Spartan 0-6 Ch.2 The Home Front
Hey everyone. I finally finished the second installment in the Spartan 0-6 series. This story focuses on the backgrounds of the story's characters. It also contains mature material not suitable for under the age of 18. As always all my characters belong to me. I want to send a special thank you to the artist: Kalahari for the use of his character Johanna. Please don't use any of the characters in this story without permission from their respective owners. And also a special thanks to everyone who responded to my 'Sniper' story. --Spartan
10 hours later...Northern Pakistan The white wolf crouched amid the spent shell casings and blood, breathing in the after smell of death. He grimaced, laying his ears back against his head as the villagers keening wail reached his sensitive lupine hearing inside the shack. They were burying the dead terrorists outside. "Go ahead, morn your Muslim brothers. I will be the one to find those who are responsible," the wolf thought as he casually inspected a spent .45 caliber shell. Standing with a slight groan, he answered his ringing cell phone. "Da." "What is the situation?"Came the voice on the other end of the line. "We have a problem," he replied. "They got the informant before he could be executed." "Who is they?" the voice inquired. "I don't know yet." "It doesn't matter; our plans can't be stopped now. However, we cannot take any chances. I want them destroyed Yuri...and I trust you above all others." "Da svidanya" Yuri replied, his chest swelling with pride. "I won't let you down comrade." "Be sure that you don't" the voice said before hanging up. * * * 20 hours after the rescue...Deep beneath the Pentagon Ben dipped his head under the running water of the gymnasium style shower. The 6-foot tall wolf/border collie mix felt exhausted from the recent mission, but the warm water helped return some life to his weary muscles. After the shower, he dried and dressed in a set of freshly starched MARPAT utilities. Feeling slightly refreshed he exited the locker-room and crossed a sterile white hallway to, what he and the other Spartans affectionately called, the "war room". The war room itself was a sound proof, concrete reinforced bunker where the Spartan team was briefed on its missions. Ben took in the room as he entered through the single mahogany door. One entire side of the room was dominated by a dozen or more state of the art computers, which were manned by a small contingent of NSA support staffers. This crack NSA team had the sole responsibility of providing the Spartan team with intel. and logistical support. Across the room, an entire wall was covered in a plethora of flat screen TVs that Ben dreamed of using to watch college basketball and football games. In the center of the room sandwiched between the two technological marvels sat a simple wooden table surrounded by equally humble office chairs. Ben plopped down into one of the office chairs and leaned perilously backwards to wait for his team. As he waited he let his mind wander and he reflected on the path that had led him here. Born in coastal North Carolina Ben was raised in a proud, patriotic family where most of the men had served in the military. Growing up just outside of Camp Lejeune Ben had always wanted to join the Marines. His father, who had spent 22 years in the Marines, mostly influenced Ben in this decision. After four years at NCSU, he had decided to take his commission and join as an officer. Ben would never forget the day before he shipped off to OCS. Over a cup of coffee at a local diner, Ben confessed to his father that he was nervous about the coming days. The old wolf paused mid-sip and stared flatly across the table at his son. When he spoke, his unwavering voice carried a steely edge that belied the silver fur around his muzzle. "Son, thousands have gone through what you're about to face and succeeded, and your better than most of them. There's no reason why you can't do this." Ben never forgot those words. * * * Ben's reverie was broken as the door to the "war room" swung open and in strode his second in command: Gunnery Sergeant Daniel Knyte. Ben didn't know much about Knyte's history. The stoic cougar rarely showed emotion let alone spoke of his past. However, over the years Ben had gleaned some insight into his companion's life. Raised somewhere out west, most of Knyte's childhood was spent outdoors creeping through the woods with a rifle. Stalking prey through the trees and undergrowth Daniel was able to lose himself in the hunt. Able to escape for a short time. Ben suspected Daniel hunted so much to avoid his abusive father. No matter the reason, it was during this time that the young cougar developed almost supernatural marksmanship skills. After high school, Knyte enlisted in the Marines and before too long the young feline was drawn to the Scout Sniper program. After multiple combat tours in Iraq and Afghanistan with 2nd Marine Force Recon, Daniel's skills were noticed and he soon found himself in the Spartan program. "And the rest...is history," thought Ben as he rose to greet his friend. "Gunny," said Ben smiling. "Sir" Knyte responded, his face expressionless. Any further greeting was interrupted by the boisterous cacophony of two more Spartans entering the room. "Ya know, they say our government doesn't like religion, I don't think that's true. Remember that federally funded church barbecue in Waco, Texas?" Ben grimaced at that comment and the loud laughter that followed it. He recognized that morbid sense of humor well before he turned around to face its owner, the third member of the Spartan Team: Robert "Doom&Gloom" Murphy. The strapping otter had his arm thrown around Hollywood's shoulders as he continued to laugh at his own joke. To his credit, the young fox laughed politely despite his obvious discomfort. Born and raised in northern Texas, Robert Murphy had always been an odd child. His uptight parents had been confounded by his sarcasm, defiance and love for blowing things up. Hoping for some kind of miracle his parents had dumped him on therapist after therapist. One unfortunate doctor had gained an all too in depth look inside the young otter's mind. The conversation had gone something like this: "So tell me Robert, if you could travel back in time where would you go?" (Doctor) "Well... I guess I would like to have been on that plane that dropped the bomb on Japan. Ya know? I mean, a handful of guys killed hundreds of thousands of people. That fucking rules." Shortly after high school, Robert had joined the navy and the elite SEAL Team Six. Unfortunately, the questions about his mental state hadn't ended when he joined the military, nor when he had been scooped up for the Spartan program. In fact, Ben had been there for his psychiatric evaluation when the head shrinker had suggested that CPO Murphy had PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder). Rising from his chair the burly SEAL had responded flatly, "Sir, I don't have PTSD. I give it." Ben suppressed a chuckle as Hollywood tried to extricate himself from Murphy's grasp. The fox's emerald green eyes bulged as the otter shifted his grip and seized him in a headlock. Samuel "Hollywood" Glennon grew up in a rich family outside of sunny San Diego, California. Indeed his close proximity to the Marine Corps recruit depot in San Diego had earned him the moniker "Hollywood" (courtesy of Daniel and Ben). Of course, his boyish good looks and startling eyes hadn't hurt either. In school, Hollywood spent his free time surfing and corrupting members of the opposite sex: both human and fur. After high school, with prestigious colleges begging for his attendance and hordes of females swooning in his wake, the young fox's future seemed bright and limitless. However, Sam chose to serve a cause greater than himself and joined the army. After three tours in Afghanistan with the 1st Ranger Battalion he was picked up to become a Spartan. Hollywood had barely freed himself when the door to the war room swung open again to reveal the last two members of the Spartan 0-6 team. First through the door came the team medic: Frederick "Doc" Herrmann. The tall, lanky German shepherd was born in Berlin but had spent most of his life on a simple farm near the Kiel Canal. His soft brown eyes and easy smile were the first things people noticed when they met the team medic. True to those traits Doc was known for his kindness and love for helping others. No one would ever guess he was a former member of the elite German counter-terrorism unit GSG-9. Ben was not fooled; he knew Doc was a stone cold killer as well as a lifesaver. Following Doc through the door came the last member of the Spartan 0-6 team, Joshua "Iceman" Cohen. Iceman had not lived an easy life. His whole childhood had been consumed by the continuous violence near his home in the Gaza Strip, Israel. All hopes for a normal life had disappeared when, a t the age of 7, a young Joshua Cohen had watched as his parents were butchered by Hezbollah militants. It was on that fateful day that something inside the young caracal broke. Some youthful innocence was consumed by the hatred and bloodshed. From that day, forward Iceman devoted his life to defending his country and destroying all things Arab. So deep was his hatred, that it often led him to be reckless in the face of danger. Indeed, Ben had personally witnessed the Iceman charge a machine gun nest and rip apart the Arab gunner inside with his bare claws. As he strode out of the bunker, Ben confronted the blood soaked warrior, warning him against such recklessness. The caracal turned his steel grey eyes onto his commanding officer and shrugged, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. "What a strange band we are," Ben thought as he watched his men laugh and joke around the humble wooden table. "We're all so different and yet...here, in this room, we are more alike than we ever could be in the outside world. Each of us devoted to a cause, devoted to each other...forged together into an unstoppable fighting force." He chuckled mentally, "God help whoever stands in our way." The Spartan's reverie was broken as a single command split the air. "Atten-tion!" Instantly every man and fur assembled was locked in the position of attention as the "war room's" door swung open and in strode Secretary of Defense Robert Mullen. The wolf quickly strode to the front of the room where he stopped and surveyed the faces of all those assembled. "At ease." He barked with a slight grin on his muzzle. He waited until each operator was seated before he began speaking again. "Gentlemen, we did not create this organization to be the tip of America's military spear. Nor, are you supposed to be America's shield in a time of need. No, we created the Spartan team to be a pinprick, a pinprick that we could put right through the enemy's heart. We created this team to go where others could not and do what is necessary to win this war on terrorism. Gentlemen..." He paused for dramatic effect, his gaze falling on each Spartan, "what you have just accomplished far exceeded our expectations. The informant you saved will provide us with invaluable intelligence, which will save lives." Leaning forward, he emphasized the final statement by staring directly at each of the assembled warriors. He suppressed a smile as each fur sat up a little straighter. They liked to hear that they were making a difference, and he loved telling them so. It wasn't a lie and he was proud of them and their accomplishments. Stepping back, he concluded his speech with a smile. "Now, I know you're all tired and ready to get some well deserved leave, so I won't keep you any longer. There are three choppers waiting for you on the tarmac. Dismissed." * * * A short while later Ben stared blankly out the window of the SH-60F Seahawk as it sped through the night sky, ferrying its precious cargo home. He fought to keep his eyes open as the eastern seaboard droned by below him. The Spartan team was split up into three pairs, with each pair stationed at a different base on the East Coast. Ben and Daniel had their residences at Camp Lejeune, North Carolina. Nestled deep inside the largest Marine base on the east coast allowed them to maintain their cover as active duty Marines. Further north, "Doom&Gloom" Murphy and "Hollywood" filled their billets at Naval Station Norfolk. Meanwhile, Doc and Iceman made their home at Fort Benning, Georgia. "Our flight time should be about an hour and a half," he thought as he glanced at his watch. He groaned quietly when the timepiece informed him that it was 12:45am. He glanced over at Gunnery Sergeant Knyte to see if he was similarly fatigued. He eyes found the Cougar wide-awake and alert as ever. "You never sleep, do ya Gunny?" Ben asked. "I'll sleep when I'm dead, sir." The cougar responded with a smile. Daniel Knyte rarely smiled; and when he did, it was like staring into death's cold visage. Suppressing a shudder, Ben leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, "Yeah well, just wake me up when we get there." * * * A none to gentle elbow to the ribs awakened Ben seconds before the Seahawk's wheels touched down on the Camp Lejeune airfield. He grumbled darkly at Knyte's rude awakening but kept most of thoughts to himself as they departed from the helicopter and strode to Knyte's truck in the airfield parking lot. With a roar the red Chevy Silverado came to life and the two Spartans rolled off into the night. As they sped quietly through the back roads of Camp Lejeune, Ben tried to resist his growing excitement at going home. He found himself unconsciously counting down the distance via familiar landmarks as they sped through the quiet roads surrounded by tall pines. "Hmm, let's see... the enlisted barracks. TLZ (Tactical landing Zone) Crane... Mortar Position 6... Company Battle Course 23..." He paused in his inward musings as a gentle thumping sound reached his ears. Laying his ears back in embarrassment, he realized it was his shaggy tail wagging against the truck's leather seat. If the cougar seated beside him noticed, he didn't show it. Even still Ben concentrated on controlling himself for the remainder of the drive. With a slight screech of brakes, the truck came to a stop in front of a modest double wide with white side paneling. It took all of his willpower for Ben not to leap from the vehicle without thanking Knyte for the ride. As Knyte's truck pulled off into the North Carolina night Ben found himself staring lovingly at his humble abode. A lack of lighting caused the house to seem dark and uninviting, while a full moon seemed to cast the house in a silver unearthly glow. The Border collie didn't care if it was a moss-covered rock, it was his home. Not to mention what awaited him within. With a contented sigh, the canine heaved his olive sea bag over his shoulder and strode purposefully forward. His boots crunched softly on the gravel driveway as he marched past a simple knee-high that read: 1st Lieutenant Pearson. As he approached, he reached deep into his pocket, seeking his keys. His paw paused as a mischievous thought lit through his mind; instead of his keys, he withdrew his cell phone. Inside the house, a phone rang and a light blinked to life. Much to Ben's surprise the light shone from the living room window. Creeping to the illuminated window, he peered inside to find the love of his life rising from her sleep on the couch. Rubbing the sleep from her beautiful, Prussian blue eyes Johanna answered the ringing phone. "Hello?" "Hey baby." Came Ben's reply. His voice husky at the sight of his love, whom he had longed to hold during the long cold nights of his recent deployment. A bright smile light across the vixen's face as she recognized his voice. "Well hello lover." She answered her mind still slightly groggy from not being completely awake. "I miss you so much. Will you be coming home soon?" "Yeah dear, I'll be coming home really soon. And when I do I'm gonna hold you in my arms and never let you go." He rejoined, smiling as he stared through the window at the beautiful vixen on his couch. A warm smile spread across Johanna's face. That smile. It was the same smile that haunted his dreams; the same smile that melted his heart whenever his eyes per chanced to glimpse it. That smile which his heart longed to behold, like the despairing soul, which longs for the new lark's song that heralds an end to winter's dark days and the beginning of spring's new life. That smile. "You know, I've been sleeping on the couch since you left. The bed just doesn't feel the some without you in it." Johanna's voice drifted softly into his ear as one of her furry paws began to absently tease her fluffy vulpine tail. Ben decided to end his little game. "Dear," he said in a serious almost reproachful tone, "you know that you'll pick your tail bald if you keep fussing with it." Johanna's ears flickered as confusion swept across her face. Slowly she let her gaze fall to her paw, which lay still entangled in her soft, fluffy tail. Then, almost instinctually, she lifted her gaze to the window where she found Ben's face, grinning back at her like a playful puppy. Ben barely had time to close his cell phone before the front door flew open and she leapt into his arms. The canine felt elation swell up through his soul as he lifted her gently off the ground and buried his muzzle in her soft fur, rocking her back and forth, as they expressed their love through a silent yet passionate embrace. After what seemed like an eternity, they broke their embrace just far enough for their muzzles to meet in a soft expression of true love beneath the silver North Carolina moon. He was home. * * * Later that night, Ben slowly sank onto his king-size bed with groan of pleasure. Clad only in his boxers the beds sheets felt soothing on his fur and weary muscles. He groaned again as his head felt the comforting support of his pillow. It was luxury compared to what he had endured for the past eight weeks. For eight weeks his bed had been a shallow ranger grave with his pack serving as a pillow. For eight weeks, his poncho and several layers of under armor had served as his blankets to shield him from the merciless Pakistani nights. For eight, long, lonely weeks he had stared at a wallet size photo of Johanna's beautiful face before curling up with his rifle, silently willing the cold instrument of death to become the woman he loved. Eight weeks of praying to God for the opportunity to hold her in his arms just one more time. "Eight weeks but it could be worse," he thought. He knew he was lucky. Most straight-legged, grunts were deployed for a year or more at a time. Of course, he had done his time in that field. Before he became a Spartan and Johanna entered his life he had led a platoon of 36 hard charging Marines through the streets of Baghdad, and later the mountains of Afghanistan. Back then, he would have never guessed where his life would take him, nor would he have fathomed the things he now did for the US Government. Shaking his head slightly he banished these thoughts from his head. "At least I'm home now," he thought happily, finally closing his eyes for some well-deserved sleep. Suddenly, his rest was disturbed as light flooded into the room. "Aarrggh!" he groaned aloud, shutting his eyes tighter in an attempt to block out the light that was retarding his sleep. His eyes popped open as a sultry voice floated to his ears. "Aww, is the pore puppy tired?" Johanna cooed softly to him. The vixen stood in the bathroom doorway, her lithe frame silhouetted by the soft bathroom light. She wore a gossamer thin robe that allowed Ben to see that she wore nothing under it from the waist up. His weariness instantly forgotten, Ben rose from the bed and stepped off the short distance between them with as much mixed emotion as when he had first hurled himself from an airplane, back in jump school. The one main difference being that he did not have a raging hard-on back then. Even though, as husband and wife, they had consummated their love many times Ben now felt his heart race and breath shorten as if it were the first time. His lips trembled as his paws found her lean waist and pulled her to him. Ben kissed her muzzle, her throat and her neck passionately as their hips met in a frontal assault, as frenzied an attack as storming a beachhead. Ben whined quietly as soft paw descended gently over his muzzle, effectively halting his affections for the moment. Johanna looked deeply into Ben's eyes and saw the same hunger, the same need she had felt when they first met so many years ago. "Welcome home Marine," she said with a mischievous smile. Then, as they both would later recall, events began happening as if they were above it all, watching two entirely different furs in the room. Her robe dropped to the carpeted floor in a silken rustle of fabric, and his eyes became as greedy as his searching mouth. Her panty was no more than a thin strip of almost diaphanous silk, the lushness of womanhood vividly outlined, a perfumed treasure resting at the completion of a gently curving belly. Ben's hands gently ran their way down the gentle curves of her hips and slipped the thin under garment free. Now she wore nothing save her favorite gold cross, nestled gently between her breasts. His boxers quickly joined her panties on the floor and they were content to stand naked in the center of the room, their lips touching gently, hearts speaking volumes of silent words. She ran her paw down through the soft fur of his flat, rigged belly to grasp his maleness, fingers encircling the thickness and raising a soft moan from his muzzle. "Maybe this time?" she asked her voice throaty with passion and trembling from anticipation. Ben knew what she was talking about. For several years, they had been trying to conceive and add a pup to their family, but thus far had been unsuccessful. Each negative pregnancy test practically ripping his heart from his chest, yet he had always tried to console Johanna for he knew that her pain far out-weighed his own. The bed seemed the most logical place to act upon their passion, and they were soon there, without either of them realizing they had traversed the short distance. Ben's lips found the hardness of her nipples and his tongue brought them to jutting nubs of excitement, while his hand traveled over the silkiness of her belly fur to touch the edge of her treasure and beyond. Touching, lingering, fondling the wet lips and extended clitoris, finally moving to caress and part her folds, entering the soul of womanhood while she breathed words into his mouth as they clung to each other, joined at the lips. She found his maleness, hard and eager, and began to gently stroke him. Her soft paw sending pleasure shooting through his body as he hardened even more under her loving touch. She clutched almost frantically at him, whispering, "Now, love! Now!" Ben shifted on the bed and was between her legs, positioning himself. He gently placed the source of his manhood against the outer fold of woman and gently pushed, penetrating only a bit. Johanna sighed under him, arching her hips upward, willingly asking for and receiving more of the fur she loved. Slowly and with a tiny bit of pain Ben pushed his length into her hot wetness, before slowly withdrawing again. From that moment on, it was a battle with no losers; a war of silk and fire and passion; an ageless confrontation between man and woman... but it was more than that. It was a time of pain and pleasure for the both of them as they dueled on the bed, turning the sheets into a satiny battleground, a mixture of scents, a tangle of fur and flesh. It seemed to them to stop time, to halt the forward movement of that which is unstoppable save for that fleeting moment of time between the cessation of the heart and the soul exiting the cooling flesh. Johanna began to make low whimpering sounds, shedding a few hot tears of both pleasure and joy at being finally reunited with the love of her life. Several small orgasms had already shaken the vixen's being, wavering almost sinfully through her, but as that one huge climax began to seize her, she fought to hold on. However, it was not to be. She grabbed almost too tightly at Ben's shoulders, her vulpine paws pulling his muzzle to hers as a feeling unlike anything she ever experienced ripped through her like the bow of an ice cutter charging through thick ice. Ben exploded within her, his juices mingling with hers, a volcanic eruption of fluid that spread its warmth around the silken confines of the ultimate entrapment of male and female. Johanna wrapped her legs and tail around his and pulled him to her until it seemed there was only one fur on the bed: a huge double-headed, many limbed creature. She shivered slightly as he softened within her, and she sighed as he withdrew from this battle. Not retreating, merely recouping resources. She kissed him, and he returned the touching of lips with a gentleness that was almost sad. * * * Later, as the two fell asleep wrapped in each other's embrace, Ben sent a silent prayer skyward: thanking God for the beautiful fox, he had fallen in love with. The amazing woman he had found love with, in the midst of so much war.