by Noah Harris
The others were already in their wolf forms below, starting off across the open field.
Timothy grabbed onto the rope that led down, ignoring the rope burn as he let himself nearly free fall.
Worried at being left behind, it took him an embarrassing amount of time to get his body to shift. His wolf was anxious, and it took some coaxing before he felt the familiar burn of the shift flare through his veins.
He took off across the field, tongue lolling from his mouth, but even in his wolf form, he couldn't catch up.
With every obstacle, he fell further and further behind. Especially with the obstacles that required him to shift, finding that each took more and more time.
Thankfully, the last obstacle was the easiest. Crawling through a narrow tunnel in his wolf form was easy when he was lean and narrow.
Unfortunately, his relief was short lived. The entire squadron was waiting for him when he emerged, lips pulled into sneers and biting jeers falling from their tongues. The opposing team laughed openly, but their mocking words were nothing he wasn't used to. It was the murderous glares from his own team that hurt the most.
But it was the first cadet that caught his gaze. The dark haired, brilliant soldier. He stood tall and proud, sharp green eyes narrowed in contempt and lips twisted into something fierce.
Something curled inside Timothy, something quivering and scared. His tail twitched, shifting between his legs. His ears laid back, head bowed, and he had the strongest compulsion to crawl toward the man to bear his belly in submission.
A pathetic whimper is on the tip of his tongue when the sergeant's sharp, "That's enough!" cuts through the air, jarring him back to reality.
It takes him a shameful amount of time to shift, especially with all eyes on him and their malicious laughter ringing in his ears. Human once more, he stands with his head bowed and his hands clutched tightly behind his back as the sergeant scolds him publicly for his pathetic display. All the while he keeps his eyes averted from that one, dark haired soldier.
Christopher
"That is the most pathetic display I have ever seen in the history of this obstacle course." The sergeant's voice was loud, despite the fact that he stood barely three feet away from the small man. His height gave him even more advantage, practically towering over him as he shouted, words clipped and blunt. "Do you realize how far behind you were, cadet?"
"No, sir." The man's voice is small and wavering, but still audible despite the murmur of snickers surrounding them. Truthfully, Christopher was surprised he was able to speak at all. He was practically shaking as the sergeant laid into him.
"Ten minutes. A full ten minutes, cadet. That is completely unacceptable. I don't know what kind of life you're used to, or what kind of treatment you're used to getting, but you'll be getting no special accommodations while you're here. No matter what your pedigree is. Do you understand me?"
"Yes, sir." His eyes remained on the ground, and he was shaking pitifully, but somehow he still managed to stand tall.
Christopher stood silently off to the side with his arms crossed over his chest, watching the pathetic scene play out before him.
Despite the name he carried, it was clear this man didn't belong. This wasn't just any ordinary military base camp. This was the training camp for the wolf special forces, the best of the best, and this kid was making a mockery of that simply by being here. He stood up straight in the face of the sergeant's onslaught, but Christopher chalked that up to fear. When it came down to it, there was nothing strong about him, nothing impressive and nothing remarkable.
Christopher let his eyes roam up and down the small man's frame, feeling his lip curl in distaste. Unlike a lot of the other alphas he knew, he’d never had much appreciation for a soft, fragile appearance. In this man's delicate frame, he only saw weakness. In his sweet features, large eyes, and plump lips, he only saw a faintness of heart that couldn't be tolerated.
The Wolski boy practically radiated weakness, and that weakness left a sour taste on his tongue. He knew all too well the pain and suffering weakness of heart could cause. Perhaps not directly, but that didn't mean it wasn't to blame. Cowards were a danger to those around them or connected to them. It was a trait that needed to be weeded out for the betterment of the pack.
But so, too, was arrogance.
He glanced at the rowdy trainees around him. Betas, for the most part. Most of them were strong in their own right, but none of them had been able to keep up with him on the course. He wasn't oblivious to their gazes of awe and reverence, and he also wasn't prideful enough to think it had anything to do with him. They weren't revering him, but rather his display of power. They craved it. He could see it in the hunger in their eyes and the way their mouths practically watered at the prospect.
They were all eager, young, and vibrating with energy. They wanted to not only prove themselves, but sought to be stronger in order to fuel their own egos. They wanted power for power's sake, though once they had it Christopher doubted it would be put to good use.
He had been like that once. He’d been eager to get stronger, to prove himself, and to rise above the others. He wanted to be revered like the great General Wolski. As he’d gotten older, however, and as he started to gain the strength he so vehemently sought, he realized it wasn't power for power's sake that he wanted. He wanted strength because it was the only way to accomplish what had never been accomplished for him; to protect those he held dear. Strength was useless unless used to protect those in need.
His eyes drifted back to the Wolski boy, taking in his disheveled brow, mop of hair and slim frame. Despite his weakness, he was not one in need, and Christopher doubted he ever had been. He practically screamed army brat, raised on the power of his father and led to believe he was better than he really was simply because of the name he carried. He was willing to bet this boy spent his entire life with everything handed to him on a silver platter, thriving in a life carved out by another. Never once fighting for himself. There was no other explanation as to how one born from such a powerful wolf could end up so pathetic.
It was clear he’d used his father's connections to come to this training camp. He didn't belong, in spirit or in physical form, with the other wolves here. These other men, despite their rowdy youthfulness, had gotten into this program on strength and merit. They hadn't been brought in by a famous father.
Even Christopher's prowess had been earned through years of hard work. Ever since he was a teenager, freshly dropped out of high school, he'd worked hard to get where he was. His body is a testament to that, built strong, sculpted with muscle he's painstakingly gained, skin littered with the scars of his efforts.
Nothing like this Wolski boy, all smooth and skinny. His father was one of the greatest soldiers of their time. In this modern age where they've been pressured to fit in with human kind in order to be accepted, General Wolski was one of the first to urge wolves to liberate their animal energy, to liberate themselves and embrace their primal natures. He demanded respect for what he was. Their kind, and Christopher admired that. He was his hero.
What a disappointment his son must be to such a great man.
General Wolski was everything Christopher's parents hadn't been. Instead of defending their wolf son, they had passively accepted the aggressions of superstitious and suspicious humans. They had insisted that ignoring the problem would make it go away, but the humans around them only grew braver. Broken windows and hateful slurs painted on their door had pushed them to move further and further away. They had constantly been moving, and Christopher had been constantly changing schools, with no long-term friends and an education that was in shambles. When his father lost his job over his monstrous son, he’d quietly drowned his sorrows in alcohol instead of standing up to the prejudice.
They had been kind people, and they’d loved him. But sadly, that hadn't been enough. Kindness led to vulnerability, and vulnerability led to weakness that could harm those around you.
When he’
d heard of General Wolski as a teen, it had been inspiring and enlightening. He’d dropped out of school to join the army and never looked back. He had worked hard and nearly broken himself to get where he was. Through blood and sweat, it had brought him here, to the cusp of his dream of joining the wolf special forces.
He wouldn't let this army brat get in his way.
The losers' cabin was just as bad as the sergeant had made it sound. It smelled like mildew and mold, it did nothing to stop the draft, the blankets were old and thin, and the showers were ice cold.
Despite the terrible accommodations and his piss poor quality of sleep, Christopher rose the next day and got ready for training with decisive purpose. He wasn't sleeping in that cabin again, no matter what it took.
The others on his team took to hazing the Wolski boy. They stole his blankets last night, and they took his clothes while he was in the shower, forcing him to run back to his bunk in only a towel, all the while they laughed and jeered. As they all made their way out to the meet-up point, the others took every opportunity to trip him or shove him, laughing when he stumbled and fell.
Christopher ignored their childish behavior, not joining in but not stopping it either.
"Today's training exercise will test your abilities with a gun, as well as your abilities in stealth and teamwork," the sergeant said as they stood at attention in two block formations, kept in the same teams from the previous day. Much to Christopher's dismay, that meant Wolski was still on his team. "The name of the game is paintball, but don't take it lightly."
A few soldiers helped the sergeant pass out the paintball guns, each team with their own color paint. Red and blue once again. Christopher didn't miss the way the gun sagged in Wolski's arms with the weight of it. He huffed out a short breath of distain, turning back to the sergeant to await further orders. The rest of his team muttered amongst themselves, eagerly excited for a round of paintball.
"Alright, listen up. You get hit? You're dead. Outta the game. Lie down where you were shot and wait for the end. The game ends when one team kills the entire other team, got it?"
"Sir, yes, sir!"
"Good. This is the course. There are plenty of places to hide, and I expect you to use them. Now go to your starting positions and wait for my mark. Red team on that side, blue on the other. Go!"
The two teams scattered, jogging to their starting lines and waiting for the sergeant's sharp whistle before sprinting forward into the fray.
Christopher darted toward a tree, putting his back to it as he crouched low to survey the battle field. Just as he feared, his teammates were here for the glory. They dispersed and scattered on their own, each of them eager to stand out and shine, each of them wanting to be the hero.
He watched as several of them were gunned down by strategically hidden enemies, but he couldn't tell where the shots came from. When it became clear the other team wasn't about to charge into the open, and after those first men went down, the rest of his team thankfully dove for cover. They were scattered, but hidden.
Christopher sighed, eyes closing briefly in his exasperation before snapping open, jaw clenched with a newfound determination. If his team was going to be dense about this, he would take it upon himself to bring them into line.
He whistled sharply, quick and short, catching the attention of those closest to him. Their heads whipped around to look at him with a mix of confusion and surprise. Christopher nodded back toward the starting line, where one wall of a fort offered them cover.
"Meet me behind the fort," he whispered. "Tell the others. Team meeting."
Their lips pursed, a new spark lighting up their eyes as they nodded. He slunk back from his position, retreating to where they came from as the others spread the word to their scattered team.
On his way, he found Wolski not far from the starting line, cowering behind a thick bush. He was sat on the ground, eyes squeezed shut and shaking, his paintball gun clutched tightly in his hands.
Christopher rolled his eyes, reaching out to lay a hand on his shoulder. "Hey." The boy jumped, head whipping around to stare at him with wide eyes. He jerked his chin toward the cover the fort provided. "Come on."
It didn't take long for what was left of their team to come slinking out of the shadows to the meeting spot behind the fort. Christopher crouched low, back to the wall, and the others gathered around him, similarly crouched. He looked them over, a frown pursing his lips. They were down from fifteen men to ten. Meanwhile, he was pretty sure none of the enemy team had been knocked out yet. He silently cursed himself for not stepping in to begin with.
"Alright, listen up," he said, voice low and stern. He glanced around the group, not entirely surprised to find them all hanging on his every word. "We're not going to win if we charge in on our own. They'll just pick us off one by one."
"Do you have a better plan?" asks one of the cadets. There's curiosity in his voice, but also the sharp edge of a challenge.
Christopher looked at him sharply, sitting a little straighter and lifting his chin a fraction as he pulled back his shoulders. He knew when he was being sized up, and he wasn't about to bend to a beta. "Yes. Here's what we're going to do. We're going to send out a decoy. Bait."
"They'll be shot down instantly."
"Exactly. Someone needs to be brave enough to sacrifice themselves for the team. While they're getting shot at, the rest of us can see where the shooters are positioned, and we can get around behind them."
A murmur spread around the group, several of them nodding and excited smiles started to pull at their lips at the prospect of a real plan. He knew he had them.
"Okay," someone spoke up. "But who's going to be the bait?"
Christopher's gaze wasn't the first to fix on Wolski, but he knew it was the heaviest. He could admit to himself that the decision was fueled by vengeance for having landed them in the losers' cabin yesterday, but Wolski also logically made the best choice. The boy pulled back from their stares, shrinking beneath them. "I think it should be someone who wouldn't be an asset otherwise. You a good shot, Wolski?"
He met Christopher's gaze, warm brown eyes wide. His lips were parted in surprise but snapped shut quickly. He shook his head. Then he did something unexpected.
His lips curled into a small frown, eyes going hard as he looked around the group. And then, instead of cowering, he stood a little straighter. He lifted his chin, defiance inflating his chest as he squared his shoulders. There was the spark of fire in his eyes that, for a brief moment, looked like one born from a general.
He met Christopher's gaze again, unflinching and unyielding. "I'll do it." He shifted out of his crouch, moving toward the edge of their hiding spot. He hesitated, looking over his shoulder, fire still bright in his eyes. "Just…get in position to watch and give me a signal when you're ready."
Christopher was surprised, but he refused to be impressed. He could see how much the man's hands were shaking, knuckles white as he clutched his paintball gun.
Still, he was willing to be the bait, and that was what they needed.
The rest of the team moved to better vantage points and when they were settled Christopher gave a sharp whistle. After a brief moment of hesitation and a deep breath, Wolski stepped out from behind cover and sprinted into the open.
He was shot down immediately from several different directions. He collapsed to the ground, covered in paint.
"Five of you with me," Christopher hissed, already on the move. "We'll flank around behind their main group. The rest of you pick out the single snipers. Go go go."
Everything moved quickly after that. Despite how scatterbrained and selfish his teammates had been in the beginning, they took direction well, and they followed him easily. He led them around the back of the other team, sneaking silently through the trees and shooting them all from behind. More shots echoed from the forest as his team took out the single shooters.
By the time the shots ended, his team emerged victorious.
They celebrat
ed in the mess hall that night. His team gathered around him at the long tables, telling dramatic recreations of the battles that day. They’d done several more rounds, but his team had won every single one of them, and it had been due in no small part to his own direction.
His teammates still stared at him, but their awe had shifted. The greedy, selfish parts of their awe, the desire to be like him, had faded, replaced by a sense of respect betas tended to give toward their chosen alphas. Christopher took it in stride, humble and impassive, but internally preening.
Halfway through dinner, movement caught his eye, and he turned to find Wolski slinking out of the mess hall.
The boy had surprised him. He’d been clearly frightened when many of Christopher's plans had involved using him as bait, but he’d never cowered from it, nor had he ever tried to get out of it. He’d done what needed to be done without complaint. More than that, he hadn't stuck around or got wrapped up in the victory. He hadn't bragged about his role in the games, despite the fact that his sacrifices had been pivotal to their victory.
Christopher was a proud man, a proud wolf, and a proud alpha, but he wouldn't let his pride get in the way of admitting that he might have judged the general's son too quickly. He had shown bravery on the field today. Not in the conventional way, but in his own right.
He stood from the table, excusing himself to follow Wolski. He was willing to recognize bravery when he saw it, and the boy deserved to be congratulated as much as the rest of their team.
Timothy
Timothy rested his hands against the sink, leaning in to get a better look at himself. He looked pathetic, skin pallid beneath the smears of bright red paint. There were heavy, dark bags beneath his eyes, proof enough of the fact that he hardly slept the night before. He’d been cold without blankets, but it was more the sense of vulnerability that kept him awake and the buzzing of anxious energy. It hadn't helped that he found tooth paste smeared inside his pillow.