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FOX Academy - The New Breed

by Dikran O.

Introduction

Canada created the Foreign Operations eXecutive (FOX) during the cold war to fill the operational gap between Canada's domestic intelligence agency, the Canadian Security Intelligence Service, the Royal Canadian Mounted Police and the military's special forces, Joint Task Force 2.

The group was formed under Canada's premier expert on espionage and counter intelligence, the walrus Sir Wilbur W. Withersby. His mandate was to find and train operatives to carry out executive actions in foreign lands or to foreign operatives in Canada and abroad. After extensive physiological and psychological testing it was determined that foxes were best suited for the role, being both agile and intelligent. It is suspected that they had a large role to play in choosing the agencies name; however, because Canada is not only a multi-cultural and bilingual nation, but also an equal-species employer, they relied on the expertise of a talented and diverse support team.

The agency was so secret that only the prime Minister of Canada, the leader of the Opposition, the heads of the other security and intelligence agencies, and 4 or 5 conspiracy theorists who no one believed, knew of its existence. The agencies intelligence school, support infrastructure and operations division are all housed in a complex disguised as a government experimental farm in downtown Ottawa. Collectively, it was called The Academy.

In the tradition of Britain's MI6 the most senior agents, those who could be relied upon to kill when ordered or when necessary, were given code names. Since the British had already decided to use numbers and with the Americans filling the alphabet with 3-lettered spy agencies, Sir Withersby decided to use a colour code. The most senior of the foxes would be Gold, and act as Withersby's chief of staff. The remainder could choose their colour, although Red would be reserved for the CIA liaison agent, as would Blue for MI6's. Of the original agents, an Arctic Fox choose to be White, the first female agent became Scarlet. Grey, Yellow, Black and Brown were all named after their coats. The seventh agent recruited was also black, but premature greyness had turned the fur on his temples and brow white by the time he joined the academy. The effect of the mixed black and white hairs around his face made him known as Silver.

In the relative calm of the late 1990's the group was scaled down and finally disbanded in August 2000. But with the increased threat form terrorists and hostile state intelligence services after 9/11 the agency was re-instated with whatever agents were still available, and with whatever talent they could find.

These are their stories.

Chapter 1 - Death Comes Gnawing

He sat on the chair in the dark and waited. Normally he loved coming to Germany, it was so clean and orderly and not inclined to invade anymore. Having served his time as a junior agent here he spoke the language and understood the culture. He had come to Germany because the German constitution, drafted while the horrors of the Second World War were still fresh in their memories, forbid their government to take executive action against one of their own citizens. Silver was there as favour between services. He was looking forward to some time off when this assignment was over; perhaps he would stay for Oktoberfest.

But for now he waited in the dark, his Glock 17 with the silencer attached already in his hand. He had checked the bathroom and the closets and closed their doors, wedging them in place just in case. Silver didn't like surprises. He tested the window to ensure that it would open smoothly and quietly. Earlier that day, dressed in old clothes bought at the marketplace, he had piled boxes and garbage bags full of packing material to break his fall if he needed to use this exit strategy.

The chair he sat in, with his left ankle resting on his right knee, the gun in his right paw resting on it, was in a convenient corner from where he could cover both the window and the door. The bed of this efficiency apartment was folded against the wall. His lines of sight were clear.

Shortly after he heard the town clock strike midnight there was a scratching at the door. Someone trying to find the lock in the dark hallway; dark because Silver had unscrewed the bulb. The door opened and a fox entered, briefly silhouetted by the dim glow from the landing one floor above. The figure closed the door and turned to the dresser against the wall opposite Silver, where he turned on a dim table light and began to empty his pockets.

"Wie geht es Ihnen?, Herr Fuchs" How are you - Silver addressed him politely in German.

"Very good young kit" he replied in English. Now that's a bad sign, thought Silver, people are supposed to be surprised when a stranger addresses them in their bedroom.

"Turn around and keep your paws visible Herr Fuchs." Herr Fuchs complied. Now Silver could positively identify him: A yellow coated fox, tall and broad shouldered, almost 80 years old but in good shape, steel rimmed glasses, balding between the ears and grey on the temples, false teeth so white they glowed.

"Some people want to talk to you Herr Fuchs, people you knew during the war. Survivors."

"I don't want to talk to them"

"You have very few options." Silver kept his gun centred on the old foxes chest, but something was wrong. Why was he grinning?

"I think however that I will not talk to them. No. Not to them" Herr Fuchs giggled and almost danced with glee.

"In that case you can go talk to your comrades, the ones who were caught and hung by the Israelis. They're saving you a spot by the fire I hear."

"Oh no, Mr Silver." How did he know that? "I'm having too much fun talking to you." Keeping his paws on his ears he giggled, grinned and shuffled his feet. His Feet! Inching under the dresser where one couldn't step by accident. A toe trigger! The only chair placed in the perfect spot to cover all of the room!

Silver launched himself from the chair and fired simultaneously, a split second before the cushion he had just vacated blew skyward in a blizzard of horsehair and chintz. The force of the blast propelled him forward to where Fuchs had been standing just an instant ago, but he was gone, dropped to the floor before Silver's finger had squeezed the trigger.

A paw clamped on his arm like a vice. A fist connected with his chin. Silver dropped the gun and it slid under the dresser. Again and again the fist struck, and it was all he could do to guard his head. Rolling back with a blow, he pushed his legs under and flipped around and over, throwing Fuchs against the bed. Fuchs pulled the bed down, trying to crush Silver beneath it, But Silver managed to roll against the wall in time. Behind the bed hung an array of exercise equipment for the traveling fugitive: paw grips, torsion bars, springs, and two steel bars clamped together at one end. No wonder Fuchs was so strong; he'd been lugging this stuff around with him for 50 years.

Silver grabbed the pair of bars and swung at Fuchs but he bed was too wide. He tried to pull them apart to extend their reach but they were designed to provide resistance when pulled apart, and they sprang back together almost trapping his fingers. Warily they shifted back and forth, neither willing to risk exposing their back to go for the gun under the dresser, both prepared to strike if the other did. Fuchs put one paw in his mouth and pulled out his false teeth. His mouth gaped as he grinned again at Silver while he detached the uppers from the lowers. Sliding one set over his left fist he flipped the four incisors up, creating a spiked set of porcelain knuckles. He did the same for his other paw, barked out a laugh and leapt at Silver.

Ducking, weaving, parrying the blows with the metal bars, but Fuchs kept coming, fists up in a classic Heidelberg boxing pose that was impossible to penetrate. Forced against the wall, Silver held the bars vertically in a last attempt to protect himself from death by overbite. Suddenly Fuchs turned his paws back-to-back and grabbed the two bars. He easily pried them apart until there was an opening of 18 inches between the tips. Now with his paws inside so that the spiked teeth pointed inward. He began to force the bars back, on either side of Silvers head.

This was bad. If he drove the bars back together the spring on the bars combined with his strength would drive the teeth into Silver's skull and crush it. Silver put his paws inside below those of Fuchs and tried to push them farther apart. Fuchs was openly laughing now as the deadly 'Vee' moved closer and closer to Silver.

Out of options himself now, Silver moved his paws back to the outside of the bars. Striking like a snake, he darted his head forward and bit Fuchs on the snout, pulling back from between what was meant to be the jaws of death just as fast. Surprised, Fuchs reacted like any fox to such a challenge, and dove forward to bite him back. Silver drew him in, leaning back as far as he could, and when all of Fuchs' being was concentrated on his strike, Silver pushed the bars back and kicked Fuchs where even an 80-year old fox was bound to feel it, while slamming the bars together as hard as he could.

Seeing the look on Fuchs' face as the arms of his glasses were nailed to his temples with his own teeth was almost worth the shower of blood that followed it.

Fuchs wasn't laughing anymore. He lay on the floor between the bed and the wall gasping and shaking with paws pressed against his ruined skull. Slowly these subsided and finally Fuchs lay still.

Silver remained motionless, listening for signs that the neighbours had been disturbed, for the meemameemameema' of approaching Polizei sirens, listening for signs of life from the fox on the floor. After two minutes had passed with no sign of trouble he quickly retrieved his pistol and raised the bed back up. A quick check of Fuchs' carotid artery confirmed that his heart beat no more. Silver did a quick survey. The room and Fuchs could stay as it was. The Germans had deniability and evidence of the old fox's war crimes was ready to be leaked. The Mossad would be blamed and their probable silence would confirm it in most peoples' minds.

Silver's clothes were ruined. The old cloths he has worn were stashed amongst the trash below the window, so he would have to clean off in the bathroom here and drop down naked to retrieve them.

As he peeled off his blood soaked shirt he noticed a wad of Deutschmarks and the new Euros that Fuchs had taken from his pockets oh so long ago.

Scooping up the cash he turned to address the body on the floor.

"Sorry to put the bite on you pal, but it seems that I need some cash for a new suit."

Chapter 2 - It's a Dog eat Dog World

Silver entered the outer office the chief, Sir Wilbur W. Withersby, known affectionately as W' to everyone in the academy. The old Walruses' secretary, Mademoiselle Chienne- Caniche sat in her usual place behind her desk. Few but the top agents knew it, but Miss CC, as they were wont to call her when she was not around, was a police dog trained in personal protection, and was as good a bodyguard as she was a secretary. She certainly didn't look the part however; she was a tall slim poodle with those poodle legs that go on forever and a hairstyle that only really French poodles can make look stylish. Her fur was mostly white but with black ears and, as noted when she attended the academy BBQ in a halter and short-shorts one year, two black spots just above her buttocks. This kind of colouration was known as pierrot in France, after a famous clown who wore a white costume with black pom-poms; but in North America they were commonly called Party Poodles.

Mademoiselle Chienne-Caniche was a party poodle in more ways than one.

"Good morning Chienne-Caniche." Silver offered as he stepped in, tossing his hat onto the coat tree across the room. He noted that she was dressed in a frilly blouse and tight knee-length skirt that made a heart of her rear as she stood bent over the open drawer of the filing cabinet.

"To what do I owe this honour Monsieur Silver?" She replied as she straightened and turned to him. He was dressed neatly in light slacks and a dark blazer, light blue shirt and a red tie. His silvery hairs formed a halo around his face, setting off his unusual grey-blue eyes. Mlle CC had never seen or even heard of a fox with such eyes.

"I have a one o'clock appointment with W. Funny, I didn't think that he ever gets back from lunch before 2 pm."

"Oh I am so sorry" She trilled in her delightful French accent. "I have made a mistake and brought you here too early." She stepped up to him and placed her paws on his chest. Looking up into his eyes she pouted prettily. "Whatever are we to do with you while you wait?"

She backed toward her desk, pulling Silver along by his tie. "What do you call a female Fox, mon cher?"

"A Vixen."

"And a Male fox? Common l'appelez-vous, how do you call him?"

Silver sighed, playing along "He is called a Dog. Although in Briton...."

"Oh, but we are not in Briton are we, n'est pas? We are in Canada where they use the scientific terms in both English and French. Such cunning linguists they are. And speaking of cunning linguists...." now sitting on her desk she jerked him forward and down so that he fell to his knees in front of her.

"Now relax Chienne-Caniche. You know that Dogs and Foxes can't breed."

"Well, it is no problem then that I forgot my pill this morning." Releasing his tie, she pulled her skirt back and over her hips. Silver could see that her pill was not the only thing that she forgot this morning.

She caressed his head and parts of him that had been silent up till now voted to cease resisting. He leaned forward, brushing his lips along her thigh, trailing the tip of his tongue as lightly as possible along the tight curls of her fur, until he came to the place where the hair was just as light as down. Her breathing began to speed as he explored the folds and crevices of her vulva with his tongue. Now licking, now drinking the moisture that gathered there. Rubbing his snout along its length, spreading her with his fingers, probing deeper until he found the nub of her delight.

Slowly, then faster, his tongue circled the hard button of flesh. Flicking up and down, then back and forth for a time. Sliding two of fingers inside her brought a moan of pleasure but he was only lubricating them so they would slide smoothly down to the sensitive skin around her anus. Caressing, prodding, but not penetrating, he slowed his tongue to match the speed of his fingers. When he could feel her pushing her hips forward to push herself against his face he sped up again. Now inserting one finger inside the dripping slit, tapping the spot inside opposite the clit where the flesh was most responsive. It swelled like a sponge under his ministrations. Reaching out the pinkie on the same paw, he drew it across her anus just as she began to vibrate uncontrollably. It was too much, she came in a flood that soaked his facial fur and filled his mouth before pouring down over his paw.

He slowed his strokes to a crawl, and still each time his tongue or finger touched one of her sensitive spots she shuttered and moaned again. Looking up he saw that her head was back and her tongue was hanging from the side of her open maw. Oh god, she's not going to howl is she?

She didn't howl. With a shake of her head and two deliberate blinks she got control of herself. Jumping up She produced a roll of paper towels from under her desk and blotted her desktop before it could stain. Quickly blotting herself, she dropped the soaked towelettes into a flap-lid wastebasket. Silver stood and waited. Turning back to him once again she smiled in that cocky, toothy Poodle manner.

"Good doggie. Now he gets his treat. No?" Her paws rubbed his already stiff member through his pants.

"Woof" he replied.

She went down to her knees in front of him and slowly lowered his zipper. Each time the material of his shorts rubbed against him he had to bite his lip. She pulled the fly apart and tucked his shirttails back out of the way. "Buttons on your underwear Monsieur? How quaint."

He thought that his cock might put out an eye, it sprang to freedom so fast. Chienne-Caniche tsk-ed over its swollen redness as if it was injured. "Pauvre petite, well not so petit, heh? Let mama fix you up." and she plunged.

Sliding back and forth, his cock sliding in and out, the tip never quite leaving completely. Now her tongue was underneath, now it wrapped around it. One paw slid inside his pants to cup his balls and he felt the pressure there grow to the breaking point. His paws clenched and unclenched at his sides. Thinking desperately of having sex with his grandmother while filling out his tax forms he managed to hold off the explosion.

But she could feel it building and she caressed his balls with one hand, drew back her head and stroked his shaft with the other.

"Now, mon cher, it is time for...." suddenly an amber light lit up over the office door. "....W's car to come into the garage!!! Mon Dieu, get dressed!"

Looking around desperately she pushed him into W's office. "You only have two minutes." Her accent had disappeared in her panic. "Get in his bathroom and clean up. I'll cover for you."

The door slammed behind him. Rushing into the bathroom Silver looked around and saw himself in the large mirror behind the low sink, still protruding and still rock hard. First things first, he thought.

Afterwards he did his pants back up and splashed some water on his face to rinse the smell off. He wished that W kept some mints, or even mothballs, in his bathroom, but he didn't dare rinse with W's mouthwash. He could hear W outside the door talking to Chienne-Caniche.

"He just arrived and had a sudden urge. I didn't want you to come back and find him not here as the staff washroom is so far away."

"Well I hope he turned the fan on. Silver, can you hear me in there? Turn the fan on will you? There's a good chap. Glad you could take care of him Chienne-Caniche."

"Moi aussie, Monsuier, me too"

Silver flipped the fan switch, checked himself in the mirror once more and opened the door.

W was already sitting behind his desk, reading from a file marked 'Secret'. Silver took the chair across from him and tried to lean back as far away as he could, nonchalantly.

W slapped the file down and stared at Silver. "Something Fishy here."

"Sorry W." Silver thought fast. "I had Tuna for lunch." Inwardly he cringed.

"What? Oh, Tuna. Me too, at the press club. Funny that. But that's not what I meant. It's this report on Fuchs. How did he know you would be there?"

"I don't know. I travelled undercover as always. I avoided past haunts until the mission was completed. I didn't meet anyone I recognized before then."

"I'll tell you what it is Silver. It's your age."

Silver seldom thought about his age. He had done eight years in army reconnaissance before joining the academy. He suddenly realized that he had been at the work of intelligence for almost 35 years now, in one form or another. With no wife, no children and few relatives his fiftieth birthday had past three month ago with only a card from his sister in Bali.

"I'm not that old W. There's still 10 years to go until mandatory retirement and five before I have to come in from the field." Look at Tanner, he's six years older than me and strong as he ever was." Tancred 'Tanner' Williams was Gold, W's chief of staff and Silver's only real friend left in the academy. All of the rest of the original gang were dead or retired now; except for White, who Silver didn't particularly get along with on a personal level.

"Its not your age age. It's the age we came from, the cold warrior age. Things are different now, your descriptions are out, the KGB released all of its files on you when they disbanded. God knows who has them now; probably everybody thanks to that Internet thing. It's your style Silver, the way you move and the way you look. People like you don't fit in anymore. You are not ordinary enough."

"I've been successful though, even lately. Did you read my report on the Singapore counterfeiters?"

"Oh, its not the same Silver. Hong had been around as long as you have, longer. This fellow Fuchs is my age for God's sake. There's a new breed of evil out there. One that doesn't wait for you to figure out how to escape or talk your way out of trouble. One that just shots you in the head before you even say hello."

"Well there's only White and myself left. Tanner is too old to got to the field and none of the junior agents are ready yet."

"I didn't want to tell you this way; but White is dead. He was killed last night in the Ukraine while working on a money laundering case for the Treasury Board. All of the junior agents were selected along the same criteria as you original boys were. They have been trained according to the same standards and curriculum. They won't be going into the field as you have, to kill. They would not survive."

"What are we going to do?" Silver asked hopelessly.

"We are going to change. Ten years ago you submitted a study on agent survival compared to training styles for the major intelligence agencies around the world. As I recall you recommended recruiting personnel with evident survival skills and training them unconventionally, outside the classroom."

"That study went nowhere."

"It went to me; but by then the academy was winding down. Budgets were being cut and our disbandment was inevitable. In the rush since 9/11 I'd forgotten it until now. I have a mind to implement your recommendations"

"Where do I fit into your plans?" Silver enquired.

"I'm pulling you out of the field for now. I want you to look about and find some of these survivors you wrote about. Bring back the best of them and start training them. In the meanwhile I've convinced the Privy Council to increase our budget to re-staff the academy's school and operations division with new people. We'll keep whatever agents as can adapt and farm the rest off to CSIS or the RCMP. When a mission does come up, I want you ready to take your prodigies to the field for the kind of 'hands-on' training that you described." W slammed his palm down on his desk. "Well, get on with it man. Don't have all year you know."

Silver got up to leave, the ideas from long ago already reshaping themselves in his head. "I'll get right on it W."

"Oh, and Silver...."

"Yes sir?"

" Before you go to see Tanner about this, or anyone else for that matter...."

"Sir?"

"Clean Mademoiselle Chienne-Caniche's lipstick off your pants would you? There's a good chap."