FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Arcus was a little distracted as she watched from under her hand held up like a cap visor. She shaded as much of the unfiltered solar glare as she could watching the drop ships swoop low over the Martian desert like bulky cumbersome eagles snatching at prey. Only instead of snatching something up they dropped off, letting the "warlord" walker tanks drop from their bellies with a metal pop.

The warlords touched down one after the other, three hulking four legged, heavily armoured machines sagging their stomachs low to the deck to absorb the impact. Though as soon as they landed, pressing deep craters into the red sand, they were on the move again, lumbering forward towards the front lines.

The rest of the camp was awash with other activity, with marines scrambling to heft ammo crates and drive the wounded to triage tents. There was shouting, the rattle of gunfire in the distance and the vague 'thoom' of explosives being set off. On the horizon she could spot the raging storm of activity that was "the line." A blood drenched battlefield where the Commonwealth and Federation clashed in a desperate struggle to control the valley.

Arcus was so distracted by the activity, she didn't even realise her name was being called.

"Corporal? Natasha! Wake up!"

Blinking, Corporal Natasha Arcus tore her eyes from the camp and looked across the briefing tent.

She wasn't alone. With her were a sizeable group of other women, all operators clad in the Commonwealth Armed Forces battle dress uniforms like every single woman present at the forward-operating-base (FOB). Their fatigues were a reddish and brown camouflage pattern warrior dress, hardened plastic pads integrated on the elbows and knees. Tan coloured tac-vests carrying armoured plates within were pulled over their torsos, lined with pockets down the front and sides with hydration packs on the back. Their heads were all covered by FAST helmets, sleek high-speed-low-drag gear that left the face and sides of the head open, but still provided the same consistent ballistic protection required from battlefield rated armour.

Pistols were all holstered on hips and carbines were safely stowed on the mag-lock holsters on the back of their vests. Some of the women were even without helmets, letting the gear dangle from their belts or gripped lazily in one hand.

The woman who had called her had her helmet resting on a tactical map spread out before her. The table top computer was dusted with Martian silt, tell-tale curved lines betraying where the staff sergeant had tried to wipe some of the dust away.

"I asked if you wanted to add anything, Arcus," Staff Sergeant Matilda Rip asked gently, the mountainous anthro rhinoceros' voice rumbling like thunder.

The human operator who had been paying attention up until those warlords had been dropped in shook her head with a glance down at the tactical display. She didn't like briefings much, it was like a psych up for hell to come. She knew the area of operations well enough, the objective was clean cut and the projected hostile elements were pretty standard fare. Arcus was ready to stop dilly-dallying about and get out there to throw down some hurt on red-force-assholes.

"Good to go, staff," Arcus said a little hoarsely. She always sounded like that, kind of like a drill instructor whose job it was to yell at recruits all day long. Arcus liked to joke how she was permanently hoarse because the drill instructors in boot had asked her to 'speak up' so much it broke her vocal chords. "I'm ready to operate."

The otter standing with her arms crossed across her slim chest beside Arcus chuckled. Though she was smiling, the calm tone of her voice was impossible to read. "Ooh-rah to that."

Rip gave the otter, Specialist Elizabeth Starla a crooked smile, then nodded satisfactorily as several other operators laughed and enthusiastically donned their helmets. "Excellent. Wicked Company! What do we do for a living?"

Two platoons worth of operators from Thirtieth Battalion Infantry, W "Wicked" Company all stamped their feet and yelled at the same time: "KILL!"

"Let's move out!"

The melting pot of anthro women broke their formation around the tactical readout and made for the drop ships standing idle on the makeshift runway about a hundred metres from the briefing tent. They all formed neat lines on the move, following designated squad leaders to their assigned drop ship.

Arcus was the only human in the group. However that wasn't what fazed her. It was the fact that there were absolutely no men in the FOB. In fact, there weren't even any men in Commonwealth uniform on the planet.

The complete lack of male presence in the Commonwealth Armed Forces (CAF) had set Arcus a little on edge at first. But as she had experienced in boot-camp, the school of infantry and subsequent battlefields, she learned quickly that if pushed you could get used to the strangest of situations very quickly.

Take the war for example. Arcus had been a high and mighty little princess three years ago. Then the Sol Crisis broke out and she enlisted with CAF. Half a year of accelerated training later she was on an alien battle field in the Sol System splitting Federation wigs.

The Federation and the Commonwealth had seen eye to eye for the longest time. The Federation stuck to the Gor System, the Commonwealth remained in the Gaia System and the Sol System was the neutral meeting ground in between, an area free of interstellar politics and speciesism governed by an independent unified nations government on Earth. Then the bombs dropped, ravaging the homeworld.

Nobody knew who set off the Sol Crisis in the first place, but the Federation rolling in with mass naval manoeuvres painted a pretty clear picture.

Arcus went to see her local CAF recruiter the next day.

Arcus was at the back of the queue as she followed her squad. In front of her, the dust coloured otter ran with her rifle cradled across her chest. Somewhere between Elizabeth Starla and Staff Sergeant Rip at the front of the line were the rest of the squad.

Lance Corporal Randa Learn; some sort of shepherd canine with brownish gray fur, and Lance Corporal Paula Price; a black and white striped zebra with silver blonde hair that Arcus swore was a little longer than regulations allowed. All of them were clad in the same uniform with only slightly different nuances depending on field specialisation. Learn for example toted a box-fed squad machine gun as fire-support gunner. Starla carried a short camouflaged cape over her shoulders, swapped her helmet for a bush-hat and as the designated marksman of the squad toted a long barrelled semi-automatic rifle fitted with telescoping sights.

All of them were fit, lean, lightly muscled Spartan warriors. The squad designated "Wicked-Actual" were the heart of W Company. They were the tempered steel tip of the spear, each operator an unstoppable Jedi ninja.

The first to the open sided drop ship took the seats. Rip and Arcus were the squad leaders, first and second in command over their own little clique respectively. The rest of Wicked knew well enough what they were doing so they didn't need micro-managing. And loving to lead by example, Rip and Arcus took the door seats so they'd be first out.

It was an old airborne line of thinking the operators had adopted. Not only would leaders be able to inspire the troops under their command, they'd get a good view of what was going on in the battlefield and would be able to issue commands with greater efficiency.

So the corporal and staff sergeant sat on the deck by the open sides of the drop ship, while the specialist and lance corporals sat in the crash seats further into the troop-bay. As soon as they were secure, Rip signalled to the pilot.

The pilot nodded over her shoulder, her expression impossible to read through the tinted visor of her helmet. Powering up the throttle, Arcus heard the turbines mounted on the wings above her head louden their whine twofold. And with clouds of dust swirling around them the drop ship lifted smoothly into the air, inertial dampeners taking away the tell-tale swooping sensation that normally turned Arcus' gut inside out.

"Secure and away,"_Rip called over the battalion comms. Below them at least a dozen other miniature dust storms were kicked up as the rest of the Wicked's drop ships lifted off the deck. _"All callsigns, Operation: Martian Gambit is a go. I repeat, Martian Gambit is a go."

Several overlapping confirmation reports retorted before filters engaged and the voice of Mars Control cut through the patter of voices on the comms. "Solid copy, Wicked-Actual. Going radio silent. See you when you get back."

~~~~

She'd never seen Mars before the Sol Crisis, but Arcus had heard the stories. The long walks through the red sands. The renowned spas and hotels in the humungous pleasure-domes dotted across the planet. And most importantly, courtesy of Lance Corporal Learn's particular experiences, she'd heard plenty about the singles bars frequented by troves of hot, rich, single guys.

Mars had seemed like a nice place.

What remained scrolling past as Arcus sped over the dusty desert in the drop ship was a wasteland devoid of life. On the horizon she spotted the shattered remains of a pleasure resort, gutted and smoking after some sort of orbital strike. Flashes of gunfire and tracers igniting the air popped around the smoking structure as Commonwealth and Federation forces fought for control of the ruins.

The view was obscured as one of the other drop ships bobbed into view. In the troop bay sat another squad of operators, the woman sitting in the doorway shifting her weapon's weight so she could wave to Arcus.

The lone human in a battalion of anthros waved back, then turned her eyes forward again. As she sighted a compound racing just over the jagged horizon, the progress report on their journey split the quiet rush of air howling through the troop-bay.

"Two mikes out."

"You heard the lady," Rip called over her shoulder. "All callsigns, weapons to condition one!"

"KILL!" came the mighty report of fifty voices coupled with a series of preparatory clicks.

Arcus performed a tired old choreographed check. She ejected the magazine from her weapon and made sure the brass was properly placed. Giving the mag a tap against her helmet just to be sure, she replaced the device and yanked the charging lever of her weapon. The system cycled with a satisfying 'cha-chick' that pushed the first round into the chamber and cocked the firing pin.

Twisting the weapon into her chest, Arcus gave a small smile as she observed the subtle customisations affixed to her weapon. From holo-sights to a DBAL fixed to the right side of the sleek foregrip, she had outfitted the special-missions-carbine (SMC) with attachments paid out of her own pocket. Aside from practical attachments, she had some aesthetic customisations too; a dry-brushed black and grey camouflage pattern across the fore grip and the solid one-piece stock. Finally, written along the inside of the dust cover were the words "KILL PEOPLE."

Snapping the dust cover shut, the letters on the outside of the cover aptly read "BREAK STUFF."

As Wicked-Actual prepared for contact, the two minutes slowly ticking down, Learn gave a long, deep sigh. The canine operator was leaned forward, her bare elbows resting on her knees. Her support gun rested muzzle down on the deck as she adjusted the telescoping stock to her comfort. From the wrists up to where her sleeves were rolled up the patchwork of tattoos etched into her short sleek fur were visible. Everything from guns to dark petal flowers to poisonous animals circled all the way up her wrists and Arcus knew didn't stop 'till her shoulders.

Arcus had spied a few more in the showers before, a Star Wars storm trooper on her right thigh, a tribal stamp on the small of her back and a small rose with the name of an ex-boyfriend on her ankle.

She was a fit girl, nowhere near the mountain of woman that Rip was, but still half a foot or so taller than Arcus and definitely strong enough to scare off even the most desperate men.

"Man, I have not been laid in months," Learn complained like someone was to blame. "I could literally fuck the first phallic shaped thing I come across."

Starla chuckled without taking her mind off the scenery scrolling past, the otter merely brushing a strand of her dust coloured hair out of her face. "Preachin' to the converted, sister."

"Christ," Price groaned. "You bitches better hand me those weapons before the muzzle gives you any funny ideas."

Learn blinked for a moment to consider the muzzle of her weapon, then shrugged. "Hey, remember what we talked about yesterday?"

Starla rolled her eyes. "I remember trying to give you sound, educated advice before your pig-headedness dragged us into an argument. Why?"

"I processed the order. I'm getting that stallion dildo. It's on the way."

Arcus didn't say anything. Debates about hot guys - and even girls from time to time - military hardware, the perfect lazy Sunday, masturbation, and even implements to aid with said masturbation were pretty commonplace in today's infantry. Heck, it was so commonplace Arcus couldn't even remember what normal gossip from high school sounded like anymore.

Starla drew her attention away from the landscape and locked Learn a betrayed look. "You ordered the stallion anyway!? I told you to get the canine!"

Learn laughed. "Yeah, but the stallion has more girth and the flare. He's the better deal."

"That flare alone will tear you in half!"

"I'm just saying. Better deal."

Starla coughed and turned to Arcus. "Corporal! Will you please talk some sense into this dip-shit?"

Arcus chuckled. "Sorry, specialist. I'm afraid I don't have authority on the subject of dildos." Turning to fiddle with the sights on her rifle she added; "I generally prefer my toys electronic anyway."

They were all able to laugh together at that comment. Finally Learn fuelled the argument again.

"I'll bet you," she said with a confident smirk. "When that stallion arrives I'm gonna have the night of my life and you're gonna be totally jelly."

"I will, huh?" Starla huffed.

"Yeah. I can guarantee the noise I'll be makin', you won't sleep a wink..."

"Have you got anything tactical to add, Learn?" Rip suddenly butted in.

"Negative, staff."

"Then please shut up!"

"Roger the fuck that, staff."

Staff Sergeant Rip didn't say anything, merely fixing the lance corporal with a dangerous glare. Swallowing her tongue, Learn quickly pulled the tinted goggles resting on the forehead of her helmet down over her eyes and ran a final visual check of her support weapon.

_"Entering the AO now!"_the pilot reported, the target compound racing closer.

Arcus braced herself, shifting the butt of her SMC into her shoulder. She had one foot sited into the corner of the troop-bay's hatch in front of her, pressing her spine into the opposite end of the doorway so she was wedged. Her free boot remained planted on the landing skid for stability for whenever the pilot made a hard tilt to the left.

She braced just in time as the pilot threw them into a hard bank. As they dodged to the right Arcus got a good look at the target compound. And at the same time she wished she hadn't.

It was a rundown building with high perimeter walls topped with razor wire. At two of the corners diagonal to each other were tall sniper towers, movement evident in the turrets. The buildings in the courtyard were a maze of low buildings packed together forming twisting narrow alleyways. Flat rooftops made perches for snipers and RPG-teams.

Only one open courtyard big enough to land three drop ships safely stood undisturbed as bodies raced across the rooftops and leaping over narrow alleys.

A moment later tracers and rockets streaked into the sky filling the space between the drop ship formation.

"Arr-pee-gees!" a pilot cried. "Flares-flares-flares!"

Countless miniature suns flared from the drop ships to confuse the heat-seeking rockets shot into the air at them. Several explosions bloomed around the drop ships as they scattered out of formation and found some space to manoeuvre in.

"All birds! Light 'em if you got 'em!"

"Roger! Rockets off the rails!"

Missiles dropped from the belly of the drop ship to Arcus' side before the propulsion systems engaged and the shaped charges shot forward. They were guided in slight arcs, trailing tails of vapour before the three rockets hit three individual rooftops. Fire blossomed into the sky throwing up bits of Federation trooper and debris. Chain explosions of armed RPGs ripped further into the low buildings.

"Good kill! Get us down there!"

As the drop ship that had dumped an explosive payload began to descend towards the courtyard the voice of Wicked-Actual's pilot rang out while they banked hard to one side. "Bird-One-Five, stand by. You got-..."

She didn't get to say much more as a rocket arched up from one of the rooftops and hit the cockpit canopy of the drop ship. Arcus threw up a hand to shade her face from the blast of intense heat that hit her while the drop ship was thrown into an uncontrollable spin. Through the thick curtains of smoke she could see the women on board clawing at the handholds as they were thrown about the troop-bay.

Their screams grated in Arcus' ear-drums before static blasted the comms. The final impact of the burning wreck hitting the desert sand just outside the compound walls was muted under the rage of combat ripping all around.

"Bird-One-Five is down! I repeat, drop ship down! Wicked-One-Five is down!"

"Solid copy," was Staff Sergeant Rip's reply on the open comms. "Stay frosty, Wicked Company. We still got a job to do!"

"Ooh-rah!"

Wicked-One-Five had not been the first casualties of the Sol Crisis. And they certainly wouldn't be the last. A time to mourn came later. At the moment all they could do is keep fighting. Keep pushing forward.

Arcus looked away from the wreckage and spotted the rooftop from where the killing rocket came. A Federation RPG-team milled about to try and reload the launcher they had used to take down Wicked-One-Five. The corporal flipped her weapon into full-automatic fire and shouldered it.

The SMC let out a short 'braaaapp' as she unleashed a burst of mad shade on the infantry. Rounds peppered the concrete barriers surrounding the rooftop and the RPG-team dropped to the deck for cover. The troopers went prone and dropped out of view.

"Bird-Actual, contact left!" Arcus cried into her mic. "Behind the low barrier!"

"Copy." the pilot replied coolly while the drop ship made a hard twist to the left, the tail swinging wide like a car fishtailing around a corner. "Guns-guns-guns."

All it took was for one strafe of the cannons to rake the dog shit right outta them. The chin-mounted turret cocked automatically, then unleashed a low blatting sound. Empty shells rained like a waterfall to the Martian sands below as titanium tipped rounds slashed into the concrete barriers surrounding the rooftop Arcus had reported contact on. Concrete was turned to Swiss cheese, and the Federation troopers hidden behind were mulched into chum.

_"Right side clear,"_a pilot reported.

"Left side clear, we're going in."

As the drop ships descended upon the compound, Rip's voice chimed in on the radios. "All second platoon drop ships, hold orbiting position to cover first platoon as we sweep and clear the compound on ground level."

"Copy."

"That's a solid copy, actual."

"Wicked-Actual, dust-off in three!"

Arcus pulled her goggles down over her eyes and a scarf up over her nose.

Two...

Her grip on her SMC tightened for a moment before she habitually snapped the dust-cover shut.

One...

Her jaw gritted hard as her stomach flipped nervously. No amount of high-tech inertial dampening shields would have stopped the build-up of anticipatory adrenaline.

"Touchdown! Bust 'em, operators!"

"Go-go-go!" Arcus yelled, already off the drop ship's deck.

Contrary to the pilot's report, the drop ship hadn't even touched down, the landing skids barely even brushing the compound sand. Arcus dropped about half a metre to the deck, but crouching to absorb the impact of the landing she kept moving, making space for the others to dismount directly behind her.

Storming through the clouds of dust and wind whipping at her fatigues, Arcus kept her weapon shouldered and horizontal. Her eyes never left the sights as she sprinted at full tilt. However she was clearly still watching her footing as she hopped cleanly over a battered Federation ammo crate, planting one boot on the top surface as she vaulted over to the far side.

Her sights barely bobbed off target as the first murky silhouette slid into view. Her finger feathered the trigger once, the rapid pounding of her boots almost in time with her heart, and the SMC let out a loud 'pop!'

The silhouette's head snapped to one side and the partially concealed Federation trooper dropped to the ground.

Several other pops of gunfire followed as operators and defending Federation troopers alike opened up on Arcus' cue. A hissing 'zzzzzzipp' whizzed past Arcus' ear. Watching, one might mistake her twitch for one of fear. The resulting pop from her weapon confirmed to the trained eye she'd shifted her arc of fire sharply to sight where the enemy round had come from and fired.

She pumped two rounds into the haze, her double tap meeting the chest of another silhouette, vaguer than the first. The target was at least twenty metres out. On its own not an impressive shot, even in poor visibility with a centre-mass hit on a towering figure. But it was made impressive by the fact that her feet didn't miss a beat and her sprint didn't slow for a second.

Her second kill was still crumpling as Arcus moved in closer. Within about five metres she got a good view of the Federation trooper as he slumped backwards to the dusty ground.

Like the rest of the Federation infantry, it was a male. An anthro komodo dragon, the hulk of rippling muscle was encased from head to toe in sleek black armour, the only chinks in the interlocking angular stealth-plating at the joints. Still despite the layers of protective steel, kevlar and scales, the komodo dragon pitched backwards with two ragged crimson holes in the chest plate, put there by Arcus' armour piercing rounds.

She counted her blessings the rounds had hit at the right angle and hadn't just glanced off the chest plate as she ran past the wheezing Fed. Behind her Arcus heard the 'pop-pop' of Price's SMC put the lizard out of his misery.

Ahead a wall entered Arcus' sights. It was the exterior wall of the compounds HQ building. Instinctively she angled her SMC upward and checked the roof for contacts. Satisfied the coast was clear she lowered her weapon across her chest and sprinted the last few metres without slowing.

She slammed into the wall with enough force that would have dislocated her shoulder three years ago. She had years of physical training and practice to thank that she didn't hurt herself, though there was always a risk she'd pop a joint hefting her gear or sliding into cover. Still, popping a shoulder was preferable to slowing down her charge before she reached hard cover and running the risk of taking an enemy bullet anywhere to the body.

It was all about priorities.

The infantry from thirtieth battalion were no normal marines. That much was evidenced by their handle. They were operators, a staple above the rest with potential for greatness that was recognised during training. That greatness was isolated, practiced and honed. No matter the battalion or affiliation, an operator was a high speed angel of death.

Which was why they were always selected for the tricky operations.

Sliding into cover behind Arcus as she stacked up beside a door, Learn set her hand on the corporal's shoulder. The others fell in behind her and did the same to form an orderly line for breaching in clearing. Rip, designating herself as door-kicker took position on the opposite side of the door, in front of Arcus.

Learn leaned in, probably with a smile on her face despite the firefight descending around their ears. "Okay, I was pretty dewy before, but after seeing you zip those fuckers in the face while in full sprint? You could literally drown a puppy in my silkies right now."

"Good to know."

Returning her attention to breach-prep, Arcus looked to the staff sergeant. Rip had her head lowered in focus on the reports on the radio.

"Wicked-One-One in position. Ready to breach."

"One-Three in position."

"Contact... tango down. One-Four, ready.

"One-Two ready for breach."

Rip finally looked up and gave Arcus a nod. She braced for what was about to happen. Rip pushed off the wall and stood in front of the doorway, kicking her heels into the dirt like she was ready to bull-rush into an enemy line.

"All callsigns," Rip announced. Arcus slipped her SMC's fire selector into full-automatic. "Breach!"

Her knee raised to her chest and she lashed out a boot, planting a heel right above the lock. the door was an old fashioned manual thing with a wooden frame and metal hinges. It was a norm among temporary outposts like these. Nothing fancy, nothing too expensive. Pre-cast concrete structures and cheap furnishings. Easy to erect, semi-tough to disassemble and easy enough to defend. No great loss if you were forced to bug out.

The old fashioned wood frame splintered with the impact of Rip's boot. The door swung open and Arcus followed a flashbang in the moment it went off.

What followed was lots of noise, strobes and yelling. Guns rattled loudly as rounds sprayed across the room. Arcus dipped right and the others went left. Backs to walls they slid around the outside of the room firing into a target-rich environment full auto. Learn's support weapon chugged from the hip, distributing unparalleled fury and discontent without prejudice. In the confined space the concentrated smell of cordite burned Arcus' senses. But while the smell seemed to replace oxygen, it sobered her.

As long as she smelled cordite they were shooting. And as long as they were shooting they stood a chance.

The Federation troopers were torn apart. Male anthros of varying shapes and sizes danced to the rhythm of the gunfire before crumpling. The attack had happened so quick and so sudden following the ignition of a flashbang they didn't even have time to lift their rifles.

When the shooting stopped and the debris settled, Wicked-Actual were the last ones left standing. Two wolves, another komodo dragon and a tiger judging by the shape of the helmet lay bodied in spreading pools of black liquid.

The pops of gunfire across the compound died down, and a series of "clear" reports crackled on the comms.

"Clear," Arcus concurred as she slowly lowered her SMC.

She pitched a nod to Learn and Starla as Price followed Rip back outside. The three women left inside marched around the room kicking bodies and delivering dead-checks. With their grizzly systematic checks complete they turned the room upside down. Drawers were emptied, cupboards were gutted and chests were turned upside down in a search for what might be valuable intel. Learn made a point of going through the pockets of the dead.

Starla was the first to find something and called the others over. The otter had kicked over a table set for rations and pulled up a straw rug. Underneath was a hatch that led down. Into what none of them knew.

"What do you think is behind door number one?" Learn asked.

"Let's hope for your sake it's a vibrator collection," Starla said with a smirk.

As the chatterboxes covered the closed hatch, Arcus pinged the comms. "Staff, its Natasha. We found some sort of access hatch leading into the ground. Could be a basement?"

Replies came back from the other squads as they completed searches of their designated sectors.

"One-Four, we got one here too."

"Wicked-One-Two, we have a hatch also. How should we proceed?"

"All callsigns stand by," Rip responded. "Let's get the others in on this before we go rooting around in the basement."

Gesturing Learn and Starla to lock things down, Arcus moved back outside where Rip, Price and several operators from Wicked-One-One were locking down the countyard.

"Alright, birds," Rip spoke into her mic waving the drop ships down. "Drop the rest of the Wicked off. It's an underground fight now."

They loitered, eyes aimed out for three-hundred-and-sixty degree security. The compound surface level was theirs and other squads were holding the access ways leading into the basement levels. They were in complete control. So the drop ships boldly hovered and descended upon the courtyard.

It had been going well up until a cry over the comms turned Arcus' blood to ice.

"Gas-gas-gas!"

It was hard to see through the haze still hanging over the compound, but the distinct hiss of the vaporous mist belching from the cylindrical canisters arching over the compound walls was impossible to mistake.

Canisters trailing arcs of white gas fell into the compound from all sides. The cylinders bounced, then popped to unleash billowing clouds of vapour. One landed near Rip and she instinctually kicked it across the courtyard away from everybody before it popped.

"Masks!" Rip yelled at the top of her lungs. "Get your masks o-..."

An explosion floored them all. Above them the nearest drop ship popped like a fire cracker, completely disintegrating with bits of debris no larger than hail stones peppering the red dirt around them. The shockwave threw them into the sand as several more RPG trails streaked towards the other drop ships. Without time to evade, several more of the ships were engulfed in fire, their flaming remains dropping straight down towards the earth.

As the other drop ships did their best to evade the tracers that lit up the hazy sky, more gas fell into the courtyard. Now looming waves of the stuff were about to crash down over the operators on the ground. Luckily Arcus had her mask out already.

It was a simple device. Her goggles would do enough to protect her eyes, so the mask just covered the nose and mouth, with a filter screwed into place on the front. She pressed it over the bottom half of her face then secured the straps around the back of her helmet.

That was when the waves hit.

Soon Arcus had no idea what was dust, what was smoke and what was gas. It all sort of blended together. Her eyes stung and wept like she was crying over a chopped onion. It burned across every surface of her eyes and shortened her breath. The back of her throat was on fire and her sinuses smouldered.

Arcus coughed disbelievingly. It didn't make sense! She fully expected her eyes to burn, but her mask should have filtered the gas out. How was it getting past her filters?

She dropped heavily to her knees, hands abandoning her carbine as she ran her fingers over the sides of the mask. She checked for cracks and leaks, but found none. The filters were screwed in proper. There were no gaps between the mask and her skin. How was it getting past her filters?

Arcus' breaths shortened. Her lungs were burning now and she coughed up a lung like she had a particularly mucus-y case of the flu. Her vision blurred as tears started streaming down her face and pooled in her goggles. In moments she was doubled over, hands digging through the sand in a feeble search for her carbine.

Gunfire rained down on them. She heard screams as operators went down in the hail that cratered the compound floor. She looked right and saw Price double over for a second, then crumple to the ground. Behind the lance corporal other figures, Commonwealth operators twitched to the beat of enemy gunfire before crumpling to the ground. Others untouched by the hail of metal jacketed lead simply keeled over, suffocating and coughing.

I need my carbine, Arcus kept thinking to herself as she desperately felt blindly through the sand. Where the hell is my carbine!?

Finally she spotted it, just off her right hand. Arcus moved to crawl over when a heavy armoured boot slammed down on the SMC's mid-section. Her head span as she slowly followed the armoured leg up and saw the armoured Federation trooper stand over her.

Blinking away tears she only just about registered the glowing red dots of the helmet visor before the heavy butt of a rifle came crashing down. In an explosion of pain, everything suddenly went black.

~~~

It hadn't been the first time Arcus had been doused with tear gas. Of course, her gas experience in boot camp had been in a controlled environment. And the gas the Commonwealth had used was clean, state of the art stuff. Not so state of the art that it bypassed the mask filters like what the Federation had hit Wicked Company with, but state of the art enough that it incapacitated within twenty seconds of use and allowed symptoms to clear up completely in about ten minutes.

The Federation gas was as dirty as the Feds' moral compass. When Arcus regained consciousness, she still had the burning sensation in her throat and eyes, with water running freely from her nostrils.

Her face was numb, though not numb enough for her to feel the tell-tale crust of dried blood around her nose and mouth. She tasted pennies and her lips felt about three sizes too big for her face.

The world was swaying, though Arcus was pretty sure that wasn't due to lack of oxygen. She was being carried, she could feel herself hanging by a claw grasping the fabric of her shirt between the shoulder blades. Her tac-vest was missing, as was the re-assuring weight of her weapons. Her boots and hands dragged over the coarse stone floor, scuffing the leather and grazing open her knuckles.

She dared to open her eyes. The light, however dim in the tunnels, was blinding. Water flowed from the corner of her eyes and she tried her best to blink away the pain. Fatigue eventually took over and her eyes slammed shut again.

She bobbed in the comfort of darkness for a good few minutes before she tried again. Her vision was sharper this time. Less pain, less blur. She made out the shapes of corridors and Federation troopers in full combat armour. They lazily slid by as Arcus was carried away.

Her eyelids fell shut again.

Finally she was thrown down. This time she opened her eyes and they stayed open.

She was pinned down on the floor of an underground tunnel, Mars' tell-tale red sandstone formations cocooning her all around. Arcus was face down, a pair of sharp nailed claws twisting her arms behind her back and the distinct 'zip' of a zip-tie cutting through the air as a plastic bind tightened around her wrists.

Bound she felt the heavy armoured boot planted on the small of her back lift up, then march into view beside her face. She slowly followed the angular plates upward and spotted the Federation trooper who'd been carrying her. Silver furred wolf with low-reg cut black hair. His sleek fur was broken up on the side of his face by several scars, speaking in volumes of his numerous combat deployments... and how many Commonwealth soldiers he'd killed.

"Don't you want to put this one with the others?" a deep voice off to Arcus' side asked.

The wolf standing over her was easy enough to identify by voice, a light but rough, growly tone hinted with cocky notes. "Nah, not yet. I've never had a human bitch before. I figure this is my best chance."

The unseen trooper grunted. "Are you sure you want this one? She doesn't even have tits."

"She's got a pretty mouth. And look at that mid-riff. Man, she's probably tight as fuck." The wolf stooped low and scooped Arcus up by her arm. "She'll do."

Arcus had no idea if she was supposed to be flattered. She never was particularly desirable when it came to aesthetics with a flat-chested, wiry, tomboy figure. She always seemed to be better suited clad in a BDU than a skimpy dress. Though having said that, she wasn't un-attractive with a thin face and sharp features. If she grew out her blonde hair, brought out her eyes with a subtle application of make-up and padded her bra she'd be as desirable as any of the girls in her squad.

Fact of the matter was Arcus wanted her head to stop spinning before she pondered the wolf's comment or intentions much further. She didn't want to waste the brain power on it. She wanted her senses to clear so she could figure out a way to escape and prevent whatever the wolf was preparing to do to her.

The wolf led her by one arm into the next room. Arcus managed to blink away burry tears to take in the chamber. Simple enough with one door in and out. The walls were as uneven as the others around the rest of the underground compound.

She didn't get to say anything as the Federation trooper threw her face forward into the opposite wall, then pressed himself heavily against her back. One hand dug into the back of Arcus' head and kept her cheek pressed hard against the stone wall.

The other moved somewhere Arcus couldn't see or feel. But he heard it. The distinct sound of a zipper being undone and the fumbling of fingers through cloth.

Arcus cringed as something hot touched her bare fingers. It was hard and long, forcing itself between her fingers and rubbing between her palms on its path.

The wolf's rock hard arousal found where Arcus' wrists were bound palms together, slipping into the smooth glove between her hands. A dab of precum beading the tip rubbed off on her skin and Arcus soon found herself involuntarily rubbing it into his shaft like lotion. There was little she could do to fight it the way she was pinned, other than try to ball her hands into fists.

But it was already too late for that. When she tried she accidentally wrapped her digits around his length and he grunted approvingly into her ear as he humped into her hands. He twitched like he was getting close already, and deep down inside Arcus was wishing he would so maybe the wolf wouldn't feel the need to push the situation any further.

She realised quickly she wouldn't be so lucky.

"Don't you worry. I'm sliding my cock up into your pussy first. And when I spurt a load into your womb you're going to be a good little breeder and lick my dick clean." The wolf then moved his face closer to her ear and whispered, "And if I'm satisfied I may give your tight little ass a little treat too," like it was something to look forward to.

Grabbing her by the shoulder, he turned Arcus around and pinned her hard against the cell wall. The wall was roughly hewn, and Arcus felt an uneven ridge sticking out far enough to stab her between the ass-cheeks. The stone was coarse. Coarse enough to give the operator an idea.

Flexing her elbows to pull the tie binding her wrists as tight as possible, she slowly sawed the plastic up and down along the coarse ridge of stone, slowly but surely ripping into the zip-tie.

In the meantime the wolf's claws groped at Arcus' chest, his tails raking her skin through the thin silky fabric lining the chest portion of her warrior-shirt. Slowly but surely, as he was breathing heavily down into Arcus' collar his hands moved down, offending their way across every curve of her body.

By the belt Arcus pressed the zip-tie a little harder, giving a few subtle tugs. It didn't budge.

Her belt waistband on the other hand yielded easily as the wolf slipped in one... three... four fingers. He paused with a wicked smile, savouring the moment as he rubbed is fingertips along her bikini-line, feeling the first touch of the coarse pubic hairs. Curiosity of whether the carpet matched the drapes pushed aside for now, the wolf slipped his thumb around her belt and plunged his hand down to test whether his prize was ready for the taking.

Arcus sawed more frantically, not caring anymore if the wolf noticed her attempts to escape. Frankly, the wolf wasn't going to notice. His eyes were already wide with shock as he stared through Arcus' face. His hand had found its prize, only not the prize he'd been expecting. Or hoping for.

His handful was the discovery of Arcus' best kept secret. He'd found out the hard way that Arcus wasn't a woman.

She was in fact a he.

The Federation trooper pulled back with disgust, arm still pinning Arcus by his throat as he stared at his hand like he'd dipped it in concentrated acid. Arcus savoured the trooper's agonisingly confused expression for a brief moment before letting him have it.

The tie binding his wrists let out a distinct snap as Arcus let his real voice slip. "Surprise, fucker."

Hearing the man's voice, the wolf opened his mouth to cry out in alarm. Arcus didn't let him and struck the Fed with an open palm in a clean uppercut.

The strike sent the wolf reeling, but Arcus had him. Pulling hard, the human stepped around the Fed and levered his face into the wall with a dull thud, busting open the canine's muzzle and leaving a patch of glistening red on the rough Martian-red stone.

As the wolf bounced, reeling again Arcus had him around the neck. His right arm wrapped around his throat as he lashed out with a boot into the back of the wolf's knee. The trooper fell to the deck with him, and resting on one knee Arcus locked his folly in a stranglehold.

His free hand remained clamped over the front of the wolf's muzzle to stop him from biting and shouting for help. Not that much more than a small breathless whimper came out of his mouth with Arcus' arm crushing his windpipe.

As the wolf's struggling became weaker and softer, Arcus finally managed to tighten the crook of his elbow around the wolf's neck and twist his whole body sharply from side to side. As he did, he pulled the wolf's head sharply to one side.

The crackle of neck joints was slow and agonised. The Fed's whole body convulsed for a seconds before all the motor nerves were severed and the wolf's body went limp.

No sooner was Arcus catching his breath and quietly laying the wolf down, a voice chilled him.

"Hey, it's kinda quiet in here. Are you..." the footsteps shuffled to a halt and the other trooper Arcus hadn't seen earlier stood stunned in the doorway. The young Fed was missing his helmet like the wolf, the anthro lion's golden locks of hair visible. He couldn't have been out of his twenties with a spark of motivation to serve the Federation in his eyes.

That spark faded when he saw the Commonwealth operator knelt over his dead buddy. "Oh, fuck!"

The trooper and Arcus' hands went down at the same time, the lion going for the rifle on his back. Arcus' hands found the dagger sheathed on the wolf's pauldron.

The chink of metal on metal indicated Arcus was able to draw first.

Before the lion's rifle even let go of the mag-lock holster on his spine, Arcus had the knife out of the sheath and flung it with a flick that rolled from his shoulder down to his wrist. The dagger was a blur of motion one moment, and embedded blade first into the Fed's throat the next.

The young lion gagged, eyes wide with fear as he staggered back into a wall. His hands were trapped between going for the knife in his neck and the rifle. The animal part of his brain thrived for survival, but the realist took over and told him he was already a goner. Eventually the primal instinct to take Arcus down with him kicked in and he fumbled for his rifle once more.

This time he managed to slide the weapon to his front, but Arcus was already on top of him.

The operator collided headlong into the trooper, crushing him against the wall with a swift kick to the groin. At the same time the human's hand found the knife and twisted.

A pop of cartilage. The lion's eyes rolled. Stepping back, Arcus let the second body produced within seconds of the last fall to the floor.

The scuffle had been quiet, no louder than a groan, gag or a shuffle of boots on the stone floor. But in the absence of any movement as Arcus coldly admired the results of his handiwork the room and surrounding tunnels were bathed in absolute silence.

Arcus eventually sniffed, wiping his mouth with the back of a sleeve. "Right. So, that happened."

Pausing only to pick up the lion's fallen weapon, Arcus set out. He wasn't quite sure what he was doing yet, but he sure as hell wasn't going to stand around waiting for a random passing patrol to spot him. As far as escape went the plan was still sketchy.

Priorities still rested in acquiring some gear. He wasn't going to fight his way out of an underground Federation compound with just an assault rifle.

The standard Federation assault weapon was a bullpup configuration weapon, meaning the magazine and firing chamber were behind the grip in the stock. This practically doubled the barrel length and optimised accuracy. The Federation bullpup was built so the magazine angled off to the left poking you in in the chest if you held it wrong. It was supposed to be ergonomic for easier reload, though never having been a fan of bullpup weapons despite their select benefits, Arcus hated every moment of handling the rifle.

So it was with a certain explosion of glee he found where Wicked's gear was stashed and the end of the empty hall, just before an intersection.

Backing into the makeshift Commonwealth armoury, Arcus slipped on his tac-vest and found his carbine stacked in one corner beside a bundle of SMCs. Satisfied his faithful weapon was locked and loaded, he dropped the bullpup and slung his own weapon.

Kitted up he let his SMC dangle by his side and tugged his sidearm from its holster. Producing a suppressor he screwed it onto the muzzle of the pistol while dipping out of the room to check the coast was still clear. The black cylinder affixed to his pistol, Arcus backed into the gear cache once more to consider his next course of action.

The plan would be obvious enough. Lock, load and free the rest of his squad before the unsightly atrocities almost committed on him were committed on the women from Wicked Company. Finding their cells and opening them up would be easy enough. Escaping the compound as a group would be the tricky part. They'd need some gear to get started.

Arcus didn't have enough hands to carry all the squad's equipment, so he emptied out Learn's assault pack and packed it with as many sidearms, spare magazines and SMCs as he could. His carbine hung on his hip and silenced pistol in hand, Arcus finally shouldered the heavy pack and moved out. It seemed unfair that only he wore a tac-vest and he wasn't bringing body armour to his buddies, but he needed to be mobile in case there was any fighting to be done before he could liberate the other operators. As it was a thousand rounds of ammo, a pair of SMCs and several pistols was proving to be pretty heavy.

Moving out, Arcus kept his pistol aimed in two hands as he silently snaked around the corner of each intersection.

At each turn he made a mental note, counting paces and trying his best to remember which turn he made. The place was a maze, all the corridors and rooms looked the same and there were no signs or marks to help him on his way. There was no telling how big the compound was either. He may need to backtrack.

Arcus counted his blessings he'd ended up fairly close to where the Commonwealth gear had been stashed. The wolf who had intended to have some fun with "Natasha" Arcus must have been in charge of confiscating the gear and brought his unconscious body along.

Holding back, Arcus watched from a shadow as three fully armoured Fed troops marched by, weapons at patrol-ready. He didn't move until they'd rounded the corner, then looking both ways he moved the way they came.

Up ahead he scored the jackpot.

Well lit cells stood up ahead, simple blocks walled off by iron barred barriers to keep prisoners locked up tight. Three familiar faces stood idle within.

Starla was sitting beside where Price's still form lay. Her shirt was missing, her simple bra the only thing maintaining her modesty. Dried blood matted her dust-coloured fur from the hands up to the elbows, a few flecks on her cheeks and in her hair where she'd brushed away strands when the blood had still been wet.

Staff Sergeant Rip stood by the cell doors, her arms looped lazily through the bars and her forehead resting on the cool, weathered iron. The leathery skin on her hands was too stained with blood and her bra was missing, the tell-tale mounds of her nipples poking through the light fabric of her shirt.

Price was still fully dressed, and Arcus could see where the other two's clothes had gotten to. He'd seen Price go down hard before he'd been knocked out. The woman had taken a round to the gut.

Starla's shirt was balled into Price's stomach, and the elastic from Rip's bra served to keep the makeshift bandages in place. They'd done well to plug the zebra's leak with what little they had, but Price would need a proper hospital. And soon.

Arcus paused on his approach, the left and right in the cell block hidden behind blind corners. There was no telling how many hostiles were nearby. Luckily though Rip looked up and caught Arcus' eye.

Rip quickly averted her gaze so not to give the corporal away. But her hands gave Arcus some good intel of the guards posted in the area. One of the rhino's fingers pointed discreetly to Arcus' left. Two pointed right.

One guard left, two on the right. Arcus smirked as he raised his pistol in two hands. Thanks, Rip.

Ready to engage with lethal speed, Arcus moved forward until he sighted his first target on the left. A driver-ant.

Anthro driver-ants were as ugly as they were prevalent. With the highest rate of reproduction, driver-ants formed the core of the Federation infantry. They were all gender-less soldier class drones.

Incapable of individual thinking and often confused or ineffective when isolated from their queen or other Federation troops, driver-ants were grunts through and through. They were deployed en-masse on front lines and thrown unsparingly into battle, the primary tactic when mobilising them being sheer force in numbers.

They were exactly as fierce as one could expect a giant bug to be. Identical to pretty much any other ant in the known galaxy, they had long spidery fingers and toes, the whole sinewy body covered in a tough, brown drab exo-skeleton. They were eyeless, with just a pair of long sensitive antennae, flat oval heads and massive deadly pincers forming a maw.

They were tough, strong and tenacious. Like the species sitting at the top of the Federation's social and military pecking-order, they were apex-predators, kings in the top links on the food-chain. But they were single-minded drones. And they were easy to get the drop on.

Arcus breezed in, pumping rounds out of his sidearm in quick succession. The crack of the rounds entering the back of the first driver-ant and blossoming from the chest carapace was louder than the quiet 'thwip' of air pushed from the pistol suppressor.

The first ant on his left staggered forward, hands forgetting the assault rifle and grasping for the gaping holes

Thwip-thwip! Two more shots rang out as Arcus stepped further into the room. These two rounds were put clean into the heads of the other two ants as they lazily turned to see what happened to their fellow. Their faces split down the middle and they dropped to the deck.

Shifting the pistol into his left hand, Arcus held the weapon at arm's length, burning the hot muzzle end of the suppressor into the wounded driver-ant's temple before yanking the trigger. The creature snapped sideways and it crumpled to the floor next to its eradicated fellows.

"Admit it," Arcus said with a smile, masking his voice behind a high feminine tone again. "You bitches are glad to see me."

Starla scrambled to her feet with surprise. "Shit, Natasha. I thought you were a goner for sure."

"The devil watches over her own."

Arcus levelled his pistol on the cellblock lock and put a round clean through the metal. With a shower of sparks the lock fell away and the door swung open. The moment it did Arcus swung the pack off his shoulder and dropped it on the cell floor in front of the other operators while he watched the cellblock entrance in case there were more guards rotating in.

Immediately falling on the bag, Starla tucked a pair of pistols into the back of her trousers and secured ammo in her pockets, as well as one of the SMCs. "Nat, I could kiss you."

Arcus would be lying to himself if he thought that would be unpleasant.

Rip did the same before she shouldered the backpack, indicating that Arcus would be on point. She immediately returned to where Price lay again. "Paula is slipping. She needs a field hospital, ASAP."

Arcus was about to agree when she looked around the otherwise empty cell. Learn was missing. "Wait, where's Randa?"

"They took her with the others," Starla explained wrapping one of Price's arms around her neck.

"Fuck. We gotta find 'em."

Rip nodded, taking Price's other arm. "Agreed."

Reloading the pistol, Arcus racked the slide just in case then moved out as the other two hefted up the wounded operator and shuffled after him. They had to get Price to a medic as soon as possible, but at the same time they couldn't leave Learn or the survivors behind. This was starting to get tricky.

But then if it wasn't tricky the mission wouldn't have been worthy of Wicked's attention.

~~~~

On first glance, Arcus wasn't quite sure what to make of it. The bodies of Feds were piled up on the edges of the room, splatter, wounds and empty shell casings indicated a surprise attack. The weapons clutched in the dead hands of the troopers seemed unfired, and all of them had fallen to pristine headshots and centre-mass hits. Scattered shell casings indicated the shooter had been moving fast and systematically and the empty discarded Federation assault rifle gave Arcus a pretty clear idea who had been shooting.

Turncoats among Fed infantry was a very uncommon sight. So that meant one of the POWs had busted out. But where was she? And why was there no more shooting?

Either all the hostiles were down - unlikely. Or she'd been recaptured - in which case time was scarce.

Arcus urgently pressed through the next doorway and cleared the next room. Most of the floor was occupied. Standing room only, with the ground littered with more bodies of drones and Federation troopers.

Only two bodies among the carnage and mess of discarded gear moved. A human and a canine that was impossible to mistake for anyone but Randa Learn.

Against the human's pale skin Arcus was able made out the smooth curves of Learn's furry physique, unobstructed by any fatigues. She only wore her shirt and a pair of boots, leaving her entirely bottomless, and her body entirely vulnerable to invasion.

What rotted Arcus to his core were the sounds. Learn was twitching, the human in Federation uniform was groaning and the operator was letting out small squeals.

Instinct immediately told Arcus what was happening. It wasn't an uncommon sight for Federation troops to violate their female captives. Rape and male dominance was ingrained in Federation culture. Their behaviour was steeped in centuries of extreme patriarchy and masochism.

In the heat of adrenaline the operator's blood boiled. Those shameful, sadistic bastards! How could they do this; any of this!? In what universe did they live that made any of this alright? Abusing prisoners of war like this?

With gritted teeth Arcus lunged in ready to pull the trooper clear and put two rounds in his balls for his transgressions. Only Arcus froze mid-step as quickly as he charged the couple, suddenly realising what he was seeing.

Learn was on top, which made absolutely no sense. At least, until it finally clicked in Arcus' brain. Learn wasn't being raped at all.

She was the one doing the raping!

Learn was the one on top in a pseudo 69-position. Her bare crotch was grinding against the human's mouth, but her own mouth wasn't doing anything for the Fed. In fact, while his pants were down by his ankles, Learn had his throbbing erection at knife point.

The canine had her eyes blissfully shut and bucked her hips a little as she forced the man under her to pleasure her. Every so often a happy little moan would escape her lips.

Arcus suddenly had no idea what he was supposed to do. Wait for her to finish or berate the woman for being a creep? Double standards got the better of Arcus and he found himself a little turned on.

In the space of the few seconds Arcus watched mortified, Learn's breaths began to shorten. Her chest moved more rapidly and she was grinding her hips over the human's face harder and harder. Then when Rip and the others stumbled through the doorway to be equally dumbstruck, Learn finally clenched.

She let out a breath through her gritted jaw that escalated into a high pitched moan while drenching the human's face, practically drowning the man. The Fed coughed and gagged for air that Learn would not grant, sitting down even harder as she straightened upa little and riding out the bliss of her orgasm as longa s she could.

Finally finished, Learn looked up and shook the haze out of her eyes. Realising she had an audience, she gave Arcus and the other operators a bewildered blink.

"Sorry. Had to get that out of my system," she said with an almost ditzy haze in the aftermath of her orgasm.

She didn't let it settle fully as she removed the blade from her victim's erection. Although the human didn't get off easy, as Learn flipped the knife into an ice-pick grip and drove it point-first into his chest. The blade slipped between where the chest armour met the articulated abdomen plate and plunged deep into the man's chest cavity.

With a sharp twist it was all over, and Learn climbed to her feet, leaving the knife where it stuck out of the human like a leaning tower.

"I think it's probably better I try to scrub these few moments from my memory," Rip muttered, tearing her eyes from the sight and glancing around the empty room. "Did any others make it?"

Learn bitterly shook her head. "The Feds shipped the others off already. Prince charming here was allowed to keep me back for some fun and would send me off on the next ship." She spat on the dead human as Rip handed the canine a pair of pistols. "Fuckin' animals."

"What's that make you?" Arcus asked referring to her little display earlier.

"The bigger animal with sharper teeth," Learn replied coolly, her crooked smile returning.

Her story certainly made sense. Starla and Rip would have been considered inferior stock for the Federation's internal slave trade. They would have been left here to entertain the troops a little before being executed. Learn was a badass, but she was still an attractive woman with a fun breast size, wide birthing hips and alluring curves in all the right places. She would have fetched a pretty penny, if you believed the stories of gorgeous slaves that were precious commodities in Federation space.

Starla was definitely more chesty than "Natasha" Arcus, but she still had the same an un-curved straight tomboy figure. And while Rip was definitely a powerful buxom woman, she was a powerful and dangerous species as standard. The Federation definitely wouldn't be bothered even trying to make her a slave. They'd have to try and hold her down first!

Price would have made good stock, but she was wounded. Likely the troopers on the compound would have had their way with her a few times before she died. There was no point wasting resources on the wounded when they had perfectly healthy slaves all ready.

"Price needs a medic," Starla reminded taking the weight off Rip.

Their team pretty much re-united, Rip motioned for the operators to move out. Learn beckoned them up a flight of steps she'd seen the other women in her group had been taken ahead of her. By now the drop ships carrying them to the orbiting transport ships would be long gone. But if they were lucky there would be one more standing by intended for Learn.

That would be their escape route.

At a ladder Arcus went up first. Holstering his pistol he opened the overhead hatch with the barrel of her rifle then popped out like a tactical jack-in-the-box. Satisfied the room on ground level was clear he climbed up and then reached back to help the others up the ladder.

Surveying the area properly Arcus recognised the area. It had been the part of the compound Wicked-Actual had cleared during the initial invasion. The ground and walls were still marked with the blood of the Feds they had bodied. The corpses had long been moved since the Federation re-took the compound in no time flat.

Stacking up by the door, about to do the reverse of what they had done a few hours earlier, Rip gently pulled the door open a crack and peeked outside. Learn leaned over her shoulder to get a look.

Across the square was an idle drop ship, the sides of the troop-bay and cockpit open. The pilot and co-pilot were enjoying a smoke. Sentries stood around in groups talking among themselves. They hadn't heard the commotions below. Alarm hadn't been raised yet.

But that was about to change.

"If you can see an operator, she can see you." Learn quipped softly, pointing to Arcus' chest. "But if you cannot see an operator, you have a fuse-time of three seconds to live."

Arcus pulled the grenade his tac-vest Learn had pointed out and handed it off to Rip.

She pulled the pin and held the explosive ready. Many a safety brief in basic training came to mind, where the mantra drilled into our heads was; "when the pin is pulled, Mr. Grenade is not our friend."

Rip gave it a throw, sending the device in a long arc with the metal spoon spinning off in another direction before the grenade cratered into the sand between the troopers.

The grenade exploded and the unsuspecting Feds toppled like bowling pins.

The rest fell victim to Rip's charge as she sprinted right through the carnage. Her head was lowered like a battering ram and she ploughed anyone who still stood or tried to find their feet again.

In all the noise and confusion of the sudden assault, Arcus was second out on Rip's heels. Only instead of bull-rushing in, he kept his rifle level and snapped off shots. His focus was the high arc while Learn and Starla hobbled with Price shooting their guns along the horizon level. The pistols cracked open Federation helmets and chest plates, either putting enemies in the ground or keeping them there for good.

Arcus' focus was the long range shots. And despite his sprint, he still put rounds in the heads of snipers going to ground on the compound rooftops.

A round zinged past Arcus head and he dropped to one knee, firing off a burst mid-slide. One of the three rounds found the sniper in a tower on the far corner of the compound. Arcus didn't know which, but he didn't care much. He was happy enough to see the trooper stumble backwards and drop head-first down to ground-level.

Rotating his rifle as he pressed the mag-release button, Arcus flicked the spent magazine from his rifle and brought the next one up. It clicked home and he pounded the bolt-release catch with choreographed speed. Ready to kill, Arcus scrambled to his boots and took cover beside the drop ship that was their ticket out.

Rip was in the cockpit already, her horn splattered with the blood of the pilot. She had one hand working the console, the other aimed out the side of the cockpit emptying her pistol into some Feds taking cover in an alley.

The engines flared to life by the time Starla and Learn made it and slid Price onto the deck. Arcus was firing the way they'd come, pinning down a contingent of troopers who had emerged from the hatch behind them.

His rifle clicked empty again, only instead of reloading this time Arcus threw his rifle into its sling and drew his sidearm in about a second flat. He was busting out shots to maintain suppressing fire as he dropped back onto the drop ship deck beside the others.

Somewhere beside his head he felt the reverb of Learn's boot kick the partitioning wall between the troop bay and the cockpit.

"Go!" the canine screamed. "Take off! Now-now-now-now!"

The engines of the drop ship screamed over the combined pistol fire blistering the air within the drop ship as all hands, Price included, fired their sidearms in outward arcs of covering fire. Rip closed over the canopy and fed the throttle's addiction for fuel.

Arcus felt himself flattened against the deck by the acceleration as they jumped into the air and angled dangerously to one side. he felt the blood rush to his head and could only see sky through the open side of the drop ship.

Rip suddenly yelled over the intercom. "Taking fire! Hang on!"

The covering fire provided by the operators faltered, the Feds were able to draw a bead and return fire. Combined assault rifle fire pinged against the hull and sparked on the engines just above the crew-deck doors. One of the engines whined and started vomiting clouds of black smoke.

The drop ship held though, even though the whole structure shuddered. At least they remained airborne, speeding high over the Martian sand away from Federation lines.

The compound shrank on the horizon. Rip was half struggling to keep the smoking VTOL going and half struggling to contact HQ for help. Starla and Learn were pressed over Price, still riding on a wave of adrenaline as they saw to her injuries.

Learn screamed something, but Arcus couldn't hear. The ringing in his ears didn't fade and he heard phantom pops of gunfire still echoing through his inner ear. He shivered in the hot Martian wind whipping through the drop ship's interior.

Learn shouted something again, only this time didn't pause a beat before delivering compressions to Price's chest. Every twenty-count she'd pause and Starla would push a breath of air into Price's lungs. Somewhere in the back of his brain Arcus knew what was happening, but his conscious thought wasn't sure what to make of it.

The drop ship shook violently, then swooped sideways as if caught on a gust of wind. It was the straw that broke the camel's back, and Arcus leaned over the edge of the deck and vomited into the desert below...

~~~~

Of all the things in his life to bother or annoy him, strangely enough pretending to be a woman was least concerning. That in itself should have been a concern though.

He never took it too far. He didn't have to splash on the make-up or wear high heels. In fact, sitting there on a stool at the bar he just wore a leather jacket and skinny jeans. It was enough to keep up the tomboy guise, even with short hair. Most of keeping up the appearance was in how he presented and carried himself.

The hardest part of it all had been maintaining the guise off the field. Especially in the barracks. He'd hidden behind privacy screens whenever he was changing and somehow concealed throbbing erections in the showers with nothing but a towel. Truly it was a miracle he'd made it to active deployment without being found out.

Now the real question an outsider looking in would have asked would be: "Why?"

Sitting up a little and looking out over the bar, Arcus was reaffirmed as to why exactly he did what he did.

As far as venues went, the bar was the pretty standard local fare. The latest fashionable thing on Arcadia were the colourfully lit night-clubs with plush furniture, exotic drinks every colour in the rainbow and laser light shows on the dance floor. And as with things that were popular, all establishments adapted to keep up with the times.

Even a pub as small as Finnegan's. The proprietor had even invested in those eye-sore holo-dancers, holographic representations of people to fill out the dance floor, or encourage people to get up and get a party started.

Arcus' practiced eye counted at least fifty people in the bar. And of those fifty, only three were male, including the bartender.

The women milling around the pub were dressed up in their finest like exotic birds. What little they wore was coloured brightly with strategic flashes of fur or flesh to ensure they'd get noticed. For most of them flirting or picking up men had become something of an art form.

This was the general state of the Commonwealth since the Sol Crisis.

The Federation was a patriarchal society. As such, being a male - and ideally a predator species - allowed for many benefits on Federation controlled worlds. Shortly before the Sol Crisis even broke out men were moving from the matriarchal Commonwealth, causing the male population to dwindle.

Now in the height of war, the male population was so low they weren't afforded certain "rights" anymore. For example, males were victim to extremely strict emigration rules. Men were not allowed to marry unless proposed to by a female, but even then a marriage licence cost a small fortune.

Crazier still, men were expected to "breed" often, official guidelines stating those aged between seventeen and twenty-eight required to sleep with a partner at least once per week.

An example more relevant to Arcus' situation; men could not actively serve in the Commonwealth Armed Forces. There were in fact a very limited number of low paid jobs a man could be employed into. This in turn heightened their reliance on the mass of single women throughout Commonwealth space and was more likely to "put them out there."

If it wasn't for Arcus' first-hand experience with Federation brutality and indoctrination he might have defected during the early days of the Sol Crisis. He wasn't going to go on an anonymous revolution against the Commonwealth matriarchs though. Most of the stringent laws had come in only after the Commonwealth started taking population and financial hits from the war. It was political societal-preservation.

Arcus didn't want to be preserved. He wanted to do his part in fighting the Federation on the front lines. So if to do that he had to pretend to be a woman, so fucking be it. Every bullet the put down-range into the head of a Fed trooper made it all worth it.

"Another drink?"

He looked up and saw the bartender move over polishing a glass. He was an older man in his late forties betrayed by the silver hair at his temples, probably having left his mandatory breeding age behind a few years.

Arcus wasn't even sure what he was drinking. He couldn't pronounce the name and he wasn't sure if the contents was beer or liquefied cotton candy. Silent, Arcus just flashed a grin and pushed his empty bottle aside. It was a good a "yes" as any.

He was tired, and the less he had to talk in a feigned feminine voice the better.

Unfortunately it wasn't meant to be. As much as Arcus tried to mind his own business, by the time the bartender had opened a new bottle and put it down someone approached to Arcus' side.

A young man, about Arcus' age walked up beside his stool and rubbed against the human's arm. Leaning over, the deer gave a wide charming smile. "Hey, beautiful. How about I buy that drink for you?"

And there was the biggest problem in Arcus' life. The "off-duty military-girl" look had become quite fashionable with the war raging on the way it did, and with it being the only look Arcus could pull off comfortably and successfully he was getting a lot more male attention than he would have normally liked.

Without missing a beat, Arcus retorted with choreographed ease. "How about; fuck off?"

The guy backed away dejectedly without saying anything else.

It was pretty amazing what you were able to get used to. After all, before the Sol Crisis Arcus had been a pampered prince with the stamina of a wet noodle. Now he jumped out of drop ships in alien hot-zones shooting badasses in the face without missing a step in full sprint. He was a shining example of peoples' ability to adapt if they were pushed hard enough.

Arcus reached for the credit-chit in his back pocket, but the bartender waved him off. "Don't worry about it, soldier." Obviously Arcus was wearing the guise of a tired military-woman just home from hell well. "This one's on the house."

Arcus flashed another grin in thanks and took a drink... yup, definitely liquefied cotton candy.

A soft hum of the sound-proof screen fluctuating caught Arcus' attention. While the bartender left him to his drink, the energy field in the doorway faded and three figures entered. Learn, Rip and Starla entered one after the other and looked around. Spotting Arcus as he waved, they walked over and sat beside their fellow operator.

In common shore-leave tradition, drinks followed.

It had been four weeks since the Martian Gambit. Weeks of debrief and company replacement limbo. Unfortunately, nothing moved fast in the military bureaucracy and eventually the survivors of Wicked-Actual had been sent on leave while CAF figured out where to put them, or who to ship into the now empty W Company.

So between now and then all they could do was try to forget.

Unfortunately that was easier said than done. "You speak to Price today?"

Arcus glanced sideways at Rip before taking a drink. "Yeah. She's hanging in there. Physical therapy has started. She's slow back on the bike, but she's getting there."

"She's tough," Starla chuckled. Slowly looking sideways, the otter noted that Learn was moping. "The heck is wrong with you? You haven't smiled since we got back home."

Everyone looked to Learn who let out a "harrumph" into her drink. "My _stallion_arrived," she mumbled.

That didn't shed much light on why she was glum.

Starla asked, "Shouldn't you be smiling then? Or walking funny at the very least?"

Learn sighed. "I can't make it fucking fit."

They hadn't been expecting to laugh. Unsure if it was even appropriate to laugh so hard, Starla buried her face into the bar. Rip choked on her drink, then laughed. Arcus managed to maintain some composure, but at least did a spit take.

Eventually seeing the humour in it, Learn joined in for a chuckle too, drawing a few confused glances from other patrons.

They fell silent. They could laugh and celebrate having made it home, but they were all still thinking about the members of Wicked Company who hadn't made it. The ones who were probably in Federation space being indoctrinated into slavery by now. It chilled them all to think about for too long.

Learn finally had enough of the silence though and slapped her hands down on the bar.

"Well fuck you bitches. This place has a record amount of handsome floating about tonight." Learn swivelled in her stool and locked on to the sparse males surrounded by competing women. Straightening out the creases in her form-fitted dress and pushing up her breasts, she elegantly slipped from her seat. "And Lance Corporal Learn is gonna recon some of that."

The other three chuckled.

"Get some, Randa." Starla encouraged.

As she walked over with confidence, Learn turned to her friends, threw up some gang signs with a big grin, then quickly re-assumed a seductive walk to the stag who'd approached Arcus earlier. Arcus shook his head with a grin and returned to his drink.

"There's never any sleep when the wicked ones play," Rip quoted lifting her glass.

Starla and Arcus raised their glasses too.

"To Wicked Company."

The Sol Crisis was far from over. They made a silent promise to keep plugging at it. One planet at a time. One battle at a time.

One comrade at a time...