FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Children shouldn't play with dead furs';

A furry/gothic/romance/war saga

Eric frowned. Apparently, he wasn't alone at his lover's graveside. He turned to see a skinny and slight heifer in a burlap loincloth. Her eyes were red and crimson breasts lay bare against a chest of the same color. Lazarus pulled a switch-blade, activating it with one sharp reverberating click. A noise that reflected the emptiness of the cemetery, but could just have easily mirrored the void that was his soul. The blade itself was sharp and shined beautifully, having only tasted blood once.

"Who the f**k are you?" Said he, brandishing his knife.

"Hmmm?... for now, Christine will do" The cow mused.

Her fur was wet and out of place like she had licked it. She also had a large gold ring going through both nostrils and an oak armband on her left shoulder with a pentagram emblem burned on. He grinned wryly.

"Christine, huh? Like that car that kills people?"

Her eyes glinted, insulted.

"Not like the car, but your in the right place. Like that infernal car, I am evil, and like that car, I'll give you what you want if I get what I want." She spoke.

Lazarus took stock of the demon cow.

"And what do you want?"

She licked her lips, savoring the taste of his words.

"I represent Satan. I will take your soul...for the hell of it!" Then she cackled on for some time before leaving in an explosion of acrid, reddish smoke, which for a moment, appeared like little gray minions were devouring the air itself as they dissipated into nothing, leaving behind on the ground what

Eric Lazarus had been searching all of eight years for in occult bookstores worldwide.

What will you sell your soul for?

will you trade it in for cash?

will you remember in hell,

when tasting of the lash?

Is forty years of pleasure

worth an eternity of pain?

do you think you suffer well enough

when Satan is your bane?

why do we give freely

whatever isn't ours?

burglars, thieves and hoodlums

that want to steal our cars.

who gave permission for this anyway?

last time I checked, it wasn't okay!

soul for sale!

didn't you read the sign?

caveat emptor!

you better walk the line!

because if you die,

this is a mistake

a week of fun, all for one

till the devil, your soul, he takes

A black flesh-bound book that had been rumored to have been bound in the Devil's own black-dyed skin, the pages written in an ink of blood and putrefied entrails. Eric picked it up without hesitation, wanting to savor this moment all of his short life. Looking through, he saw the diagrams and the writing of a dead language.

"Curse you! I cannot read this! what-"

The words died in his mouth as he took a closer look. the words on the page before him glowed bright red, rearranging into a language he COULD understand; English.

"Good, Lucifer, I'm glad I don't need a satanic dictionary, too" He mused.

His prayers had been answered. All the powers of death were his, at least temporarily in his pursuit of revenge against those who took everything from him. His mate, his car, house, family, past, future, life, now he did not even retain his soul. There was only one thing left; satisfaction. Satisfaction of revenge.

"If I were a cat, I would trade all nine lives and my soul for that conviction" He mused, putting away his 'toy' and appraising the real prize.

Eric did not realize, of course, that indeed it was not the book that changed for him, but he who changed for the book.

blackness in your heart

darkness in your eyes

death in your arms

in a cavern filled of lies

evil within your soul

an anger that goes deep

a monster with a grudge

has no secrets he can keep

so don't forget what you are

when faced with this choice

don't let your hate control you

or it will always be your voice

and the venom in your veins

the toughest of it all

toxins go into your heart

until the day you fall

Eric Lazarus, a bat, a Vampire bat, a child of night and darkness, but still retaining the soul given him by the 'good' god-until now. His membranous wings were hidden inside a crisp old leather jacket, whose dark coloring seemed to reflect his outlook nicely. This jacket, a gift of his former mate, a snowy barnyard owl who had the most gorgeous white feathery body and eyes wide and encompassing, with a kindness and mercy counter to her instincts. Eric had been misled by Snowswift Hornclaw into believing that the world had been ready for their kind; The nightly hunters. However, with the point driven home into her heart, Eric woefully realized that diurnal furs weren't ready for any of his breed, and they never would. His convictions now culminated in his actions tonight in this lonely landscape of former furs. He rests the wicked book on his lovers' grave, reciting the eighth pages' verse.

please don't you mourn for me

I'm already dead

and please take not out of context

the things I may have said

and please don't deny

the things you may have seen

I'm no longer innocent;

my soul isn't all that clean

and please don't be sad

I died rather pax

so you just stop whining

calm down and relax

please don't you fret

about what wasn't meant to be

though not even happy

I died staying me

The pure dark mist summoned from the book, began seeping into Snowswift's grave, vanishing under soil that had been rained and trampled upon all of his eight lonely years, but soon, he would be lonely no longer. The earth rumbled angrily, vomiting her casket high into the air along with a great plume of brownish clay dirt as if mother nature had given the land a heavy dose of ipecac syrup. In undignified style, his lover had been rejected by earth, evicted from eternal rest like a heavy metal band had come to his house when he was asleep. Soon, she would rise, and he would deny she had ever left him. The coffin crashed to the ground, shattering into large splinters, dumping her lifeless corpse unceremoniously to that same hostile dirt. A black bolt of lightning shot quickly from his new possession into her body, making it jump strangely about like a stranded fish with a stroke. This graphic display left him desiring to look away, but he dare not, for then he would miss her triumphant rise from death, a feat even Houdini himself was incapable of accomplishing.

"YEEES!!!! SHE'S ALIVE!!!!" He screamed out as loudly as he could, not giving a f**k who heard him.

Why should he care now? Now he had what he always wanted; company, and revenge. Snowswift rose slowly with a moan as the dark magic restored her flesh, repaired into what was her former, cheery self. With a yawn and a sleepy pull, the stake was free of her chest and tossed carelessly to the side. She turned toward him as she stood up, a wry grin on her expression. That same grin that convinced him they could take on the world and not worry about anything.

"Hello, love, I didn't think I'd been asleep that long." She mused.

WHAT?!

"You were resting many years; that's long enough for me." Eric replied.

"Huh, dear, what was that?" She asked, frowning, not sure she had heard it right.

"I said you died! I said you left me for years, time that left me contemplating my own death"

She ground her beak together, disbelieving his statement.

"Impossible. We just went to bed yesterda-" She trailed off, looking at their surroundings.

"Where the hell are we?" She asked urgently.

Eric sighed, exasperated.

"Look behind you" He said, pointing at her grave.

Snowswift followed his hand with her large eyes, landing on the stone marker. At this range, though she could read quite well, her disbelief led her to take a closer look. She went to her own grave stone and nearly freaked out.

"No! You must be screwing with me! This thing said I died eight years ago! I can't believe this! We were just making love last night!"

Eric gazed at her seriously.

"You were wearing a floral print nightie, then, tonight you have on something you never got to see; something I got for your lying in state."

She looked at herself, at the simple, yet elegant black dress she now wore. A dress that contrasted her gray-white feathers wonderfully. And if it wasn't for the stub of the stake visible under her attire, between those lovely, fluffy B-cup breasts, he would have been delirious in the fantasy that she would step out from her box like a BarbieTM doll and land her arms around his neck, nuzzling his face with her warm, feathery cheeks. Oh, yes, among the nocturnal community, this had been a tragic loss, but the day-walking furs could never believe it. She began to cry. Eric rushed to her side, taking Snowswift in his arms as he dared do for what could only be an eternity.

" OH, Eric, I'm so confused!" She whined.

"Hush" Eric spoke, soothing her with a rocking motion.

"Worry about nothing. I have you back. We are together for until the end of time, and I will not have you be lost again." He whispered.

why do I hide from the world

to deny me what I am?

why do I always worry

and think myself a sham?

why should I show my face

when I discard my mask?

I really don't need anyone's help

That's why I never ask!

"I thought it was all a dream!" She cried out.

"Yes', mused Eric, 'that's what the bastard who did that to you was wishing as well, when he got acquainted with my shiny new friend" Eric mused, tossing the blade off to the side.

"And now that I know that f**king book works, I won't need my knife anymore."

She looked at him seriously, despite tear-streaked eyes.

"You killed for me?" She replied, somewhat stricken.

"S**t, my lady, I would die for you, go through hell to find you, even...sell my soul." Mused Eric.

"Oh, Eric!" She exclaimed, connecting the dots.

Eric smiled wryly. Snowswift had always been pretty bright.

"You sold your soul to bring me back?!" She screamed, bewildered.

"No, not just for you, for us. I've enough power to revive all our brethren and take the night back from those day-walking b**tards!"

She appraised him with her large owlish eyes.

"Has my deat-"

"Your death has sparked a war and outrage. The diurnals have fought us hard since then, but we have thrived nonetheless. Someday, I will kill the ursine president of these furry counties with my legion of undead soldiers."

She frowned.

"What your proposing is wrong." She protested.

"Yes, and what you advocate has gotten you killed. The only thing those stupid di's will take notice of after your martyrdom, is force, and I'll have plenty of that soon enough!"

She slapped Eric-hard.

"You are not the Eric I cared about!" She exclaimed.

Eric felt his swollen cheek.

"Much can happen to a person in eight years. Be glad I still love you fervently enough to revive you." He replied, with greater coldness than he intended to convey.

"Good god Eric! Did Satan take your heart as well?"

love hath not the same meaning

not the way my heart's leaning

and have grown so very cold

for my soul, to Satan, I sold

but I still love you

not a thing I could not do

why do you look at me so?

in your heart, you already know

that I changed, but I still care

I've spoke the truth, please be fair

"I love you, I revive you. Will you not put your beliefs behind you? Join me, join my quest, and though both our hearts' may become black with bloodshed, we will be stained together, and forever together,...in hell."

She seized his jacket, passionately pulling it off in haste. Then she ran her feathery fingers across the veins and thin bones within the skin of his wings, nibbling at his large, funnel ears as she did so. Eric nipped her ear tufts playfully with his fangs, and proceeded to rub the fluffiness of her body through her dress, tugging lightly on her tail-feather primaries'. she took one of his taloned hands, leading it under the cleavage of her dress, letting him feel the feathery elegance of one of her fluff-coated breasts. At that prompting, Eric took his tongue and pushed it past her beak into her own mouth, where they dueled in this way for some time... . When time sped up, and the foreplay was over, Snowswift was a little convinced her lover was SOMEWHAT right.

rob zombie: super beast

With a flourish of pages, he found what he needed, proclaiming it. Almost immediately, dozens of ebony wardrobes burst forth from the earth, divulging their contents on the dirt and going back under from whence they came from, while at the same time, thousands of black rifles sprouted up like perverted plants, flowering endless streams of magazines, until finally, the flow ceased like a stoppered faucet. Eric picked up one of each. The uniform was pure black Kevlar-canvas done in a S.W.A.T./ military style. The rifle was also black; an assault rifle with a bull-pup configured drum clip.

"Hah!,' Eric remarked to Snowswift, 'even hell has a department store!"

She looked on uneasily as Eric removed his own clothes; his white shirt and Levi's jeans, to sink his body into this new attire. When he was snug inside, a torrent of dark water flowed over his head, his large funnel ears, hardening into a helmet that encased everything save his ears, which stuck out the top like wide horns. He chose another page, summoning from the underworld snare drums of bone, and horns that crowed like a vulture at twilight.

"No party complete without entertainment!"

He elaborated to his love. Now, finally, the last step. He had guns, uniforms, and instruments to sound the charge, but, now he needed soldiers; lots of them.

He held up his arms, reading the passage on the thirteenth page, of the thirteenth paragraph. A wicked mist overcame the cemetery, engulfing all the graves, sinking into all the caskets, devouring all the corpses. The furs of the night burst from what could now be considered, a temporary rest. The first he saw was a Opossum with a nick taken from one ear. Putrefied flesh came to life, skin regrew over glistening, dusty bones. Soon, it was difficult to tell any of them had died. As they crawled from six feet under, the only thing truly wrong with their appearance, was the dirt they were covered in. Unlike Snowswift, they knew they had died, and unlike Snowswift, most of them were eager for revenge against the di's. Good, mused Eric, he didn't need to tell every f**king thousand of them they had died!. They faced him expectantly.

"I hope you all had a good rest, and I hope you are all ready for a breakfast consisting of day-walker!" Eric proclaimed.

They all went for the uniforms and guns, the first being a rat with a thick, stubby tail, segmented like the worms which had been devouring him only minutes before.

"Do you all accept me as your general?!" Eric demanded.

The former dead gave an energetic chorus of shouts in agreement. Almost immediately, a Field-mouse and an Alligator took up snare drums and began to beat a constant, hectic rhythm. Meanwhile, a female Hawk with dark brown feathers took up one of hells' horns and began to blow. When everyone was set, with guns cocked, and helmets fused on, they arranged themselves in an empty space devoid of graves and tombs, twenty soldiers across. Then they began their slow, mournful march...into town. Eric watched their progress from atop the highest mausoleum. The marching boots were barely audible over the loud war music.

the fur is gonna fly!

that's right! don't ask why

you know yourself

you had the wealth

so now you die

the fuzz in the streets

there are no repeats

when you ask why

you just die

forget your feats

the blood on the path

of all filled with wrath

this war won't stop

not till you all drop

and all of us laugh

you all had it coming

with your hate running

never be alone

don't answer the phone

or you'll hear humming

Meanwhile, in the city, the police had been roused by the loud noise from the nocturnal furs' graveyard. Assuming it was a bunch of punks having a grim party, only a Sergeant and his rookie partner had been dispatched. What they found when they got there shocked and amazed them; an enormous army of nighttime furs armed to the teeth, had begun a slow, steady walk towards the city in their separate formations. The Sergeant, a lop-eared rabbit, with ears so big, that they were almost unable to fit in the B&W, was now wondering where all this had come from. There weren't nearly enough night furs registered in the city to compose even half of this army!

"I think we should call for back-up" The rabbit mused wryly to his partner, a jackal nervous beyond all recognition.

"No s**t Sherlock. And while your at it, call the special forces and S.W.A.T., too, won't you?" He growled mockingly.

The rabbit checked the radio headset, turning it on.

"You better get all your furry asses down here, and get the City Military, special forces, hell, any hick with a gun. We have anarchy down here. There is a giant army of nocturnals down here, and I don't think they came for a picnic or a round of golf, either!" He said into the radio.

"Are you intoxicated? Can the rookie confirm this?" Said dispatch.

The Jackal rudely grabbed the mic and screamed into it.

"Yes!, Yes!, F**k yes! We got a thousand noc's with military style rifles!"

Suddenly, a figure on a high tomb pointed in their direction. This action was followed by a furious spatter of automatic fire. The two cops ducked down in the B&W as they received a loud, infinitely long, peppering of large caliber rounds.

" S**t! Get us out of here! Get us out of here!" The rookie screamed, looking over at the veteran beat-cop, realizing that somewhere in the gunfire, he had been killed, for half his head had been blown off.

"S**t! S**t! S**T!" the Jackal screamed.

The guns stopped, and the jackal could hear two sets of boots marching toward the squad car. He looked over, gun drawn, firing his nine-millimeter, standard-issue, semi-auto handgun into them. When he was empty, and the resounding click of the dry trigger continuing to be pulled by him in his panic, he saw that he had landed at least two shots into each of their chests, which should have killed them. There must be Kevlar in the uniforms he mused as they raised rifles and shot him dead. What the Jackal nor Eric knew, was that the Kevlar wasn't to protect the dead furs from small arms fire, it was to keep them from being dismembered and torn to pieces by explosive ordnance.

Three night furs accosted Eric on his 'throne'. Though all wearing his armor, he could tell one was a black cat, another a vulture, and the last a crow with red, witty eyes.

"Sir. We found someone you might want to meet. This is-" Said the cat before she was interrupted.

"Malachi Darkestorm, Sir." Replied the old crow.

Eric smiled, excited.

"Your the greatest noc' general in all of history! But I never saw your grave anywhere over here!"

The elderly crow bowed elegantly towards Eric.

"That is because I was buried unmarked. I am quite infamous, you know." He mused.

"So the real question, would you be my second, tactician, and overall strategy planner?" Eric enquired.

"That is a question that should go without saying, sir" Malachi answered, grinning with his beak.

Both grinned widely, as behind them, an enormous army began to go through the city streets.

Even though the city military and police set up roadblocks, they were still incapable of understanding what they heard. Drumming, marching, horns like an evil banshee wail. Orders cried out by a voice screamed hoarse. A ragged symphony of metal clattering on metal, of the occasional noise of an empty cartridge to be ejected and clatter to the ground with a tingling, reverberating ring of brass bells, of heavy asthmatic breathing by multiple foes in random intervals. Then, worst of all, when the contingent halted behind a building corner, the near-deafening silence. Aside from breathing, a boot misstep, or a conspiratory whisper among grunts, there was no noise. However, the army still conveyed a presence that could easily be felt. That presence was almost as infinite as the ocean itself. Then, after a moments' wait, the noc army stepped out in full view for all to see. The front ten were lined shoulder to shoulder, rifles held to their chests all in the same manner. They were a random assortment of night furs, who had another ten behind them, and this pattern seemed to go on forever. A crow wearing the same uniform stepped through the ranks as soldiers made way for him.

"I am Malachi Darkestorm. In the name of Eric Lazarus, we claim this city and take back the night! Do you-...Day-walkers yield to our contingent, or will we conquer and make you see?" General Malachi replied, pronouncing day-walkers with a contemptuous twist.

The police chief went over to Malachi, much to his mens' protest.

"Malachi the warlord? We thought you died" The chief said, puzzled.

Malachi smiled ironically.

"That I was. Truth cannot deny, nor history, but I have seen my need again, and you, former Captain Tugsty the fox, you who were the one who killed me, I shall return the favor, and we shall see if any youth will bring YOU back from the dead for a di' cause!" Malachi mused, pointing a feathered finger at Chief Tugsty.

" Open fire!"

The dead furs raised rifles, firing into the chief and his barricaded men behind.

The police returned fire with Berettas and Remington 12 gauges, as special forces and S.W.A.T. pecked away with m-4 carbines and mp-5 sub-guns. The dead marched on through the hail, seeming to shrug off the biting of small caliber rounds.

"No prisoners! No prisoners! Shoot them all and let f**king god sort them out!" Malachi screamed, taking a 9mm in a shoulder as he said so.

He spun somewhat, but was left unfazed.

"Shoot at me, will you b**tards?! Not when I've something to say!" With that proclamation, Malachi took a rifle from a dead noc soldier on the ground and raised it, raking the barricaded defenders using only one hand to support it.

The fifteen or so bullets left in the drum probably took down two or so of the enemy easy, but because it was so hectic, he couldn't tell what kills were his or someone else's. In this chaos, it was better to just keep shooting and say damn it to the whole body count.

Noc soldiers marched over police and military dressed corpses, as they overran the ten police cars acting as a way to block them. A noc, taking a snipers' 7.62 subsonic round to the head, fell to the ground lifeless, as another noc cranked back her winged arm to hurl an M61 anti-personnel grenade right onto the sniper's roost. The sniper, a male iguana with an orange bandana tied around his head and having a spiked tail, jumped out ten stories onto the pavement before the explosion engulfed his post. A minute later, a helicopter with a canine, a German shepherd on the skids of one side, proceeded to pepper the nocturnal army with 30cal bullets from a revolving auto-cannon. It had managed to dodge them for some time, until a noc with a purloined gas grenade launcher and a good pair of aven eyes, fired a 40mm into the choppers' cockpit, flooding the vehicle with tear-gas, obstructing the pilots' vision, making him clip a nearby building with the blades, and having it crash close to the army. Burning metal pieces pelted the nocs, killing some, setting others on fire like furry humanoid torches.

The city mayor, a sly skunk looking down upon this scene, had come to the conclusion, as he heard the screaming, the shooting, and the random reddish-orange of distant exploding objects, that the situation COULD not be salvaged. He turned slowly as his office door opened. Two furs, one a red fox, the other an arctic wolf, both wearing expensive Italian suits, sunglasses, ear-pieces, and carrying each a Heckler & Koch MP-5 submachine gun.

"Sir!, We're here to escort you to a safe location!" Demanded the fox.

"Sir, yes, in roughly an hour, they will march on city hall!" Responded the wolf.

The mayor smiled, laughing as if to himself.

"Don't you get it? We're already dead! We just don't know it yet!"

Then, suddenly, something unexpected happened; a one in a million shot landed a tear-gas grenade right into his office from two miles away. The bodyguards hastily seized the mayor and shoved him out, fox at his front, wolf watching his rear.

"Dammit!" spoke the fox.

"Yes, I did not think anyone had that range!" Mused the wolf.

"Your both right. No one ALIVE had that range, but there was a fur with good arms and spooky good eyes! Her name was Jocelyn Moonfeather, a brown colored hawk. She was the best at ranged weapons. Unfortunately, her talents were employed counter to my agenda. She was a rebel noc, so I had her shot." Mused the mayor.

"Yes, well maybe you should have put more holes in her." Mused the wolf with a grim grin.

"And buried her even deeper." Spoke up the fox.

Then light came to both their expressions and they halted uncertainly.

"Wait, are you saying that was her? And that these invaders are former noc's you had killed?" the lupine mused.

The mayor nodded amusedly.

"In a simple way, yes, that's how it happened. You probably don't remember why I imposed these stiff laws on the night breeders' and eventually caused them to rebel, but it was actually to rid our city of our nocturnal 'curse'. I don't like wicked things that go bump in the night, never did. However, it seems that my impressions were mistaken. Now we have a rebellion I cannot quell, and I may regret my hasty and harsh treatment in the beginning of this supposed genocide I have enacted."

The fox favored the skunk with a wry grin.

"There's a very special place in hell for you, Sir" he mused.

The skunk appraised his reddish furred bodyguard with an ironic smile.

"No, my friend, Eric Lazarus, who has been rumored to have sold his soul to do this to us, has a more honorary place in hell than I could ever ask for!"

Then he laughed, a horrible, distasteful sound.

"You believe I was incorrect" Eric mused to Snowswift.

She looked into his eyes with her own.

"No, lover, I believe we are too premature for genocide and slavery!"

Eric shrugged boredly.

"My dear, my love, we are merely feeding them what we ourselves were given. Can you deny that most di's want us dead just for breathing?"

Snowswift cried in her delicate, gentle way.

"I just wish you wouldn't do this. Maybe my solution didn't work either, but I was in no way advocating violence and perpetuating a negative impression of us!"

"Sometimes', mused Eric, 'sometimes negotiation and peace talks can only go so far. And the day that they fail, is the day we TAKE back the night and destroy those cursed' curfew laws!"

Then Eric addressed his army.

"Do you hear that, men? Soldiers of the dark? We take back the night!" Eric proclaimed.

His statement triggered a very boisterous cheer from everyone present, a melding of racket so loud as to deafen his sensitive bat ears, but he cared not.

"What are we here for, noc's?!" Eric cried out.

"TAKE BACK THE NIGHT!" they returned, screaming their answer out.

"You see, Snowswift? A thousand undead furs can't be wrong!" He growled proudly.

Outside among the chaos, the mayor was being led through back alleys to avoid panicking citizens, snipers of the enemy, and anything else. The fox guard was about to exit their current alley to cross the street and cover the others' crossing, when he slunk back in rapidly, demanding through silent motions that they stay quiet. A minute went by, then they saw the small advance squad of eight or so noc's marching in a four by two formation, going carelessly past their hiding space, going on up the street toward city hall. When significant distance was between them, the fox scurried across the street to the other alley in a great haste.

"Okay, Sir, now you." Ordered the wolf.

The mayor, too, sprinted through as fast as he could. Then the wolf ran his way toward them, tripping clumsily on the very pot-hole he had bitched about getting patched by the city and county only weeks before!. His H&K skidded some distance away, making a clattering noise as it found it's way stopped inside the alleyway he had tried running to. Dammit, he thought, my luck can't be that bad. One of the nocs looked back at the noise and froze, staring at the arctic wolf fur there pressed to the ground.

"You there, halt!" The noc demanded, as others also began to take notice of the pavement-stranded wolf.

Weapons were aimed at him. Weapons that could easily turn him into a replica of that pot-hole he just tripped over. Then the wolf gave a mental smile, rising slowly, paws in the air.

"Hello? Hi I'm Frederick Cranz, envoy to the mayor! Can I help you?"

This confused the noc soldiers. One came forward, apparently the squad leader.

"Maybe. Has the mayor been evacuated?" The leader, a raccoon, asked.

"Um, yes sir. About two hours ago. Said he was going to the airport before things got really s**tty." The wolf replied.

"I see, we'll carry on then. Thanks for your help, day-walker. Tonight I won't kill you."

Then they continued to march for city hall, probably to seize confidential documents held there. When they could no longer see him, the wolf went on to the alley, where the fox handed over his once lost gun.

"Heh! That was pretty damned clever!" Remarked the fox.

The wolf smiled.

"Yes, realizing I had lost my only means of defense, It registered that I could now pretend to be a civilian! This was good, because then there was no outright reason to shoot me, and you see I'm wearing what any government official or business fur would be wearing, anyway. Then I realized there was a psychological aspect to it. I told them what they wanted to hear, and what they had already surmised, that our mayor was being evacuated by plane, but I didn't tell them it was us who was doing it!" The wolf proudly exclaimed, mildly chuckling.

"Yeah?, Well, just be careful. The next bunch of noc's you 'stumble' across can't be THAT stupid!" The fox reproached with a laugh of his own.

A gun cocked behind them. They turned to see a lone snowy barnyard owl in the noc fatigues. Her large white tail came out a hole in the rear, looking much like an oriental fan.

"He's right, you know. Now what have we here? Why, our former mayor. I thought I smelled something funny."

"You bitch! I'll kill you for that!" The skunk sputtered, drawing a ppk from his suit coat, aiming it at her.

"You shouldn't kill me. I'm here to get you out. Were you stupid enough to think Eric would stop with one city? No! My boyfriend-turned-prick wants to make the whole world into a kingdom for the night furs'."

The Bodyguards aimed their own weapons at her.

"And why the hell would we listen to you?!" Growled the arctic wolf.

"Because you have two minutes to decide before the main force comes through here."

The skunk went forward, looked her over, and nodded.

"It's Snowswift Hornclaw, who once advocated peace between us. She can be trusted."

His guards stared on, bewildered.

"Sir?" Spoke the fox.

"Lead the way 'owl'. let's get out of here"

"As you wish, your rotten majesty" Snowswift replied, unamused.

Eric went over the field reports. His army had a confirmed eighty-three casualties. The city was running on minimal defensive support, with seventy percent of all police and military dead or incapacitated. Eric's eyes froze on a new report given him via relay from a squad he sent to city hall. The leader, a raccoon acknowledged that the mayor's aide, an arctic wolf, had told him that the mayor was evacuated. "dammit!"

"Sir?" asked a rat passing by.

He had on a bandana where he had lost an eye. Eric took stock of this grunt.

"The raccoon I put in charge of obtaining the mayor, how long has he been dead?"

"Over thirty years, Sir. Why?" Responded the rat

"And is the mayor's aide an arctic wolf?"

"No Sir, but that description could fit one of the mayors' bodyguard's."

Eric nodded.

"That's right. Our f**king raccoon friend missed our best opportunity to seize that smelly prick! Now, why didn't any of the other seven I put with him know this?" Mused Eric.

"Because they're buddies who died in the same war, Sir!" Replied the rat.

"When that stupid s**t-faced idiot gets back, we're going to debrief for a VERY long time!" Eric snarled.

"Uh, Sir? That wouldn't be too wise. He has a lot of sway with Malachi, and Malachi has a lot of sway with much of your force. If you piss either of them off, Malachi might steal your command." replied the rat.

Eric favored the grunt with one long gaze.

"You've got balls to tell me that soldier." Eric declared.

"You should know this, Sir, because I am loyal to your authority, and yours alone."

Eric held out his taloned hand.

"Good to know there is ONE fur I can trust in all of this."

The rat took his hand, shaking it. Eric smiled, suddenly getting an idea.

"I want you to be my eye and ears in the ranks. If they're angry over something, you tell me what it is and how in my authority I can satisfy it. I think you will find me quite capable in this new role. An army is only like a giant family."

"Very interesting you should say that, Sir. On a car fleeing from my own contingent, was a bumper sticker that said, "Our Family Reads Together", well, I mused to myself, your family may "READ TOGETHER", but my family BLEEDS together!" Then he gave an ironic laugh.

"Sometimes, I think old soldiers think alike, Sir!" Mused the rat wryly.

Eric smiled himself.

"That we do, that we do."

Snowswift gazed at her 'tour group' in an uninterested way.

"What did you sell YOUR soul for?" Growled the wolf.

Snowswift stared right into his eyes.

"If you want to know, I'm third in command behind Malachi. I can issue orders that don't run counter to the cause, or make commands that don't interfere with a contingent's overall capability to accomplish their assigned objective."

"Which means?" Prompted the fox.

"Everything. If I can pull it off." Mused the owl.

She took green flexi-cuffs from one of her packs.

"Now, who wants to be my first 'prisoner'?" She mused.

The bodyguards raised guns at her again.

"What the hell do you think your doing?" Demanded the wolf.

"Tell me gents, how far will a noc guard, a mayor, and two armed, unrestrained bodyguards get?" She mused.

Before any of them spoke up, she continued.

"No really, I'm curious. Maybe we can find out how long it takes for a platoon to drag our dead, bullet-ridden corpses to Eric. Besides, he might eventually forgive and revive me, but it will be a snow balls' chance in hell before he comes to the same conclusion for any of you." Snowswift mused in her grim way.

"Bitch', mumbled the mayor quietly, 'She's right." He dictated.

"Good!" She exclaimed.

"I've waited all night to hear that one!...Now, leave those H&K's behind in the dumpster and put these on. The main danger is that rebel di's might fire on us. I intend to recruit any squad who has accomplished their objective, are being relieved, or to take some noc's from a large battalion who have more than enough to accomplish theirs." Snowswift elaborated as she helped everyone put on their cuffs.

They stood there shoulder to shoulder in the alley with their hands at their backs.

"What about the mayors' gun?" Asked the fox.

"I'll leave it for now. I didn't even notice he was carrying, so I doubt anyone else will. Okay, you do what I tell you, I DO have the gun, you know, or rather, the only one out." She replied with a rueful smile.

Then to get the procession going, she shoved her rifle end into the small of the mayor's back playfully, eliciting a strangled and surprised yelp.

A rat came over to Malachi Darkestorm's current fortification. A rat with one eye.

"I've conveyed the message to Eric, Sir. His inexperience has led him to do what you thought, to rely on others' for his information. His trusting nature has led him to recruit me as 'his' spy." Spoke the rat.

Malachi smiled simply, already confident it would end up this way.

"Make no mistake. You've hinted to him I've got more influence than I really do. When his newfound paranoia causes him to make some 'mistakes' about morale, I will rally everyone to my side and take my rightful authority as General, TRUE General, not second place to some fool with a di grudge!" Malachi exclaimed.

"Yes Sir, I'm just glad the right opening came." Said the rat. Malachi humored his lackey with one glare.

"You mean that raccoon's f**k-up?. Who do you think assigned a long-dead noc to take the mayor? I already knew he wouldn't be familiar with our current politicians. The last mayor HE saw was a damn hayburner in office!" Malachi chortled.

"Sir, you mean that white mare?" asked the rat.

"Yes', mused Malachi, irony in his crimson eyes, 'Imagine that. A MARE for a MAYOR!" Then he laughed boisterously for some time.

Snowswift guided her 'prisoners' to a nearby patrol standing at ease.

"Who the hell's in charge here?" She demanded.

A black, dusty vulture approached her.

"That'd be me, ma'am." He said, looking suspiciously over her cargo.

"And what do you have here?" He asked.

Snowswift grinned.

"Just a present for my mate. The mayor, his secretary, and his aide."

"His aide, huh?"

The vulture went over to the wolf and gave him a nice, rough kick to the family jewels. The wolf collapsed on the street in pain with an agonizing grunt.

"You lied. You lied to all of us, you s**t-faced f**k!" Screamed the vulture, now coming up to the fox.

"And I know you bodyguard b**tards usually come in pairs!" He continued.

Snowswift caught the fox's nervous expression, before he collapsed as well, dealt the same treatment. Now the vulture came upon the mayor.

"And you 'SIR', you who started ALL of this in the first place." The vulture spat, reeling back his leg to give the mayor his 'just desserts', but faltered when the mayor flinched and jumped back.

"Not so brave, now, are you 'SIR'." mused the vulture.

He looked back at Snowswift.

"Yes, his two 'aides' lied to you. They are actually his bodyguards. Do you mind if I frisk them?" He asked.

"That won't be necessary. I already did, but if you want, you can check his flatulent 'highness'." Snowswift mused.

The skunk shot her a covert look of protest. He knew what they would find on him.

"No, that's okay. Greasy types like this usually get others' to do their killing. Now, what do you need, ma'am?"

"Are you currently on assignment?" She asked.

"Yes ma'am. Another thirty minutes or so, and we'll be relieved." The vulture replied.

"Good. When your shift change comes, I need you to help me escort these prisoners to my love, but I want that to be strictly confidential. This IS a surprise present, you know. And I suppose a short wait is in order, seeing as two of my escort are still there on the ground in pain."

The vulture looked at the two 'aides' on the ground, cradling their shattered nuts' between their thighs.

"Yes ma'am, sorry about that." The vulture mused.

"Don't be', Snowswift said aloud, to her own surprise, 'They should be glad you didn't pop a few more opening's in them." She joked.

The vulture gave a rude sounding laugh at that.

"General Malachi, Sir"

Malachi turned to see the coyote behind him, at the entrance to the main office in the press building.

"Yes?" Malachi answered.

"Sir. You sent me and five others to gauge the strengths of the Military Armory." The coyote returned.

Malachi nodded for him to continue.

"Right, then. The front gate is secured closed with thick coils of chain. Behind that are walls of sand bags arranged as heavy MG nests and troop cover. In front of the building, they could only fit one tank into the receiving driveway, but trust me Sir, one Black Widow class 5 is all they will need." mused the coyote.

"Hmmm... to know their ordinances so well, you must have perished only recently." Malachi observed.

"Good, tell me more about this tank, and how many available."

With no further prompting, the coyote went on.

"This armor they have can launch a 105mm shell into ANY visible target at a maximum of five miles away, or at a target behind a brick building if it is only one building in the way and not more than two miles out. The BW5 also has plating five feet thick all over, even the rear is as invulnerable. The top speed is only twice as fast as any of us can run, but that doesn't matter. The guy who built this goliath meant for it to be used against large groups of infantry." spoke the coyote.

"Like us" Mused Malachi thoughtfully.

The coyote agreed.

"Yes Sir, like us. Those di's really thought this one out... Anyway, the tank isn't your only worry, but since you asked, they have twenty more or so in storage on the east side of the complex, but I wouldn't count on adding those to our force."

"Why is that?" Asked Malachi.

"To plan it all out so well like this, they must think there is a good chance they will fail. I believe they may have sabotaged any equipment that they can't currently use, especially since I know they are between resupply, and that they only have enough oil, shells, armaments like missiles, and fuel for their one armor. Maybe they have a Humvee ready to evacuate the officers, but I really doubt it. That Lt. Col. ram they have in charge doesn't seem to have that retreat mindset. Now, the BW5 also features eight mortars on top, two heat-seeking launchers attached by the main hatch in the turret, and a thirty-cal Vulcan cannon lined up with the gun itself. Their air cavalry consists of armored choppers complete with 20mm rocket pods, a 40mm auto cannon, and two thirty cal Vulcan's like on the tank. They have ten of these, but only four LP's, and they only have fuel for all of them for only half an hour. My guess is that they will launch two every time we shoot the others' down or if they run out of fuel. Our enemy is smart. He knows he has airborne supremacy, and that sending everything he has in one half-hour defense is not to his best interest. Our friend has read Sun-Tzu. He knows damn well that if one has an advantage to be had, it should be prolonged. He is also smart enough to protect and enclose what two-hundred troops he has instead of wasting them in a very one-sided farce. Most of all, he's playing to OUR greatest weakness." Informed the coyote.

"Our weakness? Explain." Ordered Malachi.

"Why else would we consider taking his position instead of skirting around it? Not only does he have more in the garages', but he's teasing us with what we really need for our take-over. Tanks. Big bad-ass tanks. Hell, he's got one right outside for us to stare at!"

Malachi frowned.

"I don't follow your reasoning. Why would he so blatantly provoke our attack, when he could just dig in and let us pass by while he waits for reinforcements?"

"My guess is that they have a radio connecting them to HQ. I believe he may have been ORDERED to slow us down while the major force of the di army can be prepared for a counter-attack. That being the case, he must know there won't be any reinforcements, and that he and his troops are a 'sacrificial lamb'." the coyote spoke.

Malachi laughed.

"I see your joke. Ram-sacrificial lamb, very witty Lt."

"Thank you, Sir." He said, beaming from the praise.

Then the coyote got serious again.

"There are a few more details we cannot overlook. They've erected a watch tower at each of the base's four corners. The towers each contain a heavy MG two-fur team, and a highly trained SF sniper. There are also snipers on top of all the roofs of the buildings and hangars. Fortunately, their night-sight capabilities are limited, as they didn't expect to be fighting a giant army of noc's, so they don't have many sets of NV goggles. Only their fifteen best snipers have spook-eyes, so an attack tonight is advisable after some more planning."

Malachi laughed wickedly.

"I wonder if our dug-in friends are afraid of the dark?"

Then he laughed some more.

"You make the plans, the assignments. You've a grasp of this new warfare. In two hours, we strike according, exactly to your arrangements."

Snowswift waited patiently with her detail for the vulture and his squad of six others' to be relieved and meet them here secretly in an abandoned coffee house. Snowswift raised her rifle hastily in the direction of the noise of a boot-step outside the glass-window door with that stupid smiling mug on the front.

"Halt! Call-sign Delta!" She demanded.

"Call-sign Omega!" She received in response.

She lowered her weapon.

"Carry on, then!"

The door opened as the vulture's group shoved in rapidly.

"We better get moving, ma'am. This area is going to be in the middle of an enormous battle." The vulture whispered.

"Explain" Snowswift ordered.

"General Malachi is going to attack the guard armory, but the defenders' have a tank with a gun that can blast shells through buildings at five miles away. We are within that range right now."

Snowswift nodded.

"Okay, we'll go around towards the airport." She replied.

The vulture was surprised.

"WHAT?!, Ma'am...isn't that what our captives want? If we go there, all they have to do is get in a plane!." He exclaimed.

"Now that we are engaged in combat with a tank whose range is one-fourth the width of this city, do you have a safer route?" She demanded.

"No ma'am, none of us, we died decades ago, so too much has changed for us to know where we're going." The vulture confessed.

"Good. I died eight years hence, so I can second-guess where we're heading easily."

She motioned for them and the captives to vacate through the rear fire exit.

"Just relax, they can't fly, there's no one left at the airport, it's probably got a s**tload of our guys guarding it, and all planes are likely gone." She said to the vulture, who was still somewhat nervous with her plan.

She gave a mischievous smile when they had their backs to her. The captives can't fly, but she can. No planes left, but maybe a few of those little tourist charter planes might be locked down securely in a hangar on the premises somewhere.

"Eric, Sir" Replied the cyclopean rat.

Eric looked over at him, and away from the latest combat reports sent him by Malachi.

"Yes?" Eric answered genially.

"Your latest relief measures have created some disturbance among some of the ranks; Bravo and Delta regiments have requested not to be relieved. They want to stay out for a double shift." replied Eric's 'morale' officer.

Eric frowned, bewildered.

"What?! That's crazy!" Eric protested.

"That's war." The rat corrected.

Eric sighed.

"Okay, I'll give them an extension for another shift, but you tell them after that they MUST rest" Eric answered.

"Yes', smiled the rat, 'I'll do that."

The overall commander of Bravo AND Delta received his latest orders before his battalions were due to go on break. The Colonel, a weasel, read them twice, unable to believe it. "What the hell?" He frowned, sighing tiredly.

"Well, it seems that Alpha and Charlie CO's are going to have themselves a long vacation. We've been ordered to take another shift, followed by some menial guarding duties." The weasel said, addressing his combined command.

This elicited a very negative response from the noc troops.

This time, Malachi came prepared for a battle with his own weapon. Across from him, at the end and top of a T-shaped street junction, was the Alamo of the diurnal army. He stared in wonder at their fort for some time before he dared say one command in a quiet whisper.

"Attack"

At that prompting, the drums and eerie horns burst to life, sounding the charge. A hundred noc's surged past him with intensity in their eyes. Three or so went down with sniper fire, as the BW5 fired it's main cannon. The 105 landed in the middle of his raiding party from an elevated, mortar-like angle, as otherwise, the shell would have to go through the gate, compromising their defenses. The recoil sent the breech of the tank's gun, which was situated on a rocker-joint for accuracy reasons, right through the concrete wall of the main HQ behind it like a giant five-million dollar sledgehammer, engulfing the general area with milky-white dust particles. The shell itself proved to be a dud, or the escalated angle compromised it's efficiency to detonate. It landed with an ear-shattering crash like the collision between two cars, creating a noise of a large metal object having its components violently sheared off. The grit and shrapnel had only seriously incapacitated ten or so in the way. The raiders ran on, unfazed. Eight more had visitations from the long reach of sniper's bullets, and when they made it to the gate to plant satchel charges across the mammoth chains, the MG's opened up, splattering them with incredibly long bursts from 30 and 50cals. They retreated behind the walls the gate had been attached to, waiting for the satchels' to detonate with their usual percussive explosive pops like giant firecrackers. When they waited awhile, and the gate had been blown inward right in the faces of the closest MG crew, the noc's ran over their mutilated comrades that had tasted of the heavy rounds, laying dead and silently at the front entrance. The first few took an enormous amount of bullets to their bodies, as others jumped over their corpses and took cover behind the first row of sandbags. And though these first few inside taking refuge were in line of sight of the two forward towers, the towers themselves were occupied with suppressing the greater force. That left the five noc's free rein to lob the rest of their satchels and all their grenades into the ten MG's facing their cover, and the main street, where more would invade. Soon, the rear of the di fortress was attacked as well to keep the towers and many of the snipers busy. Without hesitation, while still taking cover, the five noc's, now joined by a couple more who managed to get past, now tossed grenades toward the defenders. Through this method, all MG nests had been DC'd. They froze, as above them came the whir of two gunships.

Malachi took stock of their air vehicles, smiling.

"Okay, they're here! Now!"

When one helicopter went a little lower than an office building beside it, Two noc's dumped a cardboard box filled with proximity-fused grenades onto its weakness; the rotors. Each exploded with a small yellow splash like a bunch of breaking water-balloons. The rotor engine began to smoke, as the jet engines coughed smoke and fire like a dying dragon brought down by a Knight. However, the helo didn't crash like a dragon. It actually fell to earth with a whoop of fast-ignited aviation fuel, bathing the back streets with a hearth-like orange glow.

"OH, how the mighty have fallen!. This is our dream, our glory! TAKE BACK THE NIGHT, my people of twilight!" Malachi declared.

Another noc sacrificed himself. Loaded down with a vest of M61's, he jumped onto the skids of a passing helo, pulled the pin on one grenade permanently attached to his vest, and climbed down toward the tail-rotor before it exploded. The tail was ripped off by the explosion, sending the chopper into a chaotic spinning nose-dive. Now, they had eight more to bring down.

The noc's began to sprint past the MG gunner's bodies. The BW5, seeing their invasion, pelted them with a long stream from the 30cal gatling cannon. It held them at bay for some time, launching missiles and salvoes from its eight mortars. A mortar shell landed by one squad, wiping them all out with one intense blast. A wayward missile crashed into a building's side, detonating, raining plaster, office files, and papers on those below. A helo having recently been launched, hovered above, emptying a rocket pod and two vulcan cannons into the raiding troops. Many went down with bullets to their bodies or shrapnel pieces whistling through the air hap-hazard like millions of thrown suriken.

From behind the complex, a coyote Lt. climbed over the wall with his detachment, as others suppressed the watch towers. On the other side, he and three others covered the climbing of the rest of his soldiers as they vaulted carefully over the barbed-wire covered top. When there were eight to cover the stragglers, he and five others charged into the hangar on the west side, where he suspected the other choppers must be kept. He and his ad hoc squad exchanged fire with a few guards and armed mechanics, as a small group of di soldiers went from copter to copter smashing the instrument panels with wrenches and crowbars.

"Dammit! we need those! You go over there and stop them. we'll cover you!" He ordered to a female fruit bat.

She saluted and charged wildly through the gunfire. Making it to the other side where the saboteurs' did not notice her sprint through, they went on oblivious and not quite rushing in their work either. In fact, there seemed to be a little private funeral for each mechanical bird. The bat raised the rifle to her shoulder.

"Drop those f**king tools, now!" She demanded.

When they froze, staring at her raised gun in horror, she thought she had them-. Immediately, they scattered, choosing separate birds' to ground. She opened fire on them as she jogged for the nearest pristine helo, sitting in the cockpit. She took pot-shots at anyone she could see, staying put in the chopper so that this one, at least, wouldn't be DC'd like the rest. When an enemy jumped into a helo next to hers, she gave him a short burst to the chest before he could wreck it as well.

"Okay', she mused to herself, 'I can save at least two."

After some time waiting, and a RELATIVE silence washed over them, the Lt. came to her side.

"How many we save?" He enquired, nervous.

"Two" Said the bat simply.

She caught the disappointment on his face before it vanished.

"Good, you did a fine job" He said.

The bat jumped out the other side.

"But not good enough, I take it?" She asked.

The Lt. sighed heavily.

"I'm afraid Malachi expected miracles from my best laid plans." He ruefully spoke.

"Miracles are for god and fools. Two are enough to take out a BW5. Besides, in a weeks' time, those DC'd helo's will be refurbished and ready for a test flight. Tonight was only superficial damage. They can be used again. Plus, I know you. You had a contingency no matter how many wrecks we were left with!"

He smiled at her wise words.

"Right. Me and SGT. Roanoke are going to perform a missing chopper act." The Lt. joked as he warmed the rotors and sailed it delicately through the hangar as slowly as he could.

Because there was no time for him and his men to drag the helo's to a pair of LP's. He and Roanoke, who were the most experienced pilots, had to fly choppers right out of the low-ceilinged' hangar. Yeah, sounds like fun. The Lt. thought to himself with a nervous grin.

Malachi looked on as the next pair of choppers launched, and had thought his troops had failed. He would have kept on believing this, if the gunships' hadn't opened up on the BW5 below them, firing in rapid succession all their rockets into the tanks' turret, it's most vulnerable place. The tank shook and crinkled like a soda can under the intense salvo barrage. After only ten seconds of this, a lucky shot from one of the rockets exploded in between the turret and tanks' body, flinging the turret that weighed many tons into the sky like a tossed discus. Although this was good news, he didn't know if they only saved two helo's, had only two pilots, or if only two were deliberately launched to fool the tank, which had anti-air missiles. However, with a sweeping victory like this, Malachi didn't particularly care. He went on smiling as the two captured helos emptied a burst from their 40mm's into the minimally armored cockpit of the lone enemy chopper as it was confused over the recent treachery. That copter crashed with the sweetest explosion Malachi had ever heard in all his decades of field experience.

The Lt. and Roanoke, with their main adversary incapacitated, now used their thirty minutes of fuel to dust the towers and rooftops with the vulcan guns and the 40mm cannons. They succeeded in shredding numerous enemies before them into fur grease-spots, before having to take an undesired stop on the LP's. The fruit bat was there to greet them.

"How goes your hunting, Sirs?" she asked.

"Better than expected, but worse than we wanted." The Lt. spoke cryptically.

She nodded slowly.

"I see." She said simply.

Roanoke stepped out of his helo and removed his helmet. Roanoke was a black panther with a long, thin tail coming out the back of his uniform. The fruit bat stared at him, spellbound by his grace, his careless chauvinistic elegance. She went over to him, love-struck for the first time in her life. Leave it to me to fall in love with a big kitty, she mused. Cats and rodents, even flying ones, usually didn't mix. His deep yellow cat-like slitted eyes met her small beady near-sighted ones.

"And who is this enchanting beauty?" The panther asked, shoving his helmet carelessly into the Lt.'s stomach.

"That's my engineer. She's-" The Lt. began to choke out.

"-pleased to meet you." The bat finished with a delighted smile.

"I think females look lovely in the tight fit of a uniform." He said, purring loudly, breathing softly into her face.

"Don't you agree, pleased to meet you? Or can I call you please for short?" He whispered playfully.

She kissed him softly on the nose.

"I think Rebecca will be fine." She mused.

"No lady, 'Rebecca' will be heaven." He gently reproached.

Malachi went on to storm the HQ with an escort of ten of his most loyal soldiers. The di officers and whatever remaining opposition found on the way had surrendered, believing that it was pointless to go on when the castle had fallen. Malachi left two of his troops to stand guard outside the small officers mess hall, where he chose to deposit any P.O.W.'s captured. When he was confident he had everyone in custody after searching all the HQ's rooms, he went on to the main office of the Lt. Col.. The old ram had greeted them with not so much more than haunted eyes.

"Who the hell are all you guys?" He asked in disbelief.

Malachi smiled wickedly.

"We are the knights of night, and you are our dragon. We've cut off the body, now for the head." Malachi said in a barely audible whisper.

"Do you intend to kill me? I surrender. It's all pointless, now." The ram shrugged, tossing over his sidearm, a custom Beretta M9, toward Malachi.

Malachi picked up the M9, taking off the safety and cocking it.

"Wait! What the hell are-."

Malachi cut off his protests.

"I'm afraid I can't let you surrender. It would make Eric look too f**king good. You see, Lt. Col., I have greater ambitions than staying in the shadow of OUR great leader. OUR great savior. Hah! Nothing more than a BOY with hate in his heart!. Without the mayor, without the chief of police, without the ranking MILITARY officer in custody, how good will Eric look unable to dangle these much hated 'prizes' in front of our men. How will he reward their morale and spirit? Hmmm? And something else, how good will he look when I spread rumors that HE ordered ME to kill YOU? Why, that would make him no better than a war criminal. Our troops are behaved enough not to shoot bystanders, despite what you say. But the icing on the cake? Eric's supposed death order in cold blood...of you." Then Malachi quickly raised the pistol before the ram had a chance to do anything, firing one hollow point 9mm into his skull, before sticking the weapon in the Lt. Col.'s dead, outstretched hand.

On the way down to the new 'brig ', Malachi nodded for his pair of goons to open the door. Malachi took a satchel charge being held by a conspirator nearby, ripped the cord, and tossed it in. His goons braced the double-doors with an old pipe through the handles and stepped away. For a few seconds, they heard the panicked cries and screaming, as well as loud banging against the doors like a bunch of caged animals. Then a giant explosion rocked the buildings' foundation, blowing the mess doors outward like a giant steel bubble. Thick smoke poured out the edges of the doors, carrying with it a smell of flash-fried meat. Malachi brushed his wingtips carelessly together, walking proudly away from his carnage.

"Looks like my work here is done." He mused with a grin.

The Lt. entered the enemy HQ with his pair of 'love birds' in tow. The first hallway they came upon gave them an odd impression.

"There's no bodies anywhere, but I know we took no prisoners here." Said the Lt.

Rebecca sniffed the air, catching a smell that shouldn't be in here, of all places.

"I smell Cordite and C-4. Someone set off a satchel charge in here." She informed.

"What? No, that must be incorrect. There weren't any explosions reported in this area, and besides, satchels are hard to come by. If someone DID detonate something in here, it would be a comp-B based M61." The Lt. protested.

"That's not what my nose tells me, Sir." Rebecca reproached.

"What else does your nose tell you?" Roanoke teased.

"Hush, or kitty doesn't get any milk tonight." Rebecca threatened playfully.

Roanoke looked briefly down at her chest and purred.

"Mmm', he lightly growled, licking his lips, 'kitty needs his milk or he'll go batty." He mused, licking Rebecca's neck.

The coyote ignored this as they came upon a corner. When he had turned it, he stared in shock. Roanoke and Rebecca stopped in their trysting when they saw their leaders' face.

"Sir?" Asked Roanoke urgently.

The Lt. simply answered that he had found the satchel. Roanoke and his newfound mate looked around the bend together. There they saw the unnatural outward bulge of the heavy reinforced doors connected to the cafeteria.

"I think we found them. I smell burnt flesh behind that door." Rebecca announced, delirious from the scent of the dead.

"S**t. Helluva way to go, I say." Roanoke mumbled.

The Lt. broke out of his stupor.

"Yes, but our job is to read the Lt. Col.'s reports on HOW all the equipment was DC'd, so that we can RC them!" Ordered the coyote.

Roanoke and Rebecca popped crisp, curt salutes and at the same time yelled, "YES SIR!". The coyote nodded, leading the way past the new giant bubble doors toward the main HQ office. Heading there, they come upon a second grisly sight. The di commander had apparently committed suicide. Apparently. Rebecca took a closer view.

"I'm no medic or anything, but this looks wrong. Most people don't shoot themselves in the forehead. Snaking a pistol around into that position is very uncomfortable, and most suicidals wouldn't give two s**ts about a neat hole in the middle of their head, anyway. The temple, or through the mouth makes the most sense."

She then proceeded to pick up his hand, which was only now becoming rigid.

"This happened recently, the rigor mortis is only starting." She mused as if to herself.

"My rigor mortis is starting, too, but I think it's isolated in one region." Remarked Roanoke with a mischievous smile.

"Not now you smart-ass. I have to concentrate on this." She scolded.

"Concentrate? He's not going anywhere. You have all night!" Roanoke replied.

Rebecca slapped her face in frustration.

"Just please shut up, will you?" She pleaded before going back to her grisly work.

Now she looked at the ram's hand.

"Curious. No residue, Sir." Rebecca observed.

"I'm sure that's common. I mean this base has likely changed their powder recipe so that there is less fouling in the weapons." Lt. answered.

Rebecca seized the weapon, removed the magazine, counted fourteen out of fifteen rounds present, and shoved it back in. She then took aim at a wall and fired. With a loud shot in the enclosed space of the office, where her comrades were cussing her out, she stared suspiciously at the back of her wrist, where there was indeed discharge residue. These observations proved two things;

"Okay, These bullets are from the old batch, and if this guy did himself in, he either wasn't confident in his aim, or he was going for overkill. Now why would any sane person pack more than one bullet to do the job?"

"I know." Roanoke offered.

Rebecca looked at him with an expression that said she was going to kill him.

"Okay. Why."

Roanoke smiled in mock innocence.

"I think he loaded them all, because the old fart he was, he was probably shooting blanks."

She looked to the Lt. for help.

"Sir? Can I shoot him?" Rebecca pleaded.

The Lt. responded to that with a wry smile.

"Technically, he outranks you, Pvt." He mused.

Roanoke chuckled at that.

"Hey Pvt., where're your balls?" The panther joked.

"Enough of this. I don't know where mine are, but I think I found yours." Then she gave him a lightning-fast kick to his crotch, where he immediately collapsed to his knees with a feral moan.

"Was I being too forward?" He croaked out.

The Lt. laughed aloud.

"Serves you right, you ol' perve! Your better at wooing em' than keeping em'! Maybe you would be better off keeping some of those sleazy comments to yourself."

Roanoke appraised his CO with a mock-serious expression despite his pain.

"Will she take me back? It breaks my heart to see her go, but it breaks my nuts to have her stay!" Roanoke choked out.

The Lt. broke out in another fit of hysterics.

Rebecca glared at her squad-mates with a tired sigh.

"It's not that funny. You see people taking it below the belt all the time!" She protested in annoyance.

"I wish I could take it 'below' the belt." Roanoke mused.

Rebecca turned and slapped him, storming out with one word, which she uttered detestably.

"Males." She snarled.

The coyote tapped his panther buddy on the shoulder.

"I think you should have stopped while you were ahead." The Lt. groaned.

"No, I should have stopped while I was a body. Then I could actually do something." Roanoke remarked.

Rebecca left them seething. Couldn't they tell how incredibly pissed she was?! It was 'bat' enough that she wasn't taken seriously as an engineer/mechanic, but to have her affection turn around and become something so...ugly. That was horrible. How could Roanoke do that to her? Really?

"Wait! Wait dammit!" Cried out that silky, but now somewhat higher pitched voice of her 'kitten'.

"What the hell do you want to joke about now? How conceited I am? Why females are stupid? How many bats it takes to screw in a light bulb?" She snarled.

Somehow he managed to rush enough to get in her way, despite his somewhat crippling injury.

"How about none of the above." He replied, looking gently into her eyes like the first time they met.

"How about everything else?" He offered as he softly nibbled her right ear.

"How about you just shut up and we do this?" Rebecca ordered with a rueful smile.

"Officer on deck! I'm being upstaged." He growled coyly as she giggled and took his paws in her talons.

"And why can you not flatter me with THESE jokes instead? They are much more sophisticated and lack that lewd quality you put in it."

Roanoke licked down the right side of her neck.

"It's what I picked up being a pilot in the Army. Do you want to see what I picked up abroad in the service of the Navy?" He purred, letting his tongue do things on her face she never imagined.

"Of the two, I think the Navy taught you the best." She squealed out delightedly.

Roanoke ran a paw down toward her lower back.

"I concur." He whispered.

A creature all dressed in black crashed from the ceiling in a crouch, as all around, landed a cascade of falling dust and plaster pieces from a panel that had disintegrated.

"What the h-" The Lt. choked out as the thing lurched forward in a muscular bound, thrusting a sharp object to his throat, twisting its bulk around behind him as it kept the weapon steady in place.

"I'll ask you two questions, and if you lie, I will kill you." The thing croaked out.

The coyote nodded slowly.

"Question one; who the hell do you work for?" It asked in that sulky voice.

"I work for the noc army." The Lt. replied.

"Not specific. WHO do you work for?" It repeated.

"I don't understand." The coyote said.

"There are two forces at work in your army. Do you work for Eric or Malachi?" It embellished.

The Lt. frowned.

"I work for both, but I take commands from Malachi right now." The Lt. answered.

"Have you obeyed orders from Malachi to kill P.O.W.'s?" It added, slicing him a little.

"F**k no!" The coyote protested.

"Good. Take a look at this handiwork. It is Malachi's doing. From the suicide of the HQ CO, to the murders of all the officers and staff of the building." It stated flatly without emotion.

"What? How the f**k do you know this s**t?!"

The Lt. was confused, so he barely noticed the loosening of the grip on his throat, of the black hood being tossed on the floor in front of him, or the sudden smell of his assailant's oat-smelling breath as it twisted him painfully and roughly around to face it. The Lt. was muzzle to muzzle with a white-coated Shetland pony mare that had a pair of NV's attached to her head. She looked sullenly into his eyes with her own blue ones and simply said.

"Mr. Coyote. My second question is this;...Do you believe in God?"

Troops had been gathered in the courtyard in the center of the base. This, was of course, after the casualty assessment, enemy burials, and retrieval of the nocs' own dead for rebirth, which were placed in a hastily built and quite temporary shelter so that the rot wouldn't carry over and make everyone sick. Malachi addressed the soldiers from a very sketchy platform.

"We have done well. Eric is pleased that we have carried out everything according to his orders, including how we have handled those day-walking traitors. Although I personally didn't have the nerve for it, I am glad commander Lazarus has given me the resolve to destroy our enemy in a manner fitting the enemy of the nightly cause. I have, per his command, sent the officers to hell and though I regret it, I had to give the leader a taste from his own "noc murdering weapon" , may my greatest honorable adversary live in peace, and though I am saddened, this is Eric's will, and Eric's will is justice." Malachi declared.

The troops murmured among themselves as the crow walked from his stage, confident in his performance. Who really gives the orders? Malachi wondered.

The vulture handed Snowswift a pair of binoculars when they were on top of the highest office building within four miles of the airport. The rest of the vulture's squad were on the ground watching the captives. Snowswift took stock of any possible complications they could expect to run into. Zooming on the landing strip itself, she noticed a Humvee armed with a mark-19 GL, which was in the middle of it. Taking loose guard shifts around the fence perimeter were thirty di infantry. She handed the tactical glasses back to the vulture. He took a long look himself before putting them away.

"Is the airport still the safest route?" He mused wryly.

"What the hell are you concerned about? I think we can take them." Snowswift replied.

The vulture sighed in hopelessness.

"Maybe if your super owl or something, but I think your high if you seriously consider it." He remarked.

"Not so. We have cover and surprise. What do they have?" Snowswift reasoned.

"About four times more guys than us, a barbed-wire laced civilian airport fence, Oh, and nothing all that important, just a Hummer with 4WD and a gun on steroids."

After sorting out their differences, Rebecca and Roanoke came back to the Lt., whom was not alone. Immediately at the sight of the enemy SF soldier, they both raised their weapons on her.

"Got yourself a little company Sir?" Roanoke enquired.

The pony proceeded to aim her own weapon at them; a silenced MP-5.

"Tell your soldiers to lower their arms. I'm not feeling very charitable tonight." She growled out.

The Lt. casually nodded.

"Put down the guns. This is Fleethooves Shadowebane. She has agreed to work with us in our new mission." Replied the Lt.

"What? What new mission? I didn't get any orders!" Roanoke protested.

The Lt. made a curt motion toward the mare.

"Here, you fill them in. I still don't quite get it."

She nodded slowly in response.

"As you two trigger happy idiots surmised, there are two leaders who rule your army. However, Malachi, not content with second place, has proceeded to undermine Eric's authority in a negative propaganda war. I side with you now because most of my comrades have been wiped out, and because that bastard Malachi used my friends as goddamn pawns to get at Eric, even despite the fact they had surrendered!" The pony growled, shouldering her gun.

Rebecca frowned, stepping forward.

"You mean your the sole survivor of this massacre?" The bat mused.

Fleethooves shrugged her withers.

"To this slaughter, yes, but surely you've got prisoners elsewhere? This is going to be something big. It's important to get the news to Eric at all costs. If there are soldiers of my command I can vouch for, we need to free them and get to your commander before that f**ker Malachi figures out what we're up to. We have Hummers here, and I know where the keys are, but there isn't any gas left. You devil buggers caught us with our pants down, I guess. If we had more supplies, we could have won the battle. Anyway, there's a gas station a few blocks away, but you'll have to walk there and back with the first load of cans before you can go back and forth in a Humvee." The pony declared.

"Um...how many are we taking?" The Lt. asked.

"One for every noc soldier you can vouch for. We need the speed, the big guns, and if you make sure that your soldiers are the ones driving, it'll just look like a prisoner transfer." Fleethooves replied.

"That's a good plan. I can vouch for three others' loyalty in my command. Jocelyn Moonfeather, SSgt. Largo, and Pvt. Kerry Jones." The Lt. offered.

"Good. Go get them first, we'll need their help in carrying the gas. When we have the six transports fueled, we'll drive to the nearest area you have for keeping prisoners and make up some bulls**t excuse to relieve whatever guards are there of custody. I hope I can convince them that we need their help. Four soldiers in one or two vehicles won't get very far if the shit goes down. We stand a better chance in a united force. Now, we're warning Eric instead of killing Malachi because it would be suspicious. Besides, Malachi has a s**tload of soldier bodyguards whom are more experienced than even me; we just wouldn't stand a chance against those elites. In fact, I hear rumors that they can rip apart tanks without armored support. We've all been taught that going against enemy armor on foot is nearly suicide, but these are Malachi's own infamous soldiers from the rebellion twenty years ago! They've devastated whole armies, just the fifteen or so of them." Fleethooves replied.

"You heard her. Assemble those I described before me, so we can talk, then we'll all go on a fuel run. Oh, and Fleethooves, your people will need weapons. Get the keys for the Hummers' and begin raiding the base armory for whatever is left. Whatever we can't get here, we'll take from the noc army surplus. There are small depots of rifles and ammo about assigned to each command who is headed by a Captain or higher. Got it? Good. Carry on!" The Coyote ordered.

She saluted, relieved someone else was in control again.

Snowswift ran through her options. She could distract her own soldiers while the Mayor and company made a break for the airport. She could fight with them to kill the guards. Or...there was a stealthy approach. Even now, the city military soldiers were so spread out, she and her platoon could easily dispatch all thirty infantry in minutes before the guy on the big gun could figure out what the hell was going on. Snowswift appraised the vulture.

"How good are your guys at silently incapacitating enemy soldiers?" The owl enquired.

The vulture shrugged.

"It's not something we particularly excel at." The vulture replied.

"Well, you all better learn fast. We can't take them head on the way they are. We'll have to practice and plan for an hour or so to pull THIS miracle out of our asses." Snowswift mused.

The Coyote got through explaining to the three loyal soldiers of his as Rebecca and Roanoke made the near endless gas station runs. Fleethooves had stayed in the buildings to avoid being discovered by those the Lt. was unsure of. Jocelyn the hawk, Largo the alligator, and Kerry the brown furred mouse, took in his news patiently.

"So you see, we'll be working with some of the di infantry to complete our mission, any problems?" Asked the Lt.

"How many di are we freeing?" Enquired Kerry.

The Coyote shrugged.

"I don't know. No more than we can fit in six Humvees. We'll have to arm the rest and put them up discreetly in an apartment somewhere. I won't leave anyone with Malachi after knowing what HE'S capable of!"

The soldiers nodded grimly at this.

How long had Malachi been waiting for the latest news from his rat spy? An hour. What the hell was cyclops doing? He hailed a nearby grunt.

"You. Could you get me a coffee? I need something to keep me aware."

The soldier saluted in response and ran off. It was all waiting, now. He dared not make another move against Eric until he had his crap straight. Nobody will like Eric after my next move. Checkmate. Malachi grinned as he thought about how he would sacrifice all his pawns for not a Queen, but a King.

"Holy shit! Lt.! We can't wait anymore!" Rebecca exclaimed, as she ran toward the Lt. and the three others.

"Slow down. What's going on?" The Lt. asked, calm despite his own fears.

Rebecca was crying. And Roanoke wasn't with her. S**t!

"Is it Roanoke? Is he okay?" The Lt. enquired.

She shook her head emphatically.

"No, not Roanoke, but Sir, you were right. We do need to take everyone out of Malachi's custody!" She whimpered out.

"What?!"

The Lt. did not like where this was going.

"Sir. H-He's already issued the order! Even as I speak, our troops are killing P.O.W.'s!" She screamed.

"Jesus tap dancing Christ...Jocelyn! We can't wait anymore! Whatever we got set up, we're just going to have to get going. Take the others to the Humvees, and fill in Fleethooves on the way. Rebecca and me will raid the ammo lockers for Mark-19 grenades and fifty caliber AP's." Lt. ordered.

"B-B-But! We can't wait that long! We have to go now!" She exclaimed, smashing the stock of her battle rifle against a nearby wall in frustration.

"Is Roanoke still in that first Hummer we sent out?" The Lt. demanded.

She looked him up frantically with her tear-streaked eyes, and forced out her reply.

"Yes Sir."

"Then all you can do is get in your own vehicle and be ready for us to move out." The Lt. replied.

As she ran for the motor pool, Lt. went for the padlocked storage lockers in the opposite building. When he made it to the lockers, he shot out the locks with well-placed rounds and the prayer he wouldn't blow himself up in the process. When that was done, he took the ammo cans out. He could carry four cans, but the rest he tore out and draped across his shoulders in haste. Then he proceeded to throw two belts into each Humvee, before getting into his own with the four rectangular metal boxes. When he met up with Roanoke on the outside of the base, he would toss him two, and they would be on with their mission. Lt. started up his engine right as he heard the passenger door open and slam. He looked over at Fleethooves.

"What you guys are doing is beyond anything me or my comrades expected. I...thank you." She whispered.

"Don't thank me yet." The Coyote declared as he gunned the accelerator.

"Load up the fifty and don't let anyone stop us. We're on borrowed time and we can't deal with every bulls**t inquisition on the way. This stopped being a mission of subterfuge when Rebecca came with the horrid orders."

"Yes Sir!" She replied promptly, saluting.

It felt so strange, now, to give orders to an opposing soldier. The pony took both of the tins to the back and slid one belt into place on the gun, cocking it.

"If we run out of ammo, we'll stop the convoy so you can jump in another armed vehicle. The vehicle who's gun you man will always be in the front of the formation, okay?"

"Yes Sir!"

Then he took off first, with four Humvees behind, and Roanoke soon taking up the rear. A few blocks down the road, they came across a hasty barricade with a platoon of noc's lazily patrolling. When they saw the convoy coming toward them, the leader held up his hand for them to stop. The Lt. went right through them as Fleethooves fired armor piercing bullets to suppress them. Barbed-wire and moldy wood crunched under the reinforced tires as they drove by.

"Where is the nearest holding station?" Asked the pony.

"Five blocks to the right." He replied, making the turn even as he spoke.

Far off ahead, they heard the single telltale gunshots of executions.

"F**k. Can't we go faster?" Fleethooves growled.

The Coyote let the comment slip and focused completely on the driving. Two blocks away, he saw them. Silhouettes of guards shooting prisoners in the head. Fleethooves ground her teeth, firing a staccato burst carefully into one of them. The executions paused as the guards now retreated, firing back at the armored vehicles as they did so. The convoy stopped at the curve by the prisoners. There were twenty or so dead on the ground, as eight suspiciously came to the Lt's door.

"Guys! Get in the Goddamn cars and don't ask questions!" Fleethooves snarled.

Shocked out of all sense by one of their own on a giant gun, they really didn't think to argue.

who are you to question me?

i know damn well you're the enemy!

I can see it in your face, I can find it in your eyes

I'm not the fool you take me for, if only you'd realize

you're different than what I thought

not exactly what I was taught

I guess my teachings are a lie

but if that's true, then what am I?

I never believed I could see you

without a gun and eyes brand new

I am a soldier that is lost

just a rag doll that got tossed

and if my purpose is a sham

is that all I really am?

Snowswift left the two members of her platoon that sucked the most at stealth to watch the prisoners, as she and the five others went on to carry out their plan. At the fence, they were incredibly stretched out, but at least if the plan failed, it would create some confusion in THEIR ranks so that her troop could escape. Half an hour passed and she had taken out two guards already with her battle rifle bayonet, but she knew things were going too smoothly. She heard the enemy Humvee open fire with a long burst of exploding shells and then a scream in the distance, as orange flashes briefly lit up the night like flares. Who it was, she didn't know, but as she saw more Humvee vehicles roll up nearby, she thought she was f**ked...Until they fired heavy weapons into the Hummer on the airfield. What the hell is going on?! It was silent for a moment. Then a loud voice demanded that all survivors of the onslaught must surrender. She looked cautiously over, but didn't know what to make of it. There are f**king di's AND noc's in those LAPV's! (lightly armored personnel vehicles). She must be going crazy. Why would the two forces work together? Albeit, so openly? A light shined in her eyes.

"We got one over here!" Roared a noc soldier, a panther, who had his battle rifle aimed at her head.

"We got one over here!" Declared Roanoke from nearby, as he shined a flashlight on a white owl dressed in nocturnal fatigues.

He aimed his gun at her in case she tried anything. The Coyote went over to them.

"At ease, this one I certainly vouch for. It's the girlfriend of our commander. We're going to brief her and take her with us. If Eric will believe anyone, I know it'll be Snowswift."

"What the hell is going on? Did the world end? I thought we were at war with the di's!" She snarled out.

The Lt. grinned wryly.

"That didn't stop you from rescuing the Mayor and his assemblage." The Coyote mused.

She sighed gustily at that.

"Damn. So the pole cats' out of the bag."

"Yep, had to keep Jocelyn on a leash for that surprise. It's no secret that he's the one who had her murdered." Declared the Coyote.

"Really? And here I thought he was an inspirational role-model." Snowswift reproached sarcastically.

Nearby, her platoon, minus one, was being led out of their respective positions at gun point. The Coyote pointed back towards them.

"Don't suppose you could vouch for any of their loyalty?" The Lt. enquired.

Snowswift shrugged.

"Nope. It was a one night stand. They'll get over it."

Eric watched as Malachi came toward him, fifteen battle-scarred veterans among his honor guard. A cape about his shoulders billowed carelessly in the breeze. This does not look good, Eric thought.

"I bear horrid news, commander. Your lover has conspired against you. Even now, her and some of your best soldiers are working to reinstate the mayors' authority. They have freed di prisoners, killed their own allies who don't agree, and are headed here to take you out of the picture." Malachi offered.

Eric groaned out.

"Dammit! I knew she didn't agree with what I was doing, but I didn't expect outright treason!" Eric shrieked.

"Sometimes', mused Malachi, 'sometimes negotiation and peace talks can only go so far. And the day that they fail, is the day we TAKE back the night and destroy those cursed' traitors!"

Eric stared in shock as Malachi had taken his quote and perverted it into something else. Shit! Is this what Snowswift saw? How easily and disgustingly revolution turns into something ugly? This reminded him of the French revolution, which was started with the best of intentions; freedom and soveriegnty for all men, but turned into a witch trial with 'unloyals' being executed left and right. And now that Malachi revealed this to him, were revolution and revenge worth destroying his only love to accomplish them?