The Raging Hounds III: Wildfire
#3 of The Raging Hounds
The Raging Hounds, the universe of this story and all the characters are property of Rhazagal and are not to be used by anyone without the author's permission.
This story contains gay themes, violence and graphic descriptions of war. Don't like stuff like that? Then you are in the wrong place, buddy, but to everyone else I wish a pleasant time readig about the adventures of the wild and naughty Hounds!
The Hounds were all standing in a single line in the corridor of their dorm, briskly in attention with their eyes staring into nothingness. No muscles moved, not a single tail twitched as Colonel Schaefer walked slowly up and down the line, the German Shepherd's face just as emotionless as ever.
"I don't care why it happened, even though I believe it has something to do with the fact he's not like the rest of us, but be that as it may, I will NOT tolerate such acts of ruthless aggression towards our own people." the Colonel said, his voice strong and firm, booming around the corridor.
"Thanks to the swift actions of sergeant Austin, and the medical skills of first sergeant Hicks, Raikov will still be able to partake in our mission." Schaefer added, his eyes narrowing dangerously as he spotted Jericho's jaw line twitching a little.
"Isn't it a good thing our newest recruit joins us despite his injuries, Jericho?"
"Yes...Sir." Jericho said, remembering to add the honorific with a slight delay.
Schaefer was silent for a moment before shouting on the top of his lungs "Incoming!" and as the words had barely left his lips, the Hounds had all thrown themselves flat onto the floor with their arms covering their necks and their legs crossed to protect vital arteries as well as other important parts.
"Attention!" Was the next order and the Hounds stood up as fast as they could back into attention. Schaefer snorted "I don't want to hear about any more violence towards our own people...We are few enough as it is. Do you get me?"
"We get you Sir!" the Hounds shouted in perfect unison.
"Dismissed...get out of my sight..." Schaefer grumbled, turning around so fast that his great coat -hanging open in a most undisciplined manner- fluttered like a cape behind him as he stormed out of the dorm corridor.
Vincent lied on the bed in the sickbay, staring out of the porthole by his bed. They had finished their jump to the Skai star system and were currently moving on propulsion to reach the third planet in the system on which their assassination mission would be taking place.
Stars twinkled softly in the void beyond the porthole, Vincent's glazed eyes staring into the nothingness. Only a few hours ago he had been released from the biomed gel tank that had been used to heal his wounds in order to make him fighting fit.
Physical wounds had healed, yes, but the emotional and mental once still remained open and inflamed...
The soft clank of a tray being placed onto the table next to him made Vincent turn his head slowly, his paws curling into fists at the sight of the German Shepherd standing next to his bed. The dog was slightly taller than Vincent and sported a fur that had very little black in it unlike most of his kind.
First sergeant David "Doc" Hicks... The irony of it all felt just overwhelming. Just a few days ago the German Shepherd had been beating and raping him along with five other Hounds and now here he was serving the hyena some late dinner as if nothing had happened. Well...The clearly guilty and slightly angry look on the dog's face told not EVERYTHING was alright.
"Here's your food, private Raikov. Rey will come and give you one last checkup after you've finished eating and then you can be on your way back to the unit." Hicks said tensely, leaving in a hurry before Vincent would get even a chance to reply.
Not that Vincent wanted to say anything to the dog anyways...
Vincent didn't feel too hungry either, so he simply turned his head and stared out of the porthole once more. He wasn't sure if he wanted to continue anymore... Jericho's latest trick had made the hyena wonder if army was, in the end, the best place for him. The Boot had been hell for him and his active duty appeared to be nothing short of living hell. If it wasn't for Winters, Galloway and Austin...
A paw shaking him gently woke Vincent up all of a sudden. He hadn't even noticed having fallen asleep somewhere in the middle of his ponderings.
"Oh, finally awake, huh? I'm here to make you one last checkup. Did David tell you about it?" the newcomer said.
Vincent blinked his eyes a couple of times to get the sleep out of them, his vision slowly coming to focus on the dog leaning slightly over him.
He was a Husky, a handsome one at that to boot with. Vincent had to blink a couple more times, enticed by the electric-blue eyes of the husky.
"So this must be Rey..." Vincent thought with his still sleepy mind.
Rey smiled, scratching his neck idly as he straightened his back "Would you mind stepping out of the bed? Kinda hard to check you out...err...up when you are covered by those blankets."
Vincent stood up slowly, slicking his mane back in a feeble attempt to look at least slightly representative, quite aware of the fact he was only covered by a pair of boxers. He could only wonder who had put those on him, since as far as he knew he had been in a pair of speedos -simply for the sake of modesty- during the time he had spent in the biomed tank.
Had the husky really just blurted out a flirt? Vincent yawned and stretched, vincing inwardly as his body let out several audible pops and cracks. He spent a moment examining Rey a little more as the Husky turned around to write something onto his papers.
Cargos and white labcoat -with a standard-issue green T-shirt underneath- covered a pelt of luxurious white fur that stretched downwards from the Husky's chin and -in Vincent's mind's eye- down his chest, stomach and thighs, the dog's back covered in nigh-black fur with white patches -like the crescents of the moon- on the very tips of his ears. Rey's body was toned and fit like a swimmer's, much the same way it was with most of the other marines.
The curled tail and tight pants of Rey gave Vincent also a good eyeful as Rey shuffled through his papers in a slightly bent position, leaning against the table with his right paw whilst writing with the left.
Vincent felt himself grow a little hot under the collar from just looking at Rey. He hadn't seen the Husky on Goodwill, which probably meant he had been staying on board the Triumphant.
"Alrighty..." Rey said all of a sudden as he turned around with the papers in his hand, a pen in the other "First and foremost... How do you feel? Do you think you are fit and ready for service once more?"
"Yeah...The tank did wonders to all my aches."
Rey made notes "I see...So you have no more pains whatsoever?"
"No."
"Good..." More furious writing during which Rey frowned slightly as if focusing intently. He placed the papers back onto the desk and started to snap a pair of rubber gloves into his paws.
"Now all that remains is for me to check how your ribs and other bones are doing. That broken rib of yours was pretty nasty, you know...pressing against your lung and all..." Rey said, trailing off as he stepped towards Vincent and the hyena lifted his arms up, grasping a support beam welded to the roof.
Vincent didn't say anything in response and Rey proceeded to rub and prod at his chest, the Husky once more frowning slightly in focus.
"This doesn't hurt?" Rey asked as he rubbed a bit harder over the spot in which Vincent's rib had cracked and the hyena shook his head slowly, no.
The Husky nodded and made a short note to the papers, pulling then the rubber gloves away and tossing them to the litter bin.
"Alright, that settles it. I hereby declare you fully healthy and give you the FFS." Rey said, giving a faint smile at Vincent.
"For Fuck's Sake?" Vincent asked quietly, cracking a smile of his own and raising one of his brows.
Rey chuckled "No, no...Fit For Service, silly."
"Well I'm a hyena...I'm supposed to be silly." Vincent replied, his smile turning into a broad grin that made Rey chuckle again.
"Right on...Well, your clothes are on the chair at the end of the bed. I'll leave you to dress up and you can check out at the desk by the door, okay? I'll be sitting there." Rey said over his shoulder as he padded out of the room.
Slowly dressing up, Vincent stared at the seven other beds in the ward. They were all neat and empty, not a wrinkle in the sheets; just the way it should be in the army. Of course they were empty... The Hounds were vaccinated against diseases and the standing crew of the ship -should any of them get ill or hurt- would be housed in another ward.
Finished dressing up, Vincent padded out of the room and down a short hallway lined with more doors until he came to the reception area. The reception area was as Spartan and utilitarian as can be in the Federate military: benches made of steel and plastic lined the walls, a single TV-screen displayed news and propaganda infomercials, and a high desk with a swiveling chair for the receptionist.
The pointy, perky ears of Rey were the only thing visible beyond the high front of the desk as the Husky once more wrote something furiously.
Vincent walked over to the desk and leaned against it, peeking over the top of it to see what Rey was doing.
Rey straightened his back and got a slight startle as he saw Vincent's face staring at him not five inches away.
"Whoa! Oh...Finished dressing up, I see. Well aaaaanyways, here are the papers..." Rey said, handing Vincent a couple of sheets of paper with a lot of Rey's handwriting on it as well as parts done by a computer "And I need you to sign this paper, too."
Vincent examined the papers, noting the last one was about the vaccination, and he just signed up, getting a puzzled, quizzical look from Rey.
"Not going to read through them?" Rey asked.
"Jim...uhhh...Winters told me what this vaccination is all about and I'm definitely in it." Vincent replied matter-of-factly, giving the signed paper back to Rey, who stuffed it into one of the drawers.
As Vincent examined the rest of his papers, Rey took up a pistol-like device from another drawer and attached a small vial with sickly yellow fluid, which reminded urine in appearance quite a bit, into it. Casually the Husky stood up and pressed the injector against Vincent's arm, pulling the "trigger" swiftly and watching how the contents of the vial emptied in a flash.
Vincent yelped as he felt the injector needle boring into his flesh, blinking a couple of times as Rey just smiled at him. It dawned to Vincent just what exactly had happened, so he nodded softly at Rey, making the dog smile and wag his tail a little.
"Well...Thanks for everything, Rey. I'll just uhh...Head back to the unit now, I guess." Vincent said at length, feeling reluctant to leave the sickbay. He didn't really want to go back, because going back meant he'd have to see Jericho and the others again, see their satisfied smiles and bear their tormenting again.
"Oh, wait up will you? I'm going there too, you know..." Rey said as Vincent turned to leave. He tossed his labcoat to the chair and jogged around the table to join Vincent "My shift's over now that you are leaving and I'll be needed on the surface anyways. Gotta keep the troops live n' kickin', you know?"
Rey smiled and Vincent smiled back, the two of them walking the rest of the way in silence. Somehow, in Vincent's opinion, his little encounter with Rey had helped him...at the very least a little bit. The mission... It was his baptism of fire, his chance to prove his worth to the Hounds. He'd have to pull through it. He just had to...
Six hours later the Hounds -and Ghost- were all crammed into The Saint's Rapier, the gunship shaking and rocking violently as it soared through the atmosphere.
Ghost leaned casually against the back wall of the ship whilst Colonel Schaefer stood in the middle of the compartment, supporting himself by holding onto a railing welded to the ceiling that ran along the entire length of the ship's passenger compartment.
"Alright everyone this is going to be it!" Schaefer shouted, ensuring he would be heard by them all "In two minutes we will be making the jump into downtown Zaibawa! We will be gathering at the remains of the planetary governor's house one and half clicks away from the deployment zone! From there we'll advance like shadows to the outskirts of the city and into the bunker complex in which Aruro Fengale is currently located according to our intel!"
Vincent leaned his head against the back of his seat, feeling slightly nauseous. His return to the unit had been greeted in a...varied fashion. Jim had practically jumped onto him, nearly strangling the hyena by hugging him quite tightly. Sergeant Dan had given him a nod and Martin had given him a rather playful wink. The rest of the Hounds had been mostly passive or slightly cold towards him.
"Equipment check, everyone!" Schaefer shouted, going through his own gear: a vibro sword and a plasma pistol strapped onto his belt. Once again the German Shepherd's great coat hung open on him, showing off the surprisingly undecorated officer's jacket. In his opinion all flashy medals were just a nuisance since they reflected light and clanked; both things which did not come in handy during a stealth mission like this was.
Vincent went through his own gear: ballistic helmet with a lens for infrared- and night vision, a camo-pattern breast plate, greaves, C-18 Pulse Rifle with a small tank that housed the impact gel cushion attached to it, a large combat knife in a holster strapped to his thigh and two fusion grenades...everything was in order. Most of the other Hounds around him sported similar gear, though some of them carried small black back bags on them, or a rocket launcher.
The main weapon of some of the Hounds varied, too. A couple of them -Jim included- were holding a shotgun. One dingo was slowly running his paw over the long, dark form of a sniper rifle, Rose was holding what could only be a plasma rifle, Dan had a huge axe strapped onto his back and a catling gun in his paws... Vincent remembered Jim had told him most of the Hounds had a specialization of some sort; demolition experts, snipers, medics, former Military Police, heavy weapons, guerilla warfare, commando...You name it, Hounds had it.
"Ready to rumble, guys?" Schaefer barked as he flicked the switch that caused the door on the ship's rear open and the Hounds replied by howling from the bottoms of their hearts; the Raging Hounds version of 'Hoo-ah' or 'Semper-Fi' used by the other marines.
Ghost was -obviously- the first one to go since he had been leaning against the hatch. In pairs the Hounds jumped out of the ship and giving themselves up for a free fall straight down.
Vincent gulped down the lump constricting his throat, trying to suffocate the fear that was threatening to take him over as he stood on the edge of the hatch, watching the ruined city spreading underneath him. The he jumped, the chilly wind catching him immediately as he plummeted downwards. Immediately he aimed his gun down, pointing towards the rubble-strewn street that was speeding towards him at a dizzying speed.
Suddenly Vincent's helmet gave the automated signal-buzz which told him he had reached the altitude from which he could launch the cushion. Immediately he pulled the trigger on the tank, watching how the small, greenish glob was shot outwards, leaving a blurred trail behind it.
Upon impacting to the ground the cushion activated, expanding in the blink of an eye into a huge blob -around six or seven feet in height- of jelly-like substance that wobbled slightly. Vincent landed face-first into the cushion, sinking deep into the jelly, his speed slowing down to a crawl without hurting him one bit. Two heartbeats later the cushion dissolved into nothing, leaving Vincent into a kneeling position on the pavement.
Already Vincent saw other figures sneaking amongst the rubble, all heading towards the one, same goal: their rendezvous point. Hesitating only a moment, Vincent, too, started to run, moving as swiftly and silently as he possibly could. As he ran he detached the spent IGC cartridge from his gun. He didn't need the extra weight to slow him down.
One rubble-filled street after another was left behind as Vincent sprinted onwards, jumping over fallen light posts, circling around the wreckages of various vehicles and sneaking through shadows where ever it was possible. All the while he kept watching how the other Hounds advanced in a similar fashion, moving unopposed through the abandoned city.
The city itself was abandoned for a reason: it was far too obvious a target for orbital bombardment. Instead the rebels had entrenched themselves outside the city, having built a large bunker complex on the Western edge of Zaibawa. Security was likely to be lax since the main line of combat was far, far away from Zaibawa; the war had, after all, been going well for the rebels ever since it started nine months ago, though that was about to change.
The planetary governor's former house was but a shadow of it's former glory, half of the building having collapsed due to bombardment and explosions, the once lush garden a barren wasteland with a few burnt tree trunks and remains of bushes sticking from the ground like long dead skeletons.
In the shadow of the partially collapsed wall that circled the perimeter of the house the Hounds rallied together. Of Ghost there was no sign whatsoever; something that didn't come as a surprise to anyone.
Schaefer, using hand signs, ordered his troops to move in squads of three and Vincent was pleased to get Jim and Dan as his partners. Those two weren't out for his blood, at least.
Jim gave Vincent the thumbs up and a grin as they started to move out. Dan was supposed to lead Vincent and Jim right at the very point of their assault, working as scouts for the rest of the fire teams. In well-trained, well-organized and disciplined fashion the Hounds started to fan out, moving as a loose line behind Dan's squad.
The city was still as barren as ever and the Hounds had an easy, quick run through the city, reaching the outskirts almost half an hour earlier than Schaefer had planned. Being early, though, was only a positive thing. The less time they spent on traveling, the faster they'd get to finishing Aruro Fengale off and the less likely it would be for them to be spotted.
The outskirts of Zaibawa differed from the city like a night differs from day: a rocky, moon-like, shelled and burned wasteland of rock, rock and even more rock. All vegetation had been blasted right off of the face of the planet in the very first orbital bombardment.
Thanks to the multitude of craters left by grenades and other such explosives cover was abundant. Vincent followed the massive form of Dan through the cracks in the rocky surface with ease, lunging from one crater to another with ease, Jim following right behind the two of them.
Still unopposed the company moved on, the faint outlines of the bunker complex and the network of trenches surrounding it coming into sight.
Dan, Vincent and Jim were all huddled up behind a slab of rock jutting out from the ground and Dan signaled for the others to advance. Then, out of nowhere, the angry barking of a heavy machine gun filled the air, the bright lines of tracer bullets splitting the darkness like fans made of light.
On instinct the Hounds hugged the ground, bullets whizzing and zipping past them.
"How the fuck did they figure out we were here? Do they have some sensors in here that the intel wasn't aware of?" Rose shouted.
"I don't know, Rose, but what I DO know is that we can't stay sitting here with thumbs up our arses..." Schaefer said, standing up and dashing from one cover to another, signaling for the others to follow him.
Half of the squad gave covering fire whilst the other half advanced, forcing the rebels using the machine guns to lay low or have their skins ventilated.
Vincent, having originally been a point man, had now ended up in the tail of the group, Dan and Jim running at their best pace in front of him. The hollow booms of hand grenades, accompanied by the distinct flashes, told Vincent the others were already assaulting the first trenches.
Gunfire from somewhere to their left made Vincent and Jim snap their heads towards the source of the noise, Jim's ears splaying flat against his skull at the sight that greeted them.
A full regiment worth of the rebels was running towards them, bellowing war cries and snapping wild, poorly aimed shots into the Hounds' direction.
At least third of the Hounds were still outside the trenches, their assault grinding to a halt as they were forced to respond in kind to the storm of fire coming from the new enemies.
"...And just where the HELL did those guys pop out of?" Fletcher shouted in turn, snapping off one foe after another with his pistol, the dog covered relatively well behind a large rock.
Vincent leaned his back against another rock, not daring to stick his head out to snap off a shot or two, the fear threatening to paralyze him entirely. Next to him sat corporal Flash "Desolator" Strife, the eye patch of the Husky only ever making him look even more somber than he already was as he casually checked his grenade launcher.
Snarling quietly the Husky rose into a kneeling position, lobbing off three grenades from the drum-magazine of the gun. Next thing Vincent knew, something warm was dripping slowly onto him. Looking up he saw Desolator's face had been blown off, blood dripping in abundance from the mangled mess that used to be the Husky's face. Even more horrifying was the whimpering coming from Flash, telling the canine was alive...
"M...Me...MEDIC!" Vincent screamed, standing up and starting to run for his life, fear gripping his heart like an icy vice. Only one thought hammered in the hyena's head: he had to get away from here...screw the army, screw the war and screw the mission!
Dan looked in mute amazement as Vincent sprinted across the rocky battlefield, bullets whizzing past him. The wolf let out a growl. The rookie had gotten the Shock... Cursing more than a drunken sailor Dan, too, started to run, keeping his head as low as possible in an attempt to keep it firmly the way it was; on his shoulders and intact.
As if things weren't bad enough, the all too dreadful Banshee-wail of incoming artillery barrage caused Dan to run even faster, easily reaching Vincent and tackling him to the nearest crater just before all hell was broken loose.
As the grenades pounded the ground, their infernal wailing and booming explosions filling the air with a cacophonic, macabre symphony, Vincent struggled desperately to free himself from Dan's clutches. He had to run...Had to escape... Away, away from the madness!
The rough, grizzled cheek of Dan rubbed slowly and comfortingly against Vincent's own, the titanic wolf whispering soothingly into the hyena's ear.
"Take it easy, kid, just take it easy...You're not alone, it's okay...It'll end soon...We are safe in here." Dan murmured to Vincent's ear, the gentle whispering of Dan seemingly drowning underneath it the hellish pounding of the artillery strike, slowly but surely calming Vincent down.
As suddenly as it had begun the barrage came to a halt, reduced to nothing more than the odd few bangs here and there. Immediately the voice of Colonel Schaefer drifted to the ears of Dan and Vincent via the secure com-line of the Hounds "We can't stay here. We'll take the entrance to the bunker by a storm before those rebels have a chance to lift their heads up and see what happened. Let's go, go GO!"
Without hesitation Dan stood up, instinctively obeying the orders of his superior. The sensation was unimaginable...Adrenaline rushed through his entire body, blood was pumping through him so strongly that he could actually hear his heart beating, his every sense tuned to their peak. Intoxicating, simply intoxicating...
"You heard the Colonel...Time to haul ass, marine!" Dan shouted, pausing only to pick Vincent up before dashing towards the entrance of the bunker.
The door of the bunker blew out of it's hinges as a series of tactically placed charges of C-4 Mk.VII detonated. Jim lobbed a flash bang into the entry way as Rose stuffed the detonator back to the bulging bag of explosives hanging from his belt.
The charge went off with a small bang, a blinding light -like a small sun- illuminating the interior for a second before the Hounds rushed in with their guns blazing, taking the assembled enemies by surprise.
At the very front of their attack was Colonel Schaefer, looking every bit as calm and confident as one can possibly be, the German Shepherd's sword humming quietly in his paw.
Blood splattered onto the walls as Schaefer launched himself over the hastily erected barricade in the entrance hall of the bunker complex, the screams of dying rebels drowning the sounds of gunfire coming from outside. Soon enough others, too, joined the fray, stabbing, hacking, clawing and biting left and right, tearing through the rebels with ease.
Jim stood at the doorway, ushering everyone to get inside. He'd gotten orders from lieutenant Fletcher to ensure all the Hounds got in before entering himself.
Casually he snapped off one shot after another into the ranks of the enemies chasing off the Hounds outside, the otherwise so cheery Dalmatian's face cold and stoic as he fired his rifle again, and again, and again, watching how every now and then one of the shady figures of their foes let out a pained cry, clutching at their stomach or chest before falling down to the ground.
Sergeant Dan squeezed past Jim, slapping the small dog onto the shoulder before turning about and bringing his catling gun to bear. Dan squeezed the trigger and the three barrels started to spin, spitting metallic death in a constant stream that scythed through the ranks of their foes.
"Are you the last one?" Jim shouted over the noise of the catling gun. Behind them the Hounds were quickly advancing, clearing the rooms one by one.
"No...Raikov was behind me..." Dan said quietly as he stopped for a moment to let the barrels cool down a little.
"Well where in the fuck is he, then?" Jim asked, looking suddenly worried.
"I don't...There!" Dan replied, pointing towards the figure that was Vincent jumping over rocks and craters in a nigh desperate attempt to get into the bunker.
Jim and Dan shouted for Vincent to hurry up, waving the hyena towards them. Jim thought his heart skipped a couple of beats as he heard the wailing cry of another artillery barrage coming. As the first shell landed not far away from the entrance, Jim got hurled off of his feet, skidding to a halt some twelve feet away from the door. The massive form of Dan didn't even flinch as the pressure wave flushed over him.
Just as Jim had gotten up to his knees, his ears still ringing from the explosion, Dan stiffened up before shouting "Fucking hell no! Raikov!"
Jim turned his head up, watching at the gates of Hell being torn open once more outside. If he hadn't been on his knees already he certainly would've fallen onto them as he saw a grenade land in front of Vincent. The com-channel was -for a moment- filled with Raikov's blood-freezing scream and through the blossom of the explosion and the cloud of dirt and dust it kicked up Jim saw Vincent being hurled like a rag doll backwards, rolling limply across the rocky field outside before coming to a halt several hundred feet away, smoke and steam rising from the hyena's unmoving body.
"Raikov! Noooooo!" Jim cried out, getting onto his feet and starting to run towards the door.
Dan caught him into a bearhug with ease, not letting go even as Jim squirmed and struggled as hard as he could.
"Let me go you fucking fossil! Let me go! I must go to him! Let me GO!" Jim roared.
"You'll just get killed yourself!" Dan shouted in turn, tossing Jim rather roughly onto the floor where the Dalmatian remained, his form twitching with mute sobs.
"Sir...Is Raikov really dead?" Dan asked from Schaefer, who was standing not far away.
"I don't know, sergeant..." the Colonel began, lifting then his left paw to show the portable data unit strapped to his wrist. There was a neat hole bored right through the device, although Schaefer wasn't injured. A few fractions of an inch lower and it would've hit the dog.
"As you can see, my computer decided to resign. I doubt the warranty will cover up the expenses for the fixing of it..." The German Shepherd added sourly. The sensors which told the Colonel about hte vital functions of his marines had been connected to the writs-mounted computer and now that it was bust...
As the com-line buzzed Schaefer pressed his paw over his left ear to hear better.
"Sir! Our advance has stalled. There's...There's gotta be over hundred of them in here, guarding the elevator to the second floor and they aren't like the ones we've seen before...These guys actually know how to fight and they are extremely heavily armed and dug in behind their barricades." Sergeant Frost said, staying covered behind a corner beyond which was the elevator hall.
Why the rebels had built an actual hall for just the elevator wasn't really sure, but then again it allowed for a greater number of them to stand guard by it.
"Roger that. I will come there myself in a moment...Any signs of Ghost, sergeant?" Schaefer replied, having to only wait a few seconds before Frost replied with a curt "No, Sir."
"Make sure we won't be backstabbed, boys. I'll head out to show squad two how to properly storm an enemy strong point." Schaefer said, actually managing a devilish grin before turning around and walking briskly away with his great coat -kept open as always- fluttering once more.
Jim had managed to crawl beside one of the walls, hanging his head between his knees with his gun lying partially on his lap. He needed a breather. Needed time to get used to the idea that -once again- someone he had started to like about was there no more...
The staccato of gunfire grew louder and louder the closer to the elevator hall Schaefer got. The Colonel knew they couldn't let their assault be halted for too long. Mobility was their keenest tactical edge and Schaefer was hell-bent to maintain that advantage lest they'd get overrun by the rebels' superior numbers.
The Hounds had taken up positions in a T-junction that led to the elevator hall, snapping shots around the corner in an attempt to kill the defenders.
Upon spotting lieutenant Fletcher, Schaefer walked briskly to the Great Dane.
"Status report, lieutenant. How many are there and how long is the kill-zone between us and them? Is frontal assault even an option?" Schaefer asked.
"We don't have an exact reading on their numbers, Sir, but estimations run between eighty and hundred and twenty. The corridor is about thirty meters long with no shelter whatsoever." Fletcher replied, hesitating for a moment before adding "I don't think we'd survive rushing at them, Sir..."
Schaefer nodded, his jaw line twitching ever so slightly "I see..." He said curtly in response. Schaefer was fully aware that he only had a limited amount of furpower to be used, each one of them invaluable, and he wasn't one to lead his men on a suicide mission.
"I guess this is the proper time to start hoping for a miracle of some sort..." Schaefer thought dryly to himself.
Meanwhile, in the elevator hall, a couple of heads turned as the elevator arrived, a loud chiming heralding the arrival of it. As the doors parted open, the ones looking towards the elevator quirked their brows, bringing also their guns to bear.
The elevator was empty. But if it was empty, why had it arrived?
Something grayish-black flashed out of the elevator and the next thing the rebels' elite knew was a demon running rampant amongst them.
Ghost, having held himself suspended near the ceiling of the elevator, grabbed the edge of the top of the elevator's door and swung himself out, somersaulting in the air and drawing out a pair of SMG-versions of the C-18 Pulse Assault Rifles. He twisted his body in the air as he was upside down, corkscrewing his body around whilst peppering the surprised rebels with a storm of bullets, clearing himself a landing zone.
The Shade's feet had barely touched the ground as he jumped again, spinning around like a dervish with both arms extended, once more showering his surprised foes with bullets all around. Now, though, he had lost the element of surprise, but it didn't really matter... The Hounds were there -just as he had known they would be- ready to finish what Ghost had started.
Indeed a withering hail of bullets started to pour from the direction of the Hounds, tearing through the rebels who still struggled to understand what just had happened. Caught into the deadly crossfire the rebels were scythed down like hay, the elevator hall soon resembling a slaughterhouse. Blood trickled slowly down the walls which were riddled with bullet holes and scorch marks. Bodies littered the floor and amidst all the wanton carnage stood Ghost, his previously so clean armor drenched in blood and gore.
Schaefer walked slowly to the lone warrior, saluting him with the most finest trace of a smile on his face. Apparently he had gotten his miracle in the form of an Angel of Death...
"I'm not going to bother asking how you got into that elevator in the first place, but none the less a job well done." Schaefer said as evenly as possible.
Ghost, silent and stoic, dug his armored paw into the bag hanging from his back. He tossed the bloody, decapitated head of Aruro Fengale by Schaefer's feet, making the German Shepherd quirk an eyebrow in surprise.
"The rest of the rebels downstairs can't get here...The elevator is the only way up and down and I've rigged the shaft with explosives." Ghost said, his words emphasized by a hollow boom that made the floor tremble and vibrate slightly "...now all that remains is to get out of here, Colonel. I hope you've got the doorway secured."
"Naturally..." Came Schaefer's short, stern reply.
With one motion of his paw Schaefer rallied his pack and started to head towards the exit, leaving Ghost to pick up the grizzly bear's head from the ground.
Halfway to the exit, Schaefer and squad two ran into squad one who were on full retreat, running swiftly down the corridors to stay ahead of their enemies.
Sergeant Dan, his battle axe bathed in blood, saluted Schaefer briefly, looking then once over his shoulder, seeing the Hounds already taking up positions in the doorways that lined the corridor.
"Sir...They came out of nowhere. We held them back for as long as we could but there was just too darn many of them. We lost two, Watkins and Jazz. I'm...I'm afraid we couldn't get their bodies with us, Sir. I apologize for having failed you." Dan said rather hastily.
Schaefer growled, making most of the Hounds around him flinch "That makes four already...Strife, Raikov, Watkins and Jazz...Sergeant Austin, did you at least manage to obtain fangs from the fallen?"
Without saying anything Dan duck into his pocket, fishing out two pearly white fangs and two dogtags that he dropped onto Schaefer's awaiting palm, the Colonel pocketing the objects swiftly, adding them to the single fang and dogtag -both belonging to Strife- already lying in there. He'd attach the fangs to his collection at a later time... If he had the chance, that is.
Already the Hounds were retreating again, firing away at their pursuers as they went, backtracking little by little towards the elevator hall and with that...a dead end.
Vincent ran as fast as he could, his lungs burning and his muscles aching, desperately trying to keep pace with sergeant Dan. That, however, was like Don Quijote fighting against the windmills; pointless and in vain. There was just no way Vincent could keep up with the massive wolf, who took one step where Vincent took two or three. Soon enough the wolf was out of Vincent's sight, the odd few bullets fired by the rebels whizzing by him. Lucky thing for Vincent their aim was dreadful.
Moments later -Vincent wasn't sure how long exactly- he saw the entrance to the bunker complex, saw Jim and Dan urging him to carry on running for just a few more moments. Digging in to reserves of power he didn't even know he had, Vincent started to run faster than ever before, ignoring the searing aching of his muscles, surviving purely on adrenaline.
Just as he thought he was safe he felt and heard the grenade coming. The only thought that flashed through his mind was "Fuck...So this is how it ends?"
Next thing he knew there was a loud bang and -like someone had pulled from a string attached around his waist- he was thrown backwards, rolling and tumbling limply over the broken, barren field, bouncing over small rocks, blunt and sharp, that nicked and cut at his skin, the hyena's wild flight coming to an abrupt halt as he collided into a slightly larger rock. Then, like a curtain falling, the darkness descended upon him, his vision fading, fading, fading...and then gone.
After the shower of the artillery ended, the rebels started to run once more, storming past the battered, broken body of Vincent. Some of them stopped, looking at the smoking wreck of a hyena for a moment before deeming him dead, the pool of blood drenching the ground underneath Vincent's head a strong argument in and on itself of the hyena's demise...
Little by little, however, the darkness began to fade. Quite uncomfortably he was snagged out of the sweet embrace of unconsciousness and back into the real world. His head felt like it had been filled with lead despite his helmet having vanished long time ago. His body hurt more than ever before and he found it hard, at first, to move himself as if his body was reluctant to respond to the orders his brain gave.
Shakily Vincent managed to get onto his knees, his head still spinning and his vision swimming from the force of the blow he took.
As he gingerly ran his paw over his face, he noted his paw turning into the crimson shade of blood...his blood. Hastily he fished out his large combat knife, using the polished, shiny blade of it as a mirror to examine the damage done to him.
Vincent sighed in relief. Everything was in place, although the multitude of cuts on his face had caused him to lose enough blood to make him feel light-headed and slightly weak. Other than that, however, he seemed to be alright. Mildly concussed, bruised and riddled with cuts, but none the less alive... Vincent thanked whatever higher powers there were in the universe for that.
The gunfire and the roaring of soldiers was oddly quiet, as if coming from somewhere far, far away. Slowly Vincent looked around, trying to find his gun, but the explosion had apparently thrown it somewhere far away, if not outright destroyed it.
As he looked around, Vincent's eyes fell onto the fallen body of a heavily armored rebel. The otter's head had been blown neatly off of his shoulders, the lack of blood on the ground and the scorched stump of his neck telling Vincent the otter had died of a direct hit to the head with a plasma weapon.
The corpse itself, however, wasn't what had caught Vincent's attention. No...It was the long, sturdy form of a flamer the otter was still clutching in his paws, a fuel tank still strapped to his back.
Vincent felt suddenly thrilled. A flamer...A HEAVY flamer to boot with! Gingerly, almost reverently, Vincent detached the tank form the corpse's back and took the actual gun from his paws. Slowly the hyena turned the weapon around in his paws, admiring the sturdiness and the rugged design of it.
The weapon had two nozzles placed on top of each other with two ignition flames. The flamer was long enough to reach Vincent's navel should he stand up, a handle placed roughly halfway along the frame of the gun with another one -that one containing the trigger-mechanism- placed to the very back, a sturdy hose connecting it to the tank. To the side of the flamer, near the back, had been crudely and roughly carved -with a knife or something- the word GEHENNAS TONGUE, the model-markings on the bottom of the weapon telling it was actually an "AC-41 HvyFlamr MK.II".
Vincent felt a wave of shock and superstitious awe flowing over him. The gun he was holding wasn't made by furs...It was a weapon the Humans had once used, that much Vincent could recall from his casual research into the ancient Terran weaponry; more of a hobby than anything to him, something to do when bored.
Slowly Vincent hauled the tank to his back, having first checked it didn't leak or anything, latching the straps shut one after another, each one letting out a satisfying small click. Next he picked up the gun, weighing it in his paws, running a hand lovingly over the cool metallic surface of it with a smile on his face.
The weight of the gun felt good. In fact it felt as if it had been made for Vincent. A shiver of pleasure ran through the hyena as he flicked the switch that activated the ignition flames, the constant, low, quiet hiss and the sight of the small, blue flames getting another smile out of him.
Snapping out of his thoughts Vincent turned his attention towards the bunker complex, the sounds of the world returning back to him with a whoop as if someone had taken the mute-setting off with a remote controller.
He was well behind the rebels' lines, able to see how they poured in from the entrance of the bunker complex. Tightly packed places...Perfect! With a devilish grin Vincent started to jog towards the bunker, clutching the flamer in his paws.
He reached the doorway with ease since nobody paid him any attention. The thrill of the hunt had, apparently, made the rebels forget someone might still be behind them...
Inside, the sight that greeted Vincent almost made him throw up. Blood, guts, gore and bodies littered every single place. The Hounds had clearly been forced to retreat, but the rebels paid for every inch...full and in blood.
Following the winding corridors, Vincent could hear the gunfire growing louder and louder, the sounds of the rebels roaring and snarling in anger becoming soon so loud it almost hurt his ears.
As Vincent rounded a corner, he almost walked into the backs of a tightly packed bunch of rebels, their tattered uniforms and the myriad of weapons they clutched making them look truly disorganized. Not ot mention...They smelled quite horrible.
Vincent gripped his flamer tighter in his paws, preparing himself for what was to come...
Suddenly one of the rebels, as if alerted by some sixth sense, turned slowly around, the red wolf's expression going from murderous delight into mute horror as he saw Vincent lift the flamer and squeeze the trigger.
Vincent's body jerked slightly as he squeezed the trigger to the bottom, letting the compressed fuel burst out on full pressure. In a heartbeat the beautiful, roaring inferno erupted from the twin-nozzle of the heavy flamer, the sounds of flames and fire mixing with the horrible dying screams of the rebels as Vincent -literally- hosed them down, the napalm-like fuel sticking to the walls and furs alike, scorching the rebels to cinder and ash in moments. The heat washing against the hyena's face was nothing short of a piece of seventh heaven, although it stung his eyes and forced him to squint.
Releasing the trigger mechanism after a moment, Vincent took a couple of teps back to see the results of his work. The corridor was littered with the cindered remains of the rebels, the stench of burning flesh and fur hanging persistently in the air. Most of the smoke, though, was absorbed by the heavy ventilation system, leaving only the slowly dying flames left.
Slowly Vincent walked through the corpse-ridden hallway, the heat striking at him from every direction feeling oddly good. Ever since childhood Vincent had enjoyed fire, had been entranced by the ever-shifting dance of flames in a fireplace... Vincent was slightly pyromaniac. He didn't actively seek to burn stuff up -like an arsonist would- he simply, in the lack of a better term, adored and almost worshipped fire.
Schaefer -along the rest of the Hounds- covered behind the barricades in the elevator hall. They had been driven to a corner... Without any way out the situation looked rather grim. Ghost was there, too, the Shade doing his part in taking as many of the rebel scum with them as he possibly could.
Looking around Schaefer saw nothing but resolute and grim faces. His men, his boys, his pack...They had all accepted their fate, fully aware that this was, indeed, their last mission. Schaefer himself didn't regret anything. He had done his share for the Federation. He had led the Hounds all the way up until this point...He'd get to die the way he wanted, fighting side by side with his men. Then again the taste of a last stand was more than slightly bitter...
Just as things were starting to look hopeless, the second miracle of the day occurred. The horrible, chilling wailing of dying furs filled the air, heralding a firestorm bursting down the corridors. Even Schaefer's eyes widened just a little as the roaring, raging inferno washed down the corridor towards them, forcing everyone to hug the ground and take cover.
As the flames died out, the Hounds started to slowly stand back up, looking confusedly at each other as they could only hear the silent crackling of flames around them. No more screaming, no more warcries, no more gunfire...just the flames and the clomping of a single pair of boots on metallic floor.
Through the fire and flames, clutching the flamer casually in his paws, came Vincent, the hyena's face grim and stern.
"R...Raikov! Vincent! I thought you were dead!" Jim shouted, standing up and jumping over the barricade. The Dalmatian ran to Vincent, almost causing them both to collapse onto the ground as he wrapped the hyena into a hug, licking once over Vincent's cheek.
That lick...That one lick was all it took to make Vincent's faked stoism crumble, a faint blush -along with a small smile- appearing onto his face.
As Schaefer walked over to Vincent, the hyena saluted and Schaefer responded in kind.
"Private Raikov reporting back to duty, Sir." Vincent said, grinning suddenly.
Schaefer nodded in approval "At ease, private. That was a job mighty well done there. Now lets go before these idiots get any more reinforcements here."
Briskly the Hounds started to file out of the bunker complex with Schaefer's lead, the rest of them following suit right after their Alpha.
Vincent tried to remain at the rear of the formation, but he was dragged right into the middle of it as everyone wanted to pat him onto the shoulder or, more often than not, onto the butt, thanking him for saving their hides. Even Jericho nodded -sourly and obviously reluctantly- in approval at Vincent.
To make things even better, Jim, Rey and Dan all walked by Vincent. Well...Dan, due to his size, walked behind Vincent.
Two days later, back on board GFS Triumphant, Vincent sat on a chair in the dorm. In his paws he held a small wooden box, watching with partially glazed eyes at the contents of it, all resting on a luxurious purple velvet. A medal of valor, a purple heart and the markings of a corporal.
Schaefer had promoted Vincent earlier that day in a nice, small and rather formal ceremony. Vincent smiled. After the assassination of Aruro Fengale the Hounds had been far, far more accepting of him. Jericho, though, was still Jericho, but at least he was leaving Vincent alone.
Vincent snapped the lid of the box shut, putting it carefully into his trunk amongst his other gear. He'd attach the markings later on, but right now he just wanted to kick back and relax.
Just as the hyena straightened his back a pair of muscular arms wrapped around his shoulders from behind. His mind reeling, Vincent tensed up, unable to believe it was going to happen again...
Vincent snarled quietly, balling his paw into a fist as he saw several other Hounds forming a circle around him. So they wanted a piece of him? He'd make them pay...
"Just relax, Raikov...Just relax..." someone whispered to Vincent's ear, the words followed by a slow, sensual lick across the back of his ear.
Vincent blinked in confusion. Now that he really thought about it, the arms around him didn't restrict his movements, they simply rested snuggly around him, holding him in a hug and nothing more. Turning his head a little he saw it was Martin holding him in a hug.
Martin smiled "We...We all just want to show you our gratitude for saving us..." the black jackal said.
Vincent didn't respond, remaining still silent as the Hounds moved closer. It didn't take him long to guess what they were up to...
Snarling once more Vincent stood up, shaking Martin's arms off of him and regarding everyone around him with a cold glare.
"First you make me feel like shit...Then you beat me up...Then you beat me up AGAIN and rape for good measure, too, and NOW, after all that, you expect me to willingly play your little game? Oh hell no, I say!" Vincent shouted, making the Hounds take a couple of steps back.
"Vincent I...We..." Martin tried, but was cut off abruptly as Vincent made a cutting motion across the air, looking more than a little furious.
"No chance in hell...You guys can be total sluts if you want to, but count me out of all that. After all I've been put through, I don't want to even hear about anything found below the waist line...Understood?" Vincent snarled, storming then out of the dorm and into the toilets, seating himself into the farthest corner of the restroom, hugging his knees to his chest and burying his face into his paws, wishing they would all just leave him be...
The sound of someone sliding down the metallic wall to sit beside him caused Vincent to slowly lift his head.
"What the hell do you want with me...?" Vincent asked angrily, his blurry vision slowly focusing onto the massive frame of Dan sitting right there, on the floor, next to him with a concerned look on his face.
"You looked like you needed some company..." Dan said casually, hooking one of his legs and leaning his head against the cool surface of the wall.
Vincent didn't say anything, although he let off of his legs, allowing them to slide across the floor until he was in a proper sitting position, no longer hugging his knees to his chest. The two of them sat like that, in silence, for a while before Dan did something unexpected. the brute-of-a-wolf reached out and pulled the considerably smaller hyena against himself into a one-armed hug.
At first Vincent gave a few feeble attempts at resisting, but eventually his half-hearted struggling came to an end and he just rested his head on the chiseled, warm chest of Dan, actually putting his arms around the big wolf and just enjoying the closeness.
Gently the wolf stroked his fingers through Vincent's mane, making the hyena sigh in content, Vincent's eyes slowly falling shut as he just relaxed. He felt safe, snuggled up against the large wolf, the steady beat of Dan's heart calming him down considerably. At least Dan wasn't trying to jump his bones at every given opportunity...
"The lads have given your nickname a second thought..." Dan said suddenly, breaking the heavy silence that had fallen between the two of them.
"Which one this time?"
"Well...Due to your performance during the mission, with the flamer and all, your new call sign is Wildfire. I think it kinda fits you." Dan said softly, a small, faint smile spreading onto the big wuff's muzzle.
"Wildfire..." Vincent repeated, savoring the name for a moment before actually smiling "I like that...It's infinitely better than Misfit anyways."
"That it is...That it is." Dan replied quietly, the wolf's smile turning into a full, genuine one; a thing he had practically never done since the implantation of the Warrior Gene.
Finally accepted by the Pack, but now Vincent has troubles accepting the Pack.
More is still to come, you can count on that, as the Hounds return in the fourth episode "The Aftermath."
Comments and votes muchly appreciated, since those are the things that drive us writers on ^.^