FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

With the destruction of the Cutter's weapons, the carriers were given the all clear. Brigadier Imperial Osprey fighters were positioned onto the decks, the heavy Eagle Bombers were on the way, and the chorus of hundreds of engines echoed across the battle. At first, the Correlation leadership panicked, their carriers had not yet arrived and the ships would be vulnerable. Admiral Sly, now posted on the command vessel of the task force, Goliath, reined the command crew in and began to plan a counter offensive. He estimated there was a total of ten minutes before their carriers arrived, and they would make do with what fighters and anti-aircraft they had available against the Imperial air forces.

The Correlation in return redirected their stationed Warhawks. Generally, Warhawks were a better fighter than the standard Osprey (twice in physical size as well). But, the Imperial forces had sheer size, and the two aerial forces collided in a mass of explosions and bullets. Unknown to the warriors in the sky, two small boats battled the waves as they attempted to return to their ship.

The small task force had drifted from their original position, along with the fact their small compact motors had run out of fuel, it was a unanimous decision to avoid the major combat. Mal decided to pass time by whistling a tune, hearing no complaints from the others he kept on doing so. Two of the marines were unsuccessfully trying to play a game of cards, while all the other soldiers had their attention on the skies. Mal went through his pockets to pull out the picture of Dianna, and smiled. One of the 5th privates that had accompanied him took note of this, "Hey Sarge, what do you have there?" Mal looked up, the smile still on his face. The kid was the same engineer who had planted the explosives on the Cutter, and one of the few surviving rookies from the battle only a day earlier.

"Well, it's a picture of my lady Kid." Mal offered the picture, and the private couldn't help but whistle. "Yeah, I had the same first impression." Chuckling, Mal continued, "When I get back from the service, first thing I'm going to do is take her out. Gonna spend a lot of time with her." The private returned the picture of Dianna in one of her 'lovely' dresses, and Mal pocketed the precious picture.

"Tell me private, you got anyone to look forward to when you get back?"

The rabbit shook his head, "Nope, just my family is all." Mal removed his hat to scratch his head, "Gonna hook up? Find a lovely lady?" The young rabbit blushed, and Mal couldn't help but to be amused. This kid was probably the same age or a year younger than he was himself, and here Mal was, being treated like he was the elder.

Before the private could reply, large clouds of smoke began to roll in from the direction of the battle. A few of the privates began to panic, and Mal assured them, "Calm down now, a ship just released some distraction smoke, nothing too major." Nonetheless, Mal waved in the other boat, it would be easy to get separated in the thick smoke. The whine of a dying engine rang through the ears of the soldiers and, as if right on cue, a Warhawk fighter came crashing into the waves not twenty feet from the small band. There was a short chorus of cheers as the enemy fighter sank, but a few others were quiet out of respect for the fallen enemy. Mal was always curious about honor; described by so many, followed by so few, and still regarded to a degree of respect.

His moment of thought was disturbed when the private continued the conversation, "So Sarge, do you have a family to get back to?" A silence descended upon the small boat as the sergeant didn't answer, didn't move from his position on the bow. Several of the soldiers looked from the sergeant to the private, as if an insult was thrown. When the private was to apologize, Mal replied in a dead-pan voice, "They're dead. They died when the Correlation first attacked the Empire. You're all familiar with Jonesburg right?" The private, along with a few other interested soldiers, gave an affirmative nod. Jonesburg was one of the first cities to be completely obliterated by the Correlation. Rumors were that the cities had been absolutely decimated, only ruins stood after the Correlation were finished, and that a certain form of artillery had done the damage. Few survivors came from the destroyed city, none of them eager to speak to the media about what had happened.

"We all never saw it coming," Mal continued, "We knew that there was to be war; any fool could feel the tensions between the Empire and Correlation." The waves started to get a bit more rhythmic, but the sergeant continued. "All I remember about the incident was a massive explosion, then silence. Nothing. The Correlation then moved in, making the ruins temporary bunkers as if they expected a counter-assault. Well, the beloved Empire did retake the city eventually, after a month of hell." The private's jaw fell open after the end of his sentence, causing Mal to feel a bit angered at the unnecessary reaction. When everyone else's attention was turned BEHIND him, did Mal actually turn around.

A massive figure broke through the mist of the smoke, threatening to plough right over the small craft. Grabbing an oar Mal quickly paddled his boat out of the way; the other's following not a moment too soon, and on the port of the ship read in bold white letters, Goliath. At first Mal did not understand what a Correlation battleship would be doing so far away from the battle, but his tactical mind went to work and took his best guess. The Goliath was using the smoke from other ships to move away from the centre of battle for a reason, possibly to make quick repairs or to avoid bombers, and the two small boats were right in its way.

That was when Mal thought of a devious, dangerous, and very interesting plan. He waved over to the other boat, headed by a Corporal, and spoke of his idea. "We may be a bit outgunned," he began, "But if we are quiet enough, we can sneak aboard this ship, and do some real damage." Thus he laid out his plan, no Brigadier Imperial soldier had ever gotten a good look at the interior of a Correlation battleship, and this would be a fine opportunity to gather war-winning intelligence. Not only that, if the two commando teams were successful in a sabotage that would be one less Correlation battleship their Imperial brothers and sisters would have to fight, it was entirely beneficial to the Brigadier Empire if they succeeded. However, the only worrisome factor would be if the battleship was carrying a marine battalion, which Mal doubted due to a needed of navy personal required to run such a large vessel and only so much leg room for transports and soldiers, along with the fact that capture would result in a gruesome end at the hands of a Correlation executioner.

It was decided by a unanimous decision that the pros outweighed the cons, and that this was an opportunity too good to pass up. The small craft slowly fought their way over the current and waves caused by the battleship's hull and cautiously made their way to the docking level. Unfortunately, the security on the Goliath was efficiently placed unlike on the Cutter. A brief break in the thick smoke exposed two navy security patrolmen were walking around the small entry docks placed on the port side of the battleship. There was no way the entire group could sneak past those two undetected.

Slinging the shotgun, the sergeant held up the sign for hold back. Grasping his knife once more he drew the pistol given to him by the captain. The Welrod was the first silenced weapon employed by the Empire, its breakthrough in entirely silencing a shot was still under research for other weaponry, and was now a lifesaver for the commando teams. Mal took a deep breath, preparing him for the work about to come, and slowly crawled off to the boat and into the water.

The private was nervous. All of this smoke made his job considerably more difficult. It had assured by the command crew it would clear in any matter of minutes. Nonetheless, the private's hairs stood on end as a hand was put on his shoulder. The corporal shook his head, and walked over to the edge of the deck for another inspection of the linings. The private exhaled, relieved and embarrassed, and turned his back to go take a breather out of the damnable smoke. The private heard a grunt and a splash behind him, causing him to turn so rapidly he fired his rifle into the water without as much as a second thought.

Panting, and believing he may have harmed the corporal, the private rushed over to the corner. Peering over the deck, the only thing he would remember was a small bullet flying in-between his eyes.

Mal cursed when the private hit the deck with a thud. He grasped his left shoulder, thankfully not his firing arm, and gently rubbed the bleeding wound. 'I had to be shot in salt water,' Mal thought through grit teeth. Full submerged, the sergeant cursed. Giving a low whistle, the two other boats soon followed. When it was noticed that Mal had taken a bullet to the arm, the corpsman attempted to give him aid. Mal refused, only taking a wrap over the wound; in case things went bad, they would need all the medical gear they could get.

What worried Mal the most was the possibility the enemy soldier's gunshot would have attracted others. Thankfully, no support came. Giving a sigh of relief, heaving the dead private into the water to join his comrade, Mal reloaded the Welrod. Waving everyone in, they began the ascent up the numerous access stairways. Before they would advance any farther into the ship, the soldiers would have to find an engineer's map; a map issued to all engineers of each Correlation vessel to create a more efficient work force on board. Slowly opening the first hatch door, Mal peeked inside. 'No contacts yet,' Mal thought to himself as he cautiously stepped inside. What had surprised Mal the most about the vessel was the similar structure in the ships inner design and that of a Brigadier Imperial vessel. As the group went along following simple directions that led to 'Engine Room' more and more would Mal feel like he was in an Imperial vessel. The simple access hallways were nearly identical; the numerous machinations had similarities, and....his thoughts stopped dead cold as he heard footsteps on the metal walkway. Raising his fist to alert the rest, Mal crept forward to asses the situation.

Looking around the corner, a lone engineer was bending over one of the hundreds of ship terminal throughout the entire lower deck section. The engineer had taken it upon himself to whistle, giving Mal an easier chance to sneak up. However, he had a feeling this engineer was not alone. Since Correlation engineers had such an important document on them at all times, usually a naval security guard was issued to them during times of work, or so Intel had explained. Mal had to take him down quick, in case anyone else would come around. Creeping closer to the engineer, something unexpected happened.

A red drop hit the metal floor from where Mal was standing, making a gentle ping as another followed. By this time the engineer had stopped whistling, and the wolf had taken a cautious sniff. He smelled blood, and had picked up on an abnormal heartbeat. Turning around, the engineer was greeted with a fist to the face. Giving a grunt, the wolf spun around, hitting the terminal, and was quickly subdued by Mal.

The squirming soldier tried to scream for help, but the sergeant's firm hand was clamped around the wolf's snout. Waving the others in, the sergeant placed the Welrod to the engineer's head, in the wolf's vision of course. Whispering, "Alright you, ships schematics, where are they?" There were numerous pockets and zippers across the engineer's uniform, and Mal had no patience to look through each individual pocket. The wolf rather hurriedly and compliably produced a folded piece of paper from one of his pouches. Mal handed the paper over to the team's corporal for confirmation. Getting a nod in response, Mal delivered a sharp blow to the wolf's temple. As the body slunk into unconsciousness, Mal propped the body underneath the walkway well out of sight, and opened up the paper, surprised at its size. According to what he and the Corporal Daris could make out, the engineering deck was a level underneath the armory. And from the armory the control deck was three decks up, four sections across.

Pocketing the map, a yell could be heard from the opposite hallway. "Jark, you done yet?" The entire team froze. "Jark, are you done repairing the console?"

A navy ensign carrying a C6-Carbine entered the room, a surprised look upon his face when he noticed the enemy commandos in the dimly lit room. With a gasp, the private turned to hit the alarm, but a quick soldier pounced him, and precedingly strangled the poor ensign to unconsciousness. Giving a grunt, the leopard rose from the body, and gave a nod towards her sergeant. Giving a chuckle, Mal gave the marine a pat on the shoulder. "Atta girl, keep it up." With a smile the familiar leopard retrieved the carbine and took position with the rest of the Brigadier soldiers. Turning to face the others, Mal spoke. "Alright boys and girls," hefting the ensign over the railway to join his friend, "This is your last chance to turn back. I won't hold it against any of you if you want to go back, the odds are indeed grim. But if we manage to pull this off, we'll go into the history books. Any takers to go?" No one even blinked, and Mal admired even their bravery. They were all no doubt older than him, save for the rabbit private, and they were willing to place their lives in his hands. Taking a deep breath and closing his eyes for a moment, Mal turned, waving them to follow him. "Let's go."

Aboard the Damascus, the current battle was the least of the Brigadier Empire's worries. A conference was in session, with Brigadier General McKor on a radio line, Colonel Ramsey of the Imperial Marines, and Captain Janks of the Imperial Army. The matter of the discussion was top secret; no one outside the lined room would know of it.

"Ramsey, Janks," the gruff voice of the general came over the secure line, "Have you composed the list that I asked for?"

"Aye, we did sir." Colonel Mark 'The Jackal' Ramsey replied.

"Would you mind reading them off to me?" Janks produced the list, and read the names of soldiers off to the general. There were a total of ten, five marines and five members of the fifth, all hand picked for reassignment. With the last name spoken, there was a pause on the general's end as he brought up the names of the soldiers.

"Well, let's see what we have here," McKor began. "Ramsey, two of your boys were brought out of jail to join the marines, those won't do. Janks, your lady is to be married when she gets back, so she is out of the question." Eventually the general's scrutiny narrowed the number of possibilities down to four. One member of the 5th and three marines; Janks could practically feel Ramsey glower over the fact more marines than soldiers had been picked.

"There," McKor finished, "That should do it. After your little skirmish, contact those individuals A.S.A.P." There was a short pause on the general's end. "Ramsey, would you excuse yourself so that two old friends can catch up?" Ramsey gave a nod to the radio respectfully, as if McKor had eyes through that speaker, and left the room.

Janks gave a sigh once they were alone, "Only four this year Harris; only four out of an entire task force is good enough." McKor replied shortly, in a surprisingly saddened tone. "Yes, yes. Only four; four more than nothing however is better than no one." With a chuckle, "Even more surprising a human is selected. Haven't had another human chosen in quiet some time." There was a brief surge of static as the entire ship rocked; a Warhawk had nearly hit the ship with a bomb-borne-torpedo.

"Good Gods Janks, those Corries really want you dead."

Janks gave a weak chuckle, "Valestro has been doing his job well enough. Speaking of which, how is the drake doing?"

"He recently had his first child; a daughter."

"Well, given the chance, pass on the congratulations for me."

"Will do Janks,' then another breach of silence, "The rumors are only getting darker about the Correlation's technology. I'm not sure what they built, but it has plenty of the guys at INCOM scarred silent." Another ripple of static, "All I can tell you Janks is to be cautious; don't push the Correlation any more than you have to."

After avoiding Correlation personal for some time, the patience endured by the small group of soldiers would soon pay off. According to the engineer's map, the armory was behind the heavily reinforced door. Under a lockdown circumstance, it would be sealed shut and would require explosives to open. Thankfully, this was not that situation. The small corridors were more and more coming to Mal's dislike; the heat produced from the engine room and the combat from the day before were finally catching up with him; or it was the arm wound that was finally taking its toll.

Whatever the case for his fatigue, he wouldn't succumb to it. Not now, anyway. Mal simply couldn't; he heard the echoing of enemy soldier's footsteps as they went about their business at every corner, his attention focused on survival and not thought. The corporal in the lead held his hand up for a pause, the map displayed that the group was right next to the armory. Unfortunately, there were two doors, and the map failed the specific and explained the general. Looking back and forth between the two doors, the group met for a quick session. Which door to pick and who would open it were decided: it would be Mal. He was wearing the best grade of armor in the group, plus he had the rumor to be lucky (which he personally doubted).

Approaching the door cautiously, Mal said a quiet prayer. If there were to be any Gods, may they be watching over him at this time. Slowly turning the door crank, Mal was greeted with an onrush of warm air. Waving his free hand across his face to clear the steam, he felt a combination of absolute terror and embarrassment. As the steam continued to clear, apparently the rumors of the Correlation ships having coed utility rooms were true. Closing the door at a casual pace, his face rather red, Mal turned to face the rest of the group, curious looks on their faces.

Without an explanation, Mal simply walked towards the other door, and opened it. Surprisingly, it was unguarded; yet the silent alarm was triggered as Mal set foot in the room, alerting one of the Correlation's hard-working comm workers. Mal gave a whistle signaling the all clear. Everyone began eyeing the Correlation-6 Carbines, Defense Frontier Sub Machine Guns, SAP Sniper Rifles, even the Correlation Officer Branch swords at the end of the rack held Mal's attention. But what grabbed him the most was a familiar shape hanging from the barrack's wall; his long lost SANAF-15 assault rifle. With a beaming smile, Mal pulled his faithful companion off the rack and came close to fondling the weapon. Having believed to have lost the assault rifle in the previous day's invasion, Mal was rather downtrodden at the loss of his old friend. Now reunited, he felt his spirits lift; and out of his moment of joy, the sergeant noticed something out of the corner of his eye.

A lone door stood out in the room. This door, unlike the many other doors decorating the ship, did not show up on the technician's map or posses proper labeling. This spiked Mal's curiosity; figuring the only way to figure out what this mystery was would take direct action. While his comrades went about sorting through the weapon racks, Mal placed his hands gently on the door's handle, as if fearful it would break, and slowly opened the aged metal door. With a loud creaking noise, an entirely new room was revealed to the sergeant. Unlike the armory, this one lacked any weapon, and instead contained one single table illuminated by a red light.

With an equally curious Corporal Daris over his shoulder, Mal proceeded cautiously towards the table. There was nothing particularly spectacular about the table, its design was rather Spartan, but what grabbed Mal's interest were scattered documents littered about the table. Reaching forward to get a closer look at the document, the red lighting made it difficult to read from any distance, his eyebrows shot up in surprise. These were not only documents, but pictures and designs of what looked to Mal to be a massive cannon. So massive that it would require and entire destroyer to transport; according to what the simple designs explained bluntly, the power behind the cannon's velocity would be unmatched. His jaw nearly hitting the floor, Mal quickly stuffed his pockets full of whatever document or photograph he get his hands on, cautiously placing each document into his Fieldsmen's pack.

After having cleared the table's surface, Mal turned abruptly to face Corporal Davis. With a whisper, "We need to get off this ship immediately." Davis asked why and what about the original plan, and as Mal was about to answer, he was interrupted by the approaching noise of heavy footsteps hitting solid metal. The Correlation Marine force had found them.