FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Shepard stared at the ground as she walked back towards the hanger, helmet bag in hand. She'd have to speak with Mallet and Flatface tonight. They kept pushing. It was unintentional and she couldn't blame them, but even from her silence they were drawing conclusions. What was she supposed to do? What story was she supposed to make up? Could she? That would be lying to them, and breaking trust like that would be disastrous once it was found. She looked up as the shadow flickered across the ground -more out of habit than anything, as she knew she would see the fleeting glimpse of a Farrom tail, if anything at all- but she saw the first craft already swooping onto the runway, the second at its heels. She frowned. To say they were fast and nimble was a gross understatement, but even so this extent was uncharacteristic. This seemed... rushed. Like they were in a hurry. As the last thought crossed her mind the lead craft diverted from the run way, and instead of following the taxiway like they always did, it hovered in a straight line across the grass and onto the flight-line. It swiftly glided up to the awaiting plane captain, landing gear extending as it did so, the door open and the stairs dropping into place. No sooner had the craft touched the ground three fully suited figures dropped out and sprinted across the flight line towards the command building. The second Farrom dropped into place and the performance repeated: three fully suited figures sprinted away like they were on fire. Another figure dropped out out of the first, the elongated snout of the suit's mask easily identified Sgt. Yasoi. She opened her mask and slid it behind her head as she ran, not to the command building, but to the other Farrom. Her worried look caused Shepard to pause in her steps and watch her sprint. In the door of the Farrom Ten three figures were climbing down. Cpl. Pearson had made it to the bottom by the time Sgt. Yasoi stopped at its foot. Sgt. Yasoud was just starting her descent, looking grim, and in the middle was Sgt. Yasoolik. She paused for a moment. She was almost positive he had left on the Farrom 9 earlier that morning... Which wasn't on the flight line. Did he have to leave the craft for some reason? He glanced in her direction, his stare through her and into the infinite. Shock. Something had happened. If the way the rest of the crews had sprinted to the command building said anything, then it was something very bad. Should she ask engineers what was wrong? No. It wasn't her unit and it wasn't her position to get involved. They were briskly walking in her direction though, towards the hanger. She continued on, but slowed slightly and let them overtake her enough in hopes she could catch some conversation. "Doko moruga." Mallet said. "Ba'hai tamgu oalrhuan." "Exactly," Flatface said, "Fight now. Mourn later. They wouldn't want you to stop just because they-" "Is everything ok?" Shepard said. "No ma'am." Mallet said. She didn't stop or slow down, but rather kept up her fast pace of walk. Shepard wasn't about to be thrown that easily and kept pace with them. "What happened? Where is the Farrom Nine?" Flatface took a deep breath slowly let it out. Mallet answered instead. "That's above us ma'am," was the the automated response, "you need to ask my commander." Shepard turned and stopped, blocking the path of the trio. "I have my country to defend and my unit to look out for. You said this is combat, Flatface, and now I need to know: are we under attack?" Mallet opened her mouth to speak but Rika held up a hand to silence her. She looked Shepard in the eyes. "Not yet ma'am. They caught us with our pants down. At the edge of the system we discovered a patrol from their group headed this way. We smashed them, but they got 9. Slosh is the only one who made it. There are a lot more behind them. We think they are testing the waters, but with a force big enough to take the planet if we let them." The stricken Rakkan was shaking. "Ida kot hrula." "Bullshit," Mallet said. "You are and you should be. Tickle told you to make up before Shave found out because you were illegal, and you did. Nobody knew it would be the only reason you lived. He'd be thankful you did." He nodded. "If you'll excuse us, ma'am," Flatface said, "we need to meet the magazine shuttle, reload, and refuel." "Right. Of course. Er, how long do we have if they aren't stopped?" "About four hours. Rest of the squadron is out there now, slowing them down until the heavies can make it. We'll be out to help after we reload. Slosh can give you a better idea after we leave-" "Like hell if I'm going to kick around here after those fuckers killed my crew and left me out!" "You can't go!" Mallet said. "Pet is staying too. We can't have redundant engineers. It's extra mass." Slosh set his jaw and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Suddenly he perked. "Ma'am," he said to Shepard, "May we borrow some of your maintainers? We don't have enough of the equipment we normally do to load ordinance, just some crude field stuff, but if I teach your crews using your own techniques we can get it done fast- and we'll be back for more many times before this fight is over. Most of our support is on the opposite side of the system, so Earth is the optimal reload point for us until things get moved." Her squadron could be of use? The answer didn't require thought. "Follow me," she said before taking off at a brisk pace for maintenance control, Slosh at her heels. Bursting through the door she nearly flattened Barf as she flew through the room and ducked left into the maintenance chief's office. Master Sergeant Desotorodriguez looked up in shock, the Staff Sergeant in front of his desk throwing himself out of the way. "Top, I need all hands E5 and below to the hanger with a cranial.-" She heard Gunny Gehrky send the call out over the radio the moment the sentence was off her lips. For once she didn't mind the eavesdropping. "-Sergeant Yasoolik will be giving classes on loading and refueling farrom aircraft," she continued, "and we will be be supporting the six hundred eighty second in their combat role until we are engaged ourselves." "Yes ma'am!" Top said. He looked to the Staff Sergeant who nodded and darted out of the room, presumably to formally pass the word to Maintenance Control. She picked up the phone on Top's desk and dialed a number. "VFAS 212 Ops O. Lieu-" "Sparks, I-" "-I'm a busy Shepard. The rakkan have thrown us out of the ready room mid brief and locked themselves in and nobody knows why-" "They lost a bird and skinnies are coming, that's why. Let them be, they won't be long. I need you to find the skipper and let him know what's going on. I'll be right there." There were a few seconds of silence. "We have no clue where the skipper is," Sparks said. "He might be in the ready room, but they simply ignore us banging on the door." "Then I need you to get the flight schedule canked. We can't do anything to assist in the air, but they need our support hot pitting and reloading on the ground. Badly. Sergeant Yasoolik is teaching my department how to load and refuel as I speak." "I'll grab Sniper and see what he can do. -he's calling Flick cellphone right now. I'll let you know as soon as I can." "Thanks." "Yep." She hung up. Top made eye contact with her before she turned. "Twelve on twelve off, ma'am?" She nodded. "Unless the XO or CO say otherwise. We don't know how long we're going to have to keep this up. Pass the word: Maintenance meetings will be at zero six and 18 hundred instead of zero seven and 16 hundred." "Yes ma'am." She walked out of the office to where Slosh was waiting in Maintenance Control. Chief White looked like he was trying to engage him in conversation. Probably an attempt to snag some info out of him. "Sergeant Yasoolik." "Yes ma'am?" He spun to face her. "My personnel will meet you on the hanger deck. Let Chief White or Gunny Gehrky know if you need anything. They will give you whatever they can." "Yes ma'am." "All shops responded, Gunny?" "Yes ma'am." Gunny Gehrky said. She walked out of maintenance control and across the hanger to flight equipment, looking forward to a moment of peace as she changed out of her flight gear. It was short lived. As she placed the last piece of equipment into her locker someone burst through the opposite door. "Shepard! Are you in here Shep?!" "What is it Echo?" she said, trying not to plant her forehead into the locker door. "CO says the flight schedule is gone. Give them whatever they need." She breathed a sigh of relief. She shouldn't have overstepped like this, but four hours wasn't very long and she was grateful Woody had been ok with her move. "Thank you, Echo. I'm on my way."

Flick stood dumbstruck in the hatchway of his Farrom. Marines and sailors swarmed around the Farrom 8 and 10, organized as crews carrying M-355 Maulers lined up on one side. He watched as one crew at a time crouched under the vessel, bay doors open, and lifted each missile into place, sliding it back into the locks. A shadowed figure could be seen connecting the umbilical as the next team crawled under with another missile, and then another... In less than three minutes he had seen all five missiles loaded and armed, the bay doors closing as the figure turned around, where another figure was running a fuel hose from an AAF fuel truck. The hose jumped as the pump shut off, the second figure disconnected the hose and was waved away by the first shadowy person who inspected and closed the panel. He broke into a smile as Mallet climbed out from underneath, gave a thumbs up to the departing ordinance crew, dropped her face shield, and climbed up the boarding ladder. [Pip,] he said, stepping to the side, [Go supervise our reload and refuel.] A short SATS loader rolled up to the side of his craft; a marine wearing a bright red cranial driving the machine with a rack of five Mauler missiles on the forks. A small swarm was running close behind him. Pip was down ladder before the belly doors had finished opening(they were "safety slow" in ground mode). It was then that he noticed the crowd, now lifting missiles (eight men per) and crawling under the farrom with them. Pet could be made out directing them in. [Holy shit.] Pip said. [Supervise, but don't get in the way. I have a feeling someone's been holding classes.] [Yes sir.] [Spectrum, Ghost one,] Flick said. [Go, Ghost one.] [Send all of Ghost to my location for reload and refuel.] [Copy that Ghost one. Whole unit to hot pit at your location.] [And pass to supply to route our munitions and fuel here. This is a prime reload/refuel point.] [Will comply. Anything else?] [No Spectrum. Thank you.] [Good luck. Be alert.] [Be aware.] Inside the hanger he could see a figure standing at a rack of missiles, talking with a group of uniformed humans. Flick closed his face shield and saw the figure identified as Sgt Yasoolik. His smile became pained. That engineer was in for a rough time once this was through. Any rakkan who lost that much of their crew would be especially this far away from the rest of their house. He wasn't a mess at the moment, though. In fact he looked quite the opposite: calm, collected, and clearly fighting the hardest he could with what he had. Right now that was coordinating a bunch of humans to load and fuel Farroms faster than the automated systems on the Trisona could -a feat that Flick had thought impossible until now. There was a thump from the belly. He looked down to see Pip standing at the foot of the ladder. It was almost unbelievable. [All good sir.] [Great. Ladder, hatch, systems.] [Yes sir.] He had been worried. The Koaku had picked a good location to assault from: the distance from the Trisona made for long travel times to refuel and rearm, and due to the sun was impractical for long range weapons. Now that VFAS-212 had turned themselves into an expeditionary hot pit his squadron could re-engage in nearly a third of the time it would take them otherwise. He wasn't worried anymore. If they could slow them until resupplies came to Earth he could get the fighters and other squadrons to re-rout here too. The human squadron could handle it, and then it would be the Koaku's turn to worry.

Shepard groaned as she sank into the chair behind her desk. It wasn't good to lose her cool like that, especially in front of subordinates. Yet what was it that they couldn't understand? FLI-682 was engaging an enemy they couldn't even reach, and even if they could, their puny aircraft couldn't even serve as a distraction. It should be obvious that standing an alert was counter productive. Alert aircraft would only be in the way and take personnel away from rotating out with those assisting on the flight line. She had snapped at the gaggle pushing Sparks and Sniper for an alert, barking at them that if they really wanted to help, to get onto the flight line and help load the two remaining spacecraft they had. Hot air is useless unless it is coupled with- Her eyes had gone from the pile of paper on her desk to the window overlooking the flightline, and her train of thought slammed into the sight like it was a tree. No less that eight farroms sat on 212's flightline, just behind and interspersed into open parking spots. Each spacecraft was swarmed with her mechanics, loading missiles like a finely tuned machine. Someone was fueling, and the rakkan fuel trucks were having difficulty keeping up. An alien ammo truck rolled by, canine-esq rakkan in space suits replacing empty missile racks with full ones before leaving, only to be replaced by another truck. A handful of sailors were running back and forth, replacing people's empty hydration systems with full ones. Amidst it all were three NCO's, some of Top's sergeants by the color of their boots, directing groups and runners. In the shade, directly in front of her office, were about fifteen marines and sailors, drinking water. Several went inside, presumably to use the bathroom because they immediately returned. Every now and then one of the three NCO's would send someone back to cool off, and they would be immediately replaced by someone from the shade group. She caught the sight of several tan flight suits. Cypher's amazonian frame was easy to spot, so was Drone's always offensive 'shoulder patch of the day' and she could make out Echo and Barf, all hoisting a missile under direction of an ordinance petty officer; AO1 Sanchez by the looks of it. Barf was the only one that had been in the ready room, she realized. Farroms took off, and were soon replaced by another; each one spending less than five minutes on the ground. It was awing. She shook her head to clear it. She had a job to do, and she picked up the phone, dialing a number. "S-4, Second Lieutenant Sears speaking. How may I-" "This is the MO. I need you to get box nasties sent here for one hundred fifty pax every meal, including night shift, until you are told otherwise." "Already on it, ma'am. The galley said they couldn't have them ready until evening, so Staff Sergeant Foxtro is getting MRE's as we speak. Higgins just brought a water buffalo and a bunch of extra hydration systems from CIF in case anyone forgot theirs, ice, and an ice machine, and Ortiz is getting HM1 Sanders and HM3 Groengenhagen over in case anyone gets heat stroke." Shepard looked up and thanked whatever god was out there. "Don't you dare PCS Lieutenant: you're the only S-4 I've ever had that was any good. Thank you." "Doin' my job ma'am." "Keep it up." "Aye ma'am." She got up and walked into maintenance control, nearly being plowed over by a sweaty maintainer as she opened the door. "Sorry ma'am!" "As you were. Go." He ran through control and into the hanger. "Gunnery Sergeant Gehrky," she said. The marine put the receiver down on the phone and stood up. "Yes ma'am?" "Grab some of these in the shade and have them tow every aircraft as far down as they can. Try to put them on someone else's line if possible." "Yes ma'am." "Where are all of my Chiefs and staff NCOs?" "They went to the barracks to make sure everyone here was equipped with their hydration and dry socks, then they'll ferry them over, ma'am. I know Gunny Skaggs and Senior Chief D'Loorme talked about going to MALS and getting a few more swamp coolers, too. Sergeant's Major is doing something with Sergeant Yasoolik. Dunno what. The others I don't know, ma'am. I haven't seen them." "Thank you. Carry on." "Aye Ma'am." She left and walked into the ready room. Most of them were still there, discussing what to do. "You six, get a cranial, grab a hydration pack from S-4, and get out on the flight line. Have a sergeant direct you on who to relieve. Follow the instructions of your team lead until you are relieved, and then you can take a break in front of my office until you are needed to replace someone again. You will not, I repeat, you will not give orders on my flight line. I will not have you gumming up my well oiled machine. You wanted to help. This is how to do it." They stared at her blankly. "You heard her," Sniper said, who was standing in the doorway leading to rest of the building. "I just did a walkthrough and we're the only ones in the unit not doing anything. All of you, grab a cranial and git." There was a bustle as they obeyed the XO. He looked at her. "Woody is going to brief the CAG and make sure they don't close the airfield tonight. I'm going to have someone send as much lighting as they can over this evening -might have to rent it from out in town, you know how GSE is here. That line is dark as hell at night and I don't want that to slow them down or cause an accident. Sparks ordered a ton of liquid hydrogen from some industrial supply out in town since these guys seem to have trouble keeping up. He's at the gate to make sure security doesn't stop them with questions. Slosh and the Sergeants Major went to another unit, apparently for some equipment that'll help." "Thank you." "Make sure nobody get's hurt." "That's what I'm trying to do. The NCOs on the line are doing a good job. I don't want to disrupt them if they are working a good thing. Docs Sanders and Groengenhagen are on their way over. I was going to send them out to look for heat exhaustion." "Good." He turned and headed towards his office. She left and power walked to S-4. "Good morning, ma'am," SSgt Foxtro said. "What can I do for you?" "I need three hydration packs with ice." "Absolutely. Higgins-" But Higgins was already gone. It wasn't but a few minutes before he returned, packs in hand, full of ice and water. "Thank you. Carry on." "Yes, ma'am." She snatched her cranial from her office and headed out, onto the flightline. Cypher, Echo and Drone were crawling out from under a farrom. She pushed a pack into each of their chests. All three officers were soaked in sweat. Barf had his issued one. He wore it everywhere he was allowed to. Go figure. "Thanks," Cypher said. "No problem. Keep it up. I'm sending the rest of those... the aircrew out here." She grinned. "Oh no, they might get sweaty." "Only one of the Sergeants has a pack, Shep," Echo said. "Give mine to one of them." "Really? Shit. I will." Drone handed his pack back as well. Cypher held hers out, and the moment it left her hands she was gone, carrying a missile under a farrom. Shepard fought a smile, then handed the packs to those without one before returning to S-4 and getting more for the three out on the line. The other aircrew were already in there, getting their packs and standing around waiting for them to be fill. "Hand them empties. They can all go fill theirs themselves. There are enlisted baking out there without one." "Yes ma'am," Lt. Sears said, passing them over the counter from the pile he hand behind the desk. Higgins walked back in with about five filled packs. He looked at the officers walking out, some of them grumbling. She held out her hand and he passed them to her. Back on the line she found several sailors and marines giving others drinks from their packs. She handed them to those without and found she still had two left over, so she gave one to Echo and the other to Drone, who was looking flushed. "You, sir," Sgt. Thomas, "Captain De Rooy, sir, go break." Shepard went to take his place but his replacement, airman Helix, was there before Drone had gone six paces. Suddenly they were all gone, along with the missile they had been standing near. She watched as they disappeared under the farrom again, shortly followed by another team hoisted and carried the next missile. She turned to go inside but a shadow caught the corner of her eye and, as did anyone on the flight line who wanted to live longer than a few minutes, one never ignored movement. A large black, glossy ball slowly lowered. She stared in wonder as is hovered, small holes opening up on it's side. Sgt. Oliver wasted no time in dispatching a team, but no sooner had they arrive when four racks of missiles were deposited and a battered tug with blue racing stripes and "212" painted on the sides pulled up, hauling a small flatbed trailer. Slosh jumped out and she was shocked when the Sergeant's Major climbed out of the passenger side. Slosh began pulling what she recognized as cradles and push rods for loading artillery off the trailer. A van pulled in behind them and marines in desert cammies piled out. Slosh waved her personnel away, and she watched as he explained and guided as the artillery men shoved missiles into the open holes around it, each closing after it had been loaded. When all of them closed on one side the ball spun, and more opened up. She walked off the flight line. She was in the way and she knew it. She hated feeling like she was doing nothing, but the fact of the matter was someone had to be at the helm of her department, and that person happened to be her. She signed, and tried to think of anything else she could do. She couldn't come up with anything, so she turned to the never ending pile of work on her desk. At least she might be able to catch up a little while making sure everything kept going smoothly.

It was several hours later when Gunny Gehrky's voice came from maintenance control. "Ma'am?" "Yes Gunny?" she said, cutting through Top's office as she walked over. "Farroms eight and ten just called. They've exceeded hours and have been relived. They are requesting to park in the hanger to free up flight line space and avoid confusion." "The hanger queen is in the way." "No ma'am. When you said every aircraft, we moved every aircraft. 'gimped that parts pig over to the fuel tank barn on a spotting dolly. Hanger's empty." She gave him a blank look. "Wow. I wish the unit ran this well all the time." "Me too." "I'll check with the CO, but the hanger is theirs unless the skipper says otherwise. They can use it however they want as long as it stays on this planet and in one piece." "Yes ma'am." She went back into her office. There were leave requests, and she contemplated not recommending them before sending them up. There was no way in hell the CO would approve leave if this was going on. Echo came in once. He looked beat, but happy. She had to agree: It was satisfying to be accomplishing something rather than the continuous clobbering in training. Every now and then doc would knock on her door and ask to bring someone into her air conditioned office. A sailor with heat exhaustion. A marine crushed his hand. She was shocked when the latter got up and went back out again. She was even more shocked that doc let him. "Is that a good idea, HM1?" "He'll be fine ma'am. He'll get into more trouble if you try to hold him back because he'll find another way to 'help'. That's just how marines are. Sergeant Jezzra will make sure he's doing something he won't hurt himself or anyone else." She shook her head and let it go. The sun began setting and she watched tugs and trucks with light carts arrive, placing them around the flight line, set alternating high and low on their masts to best illuminate the active areas. Night shift should be arriving. She made sure Chief White and Master Guns (who had gone home that morning and come back at night) had things under control before walking out of maintenance control and into the hanger. She should go see if Mallet and Flatface needed anything maintenance-wise before they- She froze. Instead of two, there were no less than six farroms crammed into the hanger, navy style, which meant they had only a few inches between them. Slosh was giving classes to night shift maintainers and explaining how things were being run out on the line under one of the craft in the front. She had an odd feeling that when she returned in the morning the hanger wouldn't be empty, but have six more from 682. She worked her way across the hanger before opening the shop door to airframes -the quickest way out of the hanger and to the command building and parking lot. The room was black, and instantly many, many pairs of glowing eyes turn towards her. "Can we help you ma'am?" Rika said. Her voice came in the direction of a pair or eyes that were glowing a different shade of yellow than the rest. "No," she said. "I'm sorry to disturb you. I'll have someone put a sign up to leave you alone." "Thank you," Smokey said. She closed the door again and went to avionics. Again the lights were out. "Ehy. Dorish mehu caaku? Er, do you need something?" "Terribly sorry." She closed the door again. Ordinance: Same results. She tried powerline, thinking the smell of fuel that seemed to permeate the very walls would keep them away and she found herself to be right. It was vacant aside from the sweat soaked LPO typing something up at a computer. "AD1?" "Yes ma'am?" he said, turning. "I need you to make signs so people stay quiet and out of the shops. Put them on all the doors into Ordinance, Avi, and Airframes. Farrom crews have taken them over as berthing." "Will this do, ma'am?" he said, turning his monitor to her. 'SLEEPING: DO NOT DISTURB' was typed in huge red letters on what would print as a single sheet of paper. She smiled. "Exactly like that. Thank you." "Just so you know, ma'am, I think several of our marines and sailors are in there as well." "Oh?" "Yeah, they kicked the early shows from this morning's 6 o'clock launch off the flight line when our two farroms pulled into the hanger. I over heard them saying it would save them the trip if shit really hit the fan and they needed more people in a hurry. They sent Pipes with keys to get their bivvi sacs out of the barracks. I think that's what inspired the farrom crews to crash in there." "So I have enlisted personnel in there with officers." "It's wall to wall bodies ma'am. Rakkan crews don't segregate, and they didn't complain. I over heard several of our air crew talking about doing the same. "What?!" she said. "Who?" "Lieutenant Eir, Lieutenant Thompson, and Captian De Rooy, ma'am, at least. Sergeants Yasoi and Yasoud went to get some stuff from the barracks for their crews, and they asked for them to pick up their sleeping systems. Only Captain De Rooy gave her a key though, so the others might have changed their minds and gone home." She groaned inwardly. She walked into the hanger heading back towards maintenance control. She finally worked her way through the maze of craft when day shift began their flow from maintenance control and the open hanger doors, across the hanger. She caught sight of Echo as he disappeared behind the tail of a farrom. "Lieutenant Thompson!" Nothing. She hurried over, but he had vanished among the maintainers and spacecraft. She quickly picked her way across the hanger again. Signs were on the doors already, meaning they had been sent to print before she had even stepped foot into powerline and AD1 had sent someone waiting for them at the printer. There were staff NCOs holding them open and quietly talking to those going in. She saw Cypher and Drone duck into avionics. Gunny Owens whispered something to Echo, who nodded before going into airframes, followed by a Lance Corporal and AM2 Sanders. She marched up to Gunny as he closed the door behind them. "What is going on here?" "We're not using the shops for anything ma'am, so we converted them into sleeping quarters so we would have extra personnel on hand in an emergency. Sergeant's Major's idea. We had everyone on nights bring every bivouac they could and lay them out in the shops. When shifts change they can use the same ones. A bit grungy, but it's what we have." "That's fine. What I have a problem with is officers quartered along with enlisted." "We had a plan to segregate officers and genders, ma'am, but the rakkan crews showed up and camped out wherever, and won't move. Since they don't segregate between themselvs we're trying to use them as dividers where we need them, though it doesn't always work out." "Numbers are hard. Not many officers or women. 'less you count them. Good luck on figuring out who is..." "Not that," Gunny shook his head. "Pearson warned that personal space isn't a thing with them, ma'am." "...oh." "Yeah. We gave up on segregating and just offered those spots to those that didn't care." "And where are you staying?" "My office, ma'am." "It's empty? Why isn't Lieutenant Thompson there?" "Not empty. Enough floor space for five. One open spot, rest is an unadapted farrom crew. He's not brave enough." "And you are?" Gunny grinned. "Space got a little limited the last time the skinnies were here ma'am. It was weird, but I got over it and they snore less. And you, ma'am?" "I'll probably go back. It's not like I have my-" Gunny held up a sleeping system and pad. "I don't know how," he said, "but you can thank Sergeant Yasoi." "Oh. Thanks." "I'll bet your office is fairly private, unless someone has moved in." "How many of their birds are here?" "That aren't flying?" "I've peeked in the shops. We've got a lot more than six crews here." He frowned. "Well, there's the six in the huge hanger we have here, eighteen more in the empty hangers down the line, and six out in the parking lot shoe-horned between cars from here to MALS. That makes, what, thirty?" "Thirty?!" "Yeah." "Not all from FLI-682 then." "I haven't seen another unit patch, ma'am." She paused for a moment. "Wow." "Mm. Big squadron." She shook her head, taking the pad and bag. "I'll be in my office." "G'night ma'am." Once again she picked her way across the hanger to her door. She sighed, and opened the door. The lights were on, and she could see what AD1 meant by "wall to wall bodies". Her small office was packed with eight furry rakkan on the floor, laying or sitting in a loose grid. Many were pulling off boots and gloves but none, she noticed, removed their suit. There was a small pile of the removed gear at the foot or head of each position. Smack in the middle of the room was space for a ninth. The only empty space. Her eye twitched. "Ehy!" a cheerful but exhausted looking rakkan said. Her eyes fell on the rank marking of commander on his chest. "Dida orau, fithis- er, spot here for you" he said, pointing to her bivouac, then to the empty space. She was about to protest when it dawned on her that to the rakkan this was likely the best spot in the house. Her frustration fled flushed from her by fatigue. She was tired, they meant well, and her capacity to give a fuck was quickly dwindling. She smiled at the commander. "Thank you. Er, I'm Lieutenant Commander Sadok." "Shepard!" was the reply, complete with smile. "Yes." "Bash," he(?) said, pointing to himself. Then he began pointing around the room. "Gas. Turko. Bulb. Fender. Smack. Key. Um.... Goat. In English. I think." "It's very nice to meet you all." A few suited tails twitched a couple of times. She picked her way to the open spot, spread her bag and took her boots off. She put them under the head of the bag as was trying to get them comfortable enough as a pillow when the lights went out. She finally settled on a position, and was just wondering how she could sleep without her neck killing her after she woke up when an arm shot under her head, shoving her boots out of the way and wrapped across her chest before pulling her backwards into a warm body. It all happened so fast she just lay there in shock. She was just processing what had happened when another body smashed into her front, the small bulk of their life support pushing into her as she felt a suited tail slip between her calves. A clawed hand grabbed her wrist, rearranged her arm slightly, and then a furry head lay on it. There was another, damped impact into the body in front of her. Meanwhile a quiet, soft snoring had started several bodies behind her. If being sandwiched between alien strangers hadn't been so disturbing she could have found the snore almost soothing. Flatface had said something about this, and that giving her private quarters aboard the Trisona was not considered a courtesy among them. Being molested would normally be a very real threat in this situation, but with each deep breath she was forcing herself to accept that to them this was benign -even normal. She had the distinct feeling that where she was now was no different to them than Sparks, Echo, Cypher and her sharing an apartment. She closed her eyes, a sigh escaping on its own. Her gut told her she had nothing to worry about.

She awoke to movement. Seconds later the lights flicked on, and she could see several people getting up and stretching. She sat up and lost the fight with a yawn, causing several ears to flick towards her. There was a grunt behind her, and she turned to see a lieutenant pull his arm back and begin fishing through his pile for boots which he extracted and began pulling on. She did the same, and checked her watch: it was O' four hundred. Several of the rakkan had hooded up and closed their face shields, giving her the impression they were about to go back out again. She did her best to make sure she was presentable, opened the door to maintenance control, and came face to face with another rakkan. This one looked utterly exhausted and wore a different squadron insignia. Behind him three others stood. He muttered something and stood out of the way. "Thank you," she said, hurrying past. In maintenance control Top gave her a sideways smile. "Sleep ok?" "It, ah, took some getting used to, but it wasn't bad." AM2 Sanders was at the counter with a thousand yard stare. Chief White nudged him as Echo walked in, looking still half asleep. "You alright, AM2?" she said. He turned to her, his eyes wide with horror. "I was cuddled by an alien all night, ma'am... They shoved an arm under my head, grabbed... and pulled me into them. I... I've never been on that side of a spoon before. I... it didn't feel good." "Are you sure it was one of them?" Chief White said with a wink at Shepard. "I know how you air-framers can be." "Oh it was. I felt their sleeve under my head all night. They were wearing a space suit and when they grabbed me they had claws." "You had a pillow!" Echo said. "I wouldn't complain. You get nearly as close on a sub." "Yeah, but they're all gay aboard those, sir. Everyone knows that." Chief White bit his lip to keep from laughing. Top turned around to hide his face. Shepard watched in amusement as Echo turned red. "Did you know I used to be enlisted, AM2?" AM2 shrank, realizing his mistake. "I'm really sorry sir, I-" Echo started laughing. "Careful who you offend, some people don't have a sense of humor. You know, it might have been Sgt. Yasoi. She can be a little twisted upstairs." "Negative sir. She was on top of the work tables with Sgt. Yasoud and Sgt. Yasoolik. I guess she wanted to be alone and it backfired." A line of rakken burst through the door from the hanger, most adapted, a few not. Shepard watched them file past, all wearing the 682's insignia. One of them, jet black if she were to judge the little visible in his open hood, reached up and tussled AM2's hair. "Ninga korchool ofay." AM2 stood frozen as they moved on. Shepard swore they were smiling. "Uh, what?" AM2 said to nobody in particular. "He said you're fun to fuck with," Pearson said, who had just popped through the door hood in hand. Everyone laughed. "Are they clear to pull out of the hanger, Chief?" he said, donning the hood. "Make sure nobody comes out of the shops as you do so," Chief White said. "Yes." "Aye aye, Chief. Here goes round two." "Good luck. Tell them to stay frosty." "I'll pass it on, Cheif." He closed his face shield and headed back into the hanger. Shepard followed him and watched as suited figures took position in front of the two office doors on her side of the hanger. She assumed there were people doing the same on the other side. Craft lifted. Gears retracted, and like a school of fish they floated out one end of the hanger and into the night. The school didn't stop with six craft, however. The hanger was just as full when gear suddenly extended and they relaxed onto the ground again. Hatches opened, ladders dropped, and muzzle-nosed figures descended; bearing the insignia of a different unit. She understood now. They had just swapped and this unit was now down for rest. Most of the air crews split off, opening face shields as they made their way away from her towards the shops. One person didn't. He pulled his hood off, made eye contact with Shepard, and made a beeline her way. Her eyes fell on his rank of Colonel and she drew in a deep breath, slowly letting it out again, realizing this was likely this squadron's CO. He paused, pulled out his computer, worked through the screen a bit before nodding and putting it back in a thigh pocket. He held out a hand. Unsure of what else to do, she took it and shook it. He leaned forward and sniffed her cheek -an act she had seen awkwardly repeated by those she hosted. "Tank Yo-oo." He motioned towards the line. She smiled. "I wish we could do more." He looked at her a moment and she realized he hadn't the foggiest idea what she had said. Suddenly he pushed past and into maintenance control, motioning her to follow. He walked through and out the other side, stopping in the dark strip of dirt that separated the hanger from the flight line. Chief White, Master Guns, and AM2 followed, curious. He turned back to the group, then pointed nearly straight up. Above them something nearly four times the size of the surrounding stars and twice as bright was moving steadily across the sky. "Wow," Chief said. "What is that?" The rakkan colonel grinned and mimicked holding a huge rifle. "Kaboom!" he said, mimicking recoil. AM2 cheered. "Oh! They're sending the heavies! Awesome!" The rakkan then pointed to several other objects that were less bright. She suddenly realized she was looking at a formation, and pointed to the bright one in the lead. "Trisona?" He shook his head. "Ma'hark." He then pointed to the others, naming them. "Bosok. Horthir. Yomong. Arizona." "Hey," Echo said, pointing at himself. "We have an Arizona too, sir." The rakkan nodded and pointed at the humans. "Arizona, Kaboom!" he repeated the gesture of firing a massive gun into the sky. Then he pointed at himself, then the sky again: "Arizona, Kaboom!" She looked at Master Guns. "Wow," she muttered. "When Sgt. Yasoi told me they were big fans, apparently she meant it." The colonel smiled a few seconds longer, then turned and went back inside. Out on the flight line she saw a number of farroms flicker into the sky, as the frantic pace continued to reload and refuel the alien craft that continuously cycled through.

At around 1400 everything abruptly stopped. She was outside talking with Cypher, who was refilling her hydration pack when the craft simply stopped coming in. There was about fifteen minutes of inactivity, during which the Sergeants wasted no time sending people to refill water and swapping out exhausted personnel for fresh ones. They didn't dare leave the line. After about fifteen minutes people were getting worried. What had happened? Why weren't they returning? Did they have a better resupply point now? Had the skinnies over come them, and now it was only a matter of time before they stormed Earth, or had they won, and simply gone home? Even Sergeant Yasoolik seemed uneasy, walking from person to person with his facesheild open, saying a few words to some, a short conversation with others, giving them an encouraging pat on the back. After twenty-five, Shepard walked towards maintenance control to have then attempt to radio one of the farrom crews, or call the ready room to see if they had any luck up there. She hadn't gone five paces when Slosh spun and sprinted across the flight line, wrapping his arms around AM2 Sanders in a joyful hug and a whoop. Overhead, farrom after farrom cleared the air field; their shadows flickering on the ground like an old time movie reel. They swooped over the runway before taxiing onto the flight line, allowing themselves to by martial-ed into parking positions by plane captains, making it clear they preferred to park in one continuous line than in the squadron's normal formation. Hatches opened. Rakken, altered and not, spilled onto the flight line. Mallet was hugging Slosh. Flatface had wrapped her arms around Lost, then a nervous looking PFC -a recent check-in. Shepard watched a sadistic smile flash over her ears before she planted a big sloppy lick across the poor marine's face and let him go. There was a lot of back slapping, cheering and uncomfortable hugging as the six hundred and eighty-second expressed their gratitude and relief to the personnel on the line. Echo came stumbling back. "They did it! We held them until the big guns showed up, and then we hammered the fuck out of them and sent them running. Apparently there's a lot of Koaku garbage up there now." She smiled, her insides finally starting to relax. "Good." She watched Colonel Oontini, standing at the end of the row and waiting for the rest of the crews to come up. His face shield was up, but his hood was on. She watched him say something and Slosh, standing awkwardly four birds away and in the middle of a crowd, immediately turned around and ran over. He watched the skipper clap him on the shoulders, then point behind him where his crew was standing in a line, refraining from the pseudo celebration happening around them. She watched Slosh nod, then fall in behind Pip, who wrapped an arm around him. Even from across the line she could tell Sgt. Yasoolik suddenly looked ill. Wilted even. As soon as the crews of the farthest spacecraft caught up she saw Col. Oontini say something to nobody again. Flat face suddenly broke away, sprinted towards an empty patch of tarmac closest to the hanger, turned her back towards Shepard, popped to attention, and barked something that echoed across flight line. "Eerak Tah!" Chaos erupted as she watched the aliens scramble to fall into a formation. She watched as they formed similar to a platoon, but with each row a vessel crew. One remained separated to the right with four members, Slosh in the rear. It must have been the Commanding Officer's crew. Two others darted up from further away, throwing themselves into the middle of the formation. The chaos died down. Several marines and sailors had scrambled to fall in out of instinct, realized they were in the wrong military, then scrambled again to get out of the way. Once all of the crews had fallen in, hoods on and face shields up, Flatface did an about face and remained at attention. Flick marched up to Flatface, who saluted by placing a hand along side and against her muzzle, as if she were about to grab it. Flick repeated the salute, though he had no muzzle, said a few words and cut. Flatface cut, then briskly marched to the back of the platoon, taking her place behind Lost. They went to what she guessed was 'at ease'. She saw Flick talk for a few seconds, then everyone bow their heads. The line went utterly quiet. It wasn't until she noticed her own marines and sailors heads bowed, cranials off, and heard Slosh's shaking breath through the silence that she understood. They were praying for the fallen.