The Raging Hounds II: Rising Tension
#2 of The Raging Hounds
The Raging Hounds, the universe in which the story takes place at and all the characters are the property of Rhazagal and are not to be used by anyone else at any time without the author's permission.
Also...This story is one of M/M sex, sexuality and relationships, so if you find those offensive you should cease reading this instant. To everyone else I wish a pleasant reading experience with the wild and naughty Hounds =)
The quiet sound of snoring and huffing filled the air in the quarters of the Raging Hounds as the Marines rested -in ones and twos- in their beds, their nightly activities having ended some half an hour ago.
His second day in the unit over, Vincent slept peacefully in his bed, impervious to the fact the Hounds were slowly rising from their bunks again, shifting silent as shadows across the room towards the slumbering hyena.
With a startle Vincent awoke as someone wrapped a belt around his snout to silence him, two more pairs of arms grabbing his blanket and pulling downwards as hard as they could, locking Vincent in place, rendered unable to move save for the ability to wriggle his toes.
His panicked mind started to slowly comprehend what was going to happen: a blanket party and he was the guest of honor. Panic turned into violent rage within seconds as he struggled to release himself from the vicious, unrelenting embrace of his blanket. The low snarl erupting from his throat turned into a grunt of pain as the first sock smashed onto his stomach, the hyena instinctively tensing his muscles up in preparation for the coming flurry.
The beating wasn't the first one Vincent got. During the Boot he had been -according to the staff sergeant that had trained them- 'the most hopeless son of a bitch he had ever had the displeasure to know' as Vincent had -for the sixth time- collapsed first during the tiresome march in full battle gear under a scorching sun. As a result his pals hadn't only had to carry Vincent the rest of the way, but they had to retake the march again the following day. That night the hyena had gotten the first taste of what a soap cube-filled sock felt like.
This pain, however, was far, far worse, the searing agony striking through his body like a stake. The first sock was followed by another, then another, and another... all filled not with soap, but the metallic cylinder of a practice frag grenade; solid metal cast into the shape, size and weight of a real grenade.
Vincent screamed in pain as the Hounds -their eyes devoid of emotion- beat him up. Some of them hit twice, other just once, all for the sake of him not being born as a canine... He screamed as hard and as long as he could, his voice muffled by the belt wrapped around his snout, the scream falling on deaf ears.
There was a pause in the beating and, through watery eyes, Vincent saw Galloway -the religious black jackal- was hesitating, the paw in which the sock was held shaking slightly. All around him the other Hounds were urging him to do it, encouraging the jackal to strike.
The peer pressure was too much for the jackal, who closed his eyes and swung his arm as hard as he could, his lips already mouthing a silent apology to both Vincent and his god, Vincent's world once more exploding with pain as he felt a rib crack underneath the force of the blow.
For a moment Vincent saw the leering face of Jericho looming above him before the wolf smacked him with the sock once, twice, three times...four times. Each strike felt like a hammer had collided with his body, each strike sending absolute, stunning agony to seemingly every nerve, every cell of Vincent's body.
Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the beating stopped and the gang started to slink back into their beds.
Vincent, finally free of his bonds, curled up in his bed, nursing his bruised, beaten ribs and stomach, whimpering and crying silently out of anger, sorrow and pain.
Jericho grinned triumphantly as he turned away from Vincent's bed. He had shown the freak what happened to those who gave him shit.
The wolf's eyes fell onto a figure leaning against the doorway leading to the toilets, the light behind him giving the nigh-naked Dalmatian -boxers being the only thing on him- an eerie illumination which left his face into shade.
"Had fun...?" Winters asked quietly.
"You wouldn't believe." Came Jericho's curt reply and with that the wolf turned, flicking his tail dismissively in Winters' direction.
For a moment Winters stood where he was, padding then slowly over to where Vincent was lying, the hyena curled into a ball with his blanket half on him, half on the floor. Winters whimpered softly, placing then his paw onto the hyena's shoulder to deliver a soft, warm squeeze.
Angrily Vincent snarled "Leave me be..." and Winters backed away.
As the Dalmatian backed away he glanced towards the corner in which sergeant Dan 'Longfang' Austin usually sat. Indeed, right there as usual, the huge wolf was sitting on a recliner with his arms over his chest, a deep frown of displeasure distorting the canine's face, making him look even more dangerous than usual.
Sighing quietly Winters hopped onto his own bunk, feeling bad for what Raikov had had to endure due to someone else's mistake.
Winters lifted his head a little to look at the once more slumbering figures of the Raging Hounds. They all came from different worlds, different cultures and all had their own history -some of those histories even involving crime- yet they were all unified by Schaefer's leadership and their trust and love for each other...
Smiling softly Winters laid his head back down onto the pillow, humoring himself by thinking what the others would think of him if they knew more about his past. The cast-out gay son of a planetary governor working as a private first class in the Federate Marine Corps...
"Ooooh... If my mother knew I'm whoring myself for free to just about anyone willing to take me... I bet she'd have a seizure right then and there." the Dalmatian thought to himself, slowly drifting into the gentle embrace of sleep.
In the gym of the Goodwill Station, some thirty minutes after the incident between majority of the Hounds and Raikov, Sergeant Austin was venting off some of his excess energy. The steady thudding of his bare fist against the fabric of a punching bag filled the large, otherwise empty gym hall, echoing faintly from the steel walls.
Dan smashed his fist against the bag once again, turning then his attention to the fist with which he had delivered the punch, his other paw rising automatically to halt the bag that was swinging towards his face.
He frowned. There wasn't any scuffing on his paw despite the fact he had been beating the rough surface of the bag for a good while. Heck...He knew any normal fur would have had the fur and skin peeling off of their knuckles by that point... Then again, he was already used to it, used to being a freak of nature.
Naked save for a pair of blue, tight training shorts the wolf just stood where he was, brushing his long mane-like hair slightly. Almost four centuries had passed since the Final Crusade made by Man...Over four centuries since the fall of Terra and the eradication of humans as a specie, plunging the hairless apes to the list of endangered species. Sure, some of the humies still existed here and there, but they all lived in great secrecy, fearing the wrath of those they had once tried to wipe out themselves.
Naturally, many things had changed since then, the least of which was not the birth of The Galactic Federation of Unified Free Worlds, GFUFW for short and Galactic Federation by its more common name, some hundred and thirty years ago.
Dan remembered well the war that had ensued five years after all the furry colonies outside the actual perimeter of Edenia had risen to a rebellion, disabled the Gateway through cunning infiltration and, ultimately, overthrown the Council of Patriarchs. The furs went from Oligarchy -the rule of few- into a Republic...at least in public despite the word 'Federation' in its name, though it was whispered the High Councilor and various other high-ranking members of the senate held the true power.
The civil war...The reason why they had chosen the young, dying corporal to be their guinea pig, dragged more dead than alive from a battle on the surface of Zhasikawa Prime. They brought him back, they implanted into him the might the by then deceased dragons once held: The Warrior Gene. That gene twisted his body, growing him to immense size and giving him physical strength and endurance beyond belief... most of the others, however, succumbed into the drowning Rage and bloodlust the gene brought with it, though luckily Dan had avoided that for the most part. Still what bothered Dan the most was the permanent insomnia, eased by strong doses of sleeping pills which, usually, sent the wolf into an almost comatose state. Any smaller dose would only make him angry.
The wolf snarled, clenching his paw into a fist so hard blood trickled between his fingers, his arm swinging back and then forward like a mallet, colliding to the punching bag with enough power to shatter the chains holding it suspended, the stuffing bursting outwards as Dan's fist bored through it.
The red veil was threatening to drown his sanity entirely and -almost blindly- Dan reached for his gym bag, pulling out an inhalator from which he took a deep breath, feeling himself calming down instantly. In a sudden moment of weakness, the wolf slowly sat down, hanging his head between his knees with the inhalator still loosely in one paw.
He had once again almost lost control...Thank Machala for the medicine. Only that medicine -a powerful concoction of relaxants, tranquilizers, morphine and various other ingredients- or then Grins, drug cigarettes given to the Marines to help ease the fear and traumas of battle, worked in calming the large wolf down.
Dan thought he was still somewhat lucky. The Colonel had taken him into the unit after Dan's own company had been almost entirely wiped out in a fight against a rampaging squad of human Crusaders and Zealots, led by a black armored Inquisitor. It had been a bloody fight, but in the end Dan had been found sitting on a pile of rubble, the torn-off helmeted head of the bald, ebony-skinned Inquisitor clutched into his paws, a triumphant, nigh insane grin like glued onto the canine's face.
After that battle Dan had been viewed as something of a monster and maniac. To the sergeant, due to the Gene within him, an early retirement and a peaceful, quiet life were impossible. Deep down inside he craved for the heat of battle, lusting for the feeling of adrenaline soaring through him, delighting in rending his foes asunder...and at the same time he hated himself for that, hated the Gene that had been planted into him...
"No..." He muttered quietly to himself "If a warrior I was meant to be, then a warrior I will be. At least I'll die standing, die fighting...Die for my comrades."
Dan cast a sideway glance at the shredded remains of the punching bag, shrugging and simply walking away with his stuff casually hanging on his shoulder.
Vincent woke up the following morning feeling sore and bruised. He wasn't surprised to see everyone else was still fast asleep, the display on his watch telling the time was fifteen past five in the morning.
With a pained whimper Vincent stood up, nursing his bruised ribs with his other arm as he wrenched himself up from the bunk. It took a great effort for him to get clothed, the laces on his boots done haphazardly, as he wasn't able to bend down far enough to get them done properly.
Slouching slowly Vincent left the dorm, snarling quietly behind himself as he looked at the sleeping Hounds.
He managed to find his way to the sickbay with some effort, panting hard from the exertion he was putting on himself so soon after the beating. Still, he knew the journey would be worth it, the thought of supporting bandages and painkillers motivating him to shift one foot ahead of the other time and again.
Tiredly the hyena lifted his paw to press the panel which made the sickbay door slide open with a hiss, the sterile scent of antiseptics assaulting his sharp nose. Vincent waved his free paw in front of his nose in a vain attempt to fend off the stinging smell even a little before he stepped in, the white, bright lights forcing him to squint before his eyes adjusted and adapted.
"Yes? How can I help you, marine?" A cool, calm male voice asked.
Turning his head towards the source of the voice Vincent found out it belonged to a grizzly bear, perhaps twenty two or three of age, bearing the markings of a corporal on the collar of his white lab coat which he held totally open on top of his standard issue olive green T-shirt and matching camo pants.
"I...I think I've got a broken rib..." Vincent managed to gasp out.
The bear stood up with an eyebrow raised, walking over to Vincent and guiding the hyena to lie down on the examination table "How by Beorn's hammer you managed to break a rib in the middle of the night?"
Vincent groaned as the bear pulled on a pair of rubber gloves and pulled the hyena's shirt up to prod and examine at his ribcage and stomach.
"I...I...I fell from the bunk..." Vincent said after a while, faking embarrassment rather convincingly, even though he really was ashamed of himself for having lied. His pride simply didn't allow him to rat out the Hounds, not to mention rule three of the Pack meant this issue was to be settled amongst the Hounds without the interference of outsiders.
The grizzly looked like he wasn't quite convinced, but he simply shrugged after a moment "Sure thing, private, if you say so. Just make sure you won't fight with your buddies...correction, fall from the bunk again or I'm forced to file a report. Now hold still this will sting a little." He said, pressing then a pistol-like device -with a bottle of some green fluid attached to it- onto Vincent's neck. The bear pulled the trigger and the device let out a quit pop and a hiss as the needle penetrated Vincent's skin and injected the painkillers into his bloodstream.
Vincent sighed deep in relief as he felt the pain dulling, dulling and then fading away as the painkillers settled in.
"Now sit up, private. I'll place the ends of that broken rib together and then wrap your chest into a supporting bandage." The medic spoke casually and calmly -just like he had been taught to- and he helped Vincent into a sitting position.
"This shouldn't hurt anymore...You feeling anything?" The bear asked as he fixed Vincent's rib into place.
Vincent shook his head, no. If it hadn't been for the fact he vaguely felt the bear's paws moving on his side and saw what the medic was doing, he wouldn't have even noticed something was going on. The grizzly nodded in approval and reached into a cupboard nearby, taking out a roll of sturdy white bandage which he deftly rolled open around Vincent's ribcage.
"Is it too tight? Can you breathe properly?" The bear asked calmly.
Once more Vincent shook his head "No, sir, it's not too tight. I can breathe normally."
"Good." The bear replied with a nod, patting then Vincent onto the shoulder after finishing up with the bandage "Just take it easy for a couple of days. That bandage endures water, so you can shower and work otherwise, too, perfectly normally. Just...Try and avoid heavy lifting."
Once more Vincent nodded "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."
"No problem." The grizzly said, waving then Vincent away with a flick of his paw, something which Vincent was more than happy to oblige to.
The fourth day Vincent spent in the unit -also the last day of vacation they had- trudged on swiftly as Winters taught more and more about the Hounds to the hyena.
Vincent learned, that the Hounds had originally been not just a company, but a full regiment, the regimental command of which had been located on Xarhandra IV, some ten lightyears to the galactic west from Edenia. Nowadays the Raging Hounds were but a mere shadow of what it used to be, an undermanned company of mostly veteran soldiers.
The name "Raging Hounds" had been given to the company after the battle of Bloodrock Pass on Galeuchi III, one of the first battles the original regiment fought at in full strength, protecting the capitol of the planet from a rebel army. After that specific battle, only a handful of canines had remained standing and amongst them had been Captain Schaefer, later on promoted to the rank of Colonel as a reward for distinguished service... a rank paid in full with the blood of his men. The regiment was no more, their citadel on Xarhandra being empty now, because the Hi-Com thought it to be too much a hassle to refill the ranks, turning what remained into an undermanned company "for special operations".
These days the Hounds were used in various combat situations, the broad range of talents and expertises giving the Hounds a keen tactical edge, though mostly their missions were on smaller scale, considering their dwindled numbers.
"But uhhh..." Vincent began, holding one of his index fingers up and shaking it lightly towards Winters, who was seated opposite of him in the small corner table they had taken from the canteen.
"Hmm?"
"How uhh...How come you guys are so sexually open? I mean...Aren't you guys afraid of STDs and stuff like that? I know AIDS was quelled centuries ago, but other, more potent diseases appeared." Vincent said finally, keeping his voice low enough to not draw attention. Then again, the old saying goes 'there are least ears in a crowd of people' and the canteen was packed with chatting furs of many, many different species. They all had but a single thing in common: the army greens they wore on them.
Winters smiled "It's simple... The Hounds are part of a little medical experiment which so far is working great."
"Eh...? An experiment?"
"Yeah. All Hounds are vaccinated with a new, experimental vaccine which should render one immune to most any sicknesses and diseases. So far so good, I guess, since I can't remember anyone ever having as much as a flu during my time in the unit." Winters replied, sipping at his coffee afterwards. The dog's features twisted at the taste of the coffee replica "Damn! Quite a poison this stuff is..."
"Haha! Well...I see what you mean." Vincent was silent for a moment, thinking, before asking "Will I be vaccinated too?"
Winters nodded "Sure thing. Once we get onboard GFS Triumphant, and one of our medics finds the time to do the standard health check on you, you should also get a dose of the vaccine."
"Never in the eighteen years of my life have I ever met a bunch of guys as strange as the Hounds, that's for sure." Vincent said, laughing softly and shaking his head a little.
Without saying a word -and surprisingly quietly considering his sheer size- sergeant Dan Austin joined the two other Hounds, carrying a coffee mug twice the regular size.
"Every other place is full or then 'occupied for a friend'." Dan said casually, clearly expecting that to settle the matter.
Vincent didn't say anything, feeling uneasy in the company of the titanic grey wolf, but Winters just slapped the large wolf onto the shoulder.
"It's okay Dan. I was just teaching the ropes for our rookie here." the Dalmatian said cheerily.
"Right. So... Which shower session he will be using? The one you lot use, or the one Desolator and Hitman use? I hope he isn't going to slink into the shower on MY turn."
Vincent raised a brow "I thought you said there were only two sessions of showers...One for the gay boys and one for the straight ones."
"Nah... I never spoke of two shower turns. There are actually three, since Longfang here requires some space of his own when in shower." Winters replied casually, flashing a wink at a cougar sitting on the next table, who was clearly eyeing the Dalmatian.
"I can understand that." Vincent said, realizing a second too late how his words just exactly sounded like in the ears of Dan.
The brute, however, merely shrugged, the faintest hint of a grin caressing the muzzle of the sarge "Yeah...I'm a big boy, though Winters should stop calling me straight even though I'm not a very virile person."
The Dalmatian gave Dan a limp-wristed wave with his paw, which looked more than just a little gay to Vincent, and said "Oh shush with you... No sex with us boys means no interest in us, which in turn means you are straight."
"I admire your deductive skills, pup..." Dan said sourly, taking a big gulp off of his coffee.
"Geezer."
"Snot-nosed brat."
"Fossilized relic."
"Whippersnapper."
"Oldtimer."
"Shut up!" Vincent shouted, forming then the letter T with his paws by placing one on top of the other as a sign of timeout.
Winters giggled "Take it easy, Vincent, this isn't anything unusual."
As Dan returned back to his drink and Winters continued to flirt with the cougar, Vincent leaned his back against the wall behind him, arms crossed over the chest.
"You guys really remind me of the saying I heard in the Boot..." the hyena said with an amused smile.
Dan raised a brow "Really? What saying would that be?"
Vincent cleared his throat and started to quote his drill sergeant "'What's considered gay in civilian life is called comradeship in the army. What's considered gay in the army is called comradeship in the navy, and what is called gay in the navy is forbidden by the law.'"
Winters burst into a laughter, slapping his paw onto his face and Dan coughed a couple of times as he choked a little on his coffee, his hacking cough turning into an amused chuckle a moment later.
"That...That's a new one! Well...At least...At least I haven't heard it before!" The Dalmatian exclaimed between fits of laughter and giggling.
"Amusing." Dan said simply, a grin just barely visible from behind the mug of coffee the wolf held at his lips to drink once more.
They chatted for a while longer, telling more about themselves and getting to know eahc other a bit better. Well...mostly it was Jim and Vincent who spoke with Dan remaining silent for the most part. The wolf was a male of few words and the perky Dalmatian was more than capable of filling up the silent moments with jokes or stories of his childhood...mostly those stories were true, but Jim handily left out the mentions of him being the son of a VERY important person.
A little while into the conversation Martin -the black jackal everyone referred to as 'Preacher'- joined the three of them, adding in his own contribution of stories of his past, of his youth on a busy, heavily industrialized world and of how his father had pressed him to join the army for a while before settling finally down on some nice planet. First and foremost, though, Martin apologized to Vincent for having hit him, telling he had been practically forced to join in. Vincent, after a moment of tenseness, accepted the apology. He knew what peer pressure could be, so he housed no ill will towards Martin.
"Darn, gotta go get a refill of this toxic waste they call synthesized coffee... Word's been out we're leaving around the time our usual 'evening activities' end so I gotta stay sharp." Jim said after a while, staring at the bottom of his mug with clear disdain before rising up.
"I'll see you in a moment, handsome." The Dalmatian said quietly to Vincent, giving the hyena a wink which made Vincent blush ever so slightly under his fur, making him glad his slightly rough fur hid his face so well.
"And I think I'll go into the little marines' room... At this rate my fangs will start floating!" Martin added, nodding then politely at the three others before rising up and weaving his way through the mass of green-clad furs in the canteen.
With the two perky, cheery canines gone a somewhat uneasy silence fell between Vincent and Dan, the brute staring intently at the contents of his huge mug whilst Vincent leaned his elbow onto the table with his muzzle on his paw, watching the horde of furs milling about, joking, laughing, talking, surfing the net on portable computers and generally enjoying themselves as much as partially on-duty soldiers possibly could.
"You should watch out, pup..." Dan said all of a sudden, snapping Vincent out of his thoughts, the glazed eyes of the hyena gaining focus immediately as he turned to look at the huge, burly wolf.
"Hmm? What do you mean with that?"
"Jericho...The pup's so full of himself and he hates all non-canines like each and every one of them had personally wronged him in some hellish way. Not to mention many of the other guys share many of his views. You'd do wisely if you just kept a low profile." Dan said softly, flashing then a faint grin "Though I do like the fact you've got both guts and attitude. Not many would stand so defiantly against Jericho when that egoistic prettyboy has most of the pack on his side."
"I just refuse to take shit from anyone these days." Vincent replied with a shrug.
"'These days'? You mean you've in the past had to put up with shit or what?"
"Yeah...Before I turned seventeen I had practically no spine at all and I just let everyone walk over me whatever way they liked. Guess I got fed up with that one day."
"Really now? Eh...Sounds like you've had quite a childhood."
"You wouldn't believe..."
That comment terminated the conversation rather efficiently, both of them sinking back into their thoughts to wait for Jim and Martin to return.
Martin returned first and took a seat next to Dan instead of sitting at Vincent's side like he had done before. The jackal gave Dan a subtle wink which Vincent failed to see; he was too deep in his thoughts, remembering the only one who seemed to have genuinely cared about him... but that fur was gone now, his sharp wits and intelligence having earned him a position as an assistant researcher/technician at some far, far away station on the edges of the known space.
A few moments later Winters made his way back to the table with a steaming mug of coffee in his paw, yelling "'Scuse me, 'scuse me, coming through, sorry..." like a machine gun as he squeezed past the crowd. A soft smile appeared onto Jim's face as he saw Martin seated next to Dan, leaving the spot next to the spottybutt free for the taking.
The Dalmatian slipped onto the seat smoothly, sliding his chair as if by accident so that he was almost pressed against Vincent's side. He wasn't sure what it was in Vincent that appealed to him, but there was definitely something. Perhaps it was because the hyena was something rather exotic, or perhaps it was just because he wasn't a complete slut like the vast majority of the Hounds... not yet at least.
Vincent's ears -previously hanging casually and relaxedly- perked up as a nimble paw snaked its way under his shirt, rubbing at his belly softly. Turning his head a little he saw Jim was drinking at his coffee as if nothing was wrong, although the Dalmatian's left paw was deep, deep under Vincent's shirt, remaining low enough to be unseen by the crowd around them.
"Wh-?" Vincent began, but Winters silenced him with a soft wink and a smile.
"Shhh...It's okay, buddy. Just relax..." The dog murmured quietly so that only Vincent heard it, making the hyena gulp slightly.
Vincent felt more than just a little conscious of the fact they were in a public place and Winter's paw was roaming slowly over his abs, exploring every curve, shape and crevice on Vincent's stomach, careful not to touch the bandages too much lest it would cause Vincent discomfort. It felt awkward, being fondled like that in public, but at the same time Vincent found he was enjoying it all the same.
Turning his head a little more, Vincent stared at Jim, absorbing in the tone of the black n' white fur, the soft scent of deodorant and canine wafting from him... The way the dog's muzzle seemed to curl into a smile whenever he looked at Vincent.
Vincent blushed a little deeper as the Dalmatian started to play his paw on the edge of his waistline, playfully tugging and caressing Vincent's pants. Winters was, without a doubt and in lack of better term, cute and -in his own way- quite charming. Was he like that with every new guy, or was it just with Vincent? Did Winters' nickname "Boytoy" have anything to do with all this? Vincent didn't have a clue, but, for the time being, he just decided to go with the flow.
Subtly the hyena spread his legs a bit more apart as Jim started to slide his paw into Vincent's pants, the tips of Jim's fingers softly touching at the edge of Vincent's sheath... and then the intercom buzzed, the voice echoing from the speakers making Jim sigh deep.
"All Raging Hounds report to your quarters to pack up and saddle up for departure. I repeat: All Raging Hounds report to your quarters to pack up and saddle up for departure." The voice of Lieutenant Fletcher boomed across the canteen, some of the furs standing up and heading out of the canteen, laughing and generally looking merry.
Winters pulled his paw slowly out of Vincent's pants, resting his head against the cool surface of the table as Vincent stood up and made his leave, mumbling something about having to pack everything up while he still had the chance, clear red flecks shining on his cheeks.
"Darn...Just when I was about to get to have some fun..." The dog mumbled to himself.
Martin reached across the desk and patted Jim onto the shoulder, smiling encouragingly at the lithe Dalmatian "You'll get your chance..." he whispered.
Dan, too, stood up and made his way out of the canteen, his sheer bulk ensuring everyone stepped hastily to the side lest they'd get bulldozed to the ground, the wolf's tail waving lazily -like a flag- behind him.
"You've got your eyes on our Misfit." Martin said; it wasn't a question.
"Mmmhmm...He's cute and...I dunno. So unlike the rest of the Hounds?"
Martin smiled, looking towards the doorway through which Vincent just managed to squeeze, aided by Sergeant Dan, who walked in front of the hyena, ploughing the way open.
"He certainly isn't like the rest of us...And I don't just mean his genes. I believe he'll be a fine addition to our Pack, though apparently I can only pray to Machala that the others, too, would realize that..." Martin said, patting Jim onto the shoulder once more before standing up.
Jim, too, stood up and together the two of them squeezed out of the canteen, following their two friends.
Two days later the majestic cruiser GFS Triumphant was sailing through the void of interstellar space, the long, sleek and smooth shape of the ship's hull only broken by the multitude of gunpoints and sensor arrays. The ship itself was made of dark Titanium, aptly named Shadow Titanium due to the dark hue it had, with the only exception being the name of the ship painted with screaming neon-blue letters onto the ship's side.
The ship was rather large considering it only ever housed a little over thirty Marines plus the active crew of seventy eight, the ship being almost two hundred meters long and fifty wide with eight decks and quarters for half of a standard regiment. Once, years ago, the ship would've been packed with Federate Marines and equipment, but for now the large cargo bays were mostly empty.
Inside the briefing room the Hounds sat in silence, watching at the slowly revolving 3D-holograph of a planet, tactical data rolling in thin air right next to the projection.
"--and as such the Hi-Com has assigned us to deploy behind the separatists' lines to either capture or eliminate their leader, Aruro Fengale." Schaefer said, holding his paws behind his back as he stood and spoke.
The image of a middle-aged grizzly bear appeared onto the holo-display, the image of the planet shifting to the side and turning into a considerably smaller scale, only to jump back up a moment later as each of the Hounds had managed to memorize what the bear looked like.
"We will deploy with a low-altitude drop into the ruined remains of the planet's third largest city Zaibawa. No gliders, no parachutes, no drop pods... We will be using the impact gel cushions for added stealth." This declaration caused a low droning buzz of mumbling and excited whispering amongst the assorted canines (and Vincent, who whispered with Jim), before Fletcher cut them all off by shouting "Shut up!"
"Thank you, Brad. Now... I know you guys like using the IGCs, but for now you should pay attention. We will be arriving in three days, so make sure you are well-rested and healthy. If our mission fails, we will have to fight our way through eighty miles of hostile territory filled with nothing but rebels and their ilk. On fifteen minutes notice we can -as usual- call The Saint's Rapier to give supporting fire... You know Master Sergeant Rowalski and his crew are more than happy to aid us, as usual, with their weaponry."
"What is The Saint's Rapier?" Vincent whispered to Jim, leaning closer to the Dalmatian, as Schaefer continued to speak.
"The Saint's Rapier is our very own gunship. Mark Five Hydra-class Supersonic Heavy Gunship. You wouldn't believe how many times their lance machineguns and howitzers have helped us out of a pinch." Jim replied, daring to flash a toothy grin to the hyena when neither Fletcher nor Schaefer was looking.
Vincent replied to Jim's grin with a slight smile of his own, fixing then his gaze back to the representation given to them. Inside, Vincent was starting to feel slight tinges of nervousness. He was going to a real combat with real enemies... He could very well end up getting killed, or worse, captured and tortured to death. The pictures Schaefer had shown to them of those Federate Marines caught by the separatists were certainly not pretty at all...
"And last but not least, we will be having a...specialist with us for this mission." Schaefer said, uttering the word 'specialist' with clear distaste.
As if on cue, the door to the briefing room slid open and a dark, shady figure covered from head to toe in blackish-gray, form-fitting armor, his helmet sporting a set of vision enhancing goggles and sighting devices, walked in, causing another wave of mumbling amongst the Marines. There was absolutely no mistaking it, the newcomer was one of the dreaded Shades, specialist assassins/commandos of the Federation, a mysterious organization which, officially, didn't even exist.
"Ghost has been assigned to us by the Spec-Ops department to lend us some assistance in eliminating Aruro Fengale. You've all heard stories about the Shades -most of them false- but rest assured that Ghost can and will get the job done."
"Yes, yes...Of course I'll help..." Ghost said, his voice like a whisper and with a mechanic echo to it as it filtered through the communications systems inserted to his helmet.
Vincent noted Ghost's tail was long and thin, armored just like the rest of his body and swishing slowly around. That, combined with the shape of the Shade's helmet, led Vincent to suspect it was a rodent of some sort inside the all-enclosing suit of armor. Others -save for Jericho- didn't seem bothered by the same realization Vincent had made.
After the briefing was over, the Colonel remained in the briefing room with Ghost as the rest of the Hounds filed out, leaving the two of them alone.
Schaefer wasn't too fond of having one of the Federation's lackeys shoved into his face like this, but outwardly he didn't show it at all. He was a soldier first and foremost, he had long since learned to ignore small bothers like this one was, even more so since this was a matter of personal taste.
"Ghost...Y-" Schaefer began.
"Just tell your men to stay out of my way, Colonel...I work far better on my own and, even though I've been told to assist you and your grunts, I feel I could do this mission by myself." Ghost interrupted coldly, his tail starting to swish angrily like a whip.
Schaefer snorted "Fine by me...I've been given orders to let you do pretty much as you please."
Ghost nodded and punched his chest once, holding his fist on the spot where his heart was hidden under the layers of armor and skin "The Federation prevails, Colonel."
"Aye...That it does..." Schaefer replied quietly, saluting the Shade before excusing himself, the German Shepherd, too, leaving the room and turning the lights off, leaving the solitary warrior the way he preferred to be; alone in darkness.
Vincent trudged down the corridors of the ship, his ears filled with the steady, low and quiet humming and thrumming of machinery, although by now he had learned how to filter it out for the most part. The sound of machines and the faint vibration of the ship were all quirks of space ships and interstellar traveling.
The corridor smelled faintly of canine musk, engine oil and recycled air, the glowing lamps on the ceilings illuminating the whole corridor with their cold white light, Vincent's boots clanking against the grated floor, sending eerie echoes which made the place feel that much more uninviting.
Vincent was both surprised and glad the Hounds had let him be for the past two days. Two days without any incidents, two blissful, bashing-free days. Even Jericho had left Vincent be, the grim wolf having only ever once just snarled at the hyena as they had passed each other in the corridor during their first day of interstellar travel aboard GFS Triumphant.
Vincent was just walking around, exploring the ship, getting familiar with what passed for his home from now on. They were still all housed in one big dorm even though Vincent knew there were several other such dorms near their own, all of them empty now that the Hounds were so severely underhanded.
The stern clanging of heavy boots against the grating of the floor hit Vincent's ears suddenly, the sound bearing something ominous, like doomsday's bells, about it. Soon enough Vincent's suspicions were confirmed as lieutenant Fletcher came to view after the Great Dane rounded a corner, the dog stopping for a moment to regard Vincent with clear distaste in his eyes.
"Private Raikov..." Fletcher began, his voice oozing venom "I've been looking for you, actually. It's your turn to do cleaning duty in cargo bay one. I do hope, for your sake, that you haven't been wandering about the ship just to get to slack off of your duties."
"No, sir, I haven't been trying to avoid my duties." Vincent replied stiffly. He felt nervous around the large Great Dane, the clear hostility of the dog making the fur on his neck stand on its end.
"Good. Now get a move on and clean up the place before dinner if you feel like eating." Fletcher growled sourly and Vincent saluted, the hyena walking briskly past the dog in order to get the hella clear away from him as fast as possible without bursting into a full run.
As Vincent passed by Fletcher, he thought he saw a smug, malicious smile curling into the corner of the dog's muzzle... Probably the Great Dane was very pleased with himself for having managed to boss Vincent around like that. Then again, what could Vincent possibly do other than obey? Fletcher had more junk metal adorning his neck than Vincent did, and that meant the hyena had to obey.
"To hell with all this..." He mumbled sourly to himself as he reached the elevators and entered a vacant one, pressing the button for the lowest deck.
A short trek later Vincent reached the huge double doors leading to cargo bay one. The doors were large enough to let two tanks drive by each other with ease, but at the moment they stood firmly shut. Because it was inconvenient to open the massive doors whenever someone went in or out, a smaller door had been placed into one of the larger ones through which Vincent entered.
The lights were on the usual energy saving setting, illuminating the whole large bay faintly, leaving several places hidden in shadows. The cargo bay itself, large as it may be, was still relatively empty, several dozen cargo crates stacked to the back of the bay the only thing in it. Normally there would've been dozens of tanks, light recon vehicles, weapons, ammunition and medical supplies filling the bay to the brim, but thirty something marines didn't need that much gear.
As Vincent ceased staring at the vastness of the hall, his gaze fell onto a mop and a bucket left leaning against the wall as if expecting someone to use them. Vincent sighed deep. There they were, living an age of technological advancements, and yet they were still using mops and buckets... Or it might just be this was one more way for Fletcher to oppress Vincent.
"If they are hoping for me to just up and quit, they are in for one helluva surprise. I ain't going anywhere goddamit!" Vincent shouted into the empty cargo bay, hearing only his voice echoing faintly from the metallic walls. Swearing audibly Vincent grabbed the mop, shoved it to the bucket and started to scrub the floor, groaning inwardly at the sheer amount of work he'd have to do to get the place clean.
An hour and half into the scrubbing and Vincent had managed to fight his way through the dirt into the area where the cargo containers were. Sweat glistened on his brow, his muscles ached and felt like they would cramp any moment now and he had removed his shirt to make his toil even a fraction more bearable.
He was keeping on a furious pace, whipping himself so much to get the job done before dinner time. He was quite sure lieutenant Fletcher would indeed deny the rations from him if he was late with his work...
Forced to pause for a moment to catch his breath, Vincent leaned his muscled frame against the mop, using it for support. He let his eyes slowly fall shut as he took his breather, trying to will his ragged breathing to calm down.
"Well look who we have here all alone doing shitty cleaning duty!" A mocking voice called out from the doors of the cargo bay.
Turning his head a little and cracking his eyes open Vincent saw it was Jericho, an unpleasantly pleased smile resting firmly on the wolf's face as the canine slowly trudged across the cargo bay towards Vincent.
"Go fuck yourself, Jericho...With a face like yours it's a miracle if you get anything more than pity sex." Vincent replied, straightening his back as Jericho got close enough for them to talk in normal voice instead of shouting. Vincent got some satisfaction as he saw Jericho's smile quiver for a moment. Clearly he had struck a chord in there.
"You...You filthy son of a two-cred whore..." Jericho swore, the wolf's paws balling into fists, his entire body shaking visibly with barely contained anger.
"Takes one to know one, prettyboy." Vincent retorted with a nasty grin.
That's when Jericho snapped, lunging at Vincent with a cry of angry frustration, his paw pulled back in preparation to knock the hyena's lights out.
Vincent laughed inwardly. It had been SO easy to get Jericho to the verge of violent rage when his guard would be lowest... Clearly the wolf had forgotten Vincent was still holding the mop; a pathetic weapon, yes, but still a weapon none the less.
With a snarl Vincent swatted the soaked, dirty, smelly mop across Jericho's face when the other came close enough. Getting the smelly mop plastered across his face made Jericho howl in disgust, the dirty water blinding him for a moment, making him lose his balance.
It was a simple job for Vincent to shatter the carbon fiber handle of the mop into Jericho's unguarded back, sending the wolf crashing to the ground with a dull thud.
Tossing aside the remains of the mop Vincent stretched his neck from side to side and rolled his arms to get warmed up. Oh how he had been waiting for a chance like this... A chance to make the cocky elitist morning wank Jericho pay.
Jericho clambered hastily back to his feet, only to be welcomed with a punch to the face which sent him down on his arse. His head spun, pain soaring through it like a firecracker gone wild, his vision swimming from the force of the punch.
In a feeble attempt to deflect the oncoming blow, Jericho raised his paw in front of his face just before Vincent kneed him to the head, Jericho's head jerking backwards, his balance finally failing completely, resulting in him falling to the ground and hitting his head to the deck with a sickening bang.
Vincent spat onto the ground next to the whimpering, bruised Jericho.
"That'll teach you...loser..." Vincent said, preparing to stomp onto Jericho's ribcage to repay the favor of a broken rib.
All of a sudden several strong, muscular pairs of furry arms grabbed Vincent from behind, yanking his arms back and locking him into place. He snapped left and right, kicking with his feet and struggling for his dear life. He had been ambushed. Jericho had been nothing more than a decoy... The thought hammered in Vincent's head like a five ton mallet.
"Fuckin' A! Grab his head!" a deep, cigarette-harsh voice exclaimed surprisedly from behind Vincent, another strong arm coiling around his throat, shutting his windpipe almost entirely. Vincent knew better than to struggle more, ceasing his movements little by little as he felt himself suffocate.
A punch to the gut slammed the rest of the wind from his lungs and Vincent went limp, hanging like a rag doll in the arms of his captors...the ones who were supposed to be his comrades.
John "Smokey" Hall, the black wolf who had spoken moments ago, the very same -Vincent recognized as he cracked his eyes open- who had thought he had been but a messenger when he had first arrived to the Hounds' quarters in Goodwill, helped the grinning Jericho up from the floor.
Jericho wiped a bit of blood that seeped as a small trickle from his nose away, chuckling then devilishly as he looked at Vincent.
"Who's the loser now, freak?" Jericho asked, spicing up words by backhanding Vincent across the muzzle, and it was no lovetap either.
Growling faintly Vincent looked around. The collie sergeant Frost was there, as was the scarred timberwolf Rose, Hall, Jericho and two others, a Doberman by the name Sam "Lucky Ace" Watkins and a German Shepherd the name of whom Vincent didn't know.
"The fuck is the name and meaning of this little ambush of yours, you numb nut son of a mutt?" The hyena growled.
Sam, who currently was strangling Vincent even though his grip had loosened considerably after Vincent had stopped fighting back, let off of Vincent entirely and John threw a punch first to Vincent's already sore ribcage and then another to his cheek.
Frost, Rose and the German Shepherd all let off of Vincent, too, and the hyena fell onto his knees on the ground, coughing and gasping for breath.
The bruised rib had apparently fractured again, such was the burning agony Vincent felt in his ribs, not ot mention his head was spinning from the punishment he was being given.
"Fuck really is the name of the game here, you spotted, freaky little mishap..." Jericho replied lewdly, one of the wolf's paws rubbing his crotch idly as he spoke.
"H-Huh...?" Vincent asked, not quite sure if he had understood correctly.
"We'll show you your place in the pack, bitch..." Sam said matter-of-factly, grabbing Vincent's jaw and wrenching it up so that the hyena had to look at the grinning face of the dobie "My, my what a pretty little muzzle you've got...I bet it would look good around my cock."
Vincent whimpered quietly. Gang rape...all this had been but a big fucking setup for a gang rape...
"I wonder if Fletcher sent me in here intentionally..." Vincent thought to himself. He wrenched himself free from Sam's grasp, looking defiantly into the eyes of the six furs standing in a ring around him. After a moment he splayed his ears across his skull in shame and defeat, letting his entire posture flinch under the six ice-cold glares. There was just no fucking way he could beat all six of them... It would probably be easier if he just went with the flow...
As soon as Vincent signaled his surrender, Sam grabbed him by the muzzle again and Vincent closed his eyes. The unmistakable sound of a zipper being opened drifted into his ears, followed by quiet shuffling as Sam, obviously, dug his cock out from his pants.
Once more Sam wrenched Vincent's jaw upwards, the dobie bringing his pointy face close to Vincent's with clear malice in his eyes.
"Those fangs of yours would better vanish, bitch...You try and bite my Trouser Titan and I'll make sure you die a slow, painful death...understood?" Sam said quietly and slowly, making sure Vincent didn't miss a word.
Vincent replied by nodding weakly, complying as Sam dug his middle finger and thumb into Vincent's jaw muscles, forcing the hyena to open his muzzle.
He looked down at Sam's cock, seeing a good four inches of tapered caninehood already jutting out from the Doberman's sheath. With a slight whimper Vincent slowly leaned in closer, the scent of Sam's arousal hitting his nostrils a moment later. Slowly Vincent let his tongue slip out of his muzzle to deliver a small lick to Sam's cock, the dobie grunting in enjoyment in response. Little by little Vincent started to make longer and longer licks across Sam's cock, feeling and seeing how the warm, throbbing canine maleness slid further out of the dog's sheath.
"Enough waiting around...Let's just cut to the chase, BITCH!" Sam shouted, grabbing Vincent by the mane and shoving the hyena's muzzle all the way down his cock, Sam's eyes closing in delight as the warm muzzle of Vincent's surrounded his cock in entirety, the wet nose of the spottybutt pressing against his crotch a nice addition to the ecstatic feeling.
Vincent whimpered, choking more than just a little on Sam's dick, the dobie's maleness having invaded his throat rather violently. Not wanting to suffocate him, Sam loosened his grip slightly to let Vincent get some air.
"Suck it...suck it good..." Sam growled, getting approving whistles and cheers from the five other Hounds.
Unable to do anything but comply, Vincent let out another whimper. Slowly he started to bob his head up and down, making very, very sure his fangs stayed far away from the sensitive flesh sliding in and out of his throat, his tongue swirling and dancing over Sam's cock time and again, searching for all the sweet spots.
Someone, Vincent didn't dare to look who, started to unbuckle the hyena's belt, yanking his pants down and finally off a moment later, his boots getting forcibly yanked off of his feet and his T-shirt ripped to shreds. Vincent closed his eyes again, knowing all too well what was going to happen as a harsh paw grabbed him by the tail and yanked it up.
"Will you look at THAT! This guy's gotta be a fucking virgin! Sweet!" John's cigarette-baritone growled lustily from behind Vincent, followed by sadistic chuckling and cries of approval from the others.
A heartbeat later the sound of one zipper, two, three zippers...four zippers opening drifted to Vincent's ears. Daring to take a look he saw all the others were slowly pawing themselves off, their tapered, knotted cocks slowly emerging from their sheaths as they pleasured themselves... The mean gleam they had in their eyes meant only one thing: they all were simply waiting for their turn.
Having focused so intensely on the other four Hounds, Vincent failed to pay attention to what John was doing, the pain brought by his tailhole getting suddenly and violently stretched open by the black wolf's cock making his eyes go wide open and a muffled scream escape his muzzle.
Roughly John started to buck his hips, his crotch slapping against Vincent's rump every time he shoved all of his girth into their helpless victim.
"Man, oh man...This guy's like a fuckin' vice!" John shouted, a raucous laughter following his words, making Vincent's face burn with humiliation. They were all enjoying it... Enjoying tormenting him in such a way, safe in the knowledge Vincent couldn't do a damn thing if he wanted to get out of this all alive.
Whimpering again Vincent tried to shift his attention away from John violating his tailhole by focusing more onto sucking the dobie off. It didn't help much but it was still something... Vincent trailed his tongue this way and that along Sam's cock, licking along the crisscrossing map of veins, stopping every now and then at the head to delicately tease it with just the tip of his tongue. He was no expert; he'd never sucked anyone off and only ever once had been blown by someone else...
Sam, clearly enjoying himself, laughed out loud, his laughter followed by a shuddering "whooooa..." as Vincent hit one of the various sweet spots along the dobie's maleness.
"He sure knows how to give good head...Guess he's been hanging around Winters too much!" Sam growled out lustily, the snaking, twisting, smooth tongue of Vincent's teasing him in almost unbearable ways, threatening to drive him utterly nuts.
Tears started to streak down Vincent's face; tears of pain, rage and humiliation. John's growing knot was slipping in and out of Vincent's tailhole, stretching him more and more open with every single thrust the wolf made.
"Oi! Don't tie with him, Smokey. We want to have some fun too!" Rose shouted and John gave the fellow wolf a mock sneer.
"Bottoms up, bitch..." Sam snarled, grabbing Vincent by the head with both paws and shoving his entire cock into the hyena's muzzle. Only barely could Vincent contemplate what Sam had meant when already he got his answer, the doberman's jizz pouring down his throat in several warm, sticky waves. Vincent swallowed what he could, but still the majority of the sticky fluid ran down his chin and chest.
The Doberman yanked his cock out of Vincent's muzzle, leaving the hyena coughing and gasping for air, a clearly satisfied grin on the dobie's face as he nudged for the next one to take the reigns.
Sergeant Frost's leering face came to Vincent's view just as John blew his load into Vincent's tailhole, the feeling of the wolf's seed splashing into him making him feel, for the lack of a better word, dirty and even more violated than before.
"you know the drill...Get to sucking." Frost said coldly and Vincent complied, feeling how John's rapidly flacciding wolfhood slipped out of his tailhole, only to be replaced by another a moment later.
They all took their turn on Vincent, all of them using him like he was a cheap two-cred hooker or a toy of some sort; to be played with, broken and tossed away at their leisure.
A good half an hour later Jericho, having unloaded the contents of his balls into Vincent's throat, withdrew his cock and hastily stuffed it back into his pants, spitting onto Vincent's cum-stained face as the hyena laid whimpering and sobbing on the ground. Jericho had been the last and now that they all had had their fun...
"Welcome to the Hounds...Cockslut." Jericho spat the words at Vincent, each nuance laden with thick venom "And you'd better not rat us all out if you enjoy your health and your life, ya hear? You'd also better crawl to the evening's head count or there's a hell to pay." Jericho snarled as he picked Vincent up by the mane, watching with satisfaction as the hyena could only nod weakly in response, not daring to look Jericho in the eye.
"Good..." and with that said Jericho punched Vincent across the face once, twice, three times, knocking poor Vincent out cold. With a snort Jericho dropped the unconscious body of the hyena to the cold steel floor, a sadistic and satisfied smile on his muzzle as he winked for his comrades to follow him, the six canines walking out of the cargo bay in silence, leaving Vincent lying in a broken heap on the ground...
"...Where is private Raikov...?" Schaefer asked quietly as the lists for the evening's head count had arrived to his office, this one considerably larger than the temporary one he'd had in Goodwill.
"I don't know, Sir. I heard lieutenant Fletcher put him in cleaning duty earlier on, though. Maybe he's still doing it?" sergeant Dan answered, standing in attention in front of Schaefer's desk.
Schaefer looked at the massive wolf intently, his brown eyes seemingly drilling a hole right through the sergeant, who -despite being otherwise practically immune to fear and other such bothersome feelings- shifted a fraction of an inch in unease.
"Sergeant...Go find our little misfit. I have a hunch not everything is as it should be."
"Yes Sir." Dan replied, saluting the Colonel before making his way out of Schaefer's office. This was bad, real bad... Whenever the Colonel had one of his "hunches" it was always a bad omen. Schaefer's hunches were always right... so damn right...
Ten minutes later the smaller door leading to cargo bay one creaked open, a cone of light spilling into the otherwise dark room, the massive, broad-shouldered form of Dan silhouetted in the doorway.
The wolf's eyes adjusted rapidly to the surrounding darkness. He didn't need lights, the Gene in him having mutated his eyes so that they enhanced what little light was available, giving him a night vision of sorts. Slowly Dan walked across the massive hall, scanning his surroundings for any sign of Vincent.
"Raikov? Hey Raikov! Are you in here?" Dan shouted, getting at first nothing as a response, but then...yes, a faint whimper coming from somewhere ahead of him, somewhere around the stacked piles of cargo crates.
Immediately on alert the wolf burst into a full run, his boots thumping heavily against the metallic floor. What he found lying next to the cargo containers made him frown deeply...
Vincent was lying face down on the floor without a single strand of clothing on him, dried cum matting the fur on his chin, chest and rump. Barely conscious, Vincent couldn't quite focus his vision, managing only barely to see the shape of someone hovering above him.
"Pl...Please...No more..." He managed to whine pitifully with broken voice. He didn't want to go through the same hell again...never.
"Calm down, Vincent. Just take it easy, I'll take you to the sick bay." Dan said softly, his calm voice easing Vincent's fear a little.
Strong, tree trunk like arms wrapped surprisingly gently around Vincent, lifting him from the ground. The chiseled, firm and warm chest of sergeant Dan... Vincent curled up against it in the wolf's arms, clinging onto it as if for dear life, hovering still on the brink of unconsciousness.
"Who the hell could do something like this to him...?" Dan thought to himself as he carried Vincent out of the cargo bay, the wolf's face a resolute mask, hiding behind it a slowly simmering rage which he was barely able to contain. With Vincent in his arms he couldn't succumb, because he had no chance in hell to hold the hyena and fish out the inhalator should the need for it rise.
The com-device on his wrist chimed faintly and Dan answered it by pressing the button with his nose.
"Did you find private Raikov yet, sergeant?" Schaefer's voice asked.
"Yes, Sir...It would appear something happened to Raikov. He's barely conscious and I'm currently taking him to the sickbay. It...would appear someone beat him up pretty badly." Dan didn't mention the raping. The last thing they needed right now was to have some of their already scarce numbers court martialed for sexual assault just before a mission.
There was a long silence before Schaefer replied "I see...You do what must be done, sergeant. Schaefer out."
"Wilco, Sir. Austin out."
Looks like Vincent isn't being accepted by the Hounds at all...Perhaps their first assignment will change that? Stay tuned for more exciting episodes of The Raging Hounds!
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