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1961, Military hospital, Saigon, Vietnam

"Alright, tell me about Peter again."

Private Michaels took a drag, staring blearily at the hospital room wall. His white shirt was dirty and his fur a

mess. It took a lot of stress to dry an otter out like that.

"I gave you everything and you say I'm lying. I wish I was. But I saw what I saw."

"But you don't know what you saw. That's the point. You say he was killed in front of you, but you didn't

satisfactorily say how or what did it."

Michaels let his paw go limp and his cigarette ashed on the metal table. He gazed into space and shivered. "He

knew it was coming. That was the worst part, his hairs all went up and he looked to me for help and the

night...came...in." He fought back a sob and stared at the table where the cigarette burn formed a black mark. "The night

had teeth."

"PFC Barnes doesn't recall any of this. The two of you were both scouting villages for 'scrats recruiting for the

commies."

"Three of us. Dammit, three!" Michaels kicked the table and the doctor stood up abruptly.

"Two, Michaels! That's the deployment right there." The hound slapped a file on the desk. "If there was a third

man than what was his name?"

"Peter!"

"Last name! What was his last name?"

Michaels opened his mouth to respond and his eyes glazed over. His fingers went to the dog tags around his neck.

They weren't his own. They were smooth and virgin blank.

"Right. Come clean Michaels. These deployments put people on edge and we all get weak. What drug were you

abusing?"

Michael's ears dropped, his voice hollow. "I was his only friend."

The doctor blew air through his muzzle and patted Michaels on the paw. The otter flinched as though burned.

"Barnes is worried about you, Michaels. He doesn't want to see you stick a section 8. You're a good solider, remember

that."

The doctor stepped out of the room. His assistant, a South Vietnamese Saola, Minh was at his side as they walked

down the hospital's overcrowded halls. A few Halloween decorations had been strung up to Americanize the place. The

cut-outs of grinning witch cats riding brooms that dangled above benches of the wounded and muttering added an eerie

absurdity to the place. "That one's a mess," the hound muttered. "Kennedy better call up more bodies than Eisenhower did

or we'll both be issued M16's by December."

"Lots come back with problems huh?" Minh asked, sounding jaded as he stared at patients standing in the meds

dispensary line.

A thickset marmot grabbed at the doctor's uniform as they passed. "I watched a snail, crawl along the edge of a

straight razor."

"Cut it out private Kurrs." The pair kept moving. "Lots, yes. What did you have for me, Minh?"

"Reporter is waiting. Washington Star he says."

"Those assholes. He wants to talk to me?"

"Says he wants to interview patients, figure out what happens to soldiers who go 'dien dai' under fire."

"Figures. I suppose he has clearances."

"Ya."

The doctor sighed and entered his office, tuning out the moans and grunts that seemed to bleed through every wall,

along with the heat and smells. "Put the reporter in with Michaels."

"Really?" The Saola looked shocked.

"That kid has been staring at uniforms since being sent here. Listen in, see if Michael's story changes with the

Star guy. He might even try to score more of whatever drugs he's out of."

The doctor pulled back the blinds and let sunlight wash over the folds of his muzzle and quivering nose through

the open window. The countless scents of Saigon loaded his Kentucky born nostrils. "This war is taking a lot more than

imaginary friends away. These kids are all gonna get lost here, those that don't wind up in boxes. Communism isn't the

demon we're fighting." He gazed at the pond fronds outside. "Let's be honest. It's the same darkness we all brought here

with us."

Three Years later, New York State, Route 43 West

She awoke on quivering leather, cool hide bouncing against her cheek. Fear came before she remembered and the gag

at her mouth prevented a scream. The driver of the car heard her try. "You're okay," a reedy voice wisped. "I'm watching

you carefully. You'll be safe, Mary."

Mary worked her mouth against the gag, which smelled of dog sweat. Her paws were bound behind her. So were her

legs. She gathered her breath and tried to scream around the stinking gag, which dampened the sound to a plaintive fuzzy

wail. The roar of the engine and the rush of air all drowned her out.

"Keep screaming." He sounded pleased. "Any noise helps. I've got you, Mary. I promise I won't lose you." A black

paw wandered back between the seats and softly dragged a nicotine-stained claw across her knee. "Don't worry about a

thing"

She jerked away and bucked on the seat, pulling at her bonds with snarls and kicks, shouting hoarse through the

cotton. The canine's voice was a determined mutter behind the Lincoln's wheel. "Mary is with me. Mary is here. My little

rabbit is safe and you can't have her. No you can't."