CPT Obmeyer: Ch. 13
Imported from SF2 with no description.
LEARNING TO FLY
Morning finds you and Lotte nestled in a cocoon of blankets next to her old kerosene heater in the air traffic control tower.
The worthless thing broke last night sometime during cleanup, but you weren't complaining.
Any excuse to cuddle your wife and enjoy the hearth of her fur is always a good thing.
Fluffy white arms granted peace of mind and easy sleep to you both.
The hustle and bustle of an active army base, unfortunately, interrupts your dreaming well before sunrise, but that's okay.
You're more than content to sit with your eyes closed, and enjoy the warm glow of your wife's love.
Lotte, you suspect, hasn't been sleeping well without you, and covers her face when the advancing sun reaches her eyes.
"Nnnnnnno…" She protests as a lone trumpeter plays Reveille. “Close the blinds, Abagail…" she murmurs, and falls right back asleep with her nose buried in your hair.
'Abagail?' You don't know any Abagail.
You shrug. Probably an old roommate from FMI, or something.
Another half hour of tenderness passes together before your comfort is interrupted by a muffled voice from inside Lotte's discarded uniform.
"...Obme…ick up. This is Ma–"
You curl up, back pressed against your wife, and whine like a pitiful kitten.
Please no…not now!
This is paradise , just a little bit longer! 10 more minutes, Mama…
The stupid army is trying to make you and your wife do things, when you could be cuddling forever!
“-peat, please acknol-...man Koslov that-"
God fucking damnit that sounds important.
"Sweetheart," you murmur gently. “Someone for you on the radio."
Your wife doesn't move.
"Lotte…? Someone needs you. We should get up."
"No." She replies emphatically.
"Huh?"
Instead of answering, your wife growls and tosses Beckett's empty canteen at the intruding pile of clothes.
"I refusssse…" she slurs through the haze of exhaustion, “Mmm wiff my husban' today…"
_ _Is she still dehydrated, or something? Lotte Obmeyer doesn't skate work, and she sure as hell doesn't refuse orders.
You pull away to dig around for the radio, but Lotte's arms pull you firmly back in place.
Her lips touch the back of your neck, and she breathes deep your human scent.
"Please dearest…" She says, with an altogether unfamiliar lilt in her voice. “Don't let the dream end."
Your heart soars at the sound of those words and your body throbs for hers, but your inner voice of reason rebukes you.
'Get up and get moving. No cuddles allowed for the court-martialed.'
The radio burbles its message again.
"Cap…er, please resp–"
"Sounds important, love." You warn, nudging her hand gently.
No response.
"We, uh…we should answer that."
Lotte's fluffy cheek nuzzles you affectionately, and she kisses you repeatedly on the neck and shoulders.
"No."
...
"Could get in a lot of trouble if we don't." You say, starting to feel anxious. “Both of us."
Christ, when did you before the dutiful one?
Lotte groans again, reaches out of the blankets, and snatches the radio from inside her coat.
"What, Anatolia? " She snaps into the receiver. “I'm off the line today."
_ _ "Well shit, good morning to you too, sunshine." Major Charles quips from the other end of the line. “What's got you so grouchy? Get kicked out of your tent for snoring or somethin'?"
"Don't sass me Chuck, and I don't snore."
It's true, she doesn't.
You, however, snore like a purring kitten. Must be your little brother energy.
Major Charles sputters. “Is– Well shit, bitch! Was gonna tell you the good news and let you off the hook for today's war council, but I'm starting to think we need you to edit the next press release."
"I'm starting to think the ethics board should hear about your capstone paper, Frau Ballistics Specialist ."
HO-LEE-SHIT woman, that is your commanding officer!
Lotte looks about ready to go off on an angry tirade, so you snatch the receiver out of her hand before she can say something you'll both regret.
"S-Sorry! Hi, Major Charles ma'am!" You stammer into the microphone. “Lotte didn't mean that! H-had a rough night. Got wounded, haha."
You swallow, and sit up in bed. Lotte quirks an eyebrow. “H-how are you?"
Major Charles gets smug.
"Well hey there, Corpsman Koslov!~" Charles croons. “Didn't expect to hear from you this early in the morning. How's everyone's little brother doing today?"
Uh oh.
"F-fine ma'am."
You may have acted impulsively.
"Good, good! Though, I'm a tad confused why you were missing from your bunk last night..." she says with the lecturing tone of a parent whose child has their hand in the cookie jar.
“We were all worried sick about our special boy," She coos, “but you were just feeling lonely, weren't you dearest?~ "
"N-no…" you stammer sheepishly.
"Are you telling the truth, Pavi?"
"No. Yes! A-ah…"
This was, indeed, a very bad idea.
"Please don't tell anyone. I'm sorry for going AWOL, ma'am."
Lotte sighs, but her expression is neutral.
"Oh, don't worry about it young man! I won't say a thing. Honestly, who would have the heart to do that to their little brother? You two crazy young people take the day off, my treat."
Deciding to quit while you're ahead, you bashfully pass the receiver back to Lotte.
"Sorry…" you whisper.
"It's okay…" she replies, and kisses you on the cheek. “Just one more moment."
Lotte clears her throat. "Come again, Major?"
"You just did, by the sound of it!" Lotte's commander cackles over the radio. “Chairwoman's ghost, this is so perfect! Hey Pavel, who was louder? You or her?"
Lotte pinches the bridge of her twitching nose irritably. “Please stay on topic, Major. Tell me what is happening."
"Nothing's happening, CPT. We're done here."
Your eyes meet Lotte's.
Her mouth breaks into a full, genuine smile.
"The fortress has fallen? We're going home?" She asks in an increasingly lively manner.
"Happened last night after the fire. White flag and everything. Terms are still being finalized, but they've already laid down their arms. No going home for you though I'm afraid."
Lotte's expression flips to confusion.
“Major?"
"We need someone to hang around and organize the occupation. Congratulations on your promotion, Major Obmeyer."
Day breaks on the 15th of the Siege of Wind River.
The war is over. Mt. Ashina has surrendered.
The Göktürk is dead, along with most of his personal retinue. They were slain 6 days ago during a failed breakout attempt.
Those who survived had planned to drag the siege out and negotiate a settlement. That dim hope, however, went up in flames along with most of the fortress last night.
The Human and Anthro State of Bismarck has triumphed over its enemies once again.
None of this matters to ordinary folk. As in any era of history, one day's exchange of flags is rarely more important than a given day's change of clothes.
Life goes on as it always has, from Cheyenne to Lake Michigan.
In the sleepy town of Linton, not too far from Bismarck City, a young woman rides past an empty farmstead on her bicycle.
The girl, a ferret with white and brown fur around her face, pauses to stare wistfully for a while at its aging brick walls and green tiled roof, and wonders what became of her old beau.
Pavel was always such a submissive little cutie.
They'd been seeing each other on and off for the better part of a month, having met during an office potluck at Linton Regional Clinic.
She was a newly minted Physician Assistant, and he was an aspiring nurse.
Pavel had been so receptive when she floated the idea of marriage…
The memory still fills her with yearning, even after all these weeks.
Her human-to-be just needed to finish his nursing cert, and he promised to say yes.
Some masculine pride thing kept her waiting, no doubt. Boys are odd like that.
Now the Koslovs have all vanished, and Jessie Coulter is left to sit and wonder what happened.
Did he really love her like he said? Would she really have spent the rest of her life looking over her shoulder, or would he have settled down after one too many messy days in the ER?
The young woman closes her eyes, and wipes away a tear. None of that matters now.
Whatever his role in the fall of the Mt. Ashina, Pavel's actions bring her no peace of mind.
Jessie Coulter resolves to forget as best she can, and sets off. Her shift begins in less than an hour.
Further away in the City of Chicago, on the top floor of a dessicated husk of glass and steel, the Captain of The City hunches over an old wooden table.
He is surrounded on all sides by a cabal of co-conspirators, each of whom is dead set on restoring the city to its former preeminence on the Further East.
They go over the plan once again, in detail:
200 rioters in Uptown to draw away the police.
300 protesters at a rally in Fulton Market to demand Alderman Koch's resignation.
400 semi-automatic rifles from the Anthrostate, hidden away in an abandoned railroad station near city hall.
500 sailors from the north to make or break a nation.
He grins confidently, and removes a piece from the board.
The Commissioner for City Defense is on his deathbed with the flu. A surprise, perhaps, but a good one.
Captain Farragut is about to become the most powerful man east of the Mississippi, and all he has to do is allow anthros in Chicago again.
Why should he care about a monster who stood upright and called himself the Göktürk? He knows nothing of Wind River, or of Bismarck's duplicity there.
As far as “strings attached" goes, this is nothing to be concerned over.
The conspirators come from all over, but one stands out in particular:
A dog woman with four red stars on her bandana, and only reluctantly turns away.
Her name is Sharon, and she tried to hold his hand last night.
"Just a chance, Hutch…" She'd whispered to him. “ One chance for me…?"
Their eyes meet, just for a moment, and then it passes.
One of the bystanders steps forward to make a speech about the justice of their cause, and the importance of courage on the murky road ahead.
Everyone raises a cup to the Antecentennial Revolution, and proclaims their loyalty to the city and the future.
Captain Farragut resolves to forget as best he can, and raises his glass.
"Try again tonight." He thinks.
Somehow, Sharon hears.
In the crossroads village of Riverton, not 10 miles away from Mt. Ashina on the banks of the eponymous Wind River, a middle aged woman named Gale Ashton prepares to open her bakery.
This institution and her kitchen have fed her family and the whole community for as long as anyone can remember.
What does a change of flags mean to her? Lord or lordlander, khan or chairwoman, it makes no difference to her.
The only certainties anyway are death and taxes, so why worry?
Women have always been wiser, as far as Gale is concerned. Maybe the animal-folk will do some good in town.
Her morning routine begins as it always does when she flips a sign on the door from “closed" to “open."
She glides cheerfully into the kitchen, where two hard working sons and a good for nothing husband collect a tray of piping hot bread from the oven.
Golden brown, with a hint of honey drizzled on top, just like her father made. It's a recipe older than Riverton itself.
Ashtons have been making bread since the time of Gale's grandfather, and his grandfather before him, and him before him all the way back to the beginning.
Trade may have slowed down a bit, but the caravans will come back eventually.
The Sonora Road loathes an empty market, and demand for coffee hasn't gone anywhere. The spice will flow as it always does.
Satisfied with the state of affairs, and irritated as always with her husband, Gale plucks a roll for herself and returns to the front.
Everything in her mind suddenly comes to a halt when she sees out the front window.
Her eyes flick to the door knob, wondering for a moment if there's enough time to lock the door and hide.
There is an animal outside, standing like a man and wearing clothes like a real person.
The other ladies in town had warned Gale what it was like seeing one for the first time, yet she didn't quite believe the tales to be true.
That thing standing outside is utterly unnatural in appearance.
It's face is a snout, similar to but not quite like a dog or cat, with a cluster of short whiskers sprouting from an odd pink nose.
The creature's skin isn't real skin, but moon-white fur thin enough to be undetectable at first glance. The effect is uncanny, and reminds Gale more of a corpse or a clown in makeup than a person.
Comically large, cupped rabbit ears betray the animal's true identity, hidden as it is behind a confusing mass of long, unnaturally black hair.
Every part of this creature's ugliness unnerves Gale. Its wide hips and small breasts seem a vulgar parody of true, proud feminine beauty.
Worst of all, the animal coddles a meek looking young man on its arm like a mother doting on a small child.
She can hear them braying at one another from the other side of the window, whispering no doubt of unnatural things and…
Gale's first instinct is to run.
Maybe if she clicks the lock fast enough there will still be time to save the children?
The hare-thing turns to the side and nuzzles the helpless young man possessively, who closes his eyes and sighs.
That boy is as old as Gale's youngest. The poor child, ignorant of all danger, smiles and nuzzles back.
'It's true what they say then,' she thinks. 'They want our children.'
Mrs. Ashton is a pious woman. No part of her is taken in by this display of feigned affection. She knows animals don't have real souls.
Gale embraces her second instinct. 'We have to fight back somehow…'
Quietly and without sudden movements, the middle aged baker reaches out to flip the sign on the door from “open" to “closed."
The deadbolt slides shut, and a chain is fixed in place for good measure.
No lock in any story can ever hold back a monster in the stories, but that's not the point.
The point is to send a message. Nothing that fundamentally wrong belongs anywhere near civilized folk.
Mrs. Ashton turns around and calmly walks back to the kitchen.
Everyone in town needs to know. The girls need to hear what's coming for their children, and the boys need to be kept on short leashes.
She turns around to leer at the animal one last time. Gale needs to see its face.
The demon looks right back at her with the Devil's own red eyes.
Corpse-like hands run long, spindly fingers across the young man's face, and they pull him into a kiss.
'They're going to try and wipe us out,' she realizes. 'They want to replace real women with monsters for the rest of time.'
Pessimism won't save her, or her loved ones. She needs to prepare and plan.
Gale resolves to forget as best she can, and flee with her family before sunset.
You take Lotte's hand as you cross the street from the side of the Old Ashton Bakery.
As much as you would've enjoyed trying some cafe food, there's not much room in Lotte's diet for sweets. Doesn't sit well with your stomach this early in the morning either.
"Not entirely without appeal," Lotte admits, and takes a moment to enjoy the warm sunshine bearing down on you.
“The interior was notable. Unthreatening…obsolete."
She laughs softly, closes her eyes, and leans back to pop her back.
"Harmless."
Lotte is wearing a gray band shirt and a long sleeved maroon shirt underneath, with thumb holes on the cuff to keep them from sliding down her and exposing her scars.
A pair of dark gray jeans completes the look. Lotte sighs when she sees you staring at her chest, and presents the graphic to you. “A vagrant with shaggy fur gave it to me. It was during my first visit to the City, when I was barely more than a child."
You tilt your head curiously and lean in. What the fuck…?
Lotte quirks an eyebrow at you and looks away, her nose twitching. “It was outside a club…I was passing by looking for a grocery store. A local band was playing, and it was free."
Are you losing it? You swear it looks like she…
"Pavel, I…have interests." Lotte says, with a hint of self consciousness in her voice. “I'm not bereft of personality. I lived before we met."
You blink, and shake your head.
"Sorry, I thought I saw something that wasn't there before."
Lotte reaches out for you, and brings you in for another surprise kiss.
" You may admire my body whenever you like, dearest…" she sighs, and you return the gesture after a moment's hesitation.
The sensation isn't overwhelming like it has been in the past, nor is Lotte forcing her way into your mouth hungrily.
She wraps her arms across your shoulders and pulls you close, just like she did all those weeks ago in the back office before your medal ceremony.
You wrap your arms around her back when the kiss breaks, and melt into Lotte's embrace.
For the first time in ages, you look like a normal human having a normal day out with his wife.
"My good boy" she whispers with praise, and your heart flutters. “My perfect, obedient human is where he belongs again."
You close your eyes and enjoy holding each other for a while, Lotte's hand resting on your head maternally.
"I'm mommy's good boy." You repeat back, and she exhales softly.
Lotte traces a finger around your ear. "We should move, Starlight. We're drawing an audience."
Hmm?
You pull back from your wife's embrace and look around.
A group of 6 humans, mostly women and a few with small children, have stopped to gawk at you and whisper among themselves from across the street.
They look as if a herd of elephants just stampeded down Main Street: curious but mostly uncomfortable.
Your face lights up immediately, and you bury it in Lotte's chest. “Yes please." You say hastily, and feel relieved when Lotte takes your hand again to lead you further down the street.
The gawkers simply shake their heads and wonder.
Riverton, Wyoming is an old community built by humans long Before there were anthros.
History drips from the walls from this place whatever you look, from the cracked and paved streets beneath your feet to the old brick building advertising businesses that disappeared generations ago.
“EST 1965" seems a lot less ridiculous when you remember the First Chairwoman divided history into “Before" and “After", and renumbered all the years.
You stop to watch a large truck pass by, weighed down with cargo, which comes to a halt at the end of the street.
A pair of anthros holding meters nearby reach around inside an old green electrical box away from the street corner.
"Yeah, this is a wash LT," a rat with dirty hands announces as she shakes the muck from her fur. “The guts are disgusting and anything made of copper was stolen ages ago. This place is hopeless."
The officer, a thin mouse anthro with goggles and a clipboard in her arms, sighs and starts taking notes. "Whole block is rigged to this part of the grid. Ferals never knew what they had. What the hell would these savages do without us?"
You feel Lotte pull your hand gently down the street, and you turn to follow her.
A team of recruits scoots by, under the careful eye of a master sergeant, who directs them in sweeping the streets clean of slush and trash.
Another group of busy recruits has started erecting propaganda posters of the First Chairwoman around the center of town: an old Before-World park and garden.
"The aesthetics of order are as important as service delivery." Lotte explains as you stroll past, her countenance airy and light. “We determine a population's compliance in the first few weeks of occupation. The trustworthy will attend classes on their new duties."
A wad of spit lands near the toe of your boot. You look up to see an old man leaning his head out the window, who slams it shut a moment later. “And those who aren't?"
"A stern warning, and community service."
"And after that…?"
Lotte looks straight ahead.
"The pens."
You shudder.
Mama would sometimes threaten to have you sent to the pens when you were little so you could freeze in a cell and learn obedience the hard way.
Papa lost his temper hard at her after she made that threat once. Mama laughed and couldn't understand why, but Papa understood. No human who's even heard rumors about the pens jokes about them.
You shudder at the thought.
Lotte kisses your cheek and leans down to speak clearly in your ear.
"It's okay, Pavel. Don't be afraid for them…Only 1 in 100 are ever found feral. Humans are naturally submissive once trained properly."
Though Lotte says this, you're not quite sure how true it is. Has she been blinded by patriotism, or does she know from experience?
No point dwelling on this, you suppose.
Today is your very first real date. Why drag yourself down with worry?
You perk yourself up and lean against Lotte's shoulder.
"I believe I see someone we know," she announces almost cheerfully, and points to a tall, young kangaroo seated next to a short brown bunny. “Shall we say hello?"
"Let's." You agree happily, and approach your mutual best friend.
She and PVT Colleen Honore are sitting behind a fold out table advertising food aid for needy civilians.
SSGT Beckett Beckett is tapping her fingers together nervously while talking to a young man in a heavy horsehide coat.
He's not as young as you, almost 30 you suspect, but he looks reasonably healthy and practically towers over your friend.
Not exactly a difficult thing to do, but still worth noting.
Both human and bunny look exceedingly uncomfortable, while Colleen Honore seems set to collapse from secondhand embarrassment.
"So yeah, I'm– I'm here now!" Beckett stammers, red-faced. “I-interesting right? May I have your name, number, and address please?"
The young man coughs into his hand and grimaces. “I'm engaged, miss. Are you guys actually handing out food here, or…?"
The little bunny forces an awkward laugh, and waves her hand. “Of course we are! We need that information for the drop off, silly!"
PVT Honore covers her face with her hand. “Chairwoman's ghost, Beckett…"
The SSGT ignores her protege and hastily fumbles with a clipboard and pen on the table. “N-number–"
She clears her throat.
"Number of dependents in your household, sir? A-and your name, please?"
He glances at you and gestures nervously at your friend. His eyes plead for help.
You nod back, and gesture vaguely with your hand.
Long experience has taught you this is Universal Guy-Code for “She's harmless, bro. I promise!"
_ _ The young man shrugs. "If you say so, dude."
"... We're the Jameson family, miss. We live on a farm near Old Arapahoe." He says slowly. “2141 Cedar Road, off Old 748. Just me, my ma, and my little sister."
"My name's Beckett Beckett!" The little bunny says, unprompted. “Isn't that interesting? You're so interesting, Jameson!"
He coughs.
Lotte blinks.
"Absolutely harmless!!!" You shout with your eyes. "She's great, really!"
Colleen appears to be suffering heart failure from sheer awkwardness. She takes her head in her hands, puts her face against the table, and groans. “Death will be a grand adventure…"
"I am… going to go now," Jameson announces, and walks off.
Beckett waves her hand ever so slightly too fast as the young man leaves.
Her face falls sadly the moment he's out of earshot.
"Did I botch that…?" She asks timidly.
"Titanically, ma'am." Colleen says bluntly. “You're great, Sergeant, but you have a no charisma modifier."
Beckett runs her hands down her face, slumps over, and muffles a frustrated groan.
"He seemed so nice thooooough!" The little bunny wails in defeat. "Why do boys have to be so hard?!"
"Don't think he could have been softer…" you murmur, and Lotte elbows you in the ribs.
"Sorry!" you whisper.
Your wife detaches herself from your side and puts a hand on Beckett's shoulder.
"How is your forearm, BB?" She asks, genuinely concerned.
The little bunny sniffles, and wipes a few stray tears from her eyes with her sleeve. “Fine…" She manages through the hurt, and perks up a bit in her seat. “Not infected anymore, which is good I guess. Still kinda shaky. Dropped my toothbrush in the sink this morning."
Lotte closes her eyes, and breathes a sigh of relief.
Your wife surprises everyone by wrapping her arms around Beckett and pulling her into an embrace.
The little bunny jumps in surprise, and does her best not to touch your wife while her eyes shoot around in a panic.
"W-what's happening?! What are you doing??" She asks fearfully.
Lotte tilts her head. “I am…hugging you, SSGT."
"Why though?!" BB sputters. “Is something going on??"
Your wife glances at you for help.
You raise your hands and shrug nervously.
Just as confused as Beckett, honestly.
Colleen props her head up on the table and watches the unfolding scene curiously.
"You are… sad, Beckett. It makes me upset to see you sad."
"..."
"It is customary to hug back, Staff Sergeant."
Beckett's hands slowly touch Lotte's side with all the unsteady caution of a green-as-grass recruit checking for landmines.
Your wife closes her eyes and hums a soft tune to herself.
"I have…difficulty communicating my emotions at times. Affection is not something I am used to expressing, most especially not in public, but I want you to know that I am trying." Lotte begins tentatively.
"I have changed a great deal since we became friends, Beckett. I've never felt alone for as long as we've known each other, no matter how hard I've tried to push you away at times. I need you to know that I…"
Lotte takes a moment to collect her thoughts.
Tears well up in the little bunny's eyes again.
The whole ensemble watches your wife with bated breath.
"I want you to know, BB, that I appreciate you. I know how hard you've been working to help Pavel and I care for one other, and I need you to understand that I care for you too. Things are going to get better, Beckett. You'll find him soon…I promise."
Lotte takes a deep breath.
"I lost my first little sister an age ago. Thank you for being the second, BB. I love you."
Beckett's nose is running, and she's fighting like hell to hold back tears.
"Pavel, is Lotte dying?"
You shake your head. "I'm just as surprised as you are."
BB takes a deep, shuddering breath and buries her face in Lotte's chest.
Colleen reaches around her kit bag, and gives Beckett a clean towel to dry her face with.
"T-thank you PVT…" she manages after a moment. “Please keep this between us."
"Any time, sarge."
You wrap an arm around Lotte's waist. "You're in a good mood today. I like it. You seem to glow when you're happy."
Your wife slips her hands quietly into her pockets and stares off into the distance. There's a contemplative tone in her voice when she next speaks.
"I feel as though there's been a… fire inside of me my whole life. It's as if I were burning up from frustration. Now it has been extinguished. I feel more the self I was as a child than ever before."
Lotte reaches over to ruffle your hair. Never did you imagine she could be so affectionate when you first met.
"The caress of your hands in the evening takes away my weariness. The food you prepare every morning invigorates me to survive every ordeal. An anthro needs her human. There is simply no other way to put it."
Your little moment is interrupted by the sound of loud conversation and the breaking of bottles coming from nearby.
A dozen or more privates, a few sergeants, and a handful of recruits round the corner and start marching across the park, drunk as skunks and cheering loudly.
"Chairwoman's ghost, those things are fucking ugly, like mutant boys with boobs and shit. Look at that one!" A tall bear laughs, and points to a little girl in a window.
"Fuckin' spots on its face and red hair. You hear the way they fuckin' whine?" A fluffy white hare cadet spits. “Have some self respect, bitches."
Jameson, the young man from earlier, lingers on the edge of the park as if waiting for someone. The cadet, “Rory" according to her uniform, approaches once she notices him.
"You excited boy?~ Ready to be a house husband?~" She croons.
The human comes out of a daydream, and recoils unhappily from the anthro.
"I'm sorry?" Jameson stammers, and cringes when Rory pins his hands and sniffs his neck.
"Don't be coy, cutie.~ I can smell what's on your hands! Won't have to rub 'em out by yourself anymore with real women like me around. Human and anthros are fuckin' made for each other! So why don't you–?"
The cadet stumbles drunkenly when she tries to push her lips against his, and he slaps the bottle of moonshine out of her free hand.
The young man dives to the side and springs to his feet a moment later, taking off running while the hare falls flat on her face.
The other soldiers laugh. The cadet lights up angrily, pulls herself out of the mud, and staggers back onto her feet.
"FUCKING TEASE!" She slurs, and hurls the now empty bottle after him. “LIMP-DICK FAGGOTS LIKE YOU BELONG IN THE PENS!" She shouts, and the bottle shatters against the ground not far from where you're standing.
Lotte slips between you and the glass protectively, and once satisfied you're unharmed, takes off like an angry demon towards the mass of unruly soldiers.
"I want your Captain's name and unit number, BOOT!" She shouts over the laughter, and their mood changes quickly.
"SCATTER!" Someone shouts, and they all take off running down the street, laughing like it's all a big game and breaking more glass on the road as they go.
The cadet turns to flee, but she stumbles drunkenly on her own feet and is slammed into the ground by Lotte.
"The fuck–" she slurs angrily, her voice dripping with indignation. “Get off me, cunt! What the hell is your name, huh?! DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM?!"
"The First Chairwoman's granddaughter, General of the Armies, and Idiot-In-Chief no doubt." Lotte quips sardonically, and forces the cadet's face into the mud. “Disappointing daughters of 3rd rate bureaucrats always end up at Sioux Falls."
Lotte looks over her shoulder. “SSGT, call the MPs and have them bring a van. This one is going to give me every name she can remember."
No crowd of gawkers has gathered this time, but there's also no shortage of witnesses turning away from their windows either.
Cadet Rory stops squirming once she realizes no threats will save her, and switches to profuse apologies and excuses.
She's stopped struggling by the time the military police arrive.
Everyone is surprised to see a tall wolf anthro with an eye patch step out of the back with them.
"LtCol!" Lotte announces, and the other two soldiers with you stand to salute. “Surprised to see you here, ma'am."
The supernaturally friendly wolf waves with her fingers at you pleasantly before turning back to Lotte.
"I happened to be in the neighborhood when we got the call. I hate to interrupt you two during your date, but something's come up and we need you back on base, Major."
Lotte passes her detainee off to the MPs, and salutes respectfully. You can't help but notice though how quickly she slips into parade rest.
"Unfortunate. May I have a moment?"
LtCol Clark waves your wife off playfully, and Lotte approaches you again.
"I'm sorry, dearest." She apologizes.
"It's alright Lotte. Just the nature of the beast. I'm gonna hang around town for a bit, if that's okay. Have some fun with the girls."
Lotte pats your head. “Good boy."
She reaches around her pocket for a moment, then deposits a white envelope with Beckett.
"You, Pavel, and Colleen go for lunch together. There are New Bismarck Dollars and Old United Dollars in there. Leave what you don't spend with my things, SSGT."
Lotte leans in to murmur quietly to her friend. “Buy him something nice if you find anything. Use discretion."
Beckett puts the envelope in her front pocket and salutes. “Will do, Major! Congratulations on your promotion."
Your wife departs with LtCol Clark in the back of the military police van a moment later.
—
MC2 Farshaw looks around the old Frequent Flyers Lounge at Wyoming Regional Airport.
She stands alone in the old, ornate room, which until very recently was smothered in the detritus of decades of neglect and disuse.
Spiderwebs, dirt, and chunks of ceiling once made the place entirely unusable.
Now its restored hardwood floors reflect electric light from the ceilings again.
The rotten leather furniture has all been replaced, and there's even functional outlets again.
That last bit is going to make this next part exceptionally easy for the calico; Doreen Goll is many things, chief among them lazy.
MC2 starts her evening task by getting on her hands and knees to look for bugs under the coffee table.
Finding none immediately, she moves on to checking all the outlets for unnecessary splitters and surge protectors.
One is found almost immediately, which she follows to reveal a microphone embedded into a wall on the far side of the room.
A bit of tape and a pair of scissors neutralizes them.
Further examination of the outlets reveals another unnecessary surge protector, and two more inconspicuously placed microphones.
"Honestly, this is just sad…" Farshaw grumbles internally, and takes extra glee in snipping two additional cords with her scissors. “I wish Inspector Davis was still with us. At least she was sober."
Satisfied that there are no more listening devices, she begins searching for video devices instead.
Using an ordinary flashlight with red plastic wrapped over the lense, MC2 immediately finds 2 cameras embedded in a lamp and an obviously placed smoke detector. The reflection from their lenses gives them away immediately.
"Bismarck doesn't even mandate these, so why the hell would a brand new one be on the ceiling? Sloppy work, Inspector."
Maybe Goll doesn't even do this herself anymore.
Maybe the boots she gives cigarettes to do it for her.
Whatever. It's not even worth mulling over anymore. Her time with Army Group C and Ft. Douglas is almost over.
With her task complete, MC2 Farshaw knocks on the double-doors three times.
"Clear!" She announces.
"Standby," replies a voice from the other side.
Major Anatolia Charles and Colonel Brienne Honore enter the frequent flyers lounge and take their seats around a curious metal and plastic box on the coffee table.
"Motorola ©, 1982" is written on the side in faded letters.
"Any unexplained power draw?" Asks the Colonel.
"None, ma'am."
"Any unknown radio signals?" Asks the Major.
"Not a one." Farshaw replies with a respectful salute.
"Excellently done, Communications Specialist. Show the rest of the girls in as they come."
The calico clicks her boots together and steps outside.
Colonel Honore doesn't have to wait long for the others to arrive.
First comes Doctor-Major Roe, still wearing bloody scrubs from the day's emergency surgery.
"Sorry to show up looking like this, but we've been crunched for time lately. It's been a nightmare for us today."
"That's alright," Honore says with a wave of her hand, and lights a cigar from her pocket.
The snow leopard frowns at her commanding officer, but says nothing.
LtCol Amanda Clark and the inner circle's newest member, Major Lotte Obmeyer, enter the room not a moment later.
One is wearing her good field uniform, while the other has on a surprising ensemble of civilian clothes.
" Fang Face, huh? Think my eldest daughter is into them." Roe teases.
"I was not permitted time to change into my uniform." Obmeyer replies, and scans the room with her usual neutral frown.
"Additionally, I was not informed on the nature of this meeting."
LtCol Clark takes her seat by the table as Major Obmeyer follows close behind. “Just a little something we girls “in the know" hold sometimes." The wolf says cryptically, and adjusts her eye patch. “You'll understand what this is about in a moment."
"Are we ready then?" Asks Major Charles.
"I certainly am." Replies the Colonel. “MC2, please dial the number on the table, put this thing on speaker, and standby for further instruction."
The calico complies wordlessly, then steps aside as the phone rings.
A nasally-voiced coyote anthro answers a moment later. "This is Inspector-Prosecutor DeWitt. With whom am I speaking, and how did you get this number?"
Major Obmeyer's eyes widen.
"Good evening. This is Colonel Brienne Honore, calling to let the Cheyenne Office know Mt. Ashina has raised the white flag. All combat operations have ceased, and we've begun organizing the occupation."
"This report is outside your duties, Colonel." The coyote growls shortly. “Where is Inspector Goll? Why hasn't she called us herself?"
Obmeyer and Charles exchange glances.
"I'm afraid she's been preoccupied with Colonel Shepherd and boy troubles. Inspector Goll has been unresponsive to our invitations and absent from the War Council for the last two weeks."
DeWitt rolls her eyes on the other end of the line. "Noted. Be aware that Senior Inspector Anselm has been dispatched with a team of our most qualified rank-and-file to handle the end of this delicate political situation. They are to be granted the same clearance and shown the same deference as befits Inspector Goll."
'Poor choice of words.' Lotte thinks.
LtCol Clark presents a travel manifest to the table. Major Obmeyer notes that the cars earmarked for use are on the other side of Former Wyoming.
'Interesting choice of transport, LtCol. It'll take days to get her team here from Cheyenne.' She thinks.
"Of course, Inspector DeWitt. Unfortunately, that will no longer be necessary; The fortress was occupied at 1400 today. We have The Göktürk on ice."
No response comes from Cheyenne immediately.
"... Say again, Colonel? Connection unclear."
"We've autopsied the stag's corpse. Found something interesting between his legs, too ."
More silence, followed by raucous activity in the background.
"ALL OF YOU OUT!" Shouts Inspector Prosecutor DeWitt. “CLEAR THE ROOM! TOP SECRET PERSONNEL ONLY! SOMEONE GET INSPECTOR DAVIS IN HERE!"
Her phone scrapes audibly across some surface.
When next the nasally voice speaks, her tone has darkened considerably.
"I hope you understand this is a very dangerous game you're playing, Colonel. Me and mine have no compunction terminating "unmanageable assets.""
"Withholding intelligence from High Command is a dangerous game, Inspector DeWitt. There is a kill-on-sight, no-contact order for all male anthros as old as The State. What's your explanation for the letters in his old castle, or the synthetic tires on his personal kill-wagon, Inspector?"
"I need no explanation, and I owe you nothing ! The Göktürk's body became Inspectorate property the moment he died, and Army Group C was never authorized to negotiate with the enemy. Any tampering with the stag's corpse will be–"
"So you admit that the stag and the Göktürk were one in the same?" Honore interrupts angrily. “You admit to withholding vital information from this expedition?"
DeWitt sputters angrily. "I said nothing of the sort, Colonel! You've put words in my mouth!"
Doc Roe rolls her eyes. Honore spits coarsely into a nearby bucket.
"Medical has already confirmed the Göktürk's identity, as has eyewitness testimony and correspondence from your office, Inspector. Army Group C has lost faith in the Inspectorate, and will be contacting the Governing Council directly over this matter."
A tense moment passes, and the conspirators exchange glances.
"I see you've come prepared, Colonel. Has Army High Command been informed of this matter?"
"Not yet," the Colonel says, and Major Obmeyer notes the lie in her voice. “But that can always change. Buy our silence, or lose everything. The choice is yours, Inspector."
"...we need time to consider our options and make a decision."
"The time is now, ladies. You'll authorize our demands now."
" Tch! You don't intimidate me, roo-bitch, nor will I authorize anything." Inspector DeWitt states calmly.
She clears her throat.
“The Cheyenne Office of the Inspectorate, however, will take any suggestions of yours under careful advisement."
LtCol Clark leans back and crosses her legs with a smirk.
"Easy day." She announces, and the conspirators congratulate themselves on a play well executed.
>"Standby, Inspector DeWitt."
Colonel Honore sets aside her cigar and picks up a handwritten note from the table.
"1: Wind River, Ft. Douglas, and the rest of Former Wyoming will have their safety rating upgraded from “Periphery" to “Interior." We want our families back, and we want them by the end of the month."
Inspector DeWitt holds a fierce whisper-argument with her colleagues before replying.
"Done."
Major Roe breaks into her Cheshire smile, while Major Charles clenches her fist triumphantly. “Hell yeah…" she growls. “About fuckin' time."
Lotte's face remains impassive, but her eyes close and she leans back.
Pavel is safe at last. Doreen's threats have been spayed.
"2: The Cheyenne Inspectorate will endorse the Human Helper Initiative, and approve additional funding for administrative and medical training."
"Done."
The choice was an obvious one: a reward for the enlisted, and a practical step towards solving their manpower issues.
Every male that takes over a non-essential function is an anthro freed for combat duty.
"3: All pending legal action against Army personnel and their kin will be dropped immediately."
DeWitt scoffs. “This is about the boy again, isn't it? Does your little mascot miss his mommy? Are you all truly so bothered by due process?"
Colonel Honore laughs self assuredly, and takes another puff from her cigar.
“We are, as a matter of fact. He's a phenomenon among the enlisted, and my daughter's taken a shine to him. Have the Koslov family released, and get them to Ft. Douglas by Wednesday. First class tickets, if you'd please."
DeWitt groans. "Founding Day is Wednesday, Colonel. That's not happening. Maybe we can put them in a luggage car, but don't expect any miracles."
Honore twirls her cigar and blows a puff of smoke. “You have a private rail car, Inspector."
"For official business only, Colonel."
"This is official business."
DeWitt sighs. “Fine. Done."
Lotte runs a hand through her hair and sighs, looking as if the weight of the world has fallen from her shoulders. “ Freiheit zuletscht … " she sighs. “I cannot properly express my gratitude. My husband will be elated."
Doc Roe rests a hand on Obmeyer's shoulder. “Pavel's gone above and beyond everything we've asked of him, Major. You've trained him well, and we love him for it."
The dour rabbit raises her hand to her mouth, as if in deep thought. Roe can see the smile hidden behind it. “Thank you, Doctor."
Inspector DeWitt interrupts the moment. “Fucking… hold on, damnit. We need to double check something…" She murmurs ominously, and the microphone shuffles on the other end of the line.
"…we can get you the daughters, but not the mother."
Honore rolls her eyes. "And why would that be, Inspector DeWitt?"
"She's dead."