Stick Together
   Thud. Thud. pop pop pop pop The sounds of a distant firefiht rattled on in the distance. Gritty sand whirled through the tan canvas tent, settling
on anything and everything in sight. Including the open cylinder heads of a 6.5 liter Turbo V8. The one that Private First Class Gideon Black happened
to be working on at the moment, in a severely scarred Humvee.
   "Shit," muttered the dolphin as he wiped the grit from the greasy steel. The Humvee in particular had just come off of the Fallujah eastern front.
Took a landmine to the front end. Normally, the truck would have been scrapped, but the 42nd Mech Division didn't keep Gideon around for nothing. If
it had wheels, and some stuff that didn't, Gideon could fix it.
   The wind once again whipped up, spattering the grease-covered dolphin in muck. He lifted his goggles- essential to any mechanic- just in time to
see his commanding officer, Captain James Porter, step through the garage tent flap.
   "Sir!" Black snapped to attention.
   "Working on that damn Humvee again, Private? At ease kid," Gideon relaxed his stance; the bulldog stepped by him, "Let this one go. We'll just requisition anoth..."
   "Sir, it is repairable," Gideon cut off Porter, "I can have it driving by tomorrow." Capt. Porter's cold eyes leveled on Black, looking up due to the phin's 6'2", rugby fullback frame.
   "Do not interrupt me. You insubordinate piece of shit. You will send this vehicle to the scrap yard, or I'll have you on latrine duty for a month." Porter wheeled and stiffly stepped through the flap. Gideon stared daggers into his back as he left. Incensed, the dolphin kicked a 5/8" crescent wrench through the dirt, took a drink, as dehydration was a serious problem for the marine species on the base, and sat on an upturned tire perpendicular to the canvas wall.
   "Fuck you, Porter," he scowled, glaring into the dusty desert ground.
   CRACK-swish
   "MAN DOWN! MAN DOWN!" A cry came from outside the tent. Gideon jumped to his booted feet and pulled the auto-shop tent's flap open. The hot desert sun blinded him as he peeked out. He caught a glimpse of Porter's rusty fur lying on the dirt. Then the shit hit the fan.
   An RPG-7 rushed past, and Gideon dove into the relative safety of the mechanics' tent. He scrambled to the workbench, where he kept an M1911 .45 pistol. Bullets whizzed outside and shots fired. With no way to tell what was friendly, Gideon positioned himself near the flap and yelled.
   "Friendlies! Anybody!"
   "Black! That you?" challenged a heavily accented voice.
   "Viktor! Give me a sign, man!" Gideon yelled back. A crack of a rifle resounded very near. Shouts echoed from all corners of the base.
   "You stupid fish! When I say, run out and break right. Alexei and I will cover you!" Gideon tensed- "GO!"
   The dolphin burst through the tent flap, dove right, and sprinted in the open to a low concrete wall. A white paw waved him over. Black slid behind the marginal cover- better than a tent, he reminded himself- and was pushed to the dirt by the same white paw.
   "Fuck man! Am I glad to see you!" Gideon grinned to the Russian Akita crouched next to him. A second fur bent over a long. scoped rifle.
   Viktor Sidorov smiled, ducked as an explosion rocked their makeshift fort, and said: "Do not scare me like that again, my friend." The second, darker Akita with the rifle nodded, but did not turn away from his sight.
   "So what's going on?" Gideon inquired.
   "A strong force attacked from the north just a moment ago. It surprised you as much as it did my brother and I." Viktor and Alexei Sidorov joined the Marine Corps as a way to escape living conditions in Russia. Scout Snipers, no less.
   Just as Gideon was about to respond, his radio crackled.
   "All personnel to the southern gate, controlled evac in 10. Hold until then."
   Gideon looked at the Akitas, now suddenly more frightened than before.
   "Evac? That NEVER happens. How the fuck many of them are there?" Alexei popped a few more shots from his sniper rifle, and fell behind the wall.
   "Nyet. I'm out." He pulled a pistol from a holster and crouched. Viktor pulled Black to his feet and said: "Follow us." Alexei turned the corner behind the building they were outside of, and disappeared. Viktor motioned Gideon forward and swept behind them with his own rifle. Gideon raised his pistol and followed Alexei, who checked the corners and turned left, moving toward the southern gate.
   Suddenly, a conversation started in some unrecognizable language around the group's next corner. The Sidorov brothers raised their weapons; Black did the same. A pair of tall Dobermans with FN-FAL assault rifles emerged, their backs to the group. Alexei signed to them that he would take the one on the left.
"Now," he whispered. POP POP POP. The dogs fell.
   "Go!" Viktor urged. More voices and shooting. Gideon, Alexei, and Viktor jumped up and sprinted, bullets chasing their heels. One more turn and...
   "FRIENDLY FRIENDLY FRIENDLY! DON'T SHOOT!" Gideon yelled. The group ran past a concrete barricade guarded by a leopard and a mule, crouched with rifles at the ready.
   "Marines! To the trucks!" The base commander, an imposing hyena, stood in the open, M1911 .45 in hand. "Let's go, boys!"
   Gideon, Alexei, and Viktor piled into an open Humvee. The armored truck pulled away into a convoy line. Smoke trails jumped past as rockets hissed by their marks. The Humvee's .50 caliber gunner responded with his own deadly stream of lead. For a while, time seemed to slow down as the convoy left a pillar of dust. Gideon looked to Viktor and Alexei.
   "What a rush, no?" Viktor challenged, grinning. Gideon could tell he lived for this sort of thing.
   "I guess... But remember, I'm just a mechanic," Gideon shrugged. He leaned forward. "Hey Nick, where we headed?" Nick Larson, a gray wolf currently driving the tan truck, glanced back.
   "I don't know for sure, our radio's out. I think, though, that the convoy's headed near Baghdad."
   "You know if Porter made it out?"
   "I think so. I saw Devon hauling him to a truck, so I'm assu-"
   "Thanks." Gideon sat back, thinking. Viktor put his arm around his brother.
   "Remember, brother. Slipat'sya. Stick together." Their loyalty made Gideon miss his wife. A look of benign sadness washed over his face.
   "Serenity, when I get back we'll go to the park, enjoy life, and mayb-" Gideon's train of thought derailed abruptly as Viktor's left hand came to rest on his thigh. His head snapped up and looked; Viktor responded with a gentle, caring, almost sorrowful smile. He had known the large white dog for a while now, they were friends, but he never expected to be this close... Gideon's thoughts yet again changed with one line. One sentence made him whole.
   Viktor looked him in the eye and said: "Remember, brother, Slipat'sya. Stick together."