FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Alright guys. Long chapter this time. I couldn't justify breaking it up.

CHAPTER 18

Nudge had been transported to a cargo shipping base on New Ergo and loaded with at least three hundred other slaves onto a converted freighter ship outfitted with clear-walled holding cells. He shared a small glass box with twenty or thirty other foxes, all males. They had been separated from their female counterparts, who were stuffed into their own cages on the other side of the cargo bay. They were all sullen and filthy creatures; none of them spared the youth a second glance as a wolf shoved him shaking and trembling into the cage. Frightened and alone, Nudge retreated to a corner in the back, where he curled into a small ball. There he stayed quietly by himself as he felt the ship shudder and lift on take-off.

The minutes and hours passed painfully slow for the young fox. Nudge was exhausted mentally and physically but was afraid of falling sleep-afraid of his cell-mates that growled and snarled angrily at each other, and the wolves that threw him in here. His stomach growled with hunger. He hadn't eaten anything in hours. From where he was he could see there were multiple cells similar to his in a row that ran down the length of the cargo hold, a wide aisle left to allow a security guard to pass by every so often and glare inward at them. Their expressions were hard and gruff, and the young fox hated to look at them.

Nudge's cell mates didn't talk to each other much, least of all to the timid youth in the corner. For the most part they kept to themselves, but every now and then an argument over limited lounging space would break out into shouting and barking. One pair of more dominant males exploded into an all-out brawl that sent them both kicking and screaming into a frenzied tangle of teeth and claws. Terrified, Nudge shrunk into himself fearfully as everyone else in the small box tried to jump out of their way, growl out their displeasure, or howl out encouragements. It didn't take long before blood had soaked into their clothes and fur. Whose it was exactly was impossible to tell.

A minute later a wolf burst into the cage, shouting and pushing his way in. The big beast grabbed the closest of the brawlers and actually threw him into the glass wall! The startled fox hit hard, landing in a dazed heap on the cold floor. Without any hesitation the guard dealt the second a blow between the ears with a rifle butt. He collapsed instantly, motionless. Nudge was afraid the wolf had killed him. The guard growled a warning to the rest of the "stupid, Gods damned animals" to be quiet and behave. It didn't take long for order to be restored after that.

When the guard had left, the fox that had been thrown into the wall crept painfully over to his unconscious foe. He was still breathing (thank the Gods, thought Nudge) but was out cold. Assuming victory, he shoved him over against the wall and sprawled out in his conquered territory to lick his battle wounds. The quiet continued reasonably unbroken for a long time after that.

After a while Nudge heard one of the bigger foxes ask another that seemed to be close to him, "Think they gonna feed us, or let us starve?"

His companion just shrugged and said, "Maybe," as if he didn't really care at all. Nudge's stomach ached just thinking about it.

As time passed, those that couldn't sleep or otherwise stay still became increasingly more agitated. One particularly restless fox, no older than eighteen years by the look of him, started pacing back and forth. When a wolf came walking past the cage he pounded on the glass, demanding something to eat. The guard snorted loudly, but otherwise ignored him. The fox whined and whimpered.

"Shut up, will ya," barked someone that was trying to sleep nearby.

"Something's not right," the restless fox said, clearly distressed. "They should'a fed us by now!"

"Shut...up," the second snapped.

The other wouldn't. "Don' you see? They're gonna kill us or something...no food for dead foxes. Dead foxes don't eat."

Growling, the angry fox kicked at the restless youth, knocking him to the hard deck with a startled yelp. "I said shut up!"

Nudge trembled, frightened. They wouldn't kill them, would they? They hadn't done anything wrong. His master promised everything would be okay. He promised! He wouldn't lie to him...would he? He was different from the other wolfs that liked to hurt him...wasn't he?

"Hey!" A wolf slammed the butt of his rifle against the glass, its loud echo startling Nudge so badly he jumped with a squeak. The soldier scowled at the two foxes that were now wrestling aggressively with each other. "Knock it off in there or I'll make you both hurt!"

Nudge whimpered quietly, hugging himself close. He shifted uncomfortably and felt the crinkling of paper in his pocket. Remembering what his master had given him earlier he pulled the pages out of his pocket and unfolded them. His mother's picture was on top, and as the young fox looked into the vixen's face he felt strangely saddened. She was a complete stranger to him, her soft smile warm...but unknown. It was almost unbelievable, the idea that he could have ever had a mother at all. It just wasn't something he'd ever thought about. Very few of the slaves he had ever known knew their mothers, and almost never their sires.

Nudge's eyes blurred a little. He blinked away the tears, but more quickly replaced them. Why couldn't she be here now, to hold and comfort him like Meg would for her children, when they were sad? It wasn't fair. He was a good boy; he did what he was told and tried to do his chores really well. That was supposed to bring you good things, or so he'd been told his entire life. Why then was he being sent away from someone he though cared about him, actually wanted to be nice to him? Maybe his master had lied, like so many others before him.

Maybe he was useless after all, and nobody had use for a useless fox.

Still curled on the floor, Nudge flipping his big, fluffy tail over his face to hide from the other slaves as he cried quietly.

***

"Your Highness, General Tracy is in position over the capitol. He needs your authorization to move on the Council."

Emperor Charles said nothing for a long moment, rubbing his muzzle. Lokagos had been gracious enough to lend him a vacant meeting hall on the Excedra as a sort of temporary war room and executive center. It was laughably small. But then, beggars couldn't be choosers. A select staff of military and governmental officials had been assembled here, brought to the Excedra on the condition they remain confined to one deck. But it was enough to accomplish the unthinkable: retake control of his own empire.

"Sir," pressed Admiral Hartford, this time hushed and out of earshot of the emperor's staff. "He's asking for your direct consent to enter your Council. All I need is a nod, sir."

"You sound as if you believe it's that easy." The young wolf sighed tiredly. "Eight hundred and seventy two years of Navarres have sat as emperors, admiral. Not one has ever had to march an army or fly a fleet to within a sector of the capitol, least of all take it back again."

Chris frowned. "Your Highness...it may not be entirely necessary. Perhaps if we used the Fourteenth and Fifteenth fleets to put pressure on the Council we could offer terms of surrender-"

"No. I won't have them burrow in the ground while I wait for them to come out. They dishonored me and betrayed the empire. Nothing will make me beg for them to surrender. Still...even emperors are not above custom."

It was true. Ancient tradition rejected the presence of a standing military in or near the imperial palace and capitol complex.

Chris, however, was not so impressed with mere traditions. "Pardon me, emperor, but your Council committed treason against you, a terrible breach of tradition in and of itself."

The emperor sighed and shook his head resignedly. "Give General Tracy the go-ahead."

"Yes, sir." Chris bowed respectfully and moved quickly to follow up on the command.

Maybe it was the situation that was stressing him, or Master Fortono's gene therapy that was unbalancing his chemistry, but Emperor Charles felt like an anxiety attack was not far off. The fifty three officials on his staff were busy coordinating with the various levels of government, from the Defense Department to the Labor Ministry-or rather what was left of them after the martial take-over. It had proven to be a logistical nightmare. Lines of communication had been tied into a knot, entire departments disbanded, new ones born overnight, and nobody seemed to know who was really in charge anymore. His staff had done an incredible job despite the chaos.

And yet, for all the work involved, it progressed with very little direction from Charles personally. Sure, every now and then he'd be given a status report or request for authorization. But the young emperor knew that he was essentially not needed...and wasn't sure how to feel about that. He realized with disappointment in himself this was exactly how things had been throughout his short reign. While he chased after foolish sexual affairs he took a completely paws-off approach to the affairs of state. That's what allowed all this to happen in the first place, wasn't it?

"You stupid fool," he whispered to himself. "Never again."

***

"General Tracy, sir. Colonel Matheson reports his battalion has been positioned," reported the division commander's signal wolf.

Nodding, Major General Walter Tracy of the Imperial Third Army hovered over a satellite readout of the Imperial capitol compound. "Tell him he needs to hold until the big birds are in place and bio-scans have been complete."

"Yes, sir."

"Major Paulson," General Tracy called to his Army-Navy liaison. "What's the status of our air support?"

"General, our big birds are taking up ready positions now. Admiral Valloy's fleet is on standby. He says he can jump in when needed."

Around him his command station teamed with activity as staff officers and senior noncommissioned officers relayed orders and requests too and from the field in a well-practiced flow. He was aboard an observation cruiser, a ship attached to a small Imperial Navy task force organized as a support and operating platform to Army units.

"General, net confirms the support fleet is on ready status with drop ships in reserve. The extraction team has been front-loaded."

"Good. Colonel Heath, I need live feed ASAP." The battle-scarred and battle-hardened commander stared down at the real-time satellite imagery fed through a large interface that covered a square table. The extensive High Council complex covered approximately thirty acres of concrete, steel, and glass office buildings and common grounds.

"General sir, the biometrics overlay is inoperable," said Lieutenant Colonel Heath, the division intelligence officer. "The active scans are being deflected from the ground."

General Tracy nodded, slowly. "They know we're coming. Give me numbers, colonel."

"The defense commandant says a company-size element of Marines was tasked in defending the main assembly, though it's possible that was increased to two companies, general sir. We're talking light infantry and military police."

"Assume two, colonel, and tell our mutts to watch their tails. Marines don't mess around. They're likely to be dug in heavily." Moving to the comms station the general picked up the receiver. "Net-call, net-call. This is Tengo Zero One. Mission is a go. Repeat: Mission is a go. Prisoners are your priority targets. Strong resistance is expected and the rules of engagement authorize the use of any necessary force to preserve life and limb. Tengo Zero One, out."

On the capitol planet's surface, task force commanders received the "mission go" and ordered their forward maneuver units into action. The capital complex had been surrounded in a rough box on all sides. On the north edge of the compound the High Council administration complex rose above the surrounding landscape, a steel and glass tower of twenty stories. Securing this building was the duty of the 152nd Mobile Battalion, 56th Infantry Brigade. Echo Company, the main effort, mobilized the advance platoon to move on and secure the lobby.

The platoon's leader, Second Lieutenant Tony Gonzales, trained a pair of binoculars across a wide courtyard that graced the main entry to the building. There was not a wolf in sight.

"Echo Seven, this is Charlie Three," Gonzales said into the comms attached to his helmet. "The field is clear. Requesting permission to initiate contact, over."

"Roger that, Charlie Three. Mission is go, over."

"Good copy. Charlie Three, out."

Motioned a wrecking crew forward he illustrated with his paws as he said, "Us the low traffic barriers to the left as cover. Blow the doors," he ordered, and a three-wolf team trotted forward, bounding across a narrow access road, their backs hunched over unnaturally to limit their profiles. Making it to the main entrance, a pair of heavily reinforced bullet-proof glass doors, they placed a multi-resonance sonic generator in front of it.

"Fire in the hole!" crackled the comms.

The sonic boom shattered the doors and rattled the cement and steel frame of the Council building. Gonzales pumped his fist up and down rapidly and his platoon rushed forward in a staggered column and rushed into the huge lobby of the structure, forking right to hug the wall. The element snaked its way toward the interior, the infantry soldier's training their assault rifles in all directions. The entry gave way to an open atrium; a multi-storied gallery with a glass ceiling high above and a reflecting pool with a fountain below. Three tiers of balconies spiraled up above.

A pair of security guards stumbled out from behind a desk. They were stunned from the resonance blast and had trouble balancing, but managed to wave their empty paws in the air.

"Get down on the ground!" A team of soldiers rushed forward, brandishing their rifles at the two security guards, forcing them onto their chests and zip-tying their paws behind their backs.

Suddenly, small arms fire erupted from an upper balcony, hammering the team with a hail of lead from above. Two of them collapsed, the third diving for cover behind a bench.

"Enemy contact, third level!"

"Suppressive fire, on that balcony! Now!"

A squad of soldiers rushed forward, unleashing a hair of fire on the upper level as another team ran into the center to drag their downed comrades to cover. A flash of muzzle fire from half a dozen angles erupted, filling the hall with a deafening roar.

"Echo Seven, this is Charlie Three," Lieutenant Gonzales shouted into his comms. "Be advised we're taking heavy small arms fire from the inner balconies. At least a dozen enemy, over."

"Copy that Charlie Three. Charlie Five is flanking to the east entrance, over."

The platoon sergeant pointed above his head. "Sir, we gotta get up there! We're getting shit on down here!"

Nodding, Gonzales turned and waved his paw in a circular motion, his squad leaders bringing their squads in behind them. Stopping at a flight of stairs he pointed up toward the second level.

"Second platoon is breeching from our right. We'll take the left. Johnson, take your squad to the far wall on the second floor. Carter, you're going to the third. Third and forth squads will stay here and draw their fire. Go!"

Staff Sergeant Carter and his squad climbed the stairs quickly, Staff Sergeant Johnson and his squad following closely, parting ways at the top of the first flight and trailing along the balcony, keeping their heads down, below the lip of the short balcony wall. The wolf on point reached a bend and looked quickly around the corner.

"Five. Ten meters," he said back and Sergeant Johnson made a popping gesture with his paw.

Nodding, the wolf pulled out a flash-bang grenade, pulled the pin and cooked it off for two seconds before tossing it around the corner. The blast shook the deck and the squad filed around the corner, unloading on the stunned hostiles.

"Sir, second level secure," Sergeant Johnson barked into his comms unit.

A moment later the weapons fire from upstairs reached a violent crescendo that was suddenly silenced.

"Third level clear."

"Okay," barked Lieutenant Gonzales. "First platoon, get to the ground floor ASAP. We're regrouping on the northwest corner."

High above General Tracy listened keenly to the situation reports as they filtered into his headquarters.

"Main lobby secured, general."

"Colonel Matheson has met heavy resistance at the East Judicial Chambers, sir. A company of Marines has suppressed entry with heavy crew-served weaponry, and Colonel Matheson is requesting permission to utilize explosive ordinance to gain entry."

General Tracy gritted his teeth. "Granted," he said, "but only as far as necessary."

"Yes, sir."

Less than thirty minutes following, offices and meeting halls were being raided and searched by soldiers for any and all personnel, arresting them immediately. The suspicion of guilt in plots to overthrow the Lupine Empire was assumed on the spot, without exception. Whether or not a wolf was actually guilty was not the duty of the Army. Special investigations would follow soon enough.

Above it all, General Tracy paced the deck, a paw stroking his chin as he listened to the reports.

"Prepare a situation report for the emperor's command staff," he told the division signal officer.

"Sir," the officer replied. "I have Captain Sutter on the line. He says it's urgent."

Captain Sutter was the naval commander of the Third Army's support fleet. Frowning, the general told the officer to put the transmission through the intercom.

"Go ahead, Captain," he said.

"General, the entire Third Fleet just materialized five thousand clicks from here! They're demanding we stand down. I have to pull the fleet back."

"Shit," swore the general. "We're a little busy here!"

"Understood general, but we cannot risk a direct assault. We've sounded a distress call. The Thirteenth fleet is inbound. I suggest you keep your forces grounded...things are going to get rough up here."

General Tracy growled furiously. "I'll order the division to hold on the surface. If you have to, make a jump for it. I'm taking us down."

"Understood, general."

A moment later the fleet-wide net was opened and the fleet executive officer sounded general quarters. Pounding the comms station with a balled fist, General Tracy started barking orders.

"Get the extraction craft to the surface now. Helm! Put us down at rally point zeta. Colonel Jones!"

"Yes sir?"

"Tell our boys to dig in. The shit's about to hit the fan."

***

Sarah awoke with a gasp, then a deep moan, to a dim world. The back of her head and neck were numb and cold, like they had been injected with anesthetic before surgery. Disoriented and confused she rolled herself onto her front and pushed herself shakily into a sitting position on the hard, damp floor. Through clouded eyes she scanned her surroundings dumbly, sniffing the air for recognizable clues. There was something familiar here that she couldn't place. If only her head would stop hurting and spinning. She raised a paw to rub her forehead, moaning against its throbbing displeasure.

"Don' wurry," said a quiet voice, making the vixen jump and yip. "Da dizziness is temp'rary."

The words were thickly accented; almost strained, their formation made with difficulty. But Sarah could recognize that hateful voice anywhere and she scowled at it. Sozo stepped into the dim light, his hollow eyes hauntingly expressionless as he crouched down a few paces in front of the vixen. He watched her for a long moment, his face even and calm. In his paw he clutched a pistol, which he tap-tap-tapped against the palm of his other paw. The weapon was an alloy of some sort, polished to a high luster that the low light from above seemed to dance off of as the fox moved it up and down. Sarah found it almost hypnotic.

"Is a shame, Sarah," he finally said, his tone cold and even. "I warn'ed you. I tol' you d'ey was false an' treach'rous. D'ey lie an' deceive," he hissed angrily. "Look a' you! Filthy hoar. Do you think d'at damn wolf love you? Could ever love you!"

"You don't know what the hell you're talking about," Sarah barked. "Scott's never touched me!"

Sozo snorted disdainfully, a cynical laugh escaping his muzzle just before he caught it. "Some'ow I doubt. No matter," he said in broken Lupine, standing. "He can' hurt you again."

The silver fox sneered down at the vixen. When his words hit home and her beautiful soft face twisted with fear and despair, that sneer only deepened. He'd lost all pity for the weak-willed vixen.

"Oh Gods, Sozo," she whimpered. "What have you done to him?"

"Dead," he said simply, bluntly.

Sarah gasped sharply. "No," she whispered, her face falling. "No...Scott...How could you..."

"Wasn' difficult." Turning to leave the vixen in her temporary prison the fox mumbled as he walked slowly to the door. "You may join 'im soon. I may decide I kill you."

He slammed the door shut behind him, the squeal of the lock's bolt echoing hollowly around the vixen. Now suddenly alone, Sarah felt her despair ascend to a new level of hopelessness and sorrow unlike anything she'd ever felt before. It was a lie, wasn't it? She preyed desperately that it was. But her hopes were overshadowed by the tormenting truth that it was entirely possible that Sozo had killed what she loved.

"Scott," she moaned pitifully, finding she didn't have the energy even to cry. "I'm so sorry. This is all my fault."

Sarah collapsed, exhausted in both mind and body, and buried her nose in her arms.

Sozo climbed the cellar stairs to the kitchen pantry and made his way to the master bedroom down a long hallway. The fox growled despairingly to himself, shaking his head in disappointment. In one respect he had lied to the vixen: There was no way he would bring himself to kill her like he could the wolf. That was different...he'd done it gladly before. But Sarah was different, tainted though she was. She was innocent after all, and Sozo doubted he could take such a life, least of all in cold blood. Though the question remained. What was he going to do with her?

Reaching the bedroom door he opened the electronic lock with a code scanner he had taken from aboard the Excedra before leaving. Pushing his way in he grinned evilly when he saw his prize sitting on the bed, just as he'd left him.

"D'is is beautiful house, wolf. Did slaves build for you?"

Scott Banks didn't respond, his limp body resting silent and still where he leaning upright against his own bed's headboard. As Sozo sauntered proudly up to his side the wolf didn't move a muscle, even as the fox stood fearlessly over him. Sozo glared down at him, savoring the moment. He knew full well the wolf was awake and attentive, his eyes staring blankly at the walls ahead. The fox rapped his knuckles on the bridge of Scott's nose, the satisfying hollow knocking sound of his sinuses echoing around the room. Sozo smiled broadly, knowing the larger creature could do nothing about it.

"Mus' be terrifying," Sozo mocked.

Scott's heart began to race in his chest, the full nature of his situation horrifying the wolf and stirring his anger at the same time. He wanted nothing more than to strike out against this loathsome fox; to make him feel pain and terror for a change. But as much as he wanted to, he was completely paralyzed. Scott could sense everything around him but control none of it. Sozo's paw moved down to the nape of his neck, where he tugged sharply at the loose flesh there. A sharp sting assaulted him as he felt claws dig cruelly into the skin under his thick fur and a weak whimper managed to escape his throat.

Sozo laughed maliciously, releasing the wolf's nape to tap on a flexible plate that rested on Scott's head snuggly between his ears.

"D'is probe is useful machine, hmm? Too bad minister not let me use earlier. Could a' prevent all d'is trouble."

Sozo walked to a dresser by the far wall and picked up a similar plate, which he fitted securely to the top of his own head and activated the control component of the Psycho-analytical Regression and OBservation Extorter-or PROBE, for short-that he had also stolen from the Excedra shortly before teleporting himself to the Banks household.

"There. This is so much better, don't you think," the fox said, this time in clear Vulpine, and while Scott's ears heard his foreign language, his mind understood its meaning perfectly. "I haven't spoken a word of Lupine in over five years," Sozo said sourly, "and I had sworn to myself I never would again. I guess I'm a little out of practice. Still, it's no matter. This probe technology is more than sufficient, don't you think?"

Scott couldn't respond, of course, but the effects of the paralysis couldn't keep him from envisioning himself tearing the fox's larynx from his throat. 'Let him try and speak after that, in any language!'

Sozo chuckled. "Such violence, wolf," he scowled mockingly. As the silver fox sneered at him from across the room, Scott heard very clearly without hearing, 'You can fantasize all you like. There is nothing you can do about it, and there is nothing you can hide from me either.' If the wolf wasn't paralyzed he would have jumped. The fox must have sensed his alarm because he laughed again, saying without speaking, 'As difficult as it must be for your primal understanding to grasp, I own you now. Mind and body.'

'What makes you think you can get away with this,' Scott thought-spoke.

"In all honestly, wolf, I don't expect to get away with this. I fully expect those you've managed to corrupt and manipulate to appear at any moment to take me away." 'It will be difficult to trace us without these, however,' Sozo thought as he pulled two translator chips from his pocket and flashed them in front of Scott's nose.

The wolf's breath caught in his lungs. Two chips. That must mean...Sarah! 'What have you done with her,' he demanded, his rage flashing strongly through their telepathic link.

"Oh, she's safe...for now. I may have to kill her, too. After you, that is."

'Leave her alone, you son of a bitch! She has nothing to do with this!'

"Oh, doesn't she? She longs for you like a hungry leach. It's disgusting."

'She's not the one that's disgusting, Sozo. You're so full of hatred and ignorance for me that you can't see just how foolish and cruel you really are. You think you're better than me or her? You're no better than the cruelest slave master in the entire empire.'

Sozo growled, baring his sharp teeth, as he struck the wolf across the jaw with a tightened fist. Grabbing Scott's nose he pulled his face close to his. "What do you know about cruelty," he hissed releasing his muzzle and Scott slumped back like a limp dishcloth. "You, who's been sheltered all your life while I was raised to believe I was weak and useless, with no other purpose than to serve your kind. When I dared to believe anything otherwise I was beaten to within an inch of death!"

Scott suddenly howled in agony, his back arching grotesquely. A sharp, lancing pain coursed through his body. Whimpering, confused, and shaken his mind reeled for a moment. Where had that come from? Sozo hadn't touched him.

'That's right, wolf. Hurts, doesn't it?'

In his mind's eye, Scott found himself in a field under the bright, hot sun. There was a crowd around him and looking up Scott could see he was surrounded by foxes, maybe fifteen or twenty, clothed in rags. They stared at him, their eyes haunted. A searing pain slashed across his back again, prefaced only by a loud hiss as a leather whip cut through the air. "Ahhh!" he screamed out, his eyes screwing shut against the lash he was sure had spit his flesh wide open. Moaning and crying he hung his head, which knocked solidly with a tree stump he was leaning over, his silver-furred wrists bound to the wood with metal cuffs. "Ahhh!" Another blow, this one lower, making his back arch in a violent convulsion. Oh Gods! It hurt so much! 'Kill me now,' he found himself screaming. 'Please kill me. Anything to make it stop!'

"He's had enough," said a gruff voice from above and a dark shadow fell over Scott's face as a big burly wolf unclasped his wrists and threw him bodily to the dirt. "Damn fox!"

Scott whimpered uncontrollably as the searing heat of the sun and dust bit at his open wounds. Panting labouredly he whimpered and moaned, unable to move.

'Twenty years,' he heard Sozo's distant voice say, cutting through the vision eerily. 'Even today I don't know why my master hated me so much.'

'Please,' begged Scott. 'No more. It hurts so much!'

"Five lashes! You get five lashes and beg for no more! I can't count how many times I begged for no more, but they only whipped harder and harder."

In his vision Scott tried to push himself up from the dirt, but failed as his trembling arms collapsed. Then a soft paw gripped his shoulder and gently turned him over. A young vixen, her fur a ruddy brown from layers of dust, helped him slowly, carefully to his footpaws, supporting him with an arm as Scott stumbled and struggled to keep upright, almost passing out at one point. Through his daze he could hear the vixen crying.

"Her name was Mariah," said Sozo. "She was the only real friend I had." A sudden wave of emotions flooded Scott's mind; incredible love and terrible suffering all at once. "I loved her, wolf. I loved her with every cell of my body...So they killed her."

The scene flashed to an overcast day, the breeze freezing and dry as if snow were on its way. Scott was at the same whipping stump as before, but it wasn't him tied to it, but the vixen. Her screams and haunted howls pierced through his heart and soul as he fought frantically against the wolf that held him tightly by the shoulders. If only he could get to her! If only he could get at the beast that was killing her...or take her place! She wasn't strong enough. There was no way she could survive this!

"They found us making love in the equipment shed," said Sozo painfully. "The master couldn't have his slaves distracted with useless attractions...least of all love. The whip broke her back, wolf. She lived for two days afterward, her legs paralyzed. I stayed at her side the whole time. There was no way I would let her die alone...even though I knew she would."

Sozo was crying as he narrated this, and Scott found himself doing the same as he shared through the probe the fox's anguish, hatred, and intense longing.

'I'm sorry,' he thought. 'I really am, Sozo. I know what it's like to loose someone so close.'

The vision faded, leaving the wolf in his room once again. From his peripheral he could see the fox's movement and hear his sobbing.

"Don't you dare minimize my pain, wolf," he growled hatefully. "Your mate died in an accident; painless with nobody to blame. I had to watch, powerless, as my enemies stripped and flayed her body open before my eyes. Then watch her die slowly, painfully. I was a slave to my love's murderers. Do you have any idea what that was like for me? To see their smug faces every day as they stood above me. Spit at me...laughed at me."

'What they did to you and to her was evil. Purely evil. Nobody deserves to have that happen to them no matter who they are or what they've-'

"Shut up!" bellowed the fox. Scott's mind reeled from a powerful telepathic shock that left him dazed for a few moments. "I don't need you to tell me what to feel or who to blame!"

Scott's chest heaved with labored breath. The mental whipping he'd just been given was incredibly powerful.

The wolf was sure he could still feel the pains linger up and down his back from the whipping. The visions had been so real. So vivid. But they weren't his. He simply shared with the fox what Sozo had kept fresh in his mind for so long. It was tormenting him, even today. At that moment, unexpectedly even to himself, the wolf pitied the fox.

That pity infuriated Sozo, who could sense every measure of the wolf's consciousness. "I don't need your pity either, wolf. I don't need anything from anybody. I got my revenge," the fox said, almost joyfully. "I found the wolf that killed my love one day in the tool shed. He was asleep, peaceful even. I crept up behind him and slit his throat with a piece of wood I had sharpened. I'll never forget the look on his face as he bled out." Scott could sense Sozo's relief and sickening pleasure as he described the act. "I hid his body and took his key card to the master's manor. When everyone was asleep that night I snuck in and killed the master and his wife."

'That's murder.'

"Would you have done any differently in my place?"

Scott didn't answer, knowing deep down he probably would have.

Sozo scoffed at his silence. "I stole an auto-transport and flew it as far as I could from them. They'd taught me how to operate it hoping to use me as a driver. Biggest mistake they ever made. But I got lost in space without anywhere to go and was almost dead when I was found by a Vulpine survey ship." The fox laughed cynically. "Imagine my surprise, hmm? To learn my kind wasn't so weak and useless after all."

'What do you want me to do,' said Scott derisively. 'Tell you I killed Mariah so you can avenge her death again? I regret every crime and evil that members of my race have done to yours. But please believe me when I say we're not all like that.'

The fox had no choice but to believe him. Through the probe he could easily sense truth and lie. This was no lie. But Sozo didn't care anymore. How could he let the past be forgiven? How could he continue on, pretending it never happened?

"Who then should pay for our suffering? Someone needs to pay for it."

'Who then? Me? Sarah? You won't find revenge here, Sozo. The emperor is going to end the pain of your people and release them. I promise you that. I want it just as much as you do. We're fighting now to destroy the traitors that are threatening your people!'

"I don't believe it," Sozo growled. "Why should your emperor ever free them? I could NEVER believe the word of a wolf."

'What other hope do you have?'

"Nothing! I have nothing anymore, not even...not..." he mumbled, his voice trembling and fading as he tried to repress this fears and torments. Yet, in his emotion, he had managed to allow a trace of emotion slip through, which Scott caught immediately.

'Not even what? Sarah? Oh Gods, Sozo. Is that what this is about? You want something of Mariah back, don't you?'

"Shut up, wolf," growled the fox.

'It's not just that I'm a wolf then, is it? You can't believe she'd love someone like me, and not you.'

"I said shut up!"

The fox, fists balled tightly, struck madly at the defenseless wolf's face, cutting his lip, blood trickling from his nose. Panting heavily Sozo growled in rage, frustrated that his attack on the hated beast was met with a flat, paralyzed response.

"You two...love each other," he said between forceful breaths. "Then I'll do you both...pant, pant...the courtesy of dying together."

'Killing us won't make you feel any better.'

"Maybe not. What does it matter anymore," he whispered. "We all die in the end...some more than others."

'Don't do this, Sozo,' the wolf begged. 'Let her go. Sozo!'

But the fox, having removed the probe control from his head and tossed it onto the bed, couldn't hear the wolf's frantic thoughts.

Sozo stormed heatedly from the room and through the hallway to the kitchen, into the pantry and down the cellar stairs to the locked door. Swinging it open, where he expected to see the vixen as he had left her, he found only empty space. Stepping carefully into the room he looked around himself, suddenly worried, his panic rising quickly. She was nowhere in sight, and with nothing but a half-dozen shelves resting flush against the walls, there was nothing to hide in or behind. She simply wasn't there!

"Stupid bitch," he growled before turning and running back up the steps.

***

"Admiral Schneider, the enemy fleet is within weapons range."

From his fleet command station aboard the ILS Melville, flagship of the Third Fleet, Admiral Dietrich Schneider nodded. "Thank you Captain Wilkins. Maintain present distance at ready status."

"Aye, sir."

"Commander Woods," said the admiral. "Open a channel with their command ship."

The Third Fleet was a well-fitted Jupiter-Class expeditionary fleet composed of two heavy carriers, seven destroyers, five cruisers, and an assortment of resupply, maintenance and support, hospital, and nanny ships. It included the attachment of a division-sized element of Marines as well as naval infantry units scattered about their respective platforms. Gun for gun it was a floating armory that would be difficult to rival.

"Sir, channel open."

"Attention imperial fleet. This is Admiral Dietrich Schneider of the Third Fleet. You are engaged in a hostile attack in direct treason against the Council and our new republic. You are ordered to stand down or you will be fired upon."

The response came a moment later as a visual feed. Captain Sutter snarled scathingly through the transmission. "Your orders mean nothing to me, Schneider," he mocked intentionally. "You are the party engaged in treasonous acts against the Lupine Empire and Emperor Chrales. Under the authority of the emperor you have been stripped of title and commission and are ordered to surrender your fleet."

Admiral Schneider laughed at the captain. "You're not in any position to issue orders to me, captain."

"Very well," said Captain Sutter coolly. "I doubt you will find mercy, with the loyal fleets or with the emperor. The lowest depths of hell are reserved for betrayers."

The screen went blank. Schneider shook his head. "Stubborn fool. Disable their gunboats and send in the boarding ships. I want it done quick."

"Sir," shouted a tactical officer. "We have contacts materializing, bearing one five seven five three four."

"Friend or foe?"

"I don't know, admiral. FoF transmitters indicate it's the Thirteenth Fleet, but...wait, sir! They're charging weapons!"

"Order the fleet into defensive formation," said Schneider. "We outnumber the Thirteenth at least three to two."

The alert siren sounded fleet-wide. "All crew, general quarters," could be heard ringing out over the intercom.

"Sir, we're being hailed. Audio only."

"Put it through."

"Third Fleet, this is Fleet Admiral Chase, Thirteenth Fleet. You are under direct violation of imperial orders and will be fired upon if you do not stand down immediately."

Schneider barked heatedly, "No such imperial authority exists anymore, Admiral Chase. The empire is dead. We fight for a new republic, free of the damned imperial aristocracy. We will not submit."

Through the transmission, Admiral Chase's tone was direct and contemptuous. "You are a fool to believe Admiral Royce will simply secede his power. Listen to me, old friend: You are defending a dictator, Chase. Don't throw away the lives of your wolves for the benefit of-"

"Terminate that transmission, captain," snapped Admiral Schneider. "I'm tired of this nonsense. Order the destroyers to open fire on their flagship, full batteries. Order the Melville and Corsica to scramble their fighters."

"Aye, sir!"

Sirens blazed on the battle bridge of the ILS Tomcat, flagship to the Thirteenth Imperial Fleet. "Incoming plasma torpedoes!"

"Initiate countermeasures," shouted Captain Analla, her claws digging into the arms of her chair.

Over a dozen torpedoes, high-speed orbs of burning blue energy, streaked through space, closing the gap between the enemy fleets at amazing speed. Defensive ion cannons to the aft of the Tomcat, abuzz with energy, pulsed, their orange bolts of super-energized particles lancing through several of the missiles amid tremendous explosions, deafened by the vacuum of space.

"Two torps cleared the grid, captain! Brace for impact!"

The bridge shook and trembled, but otherwise held steady.

"Report," called Captain Analla.

"No hull damage, ma'am," shouted the engineering officer. "Forward shields holding at eighty seven percent."

Admiral Chase's voice broke through the chaotic activity. "Captain Analla, Admiral Schneider has made it clear he does not intend to surrender. He's fair game, Analla."

"Understood, sir," she shouted into the intercom. Turning to her bridge crew she howled, "Scramble the fighters. Order the bombers to focus all firepower on those destroyers!"

"Captain Analla," shouted the engineering officer.

"What is it, lieutenant?"

"The ship's science bay is reporting they've found upgraded harmonic shielding on the enemy ships. Our long-range batteries will be useless against them if we don't get closer, closer than torpedo range."

Captain Analla cursed under her breath. Their fighters and defense cannon would cut them into scrap metal. But they'd last longer against particle cannons than they would against those damn torpedoes.

"Helm. Bring us in, but stay out of those carrier's broad-sides."

"Torpedoes to our port side! Brace for impact!"

The Tomcat shuddered violently.

"Port shield generators at seventy five percent."

"Get those fighters on those destroyers, damn it!"

Group Commander Roger Larson, squadron leader of the Mad Dog bomber wing, pushed his T-class heavy bomber hard into the expanse between the fleets. He armed his small craft's compliment of Striker missiles. With bitterness he calibrated the friend or foe scanners to identify Third Fleet vessels as enemy. He'd never had to fire on a Lupine ship before.

"Mad Dogs, this is Top Dog," he growled into his mouthpiece. "Respond in sequence."

"Top Dog, this is Dog One, standing by."

"Dog Two, standing by."

"Dog Three, standing by."

"Dog Four, standing by."

"Dog Five, ready to kick ass!"

Commander Larson grinned despite himself. "Keep it under control, Five. Our target is the far destroyer. Sending targeting data...now. Fast fighters are to our left and rear. Let's give 'em plenty of room."

"Roger that, Top Dog."

"Damn fighter pilots," grumbled Dog Five, always the eager youth of the wing. "Think they own space."

"No arguing with the fighters, Five! This isn't a drill."

Slipping into a textbook V formation the Mad Dogs closed the gap quickly. At less than twenty clicks to the target the proximity alarms sounded.

"We've got bogies coming in fast, two o'clock low!"

"Mad Dogs, this is Viper Wing Leader. We'll take care of the fighters...you get those destroyers."

"Understood Viper Leader."

The fighters to their left thrust ahead and dodged right to intercept the enemy fighters.

Larson dipped his bomber's nose and his squadron followed. "This is it Dogs. The destroyer's undercarriage is their sweet-spot. Target shield generators first. Weapons second. Stay away from those cruisers and keep an eye on those cannons."

At the bottom of their wide arc Commander Larson pulled this bomber up and hit the afterburners, the G forces thrusting him into his seat.

"Dog Two, you're with me. Dog Three and Four, you're second wave. Five...you're taking up the rear."

"I'm always in the rear!"

"You are the rear, Hansen."

"Kiss my tail, Sims!"

Larson thrust forward, faster, harder until the controls vibrated. A quick glance to his left, he saw Dog Two holding steady, matching his speed. His heads-up display highlighted the shield generators, giving a dull scream when the targeting computer was locked on.

"Target's locked."

"You go right, Top Dog. I'll go left."

"Roger that, Two."

Two thousand meters. The destroyer's defensive grid had targeted him by now, the ion cannon batteries flaring to life. Fifteen hundred meters...one thousand...Larson gritted his teeth against the G forces, streaks of blinding orange ion pulses passing inches from his cockpit. Five hundred...

"Now!" he barked, pressing the trip-switch on his control. "Strikers away!"

Jerking the controls sharply right he cleared the destroyer's hull with only meters to spare, the flash of an anti-matter explosion from his rear temporarily blinding the wolf. His bomber's systems readout flashed a situation report, and Larson could imagine his craft's computer angrily shouting 'Too hot!' at him.

"Destroyer's shields at forty-three percent and falling," said Dog Five. "Another run ought to do it."

"Cut that one kinda close, didn't you," asked Dog Two.

Commander Larson laughed. "There's no such thing as too close," he said as he pulled his bomber around in time to catch sight of Dogs Three and Four smashed their munitions into the craft.

"Shields are down, Top Dog. Repeat: shields are down."

"Smash it, Five!"

A pause, then: "I'd love to, sir, but I've got a problem here! There's a bogie on my six. I can't shake him!"

Larson could hear the panic in his most inexperienced pilot's voice. Bringing up the wing-wolf status display on his forward monitor he isolated Five's location. The bomber was spiraling and dodging madly, just like he'd been trained, but the enemy fighter on his tail wasn't wavering. It was far more maneuverable than the bomber. Hitting the thrusters, Larson dodged sharply toward Lieutenant Hansen's craft.

"Dog Two! Finish that destroyer. I'm going after Five."

"Roger that, sir."

Pushing his bomber past its reasonable limits, Commander Larson scanned the blackness of space for the tell-tale signs of ion-drive engines and spotted the bright blue of his subordinate's craft, the fighter in close pursuit, spraying pulse cannon fire.

"Gods, he's got lock on me!"

"Keep your head on, Lieutenant! Fly straight at me."

The young pilot obeyed the order, but as the bombers got closer he could see that Lieutenant Hansen was wavering.

"Stay on course, Five! Don't move 'til I tell you."

"We're gonna hit!"

"Stay on course, damn it! That's an order."

A thousand meters. 'A little closer.' Five hundred. 'Closer.' A red light flashed on the panel to the front. "Warning: Collision imminent," sang the alarm in a too-calm voice. 'Shut up.' Two hundred...

"Now, Hansen!"

Mad Dog Five jerked up sharply, the fighter behind suddenly visible. Larson swore he could see the fighter pilot's eyes widen through the cockpit hatch.

"Surprise, you bastard," he growled and just as they were about to pass-less man two meters of clearance between their bellies-Commander Larson flipped the bomb switch, sending a high-yield warhead into the enemy fighter's fuselage . His ship jumped violently and spun uncontrollably as the concussion of seven kilotons of explosive energy threw his ship through space.

"Holy shit! Did you see that? That was incredible!"

"Sir, are you okay?"

'I think I'm gonna be sick,' Larson thought, but instead growled, "Target status," his senses still reeling.

"The destroyer is disabled, Top Dog, but we're swimming in hostiles here!"

"Good." Switching to the fleet communications band he said, "Home Base this is Mad Dog One, reporting target designation Delta-One destroyed."

"That is good copy, Mad Dog," came the crackly response.

"Request permission to return home. We can't contend with these fighters much longer."

There was a long pause. "That's a negative Mad Dog. We need those destroyers disabled."

Damn it to hell! "Understood Home Base. Mad Dog, out." Switching to the wing frequency: "Mad Dogs, we have a new target destination."

The Thirteenth Fleet command bridge shook as the Tomcat was hit by another salvo of torpedoes. Admiral Chase snarled angrily as he braced himself against the impact. Things were not going well. Not well at all.

"That's two enemy destroyers down, sir. Engineering indicates the shield disrupters installed on the missiles are effectively piercing their shields, but so far the energy weapons have proven ineffective against their upgrades. Our beams are simply too narrow, admiral."

"Understood," hummed Admiral Chase. "Commander Hayes, I need a status report on our fast movers."

"Fifteen fighters, seven bombers-"

"Bloody hell..."

"-The ILS Lone River has been disabled, the Summer has been completely destroyed...and the Tomcat is venting atmosphere from decks three and seven."

"Sir...a general retreat may be advisable."

"No," barked the admiral. "Our orders are to hold the capital for-"

"Admiral Chase, sir! We have multiple contacts appearing to the rear of the Third Fleet." The room became eerily silent, broken only when Commander Hayes barked excitedly, "Sir, it's the Fourteenth Fleet!"

A collective cheer rang through the command center and Chase said a quiet prayer of thanks.

"Admiral, we're being hailed by Admiral Valloy. Shall I-"

"Yes, for Gods' sakes. Put him through!"

"Hi, John. Having a busy day, I see."

"Bloody hell, Trevor," Admiral Chase hissed to the commander of his sister fleet. "It's damn good to hear your voice."

"Yeah, but let's wait 'till after the battle to hold paws and kiss."

Admiral Chase released an exhausted sigh, grinning like a rabid wolf. "If you insist. This should even our numbers up a bit. You remember what Ol' Captain Nash told us at the academy?"

"Divide and conquer?"

Chase's tail starting to wag excitedly. "Focus your fleet on the Melville. We'll take the Corsica. Without their carriers they're crippled."

"It's a deal. Gods' speed, John."

Turning to the fleet executive officer, Chase couldn't keep from snapping urgently. "Order all guns on that carrier! The cannons, the fighters, the bombers. Everything!"

***

Above Scott Banks' cellar, on the ground floor in a back utility room Sarah crept slowly, softly. After Sozo had left her to wallow in her sorrow she had discovered quite shockingly that she was home. Sarah's pain quickly turned to anger, then rage. Sozo had murdered the creature she loved? She'd be damned if she was going to let him kill her and get away with it! Pushing with all her might she had managed to move a wine cabinet that Scott had put over an access door years before. It wasn't so much a secret passage as it was an embarrassment. The wooden stairway behind it had rotted and Scott, not willing to deal with its repair, had torn out the old wood and moved the cabinet over the narrow passage to keep pests from nesting in it. Stumbling in the dark she crawled up through muck and mold to another door above. It was locked from the inside and the vixen heaved it open and into the bright sunlight outside. Half-blinded she crept around the back side of her home and hoisted herself into a bedroom window from ground level-her brother's bedroom.

She needed a weapon of some sort if she was going to fend off the silver fox with a pistol. There were knives in the kitchen, of course, but that was on the other side of the house. Pressing her ear to the inside of John's bedroom door she listened for movement in the hallway. From without she could hear rustling and paw steps, then the slam of a door. The steps continued from there, past her down the hallway, and toward the living room. Opening the door she crept carefully over to Scott's bedroom door. He always kept a gun in the bottom drawer of his dresser for security. Typing the security code into the keypad it pushed open and she quietly slipped in, closing the door behind her. When she turned and faced the bed, she gasped in surprise.

"Scott!" she yipped, eyes wide at seeing the wolf sitting on the bed. Jumping to the bedside she grabbed his paw, squeezing it tightly and pressing it to her face. But it didn't respond to her touch. Looking up to his face her brow creased in fear. "Scott?" He didn't say a word, but stared blankly ahead.

Her breath caught in her throat as terror gripped her. Leaning in close, she looked closely at his face. He was breathing; strongly by the look of it. He was alive...but he wasn't there either. Panicking, she shook his shoulders, hoping to wake him from whatever trance he was in. He didn't so much as twitch.

"Scott-"

The bedroom door flung open with a loud bang and Sarah jumped, spinning around to see Sozo, an irate scowl on his muzzle. Howling furiously, his fangs flashing, the fox jumped at the vixen, who had barely enough time to yip before his paws wrapped around her shoulders tightly, pulling her roughly back. In her fear she wrapped her paws around Scott's neck for purchase, but his limp body only rolled off the bed and collapsed onto the floor with a heavy thud. Sarah crashed into the wall, groaning when the back of her head connected with it solidly.

Sozo grabbing her by the nape and pulled her up. Sarah growled, kicking up with a wild jab to his chest. Her knee hit solidly to his hip and the fox hissed.

"Ahh! Stupid bitch!" Sozo lifted his pistol high and brought it down with full force onto the vixen's head.

Scott groaned and rolled on the floor in a daze. The drop to the floor had shaken off the probe and knocked the wolf senseless. But the sudden shriek of pain from the vixen nearby pierced his consciousness and his head snapped up. Sarah sat crumpled against the wall as Sozo stood over her. Blood trickled down her face, a deep gash cut into her forehead. Sozo raised his weapon to her face, her eyes wide in horror as she slid along the wall, trying to escape.

At seeing the poor vixen terrified and bloodied, something primal and protective in the wolf exploded. Pushing himself onto his haunches he lunged with a thunderous howl at the fox, knocking him to the floor hard, his gun sliding across the floor, far out of reach. The wolf landed on top of him, the two creatures a tangle of limbs and tails.

"Ge' off a' me," the silver fox screamed, kicking frantically at the larger creature's chest, gaining just enough leverage to twist his lithe frame around and sink his jaws into Scott's forearm, tearing at his flesh with his sharp little teeth.

The wolf yowled and struck at the fox's face with his other paw. Once. Twice. Thrice! Sozo bit down harder, grinding at the flesh under the wolf's thick fur. Growling, maddened, the wolf dipped his muzzle and in a flash closed his jaws around the back of Sozo's soft neck. Eyes blazing in fury, blinded by a primitive rage, his throat growling menacingly as he tightened sharply and felt the fox's muscle and tissues between his teeth give way with a sickening gargle. The grip on his arm slackened as the smaller creature started to writhe in sudden terror below him. Scott tasted blood, felt the frantic pulse of his prey's heart through the veins in his neck, and heard him cry in pain and panic.

The wolf felt no pity for the creature clasped tightly in this muzzle, his lips pulled back and ears flattened against the back of his head. Pure instinct drove him now: An undeniable compulsion that told him he should kill his prey, his enemy. Jerking his head sharply he was rewarded with the unmistakable sound and feel of snapping bone and sinew. The fox's body seemed to shudder, then hang limp, his final breath leaving his lungs in a long draw. Scott felt Sozo's pulse fall quickly to a shallow throb, then stop altogether. The wolf released the fox from his jaws, the body falling lifeless to the carpet.

Scott sat hunched over on all fours for a long time, panting heavily, staring down disbelievingly at the crumbled form at his paws as the adrenaline in his veins slowly receded. Sozo was dead. His blood matted his silver fur, a gruesome crimson stain, his eyes staring hauntingly up at the wolf.

A soft paw fell on Scott's shoulder and he spun around sharply, flashing his blood-stained teeth at the intruder with a snarl of warning. Sarah yipped and fell backward, a look of shock in her eyes.

"Scott," she whimpered, her soft voice trembling and upset.

The wolf looked back down at his kill, a sudden wave of realization washing over him. What had he done? Turning again to the vixen, his eyes wide in shame, he saw her trepidation.

"Sarah? I...I'm sorry. I didn't..."

The wolf's limbs felt numb. He could still taste the lightly metallic tang of fresh blood on his tongue. His mouth was filled with it. Sozo's blood; the creature he'd crushed the life out of like a feral animal! The wolf suddenly felt sick to his stomach. Climbing shakily to his footpaws he stumbled to the bathroom and vomited into the sink. Looking up to the mirror he saw his blood-soaked lips and chin. Turning on the facet he scrubbed furiously to wash most of it off, but some still clung to his fur. Stumbling from the bathroom he fell to his knees, staring down at his paws. They were blood-stained too. His wrist was throbbing with pain.

"What have I done? Oh Gods ..."

Sarah crawled up to his side. "You're hurt," she said worriedly, studying his mangled forearm just above the wrist. It was bleeding slowly.

"You are too," said Scott, touching her forehead lightly.

Sarah glanced at Sozo's limp form briefly. "Scott? What's wrong?"

"He was right about me, Sarah. I'm a vicious beast."

"No you're not."

"Didn't you see what I did," he snapped, clenching his fists. "I lost control of myself. Like a damn monster!"

Sarah frowned. "I have a hard time believing that."

"I just...I couldn't take it. I was so scared that..." He screwed his eyes closed, dipping his muzzle to his chest. "I was so afraid that I'd lose you, Sarah." He looked sadly into her eyes. "I couldn't lose another person I loved, not like this."

Sarah smiled softly and nuzzled his neck lovingly with her nose. "Do you really mean that, Scott," she said softly.

He picked her up easily into his arms, hugging the small creature to his chest. When Scott was sure that Sarah was going to die before his eyes, he felt a despair in his heart he hadn't felt since the day he saw Jessica in the morgue. In that awful moment Scott knew he would have given his life to spare hers. If that wasn't love, he didn't know what was.

"I love you, Sarah," he said again, and she hugged him tightly, burying her nose in his neck fur.

***

"Mad Dog One, this is Home Base. You're primary target has changed. Focus all efforts on the Corsica, aft shield generators. Scans indicate they're already at seventy-two percent effectiveness. How do you copy, over?"

"With all due respect, Home Base, the area is hot with fighters," pressed Commander Larson, hissing as an ion bolt struck a glancing blow to his forward plating.

"Understood, Mad Dog, but your orders stand."

Gritting his teeth he pulled his nose out of a bombing run on his current objective, a light cruiser that had separated from the fleet in the heat of battle. The G forces made his head ache as blood rushed to his paws. "Wilco, Home Base," he finally grunted.

"Roger. Home Base, out."

Punching the squadron status readout on his display, Larson quickly studied his wing-wolfs' conditions. It wasn't good: Armament was at less than half capacity, Dog Three's armor plating was failing, Dog Four had sustained engine damage and could not fly at bombing speed...the laundry list continued. Shaking his head he growled gutturally to himself, "Shit rolls down the chain of command...always has, always will." To his comms he barked, "Mad Dogs! New target. Sending data now."

"Screw that, Top," said Four. "I'm sitting on a dying bird here. I'll be lucky to get her back to the Tomcat."

"You're gonna do what I tell you, Four! Is that understood?" There wasn't a response for a long moment. The squadron leader knew moral had diminished after an hour of fighting full of near misses and singed fur; prolonged stress punctuated with spasms of sheer terror. But he couldn't have control slipping, least of all now. The wolf barked again, "Is that understood, lieutenant?"

"Yes, sir," came the grumbled reply.

"Good. Lock in targets. Stay off the Melville. She's the Fourteenth Fleet's problem now. Watch your corners for fighters-"

"-And the front for cannon," groaned Dog Five. "Yeah, yeah, it's always the same shit."

Commander Larson nodded silently, sighing heavily as he eased the throttle forward. It was easy to forget they weren't in a drill anymore. That's how it had been for about a year since he'd taken command of his wing: Drill after agonizing drill. But that's what kept them alive, wasn't it? Drill, drill, and drill until it became muscle-memory. Everybody hated it, but perhaps after this they'd appreciate that all the more. If they survived, that is.

"Mad Dogs, let's hit 'em fast and hard. The sooner they're disabled the sooner we can head home. Calibrate targeting array, aft shield generators. The Tomcat will be coming in from our six o'clock, so we'll take the Corsica from the twelve. Tune Striker missiles for focused detonation. That carrier's shields will be a bitch."

"Got it, Top," said Five impatiently. "Let's do this and get the hell out of here."

The Tomcat's command bridge was thick with the cry of sirens and alarms, drowned out by the howls and shouts of bridge crew, not the least among them the ship's commander.

"Bring us closer, helm," shouted Captain Analla. "I want to see Admiral Chase panting!"

"Brace for impact!"

A torpedo slammed into the port-side docking bay, below the craft's swept wing, exploding in a tremendous flash of light and bright blue energy that sent a ripple through the energy shields, a feed-back surge overloading the port field array. The over-heated generators exploded, sending a violent shudder through the ship's hull. The Tomcat's bridge shook, knocking some of her crew to the floor.

Captain Analla gasped as her neck snapped painfully back from the force. She could feel in her bones the unnatural shift and knew instantly that her ship was injured, and badly.

"Report!"

"The port shield matrix is down, captain! Fighter bays three and four are decompressing-"

"Seal them off! Rout the aft shielding to the port decks...all available power."

"Yes, ma'am."

"How far until we're too close for torpedoes?"

"About a hundred kilometers, ma'am."

Analla hissed. They had to get inside the effective range of those destroyers. "Helm, take us into their support craft, bearing three-two-two. That'll limit their fighters' and torpedoes' movement." Captain Analla knew the enemy's fleet was designed to repel far attacks and conduct ranged assaults on distant targets that were not expected to clear a torpedo's minimum effective range. She knew all too well because her fleet was organized the exact same way. It was ironic to know an enemy's weakness only because it was also one's own.

Another impact sent vibrations through the ship, but the shields held. These ion pulses from the Corsica's defensive battery were underpowered and out-ranged in comparison to the highly destructive torpedoes. Decades of naval supremacy in their corner of the universe had allowed their near-defensive capabilities to atrophy. Still, a directed ion cannon assault from close range could slice cleanly through bulk-heads and hull plating with dangerous effectiveness provided there were no shields to disperse their energy.

"Ma'am, the destroyer Highland is nearing our starboard side, five kilometers and closing. They're arming her broadside tubes."

Analla sneered, a battle-light flashing in her bright eyes. "That's far too close. How's their shielding?"

"Sixty three percent, ma'am."

"That's low enough. Tactical, fire Wreckers, full spread!"

The Tomcat's starboard battery hummed with a building energy that climaxed with the spewing of half a dozen fighter-sized missiles in rapid succession. The Wreckers-recently outfitted with the Vulpine shield disruption technology-crossed the five kilometer gap quickly. Since they were cannon-propelled missiles they had no energy profile of their own; silent and dark against the backdrop of space, undetectable by most scan arrays. This principle limited their range and accuracy, however.

But at five kilometers, the Tomcat couldn't miss. Before the Highland's defense grid was even aware, the Wreckers slipped through the destroyer's shields like a harpoon through water and buried themselves deep into the ship's hull plating.

"Captain Analla, they're in!"

The commanding wolf breathed a quick sight of relief. The Vulpine disrupters had worked, just as promised.

"Blow 'em," she barked.

Six remote-detonated warheads exploded simultaneously, their immense force directed not onto the destroyer's hull, but into the decks within. The massive positive pressure created within the spacecraft cracked the Highland's shell like an egg, the ship reduced in less than a second to a tattered field of metal debris. There could have been no survivors.

Aboard the Melville an officer hunched over a scanning array all but howled to get Admiral Schneider attention. "Sir, we have a problem! The Highland's been destroyed. Diagnostics indicate it exploded...from the inside out!"

A strike from a heavy bomber's Striker missile made the ship shudder, but the massive Iberian-class carrier retained hull integrity easily.

"How is that possible, lieutenant," growled the admiral, who jumped to the scanning station.

The junior officer shook his head, shocked and confused. "I...I don't know, sir. Its last reported shield integrity was at seventy one percent. It was less than five kilometers off the Tomcat when it-"

"Wreckers," finished Admiral Schneider, his scowl suddenly becoming urgent. "Damn it to hell. They can pierce the shields. Scramble the fleet's shield frequencies and vary the oscillation schemes...Give me the fleet-net."

"Opened, sir."

"Third Fleet, this is Admiral Schneider. Keep the enemy ships away from the carriers at all cost! Destroy them!"

Within his bomber a siren blared in Commander Larson's ear: "Warning: Mad Dog Four has sustained critical engine failure."

The pilot cursed and pulled up the status report, a flashing alarm appearing in the top corner of his heads-up display. The computer indicated a leak to the bomber's left cooling manifold, the engine quickly spiking to dangerous temperatures.

"Talk to me, Four," he shouted into his intercom. "What's your status? Four? Do you copy?"

There was no response. Ignoring the veritable waves of cannon fire that streaked around his cockpit, some deflecting dangerously close off his forward plating, Commander Larson dodged around fighters and larger support craft toward his wing-wolf's wounded craft. In the distance he spotted him, his eye guided by the targeting computer. Lieutenant Swift-Dog Four-was floundering in space, struggling to control his thrust. The ship's safety protocols refused to allow the ion core to overload.

"Return to the Tomcat, Four. You're overheating."

"It'll never make it, sir. Core's at fifteen hundred degrees and climbing, and without thrust I'll be an easy target for one of the damned fighters."

"Then ditch it! We'll get a nanny ship in here to pick you up."

"Respectfully, sir...I can't let that happen. It's too risky just to save one pilot."

Larson recognized the fearful understanding in his charge's voice. If he ejected now, in the middle of a battle, he was as good as dead. They'd never send a nanny ship into the fray to snatch up a floundering pilot. Not in a million years.

"Then what do you want me to do, lieutenant," he asked slowly, almost certain of what the response would be.

"Sir, I..." The comms cracked, or maybe it was Lieutenant Swift's voice. "I want you to release the safety. It doesn't matter anymore...you know that, sir."

Commander Larson's chest tightened at the thought, but he already knew Dog Four's chances were already nil. A sudden hail of cannon fire jumped across his nose and the wolf pulled his bomber up sharply, an enemy fighter zipping past his left wing. Snarling angrily he took evasive action as the fighter arched around for another attack run.

"I'm sorry, Four," he said knowingly, hesitating a moment before authorizing Dog Four's safety protocols to disregard the cooling failure.

"Follow me in," Swift said as he pushed the bomber forward, the damaged engine beginning to whine and shudder, glowing dangerously hot. "I'm gonna overload my core. I think the anti-matter discharge should be enough to rip a hole in her gut. But I need your missiles to destabilize the field."

Commander Larson nodded. Otherwise he'd smash against the Corsica's defense shields like a bug against a windshield. "Alright, Four. Dog Two, Three, Fo-...Five. We need to make this count. If we can open a fissure in the Corsica's shields wide enough, Four can...um..." He trailed off, somehow unable to say what he was thinking. God's damn it! He had been Lieutenant Swift's squadron leader for three years now! This wasn't easy for him to think about.

"Just clear the way, Mad Dogs," said Four, oddly confident.

"Alright, Four," said Dog Two. "I'm on your left. Three's on your right. You got my last two Strikers."

"Mine, too," said Dog Three, taking his position beside Four's craft.

"Target the primary shield generators. Five...I could use help with this son of a bitch on my tail. Gods' speed, Swift."

Lieutenant Swift angled his nose toward the ILS Corsica and pushed forward at top acceleration, despite all the alarms that told him not to. His wing-wolf's stayed with him, meter for meter, the massive bulk of the enemy carrier looming perilously ahead, and getting bigger. As his field of vision was quickly filling with polished steel and alloy he accelerated faster and harder, gritting his teeth as the controls began to tremble in his already trembling paws.

"Warning: Core overload imminent. Warning: Collision imminent. Recommend evasive action."

His eyes quickly flashed to the temperature gauge: eighteen hundred degrees! "Do it now, guys," he gasped, his chest heaving and muzzle panting heavily. "I can't push it any further!"

"Roger, Four," said Dog Two, his voice cracking with emotion.

Swift's two wing-wolf's maxed their afterburners, charging forward. At less than two hundred meters to target they simultaneously fired four Strikers, the missiles lancing forward at unimaginable velocity. Their shield-disruptive warheads pounded into a focused site on the Corsica's shield, exploding instantly over the energy barrier in a brilliant flash that made Lieutenant Swift turn his head away, closing his eyes against it. He didn't really want to watch anyway. The concentrated blast sent a ripple over the carrier's defense array and the bomber plunged into the superheated plume and through a gap in the shield the explosion had opened.

In a terrible millisecond Swift was briefly aware of his bomber's nose digging into the bare plating of the Corsica's hull, directly over the carrier's defense array. The momentum shredded the small craft, arming and detonating its remaining Striker missiles. Their blast was enough to implode the already overloaded ion-drive core, triggering a chain reaction.

From Commander Larson's vantage point the explosion was blinding. When the flash faded a grisly hole could be seen in the Corsica's underbelly just forward of the impulse engines. A cloud of shining debris spewed in every direction, a fireball raging as it sucked atmosphere from within the ship.

"You did it Swift," was all he could think to say as the commander turned his bomber, preparing to hammer the crippled ship with everything he was worth.

"Admiral Chase! The Corsica's shields are down and she's badly damaged."

The admiral jumped from his seat. "Disable her! Throw everything at her!" The aging officer could taste victory in his muzzle. "Have Captain Analla take-"

The admiral lurched forward, falling hard on his knees as the Tomcat suddenly lost momentum. A captain rushed forward to help his superior to his footpaws, but the gruff wolf pushed him away, growling.

"What the hell happened?"

Captain Analla righted herself in her seat after the heavy shake. "What the hell happened," she barked to her engineering officer.

"Captain, that last hit pierced the aft plasma channel. We're losing fuel pressure to the ion drives. I have to drop her to quarter impulse. Anything hotter and we risk losing the matter stream entirely."

Analla scowled angrily. They were killing her ship! "Do it, but no slower than that. Keep the same heading."

"Ma'am," shouted the executive officer from his station. "Without impulse we can't hope to maneuver through that!"

The XO pointed to the forward monitor, the lights and explosions of pitched battle framed perfectly against the backdrop of blackened space.

Captain Analla shook her head and smirked dangerously. "You're right, commander...but that's where our fight is, nonetheless. The Corsica is defenseless....our engines are crippled. I see that as an even match."

The bridge was thick with the smoke of electrical fire, its strong metallic scent stinging both nose and eyes. The deck lighting was dim, almost nonexistent, to save energy. A disturbing silence hung in the air as the crew could almost feel their ship's vain struggle to slowly push onward. All too quickly the silence was shattered by fevered shouts.

"Five torpedoes to port high!"

"Fire countermeasures," barked Analla.

A pause, followed by a frustrated growl from the tactical officer. "They aren't responding, ma'am. The port grid is losing power."

"Divert power from the ion drive, then."

The tactical officer shook his head and thumped the controls angrily with a fist. "I'm sorry ma'am, it's not-"

"Brace for impact!"

The cluster of torpedoes flew in fast and hot, flying straight and true toward their favored target: The Tomcat's forward defensive array. Captain Analla held her breath, knowing shielding was already on the verge of failure.

"New contact," yelled tactical. "Coming in hot!"

At one fifty meters from the Tomcat's hull a lone missile raced into the group of torpedoes and exploded violently. The force of the blast knocked the weapons from their trajectory, detonating all but one, which glanced off the Tomcat's shield and detonated harmlessly into the surrounding space. The bridge crew felt the near-miss as the compression of debris against the shields sent vibrations up and down the hull.

"What in the Gods' names was that?"

The tactical officer shook his head. "I don't know, captain. It was small, that's for damn sure."

"It wasn't us?"

"Uh, ma'am," interrupted the XO. "I think you should see this."

Captain Analla turned toward the forward monitor as the screen flashed to an aft-ward view of the Tomcat's surroundings. From behind the Tomcat a huge vessel, easily twice it's size, was approaching-and fast.

Analla's claws dug into her chair arms, tearing the fabric. "Who is it?"

A grin appeared on the executive's face. "It's the Navarre, ma'am! They're hailing us."

"Put it through!"

"ILS Tomcat, this is Admiral Scott Banks of the First Imperial Fleet. I apologize for the late arrival."

Captain Analla sighed. "Thank the Gods."

His resolve quickly failing, Admiral Schneider watched his displays as two dozen heavily armed carriers, destroyers, cruisers, and boarding craft materialized in the vacuum of space and immediately began offensive maneuvers against his fleet. This many fresh ships and heavy guns would quickly destroy what remained of the Third Fleet. The veteran of a dozen campaigns was a hard-headed warrior, it was true. Stubborn and proud. But he was not a reckless fool. He knew they didn't stand a chance.

Biting his lip bitterly he growled to the fleet coordinating officer, "It's over, captain. Offer the surrender order and issue the stand-down. Too many good wolves have died already. I won't have more die needlessly."

The remains of three great imperial fleets-the Third, the Thirteenth, and the Fourteenth-lay strewn across a quadrant of space: A field of death and wreckage punctuated by the labored hobble of survivors, beaten and bloodied. Scott shook his head in terrible wonder at the scene, amazed at the level of destruction. It was difficult to believe that not more than one month prior these forces would have fought side by side against the empire's enemies. Wolves fighting wolves? It was unthinkable.

"General Cooper," he said to the First Fleet's First Marine Corp commander. "Send in the boarding parties. Use what force is necessary, but remember those are still subjects of the empire, most of which were only following orders, not knowing they were committing treason. I want as many lives spared as possible...without compromising security, of course. Bring their commanding officers to the prison ship and interrogate them...one of them has to know where Admiral Royce is cowering."

A light flashed in the Marine's eye. "Yes, admiral," he said before leaving the fleet command bridge. It was the Marines' turn now, to finish what the Navy had started. And they were eager to get their chance at battle.

"Captain Satch," he asked the First Fleet's coordinating officer. "I want you to head a team to survey the damage. Have it for me as soon as you can."

Captain Satch nodded. "Aye, admiral sir," she said, quickly opening a comms link with the Navarre's engineering bay to coordinate the effort.