FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

I think it's safe to say that I've met with some very unsavory smells in my time. If I was a canid, I bet it'd be even worse. But I think you'd agree with me -diesel fumes and melted rubber, mixed with the scent of flesh and fur burned beyond recognition- is an awful thing for the nose to behold. That was the first thing that I had noticed as our convoy approached a cluster of smoke plumes rising from the forested hills.

Upon closing with them, we were greeted with a ghastly sight; a clearing in the woods by the road, with a dozen destroyed tanker trucks strewn about it. Our convoy stopped, and pulled to the side of the road, allowing the command tank to pull up from the rear. The APC's had pulled up as well, and the infantry, mostly young, inexperienced, wolves, were dismounted and standing about the clearing nervously, looking this way and that, holding tightly to their weapons.

The hatch on the command tank opened, and the battalion commander, Lieutenant Colonel Ostin, rose up. He was an all-black fox, and he was new to the front lines. He quickly looked about the scene, clearly more than a bit disturbed, and seemed to ponder for a moment about what to do.

"Alpha, Bravo companies and the escorts, Dismount and form up!" His order came clearly through my headphones. "Charlies, stay back and guard the vehicles." So, without a thought of disobedience, I grabbed my carbine, bandolier and knife from behind me, and climbed out of the driver's hatch.

I was soon joined by the rest of our crew, Sgt. Kent, the Red fox commander, Cpl. Scott, the Bloodhound gunner, and Pvt. Oquendo, the Half-wolf loader. 50 or so other tankmen were already out of their steel mounts, and we walked down the dusty, unpaved road in a scattered, loose formation. Behind us were the infantry Wolves. With their anxious, nervous state and their different uniforms, they looked like a totally different army marching behind us.

As we passed the command tank, Ostin pulled out a revolver and vaulted out of his hatch, landing neatly beside us. He noticed me instantly. After all, who wouldn't notice a lone human in an assortment of canids.

"You're still in this unit, are you?" He said to me, hands on his hips.

"Yes, sir." I said, trying to sound as calm and nonchalant as possible.

Ostin began to say something, but stopped himself and left it with a smirk. I said nothing, as I didn't want to start anything, especially in a potential hazard zone.

Ostin never liked me. I suspect I was the first Human he ever saw in his life, and I was over a foot taller than him, and more experienced in war. From the first time he came to command, he always seemed to have it in for me.

I strode past Ostin calmly, and as our company lined up, I could imagine that he was squinting at me menacingly behind my back.

"Lt. Monson and Keyland, take your platoons up the ridge northward. Lt. Sage, take yours into the forest just below there. Everyone else, follow me, we'll secure the blast zone." Ostin waved and pointed as he said the orders in a low tone, and I realized with annoyance that I would be in his direct command.

Our large group followed Ostin towards the blackened remains of the tanker trucks, some of which still had flames licking at them. I bent down to examine one of them, which was resting on it's steel rims; 4 pools of black viscous ooze were all that remained of its tires. I then looked up, and with a start, noticed a blackened, twisted skeleton in the cab, clothes burned right off its body. The black fingerbones clutched the wheel still, as if he had been trying desperately to drive away from the scene.

Passing another truck, there was another canid corpse lying face-down on the ground. This one was unburnt, but was defaced with three bullet holes, around which moist blood stained the poor soul's clothes.

"Heads up!" Someone yelled. A hundred pairs of ears pricked up instantly, and a hundred pairs of hands gripped the weapons they clutched.

Peering out from behind a truck, I noticed another tanker, isolated from the main group, on the edge of the clearing among the trees. This one appeared undamaged and normal. I brought the carbine to my shoulder and aimed the scope at the truck. Through the telescopic sight, I noticed that the valve on the underside of the tank was open, and fuel poured out of it at a disturbing pace.

"Orders, sir?" Someone hissed to Ostin.

"It's just oil. Carry on and secure the area." He snapped back.

I breathed in a deep sigh. Ostin didn't know the unwritten laws of frontier warfare. As the infantry Wolves began to resume their creep across the clearing, the tankmen hesitated. Ostin looked at us, and he was about to yell something when someone piped up.

"With all due respect, sir, that looks like a trap. There could be a rebel sitting in the woods just beyond there waiting to ignite that truck. I'd say there's still enough fuel in there to blow up anything within 100 yards. Not to mention the stuff sitting on the ground around it, too." It was Sgt. Kent, bless his soul.

Ostin grumbled something and rolled his eyes. The Infantry Wolves had stopped in their tracks, and all eyes were on Ostin, who was perched on the running board of one of the tankers. He had his teeth bared in an irritated sneer, and his head swiveled this way and that, until he stared dead at me, and his expression changed ever so slightly.

"You!" He barked, pointing a finger at me. "Go out to that tanker, shut it off, and lay a demo charge so we can blow it out of the way!" The many pairs of eyes shifted to me, and without thinking I began to raise my arm for a salute, when Sgt. Kent's arm came down on my shoulder.

"Lieutenant Colonel, this man is one of our best drivers! It'd be a damn fool idea to send him out there!" Kent said incredulously. I could not help feeling proud of Kent's flattery, but I felt guilty for subjecting Kent to the verbal punishment that was imminent.

To say Ostin was enraged would be an understatement. "God damnit Sergeant, if I wanted your fucking opinion, I'd have asked you! I'm in command of this unit, and I don't need your backseat-driver advice, you mongrel bastard! Our orders are to-"

"Our orders are to return to Fort Copper for-"

"Our orders, Sergeant, are to return to Fort Copper and engage any rebel forces we encounter on the way! Now you better shut your damn mouth or you will ride the rest of the way back on the tarp!"

Sgt. Kent backed away at the threat, and I took off my bandolier, helmet, and utility belt. I handed my bowie knife to Kent.

"If I get blown up, send this to my brother." I told him, solemnly.

A wolf jogged up from the road, and handed me a spool of wire connected to a detonator, which was firmly stuck into a block of C4.

The adrenaline was rushing through my veins as I stepped out from behind the last tanker, I could almost feel it. I now saw that the clearing was larger than I'd thought. The edge of it, with the leaking tanker, was quite a ways off from the road and the other wrecks. So, with the majority of the Battalion's eyes fixed on me, I began to walk across the open area. Everything seemed to have gone quiet. There was no sound of birds or insects, not even the wind disturbed the silence.

I cautiously looked about me as I walked to the fuel tanker, trailing the detonator wire behind me. As I got close, the ground became moist and an overpowering smell reached my nostrils. A shallow puddle of fuel, with a radius of about 10 feet, surrounded the truck, and there was a hissing sound as the fuel continued to pour out. With my heart pounding and my head beginning to feel a bit light from the fumes, I stepped into the puddle. By the time I reached the valve on the front part of the tank, my boots were three inches deep in the noxious-smelling liquid.

Gasoline, diesel, kerosene, fuel oil, propane, I had no idea what it was. I turned the wheel on the valve to the right, and the flow coming from the truck soon ebbed and stopped, as did the hissing noise. At least the rebels hadn't decided to break a hole in the tank instead, I thought to myself.

I decided to place the charge in the cab, as anwyhere else it would likely fall into the fuel, which I assumed would give it a less desireable effect. I pryed open the cab door and climbed up, and with my tunnel vision, I didn't notice that I was not alone there until I had set the explosive block on the floorboard.

I saw his shoe, followed his leg up with my eyes, and stared straight into his orange eyes. It was Private Stokes. The rusty orange muzzle patches on his black coat were obvious, and upon his shoulder was the single chevron of a private. All other thoughts vanished from my mind, and a strange feeling gripped me as I pulled Stokes out of the cab and put his arm around my shoulders. I began to drag him, on his feet, through the noxious-smelling liquid and back to the convoy, when a gunshot rang out, loud and clear. There was yelling, and more gunshots in rapid succession, but it didn't matter, I had to save Stokes. When my footsteps no longer made a splashing sound, I knew I had almost made it. Suddenly, my senses all seemed to fail me, the day seemed unnaturally hot, and I collapsed as all faded to black.