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This story is a work of fiction. The story and characters are copyright Radical Gopher and may not be duplicated or used without the express permission of the author. This story contains adult situations and should not be viewed by those under the age of eighteen. ____________________________________________________________________________ A DISTANT SHORE - DEFEND AND HOLD

Colonel Collier and his men reached the base of the stockade wall and paused, their eyes and rifles riveted on the parapet. He'd been somewhat amazed when the defensive fire coming from the natives had stopped, but now that they were in position there was little that could be done to keep the soldiers from taking the compound.

At a signal from him the four climbing poles were placed against the wall. Four of his most athletic troopers quickly shinnied to the top of the wall, and just as quickly were knocked off the poles with loud yells of surprise. One landed on three of his companions who not only broke his fall, but his wrist as well. Two more were stunned and a fourth was unconscious.

Several soldiers raised their weapons and unloaded a dozen or more shots into the top of the wall. Unfortunately, the logs that made up the stockade were too thick and the bullets either ricocheted off the wood or were imbedded in it. The defenders might not be able to show their faces, but neither could Collier's men get at them.

The badger crouched next to the trooper with the broken wrist. "What happened?"

"Goddamn squaw was hiding just below the top of the wall, sir!" he explained. "When I reached out to hoist myself up she walloped my hand with a tomahawk and I lost my grip."

The colonel signaled to Captain Lewis. "Move everything farther down the wall and try again."

Several of the soldiers scrambled to obey the order. Others were directed to pound on the stockade wall with stones or rifle butts to cover the noise of their position shift. None of Collier's men saw the small mirror tied on the end of a stick as it briefly popped up above the level of the wall.

Repositioned, another group of climbers shimmied up the poles. The results were pretty much the same save for one soldier who vanished over the top of the wall with a startled yell. The badger cursed. This was getting them nowhere fast.

"Lieutenant Henderson!"

A large wolverine slid up to the colonel, the stub of a lit cigar burning in his mouth. Collier tapped a finger against one of the large shoulder satchels he was carrying. "How many grenades do you have left?"

"Eleven that we can throw by hand. The rest were re-fused for the cannon and aren't safe enough to handle."

"Can we blow down the gate with them?"

The wolverine shook his head. "Doubtful, sir. To do that we'd have to fuse them so they all went off together. The timing is just too tricky. The explosion of one or two wouldn't be enough to set off the others, only scatter them before the rest went off." The lieutenant thought for a moment. "I might be able to rig a satchel bomb if I pried the tops off the grenades and used the powder inside, but that would take me a couple of hours."

The colonel shook his head. "We can't spare the time." He looked up at the wall judging its height. Keeping his voice low he turned back to the lieutenant. "Think you and a couple of men could circle quietly to the far side of stockade and toss a few of these in as a diversion?"

"No problem, sir," the wolverine quietly assured him.

"Very well. We'll wait until we hear the third grenade go off and then scale the wall and take this place."

Nodding, Henderson pointed to a couple of troopers and led them away, keeping tight against the stockade wall.

Collier watched them go and scanned the parapet once more. He saw the small mirror and stick suddenly appear about a dozen feet away from him. Cursing, he drew his pistol, aimed and fired. The mirror shattered, and his shot set off a fusillade of riffle fire from his men who had seen where he aimed. They peppered the top of the stockade with little effect.

On the other side of the wall Lieutenant Evans examined the end of the stick and single remaining shard of mirror. "Dammit... That's gon'na cost me a whole fifty cents to replace at the mercantile," the fennec muttered.

"Bill it to the Marshall's Service," White cloud said with a grin. "They'll probably recompense you... if you give them about six or seven years." Evans silently returned his grin.

"What now partner?"

"Well... now we wait for Snowbird."

The fennec looked at the unconscious form of the vixen and quietly wondered what the Marshall and she had up their sleeves.

* * * *

Sergeant McMullen listened to the sound of gunfire as Private Phibbs worked feverishly on his handcuffs with a dull marlinspike. The tool was an unexpected godsend. The cougar had found it buried in the earthen floor of the shed. From its rusted appearance McMullen guessed it must have been mistakenly left there and covered over when the stockade was still a trading post.

Normally used in unbinding stubborn knots in ropes, the spike was proving quite useful. By inserting it through the metal links that held the cuffs together then twisting it, Phibbs hoped he could break the links and free McMullen. The most difficult part of this was working back to back with the ursoid. The private couldn't see what he was doing and had to twist on the spike while his own hands were cuffed together. Determination eventually won out.

There was a soft, metallic snap and the chain holding the cuffs fell apart. Sergeant McMullen quickly turned around and, thanks to his greater strength, was able to free both Cutter and Phibbs in less than a minute each. The three soldiers looked down at Roark Temple.

"Think we should free him as well?" asked Cutter.

The bandit looked up at McMullen. "You need me."

"Why?" asked the bear. "The way I figure it there's enough of a reward on you for the three of us to live comfortably for a couple years at least."

"True," responded the coyote, "but you're still going to have to deal with Marshall White Cloud. That half-breed's tough enough on his own, but with that native witch helping him, well I wouldn't want to face them on their terms. With me on your side, we can even the odds somewhat and come out on top. I can also sweeten the deal for you."

"How?" asked Phibbs.

"I've got 75,000 in payroll script that I was planning to split ten ways. Seeing how my compadres are all dead or missing, I could see my way to splitting it fifty-fifty with you three. A third o' thirty-two thousand is twice what you'd get for turning me in."

"How do we know we can trust you?" asked McMullen.

"Well... considering we're all facing the rope if the Marshall wins, then I'd say we have a mutual interest in not letting that happen."

The bear thought quietly for a moment or two and looked at Cutter and Phibbs. Their eyes were full of the dreams of gold. "Alright... You're in, but on my terms... Understand?"

"And what are those?" Temple asked.

"You do exactly what I say, when I say it," the sergeant growled.

The coyote shrugged. "No problem... What's your plan?"

"We dig."

* * * *

Snowbird felt as if she was in a waking dream. Her mind was at rest, yet at the same moment she could see the world passing beneath her. She could smell the earth, the water and the trees. She could feel the wind as it passed across her wings lifting her higher and higher, above all care and concern. The vixen paused for a moment in her thoughts. Wings? How could she have wings?

Spiraling, she looked towards the ground with eyes, sharper than eagle's. She saw herself lying there, asleep, dreaming of flying. This puzzled her. If she were dreaming, how could she be flying? A thought almost slipped past her She reached out with her consciousness and snagged it, remembering. No... not her, the wyvern. She wasn't asleep... not really. Her incantation had overlaid a part of her mind with that of the small reptile. She saw and knew what it knew and could, with a fair amount of effort, influence its actions.

The wyvern turned back toward the stockade and began circling. Snowbird watched as the soldiers split into two groups. The larger group split into four sections who positioned themselves at several points along the stockade. The smaller group of three soldiers moved around to the far side of the wall. Their leader, a wolverine, took something out of his shoulder pack. He held it in his hand then removed the cigar he was smoking and touched it to the object. Snowbird suddenly realized he was holding a grenade. Before she could react the soldier tossed it over the stockade wall. It landed about twenty-five feet from where the vixen lay and exploded, knocking a nearby ladder down

Marshall White Cloud and the others turned at the sound. Seeing the danger the wolf tried to rise. Lieutenant Evans pushed him back down. The fennec quickly dropped from the rampart and dashed across the compound. He scooped Snowbird up just as a second grenade landed fewer than ten feet away. Unable to reach cover, Evans threw himself flat, shielding the white-furred vixen with his own body. The second explosion rolled the two figures about six feet.

Staggering upright, the lieutenant carried the unharmed Snowbird over towards a watering trough, placing her between it and the stockade wall. Rising, he took about three steps then keeled over, blood seeping from a dozen wounds. The two native vixens nearest Evans climbed to the ground and pulled the fennec against the relative safety of the sheltering wall as they treated his injuries.

The wolverine reached once more into his satchel for a grenade but was interrupted by a high-pitched screeving sound. He looked up in time to see a small draconic form zoom past belching out a gout of fire. The flames seemed to stick to him, igniting his clothing and shoulder bag. He yelled in surprise and fear. Dropping to the ground he began franticly rolling back and forth even as he tore at his burning clothes. The private next to him had the presence of mind to grab the satchel and hurl it away from them, out into the open field where it burned for several seconds before disintegrating in a series of small explosions.

"Okay," yelled Collier. "There's the signal... up and over men!" A dozen troopers braced the climbing poles as others began climbing upward. Three of them had just about reached the top when something flashed by. There was a blast of flames and two of the poles came apart as if struck by lightning. The soldiers holding them leapt back to avoid being burned and the two furs climbing them found themselves tumbling into and through piles of red-hot coals. A third trooper panicked and jumped down, causing his pole to topple back towards the support team.

One soldier actually made the top of the rampart, scrambling off the pole and standing upright on the catwalk inside the wall. The first thing he saw was Gabriel White Cloud lying several feet in front of him, pistol in hand He did not see the vixen lying behind him holding the tomahawk. She quickly brought it up, striking its smooth stone head right between his legs. The trooper instinctively grabbed at his family jewels and began curling in on himself, giving a strangled whimper in the process. Off-balance, it was easy for the native to gently shove him back over the side.

The object flashed by a second time, sending a blast of fire into the ground at the soldier's feet.

"DRAGON!!!" yelled one less than sharp-eyed trooper. The warning sent three-quarters of the soldiers running back across the field toward the dubious shelter of the trees.

"GET BACK HERE YOU COWARDS!" roared Colonel Collier, firing his pistol into the air. The shot had little effect other than the lend impetus to the swiftly retreating company. Collier and about a dozen men, including Captain Lewis and a very singed Lieutenant Henderson were all that remained at the wall.

"What now, sir?" asked a corporal.

The badger looked over at Captain Lewis. "Take two men with you and round up as many of those reprobates as you can. If anyone refuses to come back, shoot them!"

The lynx's mouth dropped open in disbelief. "Shoot them?"

"Yes, dammit! They're deserters aren't they?" said the colonel. "And while you're at it, bring back a log, something, anything large enough to use as a battering ram!"

Lewis saluted pointed to two of the remaining soldiers and headed off at a trot in pursuit of the others.

One of the troopers near the wall yelled out a warning and gestured as the wyvern dove towards them again. Half-a-dozen rifles and pistols came up and fired at the fast moving reptile. Though unable to hit such a small target, the fusillade of bullets caused the wyvern's normal instincts to take control. The creature veered away, despite Snowbird's efforts to over-ride its mind. Self-preservation was a primal force, and the vixen quickly discovered that the connection between herself and the reptile was coming undone.

Collier cursed under his breath. His whole plan had hinged on bringing the local natives to battle, but this wasn't what he wanted. An isolated skirmish between a company of militia and a half-dozen natives led by a half-breed Federal Marshall would garner no support for his cause. At best, it would be viewed as a foolish embarrassment, especially in light of his own troop's desertion. At worst, it meant scandal and more than likely prison on charges of conspiracy. He had to take the stockade somehow and kill anyone who knew the secret behind his daughter's "kidnapping." If only he had time, he could rally his men and take the stockade. But time was one thing he no longer had.

In the distance an eagle's shrill cry could be heard. Collier stiffened. He knew that eagles rarely flew this far from the great western mountains at this time of year. No... it wasn't an eagle, and with this knowledge came a dark, brooding despair. Swift Arrow and his warriors were coming. Somehow, they knew and they were coming. The badger shook his head. Not somehow... White Cloud! The half-breed wolf had warned them, and now it was all for naught.

The colonel ran through a series of possible actions and came to a decision. He looked at his only remaining officer. "Lieutenant Henderson."

"Yes, sir!"

"Form a skirmish line with the remaining men. We are withdrawing to the cover of the trees."

"Sir?"

Collier ignored the question in his subordinate's voice. "When we get there I want you to hold your position and keep anyone from leaving the stockade. When Captain Lewis and the rest of the troop return, tell him he is to take command and withdraw to the river as quickly as possible."

"Where will you be, colonel?"

"I'm going to scout ahead of the column and find the best route to the river. I will rejoin you within twelve hours. If I don't make it back, continue on using your own best judgment."

Five minutes later Henderson's men were hunkered down ready to fire on anyone who left the stockade. The wolverine watched solemnly as the colonel mounted up, saluted and galloped off in the general direction of the river. A lump formed in his throat. "There goes the most gallant soldier I've ever seen," he muttered to himself.

The corporal who overheard the comment simply shook his head, hawked up a wad of tobacco, and spat in the direction of the departing Collier.

Gabriel White Cloud watched with interest as the last of the soldiers retreated, in surprisingly good order, back across the field and took up their old positions once more. He'd also heard the eagle's cry and knew what it meant. Thanks to Snowbird's spell, he saw Collier mount up and ride out.

"Another time, colonel," the wolf muttered. "Another place." He and the remaining two vixens on the wall rose and looked out across the field. Gabe was feeling really tired about now. All he had to do was hang on for another hour or so and Swift Arrow would be there to watch his prisoners.

The Marshall turned and slowly climbed down a short ladder to the ground. His intention was to check on Evans and Snowbird then make sure everyone, including the prisoners was fed. He had only taken a couple of steps when the hackles on the back of his neck suddenly stiffened. Gabe's pistol almost leapt into his hand. He looked up, freezing where he was. Standing about twenty feet in front of him was Sergeant McMillan. The bear's uniform was stained and torn in places and his fur looked as if he'd been rolling in the dirt. To one side he could see Privates Cutter and Phibbs holding the natives who had been helping Evans. Both he and Snowbird lay at their feet. Next to them stood Roark Temple, a smug, evil grin framing his features and a rifle pointed at the head of the white-furred vixen.

"Seems we've got us a bit of a situation here, Marshall," the coyote said with a laugh, "one that's kinda familiar, only last time our positions were reversed." "Now... What was it you said to me back then? Oh, yeah. I remember... DROP IT, OR I DROP YOU." He paused looking down at Snowbird then up at the wolf. "OR IN THIS CASE, HER!"

Slowly, Gabe's hand opened and the Colt tumbled to the ground, landing in a cloud of dust.