.”
	He waited for an answer, receiving it when she hooked him in her arms and pressed him between her and the coarse bark of the tree. Her warmth covered him as she pressed her full, soft lips against him. Her rough tongue lashed against his. Her hands roamed under his shirt, slowly dragging the points of her claws over his skin. Slowly, she pulled away from the wanton kiss, letting her smile say all she needed.
	“I love you too, Joe.”
	“We can stay out here a little longer if you want.”