Broken Front, Fallen Skies by Alpharius

Broken Front, Fallen Skies

Alpharius, Alternate History, Anthrostate, Bittersweet, Blood And Gore, Conflict, Culture shock, Enemies to Friends To Lovers, Enemies to friends, Eventual Smut, Eventual sex, Femdom, Friends to lovers, Gender Role Reversal, HMOFA, Hope on the horizon, Human, Human Male x Female Anthro, Hurt/Comfort, Interspecies relations, Interspecies sex, Maned Wolf, Military, Minor Character Death, Novel, PTSD, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Power Imbalance, Sci-Fi, Science Fiction, Scifi, Size Difference, Slow Burn, Story, Story Progression, Story Series, Trauma, War, War crimes, hmofa

For four decades, what remains of the former United States—Now under a new banner, has fought for their people's continued freedom in the face of the constant encroachment of the Anthrostate.

Lance, a Free American States combat medic, struggles to keep his humanity in an increasingly bleak war during the collapse of Colorado; one of the few remaining bastions of freedom.

He will learn that not everything he was taught is true, and that war isn't black or white. Upon meeting his sworn enemy, a maned wolf, he begins to question everything he had been indoctrinated to believe.

He will have to answer a question he had never thought to ask. Would he rather be free? Or happy?

Broken Front, Fallen Skies

Part I

~ Dum Spiro Spero ~

‘While I breathe, I hope’

Sierra Sector News : "Record snowfall continues to blanket much of the States North American Sectors. On the frontier, our girls bundle up in cutting edge armor and heated barracks! Tune in tomorrow to follow our special video report, featuring, Ms. Tisha Wolfkill, as she tours with a platoon of hard hitting and elite Recovery Corps troops! The Recovery Corps is tasked with rounding up wounded, scared, and starving men of the rebel territories of the former United States. Estimates place nearly 1300 men recovered and brought into our care in the last month alone! Now those poor humans, who have needlessly fought and suffered for so long, can experience what it means to be loved and provided for by the wonderful women of the State!"

Free States Media : "Another quiet day across the front. Our men and women in uniform continue to hold the line - having successfully stopped all attempted incursions this month. Not a single paw of the Anthrostate has tread on our land, and as long as we continue to fight, the last true bastion of freedom, the FSA, will continue to hold the line! For more information on how you can enlist and protect this great nation, contact you nearest recruitment officer. Sign on ration bonuses for your and your family are currently being offered! Act fast, and preserve freedom!"

“Come on, let’s just get this over with,” I grumble and grab the side of a large metal drum. It sloshes around as an unholy concoction of disease, and I nearly gag. I’m tempted to drop the damn thing, but that’d probably just fling shit everywhere, so I instead carry on with the hated task.

With a final grunt of effort, we lower it where this abhorrent task is always carried out. Jacob hacks up some mucus, “Damned cold. I always get sinus infections this time of year.”

I ignore his bitching and grab a can of diesel, dumping it into the filth. Lighting the match next, I threw it in and quickly stepped back - though the entire spectacle lacked flair. No explosion or surge of flames. I turn from the rising smoke, which is as black as burnt engine oil.

I grimace as Jacob is busy blowing snot onto the ground, jetting it from each nostril, “Jesus man, can you not do that every five minutes?”

He throws me a glance and shrugs, “What do you want me to do? I can’t breathe if I don’t, and we ran out of the meds last week.”

I sigh and accept his reasoning. Come to think of it, we were low on everything except ammunition. Our forward operating base was repeatedly overlooked for resupply, and that’s because it’s positioned so we can overlook the valley below and spot any attack with ease, which seems to have convinced the Anthrostate to ignore this position. In the twenty days I’ve been stationed here at Point Echo, we’ve only spotted their troop movements from many miles out and only through our binoculars.

What I first considered a blessing, to be assigned to such an easily defensible position, has turned into my worst enemy since Drill Sergeant Smith at basic training. Boredom.

“Yo, you two, get over here!”

I look around for the voice and quickly find it. Our squad leader, Sergeant Samantha, is waving at us. We jogged over, the unusual urgency in her tone drawing my curiosity, “Something wrong?”

We stop in front of her and glance at each other as she stands there, frowning. Usually, my superior frowning like this would make me think I was getting more latrine duty, but it seems genuine rather than malicious.

“We’re leaving the wire.”

I sputter, not in fear, but disbelief, “What?”

Jacob jabs the air, “Fuck yea! About time.”

“Work on getting your heads in the right space. We leave in two hours.” She begins walking towards our only barracks, “Gotta let the others know. Details soon.”

As a soldier with renewed purpose, I’m supposed to be excited. Instead, I feel apprehensive for a reason that I’m struggling to pin down. That’s when it clicks in my mind, “After sundown? We don’t have any night vision.”

She stops, but doesn’t turn back to face us, “That’s correct.”

Even Jacob, known as Sunshine for his never-ending optimism, is now frowning. I fight against a shiver of fear, hoping he didn’t notice. With few words, we go our separate ways. I head for one of the sandbag bunkers so that I can look over the valley. Entering the small dugout, I’m greeted by a corporal I don’t know. He goes back to scanning, and I lean into the firing slit, wondering what lies beyond in the distant town and wilderness.

We’re around seventy-five kilometers southwest of Denver. Closer to Colorado Springs, actually. In one of the ten states that form the Free American States. A country reformed from the broken United States. The FAS has been holding on for four decades, though I was only drafted ten months ago, at twenty-six. When first formed by the remnants of the US military, we controlled everything west of the Mississippi River.

News reached us a few weeks ago that Alaska had been annexed. It fell six months ago. How they held on so long while isolated is anyone’s guess. I’m not sure if the FAS government decides to conceal our losses for so long to maintain morale or for another reason. It doesn’t matter, I suppose.

At this point, everyone knows we’re losing. When that reality hit the civilian population four years ago, all hell broke loose. Riots, two attempted coups, and the rapid loss of frontier territory. Our leadership announced a change to the military’s strategic priorities. No longer would we engage in sector-wide fighting, trying to preserve every soldier and civilian. Instead, we established firm defensive fortifications and outposts in depth along our border. It has left us stretched thin.

The intention was to bleed the anthro’s no matter where they pressed on the borders. To hold our ground at all costs. No more retreating other than in the face of total annihilation. I watched the sunset, knowing that we’d be crossing into foreign territory soon. My initial apprehension is beginning to turn into fear. Doubt eats at my mind. Those damned things out there can see in the dark without special gear! My squad may as well be blindfolded compared to them.

“Found you. Come on, Samantha needs us.”

I push myself up and find Joe standing with his arms crossed, his typical glare seeming to unsettle the corporal next to me. I strap on my helmet, “Right.”

I follow him to the center of our FOB, where a small plywood-and-sandbag structure serves as a briefing room. I entered, glad to no longer feel the icy winter breeze. However, it’s probably only a couple of degrees warmer inside than out there.

“Gather round,” Samantha is standing in front of four others, next to a whiteboard which is covered with a poorly drawn, overhead view of the town in the valley, “This is Mill Springs. Eight hundred live there, according to estimates. Humans and their… handlers,” she points to a spot in the town, “As far as we can ascertain, this building is the local anthro barracks. Observation of patrols places them around forty strong, but that’s tentative at best.”

Her finger lands on another building, which is nearly as large as a third of the entire town. “This is our target. Command believes the anthros are holding up to a hundred or more men there at any given point, all of whom are POWs from various units that have been captured. The prisoners have been observed arriving and then leaving in convoys every three weeks. The cycle then repeats.”

Alice, whom we all call Machine due to her uncanny ability to shut out emotion, raises her hand, “Much as I hate to see our boys treated like cattle down there, this is happening everywhere. If this has gone on for weeks, maybe even months, why the sudden interest in it? Why this spot in particular?”

Samantha rubs the bridge of her nose, “Our task is to get close, make ourselves comfortable, and observe. It has been stressed upon me that we cannot, under any circumstances, be discovered.”

I raise my hand next, “Why? We can see what they’re doing from up here.”

“That’s true. What we can’t see are the identities of those men.”

Every face present looks around, trying to find an answer. I ask, “Who are we looking for, exactly?”

She reaches into one of her pockets and pulls out her phone, turning the screen to us all. The responses are rapid.

“Fuck.”

“That’s not good.”

“No. Not good at all.”

She pocketed her phone, “Which is why our mouths stay shut. No one outside this room hears about this – under threat of firing squad.”

Her lips pursed as her eyes shifted around the room, “State Command in Denver is gone. The whole city has been overrun. To make things worse, that stupid fucking PR campaign our infinitely wise President ordered the general to undertake is exactly how he was captured. What was supposed to be his discreet little convoy was hit ten klicks west.”

“How?” I ask, “He was behind the front!”

Jacob interrupts, “How the hell did they get his exact route, anyway?”

“I dunno, Sunshine. Doesn’t really matter now.”

With state command and its general gone, the state could fall. We all understand this is the prelude to a larger offensive – it had to be. Colorado has seen many victories, even if small ones, thanks to his command. It makes sense that the anthros would want him enough to risk infiltrating our lines.

What doesn’t make sense is why they’re sending us. I release my hold on my rifle and let the sling take control, “Why bother sending us? This is something for the Rangers.”

“You’re right.”

“So where are they?”

“The entirety of the 11th Mountain Rangers group has been destroyed. They were called in during the Battle of Denver. The bitches didn’t even bother capturing them – reports are that they executed any Ranger that they got their paws on. Too much bad blood, I guess. So, seeing as how I’m the most experienced NCO here, and our little hamlet being the closest thing command has to the target, well, the choice was clear.”

Joe, our designated marksman, also known as Grumpy, lifts his rifle and slaps its mag, “Fucking hell. When are we going to get some good news?”

Sunshine chimes in, “Already forget San Francisco?”

No one dignifies that with a response. Samantha, known as Streak, for the number of reported kills she has, steps between our formation, “Alright, everyone gets a three-day assault pack from the armory. Take only what you need – ounces count.”

We follow her to the largest structure we have, only to be stopped by two guards. They ask her a few questions, and she presents a slip of paper, which the MPs read before stepping aside and letting her pass. The rest of the squad follows, and soon I’m met by something that almost makes me feel better. Rifles, squad automatic weapons, pistols, grenades, belts of .50 caliber ammo, mortar shells, spare body armor and helmets, plus a few anti-tank launchers, all of which line lockers and tables. A good portion of our rations and medical supplies were here as well. Also waiting for us were brand-new uniforms, presumably to help reduce body odor as much as possible.

Samantha stopped at a table to grab a fragmentation grenade, “LT made it clear to me that we get first pick of anything and everything we want – just keep in mind that this is for recon, so don’t be stupid.”

Our last squad member, Diego, also known as the Whisper, finally speaks, “Very good. Now I can exchange this little thing for something better.” He drops his beat-up M4 Carbine into a locker and grabs an M243. A squad automatic weapon.

I chuckle, “We’re not supposed to fight on this one, Whisper.”

He raises an eyebrow but says nothing. His typical response. I focus on loading my assault pack with medical supplies. All the typical shit of a first aid kit, as well as chest seals, tourniquets, a trach-tube, and various other tools of the trade. I was a Combat Medic, one of only two at this base. I stuffed in a couple of MREs, but to conserve weight, I pack more Ration Bars instead.

“Hey, Lance,” I look up at Sunshine, “You still need a callsign, man.”

Grumpy scoffs, “Ain’t earned it yet. Ain’t killed.”

He was right. In the ten months since my conscription, I’ve only trained, been stuck at a rear supply base, tending to some wounded that occasionally passed through, and then finally stuck here where I joined this squad. I frown, “Well, that might change soon.”

Streak looks up from an M4 magazine she’s been loading, “Not this time. Better not.”

I sigh and concede the point and find myself hoping she’s right. That I won’t earn one yet. I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready to kill, even an anthro, and be able to live with myself afterwards. I mean, everything I’ve been told since I was a kid is that they’re no better than feral animals. That they treat men like pets. What they do to human women they capture – it’s a subject avoided by all.

And we’ve all heard the stories of the ‘corrective punishments’ they subject the men to. After gearing up and donning our new uniforms, Streak slings her rifle and nods towards me, “Good to go?”

Donning my assault pack, I nod, “Ready.”

The others offer affirmation as well, and she leads us out and into the night. I’m thankful the moon is full, and the sky is clear, since we’re going to need every source of light we can get. We follow a dirt path to the edge of the base, where a rifleman stands guard. He watches us leave. I’m not sure how much he knows, but apparently, it’s enough to not bother us.

Streak stops and looks out over the valley, shrouded in darkness. Only the town is defined, streetlights and homes visible for miles around, “Spread out, staggered column. Watch your step. Mouths shut; eyes sharp. Let’s go.”

I fell into formation, taking up the last spot. My hands tremble as I squeeze my rifle, holding it in a low-ready position from my sling. The sound of an occasional rock being kicked down the slope contrasts with owls and other night animals and insects, which I’ve grown accustomed to when on watch at night. Every noise draws my eyes. It must be five or six degrees at most, and yet I feel like I’m on fire.

We’re all clothed in our military’s typical camo. We wear the winterized version, however. Fleece jacket, gloves, thermal underwear, and probably most importantly, balaclavas. The idea behind covering everything but our eyes is to reduce an anthro’s ability to distinguish between a male or female soldier from a distance.

It takes an hour to reach the valley, where Streak stops us. She uses hand signals to communicate what she needs, and we all obey without question. We move into an arrowhead formation, careful with each step as we place a boot on the ground. We move with deliberate slothfulness, and I’m glad. I don’t find myself feeling too eager to see an anthro up close for the first time. I’ve seen the videos and heard the stories, hell, I’ve even stitched up some claw wounds before.

But knowing I’m going to see a bunch of predators in person for the first time scares the shit outta me. They don’t even need weapons to maim or kill us. They can literally eviscerate a human with their claws or tear chunks of flesh with fangs as easily as I can crush a can of soda. Not to mention their speed, endurance, or strength. I’m sure they must have a couple of hundred pounds on me, too.

A hand lifts, and I stop with the others, kneeling and raising my rifle to a ready position. A breath later, we’re signaled to lie down as two armored trucks race by on a nearby road, their headlights missing the crop of trees we lie in. Damn, those things were quiet. We begin our journey towards the town once more, skirting it to the southeast. The level terrain begins to slope upward as we trek further into the wilderness surrounding Mill Springs for another twenty or thirty minutes.

“There,” Streak speaks, catching me off guard.

I look where she points through a break in the trees: a small hill with a sheer drop on the side facing town. We can’t be more than a half mile or so from our target, as the glow of streetlights and homes has begun to peek through the trees.

She motions to Grumpy and Machine, who kneel next to her, “Check and make sure it’s clear. If it has a good sightline to the target building, let me know.”

Machine nods as Grumpy takes the lead, “Roger, sarge.”

We watch them jog in a low stance, disappearing into a dip, then reappearing as they climb the hill. They go prone and edge towards the drop, watching the town for a few minutes. One of them waves to us, and we move up. It takes five minutes to reach them at a moderate pace. As I crawl into position next to Sunshine, I can see into the town center and our target building.

Right now, there’s not much activity. The pseudo-prison looks unremarkable – likely intentionally to avoid drawing too many curious eyes. A few anthro troops dot the perimeter, and several groups patrol in pairs. From this distance, I can’t make out individual species. I pull out my binoculars to get a better look. At the magnification I have them set to, the predator images should be clear. Still, they struggle to bring the enemy into focus for a reason I can’t discern. Pieces of junk.

I lower them and sigh in frustration. I look to my right and notice that Machine is staring at me, though her eyes aren’t on my face. I follow her gaze to my binoculars, where the strap jiggles audibly – the fabric and plastic vibrating against the metal frame. I look back up at her eyes, and she looks into mine. I look over her and at the others who are also watching me. ‘Good job, Lance.” I think. They go back to watching our target, and I find myself grateful that no one uttered as much as a syllable.

Streak pats Machine’s helmet, “First watch falls to Machine and Grumpy. Second to Sunshine and Whisper. Lance and I will take up the last watch. Rotation every four hours. You see anything odd or the VIP, make it known. The rest of you, get some rest.” I follow her and the others at a crawl until we reach the bottom of the hill and can seat ourselves against some boulders.

I lower my helmet into the boulder I lean against, fighting against my shame and fear. Sunshine taps one of my arms, “We all feel it.”

I look at him, hoping he’s telling the truth and not just trying to make me feel better. I try to nod in answer, but he slides away and crosses his arms over the rifle slung on his chest, then closes his eyes. Guess I should try to do the same. I’ll need to be alert when it’s my time to take over.

Darkness is what I focus on, trying to empty my mind of anything but what I assume is happening to the men inside that prison. I’m not sure how long I’ve sat here, motionless and silent, but I can hear the others shifting around. Someone brushes against my leg as they crawl past and up the hill. I ignore it and not long after, open my eyes. The sky is starting to take on light.

I reach for my assault pack to grab a ration bar. I thought I’d need the MREs, but I barely have enough hunger to finish the shitty little 800kcal bar. As I ball the wrapper in my hands, the whisper of a voice calls down to us, “Movement.”

Any fatigue I had washed away. Pulled from me like the tide of an uncaring ocean pulling refuse into its depths, never to be seen again. I sit and listen, death grip on my rifle, as our sergeant crests the hill to watch whatever it is they see.

“Shit.”

“Yep.”

Now my heart is pounding. I go to lift myself, but Grumpy grabs my arm and shakes his head. He nods to the clearing adjacent to us, the one we had moved through the night before. A human man is lazily walking the field, not bothering to glance anywhere but his feet. He’s headed right for us.

Grumpy raises his suppressed rifle at the man and flicks off its safety, his finger entering the trigger guard. A strange mix of dread and surprise races through my mind, fighting to see which can cross the finish line first. I clench my teeth to stop myself from snapping at him and giving away our position. Why the hell would he aim at one of our own? My eyes darted between him, the stranger, and our leader. She watches as well but says nothing.

I can feel the pulse in my neck, and it feels like it’s being squeezed. The clouds above move like molasses; the trees, once swaying branches, are still. Time stops as I watch the man look up, his mouth dropping as he spots us. I’m hit by a wave of pressure – warmth kissing the skin around my eyes. I blink. He’s gone. Just another feature in the field. Like a stone, to be forgotten. Not even worth a second glance.

I yank my balaclava down and vomit. Water and the tang of bile. Grumpy puts a hand on my back, but I shrug him off, “Don’t fucking touch me!”

Streak slides down to us, “Lance!”

“He just murdered that man in cold blood! A human!”

She pulls my balaclava up, “Listen to me. He wasn’t one of us. He was one of them.”

“But-”

“We can’t take that risk.”

“It’s wrong.”

She sighs, “Fine, let’s say you were right. He sees us but turns and leaves. He never says a word to his ‘wife’ or an anthro soldier. He gets to live, we get to live, and we complete the mission. But what if you’re wrong?”

I clench my jaw, “I…”

“Would you risk our lives, the lives of those men in that prison, and the lives of our soldiers at Point Echo, just to feel you did the right thing? Could you live with yourself if you were wrong?”

Machine looks into my eyes, “We’ve seen what happens if you take that chance. And it doesn’t end well, Lance.”

My mind races for answers. To justify, somehow, someway, that I knew he was one of us. On our side. That he wouldn’t have said anything to the enemy. I can’t find that answer. I look around at the others. Not one of them seems disturbed – not even Sunshine. In basic training, it was drilled into us that the humans beyond our lines were victims. That they were forced to do things they didn’t want to do. That we could rescue them – bring them into freedom once more.

I take a step back. My mind finally stops, and I realize that both answers to her question are wrong. For the first time in my life, I realized that there were no victors in war. Only survivors. Now I must live with the fact that I’m an accessory to murder. Not a warrior who takes life for a good cause or in defense of their brother-in-arms. No. Simply, a killer. Or at least someone who silently watches. A fence sitter.

They take my silence as compliance or acceptance and move back to their positions. I collapsed into a boulder, shuddering once. Emotions wash away; in their place, nothing. As empty as my stomach is now. I don’t dare look at the field’s addition. Instead, I close my eyes and settle into listening to my surroundings. Waiting to be called to act. To take the next watch.

Soon enough, the call does arrive. I crawl up the hill and look over our target. The guards are still there. Still patrolling. But now they’re joined by an active town. Men and their ‘wives’ walk the sidewalks, disappearing into shops and restaurants. I can see laughter and smiles. I can almost hear it. All I’ve known for months is stern indifference from my fellow soldiers. Silent defeatism, or foolhardy hope. Somewhere in that town, a… woman, waits for her man. A man who will never return.

Will she ever find out what happened? When we leave, will someone stumble upon his body? Bring a letter to her door, break her heart. Make her into an enemy. Someone willing to fight and kill. I’ll never know. My family, friends, and fellow soldiers would have me believe that, whoever she is, she would simply replace him with little care. But as I watch these people enjoy their lives, a war rages in my heart.

A silent accessory.

A murderer.

A dead husband.

Children, without a parent.

A wife; now a widow.

“Something big is happening.”

I gain control of my thoughts once more, looking down at the three below the hill. Samantha waves down towards the others, “All of you, get up here, now.”

They scramble up on their hands and knees. As they reach us, I turn back and notice five armored trucks in front of the prison. Their turrets are manned by various anthros, and dozens more are gathering at the front of the building. Even more are waving the civilians away, herding them away from view. An armored door swings open, and out steps General Brown.

“Ah, shit.”

“Eyes on VIP.”

A freakishly tall anthro exits from behind him. She’s probably an anthro and a half in terms of height. When my mind registers the deep crimson suit she’s wearing, my heart drops. We all knew that any anthro wearing that kind of suit was a high-level target. Could be military, inspectorate, or someone else. But whoever she was, she was important. Several new anthros form behind her, in lock-step, wearing some kind of deep black armor I’ve never seen before. It conceals them entirely.

Streak grabs her radio, “Mission parameters just changed.”

Whisper charges the bolt on his squad’s automatic weapon, “Just give the word.”

The radio bursts into static. I never take my eyes off her, and though I must squint to make out details, she looks like a hyena. Streak tries several times to contact Point Echo by radio. She slams her fist into the ground, “Piece of shit! They must be jamming signals.”

The hyena follows the general as he’s forced towards a platform outside the prison. Machine is visibly fidgeting, emotion breaking her normally stoic demeanor. “Sarge, what are we doing?”

I watch as the hyena paces in front of the gathered troops, all of which are in formation, standing at attention. Several camera crews, manned by more soldiers, have positioned themselves around the scene. I scoff, “They’re broadcasting?”

We can’t hear her, but judging by her animated gestures and the cheering response of the gathered, it can’t be good. She turns and faces the general, who is forced to his knees by a pair of guards. She approaches him, towering over him even as she tries to kneel to his level. Her head reels back, and she wipes her face with a paw. She then backhanded him, sending him to the ground. She stomps on one of his knees, and even from here, it visibly crushes.

“Fuck, man.”

Sunshine grimaces, “Sarge, if we’re gonna do something, we gotta do it now. The bitch is going to kill him!”

Streak levels her rifle at the scene and flicks off the safety. I take aim as well, sighting in on that hyena through my red dot. At this distance, the dot nearly covers her entirely. In seconds, I watch in horror as the hyena clasps both of her paws on the general’s head and lifts him into the air. His legs are kicking as blood pours down his uniform, turning it dark red.

I yell, “Sergeant!”

My stomach lurches as a cloud of gore explodes from between the hyena’s paws, not a second later, her snarling muzzle taking on the same color as her uniform. As his body drops from her grasp, Samantha screams, “Kill them! Kill them all!”

Weapons fire cascades through the valley. My rifle kicks into my shoulder, unrelenting in its expression of rage. A dozen bodies drop, including the hyena. Those black armored anthros literally jump on her, shielding her with their own bodies. They drag her behind the armored vehicles as we pour everything we’ve got into the scene.

Dirt kicks up around us as tracers and mortars land. The ground vibrates with each impact, and as I empty my first magazine and go to reload, someone yanks me upwards, “We gotta go!”

All six of us sprint in the direction of Point Echo, our distant FOB that I can barely make out. It’s over two hours away, at best speed. As we rush through the field, mortars splashing down around us, I trip on something and face-plant into something moist. I sputter at the scent of iron and acrid air. I nearly gagged as I lifted my head from the gore-slicked ground to see what I ran into.

No. No, no, no! It’s him. My body starts to lock up, but I’m not allowed to shut down entirely as a hand yanks me up and pulls me. My stumbling strides even out after a few yards, and Streak releases my arm. I don’t dare look back. I screamed out in fear, disgust, and regret as we rushed into the trees. My stomach would empty itself if anything were left in it. As we burst through the first dozen trees, we’re ordered to a halt.

“Fuck!”

“What the fuck happened back there!”

“I dunno!”

My squad mates are panicking. It quickly settles in how fucked we are. If seasoned men and women are panicking, what the hell am I supposed to do? Streak grits her teeth and tries to slow her breathing, “We’ve all taken the evasion course.”

‘Yeah, all ten minutes of it in the form of a dated video, ’ I think. She continues, “Drop anything you don’t need. We’ll travel in that creek we passed last night.”

I watch as the others drop their assault packs. Samantha also drops her radio and several of its heavy-duty batteries. She looks at me, “Drop your shit, kid.”

“I can’t. It’s all my medical gear.”

She frowns at the realization, knowing that I’m going to be the most burdened. With no other words, we jogged to the creek. It takes us maybe ten minutes to reach it. We all jump into the calf-height water, which instantly soaks through my uniform. Shit, that’s cold! Behind us, the whine of machinery and vehicles can be heard. It’s muffled and indistinct, so I know we have a good lead on any potential pursuers. I correct myself – the inevitable pursuers.

I’m not sure how long we’ve been trekking through the creek, but it’s beginning to narrow, and without the rushing water of its deeper parts, this section has frozen over. Whatever hope we had that the water would conceal our scent is lost. We stop once more to get our bearings, checking a compass and a map, before changing course into denser wilderness. Hours seem to pass, and every sound draws our eyes. Even the vets are as jumpy as I am.

Hope surges into my chest as we finally hit an incline. Though it’s going to suck, I know it means we’re at the base of the slope that leads to Point Echo. Safety is within our reach. Explosions echo down into the valley, from far above us. The sound of helicopters darts overhead, and more explosions follow.

Streak yells, “Keep moving!”

With a sudden renewal of energy, we burst forth from the tree line and onto the steeper part of the slope leading to our salvation. Smoke rises from the base as two state attack helicopters hover over it, firing autocannons and rockets. The constant exertion makes me dry heave repeatedly, my body begging to stop.

Something hits one of the helicopters, blowing a chunk from its fuselage. It begins to spin and rapidly descend, flame and smoke pouring from it. The second helicopter darts away to safety. Relief and hope surge into my chest at the sight.

Sunshine cheers, “Get some!”

I look down at my feet as I nearly slip, and push on, trying to ignore the increasing vibration entering my boots. I look up once more as the helicopter crashes into the slope and begins to roll. The realization hits me that we’re in its path. Even in its death, it is intent on taking us with it. I rush from its path and throw myself to the rocky terrain with seconds to spare.

I cough and heave as I raise myself on shaky arms and legs. A voice calls out, “Sound off!”

I yell, “I’m here!”

Whisper and Sunshine sound off next. Grumpy groans but insists he’s fine. We continue waiting for the final voice. It doesn’t come. Streak yells out, “Machine, sound off, or you’re on latrine duty for a month!”

Her eyes frantically darted back and forth, searching the slope before settling beyond me. I follow her gaze and look down several hundred feet, where burning wreckage gathers. I look back at Streak as her shoulders slouch, her features falling. There’s a near imperceptible quiver in her voice, “Come on, we’re almost there.

The rest of the way up is without harassment, and as we close in on Point Echo, I can hear cries and yells for help. I surge past the others and burst into the base, where chaos has taken hold. Several bodies lie around, and more chunks of flesh than I can hope to identify are present. A few soldiers are trying to put out fires, especially at the armory. The briefing building is gone, and the barracks have partially collapsed.

The command post is a smoking crater, and the Free American States flag that rose above it has burned away to nothing.

“Medic!”

I followed the call, nearly throwing aside a panicking soldier, his hands dripping red.

“I…. I tried to stop it! There’s just too much blood!”

I drop my assault pack and dig for a tourniquet. Finding one, I looped it over the woman’s mangled left leg, just above her knee. I tighten it, and she screams out; her pale face lined with sweat. Two more calls for help reach me, and I’m stuck between continuing my care for her or finding the others. I ran my hands over her body, not concerned with where they went, as I searched for other wounds. I can’t find anything, so I grab the panicking man kneeling next to us, “Look at me!”

His pupils are blown out, and blood is oozing from his nose and ears. “I have to help the others! She needs you, do you hear me? She needs your help! I’ll return when I can.”

He comes to life once more, “Yeah… yeah! I’ll help!”

I don’t wait to see what he does and dart off towards the blood-curdling screams of a soldier buried beneath the debris of a collapsed bunker. I start tossing half-empty sandbags and plywood aside when an outstretched hand comes into view. I grab it and pull, feeling a rush of relief as the trapped man begins to lift from the debris. “I got you, just hold on!”

I keep pulling against the resistance, which gives with a wet tear. I feel a spatter of warm fluid hit my face, and I struggle to stay upright. I look down at the severed arm in my grip, “Fuck!”

I throw the arm down and start digging – pain travels up a few fingers as my nails threaten to detach from their beds, screaming in protest at my rabid digging. It takes a few minutes, and I’m forced to listen as names are being called out, cries of pain, and various equipment being moved silence the day. Finally, I reached what I feared. The pale face staring up at me; his eyes lacking the shine of life. Leaving me little time to process, I’m yanked by an arm and pulled towards further loss, “LTs hit!”

We never make it. All around, survivors throw themselves to the dirt as the whistle of incoming mortar rounds pierces the air, screaming like a turbine that needs maintenance. Ten booms rumble through my chest, fighting to overwhelm our issued noise-cancelling headsets. A pop and static followed the last blast – my headset never recovered and was unable to filter out the damaging decibels. Detaching them from my helmet, I lift myself and wait for voices to call for me. None came.

A flood of guilt hits me as I feel relief – despite the possible implication of renewed silence. I watch as the others who made it through dust themselves off and run for better cover. Streak stands next to me, her eyes on what’s left of our officer; a stain. For the first time since I’ve met her, I see fear in her eyes. She turns to look at me, “I…”

Another soldier nearly knocked me from my feet, his voice shrill, “What do we do now, sergeant?”

She looks around at the last of us alive; they’re watching her, waiting for an order. Waiting to fight and die. To surrender and hope. Or to run and live as free men and women for one more day. Time seems to stand still, and I find myself back in that field, before the kill. She thrust an arm into the air, her rifle raised like a sword, “Morior Invictus!”

She waits for a response that never comes. I look down at my hands, stained red, and wonder how many will live to see tomorrow. She yells it again. I look up at the others and see… nothing. No more fear. No more rage. Just indecision and silence. The same silence I held in the field. With that man.

I swallow, then raise my rifle, “Morior Invictus!”

I will be silent; no more. Her eyes darted to my own, and I saw a flash of appreciation, as we both screamed it again. A third voice joins – then a fourth. Finally, all of us left are chanting, thrusting our rifles into the air, telling the world of our rage, telling those animals that we are here. To come get us. With one more cheer, she begins ordering those of us left to the remains of the front of our base. I think back on the single Latin phrase drilled into us from elementary school on. ‘I die unvanquished. ’ Our rallying cry. Our last hope. Our final fight.

I take my place next to Sunshine. No longer does he shine. No longer a beacon in the howling dark. A frown etches his features, and his eyes glare down at where the enemy will come from. To my right is our leader, who has accepted the same fate as those beneath her. Further away is Grumpy. No sight of Whisper – whose silent demeanor will forever remain.

I count twenty faces. Twenty of sixty. The sound of machinery and barking echoes toward us, and we watch as dozens of armored vehicles and over a hundred anthro ready themselves below. I wonder if this was a planned assault or simply revenge for my squad’s attack. The barks below peak in volume and take on a chant I don’t recognize. It seems they have their own rallying cry.

Samantha charges her rifle, “Fix bayonets.”

Every face looks at others next to them, then obeys. We know we can’t hold this position. The decision is made – we will die – but so will they. I should find satisfaction in this, but instead I feel nothing. I twist the bayonet onto the barrel lug and feel satisfied, nodding to my rifle as if it could see me. She commands, “Heads down. Wait until we can see the whites of their eyes.”

I lower myself behind the sandbags lining what is left of a shallow trench, its uniformity broken and scarred by craters. I can hear them closing in. With every beat of my heart and stomp of their paws, finality closes in. Soon, I can listen to their panting. I know it’s time. I follow Streak’s lead, leveling my rifle at a cheetah, her eyes wide with realization of what’s to come. I fire, as do the others. Several bodies drop and begin to roll. Others charge forward, sparks of rounds bouncing from their plate carriers. They’re screaming, and we respond in kind.

Streak jumps from the trench, “Charge!”

I follow, jumping to the cheetah who clings to the ground, her claws searching for purchase. I thrust my bayonet into the neck of her uniform and twisted, feeling the blade slide against bone. We look into each other’s eyes. I expected her to gasp. Or scream. To do something. Instead, a tear falls, and she slumps. I stare, unmoving. I just took a life. I just killed someone’s child. Maybe a mother or wife.

I look up at a reptile of some kind, snarling at me, the butt of her rifle, intending to crush my skull. She nearly somersaults down the slope as Sunshine slams into her chest, tumbling with her. I can hear him screaming as they descend, but I lose sight of him in the chaos. I lift my rifle from the cheetah, trying to ignore the stains on it. I take aim at a Lynx repeatedly stomping on the head of another man – the squelch of gore reaching my ringing ears. I fire twice, and she stumbles, sparks flying from her chest plate. She looks up at me and snarls. No rifle in hand. No knife. She intends to kill me like the other man, with her natural weapons.

I don’t know how many of us are left fighting, but the anthros break at the sound of a distant whistle. That lynx’s eyes dart down the slope, back to mine, and then finally disappear as she turns and runs. A few shots ring out as they retreat, but it’s now silent. I have my sight on that lynx’s back, but I’m struggling to pull the trigger. I want to be better than them. I want to kill her. I want to keep my soul. I don’t want to kill an unarmed, fleeing woman. Even if she’s a monster.

A fall to my ass and look around. Five. There are five others. Streak among them. The others, I don’t know. The anthros had crossed the slope faster than any human could ever hope. At the bottom, a new wave forms. That’s when it hit me that they’d only sent maybe ten up here. Ten to our twenty, and they left with more alive than what stands here now.

Streak sits next to me, grabbing my shoulder and squeezing, “It gets easier. But you never forget the first one. The look in their eyes.”

I try to find words. I want to seem a warrior and express excitement at my first kill. To boast and flip the damn things with my finger. Instead, my voice comes as a whisper, “I’m scared.”

She blinks once. Twice. Then sighs. She looks around at the few others and finally stands. I look at the hand she holds out for me, its glove saturated with the memories of those who once were, “Come on, kid. Get up.” I let her help me, knowing the next assault will come soon. I look up to the sky, and what comes next just about knocks me back on my ass.

“We’re leaving.”

The others are frozen for only a moment. They load their weapons and head into the base. She stands with me as I search the sky for an answer to a question I never asked. She nudges into my shoulder as she passes. Not aggressive. Not angry. Just a reminder. That I’m alive. And if I move, I can stay that way. I reach for my assault pack only to realize it’s gone. I’m not sure when I lost it, but I know I don’t have time to look for it.

I enter the base proper and see the others gathered near an exit, their faces tracking me. They turn and start jogging as I approach. For a moment, I just watched. Looking over my shoulder. Hoping to see Sunshine. That happy bastard.

Now, only one thing remains for me to do.

To live.

The days stretch into another with no discernible difference. Stretched thin, lacking supplies, and with little hope, we ran further into the Rockies. Looking up, I watched snowflakes descend in a heavy blanket, uncaring about our discomfort. We had never planned for this retreat, even though we all knew it was inevitable. Point Echo was overrun over a week ago.

The eastern front of Colorado had collapsed. It wasn’t a dramatic or climactic collapse. No heroic last stands I knew of. No territory lost and then retaken in a blazing counter-attack. It came, swift and relentless, like kicking an opponent who has already lost and was cowering at your feet. Our forces were pushed out of Denver, away from Colorado Springs, and into the wilds.

The Anthrostate was relentless in its push to consolidate the last of our territory; They were squeezing us from the west coast as well, but somehow, we had managed to stop their coastal landings and inflict heavy losses on their naval forces a month ago. San Fran. That victory was one of our few. It gave people hope.

A soldier I knew nothing of collapsed to his knees several paces from me, drawing my mind back to the present. I stopped by his side, pulling him up and into my shoulder.

“Keep pushing! We can’t stop now.”

I looked over my shoulder, “We can’t keep going like this.”

Streak held a neutral expression as she stopped a few feet from me, “If we slow down, we’ll get caught in the open.”

I grunted with both exertion and exhaustion as I helped the man clinging to my side drag his feet onward. The truth was that I was nearly as ready as he was to give in. My stomach felt as if it were tearing apart as the last of our rations ran out four days ago. I was thankful we could at least use the snow to make fresh water. It wasn’t just our food supply that had run low, though. We each had a handful of magazines for our rifles or pistols, but little else.

“Look!” A voice yelled from ahead.

I raised my left hand and squinted through the falling snow and moonlight, towards the edge of a dense tree line. With the conditions as they were, I couldn’t see more than a few dozen meters from where we stood. Streak passed me, “Just a little further, and we can rest for the night.”

I felt the man clinging to me shudder with what I assumed was relief as we picked up our pace, the promise of rest and safety in the forest giving us a glimmer of hope that we would make it another day, and closer to where we hoped friendly forces were. As we caught up with the others some distance into the trees, I watched for a moment as they began to set up a small campsite, gathering stones, fallen branches, and bark. I lowered the man still holding onto me and sat him on a large, fallen tree trunk after brushing away the covering of snow on it.

Looking around, I watched for a moment as a small clearing was made and a fire pit formed. After it was loaded with tinder and wood, I dug into my uniform for our last flare, the only thing left capable of starting a fire in these conditions, as all we had was wet tinder and wood. Streak nodded at me, and I struck it, lighting the flare. I held it out towards the wood, which lit easily under the intense chemical flame.

With little left in us and a lack of supplies, our simple camp was nothing more than some shallow holes dug into the earth, cleared of snow and packed with conifer tree branches, which were scattered near and around the fire. Collapsing into my own foxhole, I allowed the tension in my shoulders to leave as I curled in on myself, trying to conserve the little heat reaching me. I looked towards the grey skies and wished I could see the stars. How much further can we go, I wondered, before closing my eyes. Despite my exhaustion, I found it difficult to relax. No one said anything.

We had already expressed our hopes and sorrows. We had argued for hours about surrender or escape. That stopped two days ago. I don’t think it was because anyone had changed their minds about what to do; we simply couldn’t. Too exhausted to care or argue. Too weary to come up with another plan. Slowly, the crackling of the flames seemed to blend in with the howl of the wind, and my mind emptied of its worries.

That man from the field. His face. The burst of blood from the back of his head. I see him every time I dream. I’ll never forget that day. I don’t deserve to. He fades from my dreams as a veiled voice called to me – like a whisper. Shadows and ink swirling in mist began to lighten and dissipate. The voice called me again; this time, it shook me. My eyes flew open, and I tried to scream, but Streak’s hand was over my mouth, her eyes pleading with my own. I nodded to her, and she let go of my face. I looked around at the others as they kicked at the snow to conceal the evidence that we had stopped here.

I fell into formation, a few words uttered, as we began our push further into the trees and towards the direction of Camp Hope. The large outpost had been resupplying Point Echo before it fell. Nearly 200 were stationed there, and it had some operational armored vehicles as well. Last I heard, they even had an Apache attack helicopter. After General Brown’s execution and the fall of Point Echo, Camp Hope became our, well, only hope.

I watched nothing but snow and trees pass as our march entered its third hour. Our pace was slow, and we had to frequently stop for short breaks. As I leaned against a tree, trying to catch my breath, I heard something from behind us. I urged my heart to slow so I could listen better as I looked back. I gave a low whistle to alert the others.

Minutes passed in silence as the others watched from their own trees. Another snap in the distance, this time closer. With a thumb press, I switched my rifle from safe to semi and raised it, looking through my damaged red dot. It didn’t take long for the sound to reach us, the footfalls of what must have been at least a dozen closing in.

A shot rang out, followed a split second later by shattering bark. Streak fell from behind her tree, crying out as blood arched into the air from her right shoulder. Lead filled the air as the others returned fire into blurs of shapes, but I chose to run towards her.

By the time I had reached her, the snow around her had already begun to turn frothy and melt. Her right arm was hanging on by a few threads of uniform and fleshy sinew. The position of the wound made it impossible to apply a tourniquet. As I reached into what was left of my meager supplies, she grabbed me with her only usable hand, “No! Save it.”

I tried to ignore her and began to pull out morphine and what else I had as she yanked at my uniform collar again, “Leave me!” Her words were slurred, and it was clear she was fighting the shock and pain to remain conscious as she looked at me, “Valkyrie.”

“What?”

Her eyes flutter, “Your callsign.”

Despite the situation, I sputter and give a short, broken laugh. She frowns as her eyes close, “I’m… sorry, for the man in the fie-“

She never finishes. She was the last one. The last one I knew. For days, I was angry with her. Now she’s dead. To be left on the ground and forgotten. Like that man. Tears fall from my eyes as I look around. The others had already taken off, leaving Samantha and I to face the state’s soldiers alone.

I contemplate sitting here. Surrendering. Hoping to join those smiling faces I once saw in Mill Springs. She wouldn’t want that. None of them would. So, I ran. A distant explosion echoes through the trees, followed by a scream. I’m not sure how far I’ll get before my body demands I stop. I’m grateful to see a fallen tree a few dozen meters ahead and stop behind it to catch my breath. I’m not given the time to relax, as two State soldiers are on my tracks and closing in. I raise my rifle and plant it on the trunk of the tree, then pull the trigger. The closest one yelps and drops while clutching her thigh. As the other grabs her and starts pulling her to cover, I pull the trigger again. Nothing happens.

“Fuck!”

I grabbed the charging handle and tried to cycle the rifle. Still, it wouldn’t budge, so I then tried to slam clear the rifle by hitting the rifle butt to the ground while pulling the charging handle again. Still nothing. Looking back towards the anthro I had shot, they were gone. Bloody drag marks the only sign they were ever there. I threw the deadweight rifle to the ground and turned to run once more. I could see a clearing maybe fifty meters ahead through the trees and hoped it would lead me to something. Anything.

Thunderous footfalls behind me let me know that the state’s soldiers were closing on me once more. I skid to a stop, grabbing a tree with my right arm to slow myself as I quickly came to the edge of the tree line and found myself standing atop a small clearing that gave way to a rushing river below. My mind raced for solutions, but none came to mind. As the footfalls behind me came to a stop, I turned to face the threat.

I pulled out my knife as I looked at them. The taller one had a sergeant’s mark on her plate carrier. She held a snarl, the fangs showing exactly what she was: a predator. A wolf of some kind, I thought, though her fur was primarily auburn, with some black and white as well. Her ears were huge, now that I thought of it. The second one was a typical red fox, and like all anthros I had seen, she was over seven feet tall – possibly even close to eight.

“Stay back!”

The fox snarled in response, a low growl rising in her throat. Her eyes were flicking between my knife and eyes, her ears twitching at every ragged breath I took. She smiled, which did little to comfort me. She then spoke, her voice smooth, almost sweet, “Drop the knife, human. You can’t win this fight.”

“I’d rather die than be your pet!”

Before she could reply, the radio on the wolf’s chest chirped, “Sergeant, we’ve successfully apprehended three males. One blew himself up. The female is dead as well.”

The wolf frowned at the mention of the suicide and keyed her mic. I began to move parallel to the edge of the cliff as she answered her subordinate, “Understood. We’ve cornered the last one.”

A dense crop of trees blocked any further movement on my side as they began to move towards me, their steps careful and deliberate. The wolf held up a hand in what I assumed was an attempt to placate me, “If you surrender, I promise my girls won’t hurt you. Let me take you somewhere warm, where you’ll be fed and cared for. You won’t have to fight or run anymore.”

“And be made into a slave for someone to take advantage of? We all know what those re-education facilities do to men.”

She stopped moving, a frown forming on her muzzle, “Those incidents happened when there was little oversight, as we were focused entirely on the conflict.”

“Don’t lie to me!”

I pointed the tip of my knife at the wolf but kept my eyes on the fox that moved to flank me. She growled as she lunged forward, crossing the distance quickly. She grabbed for my knife-wielding wrist, but I rolled just out of her grasp, slashing at her. The blade skidded across her vest harmlessly. I then thrust forward again with the knife as I came out of the roll. Still, it flew away as one of the wolves’ digitigrade boots slammed into my plate carrier, hurtling me a good distance. I coughed as she stomped towards me and reached towards my plate carrier with both paws. I found a hand-sized rock in the snow and slammed it into her snout as she bent down. It smacked into her with a crack, and she yelped, grabbing her muzzle as blood trickled from her nose and onto my face.

I scrambled to my feet, becoming lightheaded and tunnel-visioned for a moment as I wobbled, trying to put distance between us. Something between a roar and a bark escaped her muzzle as she released her bleeding nose. I barely stumbled to my right in an attempt to avoid the fox, who then collided with me, throwing us both to the ground. I was able to roll onto my back and plant a foot on her chest, heaving over my head as her momentum carried her through my parry.

Before I could celebrate, the wolf grabbed one of my legs and arms and then lifted me with ease, tossing me. The world spun as I hit a tree. The tinge of copper surged into the back of my throat as I gasped and shuddered at the crack of ribs. For a moment, I watched as spittle and clouds of breath flew into the uncaring chill of winter.

A glint caught my eye as I lifted my head. It was my knife, which I grabbed and concealed as I struggled to my knees, and then feet. I clutched my left side with my free hand. The plate carrier felt crushing as it pressed into my cracked ribs, making breathing more difficult than it needed to be. Both the wolf and fox glanced at each other before they began to move towards me again. I grasped the quick-release latches on my plate carrier and released them, freeing myself.

Gritting my teeth in pain, I lowered into a combative stance and flipped over my left hand to beckon to them to advance, “Come then. Earn your prize.”

The fox snarled, “I’m going to enjoy breaking you, human!”

The wolf gave her a sharp glare before the fox darted for me. I pushed from the tree and sprinted straight towards her. The wolf saw my plan and yelled out to stop her, but it was too late. As the fox closed in, I threw myself down, sliding between her legs. As I passed through, I slashed my knife into one of her digitigrade ankles. She yelped and fell to her left knee as I scrambled to my feet once more, but before I could face the remaining threat, the wolf slammed into my injured side.

A rapid tumble began as we rolled towards the downward-sloping cliff face. Realizing this, we both began grasping for anything that could stop our fall. I watched as she came to a stop, her claws digging into the terrain, as I continued down the slope. Her eyes widened, and her ears lay flat as she lunged for me, a paw stretched out towards my hands.

For a moment, all felt weightless. My stomach lurched as I slipped over the edge. So, this is how I die, I thought. Instead of fear, a feeling of peace overcame me. A sudden jolt brought my mind back into focus as I slammed into the face of the cliff, my outstretched left arm crumpling between my chest and the rugged cliff face. I cried out as fire pierced through my wrist.

“I’ve got you!”

She yelled at me from above, her face peering over the edge. Her eyes conveyed worry, not anger; at least to the best of my ability at reading a canine’s facial expressions.

“Climb!”

She began pulling me up, her claws digging into my skin. As the tips of my boots found purchase, I felt a sudden shift in the earth above me. Looking up as soil fell into my eyes, I shook my head to clear my eyes just in time to see her face widen in fear as the edge of the cliff collapsed and slid towards the river below, taking us with it. With a moment of weightlessness ending nearly as soon as it began, I plunged into the river, sinking several feet to its bottom as her body broke the surface above me a moment later.

My vision began to recede into darkness as my limbs struggled, and I kicked from the riverbed before being dragged by the current and slammed into several half-submerged boulders. Despite how clear the water was, I was moving too fast to make sense of the scene. My lungs burned, and as the last of my consciousness began to slip away, I broke the surface once more and gasped, the effort causing great pain in my side. I struggled to stay afloat, kicking furiously as a rapidly approaching boulder came into view. I held my breath, waiting for the impact.

My entire body lurched forward as the air was knocked from my lungs, and my face slammed into the boulder. I blinked several times as my vision filled with red, my legs feeling heavier by the second. As the light of day began to fade away and I sank, I felt a tug on my uniform – then nothing more.

~ Tenebras noli timere, sed transmea et supera ~

‘Do not fear the darkness, but travel across it and prevail.’

End Part I

Broken Front, Fallen Skies

Part II

~ Lux et Tenebris~

‘Light, even in darkness.”

Sierra Sector News : “In other news, our brave fighting girls have taken Denver and captured a high-value human resistance leader! Reports indicate that we suffered few casualties in the battle and that human soldiers threw down their weapons en masse and entered the warm and welcome embrace of our women’s arms! The Minister of Human Integration, Mrs. Fallow, will announce plans for Colorado’s addition to the greater State and its assignment to a Sector. Stay tuned, as her address begins shortly.”

Free States Media : “Our brave men and women continue to take the fight to the anthro menace! In the face of relentless odds, our soldiers hold true! It’s close to Christmas, and nothing shows our heroes in uniform that people back home support their efforts more than a support package! Donate 500 FedCreds to send a personalized letter, toiletries, socks, and candy to a soldier. For more information on the latest news from the front, please visit our website at freemedia.fas.net/frontline”

“Valkyrie. It’s time to wake up.”

“Who said that?”

I turn my body, casting my eyes over oily shadows and trees. My hands tremble. My whole body is shaking, too. What the hell is happening to me? I’m so cold that it burns.

“Do you remember what you asked me when you first came to Point Echo?”

No. That’s not possible, “I watched you die! You aren’t real!”

“You asked me, ‘Do you think we could coexist?’”

“Shut up!” I slam my hands over my ears. I crouched, curling into myself, hoping for her voice to leave. Sudden warmth. Fleeting. Isolated to small spots. Like a lighter flickering in a dark room. It’s there. Barely.

The sensation spreads through my chest, a heated spot on each pectoral. I gasp. Not in pain. Not in discomfort. In relief. The oily shadows leave, a whisp of that voice passing over me. I stand, resurgent. The dark I had found myself in is now a snowy, but sunny forest.

A distant voice speaks from the trees. Mumbles. Unknowable. Spots of my body warm, soft heat pressing in various ways. My head. My ribs. My left wrist. The heat is firm. It pushes into me. It’s looking for something. Fatigue washes over me. I’m so tired. I lay down in the snow, curling on my side. My eyelids are iron. Too heavy.

“Wake up.”

My voice isn’t my own. It sounds as if I’ve been silent for years, cracking and hoarse, “Who… who’s there?”

“I’m here to help, but you need to get up. Get up, or you may die.”

I open my eyes. Darkness. Light from beyond – slipping through. A silhouette. The shadow leans over me, soft brown eyes looking into my own. They seem to glow. I reach out a hand, pushing my palm against the shadow’s face, just below an eye. It jerks – then settles. Warm, soft, and dense. Whoever it is, she feels nice. Reminds me of my silk blanket from home.

I lower my hand to my side. I need to sleep. I’ll get up. When I’m ready.

“Don’t go back to sleep!”

“I need to…”

The concentrated warmth returns. A spot on each shoulder, “Wake up! Wake up, soldier!”

I can hear them. Sunshine and his stupid jokes. Machine, always so distant. Samantha. My eyes open after what seems only moments of closing them. I’m still tired but not exhausted. Damn, my body aches! I don’t move; instead, I use my eyes to observe. If not for a fire in the center of the hole I’m in, it would be pitch black. I lay on a pile of pine needles, densely packed – they scratch at my exposed skin. I look over myself and see that only my pants are still on. My uniform has been almost completely stripped, and lies spread out around the fire pit. I follow the smoke up and out of a small opening between a woven canopy of branches of pine boughs.

There’s not much more room than for me to sit up without hitting my head – it’s a tight squeeze. Perfect for retaining heat. Not far from where I lie, there is another bed. It still has an impression in the middle, where I assume another body had been lying. Who the hell is with me? Where am I? The last thing I can remember is sinking in the river. Then… nothing. Confirming that I’m alone, I push myself from my side and sit up. This shelter was made in haste, and some gaps throughout allow occasional gusts of wind to pass through.

My body jumps before my mind can register that a piece of wood sizzled and popped in the fire. I urged my heart to calm, hoping to not alert a potential enemy of wildlife. In this state, I may as well be considered a free meal. Sudden vertigo hits me, and I place both palms on the forest floor in front of me, bracing. Pain surges through my left wrist, up into my elbow. It’s swollen. Purple. I lift it and slowly twist it back and forth, grinding my teeth as I do.

I don’t think it’s broken, but it’s a severe sprain. I’ll need to wrap it with something. The vertigo passes, and I sit upright once more, glancing down at my left side. A flash of a wolf throwing me into a tree makes me grit my teeth. She was strong. Too strong. And that damn fox! That bitch wanted to… I shudder. Think of something else. Think of what to do next.

I’m alive. I have no weapons, but I have some outdoor knowledge. I have shelter, heat, and I can melt snow for water. The first thing on my agenda is food. As if prompted, a growl tears from my gut. Oh shit! I look up near the narrow opening, low to the ground, of my shelter. I can hear someone!

I lower myself back into position, as if still sleeping, and close my eyes. I don’t know who it is, but if it isn’t something good, I might be able to get the drop on them. I listen, wishing I could see through the dark of my closed eyes. I inhale. Exhale. Then count to three and repeat. I can hear whoever it is crawling in and shuffling around the shelter. They chuff, and the movement stops.

My heart starts to pound when it resumes, shuffling towards me. I’m sure whoever it is could see my pulse in my damn neck! I imagine my ribcage visibly extending with each slam from the inside. I feel puffs of air on my ribs, then my head. Every instinct screams out to lash out. To fight. They sigh, and the shuffling distances itself from me.

My heart finally begins to slow. I’m more certain than not that I’m here with one of… one of them. One of the hunters. One of the predators that wants my blood. That the damned fox has found me. I fear what comes next, but I need to know. To prepare. To come up with a plan. I lift my eyelids, careful to conceal the movement behind slothful action. First, I see only shadows – then a figure. Their head is pressed into the boughs overhead, even though they are sitting with a slouch.

Brown eyes dart towards me, and like the damned fool I am, my body jerks in response. It’s those eyes from my dream! The one who ordered me to get up. Of fuck! Oh shit! I’m trapped here with one of them! She’s going to kill me… or worse! Fuck, fuck, fuck! Adrenaline surges into my core and spreads to my limbs. The lingering cold and aches are gone, and in their place is the desire to fight. I launch myself up and towards her, hoping surprise will work.

She yelps as I collide with her, my right shoulder slamming into her chest. I fall with her and slam my fists down towards her muzzle, aiming for the nose. We had been told that all anthros, some more than others, had incredibly sensitive noses. To target them. Break them. Smash them. I yell out, unaware of my own words, and continue slamming my balled fists into her attempts to block my assault.

“Fucking, die!”

“Stop!”

“You killed my friends! Took the others!”

Her arms stop blocking, and she grabs both wrists with her paws. Claws dig into my skin, drawing blood. I struggle, twisting and thrashing, knowing that if I slow, she will simply overpower me, and then it’s over. We roll into a wall of the shelter, making the whole thing shake. Bits of snow cascade in, sizzling in the flame.

“I said stop, damn it!”

One of her arms crosses over my chest, pressing me into the earth below. Her snarling muzzle flickers between being defined or vague with flashes from the fire behind, “I don’t want to hurt you!”

I slam my jaw down, near my sternum, and try to latch onto her arm with my teeth. Her second paw smacks into my forehead, palm first. Her pad dampened the blow, but not enough to stop the surge of pain inside my skull . She pushes my head down until the back of my skull sinks a little into the damp soil, “Listen to me! Just listen for one minute! Then, if you don’t like what I have to say, you can leave.”

“Don’t lie to me!”

“Who do you think dragged you out of that river? Who removed your clothing, dried it, and warmed you in a shelter, next to a fire?”

My eyes darted over her form. The warmth of her breath, passing through razor-sharp fangs, bears down on me. She continues, “I saved your life! The least you can do is not try to bite me.”

“Funny, coming from one of you!”

I really focus on her muzzle and teeth. They are stained with blood. I look down at the arm pinning my chest, and towards her paw. The claws and fingers are saturated with blood. I begin to panic, wondering why I can’t feel the bites or claw wounds.

“It’s not yours.”

“Got a taste of another human, then?” I snarl.

She shakes her head, “A few rabbits. I am without my weapons and did not want them to suffer. I dispatched them quickly.”

“Liar!”

She shifts her body, giving me the ability to see where she had been sitting before I attacked. My eyes fell on two rabbits, their throats torn out. Seeing the potential food, my stomach grumbles, and vertigo hits me again. The paw on my forehead eases, just enough to relieve the pressure that had been causing pain. “If I let you go, will you relax?”

“Just kill me and get it over with.”

“I don’t want to kill you.”

“You may be telling the truth. It’s possible. But that’s because you want to Combat Claim me. I know your game, wolf. I know what your kind does to men.”

“You’re wrong. On both things.”

“What?”

“I’ve never Combat Claimed anyone, and I don’t intend to start today. Second, I’m not a wolf.”

I laugh, “Doesn’t matter what you are. Why should I believe you?”

“I’ve been nothing but truthful, thus far, have I not?”

I sigh and close my eyes. She has. Damn it! She pulled me from the water. Built this shelter and its fire. Now she brought food. “So… if I just listen to what you have to say, you’ll let me leave?”

“Yes. If you want to.”

I laugh again, this time it’s bitter and not of disbelief, but mirth, “If I want to? You must be crazy, wolf, because that’s exactly what I intend to do.”

Her eyes narrow when I call her a wolf again, but she doesn’t say anything. Her nostrils flare slightly, taking in my scent, looking for deceit if I had to guess. Some people said they could smell our emotions. Bullshit. Has to be. Right?

“I’m going to let you go. If you attack me again, I will be forced to disable you. Do you understand?”

I bite the tip of my tongue. The pain grounds me, and I nod. Her paw leaves my head, taking its warmth with it. She leans back, releasing the hold over my chest. I suck in a large breath at the sudden freedom, no longer needing to fight the constriction for air. She shuffles backwards, towards her kills, and watches me. Her eyes never leave my own, waiting for any sign of aggression.

She’s lucky I lost my knife. I lift myself, and as my adrenaline leaves, renewed and new aches spread throughout my body. I won’t show her weakness. I grind my teeth and refuse to grunt. “Say what you must, then. Quickly.”

She grabs one of the rabbits, pushing a claw tip into it, and sliding it upwards. With a wet squelch, its abdomen splits, and viscera begin to fall out. She pushed two fingers into the mess and yanked the guts out, tossing them into the fire. “I would throw them outside, but I don’t want to attract a predator.”

I raise an eyebrow, “Oh? And exactly what kind of predator could you be worried about?”

She chuckles. Slow and short. “Feral bears.”

“And you think the scent carried by the smoke, when you cook that meat, will simply be ignored?”

She stops her task, her clawed fingers still between the meat and pelt of the gory kill, “I’ve no choice. I must cook it to eat it safely. Burning the viscera quickly disposes of it. The blizzard outside should conceal the scent.”

She can’t eat raw meat? That’s odd. I figured, since their feral counterparts in the world could, they should be able to as well. I grimace as she continues her task; the wet tearing is unbearably loud in this space. “Thirty seconds.”

“What?”

“You said I should listen to you for a minute. One. Minute. Time is running out.”

She lowers the rabbit, and her eyes narrow. Suddenly, she laughs. It’s hearty but not unkind-sounding. Smooth, almost sweet. Bittersweet, I correct myself. She is my enemy. Think properly, damn it, Lance.

“I saved your life. If I wanted to hurt you or take advantage of you, I could easily do so. In your condition and without weapons? Let us be honest. You are brave. Strong for a human. But still human.”

I contain a snarl of my own as she continues, “It’s below freezing out there. A blizzard has taken hold and has been raging since you fell unconscious eight hours ago. You are alone, and you don’t know where you are. You have no supplies and minimal thermal protection. You won’t last two hours before you freeze to death.”

She stops talking, and her eyes fall on the remaining rabbit. She begins cleaning it, as with the others, which are now skinned and ready to be put over the flame. My mouth starts to water, and I must consciously swallow several times to keep the drool from escaping. Her eyes look back up at me, “Well?”

“Well, what?”

“Time is up. Aren’t you leaving?”

My stomach nearly decides for me. Fuck this. I won’t give her the satisfaction. I won’t play her games. I can hunt for my own food. Make my own shelter. When the storm passes, I will leave and find Camp Hope. I shuffle back towards where I slept and begin putting on my clothing. As I start putting on my socks and boots, I look over at her. She’s twisting the first rabbit over the fire. Fat sizzles and falls, sending bursts of scent so intense into the enclosed space that I can taste it.

I swallow my saliva and look past the cooking meat and over her form. She is a strange-looking wolf. Almost the color of a fox. Huge ears. Strange fur pattern. She looks like someone stuck a fox’s head on a wolf. A hybrid? Do those exist? Nothing I know of tells me they do. Though my knowledge of anthros is limited, it may be impossible. I’ve never heard of an anthro male. I doubt my first guess on the matter, yet they can reproduce with human men, and viable offspring are born…

She sits with her legs to the side. I assume that she wants to avoid elevating herself and hitting the ceiling of the shelter. Her digitigrade legs are muscular, and her bare paws are pretty large, too. Each toe ends with a huge, black claw. Her overall shape is what I’d describe as amazonian, but not overly so. She’s more lithe than muscular, but she exudes strength and a well-toned physique.

Enough! Why are you looking at her so closely? I admonish myself for a moment, but then decide it’s because I want to know my enemy! The better you know your enemy, the more easily you can kill them.

“I didn’t ask for you to save me.”

She looks up from the first rabbit as she tears a massive chunk from its side, her muzzle chomping loudly. She’s unashamed to eat so heartily in front of me.

“You’re still here?”

“Fuck you!”

She chuckles between mouthfuls, “No thanks.”

That damn wolf! Who does she think she is, mocking me! I’m done with this. I shuffle past her, trying to avert my gaze as she has propped the second rabbit up to cook. Her eyes follow me, but she doesn’t say anything else. I expect her to reach out. To grab me the moment I try to pass. But she doesn’t. I crawl through the entrance and get blasted by icy wind and snow. I trudge through, lifting myself with a grunt, slouching in on myself. In moments, my ears sting and my eyes water.

I lift a hand to protect my face and look around. It’s coming down so heavily that I can’t even see her tracks from less than ten minutes ago. Shit. I should just go back inside. No! I won’t let her have that satisfaction. I’m stronger than she thinks. ‘Still a human.’ I scoff and spit at the ground. Humans may not be at the top of the food chain anymore, but we aren’t meek.

I begin walking, having to heave each leg through the knee-high snow. I stumbled several times, grumbling as I did. I hate the cold! It’s so bitter, and it feels like nature itself is biting into my flesh. My fleece jacket is doing nothing to keep me warm. I have no gloves or head protection, and my heat is being swept away.

I squint against the thick blanket of falling snow, grateful the blizzard conceals the sun. Snow blindness would force me to stay put without eye protection. At least with the overhead clouds, I can see – to an extent. I continue walking in a random direction, occasionally glancing back from where I came. I can’t see shelter or smoke in the air. I’m not sure how far I’ve gone, but my extremities are completely numb, besides the stabbing pains of impending frostbite.

“Damn it!”

My breath fades, swept away without care. I keep looking around, hoping to find a cave or fallen tree that I can make shelter in. Nothing. I gasp as snow rises to my chest. I lift myself from my knees and brush off what I can.

I’m not shivering anymore. My teeth have stopped chattering. My mind is slowing – like my body. I’m suffering from hypothermia at this point. I must turn back, or I’ll die out here. She was right… fuck!

I turn, and a short burst of adrenaline hits me as shame and anger flood my mind. I push my body, ignoring the pain and lack of feeling. I’m not sure how far I’ve come, or how much further I need to go, but I’m not going to die like this! I’d rather fight that wolf again and die to her claws than freeze out here in shame. At least I’d die in warmth inside that shelter.

I fell again. “Shit!” Come on, get up! Move! My legs are sluggish and resist my commands, but they finally begin to lift and move me towards safety again. I squint, and I’m pretty sure I can see smoke rising. I press on, hope renewed. It’s the shelter. I can’t see anything but white, but the giant lump growing in the middle of nowhere gives it away, along with the smoke.

I collapsed to my hands and knees at the entrance, falling to my chest. So close. Almost there. Just keep going, Lance! I push my arms and hands out, dragging them to the ground, trying to find purchase. I cough and relax. Content to lie here. Can’t keep pushing. I can feel a flicker of heat kissing my face. It’s an odd sensation against frozen skin. A paw reaches out and wraps around my right wrist.

She pulls me in, not stopping until I’m lying close to the fire. Her paws roam my body, brushing snow from my uniform. When she’s satisfied that I’m intact and not bleeding anywhere, she points to my bedding, “You should remove your clothes. They are soaked.”

I stutter through teeth that have begun to chatter again, “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

She chuffs, “Would you like it if I did?”

I narrow my eyes at her, and she averts her gaze. “Go. Or you’ll never warm up.”

I pull myself over to my spot, forcing myself up and leaning against the back wall of the shelter. I pull my fleece jacket off, then my undershirt. Next are my boots. Damned laces are stuck! I smack at them with my numb hands, hoping to break them loose. I try again, and they begin to loosen. I toss them, along with my socks and other clothes, into the fire.

I look down at my pants and back at her. She rolls her eyes, then turns her back to me. I remove them, leaving myself only in underwear, which are thankfully almost entirely dry. I grab a few of the pine boughs I slept on and cover my lap. I clear my throat, and she turns back around. Her eyes scanned my body before going back to the fire. I hate to admit it, because it humanizes her, but her quick observation seemed genuine, not lustful.

I close my eyes and focus on absorbing the heat cascading around. The scent of meat hits me. It’s so close. I can taste it. I can’t believe I didn’t take that second rabbit before leaving…

“Open your eyes, human.”

Human? Irritation courses through me – a heat I need. I have a name! “Wh-”

She holds the second rabbit out to me. She hadn’t touched it. She gently pushes it closer, “Don’t let pride destroy you. We hunted your unit for a week. I know you are hungry.”

I grab it and tear into it immediately. I don’t care if I look like a beast denied food for too long. My teeth may not be as strong as hers, but they make easy work of the excellently cooked meat. It tastes so good, it doesn’t even need seasoning.

“Easy now, easy. You’ve been without food for a while. If you eat that too fast, or all at once, you will vomit.”

I stop mid-chew, looking up at her. Does she speak from experience, or does she have medical training? It’s a simple thing, almost common sense. Yet it would go over most people’s heads - especially those who are starving. Her eyes don’t convey a smug air or attitude. She was right. I would have died out there. I came back. I took her food. Yet, she doesn’t prod. The look of concern and fear she held before we fell from the cliff is present again. It almost angers me. Almost.

I swallow what’s left in my mouth, “Why aren’t you boasting, huh? You were right. Go ahead and rub it in. I know you want to, wolf.”

She rubs the bridge of her nose, “I told you I’m not a wolf.”

“Mmmhmm. Sure.”

She sighs and starts rubbing the paw pads of her right foot, “I’ve no interest in boasting either, human. Being right doesn’t make it feel good.”

“Stop calling me that.”

She looks back at me, a slight tilt to her head. I clarify, “I have a name. It’s not ‘human.’”

Her head tilts back as she laughs, exposing her muzzle full of fangs. That sweet sound once again agitated me. I wish it were unpleasant, so that I could easily justify my irritation with it, “You wish for me to call you by name, but you keep referring to me as a wolf. Incorrectly, too.”

“You! You don-” I stop myself. I hate it. I begrudgingly know she has a point. Damn this whole situation. “Fine! What are you then?”

She wipes her eyes, “I am a maned wolf.”

I raise an eyebrow and chuckle, “So, you are a wolf. Maned. Wolf.”

She shakes her head and prods the fire with a stick, “No. We may be called that, but we are an entirely unique species of our own.”

I scoff and roll my eyes. “Uh huh. Sure. And that makes you special?”

“No. But it does mean I’m quite the rare find.”

Curiosity piques in me. The smug look on her face tells me she wants me to ask how or why. I won’t give her that satisfaction. I lay down, looking up at the exit, where smoke leaves. I cringe as I run a hand over my left side. I’ll need something to compress these broken ribs if I want any relief.

“Whatever you say, maned wolf.”

I look over as she lies down as well, facing me. She lazily rubs the tip of one of her huge ears, “That’s… a start. At least it’s right. And what should I call you, if not human?”

I think about her question. There’s no way in hell I’m telling her my name. Samantha flashes into my mind. “You can call me Valkyrie.”

“Hmmm… That is not a normal human name. What does it mean?”

I roll over, facing away from her, “Go to sleep. The storm’s not going anywhere. Time for questions and answers later. For now, I’m tired.”

She doesn’t answer. I focus on the crackling wood, enjoying the warmth pressing itself into my back like the soft touch of a blanket. I closed my eyes, hoping to rest. Hoping when I open them again, I’m back at Point Echo. Hoping this was all a bad dream. Maybe I ate a bad ration – a can of hash with a touch of botulism for seasoning. Yeah. That’d be nice. Then I could see them again. Then I could tell her I’m sorry for being so angry at her, before the end. Then I could forget that man’s face. I would no longer be a silent accessory.

I drift away and find myself in that field. I’m observing myself, almost as if I’m an outsider in my own body. Unable to control it. I see him. That man. His jaw drops. Eyes wide. A blossom of blood. Samantha appears from behind where he stood, her right arm hanging by a string of flesh. Her face is pale – her pupils blown wide. Her uniform is soaked in blood.

“S-Samantha?”

A cheetah takes place beside her. Her eyes are wide with fear, tears staining her cheeks. Blood stains the chest of her uniform, and blood leaks from her neck. I step back, trying to distance myself from her.

I jump up, my chest heaving with effort. Sweat beads on my forehead, despite the chill. I wipe it away with unsteady hands and focus on slowing my breathing. In. Out. Just breathe. A cold wind flows over my bare chest, reminding me that my fleece is still laid out by the firepit, which has dimmed. I sat next to it, grabbing some wood that the maned wolf had obviously brought in at some point. I toss it in and stir the coals and small flames, hoping to burn the nightmare away with a flash of heat.

I look over at the maned wolf. She seems to be asleep, but her ears have swiveled towards me, as far as they can. I know she heard me gasping for air. I watch as she stretches, the tips of her fingers and toes reaching each end of the shelter, before she curls in on herself, “Are you okay, Valkyrie?”

“What do you care?”

She sits up and yawns. Every time I see her fangs, my heart jumps. She smacks her lips a few times and lifts a canteen to drink from. After lowering it, she glares into my eyes, “You kept me up all night. You never stopped crying.”

“Bullshit…”

Shame bubbles to the surface of my skin, and I can feel my cheeks redden. She pops a few knuckles, “You haven’t been a soldier for very long, have you?”

I look away, focusing on the flames. I won’t answer her. I refuse to give her information. I won’t play this game. “That’s not your concern.”

She hums in response but says nothing further. Good. I don’t want to talk to her. I’m not sure why I continue to even respond. She extends an arm, canteen held out, “It’s water.”

I grimace as I look over the wide mouth at the top of it. She just had it in her mouth. Is it possible I could get sick, catch something? Even if not, I don’t want her saliva on my lips. I shake my head and push it away. She pushes it back, “Dehydration may not kill you as fast as exposure to these elements, but it will, all the same.”

I snatched it from her paw. I shudder at the feeling of my fingers brushing over her long, hard claws. I’m fortunate they didn’t slice me. She leans back and watches as I wipe the mouth of the canteen on my undershirt.

“Afraid you’ll catch something?” A small chuckle follows.

I glare at her, then take a drink. It’s cold. Refreshing. I tilt my head back to get as much as I can and must empty nearly half of the container before wiping my mouth. I toss it in her direction; she easily catches it. Her claws slide across the metal as she lowers it to the bedding she sits on.

“So, what does Valkyrie mean?”

“This again?”

“You said ‘questions and answers tomorrow’ before you fell asleep.”

I snapped at her, “I was being facetious!”

She smiles, her fangs offering no comfort, “I see. Valkyrie. I’ve never heard such a name before. Where did you get it?”

“Jesus, you’re relentless!”

“I can be.”

Fuck! Fine, if it shuts her up, I’ll answer some damned questions! “I got it from my mom.”

“That’s just not true.”

I narrowed my eyes, “And you would know that, how?”

“We are both soldiers, so let’s please skip the pretenses.”

Seems I can’t slip anything by her. An intelligent and coy enemy is much more fearsome than a simple brute. I bite my lip to contain hurling more insults, then slouch back, “A Valkyrie is a warrior spirit of a sort. One that guides the worthy, those who died well, to a good afterlife.”

“Please, continue.”

“I earned it b-by…”

She holds up a paw, palm forward, and nods once. She breaks eye contact with me and looks at the flames. The fire flickers in her eyes, and shadows dance across her fur. It almost makes her auburn color look like flames. “You don’t need to say anything else on the matter. My girls called me ‘Virtue.’ I’ll give you one guess as to why.”

I grumble and rub my sore ribs, “I’m not sure I really care, to be candid.”

“We have nothing but time. A soldier’s worst enemy is…”

“…boredom. You know that saying, too?”

She arches an eyebrow, “Maned wolves?”

“Anthros.”

“I see. Then, yes. We’re not that different.”

I snap forward, balling my fists, “We don’t destroy families, separate married couples, and force an entire gender to bend the knee and serve our ‘needs’ or desires!”

“Force men to serve ‘desires’ and ‘needs’? Our men are treated very well. They form an integral part of our nation and serve as teachers, nurses, and in many other ways. My government may have blood on its hands, but so does yours.”

A brief flash of Mill Springs enters my mind. Smiles and laughter. Happy couples. Children… “What the fuck would you know! Don’t pretend you know my people or me!”

“I don’t mean to offend. I only mean to express that we truly are not that different. Your government does what it must to survive. Mine does the same.”

I laugh. It’s dry and humorless, “Oh, really? Then enlighten me. Tell me about my government’s crimes.”

“The most obvious thing would be conscription. They force the unwilling to fight, kill, and die. We are all volunteers. I’d be willing to bet you’re conscripted. They also heavily ration, and much of your population is starving. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve come across malnourished humans.”

“We’re starving because your kind keeps taking our land! The land we need to farm and grow food with!”

Her ears fall, and her eyes follow the smoke rising above the fire, “Two things may be true at the same time. I see your point, but surely you see mine as well?”

“Just... leave me alone. I’m done talking right now.”

I rolled away from her. Frustration. Anger. A touch of acceptance. She’s not entirely wrong, and it just makes me angrier! We were taught almost nothing about them in basic training or school. How their government works. Their culture or practices, beyond killing or taking us. Yet, she reads me like a damned book! I hope it just means she’s particularly insightful, because if all anthro’s are taught so much of us… Then we are doomed.

Knowing your enemy is like the Reading-101 class I took in middle school. Everyone needs it to succeed. Everyone relies on it. And yet, I don’t know a damned thing about them. She knows about conscription. She knows about our food rationing. I won’t let her have the advantage. I can’t.

“Virtue.”

I roll back to look at her. Her eyes are closed, but her tail twitches every time the fire pops. I look over her form in detail once more, taking note of the uniform. Like me, she lacks a plate carrier or helmet. No weapons, beyond her claws and fangs. Gray, urban-camo combat pants that end above her digitigrade ankles, a gray undershirt, and a shemagh with paw prints that nearly match her fur color. Near the entrance are her boots, which are also gray.

“Virtue, are you awake?”

Her tail thwaps the ground, and her eyes open, revealing the flame-licked brown color within. She says nothing, instead seeming content to watch me. I sigh, “I have questions.”

She snorts, “You said you were done talking.”

“Yeah. I was. Now I’m not.”

She shakes her head and lifts herself into a seated position, “Ask, then. But for every question I answer, you answer one in turn.”

“No.”

“That’s fine. Good night.” She lowers herself once more, turning her back to me. Damn it! Damn her snarky fucking attitude. I sat up, slouching towards the fire. I wish Sunshine were here. He’d know what to say or ask. She may be the enemy, but damn, could he talk. His smile would break her resolve faster than a rifle or knife. Fucking hell. Swallow your pride, Lance. I must know, or she’s going to have a complete advantage over me for as long as we’re together. If I can’t beat her physically, maybe I can outsmart her.

“Sorry.”

Her tail thumps the ground again, but she rolls over and pushes herself back up. “Why the change of heart?”

“Boredom.”

Her eyes search my own, then dart over my body so fast that I barely catch it. “You lie, once again.”

I ball my fists, “Fuc-” I bite my tongue, and hold back. I can do this. Just stop feeling - and act. Like you were trained. Be a soldier. No more lying, she can see right through it. Omit. Don’t lie.

“I want to know more about you and your people.”

Her eyes searched my own once more. She nods once, the only indication of the slight movement being a tiny dip of her ears, “You go first, then.”

“You’re a sergeant?”

“Yes.”

“…and, that’s it? No further details?”

“I answered your question.”

I jab a finger in her direction, “Don’t play coy with me.”

“I’m not. How long have you been a soldier?”

She’s really going to try to pick me apart like she did those rabbits. With words, instead of claws, “I was conscripted ten months ago.” She nods, and I continue, “Was it your unit that attacked Point Echo?”

“No, but my girls specialized in hunting fleeing groups of combatants, such as yours.”

A flash of fire rises in my chest. I wonder if it was her who shot her. Not now. Not. Now. Just focus on asking these questions. Just get answers.

“Why did you save me?”

She looks away and scans the shelter, “Too many deaths. Too much blood.” She hesitates, “I tire of its smell.” Her shoulders fall, and her height lowers just enough that the tips of her ears are freed from the woven canopy. “What was your specific job as a soldier?”

“Combat Medic. What exactly are you planning with me?”

“At first, my goal was to capture you and turn you over to the inspectorate, so they could integrate you into our society. Now? Nothing.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Your belief, or lack thereof, does not affect the truth. Will you return to the FAS?”

“Yes. How many were in your unit?”

She tilts her head and her eyes narrow as she scans me, “What are you actually after?”

“Do you usually answer questions with questions of your own?”

“Do you?”

Despite my frustration, I laugh. Not a full belly laugh - but more than I’ve done since I challenged her and that fox to try to take me. I calm myself, “We’re getting off track. Answer my question, Virtue.”

Her nostrils flare, and she looks down at my hands. I follow her eyes. Small droplets of blood squeeze by my fingernails, where they dig into my palms. I look back up, putting my hands behind my back, as if cuffed.

“Twelve. Now answer mine.”

“I’m after information.”

“If you wanted to figure me out, all you had to do was ask. No need for these games of intrigue.”

“Well, aren’t you just an open book… Fine. Is your unit looking for you?”

“I don’t know. They likely think I’m dead.”

“Then we’re alone out here?”

“Don’t count on it.”

“You just said your unit probably thinks you’re dead.”

“You think that my girls are the only ones out here?”

Ice flows up my neck and into my mind. How many did they sic on us? Five men and one woman. The FAS doesn’t have the resources to search a large area for such little gain. Are we truly that outmatched? The more I hear, the more I fall into darkness.

She offers a toothy smile, “You know, I’ve answered many of your questions without answers. If you want to continue this exchange, then I’m cashing in now.”

I scoff and shift my legs into crisscross style, “Whatever. Ask then.”

She leans forward, her ears perking. They’re huge, almost comically. Kind of… No! Fucking focus, you dog of a man. Her smile becomes more subdued, “I always did like twenty questions. Now then. Do you have family at home?”

No shit, I have a family, you big dummy. What a waste of a question. I roll my eyes, “Both parents and a sister.”

“Do you want to remain a soldier?”

I feel an eye twitch and a throb in my left temple. Fear. Hope. Yes. No. Too much. Too many thoughts - I don’t know. I look into the fire and poke at it with the branch we’ve been using to keep it going strong, “Maybe.”

She tilts her head and looks me over once more, then leans back and nods, “I think I’m done. I’ve done my duty. I just want to go home now.”

Your duty? Taking men and killing women? Raiding our homes and stealing our last land? Your ‘duty’ is monstrous. Your State is evil. Maybe you have some valid points about the FAS, but our hands were forced by your kind. I lock eyes with her, “Good for you. At least you will have a home to return to.”

“You don’t?”

I sputter, nearly coughing on my own reaction, “What do you think! I’d bet in ten years, the State’s paw will step on the last true bastion of freedom’s neck and snuff it out!”

Her gaze lowers. Her muzzle opens, then closes. This repeats a few times before she finally looks past me, “Last true bastion of freedom… What’s it like? How ‘free’ is it?”

“Well, we get to choose our partners, for one.”

“So do we.”

“Hmm. Maybe your kind, but do the men have a choice?”

She shakes her head. The movement is slothful and seems hesitant, “No.”

“Thought so. We also don’t have to worry about walking the streets alone, or in the early mornings or evenings. I’ve seen the news and read the stories.”

“Your news, and your stories?”

“No shit.”

“We read yours as well, you know. Helps us understand what we’re fighting for and against.”

“You’re ‘fighting’ to commit genocide on human women and enslave the men!”

She sighs, “You really don’t know anything about us, do you? If you’d just stop with this rhetoric and actually listen, you’d see that it isn’t true. If it were true, and it were our policy, why are you still alive, and why haven’t I taken you? You think you could stop me from shredding your clothes and dignity if I wanted to, right now?”

I push myself back and into a crouch, “You wouldn’t fucking dare…”

“No. I wouldn’t. I have no desire to do such a thing. And neither do the average anthro women. We don’t kill and rape or pillage for fun or whatever it is your government tells you.”

“What about the reeducation facilities? You said yourself during our first encounter that those things happened. And what about the Mountain Rangers and General Brown? Did they deserve to be executed?”

“I had no part in that. I disapprove of it. As for the facilities, I also told you that it was early in the war, and there was no oversight. The perpetrators were punished, and the victims cared for.”

“What good that does…”

“We’re getting nowhere. I’m not interested in arguing with you, Valkyrie. If we are forced to coexist, then I’d rather do it in peaceful silence than whatever this is.”

I want to insult her and argue for the hell of it. I question myself. My beliefs. Her statements. Whether she speaks the truth. She has been truthful about everything up until this point, and that terrifies me. I’m better than her. I need to control myself and not lash out. She’s supposed to be the animal - not me.

“You’re right. Sorry. Let’s move on, then.”

She shuffles to her boots, grabs them, and pulls them on. Odd that she doesn’t wear socks. Guess with fur and pads, she doesn’t need to. She zips the sides up. Much more efficient than my boots’ overcomplicated lace retention system.

“I’m going to find food.”

“In this storm?”

“I don’t need to be able to see my prey to hunt it. My fur will hold back the chill, for a time. I’ll return soon. If you’re not here when I get back, then goodbye. And good luck.”

She crawls through the low opening and disappears in the blanket cover of snow and shearing wind. I drop to my back, staring up through the gaps of the overhead pine boughs. I’m already going stir crazy. I’ve had this issue my entire life. It doesn’t stop. The thoughts. The creation of various imagined scenarios. This boredom may be worse than the first twenty days at Point Echo. At least I had tasks to complete there that kept my mind busy. I laugh out loud at the thought of the latrine’s shit cans, “Well, I don’t miss that!”

My smile fades as I think of all the others. Sixty of us, a week ago. Now, it’s just me. Well, and those three others that were captured. I think of my squad. I had only known them for a few weeks, but I miss them. I miss the rhythm of their banter and actions. How I tried to fit myself in, a piece from another puzzle, forced in to replace their previously fallen medic. They didn’t begrudge me for it. Didn’t taunt or tease me.

I think of Samantha’s attempt to salvage the end. Our declaration that we die unvanquished. Whisper, who never said much but always had insight, where others did not. Machine, the distant and cold – but dependable one who always had your back. Grumpy, who never seemed happy. Even the one good meal we got from an accidental shipment of extra food the day I arrived there. Bio-steak. Eggs. Hash browns and toast. What I wouldn’t do for that, right now.

Sunshine and his stupid jokes. Almost always had a clever quip or a positive retort for anything negative we were told. Did he make it out alive? I saw him disappear down the slope after he saved my life. I cringe at the implication of his survival. Would it be better to live under their ways?

My mind stops. I race for answers, thinking of all I’ve seen, been told, or trained on. I compare those thoughts to the images of the man in the field, and Grumpy murdering him without hesitation, to the smiling faces and laughter of couples in Mill Springs. I think of what this maned wolf has been telling me. It just doesn’t match. Somebody is lying. It’s them. It must be. How could you be happy to be a slave for someone else’s pleasure?

But if Virtue speaks the truth… No. Stop. Don’t you dare fucking continue that, though, you idiot. I sit up the second I hear movement at the entrance. Virtue crawls in, a rabbit in each hand and one in her jaws. She looks up as I grimace at the blood dripping from her muzzle and fangs.

She spits it out and drops the other two by it, then reaches outside for a handful of snow, scrubbing her muzzle clean. “It’s not pretty, I know.”

“Certainly not the way I’d hunt.”

She laughs, “I imagine not. I do not prefer it this way. I’d rather a bow, or traps.”

“You know archery?”

She nods, beginning the process of cutting the rabbits apart with her claws, blood trailing down her paws and wrists, “My father taught me.”

“…your father?”

She stops and looks back up into my eyes, “Did you think I had two mothers?”

I shake my head. I swallow the slight tinge of frustration and anger I feel. The thought of a human man raising an anthro. One who grew up to fight us. My silence seems to tell her whatever she wanted to hear, and she continues, “My father, yes. He taught me many things. Fishing and hunting, for example. But he also taught me how to be compassionate. To see how others feel and act. To understand, but not necessarily condone those feelings and actions.”

I hum, forcing words out, “Useful skills for a soldier.”

“I know what you’re implying. I never planned to join the army, you know. I wanted to be a politician.”

I snort, “Even worse. Politicians, no matter the side, are vile.”

“On that, we agree. Which is why I wanted to become one. To change things.”

“Change, how?”

“You wouldn’t believe me.”

“Try me. Might as well, can’t be any more unbelievable than what you’ve already told me.”

She pulls intestines from a rabbit and drops them into the fire, “Another time. Not here. Not now.”

“There will be no other time. When this storm ends, we go our separate ways.”

She begins processing the second rabbit, “Have you ever had rabbit before this morning?”

I see. Avoid the question. It might be a sensitive subject. I’m tempted to push and get under her fur, but fighting and screaming will get us nowhere. Besides, today will hopefully be the last time I see her. As soon as this storm breaks, I’m leaving. I know she will, too. I just need to be careful to avoid the others that are out there. The other human hunters.

I watched her stake all three rabbits on branches. She positions them over the fire, and we both watch. If I’m ravenous, she must be as well. She’s easily eight feet tall, maybe more. I’d guess she weighs at least three hundred pounds, or more. Fat sizzles down into the fire, and every drop that melts fills the air with an aroma that makes my mouth water. I watch her muzzle, chuckling to myself as I think of a hungry wolf drooling in wait for food. It doesn’t happen. She remains composed and collected, her eyes lazily watching the flesh char to perfection, before twisting them and cooking the backsides.

She takes two for herself and hands me one. I’m careful to avoid her claws as the branch passes between our hands. Well, my hand and her paw. We both start tearing at the meat, not caring that it burns a little or that we make a lot of noise. I wipe my chin a few times to keep myself at least looking somewhat decent and make it about two-thirds of the way through the rabbit.

I look over and watch her lick the pads of her fingers and claws, cleaning them. I look at my own grease-covered fingers and decide to use the pine boughs first, then wipe the remaining grease on my pants. I grab the far end of the branch it’s stuck to and hold it out towards her. Her eyes look into my own, then to the rabbit, then back at mine. I swear I see the beginning of a smile at the corner of her muzzle. It’s gone now. As fast as it came. She grabs it and tears into it without shame.

“Don’t get the wrong idea. I just don’t like to owe anyone. So consider it partial repayment for the two rabbits you’ve given me.”

She speaks through her mouthful, “Partial repayment? By paying me back with what I gave you?”

“That’s right. I’m very generous, I know. I’m just good like that.”

She lowers the rabbit and swallows the mouthful, then cracks a smile. No teeth. No intention to scare or belittle. She nods once, then goes back to finish the little bit remaining. I lower myself back onto my bed of pine and stare into the embers of the fire. I’m not very tired, but I don’t feel like talking more right now. All that remains for me to do is close my eyes and try to shut the voice of my conscience away.

She said she wants to go home. That she doesn’t like the smell of blood. I don’t know how long she’s been a soldier, but as a sergeant, I can imagine it has involved years of bloodshed. If I’m weary after a single battle, I can only imagine what she feels. Why do these thoughts occur, I wonder. Why? She’s not human. She hunts runaways, like me. How many men has she killed or captured? How many women’s blood stains her paws? That cheetah flashes into my mind. The man too.

I swallow my guilt and realize that she’s as human as I am. Just not human. That scares the shit out of me. More than battle. To think my enemy is more than an animal changes everything I’ve known or been taught. She’s wrong about my government. She was born on the wrong side. But she isn’t a dumb, unfeeling beast.

And I hate that. It’s much easier to kill an animal than a person. I wonder how it felt. When I pushed my bayonet into her neck. Did it hurt? I… I hope not. I hope she didn’t suffer. And that damned Lynx! She stamped that man’s head into an unrecognizable stain, and I just watched. I let her go. Why?

Am I a sympathizer? Am I a fool? A coward? I don’t know. I only know that I’m going to get home. I’m going to find Camp Hope. Hope is all that I have now. Hope to continue on. Hope for another day. A distant and fleeting hope for victory. For freedom. Freedom from self. Freedom for fear. Freedom from guilt.

“Do you still remember their face?” The words leave my mouth before my mind can register or stop them.

“What?”

“The first one.”

She doesn’t answer. Even the fire seems to go still and quiet. Unease fills my mind, but I don’t dare look over at her. I turn onto my side, away from her, away from the life-giving heat of the flames.

“Yes. I still remember.”

“Does it ever get better?”

“It…” She hesitates, her voice tinged with something I don’t know. Something I’ve not heard from her before, “No. Their face will always be at the back of your mind, in dreams. It doesn’t go away, it doesn’t get better. But it does become easier to cope with - and for some, justify.”

“Was it justified?”

I think of the order to charge. Of our cry, ‘Morior Invictus’. I die unvanquished. Does that justify killing? Are we just fighting and dying for land that we all know will be lost in time? No. No! Sudden anger hits me - but not for the maned wolf sitting across from me. For myself. For my doubts. For my questions. If my father heard these thoughts, he would likely disown me. My mother would cry. My sister? She’s a soldier too. She’d likely be the first to line me up against a wall.

I wonder how she is. Last I had heard from her, she was safe. She was behind the lines, at Camp Hope. I had more than one reason to get there. It’s been almost a year since I’ve seen her, and I need to make sure she’s okay. I need to show her that I’m still alive. I’m sure word has reached her, mom, and dad by now. They’re probably having a funeral right now, one in which my sister attends digitally.

I’ll make it home. I’ll see them again. I have to. I have no one else. Virtue’s soft voice pierces my thoughts, “Do you think we could ever coexist, without all this violence? Could our governments end this needless killing?”

I rolled over to her, my eyes wide and heart hammering, “What did you say?”

“Do you think we could coexist?”

Samantha flashes into my mind. I asked that same question once. I never got an answer. Only a look of distaste. No. No, no, no! Get out of my head! Stop this! Stop making me sympathize with her, stop humanizing her! She is my enemy.

Bitterness washes over me. I want to say yes. I want to scream no. I want to throw a boot at her head. I choose once more to remain silent. Like in the field. Despite my promise at Point Echo to never stay quiet again. Am I willing to sacrifice a piece of myself, no matter how small, to avoid answering her? Will I betray a promise given, not to myself, but that man?

I swallow, my lips dry and voice hoarse. It’s quiet, and I hope she can’t hear me, “Maybe.”

She doesn’t react beyond the nearest ear twitching to my word. Finally, I find silence. Not peace. But something. I roll over onto my right side to relieve the pressure in my ribs and close my eyes. Tomorrow cannot come soon enough. This storm has to break. Or I will. I’m stuck in here with an enemy that destroys my resolve, but not with violence of action. Thoughtful questions, answers, and actions. It’s worse. I’d rather feel the sting of her claws tearing into my flesh. I’d rather feel her fangs at my neck. That makes sense. That’s what I expect. Not this kindness from a stranger. From an anthro. From the enemy.

Shared hopes. Shared questions. She said we’re more alike than I know. Only time will determine if she’s right, or if I am. Darkness takes hold, though the cold doesn’t let go. I shiver as the temperature drops, letting me know I’ve been lying for hours. That day nears its end. Good. Tomorrow will be better. It must. The cold becomes more distant, and my mind slows.

Blurs fly by me. Thumps beneath my boots. My hands are wet. I lift them to see what it is, and blood drips from them. They’re shaking, the left holding five sets of dog tags. The names are familiar. Mortar fire lands around me. I watch as soldiers run in silence, the only noise the whistling death from above and the thumps as they land. They disappear in flashes of light and red mist. Never will they feel again. No guilt or fear. I envy them.

I’m slammed into my stomach – a force from behind pressing me into the earth. A digitigrade boot lands next to my face, stamping the dog tags I dropped. The anthro’s other foot presses into my back, pushing the air from my lungs. The pressure increases as they lean down, the face of a cheetah coming into view. She’s snarling, mouth spilling blood, staining the front of her uniform.

One of her paws grabs my throat from behind and begins to push in, the claws easing into my skin and tissue like it were made of paper. I gurgle and gasp as blood jets out between her fingers. I feel a strong tug at my throat, hear and feel ripping, and then nothing as her saturated paw pulls away – taking my life with it. I jump up and scream, grabbing my throat, “I didn’t have a choice!”

Virtue jumps up as well, slamming her head into the ceiling. She grunts and rubs between her ears, “What’s happening?”

I look over at her. My heart hits the back of my ribs so hard it hurts. The flicker of a dying flame is barely enough to light the shelter, and all I can see are the occasional bursts of her features. Muzzle, fangs, eyes, and ears. I scramble back and hit the wall behind me, “I didn’t want to!”

Her ears fall, “Another nightmare.”

“Nightmare?”

“Yes. It’s just a dream, Valkyrie. It’ll be okay.”

“What would you know!”

Her voice is strained. It sounds distant, as if she speaks from another place, “I know.”

I believe her. I don’t care that she’s not human. I can hear it in her voice, “How do I make them stop? How do I make her go away?”

“You can’t.”

I wrap my arms around myself, urging my heart to calm, “I almost wish you’d lie to me and say it would be okay and they’d stop…”

“Would it help if I did?”

I consider nodding in affirmation. I want to. But a lie told is a lie lived.

“No.”

My body trembles. I know it isn’t the cold doing it. And it is very cold. I can see my breath, and my small, growing stubble feels stiff and frozen.

“I’m going to approach you. Is that okay?”

“Why?”

“To help you.”

“How?”

“I know you don’t trust me. I know you are struggling to trust yourself. But I know what you’re going through. I’ve been there. Let me help. Like I did in the water. With the shelter. With the food.”

What could she be planning? I want to say no, but that damn cheetah seems to stalk the flickering shadows of the shelter. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to drown out the distant pops of weapons fire in my mind. The feeling of my bayonet against bone. The crack of Grumpy’s suppressed rifle. I lower my head for several seconds, then lift it. The slowest nod of my life.

I hear her shuffling around. The trembling gets worse, “Please…”

“Shhh, it’ll be okay.”

She reaches out for me, and I push myself further into the wall, shaking the shelter. Snow falls into my hair and on her muzzle. She smiles, not showing teeth. Her paw stops a little more than halfway and hovers in position. Her nose twitches from the snow, and she shakes her head like I imagine a domestic dog would. It almost makes me smile.

“It’s a lot to ask for now, but please, just give me an ounce of your trust. I won’t hurt you, I promise.”

My heart hammers as I stretch out my left arm slowly and extend my fingers towards her. It’s achingly slow. Her eyes follow my hand, and when it closes the distance, her paw envelopes it. Fear and a brief flash of anger surge through me – but soon settle into something less. Something manageable. Just apprehension.

She’s soft… and incredibly warm. Gentle. I notice her arm is extended to what must be an uncomfortable degree, in an effort to keep as much distance between us as possible. Not to protect herself, I realize. To protect me. Brief fear surges again – then washes away like a receding tide. She doesn’t move any closer or push further. She doesn’t squeeze. She just lets the warmth of her fur and pads ground me in the real world, away from those nightmares.

“You know,” she begins, and cracks a half-smile, “It would be nice to get at least one night of solid sleep.”

I nearly spit. Not in anger or disgust. But in sudden and twisted humor. A sob almost breaks free, but instead, I laugh. She joins in laughing, too. It’s lighter. I’m not sure how long I sit there, holding her paw, but it’s helping. The sounds in my mind are gone. My heart is still pounding, in slight fear of her, but not like it was from the nightmare. It’s not thundering. I can tolerate this. The faces of those who haunt me are a far worse threat.

“T-thank you.”

“Mmmhmm. It’s as much for me as it is for you.”

“Because you need sleep?”

Her half-smile cracks into a toothy one, “Exactly. Are you feeling better?”

I pull my hand, and she lets it go without resistance. I don’t know. I don’t know what I feel. But it is better than it was. I simply nodded and lowered myself back into position to sleep again.

I listen to her feed the fire and then go back to her spot. No other words are said, and once more, I close my eyes. They’re gone. I don’t know what tomorrow will bring, but it must be better. It has to be.

~Spero Meliora~

“We can, and we will, do better.”

Broken Front, Fallen Skies

Part III

~Solacium in frigore inveniens~

‘Find Comfort in the Cold’

Sierra Sector News : After our stunning victories across the front in Colorado, our girls in the sector are being ordered to halt their push, just in time for Christmas! Many will be granted leave to go home and be with their husbands or families. Many more are going to receive leave to show their Combat Claims what it means to be a citizen of this great State who is under the tender, loving paws of our women! In other news, the FAS is pushing back in the remnants of Montana. A massive 70-kilometer offensive has been stalled, and heavy losses have been inflicted on enemy materiel and assets, with little loss of human life due to our overwhelmingly superior marksmanship training and technology! Tune to SierraSector.News.ST for more news about developing situations on the front!

Free States Media : “A platoon of our tanks and a supporting regiment of mechanized infantry has just finished pushing deep into the enemy’s right flank near the town of Lima here in Montana. The State’s soldiers fled in the face of our overwhelming force, leaving behind supplies for our soldiers to liberate!” And now we turn from War Correspondent Corey’s feed to something even more critical: Liberation Day! Forty-four years ago, our great nation was founded by the remnants of the United States military, and we’ve held the line since then! Parades are scheduled across all major cities and routes, so make sure to show up for the big day tomorrow! Extra ration coupons and other supplies are to be handed out, courtesy of our generous Federal Assembly!

My eyes pry open against the weight of the cold. It sat over me, heavier than even a weighted blanket. Cold breath fogged the small shelter as I lifted myself. Still alive. Another day. Though I’m still uncertain how I’m supposed to feel about that. I wince and draw in a sharp breath as my broken ribs stab against me, protesting my movements.

“Are you in pain?”

My eyes trace over Virtue’s sitting form. Her voice was primarily that of a woman’s. Still, an odd undertone of animalistic nature poked through–as it did in all anthro voices I had heard recently. She sat with her digitigrade legs crossed and ran the claws of a finger over the claw of a toe. I listened for something beyond the scrape of keratin. Anything. The howling wind of the previous day was gone, and the imagined voices it carried were now silent.

“I was having a nice dream. Of California,” I smiled with my lie, hoping she’d take the bait, “The beaches are beautiful.”

Her eyes searched me in a way that reminded me of what she ultimately was, regardless of specific species. A predator. Keen and acutely aware of subtle things, I know my mind would overlook even if capable of identifying.

She chuffs, blowing a cloud of vaporized breath into our shelter, “So I’ve heard.”

Damn it. I want her to bite back. To fight my words, the implication of our victory at San Fran. I’m a soldier. I need to fight to stay sane. Well… that’s what they drilled into me, anyway. An idle soldier makes trouble. Grumpy’s face flashed into my mind’s eye, and though I hated what he’d done in that field, I wanted to tap into his biting attitude more than ever.

“It has oranges,” I added, though I’m not sure that’s true anymore. I’d never been, “And sunshine. You remember what that’s like, yeah? Away from this frozen waste we fight over because of your people. The source of life and warmth on this ball we call home?”

Her muzzle parted into a huge yawn, her tongue rolling near the glinting fangs; my breath caught. She could tear me to shreds with those if she wanted. I’d gouge her eyes out before she finished, though. As her arms and legs followed the stretch and slowly pulled back to her core, she smacked her lips once, “Vaguely.”

A bitter taste coursed into my mind, and a flash of anger darkened my vision. I grind my teeth for a moment. Damn her. Damn her and her damned coy responses. She’s not worth it. I sigh, releasing my tension with a shudder.

“You look like shit, human.”

I scoff, “You’re a real charmer. I bet men line the blocks back home, just waiting to get insulted by you.”

Her head tilted in that way that family pets back home do. It would be cute. If not attached to the frame of an eight-foot-tall killing machine.

“I’ve not been home in many years,” she evades my quip, “And speaking of sunshine, I bet it’s finally tolerable out there.”

Her tail, a long auburn and black plume, flicks once against her bedding of needles. It was controlled, intentional. The rhythmic, almost meditative motion grated on my nerves. No matter the situation or how I strike, she counters with calm or collected thoughts and actions. As if I’m merely a gnat buzzing in her ear. An annoyance. Nothing more.

One of her paws reaches out to a cool and charred piece of wood and turns it over with a claw, one that could easily unzip my throat, to expose the glowing embers. It doesn’t throw out much heat, but in this cold, every bit can be felt.

“We should leave as soon as possible, but your injuries concern me. Your ribs in particular. Think you can keep pace if we head out?”

“I’m a Combat Medic, Virtue. I’ve been taught enough to know how far I can safely push a human body, and some broken ribs, a sprained wrist, and bruises aren’t going to stop me.”

Her eyes lock onto mine, “Being headstrong can be a good trait for a soldier, but it can also lead to reckless action.”

“I know exactly how much I can take,” I choke back a burst of annoyance and fatigue. I wanted to throw one of my boots at her head, but I instead looked at the snow-packed entrance that blocked most of the sun’s rays from entering our shelter.

She doesn’t take her eyes off of me, “Do you?”

I look back at her, and she continues, “Because you were near the point of collapse when I first found you, and yet you pushed on. I just want to make sure you’re ready - a broken soldier can be a liability. Even to themself.”

“Why are you still bothering with me, then?” I whispered, the bitterness in my voice as strong as bile, “If I’m simply a liability, then leave. Go back to your unit and tell them you found a human too stubborn to die and too broken to be worth ‘Combat Claiming.’”

Her lips begin to curl into a snarl, but she stops herself and runs her paws over her mane before securing her shemagh around her neck. She finally turns away from me, her large frame almost too much for the shelter, and grabs her gray boots. I watch her tug them on with ease, a practiced motion, “Then make ready. We’re leaving.”

I watch as she shuffles to the entrance of our shelter. She pushes through the snow drift piled over the crawl space exit and steps outside. A lance of pain shoots into my eyes as the bright light of day pierces the shelter, blasting the shadows away as sure as fire chases cold.

“Thanks for the warning,” I muttered beneath my breath as I grabbed my boots and the little I did have. It took twice as long to secure my own boots, and by the time I was done lacing them, my eyes had adjusted to the daylight.

Every inch of my body hurts. If not from injuries, then from the cold that has taken root in my bones. Each movement seemed to jar my tender bruises, broken ribs, and sprained wrist more than the last. With a few grunts, I crawl through the exit, stopping to look up at her towering form for a moment, and then I lift myself to my feet, standing to my full height next to her. I look up at her and catch her eyes glancing down at me before they go back to surveying the area.

“See anything from way up there?”

A smile breaks her expression for just a moment, one of her ears tracking my voice before going back to searching for anything else, “I could lift you onto my shoulders and let you see things from an anthro’s perspective for once,” she looks down at me, a few fangs in her smile, “If you’d like.”

“You just like to poke, don’t you?”

She laughs. It’s a short and repeating bark-like sound laced with a normal woman’s voice, “You insist on looking for battle where one does not exist, little human. How should I respond?”

Rage curls in my gut, “We’re back to species, then, wolf?”

Her brows furrow, and the fur of her mane raises before settling again just as fast, “So, where do we go from here, Valkyrie?”

A tiny slap of guilt for seeking to fight and calling her a wolf hits me, but I bury it beneath the resolve of getting home, “I was hoping you’d know. With those senses of yours.”

As if in cue, her nose twitches, “They’re strong but cannot perform miracles. My suggestion would be to follow the river until we come across signs of life. All civilization builds close to fresh water.”

“That may be true, but if what you said yesterday is any indication, other units like yours are out here. What am I supposed to do, hide behind you and hope for the best?”

She looks down at me, turning her body to face me. A surge of adrenaline courses through my neck, and my hands ball without thought. Her nose flares and her ears lower, “If the wind is right, I’ll smell them long before they see us. I will signal you to hide in that event.”

The transition from the shelter’s interior to the raw, frigid expanse of the valley felt like a physical blow. The cold of the shelter now called to me, as it felt warm in comparison. I couldn’t stop thinking about her choices. Her words. She makes me question everything I know about this war.

“Why? Why do that?”

She searches my eyes, then the trees, and finally the sky, “Because I gave you my word.” She runs her claws over an ear, rubbing at the tip, “Let’s go.”

I watch her loping steps through the fresh powdered snow. It barely crests her ankles but is nearly knee high on me, which just irritates the shit outta me, “What do you mean, ‘let’s go,’” She stops and looks over her shoulder at me, “Think I’m going to follow you like some lost pup?”

“We’ve already discussed this. Water leads to life. Follow it, and you will find others, though I cannot say who the others may be. I take just as great a risk as you.”

I look around the pristine valley. There’s gotta be another way. Another direction to go. I track the curve of a hill that stops as it shifts into a sheer cliff. I follow the edge, which must be at least a hundred feet high, for a reasonable distance before stopping. I sigh and glare at her. She smiles, offering a few fangs to either piss me off or encourage me. I don’t know which.

A shiver racks my body, starting at the base of my spine and working its way towards my teeth, which begin to rattle. I wrap my arms over my core, “It’s worse today.”

“No cloud cover to prevent warmth from escaping, and no shelter packed with snow to insulate beneath,” She looks up at the clear sky, “It’ll only get worse if we stay. Let’s move.”

I fall in behind her, using her large, booted paw prints to ease myself through the snow. Never thought I’d be in lockstep with an anthro. With the enemy. Let alone wishing I could press against her radiating warmth for comfort. Pisses me off. This thermal fleece is just not enough for this environment.

They were better equipped than we were. I’d heard stories of their armor systems and outposts. I’d even seen a little of it now. Thermally regulated undersuits and heated barracks. We were stone-age in comparison. I imagine this is what those paratroopers of old, my father told me stories of, felt like when they hunkered in foxholes in Germany, so long ago in a war long-forgotten. Stuck in frozen forests, with the only source of heat being the barrels of their weapons after a firefight.

As we approach the river that nearly claimed us, a gust of wind shears through me, carrying my body heat away as sure as a gust of wind pulls the puffballs of seeds from a dandelion in spring. At least I’m shivering. Means my body is fighting it. Core temperature isn’t too low. Yet. I follow her lead as we travel alongside the river, deeper into the mountains, wondering how her fur feels in this cold. It’s not as thick as wolves’ or foxes’ coats, from what I can see, but it must be incredibly insulating all the same. Of course, canines also have a higher natural body temperature than we do, too. Lucky.

I watch the muscles press against her uniform with each wide step. Her digitigrade legs practically scream against the tightened uniform legs, and the rest of her uniform leaves little to the imagination as it is much more form-fitting than my own. Do they do that on purpose? Try to accentuate desires with appealing looks to make men surrender or second-guess? Are they unabashedly ashamed of their bodies? Or is it just a fleeting flicker of consciousness – something they’re so used to they think nothing of it.

Damn it, Lance! Shut up, right now! She isn’t attractive… she’s the enemy! Heat, more than one kind, rises in my core, as I look over her lithe but well-toned body: my eyes ignoring my brain’s commands. I push down the lesser heat with my frustration, only refocusing on her face when she chuffs, looking over her shoulder at me, her nose flaring. A slight tug at the corner of her lip betrays what she obviously smells.

“Don’t get any ideas,” I growl as low as I can.

“Ideas about what?”

“Don’t play coy with me. I know all about your ‘superior’ senses.”

She snorts, “We need to gain altitude or find more open ground as soon as possible, to get our bearings. I have a rough idea of where we could be based on operation maps of the area, but I can’t be sure without visual markers.”

“Yeah, well, while you’re worried about the high-ground, I’ll worry about not dying of hypothermia,” I grumble, “Must be nice to have fur. I bet you barely feel the cold at all.”

“You’re wrong.”

“What?”

“Do you really know so little about us? Don’t they teach you about differences in species in training? How each have unique strengths and weaknesses?”

I don’t answer; instead, I scoff. She continues, “I’m a maned wolf. I have fur, yes, but my kind is not native to this type of environment or temperature. My thermal layer is carrying most of the load in keeping me warm. You aren’t the first human I’ve talked to that seemed to know so little of us. They don’t teach you much in training, do they?”

“They teach us how to kill you. And to aim for the nose. It’s enough.”

“Not very effective, judging by the state of the war.”

“I seem to recall you yelping when I hit yours.”

She laughed at me. As if I’m crazy or a fool or said something unbelievable. What the hell?

“You cheated. You used a stone.”

“Yeah, well,” I bit my bottom lip to control an outburst, “We’re outnumbered and outgunned. I’d say we’re doing damned well, all things considered. Anyway, my only concern right now is getting to Camp Hope. It should be,” I gestured across the river, “That way, somewhere. I just need to find a crossing point.”

My mind raced to my sister. She’s an officer. Five years older than me, and last I heard, a Captain. She never said anything negative when I was conscripted. Still, I could hear the disappointment in her tone when we spoke about it. She had expected me to volunteer, like she had. I never did get confirmation, but I know she pulled strings to keep me in Colorado.

“You speak of Camp Hope as if it were some fairy tale your soldiers tell themselves to keep moving. I have heard that name many times these last few weeks,” she doesn’t wait for me to respond and swipes a paw over the edge of the river as if touching it. “This is a good navigational aid. It will lead to a lower elevation. Warmer, and likely where we will run into patrols.”

“Likely FAS patrol this far into the lines,” I said, though confidence didn’t follow my statement.

“Maybe,” she conceded, “Or maybe mine. Either way, staying here and waiting for more storms is a way to embrace death. We move.”

Silence falls. My mind races. Will I turn her over? Shoot her myself? Beg for her to be taken prisoner and treated well? I don’t know. She’s my enemy. The enemy. And yet… she is almost human. She has a mind sharper than any human soldier I’ve met. I can’t deny she’s capable of what she does. Nor can I deny her kindness. I know there’s an ulterior motive. Always is with humans. Must be with her too. She did say we aren’t that different.

I try to control the chatter of my teeth and find myself more annoyed by the second that she seems so in control. Of her actions. Of her mind. Of her body.

“I do hope it is FAS patrols.”

My legs stop. The action is beyond thought.

“What?”

She stops as well but doesn’t look back, “I can easily evade your patrols. You will have no such luck against mine.”

I jab a finger in her direction, “This is why we will win. You already think you’ve won, and you so casually cast aside my people’s capabilities.”

She sighs and her shoulders slouch, before she rises to her full height and turns towards me. My heart thrums with fear and determination in equal measure as the exposed parts of her mane raise, “I do not speak to undermine. I do not cast aside the desperate, reckless, and often brave actions of your people, Valkyrie. I speak from experience. Do you think my unit merely operated alongside frontline troops?”

I spit, “So what, you’re special ops?”

She chuffs, “Not in a way you’d understand. We are not like your Mountain Rangers.”

“Too bad,” I force a grin, showing my own teeth for once, “They’re all dead.”

I shuffle back, my heels catching in the deep snow as she storms towards me. I can feel the weight of her stomps through the snow and frozen earth beneath. My breath is stolen as I trip and hit the ground, a fresh jolt of pain cascading through my cracked ribs. She stops directly over me, looming overhead like a mountain, a glare so intense it rivals the sun.

“Our truce is fragile. You are angry that your friends are dead or captured. I understand. But this… cooperation is born of necessity. We are two shipwreck survivors, forced to share the same raft.”

A paw shoots out towards me. I expect the heat of claws rending flesh. Blood. Instead, it stops short, and she turns it over, offering it to me, “We lose daylight.”

I sigh, “Shipwreck, huh? Just because we drown in each other’s presence, doesn’t mean we are friends.”

“Doesn’t mean we need to tear into each other every waking moment, either.”

My eyes narrow as I search her face for a lie, but all I notice is a weary reflection of my own exhaustion in her eyes. Then her bare paw held out to me. Damn this whole war! I slap my hand into hers, nearly shuddering in relief as a surge of warmth from her pads enters my gloved hand. She pulls me up easily, then turns and continues walking.

I follow, dusting snow from my uniform as I try to find a matching rhythm to her stride. Every movement jars my ribs as I overextend my legs to keep pace with her steps, leaving a trail in the snow. It’s clear that my underhanded comments and jabs have finally pissed her off; her long legs crossing distance in an almost mechanical, tireless nature that I couldn’t hope to match. Heh. I got what I wanted. I thought it’d make me happy or bring me some peace. Instead, I just feel like an idiot. Poking holes in the raft that has kept me afloat since I fell into stormy waters. Like she said, we are cast away now.

Her large ears swiveling independently at every noise I can’t hear. Even if I were capable, I don’t think I’d care, as I’m too busy sucking air through my teeth so cold it feels as if they could shatter if I flicked them with a nail.

My vision began to tunnel, a symptom of my temperature dropping, injuries, and a body still in recovery from malnutrition. The rabbit was the last I’d eaten, and the lean meat didn’t provide much in the way of recovery for a body working so hard in the cold of winter. Every movement demanded calories. The regulation of my body to keep itself took even more. As if listening to my mind, it grumbles, but I’m not given much time to think on it.

“Pick up the pace, Valkyrie!”

Her voice isn’t soft anymore. It has the edge of a sergeant who is annoyed by an unruly subordinate. A bitter undertone to the sharp command that demands action.

I shuffle after her, only just avoiding falling into the snow as I stumble in the effort to keep pace with her, “Slow down!”

“I could pick you up. Carry you like a sack of rations.”

“Yeah, I bet you’d love that. Then you could toss me off a cliff.”

She looks back at me, that smile always returning and breaking some of the tension, “Don’t tempt me.”

This is as much a battle on my body as our retreat was. Restless nights, hunger, and relentless marching to occupy the time. Her stamina and height make this journey through the snow much easier for her. With each step, I have to force a knee to waist height, breaking the surface of the snow and throwing powder into my face. I spit the melting slush from my face, “Virtue. Just hold on for a moment.”

She stops, and my momentum nearly carries me into her. I level out, “Thank you,” I gasp from exertion, “I can’t keep using that much energy trying to keep up with you. I’ll burn out in an hour or two.”

Her tail flicks to the left once. Then twice. I look up and shrug while doubled over, “I’m sorry I pissed you off, alright? Just slow down for the pathetic little human, huh?”

“Pathetic?”

“Isn’t that what you think of me? What all anthro’s think of humans?”

I push off my knees with both hands, ignoring the twinge of pain in my left wrist. Our eyes meet, and she leans in towards me, slow and careful, as if expecting me to launch another attack like when I first woke to her. The word hung in the air, crystalline and as sharp as an overhanging icicle.

“You are little,” a smirk that disappears as quickly as it appeared, “But not pathetic.”

“You’re telling me you don’t consider humans to be beneath you, even if only physically?”

“Every species has its own strength. I have seen your kind adapt to a wide range of environments and situations that others simply cannot hope to. Reptiles could never forge through this cold without specialized gear or equipment.”

She lets the words hang for a moment, her eyes looking over my shivering form, “I know you’re cold, but you push on. I think you’re a bit naïve, but courageous beyond even many anthro soldiers I’ve fought beside. I admire your strength.”

I laugh, “You might think that way about humans, but what about other anthros? All we’ve ever been told is that you treat us as if we are fragile pets to be owned and paraded around in proud possession.”

“I didn’t say that is what I think of humans. That is what I think of you,” She stops herself, her muzzle opening and closing a few times, before she turns and starts walking again. Thankfully, at a slower pace.

“So then, what? You didn’t answer my question.”

“A question and answer for one in return.”

“This again? Fine. Now answer.”

“Humans are fragile in comparison to us. We are larger, stronger, faster… the list goes on. But the body is only a third of the whole. Your spirit and your mind bridge the divide.”

“Enlighten me.”

She looks over her shoulder, then scans the horizon, scenting the air. Such an odd thing to watch a… person, sniff at the air. I wonder what it would be like to know, with such clarity, who is nearby or who has recently passed through an area, without ever seeing them. The action makes her look less like a person and more like a feral animal searching for prey.

She was searching for her ‘girls’, or an FAS patrol that I hoped was nearby. She lowers her head, “You owe me an answer,” and looks around as if searching the environment for a list of questions to process as easily as she did those rabbits. “Why do humans bother with the face coverings?”

“The balaclavas? To conceal whether someone is male or female from a distance. The hope was to prevent the prioritization of targets.”

“It doesn’t work,” she said as a gust of wind whipped between us, “We can smell the difference at great distances, if the wind carries right.”

I raise an eyebrow, “Even if in a crowd or a group that is packed tight?”

“No,” she conceded, her tail flicking snow from itself, “But our visual acuity is better as well. Females carry themselves differently from males. It is something that transcends the line of species. If we cannot single them out by scent, we often can by sight. The curves of the body. The way your uniforms hug your forms.”

A cold pang settles in my gut, but not one of hunger. It sat heavier than the cold that pressed down upon me. I thought of Samantha. How all our strategic “masking” had been a hollow lie against predators that could see a simple truth in the way we walked.

I felt sick. From pain. Hunger. Cold. And loss. Not just the loss of Samantha, but the loss of confidence in the things I’ve been taught. I shift my eyes towards my own uniform, close my eyes, and sigh, “Explain what you mean by the physical only being a third of the whole.”

“The ‘human spirit,’ as I have often heard it called. You are tenacious. Even when you know you are going to lose, you fight. Take your stand against myself and Vera. You had no chance of winning. You knew it. We knew it. Yet, you fought. It impressed me.”

I lift my eyes but don’t meet hers and instead look out at the distant and jagged peaks of the Rockies. The image of the cheetah flashed into my mind; the way she looked up at me with tears in her eyes before she slumped, “I wanted to die.”

Her mane bristles. A paw twitches in the corner of my eye. It lifts, as if she wanted to reach out to me, but then falls again, “And yet, here you are. Alive. Still walking. Still refusing to give in.”

She lets the words settle over me before continuing, “As for the mind, you are all so versatile in thought. A blank slate, almost capable of being molded to nearly any profession or undertaking. Not often leaders in your chosen field, but capable all the same.”

One of her paws begins to rub at the tip of her right ear again. That’s the third time I’ve seen that.

“Contrast that with us. Some species excel at tracking or being scouts. Some as frontline warriors. Others as doctors. That isn’t to say that exceptions don’t exist. Our runners and medics are often cheetahs or other lithe and fast species. Harder to target. Faster to arrive. Our scouts are usually coyotes, foxes, lynx… fast, effective trackers, with energy to match the need to traverse rough terrain for days or weeks. I could go on, but I think you understand.”

“Why do you keep doing that?”

“Doing what?”

“There you go again. Answering a question with a question. Why do you keep rubbing that ear?”

Her fingers stop as she looks up, trying to look at her own ear, “I… I don’t know. I just do it sometimes.”

“Mmmhmm. Nervous tick.”

“What?”

“Well, take my human, non-field leading opinion with a pinch of salt here, but I think it’s a soothing action. I’ve seen a lot of soldiers do strange things like that, particularly those who are close to breaking and need comfort or those who find a way to stop themselves from thinking about things they don’t want to. Smoking. Drinking. Tapping a foot. Biting nails. Rubbing their ear.”

“Perhaps you read too much into the body language of a species you were incapable of identifying before yesterday?”

“Maybe.”

We continue on with only the crisp snap of snow underfoot and the river as accompanying sound. Well, besides my own breathing. I focus on her. Is she even breathing? Always so silent. Are they all like that? So weary of every noise that they mask their own?

“You snore, by the way,” she looks back at me and winks.

I sputter, “I do not!”

“Yes, you’re right. It was merely the wind.”

“That’s right. Exactly.”

Her shoulders shake with mirth, “Exactly. The wind inside your nose.”

Despite wanting to take offense at it, a burst of laughter blasts out before I can stop it. She joins me, and our voices echo down into the valley. It ends nearly as fast as it started, silence once more taking hold of us.

As we pass a bend in the river, I watch her step over some large stones. A new thought circled my mind like a vulture. It would be too easy to smash her in the back of the head with one… an ‘accident’ the next time she slept, maybe? Does she imagine these same sorts of things? Do all soldiers have these kinds of thoughts, or just me? I don’t want them at all. I don’t want to kill her. Or anyone. No matter their species.

Does she imagine the same things? She could easily kill me right now. Drown me. Tear my throat out with fang or claw. Crush me. I need a weapon, but she doesn’t. But she hadn’t tried anything. No attempts, even when I was most vulnerable. She shared shelter and food with me. I still can’t place her. She said she wasn’t interested in claiming me; so, what is it, then?

The posters around the FAS and our camps always painted them as mindless, lust-filled beasts. It was simple, but effective and dehumanizing. Made all the easier by the fact that they aren’t human. But she’s not mindless. She’s sharp. Disciplined. Not driven by lust. Surprisingly… tolerable. Someone is lying. Her side. Mine? Maybe both.

Silence once more blanketed us as surely as the snow blankets the mountains. My footfall sounded so heavy compared to her near-silent padding. It actually brought me shame, a degree of embarrassment. A brief heat warmed my face, but I forgot it just as fast when the next breath of sub-zero air scraped the inside of my mouth and lungs.

The dull ache of my ribs had turned into heart-pounding throbs. A constant reminder of what she could do to me, if she wanted.

“You’re falling behind again, Valkyrie. Do you need a break?”

Her voice pierced my mind, carrying effortlessly from where she had stopped to look back at me more than ten yards away.

“I’m… pacing myself. That’s all,” I grunted and put a hand on a nearby cedar tree, “I’m enjoying the view, actually. See that bird in the sky? Majestic.”

There was no bird, and she didn’t need to check to know that. My eyes were too blurry from the cold of tears to focus on anything besides large objects. I watched her double back towards me. Her legs moved with tireless efficiency, making human anatomy seem like a design flaw. She stopped only a few feet away, her body radiating a warmth that I was loath to admit I wanted and needed. Her eyes fell to my waist, scanning for something. The hell?

Her paw falls towards her own waist as I push from the tree in preparation for something unpleasant.

A canteen met my chest before I could finish raising my hands in protest, “I forgot you lack one,” she said, her voice dropping its edge for a moment, “Drink. We will rest for five.”

My fingers brushed hers as I took it, and I’m debating wiping the mouth of it again. The thought was a desperate attempt to maintain some kind of distance between ‘us’ and ‘them.’ She watches me, waiting to see if I will. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. I tilt my head back and take a long, icy pull of the water, wiping my mouth and nodding to her as I hand it back.

Both paws reach out to me now. One to grab her canteen, and another holding a large rectangular bar wrapped in black plastic, “Here. Last one.”

It’s a nutrient bar. State issued. A strange script on it that I couldn’t make sense of, “Where the hell did you get that?”

“Always had it.”

“And you decided to keep that a secret? Why hunt the rabbits?”

“Well, a good soldier never reveals their hand until ready, and I only have one. It’s not enough to sustain us. This flavor is the best one, though, so enjoy!” She smiles and pushes it further towards my chest, “Molasses and peanut butter.”

I narrowed my eyes, “So eager to feed me?”

“The truth is, I have no interest in carrying you. You need energy, and you need hydration to keep going.”

“So, you would carry me then,” I smile as smugly as I can and tear into the bar’s wrapper. I turn the inconspicuous bar over in my hand, not liking the shine to it, “Odd color. You said it’s the best one?”

She nods, “Hurry up. Two minutes of rest left.”

I bite into it and chew. It’s thick, chewy, an-

I spit out the liquefying blob in my mouth, “What the fuck is that!”

She roars into laughter, entire body shaking as she nearly howls into the trees, “You should see your face!”

I use my fleece sleeve to wipe my tongue, hoping to remove the coating flavor from my mouth, “It tastes like ass! The fuck is it?”

“The absolute worst flavor in any of the ration menus. Deceptive smell and initial bite, followed by an explosion of liquifying nutritional slurry – everything an active troop needs to keep going for an extra hour or two.”

I jab it into her chest, “Take it. I’d rather boil and eat leather.”

She takes it and unceremoniously bites a massive chunk from it, chewing proudly in my face. I cringe and shake my head, “You enjoy that?”

“Fuck no! But the kcals are too important to waste. I can hunt when we stop for the night.” She shrugs, “You get used to it after a few hundred.”

A few hundred of that exact flavor? How many rations has she been forced to eat, I wonder, “How old are you, anyway?”

“Don’t humans consider it rude to ask a woman’s age?”

“Maybe. Question stands.”

“I’m twenty-seven.”

“Damn!”

She stops, “And how old are you?” She sniffs the air and her eyes narrow over me, “Twenty-four, maybe?”

“Close. Twenty-six.”

Her muzzle drops, “One year. I am one year older than you. Why act as if I am old?”

I stroke at my growing stubble, “Yeah, you’re right. One is too small a number. Let’s workshop it,” I count on my fingers. “Yeah, that’ll do. Three hundred sixty-five days older than me. That’s a lot.”

Her eyes go wide, and she straightens her posture, “I see what you’re doing, Valkyrie. Clever.”

She turns, but I notice the lingering trail of a smile on her face - an expression far too human for something I was supposed to despise. We continue our trek as the sun sits in a sky that’s far too open and gentle blue for the cold misery that wraps around me. The glare of the snow was becoming blinding, so intense it felt as if needles were pressing into my retinas. I had to squint through my fingers to prevent a headache, “I can’t see a damned thing.”

She had wrapped her shemagh around her head, sheltering her eyes from the worst of it, “Just keep your eyes on me. I will guide you.”

Yeah… that’s precisely what I don’t want to do! Damn it. With little choice because of the snow-blindness, I focused on her tail. Trying to use the rhythm of its swaying and the contrasting colors as a beacon in a world that quickly became featureless in the white void. Focus, damn you. Focus. Keep your eyes where they are. Despite self-admonishment and fighting my own nature, my eyes continue to fail me.

She moved like the predator she was, where no movement was wasted, and every stride was an expression of power. Every graceful step accentuated the fluid sway of her gait– her long, powerful legs carrying her with elegance that seemed to mock my own stumbling struggle. I couldn’t help but notice the subtle shift of muscle under her fur and uniform as she walked. Long, sculpted lines that led up from her paws and towards her-

Damn it, Lance. Damned human nature. Damn male lizard brain. Stop that shit, you degenerate. She’s supposed to be the enemy! She’s part of the reason I’m out here freezing! But my mind is a traitor, and I keep comparing this supposed ‘lust-filled beast’ from FAS posters to the disciplined and composed soldier walking in front of me.

“Valkyrie, look!”

The sharp bark broke my spiral of self-loathing. I followed the glare of her pointed claws as they caught in the sunlight. Maybe four klicks further down the valley, the white expanse was finally broken by a jagged line of grey; a gravel road that cut across the open. It is attached to a small, damaged bridge that leads over the river.

Sudden energy surged into my body as I burst past her, only stopping a few feet in front of her, “Yes!”

She stepped beside me, her ears at an angle. A quiet stillness overtakes her. Is she upset that we’re about to go our separate ways? I struggle to read her body language. Odd. Maybe. I don’t know.

“Wait,” she said, holding a paw up, “The road should be concealed under snow, like everything else. It’s either been traveled heavily since the snowfall broke, or…”

“Or prepped before,” I finished for her, “Which means it’s important to someone and they may still be nearby.”

Hesitation courses in equal measure with hope in my blood, “I have to take the chance.”

“After we reach it, then what?” She asks.

“After that, we part ways.”

The words hung in the air. Heavy and final. We’ve only known each other, as enemies forced into a cold truce, for a couple of days. And she’s the one who broke my damn ribs and hunted my squad. Which still bothers me. But she was also the one who dragged me from a watery grave, and then sheltered and fed me when I was starving.

She nodded, “Okay. I’ll find my girls. You’ll find Camp Hope.”

“Right. Hopefully, whatever is left of the 4th Division is there.”

She continued forward, “Let’s get to the bridge.”

The snow deepened as the winds and slope swept down into the valley as we descended further. My right foot slipped on a rock hidden by the snow, and my weight pushed down on the lateral malleolus of the ankle. I yelped and fell into the snow, rolling to try to recover. I ended up on my knees.

Virtue leaned in towards me, “You okay?”

“Damn ankle rolled,” I stood, avoiding putting too much weight on it, wincing with the pain as I tested it, “Damn it, that hurt, but I don’t think it’s sprained - just another bruise. It’ll slow things down for a little while, though.”

She poked me with a claw, “I can carry you.”

A flash of anger settled into reluctant acceptance of her kindness, “No, just… let me keep my dignity. I can walk it off.”

She looked down at my right foot, still partially concealed by snow, and nodded once while offering me a paw. I took it and lifted myself and then walked past her, limping a bit as I walked to avoid putting too much weight on the dull throb. I lifted the leg of my uniform and inspected it more closely. I got lucky. No swelling. Just tender.

I’m not sure how long I’ve been limping towards the bridge, more out of caution of agitating the minor injury than real handicap, but Virtue keeps checking the sun as it completes its overhead arc and begins to angle down, “At this rate, we will need to stop and make shelter soon.”

“No. I’m fine.”

She storms past me, then turns to face me, walking backwards, “You are stubborn. I’ll give you that. But you’re not going to make it in a reasonable time, and if we stop for the night, we can splint it and let the swelling go down before resuming in the morning.”

“It’s not as bad as it might seem. I’m just being overly cautious, so I don’t agitate it and risk actual injury.”

“Valkyrie..”

I snarl, spittle flying from my mouth, “I’m so close! So damned close to freedom. Don’t you see that? Can’t you just try to understand things from my perspective for a moment? Would you want to stop?”

Her ears pin back as I limp past her. No comments or replies come. Instead, I hear a few stomps, and the pain of weight on my ankle disappears. In fact, so does the ground as I’m hoisted into her arms, “What do you think you’re doing?” I snapped at her.

“Getting you to your ‘freedom.’ Now shut up and deal with it.”

“Put. Me. Down.”

“You want to get across that river before sundown? Then suck it up.”

I slap a palm into her chest, “Let me go!”

I start to struggle, then gasp out as she releases me – the depth of snow doing nothing to slow the impact.

“You humans are too stubborn for your own good! I understand fighting. I understand the State isn’t perfect, but neither are you!”

“Right now,” I spit in anger, “I don’t give a damn about the State or FAS! I just want to get home. To see my sister at Hope.” I lift myself to my knees. My various injuries scream at me, and hunger crawls in the depths of my mind and stomach. Still weak. Still malnourished. I start to lift myself and fight through a dizzy spell, “Damn this war, damn the FAS, and damn your State too!”

A paw grasps the back of my uniform, “On your feet, soldier,” she growled, her face close to my own, her breath smelling of that horrible nutrient bar, “We’re not stopping here. We’re not stopping until we both get home. Now get up!”

She didn’t let me go, her claws piercing my fleece jacket and threatening to break into the skin beneath it and the undershirt. She lifted my body with a single arm, then wrapped it around my back and under one of my own arms to support my weight. She began to pull me along, half-carrying me.

I panted, more in pain than exhaustion, and ground my teeth. Her scent was noticeable now. Meadow. Spice. Feminine musk. Heated radiated through my left side and where her arm clung to me, slowing the shivers I’ve had for hours. She looks down at me, “Soldiers don’t quit. We keep going. We finish the mission. Right now, your mission is to get to your sister. To Camp Hope. Mine is to get to my people.”

This sudden persona of leadership almost frightened me. It was in stark contrast to the gentler approach she had held, and I nearly missed it already. This was respect. Not coddling. This is what I wanted. To be seen as an equal, not a dead weight to be dragged around out of pity.

I grunted, “I hate this.”

“So do I.”

I look up at her, studying the grimace on her face and the way her ears were pinned to her skull, “You said you were tired. Do you not believe in your nation’s cause anymore?”

“You just learn to see through the bullshit after a few tours. The propaganda, the lies that recruiters and politicians sell people. Worst of all is the scent of blood. I’ve spilled too much. Seen too much. You want to know why I saved you?”

I swallow my doubts and the growing apprehension in my chest and nod.

“Because I’m sorry. I’ve killed many. Some with my bare paws. Fang and claw. I live with their faces every night. I live in the horror of the realization that much of what I’ve done and what I used to believe was based on lies - or omission. That is why I didn’t let you drown. That is why I won’t turn you over. Because I was wrong.”

She pauses, then looks in my eyes. I don’t see regret, fear, anger, or sadness. I see resolve.

“But so are you. The FAS and AS deserve each other. A human military junta that pretends it is democratic and a State run by women who have power beyond measure once elected. I believe in the good of the State, of which there is much. I believe in what it could be… not what it is.”

I shudder and want to bite back. To tell her she’s wrong about the FAS. But the truth is, after all I’ve experienced in such a short time, I know some of what she says has merit. I don’t wholly agree, but I hate that I can’t really disagree either.

“Is that why you wanted to be a politician? To change things?” I ask.

Her ears perk, “Exactly! I hate those bitches. All but a handful are corrupt. Those of the North American sectors push us towards this seemingly endless conflict, over forty years of death now, so that they can be the ones to claim they conquered one of the last human-led bastions in the world. Instead of pursuing peace on terms we could likely dictate given our overall position, they’d rather bloody their paws with the actions and deeds of those they consider beneath them. When I get home, I’m going to change things.”

This is the most she’s talked about in days. Obviously, a point of passion. I won’t even dare to poke at it, because in truth, I’ve felt the same about the FAS at times. The resolve that filled her voice betrays the look on her face. Regret floods me. That man in the field died for nothing. That cheetah… she died because she was lied to. Same as me. It could have easily been me.

“I’m-,” I swallow before continuing, “I’m sorry. For everything.”

She shakes her head, “No need to apologize. You’re a conscript who has been fed nothing but lies. You’ve not seen or done enough in this war to see the truth, yet.”

I need to change the subject. I have to for both our sake.

I force a dumb, false smile. “Well, on the bright side, this is great cardio for us!” I pat my belly, “I was getting a little chunky on all those delicious military rations anyway.”

She snorts, “I’ve had your human rations. Delicious isn’t the word I’d use.”

We chuckle together, and I answer, “True. They’re shit. But not as bad as your nutrient bar.” I’m enjoying her warmth and the contact, despite myself, “Admit it, you’re enjoying all this anyway.”

“Immensely. It’s great cardio,” She chuffs.

We covered enough distance that I could see that the bridge was not much wider than a single armored truck. The span of it was intact, though a portion of one side was pockmarked with weapons fire and had collapsed into the river below.

I watched Virtue approach the bridge first, sniffing at the air, then kneeling and pressing a few claws into bullet holes, “These are from our weapons. .50 Beowulf caliber. Standard issue infantry rifles.”

I cringe at the mention of the anthro’s standard infantry rifle caliber. I’ve seen what it does to the human body, “Nasty round. Relatively short range, though. So, whatever happened here, it was close.”

“Short range? Maybe with human ballistic tech. We can push it out to 400 meters without a significant drop,” she turns and surveys the distant tree line, “They easily could have been in those trees and attacked whatever passed through here.”

My eyes continued to scan for blood, burns, or debris, “I don’t see anything, though. No sign of battle, beyond the damage. Can’t be that old, can it?”

She leans and sniffs the small craters, “Doesn’t smell fresh, but in this weather, that doesn’t mean much.”

“It changes nothing.”

Her ears fall as her eyes close. She sighs, “Okay. So, I guess this is it, then?”

I nod, “Where will you go?”

She jabs a finger parallel to the river, the same direction we’d been walking, “I’ve a vague idea of where we are. An old radio relay station shouldn’t be too far off from here, and a town beyond that. Might take me a day or two to reach.”

“Listen,” I shifted awkwardly, “I…”

My words stop, not in anger or disgust, but disbelief at what I was planning to say next. I scratch at my numb nose, “Thanks. For… you know. Not letting me starve.”

She lifted a paw, counting out fingers, “Or freezing. Or drowning.”

I smile, lifting a middle finger, “I can count with fingers too.”

Her expression softened, “You fought well back on the ridge,” she said, “For a human.”

“High praise.”

She waved a paw at me, “Ah, don’t let it go to your head. You’re still slow, weak, and smell of fear and old sweat.”

“And you smell like a wet dog,” I wink.

“Maned Wolf,” she corrected, “Though I think I’ve heard FAS types call me a ‘leggy’ before.”

“Leggy, huh?” My gaze follows the curve of her body down, “I think I prefer to call you tall, dark, and slightly homicidal.”

She chuckles, a low sound, “Fair enough,” her face falls, and silence takes hold for a moment longer, “So, ladies first?” She gestures across the bridge.

I raise an eyebrow, “I thought you guys were all about anthro and female supremacy? Shouldn’t I kneel or bow or something before parting ways?”

Fangs glint in the sun, “Only if you want a paw to the skull. Now go, you’re losing daylight. Don’t forget to make yourself shelter several hours before sundown. Don’t get caught in the dark.”

I stepped onto the bridge, my pace steady. I’ll miss the banter. Reminded me of my time with my squad. I can make shelter in a few hours, and if need be, go another day or two without food before I reach Camp Hope. Everything will finally be okay. No more sleeping next to the enemy. No more struggling with pain and cold. Not much further. I just need to crest a good spot and get my bearings.

A gust of cold blew in through the claw holes in the back of my fleece, stopping me at the halfway point of the bridge. I looked back, where Virtue still stood. A dark sentinel is watching my back with a predatory focus on an anthro deciding whether to let me go or not. My sister’s words flashed into my mind, ‘Sometimes, good people do bad things. Sometimes, bad people do good things.’

I’m not sure which Virtue is. I’m not even sure what I am. All I know right now is I’m cold and exhausted, and I was leaving behind the only person who’d shown me genuine kindness in a long time. An enemy, no less. I walked carefully, testing the concrete’s strength with each step as I neared the blown-away sections, where the railings sheared off and plunged into the abyss of rushing death below.

I turned my eyes back to the ridge ahead of me, where the road wound upward, a gray scar on the fresh white earth, disappearing into a cluster of pine trees. A faded sign shook in the breeze; its text was erased by bullet holes. I kept walking, knowing that if I stopped, I’d likely turn back to go with her. To be in a place like those people in Mill Springs. Smiling, laughing, without a worry in the world.

The temptation to turn around and call out to Virtue tugged at me. She was supposed to be my enemy, and yet, I find myself thinking of her as one less and less. Sunshine and Samantha were the only people I’d known in recent memory who even came close to treating me like they do, with respect and a degree of kindness.

Despite what my gut tells me, that she is genuine, my mind keeps going back to training and my parents’ stories. The lessons throughout school. We must be separate. We can’t coexist because, like any animal, they intend to possess and control. Not a partnership - but ownership. But is that true? I just don’t know anymore. Maybe they’re just people, with fur and tails and claws - but ultimately just people. There are good people and bad. The real question is, how skewed are those numbers? More good? Or more bad?

I force them out of my mind. I have to stay strong. Keep my resolve. Now… with the front having collapsed, I’m not even sure Camp Hope is still there, but all I had was my own hope. In war, places with names like that were usually the first to be shelled. But it was all I knew. What I needed. I was alone again. My only companion is the uncertain path ahead, which could lead to nothing but a memory. No going back now.

Isolation pressed down on me as sure as the cold pressed into my aching ribs. Each breath was a sharp reminder as I climbed the hill near the gravel road, weaving among the trees. I tried to control my breathing and remain quiet, but it was just too much for my exhausted body. Ragged gasps accompanied me now. These woods are ancient. Suffocating.

This hill was a test of my will. About how far I’d push despite exhaustion and pain. Every step made my ankle twinge because of the angle. I wonder who passed over the gravel road? It couldn’t have been that long ago. A convoy running from the State? A small task force? And that makes me wonder if the State pursued them down this same path. Would I run into survivors or the enemy?

From the few topography maps I had studied of the surrounding area, I’m pretty sure I’m headed for an industrial district. Still, without open sightlines, I can’t be certain. The skeletal giants of these old trees swayed, and a dusting of snow continually fell on me and the environment. Beyond my breathing, the silence was so absolute it made my ears ring. Just find some rail lines. They lead to a hub, which then leads to Hope.

I stopped to catch my breath, pressing a palm into my cracked ribs, hissing with the contact, “Damn, she was one tough wolf.” I stopped and chuckled, “Maned wolf.”

I can still see her face in my mind when I’d call her a wolf. Definitely pissed her off every time. Makes sense, I guess. I’d likely be annoyed if an anthro called me an ape.

My vision ebbed a bit with hunger and fatigue. I’m sure I may have a mild concussion, too, judging by the mild pulse in my brain with every step I’ve taken since waking up the first time. My breathing finally leveled, and I yawned, letting my guard down for the first time in over a week.

I’ve been on the move for the better part of a week now, living on adrenaline and sheer will, with the occasional scrap of meat… courtesy of Virtue. Now that I was beginning to feel safe, or, at least, as close as my mind allowed to that feeling, my constant fight or flight response was retreating as sure as I was. It left behind only the wreckage of fatigue and injury.

Renewed aches and exhaustion demanded I stop, hunker down, and sleep. I want to. I really fucking want to. I could call it early and set up a small shelter. Rest.

I pushed on, my movements mechanical and without complex thought. I wasn’t really just walking anymore, but shuffling. My heels dragged across the frozen ground, leaving a trail of my path.

The fatigue that threatened to overcome me suddenly fled in the face of a snapping branch from somewhere deeper in the trees. The sound was sharp and brittle. Too close. My eyes tracked the source to a dense brush of shrubs to my right, likely twenty meters away. I reached for my knife only to come up empty-handed.

Paranoia is a survival trait, and right now, mine screamed. I dropped into a crouch, ignoring the pulse of pain flowing through my ribs and head. I scanned the trees, the pulse in my mind synchronizing with the one in my neck.

“Virtue?” I whispered, hoping desperately it was her or something harmless.

No answer came. I took a step back, preparing to run if needed. Then, movement in the periphery of my vision - a blur of russet, white, and gray. I spun, trying to brace for it, but my body was too slow and broken to keep up with my mind.

A force slammed into me, and the air in my lungs left my body in a burst of spittle as I hit the frozen earth face-first. I clawed at the ground, my fingers digging through snow for a stone or hidden branch, but a new weight pressed into my back and crushed me into the ground.

“Gotcha, little prey!” A voice snarled, frantic and dripping with manic malice.

I was flipped over onto my back, the world spinning so fast that I became nauseous with the whirl of white. I stared up into my living nightmare. Three of them. The one sitting on my chest was a red fox – a corporal, judging by the scout insignia and ranking marks on her gray armor. Her fur was russet, the helmet on her head concealing everything but her face and muzzle. Even her ears were encased by the helmet, acting as armored ear-pros. But it was her eyes that turned my blood to ice.

They were dilated to the point that the gold color was almost gone. They shifted rapidly over me, her muzzle pulled back into a rictus grin. She was panting, her tongue lolling, and her breath smelled of meat and coffee. It was thick, making my stomach turn with hunger and disgust.

Behind her crouched a gray wolf, a private first class, who clamped a paw over each of my legs with the strength of industrial clamps. She was trembling, the vibration moving into my legs, a low guttural whine building in her throat as she looked over my form with a hazy hunger. A third figure, what I think is a coyote, stood a few feet away with her rifle clutched in shaking paws.

The fox leaned down until her wet nose touched mine. She traced the line of my jaw with a claw, drawing a thin stinging line of blood, “I know those eyes,” she whispered, her voice cracking with a frantic energy, “I remember you from the ridge. You’re the one who slashed my ankle.”

Her eyes flick down to her leg, then back to mine, “I should have gone for your throat…”

I grimace, “I could say the same.”

She runs her tongue over her fangs, “I do enjoy it when you humans fight back. Your resistance adds,” she leaned in to sniff my hair, “Spice.”

Her body shudders over mine - a squeeze of her thighs into my ribs, drawing a grunt of pain from my mouth. The wolf was panting heavily now, her paws kneading into my legs, claws pricking me through the uniform fabric.

“Go fuck yourself,” I spat the words with malice to match her own.

The fox’s eyes flashed with a terrifying brilliance – not just rage, but something more primal. More unstable. She raised a paw and smashed it into my mouth. My skull smashed into the frozen earth, and my ears rang. I tasted the hot spray of blood from my lips.

“You little things always think you’re so brave when cornered,” she taunted, her paws wandering over my face, neck, and chest, the pads warm and fur soft. Still, she didn’t care to stop her claws from pricking me and drawing blood, “Where are you headed, little prey? Camp Hope? Looking for a warm bed, food, and safety?”

She leaned in and licked my cheek, the wet organ sliding slowly over my stubble and stopping at my temple, “Don’t bother. I hear our girls are having a real party there. By the time you arrive, there won’t be enough left of your friends to bury.”

“Get the fuck off of me!” I thrash my legs and arms, all uselessly pinned.

Her paws press into my chest, spreading over the entirety of it. Her eyes never leave mine as she begins playing with the neck of my uniform, working her claws in gently, pulling at the zipper to reveal my undershirt.

She clicks her tongue, “Human skin is just so soft. I’ve always enjoyed the feeling of it beneath my pads… the way it just,” she pauses, pushing a claw into my clavicle until it pierces, making me grind my teeth, “gives in with such little pressure.”

She runs the claws towards the hollow above my sternum, drawing a large line of blood despite my thrashing and hurled insults.

“Vera, stop,” the wolf whined, her grip tightening to the point that I groaned and felt my bones creak under her paws, “The scent… he smells like the sergeant. He smells like Virtue.”

Vera. That’s her name. Virtue had said it once before! The fox froze, then buried her muzzle into my neck, sniffing deep. Her entire body shuddered, a low growl vibrating through her and into my chest.

“You’re right,” she hissed, her eyes locking on mine once more, the pupils seeming to focus, “You stink of her. You stink of Virtue. Where is she?”

Madness was in her eyes. She wasn’t just a soldier at this point. Not even just an enemy. No. She was a predator losing her grip on her own mind. A cascade of stress and need that could snap at any moment.

She pressed a claw into the pulse in my neck, dimpling my skin, “Well?”

“She’s dead,” I choked, the lie tasting of bile, “I killed her yesterday. Caught her at the edge of the river. Wounded. I finished the job.”

For a heartbeat, there was silence. Then Vera laughed; a high, yipping sound that made my mind and skin crawl. She leaned into my ear, “Liar,” she whispered, her claws pushing into the skin of my throat, “I can smell the warmth of her on you. She’s close, but she isn’t here now.”

Another yipping laugh, “Knowing her, she probably coddled you. Did she feed you? Press her fur into you at night to keep you warm?”

“You’re demented,” I snarl, “Nothing but a rabid animal that needs to be put down.”

She shifted her weight, pressing a knee into my sternum. I could feel it grinding, almost collapsing beneath her weight, forcing a cry from my lips, “I’ve had a very long and stressful week, human. My blood is boiling! My ankle throbs in the cold. I’m going to take my time with you before I open your throat and feel your life slip through my fingers.”

“No!” The coyote barked and stepped forward, “Vera, our orders say capture! Protocol dictates we transport hi-”

“Fuck the directives!” Vera snarled, spinning on the coyote. She was hyperventilating now. She tossed her helmet off and her ears pinned to her skull, fur bristling, “He wounded me! He’s a combatant who refused to surrender! I’m neutralizing the threat.”

She turned her attention back to me, drawing a blade from her vest, then running some claws over the edge. It was a dull gray, jagged, ugly thing. Designed for one purpose. She smiled, curling her lips to show all of her massive canines, “No need for this little toy.”

She tossed it aside and spread the fingers of a paw, inspecting her claws, “Feels so much better when you sink your own claws into a human’s flesh. The gasp and shudder, then the rush of hot blood.”

She leaned down towards me, whispering into my ear, “Don’t scream too loud. Or do. It’s more fun that way.”

I stopped thinking. Stopped trying to come up with a plan. I was no longer a soldier to her. Not even a human. She saw me as less than an animal, and I was going to prove I could be exactly that. I lunged towards her head with my own, ignoring the flash of agony in my chest and ribs. My teeth clamped onto her ear. I bit down with everything I had, tasting salt, fur, and the metallic tang of blood.

She shrieked; a sound of pure shock so loud it made my ears pulse and feel as if they would burst. She yanked her head back, but I held on as long as I could, only slipping off as a paw connected with my temple. Stars blinded me, a ringing in my mind. She struck again, a flurry of chaotic panic-driven blows slamming into my face.

“You little bastard!” She screamed as she clutched her ear.

I spat out a mouthful of fur and cartilage, screaming back in the most primal way I could. Wordless defiance. I twisted my hips, managing to dislodge the shocked grasp of the wolf’s paws for a fraction of a second. It was all I needed. I drove a knee into the wolf’s side.

Vera snarled, instinct overriding any logical thought left as a paw clamped over my throat, shutting my airway. She pushed me down and pinned me to the earth. Then her fingers dug, claws slowly piercing flesh. I tried to scream out as I thrashed, but only a wheeze escaped.

“Enough!”

The command didn’t come from the coyote. She was still in my vision, her eyes wide with horror and fear. A blur exploded into Vera, ripping her body from my chest, her claws pulling small strips of flesh as her paw held for purchase.

Vera collided with a tree, a crunch so loud I was sure ribs were crushed on impact. The wolf released my legs, her muzzle dropping as Virtue slammed a boot into Vera’s prone form. Virtue turned to face the wolf and coyote, a snarl so fierce it made the manic snarls of the fox look like a kit playing pretend. Her mane and tail were bristly.

A claw pointed at the wolf, “Step away from him. Now.”

It was directed at the others, but fear surged through me as well. I’d never heard such a growl before, and seeing the one who had treated me with such kindness and restraint mantle her role as soldier was shocking and awe-inspiring all the same.

She stumbled back and whined, “S-sergeant?”

Vera groaned from near Virtue’s paws as she pushed herself up the tree and wiped blood from her muzzle. Her expression shifted from dazed pain to sneering recognition.

“Sergeant Virtue,” she spat blood, her voice thick with malice, “Defending the enemy? Attacking your own? That’s treason.”

The wolf took another step towards me, but Virtue intercepted, placing herself between us, “This is a high-value capture,” she snapped her teeth, “He is under my jurisdiction, and you,” she pointed a claw at Vera, “Were about to violate direct orders for live capture and the humane treatment of prisoners.”

“He fucking bit me!” She snarled, holding up a piece of mangled ear, “He’s feral!”

“You pushed him into a corner like an animal,” Virtue countered, “And you’re a disgrace to that uniform.”

Vera laughed. A broken, jagged yipping was racked by a wet cough. She wiped the end of her muzzle again, then reached down for her discarded knife, eyes darting to her rifle that she left on frozen soil, “Private Trix, she’s compromised! Take her down!”

The coyote stood unmoving, her eyes darting between each of us. The wolf didn’t wait. She snarled and lunged for Virtue. Their movements were complex for my throbbing mind to track as fur and fury collided again and again. Virtue caught one of the wolf’s strikes, twisting her arm until the joint audibly popped, then pressed a boot into her stomach and kicked her away.

Vera was already moving fast, fueled by mania. Her initial charge was a blur of claws and fangs, slamming into Virtue like a battering ram, driving her against a tree trunk, which cracked under the impact. Virtue absorbed the blow, her legs coiling like industrial steel springs, and struck back with an elbow to Vera’s jaw, the crack of bone on bone echoing like a gunshot. Blood sprayed from Vera’s mouth as she staggered, but she twisted mid-fall and raked her claws over Virtue’s side, tearing into the uniform. The wolf returned, striking at Virtue from behind.

The first blow, a massive, slow swing from the brute, struck Virtue in the kidney. She recovered in seconds and twisted into the second blow and shoulder checked the wolf, throwing her off balance. She weaved last second from the path of Vera’s knife and turned her full attention to her once more.

Vera slashed the knife again at Virtue’s face, then followed up with her other paws’ claws, which grazed fur. Virtue surged from her dodging crouch and struck with a knee into the fox’s stomach, which doubled her over, drawing a guttural wheeze. Vera was nearly as skilled, recovering quickly, slashing claws across Virtue’s muzzle, drawing shallow lines of blood. She slashed again with her other paw, knife going for the kill, but Virtue grabbed her wrist and twisted, slamming it into her knee several times, forcing the fox to drop it.

I couldn’t watch anymore. My vision swam with speckles, but I focused on the rifle that lay on the ground. Vera’s. About ten feet away. I scrambled up into the snow, clawing through it until I reached what I needed. It was heavy and bulky, much larger than anything I had trained with.

My vision was too blurry to confidently target one of them, but I could still help. Vera managed to maneuver around Virtue and latched onto her back, her claws aiming for her throat, swatting and digging with feral determination.

“Virtue!” I cried out.

I swung the rifle, putting all my weight into it, aiming for the same ankle I had wounded once before. The rifle butt connected with a meaty thwack that sent painful shockwaves up my frozen hands and arms. Vera shrieked in agony, her grip faltering. It was all Virtue needed. She spun on her, digging claws behind the various plates that made up her armored torso and lifted her into the air. She hurled her overhead with explosive force. I felt the impact through the frozen ground. It didn’t keep her down. Vera was already scrambling for her knife once more.

Virtue didn’t give her another chance. She stomped on her extended paw and ground her boot over it, crushing the fingers with a series of wet snaps, like breaking the fresh twigs from a still living tree. As Vera yanked her arm back and howled out for the wolf to get up, Virtue pinned her down and put her in a headlock. Her expression wasn’t one of triumph or elation. Her eyes were wide with shock, her body shivering in what I recognized as distress.

“Submit, Vera!” She barked, her voice cracking.

“Traitor! I’ll kill you, and then I’ll gut that human after I fuck him into submission!”

Virtue’s muzzle quivered, her eyes closed tight, tears staining her fur, “Forgive me,” she whispered.

A crack echoed out. Loud. Final. Hollow. Vera slacked. Virtue held onto her body, her breath hitching, a sob escaping her muzzle. She closed the fox’s eyes and lowered her body gently. She stood, paws shaking, then looked at the cowering wolf, who was huddled near the coyote’s boots.

She turned to me, looking over the rifle I still clutched like a club. Her tear-stricken muzzle scrunched at the sight of my bloody face and neck.

“You came back,” I rasped.

She didn’t answer. I followed her gaze to Vera, then to the other two anthros. She reached out for the rifle, and I didn’t hesitate to hand it over. The forest was nearly silent again. Only the whimpers of the gray wolf and my own wheezing coughs to break the tension.

I sat down in the snow, looking over Vera’s body. I should be happy. I’m not sad. But I should feel something bad, right? She was a living person. Even if a monster. I felt sick and not just from the dull throbbing in my skull and ribs. The sheer, brutal efficiency of her death is what startled me most.

I had seen death before. I’ve killed once. But this… was different. Fratricide.

Virtue turned her back to Vera’s body, clutching the rifle with both paws, holding it in a low ready position. Her paws shook, a tremor she tried to hide by steadying the rifle into her core. She stomped towards the coyote, who trembled so much her weapon rattled against her armor.

“Report, private.” The command was sharp and bitter, but a slight tremor existed at the end of it.

The Coyote jumped, “I... P-private Trix, sergeant! 3rd Platoon, 7th Scout Detachment.”

“Status of your PFC?” Virtue’s eyes bore down into the wolf, who seemed absent in everything but body. She rocked back and forth, clutching her helmet with her paws. She seemed lost in a waking nightmare.

“The scent… it hit her fast,” Trix stammered through her words, tears freezing on her fur, “Winter Wolf Syndrome. We ran out of suppressants two days ago.”

Virtue’s expression didn’t show pity, but a dark resignation. She seemed… disturbed. Her tail fell, ears pinned more than they already were, and her jaw tightened.

“Get her up,” Virtue barked, sharp and absolute, “Take her back towards the direction you came. Highway, I presume.”

Trix nodded, “B-but… what about Corporal Vera?”

“Vera is a casualty of her own madness,” Virtue answered, “She attempted to violate and murder a high-value prisoner. She assaulted her superior and disobeyed direct orders from command. Is there any ambiguity in that, private?”

“No, sergeant!”

“Hand me her sidearm,” Virtue gestured to the wolf’s holstered pistol, “Magazines too. Then move out.”

The coyote did so without complaint, then dragged her half-dazed companion off until they left our sight.

Virtue stood motionless for a long time, staring into the trees where her soldiers had vanished. Her shoulders were rigid, still squared and ready for battle, her tail frozen in place.

Finally, she turned to look at me, her mane smoothing out. I flinched at the look in her eyes and held a hand up, half to shield myself and… I don’t know why else.

Her eyes looked at my hand, then my neck, and finally my face.

“Let me see,” she said softly, her voice almost a whisper.

“See what?”

“Your injuries. Your ribs. Vera hurt you.”

“I’m fine,” I lied, every word feeling as if a nail was being driven into my ribs and sternum. The ache in my neck was intense, too, but my face felt numb.

She sighed, a long exhale. She took a few steps towards me and knelt. Her features softened. Eye wide, brows lifted, a flicker of… something, behind her eyes. She looked less like a predator now and more like a weary traveler who had seen too much but managed to keep their spark.

“Your breathing is shallow,” she noted, “You’re a medic. You know what that could mean. If a rib punctured a lung, you’ll drown in your own blood before long. Now remove your jacket and undershirt.”

It wasn’t a request. That NCO tone came out once more, but it was laced with something softer. I hesitated for only a moment, then unzipped my fleece the rest of the way and lifted the thermal undershirt from my body. The collar was stiff with frozen blood from where that fox had clawed me.

The cold air hurt almost as much as my wounds. I flinched as Virtue reached out with her paws, fearing her claws. She smiled gently, slowing her approach. I let out a shaky breath and nodded, lowering my arms that guarded my chest. Each paw was huge and covered by short, soft fur. The pads of her fingers and palms pressed into me, eliciting a hiss of pain. She frowned while looking at the purple and blue bruises, pressing her fingers painfully across each rib.

I jerked reflexively at each particularly sore spot, “You have medical training? For humans?”

“We all do. So that we can treat prisoners in the field.”

Her claws didn’t touch me, though she had to press her fingers in at an awkward angle to avoid it, “Deep breath,” she ordered.

I inhaled and pain flared, sharp and white-hot. I ground my teeth.

“Hairline fractures,” she said with confidence, her voice steady, “Severe tissue bruising. Minor lacerations. One more thing to check before we move on to your neck and face.”

She looked up into my eyes, and I knew what was coming. Not standard, if you have the proper gear. My heart thrummed against my ribs, each pulse painful, but I nodded once. She lowered her head until it was level with my chest, then turned so that one ear pressed into my skin. She was hot. A radiating warmth that soothed the pain. Her scent, spicy-sweet meadow, was pleasant in its own strange way.

“Breathe normally.”

She listened for a moment, then pulled away with a slight smirk, “Lungs sound clear,” she sat in front of me, crossing her legs, “Now let’s see those claw wounds.”

Her finger pads grazed over the cuts, putting slight pressure on them as she checked depth, “Shouldn’t need stitches. Infection is likely, though.”

She reached for my face, the claws of her fingers glinting in my eyes. I jerked back; breath caught in my throat.

“Easy, Valkyrie. Easy. I won’t hurt you.”

“I know,” I shudder, “It’s jus-”

I stop, swallow my fear, and speak once more, “Continue.”

Her paw slowed its approach but didn’t stop. I closed my eyes, fear and anger coursing through me in equal measure. Anger. Why? Why would I be angry with her touch? She said she wouldn’t hurt me, and she’s been honest so far.

The pad of her palm enveloped my cheek. I fight the urge to press my face into the warmth, sighing with relief at the gentle pressure on the swelling. I’m not sure exactly what she’s looking for, but after a minute or so, the warmth leaves with a sticky pull, having heated the frozen blood stuck to my skin.

She says nothing as she stands. I watch her approach Vera’s body. She stops over her form, then kneels. A paw reaches out, resting on one of the fox’s arms. Virtue’s ears drop, then she begins searching through pockets and gear pouches. She doesn’t pull anything out until she finds a small cylindrical canister. She shakes it near her ear and walks back to me.

She holds it out for me to see. I imagine it’s disinfectant spray, but I really have no idea.

“It’s bio-gel. It reduces pain and swelling and has antimicrobial properties. It’s going to sting, but it will numb quickly.”

She presses a thumb claw into the nozzle, releasing something the color and consistency of shaving cream or toothpaste, then gently presses it into every claw mark, cut, and bruise. We spend twenty minutes like this, her touch gentle.

Despite knowing she has my best interests in mind, my body shakes at every touch. With adrenaline, or knowing a fight is to come, I can shut out my fear and fight. But with Virtue, it’s like the fight is secondary to fear, and something else beneath. Less fight, and more flight.

“Why?” I croak.

“What?”

“Why kill her to save me?”

Her paw stops, but her eyes never leave the bruise she’s working on, “I’d feared for a time that this war would break her. It gives people like Vera an excuse to be monsters. I’ve seen enough monsters for one lifetime.”

Her paw resumes its work, and I fail to suppress a flinch. Am I afraid of her? Or what she could represent? Is it fear of the fact she’s an anthro that I’m letting touch me, or fear that she’s going to break through some ingrained conditioning?

“Done,” she pulls her paw away and wipes the residue and blood in the snow, “Not much left, but I’ll hold onto it, just in case.”

“How did you find me? I thought you were going your own direction?”

She sighs, “I was. Maybe ten minutes after we parted, I caught Vera’s scent. It’s… distinct. Especially when she’s in heat.”

My mind surges with information from training. Heat made them more dangerous. More unpredictable. Was that the reason for all this?

“She was in heat?”

Virtue nods, “Yes. It set off the wolf, too. Winter Wolf Syndrome isn’t heat, but it could be considered adjacent to it.”

“So, you picked up her scent and doubled back?”

“Yes. I knew she was out here. And I knew she’d pick up on your scent… When I heard your screams, I thought I was too late.”

“That coyote said they ran out of suppressants two days ago.”

She nods, “Our supply lines are robust, but recovery corps units like my own often face shortages in the field. It doesn’t surprise me.” Her shoulders slack, “We can’t stay here. No telling when Private Trix will report what happened here. A patrol will be sent to find us and recover the body.”

She approaches Vera and crouches over her, pulling at her armor, “We head west.”

“And then?” I ask, pushing myself to my feet, thinking of the fact that she said ‘we.’

“And then we find the local rail hub. Most of the supplies funneled from Camp Hope ran through that logistical hub.”

I step beside her, looking down at the fox, “I’ve no idea what’s there. Could be a FAS strong point.”

“If it is, you can rejoin them there, and I’ll double back towards my lines.”

She knows the area better than I do. The heat of shame at the fact that an anthro knows my home territory better than I burns my face, “How far is it? I don’t know.”

She shrugs, “Going off some fuzzy memories here, but maybe 40 klicks.”

She unwraps her shemagh from her neck and holds it out for me, “Hold this for a moment.”

I take it, the cloth warm and heavy with her scent. My eyes go wide as she slides a claw down the front of her blouse, splitting the uniform. I cough, to draw attention to the fact I’m standing right next to her.

She pulls her arms out, revealing her skintight thermal undershirt, “She shredded mine, I’m going to need hers to stay warm.” She bends down and unclasps the torso section of armor from Vera, moving from point to point, then looks up at me, “Help me, please.”

I crouch beside her, helping pull the fox onto her side. She’s not quite cold yet. I frown as I hold firm, looking down at her peaceful face. A stark contrast to her earlier mania.

Armor and blouse are taken from her body as we move her form where needed. “That’s good. I can handle the rest.”

I released her, letting her body shift back to its original position. I step back, turning my back to the body. I close my eyes. A flash of the cheetah. Her tears. I shudder in silence, take a deep breath, and turn back to Virtue. She’s securing the clasps of her new armor.

I watch her don the complete kit of Anthrostate Infantrywoman: torso, shoulders, arms, and leg armor that stops just above her digitigrade ankles. Form-fitting and advanced, it was mostly gray, with an occasional red highlight. She uses a claw to scratch the scout and rank symbol off the armor and then etches in the insignia of her rank on the left side of the breast plate.

It doesn’t take long, and she leaves only the helmet in the snow nearby. She holds out a paw, and I pass her shemagh back, which she wraps over her neck again, letting it drape over the top edges of her armor. She checks her new battle belt, adjusts magazines and other items to her comfort, twisting her body and arms, “A little small.”

She checks her rifle chamber, then slings it, looking down at me, a frown on her muzzle, “I’m not proud of stripping her, but-”

I raise a hand, “I understand.”

She nods, then holds out a light gray weapon towards me, grip first, “Take it.”

I look over the pistol; its size is approximately that of a subcompact SMG, the FAS issues to vehicle crews. I look up into her eyes, and she nods with a small smile, “I don’t want to see you get hurt again or be defenseless.”

I reach for the handle, but my hand stops halfway. I won’t forget this kindness or return of agency. I grab it, and she releases it, handing over three additional magazines, “10mm. Effective out to 100 meters. Twenty round magazines. Only fire if I do.”

I nod, “Got it.”

She turns her back to me and steps into the trees, “We need to stay quiet. Minimal conversation for now.”

I fell in line behind her, the pistol held low, my grasp tight enough to make my fingers ache. For the first time, I didn’t just follow a predator, but one who killed her own to save my life. Not complete trust. But hope. I know I can rely on her to help me get home at the very least. I don’t understand her, but it doesn’t really matter. This war is a lot grayer than I thought.

‘Sometimes good people do bad things. Sometimes bad people do good things.’

Grumpy and the man in the field. The cheetah. The lynx I could have shot in the back. Vera… Virtue. Monsters exist on both sides. Good people exist on both sides. I just don’t know where I fit into that mold yet. I want to be a good person. I don’t want to kill. But I do want to fight for a better future. For that man in the field. For people like Samantha. And for the ones like Virtue.

We walked in silence for over an hour at least, stopping on occasion as she scented the air and her ears tracked things I couldn’t come close to hearing. My senses were dull compared to hers, but my eyes were still sharp. Every stop brought an adrenaline rush that sharpened my vision until everything seemed crisp and vibrant – my eyes scanning our surroundings.

After a time, we built a smaller lean-to shelter near a fallen tree, using its thick trunk as a shield to reflect our fire’s warmth back at us and into our partially open shelter. I watched her, the way her eyes scanned the trees we could still see, her ears flicking to every pop of the wet wood in the fire.

She looked over at me on occasion, the orange firelight dancing in her eyes. Vera’s golden eyes flashed into my mind; wild, dilated pupils and the manic, vibrating terror of a living being losing their grip on their own mind.

I broke our silence, “What was that with Vera and the wolf? The vids say you all turn into rabid beasts because you can’t control your urges.”

Her ears flattened to her head, “Propaganda loves simplicity, Valkyrie,” she said dryly, “It isn’t about an ‘urge.’ It’s a neuro-chemical cascade that overwhelms your mind. In high-stress environments – extreme cold, hunger, combat – our bodies produce excess serotonin, dopamine, and other hormones and chemicals. Increased body temperature, pulse, thought processing, and desire.”

She taps her head with a claw, “The frontal cortex – the part that thinks and controls inhibitions, that remembers who we are – it’s temporarily suppressed. The primitive brain takes the wheel under certain conditions.”

“It looked like madness,” I admit, “She looked like she was burning alive from the inside.”

“She was,” she answered softly, her gaze falling to the fire. Her brows furrowed, jaw clenched, and shoulders tightened. She looked like the ghost of the execution she was forced to perform lingered not just in her mind, but in her body as well.

“And the wolf? What exactly was her issue? That syndrome?”

“Vera’s heat triggered Winter Wolf Syndrome. Heats and similar afflictions can sync up. Northern canids, particularly wolves, if the name didn’t give it away, often experience higher aggression and sexual need in winter months. Without suppressants, it was bound to happen sooner or later.”

She waved a paw over the fire, “Your ribs, how do they feel?”

“Sore as shit.”

She shuffled towards me. My body stiffened on instinct, my mind screaming to fight or run at the sudden approach.

“It’s okay. I just need to check. Your breathing is shallow again, and you are guarding your left side.”

I didn’t argue; the instinctual response calmed rapidly. I unzipped my fleece jacket and lifted my thermal shirt. The freezing air slapped into me, its presence stronger than the small, partially sheltered fire we had. The heat radiating from Virtue pushed the cold away as she knelt beside me.

She lifted that canister again and rubbed more bio-gel into my cracked ribs and sternum. My body jerked with every touch of her pads, fearing as much as the panic in the back of my mind. I struggled to suppress the anger and fleeting desire to lash out. Finally, she sat back, still close. I clothed myself once more and whispered my thanks.

I could smell her. That subtle meadow with a feminine musk behind it. It wasn’t like a “wet dog” smell at all, but something tolerable. Pleasant in a way.

“Why are you out here, Virtue? Really?” I asked, “For the State? For expansion? For a male?”

She clasped her paws and rubbed them in circles over each other, “I fight beca-” she stops, her eyes searching my own, “I first joined when I was seventeen. Ten years ago. Patriotism and the desire to claim a man for myself. All the recently graduated girls were headed to the front. We watched countless soldiers come home with new humans. New mates.”

She stretches out her legs and starts removing her boots, “My father didn’t want me to go. He said the war was wrong, that both sides lied. I was angry with him for years. Mom supported my decision, which was only natural given her position in the State.”

My eyebrows raise, and I find myself leaning towards her in anticipation of what could come next, “She’s a high-level inspectorate official now.”

Pride and pain laced her voice equally, her muzzle starting and stopping a few times as she fought for words. I observed, trying to keep judgment from my face.

She sighs, “At first, I believed everything she said. What the recruiters and trainers said. What my fellow soldiers said. When I captured my first human soldier… the fear in his eyes, the cries for mercy,” she shuddered, “He reminded me of my father. The one who raised me. Not my mother. She was always too busy. I just couldn’t take him. I let him go.”

She curls her tail over her lap, “I often think of him. What happened to him? If he made it out alive, was claimed by another, or if his body fed the vultures on some forgotten battlefield.”

“I continued fighting because I resolved to change things, even if on a small scale, by preventing any Combat Claims by my girls. I never allowed a single man to be claimed. I’ve earned more than a few scars and close calls because of the anger that caused them. That is why they called me Virtue. Not praise. An insult.”

“You said you were a Recovery Corps unit.”

She nods, “I am. I remained such because our focus is on capturing males. Those who flee. I won’t lie to you, Valkyrie. I intended to send you to the inspectorate for integration, as I’ve done hundreds of times, because that is better than a Combat Claim. Going to a civilian who doesn’t know conflict usually means that the man gets a decent life with a gentle paw. Being claimed by a scarred soldier, or worse, a killer like Vera? That… is dangerous.”

She falls silent. I look down at my hands and inspect a nail that is split to the quick, “Before I was conscripted, I was a veterinarian. I liked fixing things. Healing. I loved animals.”

The irony wasn’t lost on either of us. Her ears dropped again, “I’m sorry, Valkyrie.”

I shake my head, “Don’t be. You’re just a small part of the machine, same as me.”

She yawns, and I follow suit. I shiver at a gust of wind, lying down in the lean-to, pushing my back to its wall. Fabric smacks into my face, blinding me. Her scent overwhelms me as I remove her shemagh. I look at her as she lies down, facing me, “I’d offer to share body heat, but,” she chuckles, “I know better than that. So use that. Wrap it around your head. It’ll help.”

I narrow my eyes at the mention of pressing against her body for warmth, and force the image out of my mind, “Sure. Thanks.”

I tie it around my head, leaving only my eyes uncovered. My body stirs slightly at the scent that now fills my lungs. I close my eyes, hoping I can sleep in peace for once. Tomorrow will come soon, and then Camp Hope.

~Ab hoste fidem discere~

‘To learn trust from the enemy.’

Back to search