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Chapter 3: Baptism by Fire.

Consciousness came back to Brian Lancing in stages. At first he felt nothing, but after time passed he became aware of varying levels of discomfort. His head felt like Satan had been using it as a football, but he couldn't even muster up enough strength to even open his eyes. His back started hurting, and he felt like he had been pushed in an awkward position. The feeling was strange, like he was conscious but not in control of his body.

What felt like hours had passed before he was able to move. His fingers flexed, which shot fire up and down his arm. The Marine uttered an involuntary groan at the pain, which caused the same 'fire' to spread through his neck and chest. He tried to keep moving, and by the time he opened his eyes his whole body was flaring with agony.

His first sight was that of the interior of the Humvee... apparently he had fallen down through the gunner's turret and got caught up in the sling-styled seat he had been on. It was dark outside, but that was all he could really tell through the pain. It took several minutes of his abused body bitching at him in order for it to quit, the aching fading... other than his massive headache.

After Brian pulled himself out of the tangled sling-seat, he slid into the passenger's chair. The interior was as dark as what went on outside, but at least it was much cooler than Iraq had a right to be. The scent of rain even drifted to his nose, and he took a big breath of cool, slightly muggy air.

Where was he? From the scents and the temperature, this sure as Hell wasn't Iraq. Suddenly, the past few moments of his conscious life played through his mind. He was providing covering fire for his squad, and he was about to bug out when...

Brian reached up to his helmet, feeling the long, narrow furrow through one side of it. The helmet explained his headache, at least. With a sigh he pulled it off, reaching up to switch the vehicle's interior lights on.

It took a moment of digging through his pack to find a small shaving mirror. Using that, he glanced to the left side of his face... it was covered in dried blood. Upon a closer inspection, he had four shards of copper embedded in the side of his face and scalp... bullet fragments. With a sigh he grabbed a medical kit and a canteen... tending to the wounds on the side of his face as well as cleaning the remains of crusty dried blood... he hated to admit it, but at that point he looked like a Braveheart casting reject.

Looking a hell of a lot better than before, Brian put the pack away and decided to check out what the Humvee actually had to offer. The vehicle wasn't Col. Hammond's personal transport, and it looked like he had commandeered the vehicle from other Marines. It was done up in an impromptu desert patrol configuration; he could see the big 55-gallon fuel drum bolted to the rear of the cargo area... just in case they needed extra range. That might come in very handy. Pushing his way to the cargo area, he started rooting through the personal effects he found. Brian felt a bit guilty for doing this, but he wasn't sure what was going on and anything he could secure for his own survival would be needed.

The vehicle was obviously about to go out on a patrol, because he actually found it very well stocked. Two ammunition tins full of 5.56mm rifle rounds... Brian thanked God that one of the other Marines actually left their M16 in the cab. There were two-thousand rounds present... far more than enough. There was also another two hundred-round belt for the Ma Deuce sitting on top of the Humvee... just in case he needed the firepower it provided. Searching deeper amongst the effects, he also found an M9 Beretta handgun. He would normally scoff at the 9x19mm pistol, preferring the greater power and reliability of his .45, but anything that shot bullets meant he could survive longer. He scrounged up another two-hundred rounds for it. Even if he was deep inside insurgent territory, he might have enough firepower to get his way out.... and hadn't even factored in his M14 or .45.

Food and water were his second priority. A case of MREs was stashed next to the ammunition, and one of the soldiers had left a full Camelbak hydration bladder in there, as well. Two extra sets of fatigues and some assorted camping gear rounded out the set. His pack also held a few more MREs as well as a couple of canteens... if he were a hardcore survivalist, he would have been in heaven right then. With some more digging he found a damn twelve-pack of Heineken tucked behind some blankets. That was completely against half the rules in the UCMJ, but who wouldn't be thrilled at the presence of beer? Still, something itched at the back of his mind.

The whole situation didn't make any damn sense. If his fellow Marines had found him, he would be in a field hospital right now. If he had been picked up by insurgents, he would have been a badly mutilated corpse sitting on some roadside. Either way, he wouldn't have been sitting inside a fully stocked Humvee. "Where the hell are you, Brian?" Another thought crossed his mind right then, and he cursed his shortsightedness. The command console in the Humvee was right there, and he switched it on.

The console was supposed to keep track of nearby vehicles as well as give the crew GPS coordinates. Wherever the hell he was on God's green earth, he would figure it out. The loading splash screen took up the screen's real estate, and then the tactical positioning came up... blank. "GPS satellite signal not found. Please check antenna." Brian sighed and found the antenna lead, which looked a lot like the one for an in-car satellite radio. It was attached and intact.... why would there be no signal?

He reached over and flipped the Humvee's headlights on... illuminating what was in front of him. There were droplets of rain on the windshield, and the panel of armored glass on the right was cracked by several bullet impacts... but what lay beyond the damage and raindrops was what caused his jaw to drop.

The Humvee was sitting smack dab in the middle of a forest. Thickly-trunked trees were all around, the ground was soaked with a recent rain, and the air was muggy. It looked just like the national forest just outside his hometown of Billings, Montana. There was no desert sand, no centuries-old stucco buildings, insurgents, or Marines around. For all he knew it was just him. One man against the world, pretty much.

A voice popped into his head... he had been thinking about the weapon he had been hit with before popping up... wherever he was. Maybe it didn't vaporize its targets... maybe it was some sort of fucked up time machine? That alone caused him to shudder. If they fired that thing a few more times, he would be sharing this forest with a shitload of really pissed-off Islamic militants. That was one scenario he didn't want to play out in his mind.

Brian recapped the situation for himself. He was out of contact with any Marine he could think of, and he was stranded in some sort of forest. He had a fully stocked Humvee, and while he was a little short on water(and beer, now that he thought about it), he had a damn arsenal as well as at least two weeks' worth of food. He felt like damn Robinson Crusoe, only with enough guns to take over a banana republic. Maybe he actually was lost in time.

Somehow, that was a settling feeling. No insurgents. No fellow Marines. Nobody to bother him... just exploration. Maybe that was how the early pioneers felt, finally escaping the bullshit their societies peddled as important just to be able to strike out on their own. Brian knew his resources were finite. The Humvee would run out of gas, then electrical power. His food would get used up. After enough hunting he would run out of ammunition. He wasn't much of an outdoorsman, but by God he would learn.

He slid behind the driver's seat and pushed the starter button for the engine. It cranked over almost immediately, the familiar diesel rumble filling the cabin. The truck had about half a tank of fuel left, and he would see how far that would get him.

He scanned the Humvee's controls. One of the previous occupants had rigged up a sound system using standard car audio components... converting from a standard passenger car's 12-volt system to the Humvee's 24-volt system. It was against regulation, but considering that Hammond wasn't a hardass with his troops... as long as they got the job done he didn't give too much of a damn over minor breaches in code. Still, that meant he'd have music.... at least for a while. With a grin he pulled his worn yet still working MP3 player out of a pocket on his vest and plugged it into the stereo. After some fiddling he got some of his favorite tunes blaring over the speakers bolted to the dash. It wasn't a great system by any means, but it would serve to keep him awake and stave off boredom.

Brian put the Humvee into gear and gently guided it through the trees. He was looking for some sort of a natural wash or trail... somewhere he could pull the vehicle onto something resembling a road.

A few minutes after he started, a harsh, screaming whine came from overhead... it sounded like a damn jet just overhead. Startled, he pushed himself up into the gunner's turret, keeping a hand on the still-primed M2 just in case. He wasn't prepared for what he saw, not in the slightest.

What looked to be a beefier-looking, squat version of the Space Shuttle roared overhead, arcing toward the ground at an impossible speed. Small fires blazed all over its superstructure... that and its running lights were the only reasons he even saw the damn thing. As the craft passed him its running lights winked out, and the shuttle continued to fade out of sight. Brian heard the distant crackling snap of tree trunks breaking apart as the craft crash-landed. All he could tell was that it had come to rest off to his right, a considerable distance away. Even consulting a compass was no good; it was going haywire.

"Well... I guess it is time to call in the Marines, then." Brian grumbled. His sense of duty kicked in... he needed to investigate. If someone else ended up hurt here, he needed to make sure they were okay. Considering that he had emergency supplies and weaponry, he guessed he would just about be the surest bet of survival for the occupants... assuming they were not hostile. He slid back into the driver's seat, making sure he set the M16 inside the passenger's footwell. If they were in fact hostile... he wasn't going to be taking any chances.

*---------------------*

Getting through the forest was pretty hard work, and Brian figured that he could have made quicker time to the downed craft by walking. Trees blocked the way half the time, and he would have to circle around to find a decent path through them. He wasn't too careful with the Humvee, either... its armor plating would withstand far more than a low-speed impact with a tree.

Eventually the forest thinned out to a clearing, and he could make up for a little lost time. While crossing the grass-covered field, he spotted what looked like a trail leading in the general direction of where he saw the 'plane' crash. The Marine scratched the unwounded side of his head with a Nomex glove. It looked to be a maintained trail, and was a little wider than the Humvee he was driving. This meant that someone was out there.

The whole operation seemed FUBAR. The Space Shuttle-like craft that crashed and the fact there was a trail out here led to the assumption that he was on Earth... somewhere. But, he hadn't heard jack shit over the radio, and the GPS sats were down? The time travel scenario was playing heavily inside his head, and he did not like where it was taking him.

With a sigh, Brian turned down the path and gunned the engine... the Humvee's 6.9-liter diesel V8 happily responding to the increased speed. Even weighed down with armor, weapons and fuel, the vehicle could do seventy... but that wouldn't be a safe thing to do along a gravel road at night.

Forty was a much more reasonable speed, and he stuck with it. The headlights illuminated his way, and the staccato guitar riffs of Alice in Chains blared through the sound system... one of his favorite bands. The freedom, the 'open road,' and the tunes brought back memories. When he was thirteen, his older brother had managed to beg their uncle to take his car out for the weekend... and they subsequently went out to Seattle for a concert. "Those were the days..." Brian mused, as he roared down the road.

A sight ahead caused him to stomp on the brakes, causing the 4WD to stop in a fantastic display of flying gravel. The 'road' had been practically demolished for a nearly hundred yard stretch. Looking off into the forest, it was apparent that something huge had plowed through the trees, cutting off the path he was on before coming to a stop. That had to be the downed Shuttle-looking aircraft. Off to the right, a hulking dark shape visible through the trees confirmed it.

Brian shut off the Humvee's lights, not wanting to attract any undue attention. It was really damn dark out, but he had a cure for that. Taking a few moments to dig through his pack, he extracted his set of nightvision goggles. After affixing the harness around his head, he switched them on, lighting the world up in a green glow.

With that done, he slowly directed the Humvee off the road as his right hand grabbed the M16 and placed it on his lap... ready for action if he needed it. Two extra magazines were already tucked into a map pocket. He snagged one of them, replacing an M14 mag from his vest. After guiding the military vehicle into the forest, he decided to get a better look at what had crashed there.

The 'aircraft' was pretty damn big... about the size of a damn jetliner but a hell of a lot more bulky. If the outside was any indication, it could have held a couple of good-sized apartments inside it. The whole thing screamed 'spaceship' to him, but... yeah right. There was no way his day was going to get any weirder, even if he was actually looking at an alien spaceship.

With one hand on the assault rifle and the other on the wheel, he pulled out into the space the wrecked craft had cleared. He couldn't shake that thought out of his mind, and he would remain cautious. A flurry of movement caught his attention, and he squinted through the neon green landscape to find that someone was definitely out there.

Even driving a big armored vehicle, none of the figures rushed out to greet or open fire on him. As he drew closer, the figures began to take more definition. After staring for a minute, Brian realized he was watching a fight... and its participants could have come out of an '80s cartoon show.

The Marine counted seven lizard-men, about his height but looking like even the smallest outweighed him by at least fifty pounds. Five of them were wielding axes and clubs... two watching the skirmish had what looked to be strange-looking muskets. His hand tightened around the M16's pistol grip when he saw that. One of the lizards was flat on the ground, and he cast his attention to who the others were fighting.

It was a fox. A walking fox; a female at that, judging by the loincloth and bikini top she wore. This was too God-damn bizarre... a cartoon fox was fending off several ugly lizard-men with some sort of polearm. "What in fuck's sake is going on here?" he asked himself. "I'm damn sure I didn't drink any of that beer." With a sigh he decided to wait for Bozo the Clown to give him a damn birthday cake to top it all off.

The foxette deflected some nasty blows with that stick of hers... he could see that one end of it was glowing, which was pretty damn strange. She was obviously rather skilled with the weapon, but even if what Brian was seeing wasn't an LSD-made illusion... popping a few rounds into the attacking lizards wouldn't be a good idea if they turned out to be the good guys. He would wait and see what happened. He wasn't an expert at judging how a fight was going, but she was being pushed into a more defensive course of action.

The fox dodged a few nasty blows but opened herself for minor attacks... the lizards looked like they were whittling her down. Even Brian could tell by a couple of clumsy swings that she lost stamina. The Marine spotted the lizard that was on the ground stand up, moving behind her... and with a mighty punch laid her flat.

That was that, then. If they were in any semblance the good guys, they would be moving to arrest her. They kicked her weapon away, and the group moved in on the neutralized combatant. Brian's teeth gritted as the five started to kick and punch at the helpless fox, and they were not holding anything back, either.

The Marine sighed... it was time for him to step in. Taking off the nightvision device, he threw on the Humvee's lights. That would serve to distract them from the fox, but it would draw their attention to him. The ploy worked... somewhat. Two of the lizards kept whaling on their former adversary, but the other three turned and looked at the Humvee. The ones with muskets turned, as well... Brian was already formulating a tactical plan. He would have to be quick, and he would have to be accurate. Marine training would be saving this day.

Brian burst out of the Humvee, his hands instantly throwing the M16 to his shoulder. Any doubt in his mind as to whether these lizards were the good guys were erased; the two with muskets turned and fired at him, the dull booms they created echoing off the side of the downed ship.

One of the rounds missed and hit the Humvee, impacting the armor with a hollow bong. The other... Brian felt as if he were punched in the gut. Whatever it fired had hit them, but his expensive body armor held. "Nice try, assholes. Get a load of this!" Brian yelled as he sighted in on the nearest lizard... who was frantically trying to reload.

The M16 cracked its reply into the air, once and then twice. The rifle kissed rather than kicked into his shoulder, and the lizard crumpled to the ground. The Marine swung around, firing another double-tap into the other firearm-toting one. It was pretty damn apparent who had the advantage of firepower and armor. Brian flicked the selector switch to burst fire, and turned the weapon on the three lizards that were trying to bum-rush him.

The lizards realized their mistake just a little too late. Brian fell to one knee and the rifle roared, three 5.56mm rounds blasting through the lead one before it could turn tail and run. The one to its left received the same treatment, and it too fell to the ground as a bleeding mass of flesh.

The third lizard broke its charge and ran off into the trees. There was no sense in wasting any more ammunition, so he let it go. However, his steel eyes fell upon the two remaining lizards, and his jaw dropped... an incredulous look firmly plastered upon his face. The bastards had ignored the lights, ignored their two buddies shooting at him... and ignored him blasting half of their squad away with a fucking automatic weapon. The lizard-men were, in fact, still kicking the limp body of the foxette... who in a strange twist of fate was sporting blue fur instead of red.

Something inside the Marine broke. Something about the bastards not running for the hills or even noticing the gunfight happening mere yards away pissed him off. Seeing them continue to beat someone who had been taken down incensed him further. Setting the M16 on safe and slinging it across his back, he decided to make it a more... personal matter.

The well-armed Marine reached for his Ka-Bar combat knife, withdrawing it and balancing the familiar weight of the blade in the palm of his hand. The two lizards were so intent on mauling their quarry that they didn't even notice the soldier until he was on them. A simple kick delivered to one's back sent it sprawling in the dirt. The other actually looked startled, beady black eyes regarding the strange creature.

"Oh, I'm sorry... did I break your concentration?" Brian spat, an evil grin appearing on his face. "Didn't your daddies ever teach you some manners? Ain't polite to hit a girl, and it sure ain't polite to kick someone when they're down." With that he responded in kind, the prostrate lizard receiving a brutal strike to the ribs with a steel-toed combat boot. It gave the reptilian equivalent of a groan, but was the target of another kick.

The standing lizard hesitated for a moment but then struck, swiping at Brian with its club. The more agile Marine ducked the blow and went in with brutal precision... the Corps had taught him more than a thing or two about hand-to-hand techniques... as well as how exactly to use the blade in his hand.

As the lizard recovered from its swing, Brian struck... the Ka-Bar's edge glinting in the moonlight as he made a vicious swipe for its throat. To its credit the lizard managed to dodge, although it received a jagged gash across its shoulder for its trouble. Marine... three points. Lizard-men... zip.

The reptile swung again, but the pissed-off human held up the knife to block.... the blade sunk into the club with a hollow thunk. They stood in a deadlock, the lizard-man trying to overpower the Marine. While Brian didn't have as much raw strength as his opponent, he had the advantage of leverage... which kept the fight even.

A rustling sound right next to Brian's feet almost distracted him, but he had no time to turn around and check. He fervently hoped that the other lizard-man hadn't gotten up... but his luck had run out. A pained voice called out from next to him... he didn't have time to realize it came from the fox, and she was speaking in a very close approximation of a British accent... and in English. "B...behind..."

Brian dared to look back to see the other lizard rushing in with an axe. A wave of fear hit him. His right hand and arm were still locked in combat, and he couldn't get at his Colt with his left... he was fucked. All it would have taken was to snatch his pistol up, flick off the safety and shoot the incoming bastard...

He felt something clutch at his leg; grabbing at the tac holster where the pistol sat. He took a quick glance down to see the battered vixen removing his old .45 from its hiding place. With wide eyes he watched her unsafe the weapon with her thumb. There was no time... the lizard had begun his swing, but two loud reports thundered into the air. The Colt had been fired in anger for the first time since the second World War, and those shots had been fired by an alien fox.

The lizard-man jerked backwards, the momentum of its swing making the axe fly out of its nerveless grip. It crumpled to the ground, and Brian could concentrate on the remaining foe. Amazingly, he hadn't budged an inch, but the fact that his partner had been shot made him lose much of his nerve. The Marine hoped that his unexpected vulpine ally didn't try to grease the bastard... he didn't feel like getting shot for a third time today. Amazingly she held her fire, although he could catch the pistol's muzzle track their fight out of the corner of his eye.

Brian tried a new tactic, delivering a kick to the lizard's chest. The Ka-Bar worked itself free of the club, and he was free to press the attack. The lizard-man, however, had other ideas. Wisely, it dropped the club as it got up and ran. It had enough of actually being the one getting shot at.

The Marine slid the knife back into its sheath. Now, he had an armed fox to deal with, and while she iced the one that would have given him a literal splitting headache, he wasn't totally convinced she was going to treat him with kid gloves. He thought about going for the M16, but that would lead to him getting shot.

Now that he had the chance to look at her more closely, he could tell she had been through Hell, and a lot more of it than he had. Her cerulean fur was matted all over and infused with dirt, giving her the look of an alley cat that had been through more than a few tussles. Blood dripped from two decent slashes on her side as well as one more on her leg, and she appeared to be shaking. Still, he could see a mixture of fear and determination in her emerald eyes, and the willingness to defend herself was announced by pointing his M1911 at his face.

"Hold it... I'm not going to hurt you." Brian held his hands up in a disarming gesture. 'Good luck trying to explain that, man. You're the one that just blasted through half of those assholes. She won't be speaking English, but God knows how she managed to figure your gun out.' His internal monologue had a point. How the Hell did she know how to work the safety on his pistol? But... his adrenaline-fogged senses tried to figure things out. Actually, she had spoken to him in English. What the Hell?

Amazingly she lowered the pistol, keeping it in her paws as she regarded him. The shaking was getting even more pronounced, and he could tell she was coming off of a major adrenaline high. The vixen had been fighting several opponents in an obviously weakened state, got the snot beaten out of her, and managed to regain consciousness enough to put two slugs into one of them. Once she crashed, it would be hard.

A pained whimper came from her as she tried to force herself up. She opened her mouth to say something, but the crash had already happened. The fox crumpled to the ground, once again unconscious.

Without a word Brian snatched his pistol back, safing it before placing it back in its holster. He wasn't going to take any chances, especially not with this strange alien. True, she had saved his life... but he had his reasons why he didn't trust most anyone. The thought of leaving her there and going upon his merry way had crossed his mind, but... he couldn't do it. In a word, it wouldn't have been right.

He shook his head, walking over and picking up her weapon. She would need it, because if she was riding along with him he wasn't going to be giving her a gun. As he wrapped his hand around it the staff started to tingle in his palm... not unpleasantly. He left the vixen where she lay for the moment being, and went over to the Humvee.

The weapons he had collected were then stuffed in the passenger's seat.. next to him. The M16 and M14 were stuffed in the footwell, along with the staff. As an afterthought, he slipped the M9's holster on his belt. Brian had no intentions on using the handgun, but he was going to keep his hands on it. The next task he undertook was converting the back seat of the Humvee into a semi-suitable bed... accomplished with a couple of sleeping bags and all the spare blankets he had.

After everything was at least somewhat secured, he went back for the vixen. With a grunt he lifted her.. surprised at how light she was. The state she was really in became much more apparent; her fur was caked with dirt, and her clothing was stained in several spots. On top of that, she carried the strong scent of some really nasty chemicals; her fur was actually slick with slime in several spots. "Christ, you got worked over.... didn't you?" Sighing, he carried her over to the Humvee.

"What a fucked up situation I find myself in." Brian grumbled as he lifted the comatose fox into the vehicle. As he struggled with her unconscious body, he noticed that she was cold... a hell of a lot colder than he expected someone covered with fur to be. To be cautious, he wrapped her up in those blankets. If she was suffering from hypothermia, she would need to retain all the body heat she could. It would have been better if he was willing to huddle next to her in order to transfer his own body heat to her... but he wasn't. Besides, the Humvee had a heater.

Shutting the passenger door, Brian also got into the vehicle. Starting it up once more, he took off down that road... hoping to get enough distance between the lizards they had wiped the floor with. They would have buddies, and they wouldn't be happy.