FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

CHAPTER 12

Keslow, Colorado

2343 Hours, August 21** st ***, 2052*

Wilks shut the jury-rigged sound system off mid-song as their destination hove into view ahead. Lights were scattered throughout the unassuming community, a fair number of them off either to conserve power or because there was nobody there to turn them on anymore.

They grumbled down the main street, the headlights on their vehicles illuminating the area directly ahead of them and casting everything in a harsh white glare. Up to the right Wilks could see a group of people clustered together in front of an old inn, their stature and composure instantly marking them out as the wayward members of Phoenix squad.

"Over there." Wilks said as he nodded his head in their direction.

"Got them." Henderson acknowledged as he pulled to the curb in front of them. He slipped the MAV into park and killed the engine, Martinez's vehicle coming to a halt directly behind them and doing the same.

Wilks opened the door and grabbed his rifle as he disembarked, the rest of the support team doing the same and falling into a loose rabble behind him. The largest Phoenician walking a few paces forwards to meet them. He couldn't discern any emotion from his face, hidden as it was by his sleek helmet, as he spoke, but his voice went a long way to display the anxiety he obviously felt.

"Sergeant Wilks, right?" came the terse welcome.

"Yes, sir. And you must be...?"

"Marcus Dracrovian." the man supplied. Wilks didn't even realize that it was a fur he was talking to until he noticed the way that the helmet was elongated and the grey and black tail that followed his every movement. And then the leg armour configuration made sense.

"Pleased to meet you, sir." said Wilks with a nod.

"You can drop any formalities, Sergeant." said the Phoenician in a manner that he remembered their old commander displaying when they had met before the Invesco attack. "It will only waste time."

Wilks shuffled on his feet for a moment, changing the grip on his rifle and giving the armoured figure a nod. Then he noticed that each of them were carrying weapons of their own. The one he was talking to and the smallest of the three both sported a brand of assault rifle that he didn't recognize and the last was carrying what appeared to be a highly customized anti-material rifle in a sling about his shoulder. "Er... Are we starting tonight?"

With a whine of servos and muscle fibres, the lead figure reached up and removed his helmet. It came free with a slight click, a hinge releasing under the front of the helmet to allow the fur to remove his muzzle more easily from its enclosing grip. Wilks couldn't hide the surprise that he felt as he met his gaze.

The Phoenician had the head of a timber wolf, more than likely with the teeth to match. But that wasn't what had shocked him; hanging around with Martinez had made him immune to the effects of meeting a savage-looking gene project. No, it was the fact that the fur had a glowing red lens instead of a normal left eye that made his eyes widen in shock. It was set flush into the towering figure's skull, the metal component reaching all the way back to the ear and the lens clicked across as he blinked his biological blue eye. Marcus had to have seen the look he was given, because he barked a laugh.

"Relax," he said, "it doesn't shoot lasers or anything." That was enough to get Wilks, and a good number of his team to boot, past the initial surprise and Wilks recovered quickly.

"Er... Sorry. I just wasn't expecting you to have a prosthetic is all." The fur smiled, showing off his sharp teeth that gleamed slightly in the light pouring onto the figures from a streetlight above them.

"Don't worry about it. I'm starting to get used to the looks. And to answer your question; no. You should see about getting settled inside the inn. A feline fur named Jennifer will help you get settled."

"Then why the firepower?" asked Wilks, eyeing the weapons that they carried.

"We're going to go and see if we can find anything before we start looking in earnest tomorrow. We'll meet you back here in a few hours."

"Good luck then." smiled Wilks from below his green and black military-grade helmet.

"I think we need a whole lot more than luck." frowned the fur as he slipped the helmet back over his head and it sealed itself with another hiss. "But the sentiment is nice. See you around, Wilks."

With that, he and the other two moved off down the sidewalk to enter a black Cadillac Escalade, the engine roaring to life as the leader slipped behind the wheel. The other two piled in and the vehicle drove off, disappearing around a curve in the road some hundred feet or so away.

"Well?" Wilks asked as he turned to his squad. "Are you guys just going to stand there, are are you gonna start carrying our crap inside?" The chorus of groans and mutterings that greeted his question faded out as the newly-arrived soldiers set about making themselves ready for tomorrow.

**

Marcus was starting to think that they had a chance of finding Warren now as he watched the road ahead of him. And it wasn't just the new soldiers that had just arrived in Keslow that had him in high spirits; he had just gotten off the radio with Newbolt before he had received word from the new troops about their imminent arrival. They had a lead, one that Marcus was NOT going to let slip through his fingers like so much fine sand.

"So Newbolt said that the old man showed himself again?" piqued Sam from behind him.

"Yeah. He was spotted about five minutes ago by one of his men out by the school. What he was doing is anybody's guess, but I intend to find out. He's not who we're after though. We're gonna go have a chat with who he met there." growled Marcus as he floored the vehicle's engine and it picked up speed.

"Are we going to kill him?" asked Paul as he inspected his gun for about the fortieth time; the Eagle Eye scope once more in hand and being meticulously adjusted.

"Not right away," replied Marcus, "we'll see what he has to say for himself first."

"Tranquilizer it is then." grunted Paul as he reached under the passenger seat and pulled a cut-down shotgun from underneath. He stowed his precious rifle as gingerly as he could beside him in the passenger seat and checked to make sure the other gun was in good order. It was, and he once more reached under his seat.

A small security briefcase emerged in his gauntleted hands and he typed in the security key on the small console and the briefcase's internal locks disengaged. He opened it up and grabbed up a five round tray on the upper part if the case and from that withdrew the first shot. Paul held the stubby dart in one hand and grabbed a small glass vial from the other end of the briefcase. He carefully plunged the tip of the dart into the rubberized membrane that kept the potent neurological agent inside the phial and upended it, rolling a thumb over a small catch on the dart. It slowly filled with four milligrams of the clear liquid before it was at full capacity and Paul placed the dart carefully in the protective foam padding of the case, ensuring that the plastic cowling for the injector was in place to prevent damage to the round. He repeated this for each of the other four darts before slotting them into the shotgun one at a time, being careful to align them properly. He pumped the weapon once and made sure the safety was on.

Marcus pulled over in front of a house a block away from their ultimate destination and grabbed his rifle from where he had placed it beside him, flicking off the safety catch.

"You know his name?" asked Sam as she clipped an extra flashbang onto her assault webbing. She checked to make sure that the wristcomp was functioning properly on her left arm and, seemingly satisfied that all was in order, grabbed her own gun and followed Marcus to the curb.

Paul followed a second later, the silver outline of his armour personalization glinting dully in the dim twilight cast by a streetlight located down the street a ways. His shotgun was held at the ready, Paul scanning the street in both directions with his helmet's wireless uplink to the IR laser-designator that he had placed on a side rail of the weapon.

"Yeah." replied Marcus as he switched over to the squad comm channel and shutting down the external voice projector. "A Mr. Bradley Johnson."

"Isn't that the guy who gave the opposition speech at the meeting?" Paul enquired as he activated his active camouflage, the others following suite and disappearing from any prying eyes.

Marcus merely grunted in confirmation as they took off in the direction of the man's home. Outlines appeared around where Sam and Paul were as his suit linked with theirs and they relayed IFF transponder signals to keep in touch. "That's him."

"Why didn't we start with him before?" asked Sam as she took up cover behind a parked car. The house was only a few driveways away and they started to slow their pace as they closed the gap. "That guy practically screamed 'Humanist sympathizer' in the meeting."

"Because we didn't have any reason to." placated Marcus, grinning despite himself at the prospect of putting the man in his place. "But now we have the only excuse we need."

The trio finally reached Mr. Johnson's home, a small two-storey abode that gave the impression of being expensive yet nicely modest. The lawn was still cut to perfection and it looked as if, like most of the town of Keslow, it had remained completely untouched by the worldwide conflict. Paul ran across the well-maintained street to take shelter behind a SUV that probably hadn't been moved in two years judging by its terribly deflated tires. He started scouting the house through visor's magnification setting and reported what he saw.

"We have three contacts in the living room and at least one upstairs. I don't think that any of them are armed and it looks like at least one is a child." Paul reported over the comm. "Johnson is confirmed in the living room, I repeat; Johnson is in the living room."

"Roger that." acknowledged Marcus, all of his intense training coming back to him and making him slip into combat mode. "Sam; loop around back. We don't need him getting away on us."

She complied without a comment, heading towards the back of the building by cutting through the neighbour's yard. She sent a comm click to say that she was ready. "Paul," radioed Marcus, "any way to get to him without hitting the family?"

"Not that I can see from here." sighed Paul, his breathing slowed and carefully regulated. "I can hit at least two of them from here, but I put enough chem into these tranqs to knock a bull on his ass; I don't think hitting a kid with one would be a good idea."

"Roger that." frowned Marcus as he slowly crept along the front path to reach the front door. He sidled up into position to the left of the door, unclipping a flashbang from his belt and readying it in his right hand. He gingerly turned the handle on the door, surprised to find it unlocked, and pushed it open quietly and just enough to stop the door from clicking shut again. A quick glance down to make sure that the silencer was properly threaded into the barrel of his Sabre 190 'Scythe' pattern assault rifle, and he was ready to go. "Breech on my mark. 3...2...1...Mark."

Marcus spun around the frame of the door and landed a powerful kick in the centre of the door. It flew inwards, striking a wall with a heavy thud and he hurled the grenade through the breech. The visor polarized almost completely as the grenade detonated in a thunderous bang and a blinding white flash, both of which gave the round explosive its well-earned name, that made him wince momentarily despite it being mostly filtered out by his helmet.

His gun was up and twitching as he stormed into the carpeted den, his boots scuffing the clean material as he took stock of his immediate surroundings. Several people sat dazed and confused before him on a couch, obviously having been watching television, as they tried to regain their overloaded senses. The one he recognized as Mr. Johnson was surrounded on both sides by who appeared to be his wife and young child, the kid making him feel bad for what he was about to do.

Mr. Johnson was the first one to come to his senses, only to find himself staring down the silencer of Marcus's weapon as the Expeditor deactivated his cloaking device and flashed into existence. The man flinched noticeably and put his hands behind his head without needing be told to do so. Marcus scowled down at him, something that he found he could do very well when his 6'8" body was encased within his intimidating armour. "Mr. Bradley Johnson," he spoke through the external vox, his voice booming and slightly distorted, "you're coming with me. And you are going to tell me everything I want to know."

**

Somewhere near Keslow, Colorado

---- Hours, August 22** nd ***, 2052*

Warren was losing track of time. He was losing track of a lot of things. All of his memories were quickly becoming a blur, the drug that they continued to inject him with slowly eroding his very substance. He could no longer remember his name or those of anybody he had ever known. What more they could gain from interrogating him, Warren had no idea. As far as he could tell, they had taken everything but his life.

He sat against the pole that he was so vigorously chained to, his head on his chest and dry blood coating his fur. He no longer felt anything; such sensation had been taken along with any dignity he still had before the last few hours of questioning. He was, for all intents and purposes, dead.

Warren's brown eyes were those of a man that had not seen light in many years despite the fact that he could only have been down there for a few days at most. They were mostly all pupil, Warren's irises limited to an incredibly tiny circlet around the edges of the black centres. Networks of red veins ran through the whites, making him appear tired and worn beyond description. At least the old man had treated his tongue, but it was probably due to the fact that they wanted him as coherent as possible when he was divulging military data. Under the fur of his chest, a large bruise had formed from where Auburn had kicked him and a number of small lacerations crisscrossed his shoulders from when he had tried to pull away from the point of the needle that had so jumbled his thoughts.

Warren tried to remember anything of what had occurred since they had left the city and arrived in Keslow, but it wasn't happening. Everything of the time was disjointed and only the smallest fragments remained untouched. Suddenly, he became aware of the fact that he was cleaning the blood from his shoulder with his now less-swollen tongue and a shock ran through his system.

Disgusted, he stopped immediately and spat on the floor, trying to comprehend what he had just been doing in the small window of clarity that the shock had given him. What would make him do such a thing? He had never done so over the course of his life, not even in the fighting pits he had grown up in. It was... animalistic.

Warren moved slightly and registered something in his hand that he had completely forgotten about. Surprised, he dropped it, and the nail clinked as it hit the now stained cement floor. The sound pierced through the fog that cluttered his head and brought him back to his senses.

Warren inhaled a hiked and sudden breath as his body once more registered the aching pain that pervaded every limb of his body, the bruise on his chest now throbbing and angry. He swallowed heavily and a gob of partially congealed blood and spit rolled down his throat. He grimaced as his eyes once more focused and he rediscovered a sense of purpose.

He fumbled for the nail with his bound hands and growl escaped his muzzle as he found it and clutched it tightly. They would die for what they were doing to him, he vowed to himself. And he would not make it quick.

**

Eldora Resort, West of Denver, Colorado

0942 Hours, August 22** nd ***, 2052*

John groaned as he crawled from his sleeping bag, his bones cracking as he stood up. The others were already up and going about their own tasks. He emerged like a mole from the ground into the main room of the building, the bedding having been set up in the back where it was less open and less odd to sleep in, the vast openness of the eatery having proved unnerving.

Owen and Sasha were seated at one of the dozens of tables in the chalet, playing a game of chess on Sasha's tablet and keeping up what appeared to be a lively chat involving ancient Greece and the Spartans at Thermopylae. Romulus sat in Owen's lap, looking as genuinely bored as it was possible for a dog to look. He saw Sasha grin as she obviously made a good move and Owen congratulated her, even if it was somewhat grudgingly, before they continued their conversation. The Colonel's helmet lay on the table next to where they slid the game back and forth between turns, and John half expected the helmet's vox to crackle into life and announce their salvation. It didn't happen and John decided to go outside for some fresh air, not having the smallest interest in either ancient Greece nor chess.

The sunlight was wonderful despite the fact that it blinded him for a while. It wasn't truly warm, but his armour, that Owen had insisted that they wear for the rest of their stay in case somebody not intent on rescue came to pay them a visit, kept his temperature regulated. John walked a little ways until he saw Lily sitting on a log next to the ashes of the previous night's fire with a small sketchpad no larger than her open hand held in one arm and a simple 2B pencil clasped lightly in the other. Her helmet was placed next to her and looked vacantly across to the horizon as its owner hummed gently to herself. She must have heard him coming because her ears swivelled his way in a flash, soon followed by her head.

"Good morning." said Lily as she turned back to her idle task, the pencil dancing across the page.

"You can draw?" he asked. She must have heard something in his voice because she turned back to face him with her ears laid back enough to show that she was not amused.

"Yes, John, I know how to draw. I can do normal things, you know." There was an edge of defensiveness in her usually lyrical voice. Realizing he must have sounded condescending, he quickly apologized.

"Sorry," he said, "I didn't mean to be so rude, I'm just surprised is all." She didn't respond, instead turning back to her drawing with a disgruntled 'humph'.

"Do you mind if I take a look?" he asked. He didn't know anything about drawing, painting, or the like, but he imagined that he had nothing else to do.

Lily visibly wavered, her eyes glancing off to the side. Reluctantly, she held out the pad as she bit her lower lip nervously. "It's not very good..." she said, "I'm not exactly drowning in supplies up here, and the paper is kind of crappy..."

John looked it over and raised an eyebrow. "Lily-"

"I know," she cut him off, making a grab for the pad of paper, "I'm not really that good at drawing..." John laughed as he pulled it away and looked down at it again.

"No," he smiled, "this isn't bad. Lily, this is amazing! I never took you for the artistic type, but this... Well, it's incredible."

"You're just teasing me." she sighed, an ear flicking sadly and her gaze straying to her hands. She kicked a pebble at her feet and it skittered into the remains of the fire, throwing up a small cloud of ash.

"I'm not kidding! I bet a lot of seasoned artists would kill to be this good." he insisted. He wasn't lying either; the sketch that she had done with the simple, scrounged pencil and a humble shred of notepaper was better than the vast majority of stuff he had ever laid his eyes on. His praise seemed to get through to her and she looked up at him happily, her violet eyes meeting his.

"Really?" she asked.

"Really." he replied as the phoenix on her chest flared with radiant light. "I take it you created that design on your armour too?"

"Yes." she admitted with a small surge of pride. "I made the decal, but Luke saw to the actual engraving and inlaying. He was good at it."

"He must have been. It looks good."

"John?"

"What?"

"I'm not into you." she grinned. John paused for a second. In to him? What did that- oh.

"Wait, you thought that I was- that I- No no no, I didn't mean it like that. Don't take this the wrong way, but I wasn't taking a pass at you." he stammered. Her smile broadened.

"Good. You have a little less fur than I like on a man." she laughed as she took back her sketchpad from his slack grip and set back to work.

"And you a little too much for my taste. On a lady, I mean, not a man... Wow... Okay then... I'm going to go... away..." John felt like an elephant in a submarine; completely out of his normal comfort zone.

"See ya." she called as he left the area and headed back indoors.

"Have fun with Lily?" asked Sasha from the table, Owen rotating in his seat to face him. Romulus jumped down from his lap and made off to lay in a patch of warm sunlight that was streaming through the windows on the other side of the building.

"Yeah," he grinned falsely, "she showed me her drawing." Sasha's eyes widened in what John guessed was surprise and Owen, usually on top of things, squinted as if he was confused.

"She did?" asked Sasha as she passed the tablet absently to Owen. He took it automatically, throwing it a small peek before hitting the pause button and laying it on the tabletop.

"Yeah." John replied slowly. "Why?"

"No reason." she said before kicking Owen's shin lightly under the table. The colonel shrugged hopelessly at John and turned back to the game, saying something under his breath to the fox fem that she generally ignored, merely turning his attention back to the game with another kick.

John couldn't help but feel that he was missing something, but decided to put it off. It could wait until they were back in Denver. Whenever that was.

**

Somewhere near Keslow, Colorado

---- Hours, August 22** nd ***, 2052*

The coyote smiled at him from where it stood only a single foot in front of him. It just stood there and stared intently at him with an almost knowing smile stretching its black lips. Its blue eyes, a colour that Warren hadn't before seen on a wild coyote before, appeared to be looking not so much at him, as through him. It cocked its head to the side, the grin never leaving its muzzle.

Warren stared back, unafraid of the creature, and gripped his precious nail behind his back absently. It had become a common enough sight in the dank basement and he had since stopped being concerned about it. If anything, its presence was almost comforting. Warren was still shackled to the support strut, the chains clinking as he shuffled a bit, and his captors were hardly decent company. All they did was grunt in his direction, ask him questions, or hit him. At least the coyote was peaceful. At least, it had been so far.

The first time that it had showed itself earlier that day, coalescing out of the shadows to one side of the room and striding out to stand in front of him, he had almost cried out in shock. It had then smiled, something that did make him cry out in shock before he had managed to reign in his surprise and clamp his mouth shut. Since then, it came out of its shadowy lair to watch Warren in between the questioning periods and water deliveries that had occurred every few hours. It never did anything else, completely content to just watch the imprisoned fur sit against the metal pole and plot his revenge.

The animal's thick brown, black, and tan pelt rippled as if blown by some wind that Warren couldn't discern and he had noticed over its regular visits that its eyes were never quite the same colour as they had been in any previous visit. Last time they had been an ocean green, and the time before a pale grey. As creepy as Warren found it, it at least gave his tired mind something to look for every time the animal appeared and he found himself actually looking forward to it in the absence of anything else to do.

The canine sprawled out on the floor with a huff of released air, its eyes never leaving Warren's, and ran its tongue around its lips. Warren noticed for the first time that it had a scar running across its neck and he swallowed as he noticed the all-too-familiar way that it coursed around under the fur. His own itched in sympathy at the sight.

Several minutes passed before the animal blinked its ghastly eyes slowly. When it opened them again, they were the colour of a budding leaf in Spring and more intense than a laser designator.

+You realize that you are going crazy, right?+ the animal asked, the slightly malicious grin still plastered unmoving across its long snout. It didn't speak so much as make Warren hear it, the cheery voice reverberating in his head.

"Yes." replied Warren, his voice a low croak. He knew that he was and that there was no point denying it. There was no possible or even conceivable way that the animal was down here with him. Warren knew that it was a figment of his imagination, a trick of his mind, a falsehood created by his subconscious. He just didn't care anymore.

+Good. Just checking.+ The animal's carefree grin turned to one of smug contentedness that showed off its gleaming white fangs. At that, the animal stood up again, shaking out its fur, and left, fading back into his shadowy domain with its claws clicking on the featureless floor. Warren watched it go blankly. He was certain that it would be back again.

**

Union Station, Denver, Colorado

1640 Hours, August 22** nd ***, 2052*

Arthurs cracked his knuckles and rolled out his neck as he replaced the coffee pot in the machine, humming to himself as he hit the activation stud and the machine kicked into life. Soon, a steady stream of dark liquid started dribbling down from the reservoir, the heady aroma perking him up instantly.

He looked around the empty command room, now devoid of the activity that had filled it for the past two years. Arthurs's eyes were well adjusted to the dim gloom that was cast by the pot lights above him and he cast his gaze over the large tech-inlaid table and the myriad of chairs that were more or less in its immediate vicinity.

Finding himself with nothing to do, at least for the moment, he decided to take a peek at the holograph table, the projector still left on as the command personnel took a short break. It was starting to flicker and buzz, the image becoming grainy and indistinct. Arthurs rounded the corner of the table so that he was in front of the main touchscreen controls at the head of the expensive piece of hardware.

He struck the table just beyond the console as he had seen the commanders do before him and was rewarded with the image becoming crystal clear and once again easy to read. He smiled to himself. Sometimes hitting was the answer.

Arthurs poured over all the details, noting with a touch of gratification that there were now only a handful of angry red icons scattered in several locations throughout the greater Denver area, the majority of the Humanist forces in the area either disbanded through force or pushed out to the West towards the mountains. As far as he was concerned, Denver was under their control.

He could remember the day that the war broke out those many months ago, and couldn't believe that the band of freedom fighters, or terrorists, depending on who you asked, had now taken control of a large portion of the American Midwest. And the fact that several other locations across not only the continent, but the world, were now under gene forces control. It was definitely a welcome change from those early few months where it looked as if they had started a fight that would only end in their fatal demise.

He was interrupted in his musings by a green flash in the corner of his vision. That was odd; he hadn't noticed it before. He looked up at the hologram, noticing that the little green light was located up in the very mountains that the Humanists had been herded out to.

Arthurs manipulated a few of the controls on the console before eventually finding the ones for the screen movement. His curiosity peaked, Arthurs zoomed in on the top of a particularly flat hill. The screen shifted to a top-down view as it switched over to satellite view, the sensors that laced the city not located anywhere near where Arthurs was focusing on and forcing him to rely on the orbital relay for a picture.

The image was grainy, but he could make out the words printed underneath what appeared to be a small town just below where the green light was blinking. Eldora Resort. The name meant nothing to him so he turned his attention back to the light. What the hell did it mean?

He looked down at the myriad of buttons on the screen before finding one that looked like it might help. He hit it and was immediately assaulted with a hissing crackle of static that nearly deafened him. Arthurs frantically tapped the button again and stopped the harsh noise.

The doors to the room were thrown open as a German Shepherd fur ran in at a hurried gait. She was dressed in a smart jacket and a skirt that parted near the back to allow her swishing tail free roam as she moved. "What's going on?" she demanded as she joined him at the table, her brow hair falling around her shoulders. "Did you touch something?!"

Arthurs struggled to remember her name having seen her around the command centre more than a few times. Angel? Angelica? Angie? Ah, yes, that was it. Angie. "No ma'am," he stammered, "Well, I mean, yes ma'am. But I didn't mean to break anything!"

"Do you have any idea how much this thing costs?!" she shouted as she started jabbing him in the chest with a clawed finger. "If you broke it I swear I will hang you upside down from your-"

She was cut off as Arthurs backed into the console and hit another button inadvertently. Arthurs expected the harsh, static-laced jumble of incoherent noise, but what actually came through more than made up for his clumsiness.

"- is - Smith - on a - I repeat - Phoenix - broadcasting - open channels - need - extraction - at"

"OWEN!?!" gasped Angie, her ears perking up immediately. "Move over!" She shoved him away from the controls and started tapping seemingly random buttons. She then twisted a dial and the transmission came through loud and clear.

"This is Colonel Owen Smith broadcasting on a preset of twelve frequencies. I repeat, this is Phoenix-one actual broadcasting on a preset of twelve frequencies. We are in need of extraction at the following coordinates: 39°56?15? North, 105°35?1? West. This is an automatic message and it will change frequencies in about five minutes. We are requesting extraction and awaiting a reply on channel bravo seven. This is Colonel-"

"They're alive!" squealed Angie in delight. To Arthurs's surprise, she turned around and actually hugged him, bouncing up and down in excitement. He couldn't say that he had any complaints but she soon broke off and turned back to the holographic table. "We have to get a message back to them... Ah, there we are!"

Angie hit a red button after moving a slider to the frequency indicated by the message. A red telltale started flashing on the touchscreen and she cleared her throat before talking.

**

Eldora Resort, West of Denver, Colorado

1644 Hours, August 22** nd ***, 2052*

John sat at a chair that he had pulled up to the table that Sasha and Owen were at, chewing away at some bean casserole that Lily had cooked up using the chalet's extensive kitchen. It went down with a wonderful hint of spice that had John hoping that he wouldn't need to run to the restroom in a few minutes. Lily was still in the kitchen and he others were likewise eating their food, though it didn't look as if Sasha was enjoying it.

Sasha pushed her spoon through the bowl of beans with a look of more-than-mild distaste, her ears unmoving and betraying her thinly-veiled disgust. She brought a mouthful of it to her mouth and forced it inside, chewing slowly before swallowing quickly. The food was followed quickly by a sip of water from her canteen that John knew was to wash the taste from her mouth and a barely-suppressed shudder.

John looked over to where Owen was barely keeping a smile of amusement from making itself known. Owen met his eyes for a second and started laughing, John joining in a second later.

"Shut it." warned Sasha as she chased another mouthful of casserole with a gulp of water and clapped the lid back onto her canteen. Owen stopped laughing immediately, John taking a second longer to react and receiving a fierce glare from the white-furred fem that he imagined could stop an entire army dead in its tracks. He took the hint and closed his mouth before she turned him to stone.

He was about to start eating again when Owen's helmet crackled into life. "Hey, Colonel, you out there?" The voice was tinged with a hissing noise, but it was easily discernible.

John didn't recognize the voice on the other end, but the others obviously did. Owen was the first to respond as he activated flipped the helmet over and spoke into it at an angle, a large grin parting his lips. "Angie? You have no idea how good it is to hear your voice for a change."

Sasha and Lily stood up, clustering in close to the dark helmet. John, just as glad to hear a voice different from the three he had been acquainted with over the past few days, joined them as they hovered over Owen's shoulder.

Mild laughter greeted him from the other end after a slight delay no doubt caused by the relay between the helmet and the resort's relay station. "Same here, Colonel. Where are you?"

Sasha spoke up next, leaning forward over her meal and no doubt relishing the distraction. "We're at a ski resort, Eldora, in the mountains."

"Commander? Holy shit, you all made it?" came the voice with enthusiasm.

"Yeah," confirmed Owen, "all of us made it. Angie, you wouldn't happen to have a spare chopper lying around anywhere, would you?"

There was a pause, a longer one than the relay could account for, before Angie came back, the voice sobering but hopeful. "Sorry commander, but none of them are free at the moment. All of our birds are tied up keeping the Humanists on the back foot at the moment. I imagine we could scare one up if you give us some time, though."

"Sounds good, Angie." smiled Owen, his flint-grey eyes sparking with renewed vigour. "It's not like we're in any rush. Not yet at least."

"That's good Colonel... but... uh..." Angie's voice trailed off for a few seconds. "Colonel, you're not going to like this."

Owen frowned, the spark in his eyes flickering out. "What is it?"

"Well... by the looks of it, you have just under a full platoon of Humanists heading your way. And it looks like they have light support vehicles as well." Both ends of the conversation fell into silence as Owen traded glances with Sasha and John's jaw fell open absently.

A whole platoon? John's head swam. That was over twenty troops! And if they were backed by armour... Well, John held no illusion that they would be able to hold them off for long even if they had a way of cutting them off from the heavy support. Phoenix squad was good, but alone and outgunned the numbers of the enemy would overwhelm them in a matter of minutes.

"Can you repeat that, Angie?" requested Owen. From the strain in his voice, John could tell that any bit of hope he had had of getting out was quickly diminishing. Angie took her time repeating what she said, as if not acknowledging the enemy would make them go away.

"Colonel, you have a force estimated to be at about platoon strength closing on your position with light armour support. COMSAT says that they are only two hours from your current position on their current route if they maintain their speed."

"That's trouble..." cursed Sasha as she took a step back from the table and ran her hands through her hair. Her ears flicked slightly and John knew she was getting frustrated.

"Wait... They are heading our way? I know that we sent a distress call on an open frequency, but I doubt that they would send a platoon all the way up here to pick us off." though John openly.

"Well..." came the clipped response, "that would kind of be our fault."

"Your fault?" echoed Owen.

"Yeah. We took Denver back the night you went missing and we've had them on the back foot since. We've begun to push outwards and I guess they are trying to escape back over the mountains. I'd bet that the entire Humanist army is crawling around in the Rockies about now. If they can take you out as they go, all the better for them."

"Well, I don't know if that's good news or bad news." sighed Owen as he spooned up another bite of casserole and chewing it thoughtfully.

"Are the Humanists trying to go through the I-70? I thought that road was a quagmire now." asked Sasha. John knew that what she had said was right, the interstate having been destroyed completely by the KSS near the beginning of the war. He had seen the damage firsthand, having been a part of the roving vanguard that was supposed to greet the supporting army that was heading their way through the mountains to help retake Denver.

He winced as he recalled seeing the darts from the orbital weapon hurtle through the atmosphere to land on the highway, the image of the immense dust cloud that it had kicked up as it struck home and annihilated entire towns, the interstate, and the quickly encroaching army. There had been very few survivors after that; the odd couple showing up in anywhere from a few days to a few weeks later. Only about one in twenty had survived the cataclysmic event, the army now reduced to only a thin trickle of tired and practically useless men. Suffice to say, the Humanist position in Denver had taken a dive from there and John had found himself caught and turned to fight for those he had previously been killing.

Not that he had done much killing, of course. He had only killed a single man, a fur, more specifically, before being captured and even then it had been a fluke. The night after he had been captured, he had more than quadrupled his tally when he had blown a Humanist leader and his entourage to bloody chunks with an improvised bomb inside the maintenance tunnels of Union Station. In that matter, he imagined that his short experience as a gene forces trooper has subsequently done more to shape him into who he was now than his two years in service to the Humanists. Looking back at it, he could hardly remember why he had been fighting for those arrogant assholes in the first place.

"No; the I-70 is, for all intents and purposes, completely impassable. They're heading through the smaller roads that pass through the mountains. That's not good for you; that puts you in a high-traffic area."

"So we are stuck up here waiting for an inevitable attack, hours from an extraction and with only small arms." stated John, his pessimistic side coming to the fore. "We're fucked."

"We could try talking to them." suggested Sasha. "That message we sent; it didn't say which side we are on, did it?"

"No," shrugged Owen, John knowing that he was about to shoot the idea down even before he finished his thought, "but I imagine that they would know if a Colonel of theirs was missing. They're not stupid. Deluded, maybe, but not stupid. They would know we aren't friendlies." Sasha sat down heavily again, her head coming to rest on her cupped hands in a fashion similar to a rifle resting on a bipod, with her elbows on the table and her arms forming the support struts.

"I'll try and get a helicopter in the air as soon as I can, Colonel, but I can't make any promises; things are pretty busy here. I'll radio you when I can get an evac team ready."

"Sounds good," said Owen through a thin smile, "thanks Angie."

"You're welcome. And good luck." The channel went dead and the hiss of an idle transmission cut off, putting an end to the radio chatter. The trio looked at each other with looks of concern, all trying to figure out what to do.

Lily pushed open the swing doors that lead to the kitchen behind them, all three of her grim squadmates turning to face her. "Dessert is ready!" she sang as she set a tray full of what looked like bowls of pudding down onto the table in front of them.

"What?" she asked, unaware of what had just transpired, "What did I miss?"