by Chris Hechtl
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Mugsy saw the new invaders and wasn't sure what to make of it. Mamacita was even less trusting of them, wanting to go further into the suburbs or even into the sewers. He hated that, hated the stink. Besides, he had the food situation finally covered. He had a couple old ladies who gave them handouts. Water? There was plenty of water to be had in puddles, drains, and pools. Sure it wasn't clean, but it was wet.
Little Red kept sniffling and sneezing. He really should put her down; she was a hindrance to him. But her soulful eyes had gotten them into several homes and gotten many handouts. It was the only reason he kept her alive and around. Otherwise, he would have wrung her neck and left her for the hated humans.
When meat had been scarce before the new invaders had come, he'd scavenged for food in the ghetto. Mamacita hadn't cared where it had come from, and he wasn't ready to tell her which carcass he'd picked it from. Let her and the others assume the meat had come from dead pets or other animals.
He'd been ready to run again when he saw/smelled something strange. He sniffed; his perpetual squint made it hard to see. He was nearsighted, he missed having his glasses. They'd been broken in a nasty scrap with another tom just after the invasion … he flicked his head in annoyance, then scratched at an itch. So what. He was getting along fine without them he thought. But the smell … it was of another cat! He stopped scratching and sat there, leg raised as he sniffed the air. His eyes might be bad, but his nose was top notch. He narrowed it down to the direction, downwind of course. He dropped his foot and then padded along the rooftop, sticking to the shadows as he followed his nose.
When he got his hands on the other tom … he felt his hand over his nose. It was scarred. The bare fur between his eyes barely healed, but he didn't care. He'd show them this was his territory. The kits might think of him as a scrapper, more balls than brains, and so what if he was? He protected them from the outsiders in the area.
He paused when he heard voices and dropped low. He slunk closer to the edge and saw a group of invaders going into a building nearby. He hunkered down, squinting and wishing one of the kits was there to see for him. The light was fading, which was good; his night vision was much better than his day vision. He blinked when he realized the source of the smell. A cat was with them! Traitor! He growled softly under his breath but then cocked his head when other faintly familiar animal scents filled his nose. There was a dog! A bear? Really? He blinked, now confused. Then he realized they were finished with the building across the street and headed his way. He turned as they got to the door and went back the way he had come just in time to hear it get kicked in. He heard some voices, and his ear swiveled to a neighboring rooftop. He ducked under a fluttering tarp and then turned to lock into the voices. Someone was there, on the opposite roof. Great.
He turned about once more and jumped across the roof. He slid under a bunch of pipes, then snaked his way through to the nest. He had to get to it to get his stuff out. If the kits and Mamacita were there, he'd pass on the warning. If not, they were on their own.
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“I'm telling you, I saw a Neocat!” the private said, pointing to the rooftop. “He was a domestic, big, he was creamy colored, bare ass naked and had a squint and frown. He took one look at us and high tailed it out of there.”
“Then where did he go?”
“The buildings are close together. He might have jumped,” Sabu said.
“That's what he did. I saw him on another rooftop getting into some pipes. From there I lost him. The smoke and steam were too much.”
“Ah.”
“Well, it's good to know he's alive. If it's a he.”
“It is. I saw his rear end. He had the biggest set of balls on him …” the private shook his head as the others snickered.
“Is that ball envy I'm hearing?” Sabu teased then flicked his ears at the other's expression. “Never mind that now. Stay on mission. Next building.”
“Right,” the private sighed.
“Loi, you're on overwatch this time. The rest of you, by the numbers.” Sabu paused as his radio squawked. He held up a hand and then pointed to his helmet.
“Charlie one, we've got leakers headed out of your sector. We're directing Delta four to their location to cut them off.”
“Roger,” Sabu replied. He looked at the expectant troops around him. “It looks like we're doing our jobs; the cockroaches are being flushed out right into Delta's nets.”
“Well, at least someone's having a good day,” Loi grumbled.
“Can it. As long as they're dealt with, I don't care who gets the shot. Let's move on,” the Neosnow leopard growled.
“I do,” the neogorilla said ever so softly as he set his rifle up to sniper mode and made himself comfortable on the rooftop. At least someone had left him a nice arm chair to sit on while he waited.
He checked the area with his eyes and ears then went to his scope to do a more thorough examination.
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Moira caught up with the intel officers and nailed down Arkangel to do an interview with him before she got around to Locke. Arkangel had been on the ground longer; he knew the area thoroughly. He'd assembled something of a private empire with the credits naval intelligence had forwarded him as seed capital.
She noted Arkangel's limp as he approached her HQ. That was psychosomatic; she was aware of his prosthetic left leg, arm, and eye. But he was milking it for whatever sympathy she would give him she thought with a wry flick of her ears.
Arkangel was a character; he had a pair of ladies with him, also dressed in white. Both were humans and obviously beautiful locals he had recruited. Most likely he'd picked them up cheap, either as hookers he'd straightened out or desperate women during the occupation by the Horathians. Women like that would have been easy prey for the enemy soldiers and desperate for food. Keeping them fed, safe, and even teaching them a bit about getting payback would have made them loyal as hell to him she thought with a slight nod of approval. He walked with a slight limp with one of the blond ladies on his arm. The ladies politely waited outside as he entered the HQ.
“Madam White Wolf, a distinct pleasure,” he said, bowing to the wolf once Sergeant Snorkle had shown him in and departed.
“So, you're the one they call Arkangel?” she asked, amused by his antics.
“I have that honor, ma'am,” he said, head bowing again.
She could tell he was also reluctant to tell her much. That was tough for him. “We're getting a handle on the capital. I estimate another two days of cleanup before we can start handing patrol duties over to the local militia.”
“The natives will be glad for that, ma'am. They have been well, um, restless I suppose you could say. And I believe getting life back to normal would go a long way to cementing new friendships. Including the dirigibles and industry. Getting those on line are only secondary to the utilities I should hope.”
“The basics: water, food, fire, shelter. Once we get them sorted out, we'll worry about work and your industrial supporters,” she said.
“Ah yes them. They have been keenly interested in getting things back to a normal footing. And getting some sense of … call it security in the mines and transport, ma'am.”
“Look Briggs …,” he blinked when she said his name. “Oh yes, I know who you are. First Lieutenant Michael Coldsmith-Briggs the thirtieth. You came to Commander Montgomery with the proposal of setting up an intelligence post on your native world here, which is why you know the players and the terrain.”
He seemed nonplussed by the amount of information she had on him. “Ma'am, I don't know what you're implying.”
She held up a hand. “Save it. There is a reason I left your ladies outside,” she said pointedly. “You don't need to posture for their sakes. You have been out in the cold for so long you've forgotten whose side we're on.”
“I thought we were all on the same side,” he said. “But I must admit, it has sort of all blurred a bit recently.”
/> “Yes. We don't all wear white hats to identify ourselves,” she said indicating his snow white suit and hat. “You do realize you stand out like a sore thumb right?”
“It has come to my attention,” he replied wryly. “A sniper has gotten my … ire,” he said, fingering a hole in his left sleeve. She glanced at it as he stuck his finger through it. “Fortunately he hit my cybernetic arm and was such a poor shot that it didn't do too much damage.”
“You should have our people look at that. And the eye and leg,” the Major replied, “when you have finished your debrief.”
“Ma'am, I'm not sure what you are implying.”
“You've been holding back on an asset. The lone wolf aircraft. I want it.”
“Ma'am, I made certain commitments,” Arkangel replied, now squirming slightly.
“To your chain of command?”
“Ma'am, when you do undercover work you have to gain the trust of all those involved. I swore an oath not to attempt to take the craft or track it down. It was salvaged by its current owners and is in good hands.”
“But you did track it down anyway,” she replied, smiling ever so slightly. He froze. She nodded. “I know you did because I got a report of your activities, including your requests from Ensign Marshall. You used fleet resources to track the aircraft in flight as well as listen in to their radio transmissions. You in fact gave them their radios … which were encrypted, but we had the keys didn't we?” A hologram appeared with the image of the terrain around the capital. Flight paths were marked out, as well as radio chatter. They all lead to a round rather tall and steep extinct volcano. The image turned to show a slowly rotating wireframe of the volcano.
Briggs cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with the situation. “Yes, be that as it may …”
“Relax. I know how it goes,” Moira replied. He blinked at her. She flicked her ears. “I have a militia on Kathy's World, the Rangers. I don't see why one can't be set up here as well. The locals will be more than happy to have the Wolf and its pack on their rolls.”
“I doubt they will go that far, ma'am. They are fairly independent.”
“Well, that's going to have to change a bit. I'll trust you and Lieutenant Locke as the liaison. We're going to supply them with materials and support. That included ordinance and fuel. But they better learn to come when called and to heel.” That little bit of irony wasn't lost on the Neowolf.
“Ma'am, the prohibitions against it ….”
“Don't apply when we're supplying an official militia unit to support our troops who are in a combat situation. I've done it before, let me worry about the paperwork.”
Briggs nodded. “Yes, ma'am.”
“Good. There are a trio of Marine pilots on their way.”
“Ma'am?”
“They came in on the Xavier convoy, and I've been using them to fly some of the shuttles since the Navy is hogging all the fighters and won't let us have our own air assets,” she said with a grimace and slight flattening of her ears. “Rivers is good but green. The two lieutenants are brothers, one has a minor specialty in intelligence. Both are actually from this world,” she added.
“Ah. I think I can use him then, ma'am.”
“Good. Get the wolf pack under control or at least pointed in the right direction.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“Once you do, we're going to run the enemy down. Once that's done I imagine you'll be moving on.”
“Ma'am?”
“You're an intelligence officer, figure it out. We march to the sound of the guns. You will undoubtedly be our eyes and ears so we can shoot the right people when we arrive.”
“Yes, ma'am,” he replied in a quiet tone. She could tell from his body language that he was a bit put out over that news.
“But that won't be for some time yet to come. For now, we've got pirates to hunt down. And your wolf pack can help in the hunting.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
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One of the things that Jethro hated about Bast's new found abilities was that the Major was determined to put them to good use. Not that he could blame her, they just put a crimp in his style. Once the city had been secured, he'd been ordered back to Firebase Baker. Each of the three firebases and the three additional bases under construction on the other side of the city had a replicator. Most were food replicators. Baker had a small class one industrial replicator. A military grade industrial replicator that had been sent by Admiral Irons. It had been stuck in orbit until their arrival.
Now that it was on the ground he had the unenviable task of babysitting it. Not only keeping it secure and keeping the idiots from trying to use it and make it self-destruct, but allowing Bast access to it to replicate supplies.
Using the replicator was tricky though; it drew a lot of power. Baker didn't have the computer support needed for the HQ, but it did have heavy weapons now that they had gotten them groundside. And a lot of automation to free up manpower for the front. Which meant he had to work with the harried naval engineer rating who was manning the solar panels and tiny fusion reactor and keeping the base from going into a terminal black out.
But he could start to see a pattern. In the morning they would fill the hoppers with material to be recycled. The machine could do that on its own without his input. He would then come in near noon and Bast would jack in and make whatever the Major had in her plan for two hours until the heat of the day started to bite. Then they were done since the AC units sucked up so much juice. They had to have the AC and heat exchangers to keep all the electronics functional. That and it was good for troop morale. Sometime around evening after dinner, he'd be tasked to go back and be chained to the replicator by a cable so they could make another round of equipment to replace what was lost during the day.
They were building up a slight surplus though. Of that he was sure of, because his people weren't using that much. And why did she need aircraft parts? Did she intend to build a damn craft? It would be nice to have air support. He'd heard that there was a militia gunship … could that be it? He shook his head. Whatever it was, Bast wasn't going to tell him. That irked him a bit.
Technically anything he made probably shouldn't fall into the hands of the militia. There had already been reports of some equipment getting into enemy hands. That bothered him a little. They could trace some equipment with RF tags, but … still. Anything that could be used against them shouldn't be in the hands of the militia.
Usually before midnight he was done and the engineer wearily jacked in to get the machine to replicate trade goods with the natives for the night. Simple stuff but vital to get them back on their feet or at least the guy in white insisted. The scuttlebutt jury was still out as far as he was concerned.
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Moira read the more complete Lone Wolf report. Now that Locke had opened the floodgates by meeting them, she had a lot more intel to go on. Arkangel had finally, grudgingly opened up his files as well to fill in the blanks.
Apparently an air freight and transport company called Santini Air had been into salvaging some of the space wrecks for parts to keep their machines running for some time. Along the way they had salvaged and rebuilt a Marine attack craft, a Bell-Ichim 222 Attack Craft. It was charcoal gray with a light grayish white underbelly. She remembered them well; it had four engines clustered around the fuselage and one on each wingtip. A split V tail and a tricky ship to fly. The cockpit was laid out with the pilot and copilot in line instead of flying tandem. The rear seat usually acted as the flight engineer. She had a sort of growl when the engines really spooled up; it was spooky to hear. That growl grew in pitch to a high shriek when she really had to hustle. Pilots loved the craft because it could dance in the air. The basic design had been used for centuries. According to what she'd heard, Colonel Forth intended to request a wing of the craft.
The natives had intended to use it in air shows once it had been restored and certified flight worthy. But the arrival of the pirates had changed that.
Instead they had secured fuel, parts, and ordinance for it and then used The Lady against the Horathians in hit and run raids. She could see where Arkangel had come into play.
Arkangel had been acting as their go between. He'd kept them at arm's length and had supplied them with some parts to keep them indebted to him. They in turn had helped out from time to time and supplied intel when they had it. From some of the … overtones of the reports, she could get a better feel for Arkangel. She wasn't sure she liked what she had found. He had played both sides of the conflict, sometimes turning over intel to the enemy in order to get favors or to get someone to look the other way. That was troubling. If he'd done it and used civilian lives …, it could be construed as a war crime. She shook herself. That was for his boss and IG to handle.
She'd finally gotten a face-to-face meeting with the Santinis. They wore baggy, blue flight suits with a winged wolf patch on the shoulders. Dom had seemed amused that she was a Neowolf.
“Now look, Major. You don't tell me how to run my business, and I won't butt in and tell you how to run your war.”
Moira sized up the crotchety old human and snorted mentally. He had silver hair, a bit of a pot belly, and a lively eye. But he was stubborn. “I'm trying to get us to coordinate our efforts, Mister Santini.”
“All right, we can do that,” the man said nodding. “Tell me where you are, and I'll be somewhere else.”
“And if our people need fire support? Or if you do?”
“We'll … we'll get on the radio,” he replied.
“Uncle Dom, be serious,” the young blond woman with him sighed.
“Look, I know you are good, but you need help.”
“He's right, Dom,” Arkangel said. “She's gotten you three experienced pilots.”
“Experienced,” Dom sniffed. “These ladies and I can handle the gal just fine,” he said with a dismissive sniff just as a trio of men came in. he turned with a scowl that quickly became a grin. “String! Sinjin! What the devil are you doing here?” He exclaimed as he and his niece embraced two of the three officers.