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If memory loss was a symptom of PTSD or any of those other conditions, I certainly didn't get it. Everything was dark. I remembered the situation just before blackout; I had to save Stokes, he could still be in danger. But I could not command my eyes to see, I could not rouse my body to action.

But presently, there was a change. I became dimly aware of a pain from somewhere in my legs. Instinctively, I commanded my arm to touch the affected area, and found that my arm indeed answered the order.

Not only that, but I could feel my hand run across something, something dry and smooth. What could it be? I could still see nothing, so the next logical step, in my mind, was to investigate my face, and perhaps remove anything that might be obstructing my vision. My arm found it easily, and ran across a growth of stubble on my chin that I hadn't noticed before.

Then, with my hand over my eyes, I realized with horror that nothing was blocking my eyes, as I had nearly poked one of them out. Was I blind? What happened?

I tried to roll over, but found myself gaining momentum - falling. I suddenly was rolled onto a cold, hard surface.

Pain shot through my legs, and I yelled out at the top of my lungs, lashing out with my fist at whatever might happen to be nearby. My arm connected with something rodlike and upright, which came crashing down immediately.

I began to panic. I could be blind, I could be half-paralyzed, I might even be dead, and this could be hell. But worst of all, I knew Stokes could be worse off, and it would be all my fault.

I began cursing, cursing everything I hated about Balfor, and saying things I wouldn't care to repeat here.

But while I was still cussing strong, the world that had previously been all dark now became entirely white. My eyes, which were wide open but I now shut rapidly, seemed to burn in the white heat. My ravings abruptly turned to a painful cry. Even with my hands were pressed over them, my eyes felt as if they were on fire, as if I had looked into a nuclear explosion.

Then, I noticed something odd. My ears detected a murmuring, a voice. Somehow, I knew it was a voice, a female voice; very soft, but with some hint of urgency. I was compelled to listen. My mind could not make out what she said, it seemed unclear, garbled. Then, it dawned on me. I must be dead, I thought. This might be heaven, instead of hell, and the voice must belong to an angel!

With that in mind, I opened my eyes slightly, and began to lower my hands from my face. My vision was fuzzy, like tunnel vision, but obscuring everything.

But presently, my vision cleared entirely, and the extraordinarly brightness of the place faded into sterile, but not painful, white light. I swiveled my head around to survey my surroundings. My eyes fell upon white, tiled walls, a bed, an overturned IV stand, and a female fox clad in blue scrubs. I wasn't in heaven, I wasn't dead. I was in an army hospital.

As if I had just been slapped in the face, the truth of the situation was evident to me. I had been half-curled up on the floor, on the side of a bed, in a second I was standing straight, despite the pain from my feet, which I now could see were covered in bandages.

"Sir, please, lie back down!" The fox woman said, bringing my attention fully to her.

"What happened to Stokes, and where am I?" I said to her, probably a touch too loudly.

She stepped back slowly, as if a gale wind were blowing her away. I barely took a second to study her. She was young, and if I had been in the mood to notice, I might've said she was attractive. She had a small, thin frame, like most of the foxes I've met. Her build was similar to Ostin's, which gave her a bad connotation in my mind. On the breast of her scrubs there was a nametag which read "Hutchings."

"P-please, sir, I don't know what happen- I don't know what you're talking about. You've been unconscious for two days!" She stammered out.

"Private first class Stokes, the rotty I pulled out of that tanker! What is his status?" I demanded. She was obviously scared, and I was in a fine rage, mostly because of my helpless confusion.

"I don't know him, I don't know what happened!" She said, still backing away. "All I can tell you is that you're in the infirmary at-"

"Bullshit!" I yelled. "If this is the sick bay, where's everyone else?" I began to advance on her, and was about to grab her by the collar when I was distracted by a voice from my left.

"Stop!" A male collie yelled from the doorway. "What's going on?" He asked, though his body language told me he knew perfectly well.

"You tell me!" I said, turning to him.

"Just calm down. You've been unconscious for while. Some confusion is perfectly normal." He said. He had a calm, authoritative aura to him that quieted my troubled mind. "Please, sit down and I'll try to explain."

I took a few steps back, and eased myself back onto the bed, which was the only one in the room, and didn't seem like a typical hospital bed. As I lay down, I put the palms of my hands over my face, and kneaded my brow, which was by this time coated in sweat.

"Now, what is it you'd like to know?" The collie asked, standing over my bed. I noted that the nametag on his scrubs (which were light green) said "Wright." He dismissed the fox, who was still standing where I had left her, seemingly paralyzed with fear, with a wave of his hand.

"I pulled a wounded Rottweiler out of a tanker truck. His name is Stokes, Private first class. How is he doing? What happened after that, and where exactly are we?" The questions came out of my mouth slowly, as I felt suddenly tired, not to mention embarrased over nearly assaulting a nurse.

"Well, I can tell you that you're at the, the, err... Well, you're at Fort Copper." His voice broke and his expression changed noticeably as he said this, bringing suspicion to my mind, but I didn't push him. "I'll go down and see If I can't find some answers for you, and you just stay here and rest. You've got some nasty burns on your feet, by the way."

He quickly turned and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him, and to my annoyance, locking it.

I took the time to further study the room I was in. On the far side there was a window, covered by a curtain. I rose up and walked to it, pulling back the white curtain to peer out. It was very dark, but on the Horizon, there were electric lights. Below, there was a streetlight flickering dimly, illuminating the curb of a road and a sidewalk. It was obviously night out, I thought, and I must've just woken up when the room was dark. Only those idiots didn't leave the lights on. I shook my head and sighed in disgust. I had heard that there were electricity shortages in much of the Balfor Confederacy, but at a hospital? That just seemed rediculous to me.

I lay back down on the bed, and after a long while, there came a knock on the door.

I sat up and said "come in."

The green-clad collie dog opened the door.

"Well, I have some bad news for you." He said, looking down.

"What?" I asked him, my voice shaking in trepidation.

"Well, you see, ah..." The Collie paused and cleared his throat. "I looked for a Pfc. Stokes in the database, and it said he was, well, killed... 15 months ago."

I think I nearly fainted. I fell back down on the bed, and my hands covered my face as I sobbed. It all came back to me, Stokes testing the engine, the rocket, and him exploding. As if to confirm the memory, my hand slipped to the welt on my forehead that remained from that incident.

The scene played over and over again in my mind. Stokes laughing, then the rocket screaming, the explosion, and he was gone. Laugh, scream, swish, bang, gone.

I lay like that for a while, and later I imagined the Collie must've felt quite awkward just standing there. But eventually, I put myself back together and sat up to ask him the question that was now burning in my mind.

"Then who w-was it that I p-pulled out of the tanker?" I stammered.

"We don't know yet." The collie said, still avoiding eye contact with me. "He had nothing on him, and the nametags were torn off his jacket."

"You mean he's dead then? An unknown soldier?" I asked, in between sobs.

"Yes, he's dead." He said to me, looking up now, but not straight at me. "But there must've been only so many Rottweilers in his unit, there'll be a way to figure out who he was."

"What about the rest of my unit?" I asked, as I realized I had left Kent, Scott, and Oquendo (and thought I didn't want to admit it, Ostin) in a sticky situation.

"The only casualties other than you was a "Lt. Col. Ostin," shot through the head, and someone else who got burned a bit."

This revelation brought another wave of emotion, wracking my brain like a cloud of exhaust from a diesel engine startup. I felt very mixed about Ostin's apparent death. I felt guilty even thinking he "deserved" it, but deep down, I felt like saying that he did indeed deserve the death he had recieved. I tried to picture the scene in my mind, but the images wouldn't come.

"Is that all you'd like to know?" Asked the Collie, snapping me away from my thoughts.

"Yeah, I think I'll be fine now." I said. "I think I'll just try to rest."

"Very good. Just so you know, there's a few things here for you." He pointed at the bedside table, which I noticed had several envelopes stacked neatly on it. He then left, closing and locking the door like last time.

I suddenly felt tired, and decided that the letters, whatever they were, could wait until tommorow morning. So, without much difficulty, I lay down and fell asleep, even with the lights in the room turned on.

* * *

In the gray and moonlit sky, low, tattered clouds pulsed and flashed with heat lightning. Each successive flash seemed like it was trying to outdo the one that had preceded it, as if the clouds themselves were engaged in some sort of cosmic duel.

Unlike normal lightning, heat lightning is almost never accompanied by thunder. This was fortunate for Bryan, as he was deathly afraid of thunder. He was nervously sitting against a telephone booth, fidgeting in anxiety, "as usual," Darren would've added.

At this moment, Darren was in the telephone booth, fumbling with coins and trying to dial the numbers of the old phone, his efforts hampered by the darkness. They were on the main street of the small town of Pilaco, in the Altama province. It was 15 minutes to midnight.

Actually, calling Pilaco a town would be very kind. The dusty settlement consisted of a main street, which was now part of Balfor Highway 7, since the road construction projects following the annexation had extended the Confederacy's highways into the Altama.

On this road, there was a large concrete town hall, which now served as headquarters for a garrison of 60 Balfor infantry wolves, and a few shops. Outside of this, there was a number of trailers and shacks where the town's population, which consisted almost entirely of Coyotes, resided. From the town, there were roads which acessed the homesteads and farms in the area.

At this moment, a lone infantry wolf was asleep on the town hall steps, his RFA Model 54 Revolver lying in his limp hand across his breast.

Three blocks away, Jas, who was standing on the sidewalk watching the guard, pondered whether it was worth the risk to try and sneak up on the guard and take the gun.

Jas knew the weapons of the Balfor troops intimately, and knew the RFA Model 54 was a prized weapon. It dated from 30 years before, where it had been issued as a sidearm for Balfor Army officers, but it had been replaced since. It was a standard Double-action .357 revolver, with a 6-round cylinder. Jas knew they had excellent stopping power, and the rare weapon would make a nice trophy. But the Soldiers stationed in Pilaco, and indeed, most of the Balfor troops, had a reputation for adhering to the policy of "shoot now, ask questions later." Also considering the unlikeliness that Darren would approve, Jas decided to leave it alone, and content himself with praying for the Wolf to stay asleep.

At last, Darren got the right number for the payphone, and after only two rings, he was answered by a husky, low voice.

"Who's this?" The voice asked.

"Lars, it's me Darren, I've got something important to tell you!" Darren hissed into the phone.

"Ah, the Black Badger. I certainly hope you have something better for me than another scrawny little 'yote wanting to join the cause?" Lars jeered in the cocky, sarcastic tone that he knew Darren hated.

"No, it's nothing like that, I swear!" Darren said.

"Then out with it already! I'm trying to get some sleep, and we got shit to do tommorrow!" Lars yelled, loud enough for Bryan and Jas to hear.

"During the raid we pulled on the Fairfax canyon road, there was a Human with the Balfor troops!" Darren blurted out rapidly.

There was a lengthy silence.

"Yeah, right Darry, and my gramma's a dragon." Lars said at last. The cocky tone was gone altogether from his voice.

"I swear to god and the three heroes, it's true! Bryan and Jas saw him too!" Darren hissed. "Why would I lie?"

There was another silence, before Lars broke into a deep, throaty laugh.

"I can think of a lot of reasons for you to lie to me, Darry, but if you want to give me some better proof than that, I'll take you up on it." The sneering, acid tones had returned to Lars' voice as he said this. "And before you come 'round to me, wash that black crap off your face, you look like you've been living in a coal mine for seven years!"

Then there was a click, and Darren heard the dial tone. He slammed the phone back down on the hook, and turned to face Jas and Bryan.

"Well, what'd he say?" Jas asked.

Darren breathed in deeply. "Well, between us three, we got a lot of work to-"

Darren was cut off by a bright lightning flash, followed immediately by a deafening boom of thunder. The lightning had struck extremely close, probably on the Town hall's radio antenna. A thick torrent of rain fell from the sky almost instantly.

Bryan yelped and bolted into the road, and straight into the circle of light created by one of the town's few streetlights. He was the first thing the Wolf on the steps saw as he was jolted out of his slumber.

"Freeze!" The wolf yelled, standing up with revolver raised in front of him.

Darren dashed out of the shadows, and ran up behind the wolf. Before the soldier could turn around, Darren tackled him to the ground.

As they fell, the gun went off in the wolf's hand, before it was knocked away when Darren and the wolf hit the pavement, in a mess of flailing limbs.

With a steel pipe in hand, Jas ran in and cracked the wolf on the head neatly, stunning him. In an instinct-guided flash, Darren drew his his knife and slashed it across the canine soldier's throat.

With hot, still-warm blood on his hands, Darren staggered backwards on all fours. In the dark, Jas saw a metallic glimmer on the pavement. He sprinted to it and snatched it quickly; it was the magnum revolver.

"Bryan get out!" Jas screamed into the night. He pulled Darren to his feet and they sprinted on the dark street, Darren with one eye over his shoulder.

Behind them, the wolves garrisoned in the town hall were spilling into the street, woken by the thunder and alerted by the gunshot and yelling. But in the dark and rain, they could not see the two fleeing figures, almost a quarter-mile away by that time.

After sprinting for what seemed like hours to them, Jas turned off the road and leaped over a fence into an orchard, Darren, being slower, followed shortly after.

"Over here!" Jas whispered over his shoulder to his companion, and rushed into a dilapidated shed, before collapsing on the dusty wooden-plank floor. Darren followed suit seconds later.

Darren sat up, and began to run his hand through the fur on his head, but he jerked his hand away in disgust when he remembered he was literally red-handed with wolf blood.

"I never killed someone with a knife before, Jas." Darren croaked, bowing his head down.

Jas sat up and gazed at his companion in the dark, but said nothing.

"Dunno how many men we've killed through rifle scopes." He whimpered, breath coming to him in short fits. "But that... that was somethin' else."

"We didn't really have a choice, did we?" Jas whispered. Half of him felt like yelling at Darren, telling him he was soft, just like Darren had yelled at him much of the time they had known each other. The other half wanted to comfort his comrade, maybe put an arm around him.

But before he could decide, Darren spoke again. "If you ever see your kid brother again, Jasper, you tell him he shouldn't be fightin'. He's too young for all this."

Jas smacked his hand to his head, recalling Bryan's sudden and unnanounced departure. "Oh, we're in deep shit now." He said, getting to his feet. "We gotta go find him! If those wolves catch holda him, they'll make him talk!"

"Are you fucking stupid?" Darren yelled at Jas, who was surprised by Darren's sudden recovery of his old, temperamental demeanor. "They'll be out lookin' for us, they seen that corpse!"

"And they'll find Bryan, too!" Jas yelled. "He's my brother, I'm gonna find him, with or without you!"

Darren stood up and grabbed Jas's collar, but Jas pulled away forcefully and ran out into the rain, sending Darren staggering back, where he hit his head on an old piece of machinery and crumpled to the floor with a moan.